greyyson-but-no - Tumblr blog

greyyson-but-no · 2 months ago

Text

YOU ARE A WEAPON.

pairing: bucky barnes x oc (easy to switch to reader, no description of appearance)

warnings: hydra torture, pos general, bucky as the winter solider, injury mention, experimentation mention

summary: ivy is a pawn of hydra, here's a little insight into her history with bucky and how she escapes the general

author notes: hey ya'll, i've been writing this all day and didn't know whether to post it but eh what's the harm. this oc has a storyline all the way from her birth to thunderbolts but holy cow would that be a lot of writing so we'll see how far i get into it before the hyperfixation dies oh and for context this is sent in a london hydra base cause I'm british and ivy is just me but disguised as an oc 😂😂

tags: @cookies-and-music

word count: 3.8K

and weapons don't weep.

December, 2006

Davis pulled the mask from her face, tongue kissing the top of his mouth in a tut that had the bones in Ivy's body shaking. Wherever they had put her this time, it seemed different. Unusual, but still cold, still sterile and still everything she had grown to hate. The men and women in lab coats who always stood to the side and always did what Davis told them to hadn't even bothered turning the light on. The only source of brightness in this dreary, bottomless pit that Ivy was the backbone of was the glow that radiated from the pod, placed in the middle of the room.

The same pod that in about T-minus three minutes, they would shove her into, and they would try yet another experiment on her. Ivy never knew what they were planning. What new fad they were testing on her. Only that they would force her to come out the other side even if she was on fire and burning alive. The girl was their experiment. The girl had no choice.

Davis clicked his fingers in her face, palm hitting her cheek as if the clicking wasn't enough. She stared him directly in the eye. His eyes had become the familiar, but the look he gave her never could. The hatred, the dislike, the pure glee in the pain she was experiencing. It was psychotic.

He tutted at her again, a glint in his eyes as he spoke, standing up straight. "We have a new tactic, that we're going to try out today instead of the pod."

Ivy didn't respond. It was never her turn to so she never would. In the furthest corner of the room, the door opened wide, and in strolled four guards and a large figure standing in the middle of all of them. He was handcuffed. He had a metal arm. He was masked, but his eyes were dark, empty. Ivy supposed they mimicked hers now, for as long as she had been in here it must have done something to the once childlike wonder that she used to be.

She wasn't stupid. She knew who this was. The Winter Solider. The ultimate brainwashed weapon of Hydra and the ultimate killer. At simply a couple of words he became the best killer Hydra had ever had the misfortune to control. Molded and manipulated over years and years, perfecting his brain and his wiring, everything he did and everything he said could be controlled by Hydra. In truth, he was everything Davis wanted Ivy to be. It made sense why they had bought him in.

"You've been a little too… defiant, recently." Davis spoke, pacing around the room slowly, and waving his hands about with a freedom that nobody else in the room had been granted. "So, we've bought in someone from our friends across the Atlantic Ocean. This is the Winter Solider."

Ivy didn't speak.

"He's going to sort you out." He played with the lapels of his suit jacket, turning to the stiff figure that had been made to face in front of Ivy. "солдат, отчетность по службе? [Solider, reporting for duty?]"

From under the mask, the solider spoke. "готов подчиниться. [Ready to comply]."

Davis grinned. A terrible, horrible, bone chilling sly grin as he moved his line of sight from the Winter Solider to Ivy, and he reveled in the way she began to shiver. Just a second later, he began moving, away the two brainwashed and up to the higher deck, alongside two other men: one in a lab coat and one in another suit. Ivy was left staring at the Winter Soldier's empty eyes.

She imagined that maybe once they had life in them. There wasn't much way for her to gain information, and therefore she had no idea how long he had been in the hands of Hydra. Maybe he had had a childhood, maybe he got the one she never did. Maybe he had grown up, gotten a job, had friends and went out with them. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Maybe he loved her. Whatever life he had previously, Ivy knew none of that meant anything to him now. Hydra had almost definitely erased his memory — Davis had threatened that many a time. Now he was simply a weapon.

And weapons, don't weep. Or so Ivy thought.

From up in the higher deck, Davis called down to the solider. "You know what to do, солдат." The second the words were muttered, the solider pulled a knife from his hip, the metal glinting in the light of the pod he was standing in front of.

The solider kneels. One knee, pressed into the concrete ground, now level with Ivy who was still sat, trembling but somehow lifeless too, on the wooden chair that they had tied her to. He caught her eyes, and while Ivy could have been delirious, or imagining things, there was a glint of something behind his eyes. Something not empty. Something lifelike. Something familiar. Then—

"I'm sorry."

Only pain followed. The endless, searing kind of pain that left you wondering if there was ever a God. Ivy had dismissed that reality long ago, and the Winter Solider had even longer. It was a familiar pain. One that would be familiar for a while.

"останавливаться. [Stop]."

Ivy didn't know how long it took him to make the call. All she could see was the concrete below her, all she could feel were the bruises starting to form all over her skin. At the shouted word, the Winter Solider stood up straight, pulled back and slotting the knife back into its holster, as if he was machine, as if he had been coded to. Ivy whimpered, eyes squeezed shut to hide the wetness seeping from her tear duct.

Faint echoes of dress shoes on metal sounded through the room, Ivy could barely process what the noise was. Eyes opening, she watched as the boots of the Winter Solider stepped out of her line of sight, and in their place, the shoes of which she knew belonged to General Davis. The same shoes that clicked and clacked all through the corridors, the ones that haunted her in her sleep. The ones that had kicked at her stomach, stood on her legs, bruised her skin.

"Have you learnt your lesson, Solider?" He asked, still standing tall and still, out of view of Ivy.

Ivy, who whimpered again at his words, shivered. She couldn't answer. She couldn't speak. Even if she wanted to give in and obey the general, her body wouldn't let her. All she could do was make her neck twitch, up— then down. She had.

But she was still crying. Davis noticed, the clear tear resting against the concrete where it had fallen from the tip of her nose. He tutted again, he enjoyed tutting. It was demeaning, like talking to a child, even though she hadn't been a child for a very long time. The general slowly lowered himself, squatting in front of her and tilting his head so she had no choice but look at him.

"You are a weapon, Huntress." He spoke, voice leaking control and the need for more. Slowly, his hand reached out, swiping across her cheek to catch the tear that was next scheduled to fall onto the tip of his finger, flicking it away. "And weapons, don't weep, do they?"

Ivy shivered, nodding more strongly this time. "No."

He hummed, a small smile curling into the wicked corners of his lips as he pushed himself back up to full height, leaving Ivy on the floor, to be picked up by someone else. "Good. Lesson learnt." He paused a moment, walking further away and towards the guards, though Ivy couldn't see. "Could we get her cleaned up and back in her cell, please? I can barely look at her."

Ivy sighed, going limp as two random men came in and grabbed her at random places, reading to drag her back to the cell for recovery. As she passed through the room, the Winter Solider stood next to her pathway. The guards didn't give her much time to react, but when she cause his eyes, here was a sense of guilt. The same guilt that had sent him apologizing to her before he had even laid a hand on the girl. Maybe Hydra thought their brainwashing was better than it actually was.

The next thing she felt was that familiar feeling of the floor in her cell, as she was thrown into it until the next time Hydra needed her to kill.

safety is imminent

February, 2007

The crashing woke Ivy up, but her newfound consciousness didn't mean she understood what was going on anymore than in her sleeping state. Her cell was dark, the door still locked. How was she supposed to know what was going on? Screams sounded from down the corridor, grunting, shouting and bullets ripping through the air was most of what she could hear. The weapon scrambled onto her feet, throwing herself towards the door to peak through the crack and maybe even just gain a hint at what was happening.

Bodies were thrown across her line of sight, all of them in lab coats. What? It couldn't have been Davis harming them, he was in America for a month more. And they wouldn't turn on each other, it didn't make any sense.

Then a voice, low and commanding, echoed through the corridor. "Step away from the door, ma'am." And while Ivy had no clue as to who spoke or what the fuck was happening, she did what was being asked of her. There was nothing else she could have done. So, back pushed up against the furthest wall, she waited. A loud crash bashed up against the metal door, and Ivy flinched. Then another, and another and another. Until the lock cracked and broke, falling to the floor and letting the door simply swing open.

The man that had spoken to her previously stepped into view. He wore a long black coat, a turtleneck and combat boots, hands clasped behind his back. Ivy looked upward to make eye contact with him: he wore an eye patch. Whoever he was, he clearly meant business.

"Ma'am, my name is Director Nick Fury of Shield, and we're here to get you out of here."

Ivy didn't question the man. He was part of Shield, who were everything Hydra was working to destroy, that only meant good things. It meant never having to look Davis in the eyes again, it meant never having to be thrown in the pod again, it meant never having the pain of torture haunting her every second she existed. It meant never seeing the Winter Solider again. It meant freedom. So she followed the man as he ran off down the corridor, gun shooting anybody with a Hydra logo. Ivy pretended to not know about the one that she had just above the inside corner of her elbow as she ran.

Though, just because she had been broken out of her cell, she didn't know much more else about the situation yet. Were Shield looking for her specifically? How did they find out about the facility all the way across the ocean. Did they only attack now because Davis was away? There were still so many questions. But as she ran, following this random man through the endless corridors and staircases, there was no time to ask anything. The priority was safety, but was safety imminent? Did anybody here know what they were doing, where they were going?

Up a staircase, one of the doors slammed open, a group of about five guards readying to shoot, but someone else got there first. One by one, the group collapsed, bullet wounds seeping through their torsos, a woman revealed on the other side. Ivy spotted Fury grinning.

The woman looked towards Ivy, eyebrows furrowed. "This her?"

"Yeah." Fury heaved, nodding as well as he could. "Thanks for the save."

"Sure, boss." The agent grinned, catching her breathe and nonchalantly turning for barely a second to shoot down someone running towards them, quickly turning backward to face Ivy again, a warm smile painting her face. "Right, Ivanna, is it? My name is Agent Maria Hill and you're with me until we get to the jet, here's your weapon, use it wisely."

"What—" Ivy had no choice but to catch the two items thrown at her. A bow, the same one she was always sent out on missions with, and a quiver of arrows, which, as if machine, she automatically threw around her shoulder, pulling an arrow and loading one into the bow. "Shit, alright."

Fury looked between Ivy and Maria, nodding to the both of them. "We've just got one more thing to get a hold of, I'll handle that with Agent Francis, you two get to safety."

"Yes, sir." Hill spoke automatically, nodding swiftly and immediately running further up the stairs. Ivy had no choice but to follow her, two steps at a time, not looking back at Fury. Whoever these people were, they knew what they were doing. They had a mission, they had a goal, and now she seemed to be part of that.

"Do you have the serum?"

The question seemed foreign. To have. To own. She didn't own the serum, nor the abilities that plagued her alongside it. They had been forced onto her and she had had no say in whether or not she would get the serum. But the woman sitting in front of her, a notebook in hand, had asked it so softly it made Ivy wonder how many people like her they had had to deal with over the years.

Ivanna hadn't been in the facility very long. About a week, she guessed. But it was warm food, a warm bed, free roaming, training facilities, rehabilitation clinics. Shield knew what they were doing, they knew how to deal with situations like these, with soldiers like Ivy. She could sleep when she liked, train when she wanted to, get fresh air when she wanted to. Fresh air. God. It all seemed like such a luxury now. For so long she had been stuck with Davis and his men, and now she had a freedom that she couldn't remember how to deal with. It was all so unusual now.

She swallowed, pinching at the skin inside her cheek as she prepared to answer the lady. "Yes. I have the serum."

The woman hummed. Ivy couldn't actually remember what name she had given her, something Dr. Barbara Smith, perhaps. Whatever her name was, she scribbled something into the notebook and nodded, taking a quick glance at Ivy before continuing. "Did you under-go forms of torture while part of Hydra?"

What a fucking stupid question. "Yes."

"Could you give us more detail?" Then the 'doctor' side of Barbara left. "You don't have to if you can't recall anything or it's too much of a struggle."

Ivy shook her head, tonguing at the inside of her cheek, fiddling with her hands, then the fabric of her Shield supplied clothes, then with the wood of the chair. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you anything. I don't— I don't remember much."

She nodded again. "That's completely okay. Right, Ivanna, we're done here, feel free to stay around, calm down a bit if you need to, but otherwise, you're free to go. Simply let us know if you need anything else."

"Thank you." Ivy mumbled under her breath, head falling.

It didn't take her long to leave. While Barbara did leave first, it only took a couple minutes to pass for Ivy to pull herself out of the chair she thought she had been stuck to, and to walk through the glass walls of the medical sector. She hadn't been in this part of the facility that much, only for general check ups when they first landed and then again when she fainted after eating for the first time in weeks. Wandering the corridors, she looked in each room, trying to figure out what kind of work went on, what people spent their time doing and perhaps what she could spend her time doing.

One room contained a lab, there were a couple scientists in there fiddling around with different tubes, different chemicals and things. But unlike the old Hydra facility, it wasn't dim, and was in fact the opposite. So bright it nearly hurt to look at. Light everywhere, glass everywhere, everything out in the open. Ivy moved onto the next room.

This one was simply offices, a couple people on surveillance, checking different computers and tech, then a giant screen on the far wall showcasing different rooms in the facility. Okay, so this was security. To Ivy, it felt like she was undercover, scoping out information and details that she would need to report back to Davis. The doctors warned her it would be difficult, that some days she would return back into that sickly state, wanting to go back. She hadn't had one of those days yet and so the fear of having one was like an impending sense of doom, like it was right around the corner, imminent. Fuck.

Ivy shook her head out of it, moving onto the next room.

The glass soon revealed a giant room, mats all along the floor, a boxing ring in the very far corner, different training facilities dotted about the place, treadmills, weights, anything you could ever dream of. But in the middle, were two people, sparring. One of them was Maria, the other Ivy didn't recognise. They laughed as they fought, the man tripping Maria up one time and laughing as she fell to the floor. They were having fun. Ivy didn't know it was possible to enjoy fighting. It was always something that served a purpose, to get somewhere, find something, survive.

Tilting her head, Ivy didn't stick about. When she first landed in this facility, Fury had showed her to her room and told her that whatever she needed, she could come and find him and ask whatever, he would help with. So Ivy did just that. She knew what she wanted to do, what she would rather do than sit around waiting for a recovery to happen. Ivy knew she wanted to reverse all the damage she had done as the Huntress, and if Fury let her, hopefully she could become more.

She knocked on the door of Fury's office, and once he had given the all clear, she stepped in, not bothering to fake a smile at the director, he would in no way, fall for anything like that. "Could I talk to you about something, sir?"

"Of course you can. Ivanna, please, take a seat." He was welcoming, mostly. She felt at home in the facility but it was still someone unnerving talking to him as director. "What can I help you with?"

Ivy swallowed, biting at the inside of her cheek. It was so nerve wrecking. Would he let her? Was she even ready for something like this? There was so much that could go wrong and whatever she said, it wouldn't matter. The only thing that mattered was Fury's opinion on whether she could or not, and that was no something he gave away lightly. "I want to make amends for everything I did at Hydra. I want to do good. I want to become an Agent."

But Ivy had been through so much worse. So when Fury lent back in his desk chair, palms clasped against the desk and a small smirk working its way onto his face, all the worry left her. First there was silence, his opinions unspoken, then—

"I was hoping you would say that, Ivy."

redemption is worth it

October, 2011

The notification on her watch popped up, and she knew it was time. Ivy took a deep breath, shook her head, and opened the door to his room. Inside, was an old bed, a fake window, an old-timey radio from the war that had taken about a week to get working properly. It played an old baseball game, the commentator shouting as something important happened. Standing by the bed, in a Shield supplied t-shirt, was Captain Steven Rogers. Ivy had his file tucked under her arm, having been doing some last minute reading up before he awoke.

She lifted her chin. "Captain Rogers, it's good to see you're awake, my name is Agent Lockwood."

He caught her eyes, she watched as the distress in his eyes grew to become worse and worse. She knew what he was going through, that was the worst thing. And yet, she had to pretend it had just been wartime, that it was the mid 40s.

His voice was groggy as he went to speak, Ivy wasn't surprised, he had been asleep for over 70 years. "Where am I?"

Ivy took a deep breath, tilting her head slightly. "Sir, you're in a Shield recovery room in Brooklyn, New York. The war is over, you're safe now."

"Where am I really?"

Fuck. I mean, Shield knew that the Captain America wasn't stupid, but they thought that they would have just a little more time before they had to break the news to him. Ivy swallowed, blinking at him and smiling softly. "What do you mean, Captain? I just told you where you are."

He raised a pointed index finger towards the radio, stepping forward ever so slightly, squinting. "The game."

"Pardon me?"

"The baseball game. It's not happening now. I know, because I was there. It's a game from '41, you can't fool me. Now I need you to tell me where I actually am." He spoke, making it evident from the slow steps forward that he was struggling to keep calm.

Ivy bit at the inside of her cheek, wondering how to handle the situation. Should she tell him the truth? She could simply continue lying to him and hope he would believe whatever she was saying but Steve Rogers was nothing if not stubborn, she knew that wouldn't work under any circumstances. There were so many options, but it was too late. Because while she had spent the time trying to figure out what to do, Rogers had already broken through the fake wall of the room and out of the facility. Fuck. She raised her hand to her ear, pressing against the earpiece. "Code 13, I repeat, we have a code 13, Captain America is currently attempting to escaping the facility. All units converge, stat."

And she picked up her pace, running after him, the super solider serum from all those years ago serving her a purpose, once again.

a/n: hope people find this interesting to read!! let me know if you want a second part I'm so willing to right more of this I just need to figure out what and when... thanks for any support!!

#bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel oc #marvel mcu

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greyyson-but-no · 2 months ago

Note

And finally may I suggest Bucky and hand

the love my life!! so glad to see my man again 😌 cracking out my original avenger!reader for this one for an end of tfatws reunion

bucky barnes x gn!reader

no use of y/n | original avenger!reader | set at the end of tfatws

word count: 1.1k

Bucky is vaguely aware of Sarah speaking to someone over on the dock, but being hard at work with his back turned and with Sam chatting away in his left ear he struggles to make out the voice on the other side of the conversation.

Sarah’s tone is wary, he can tell, and then suddenly warm. There’s laughter, and then excited shouting from AJ and Cass. Footsteps work their way across the dock and then stop at the side of the boat. He tenses instinctively, still working on unwinding from all that’s happened the past few weeks, and then:

“I’m looking for Captain America and an ancient relic,” you call over to them, laughter lingering in your voice. “Can you boys help me out?”

Sam’s laugh is loud and only half-sarcastic, and he bounces his knees once before turning to you, hands on his hips. “Trouble’s over so now you show up, huh?”

You shrug, giving him a sly smile. “You had it covered.”

“Oh, we had it covered,” he drawls over his shoulder to Bucky as he approaches you to wrap you in a hug. He presses a kiss to the side of your head and gives your shoulder a squeeze - a silent question that you answer with a smile and a small nod when you pull away from each other. You’re fine, it tells him, and you would have been there if you could.

Bucky lingers a few feet behind him, pressing his left thumb into his right palm to try and ease the anxiety that starts to grip him as he watches the exchange. He tries not to think about all of the texts from you that he’s left unanswered, or the increasingly concerned voicemails that stopped a few weeks ago, and focuses instead on the smile you throw his way. It relaxes something tight in his chest and he gives you a nod and a small wave.

Sam risks a glance between the two of you, one brow arched, and gives you one final pat on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. God knows I’ve spent enough time with him.”

He slinks off to find Sarah and a place to pitch up where he can keep an eye on you both. It was Sam who’d had to reassure you when Bucky stopped responding to you, even if he’d had to take liberties with how much he actually knew and how well the super soldier was actually doing. You’d been dealing with enough without worrying yourself sick over anyone else, and it was Sam’s job to look out for you. Like he’d promised he would.

Now that Bucky stands in front of you, smiling and looking well, you can finally relax.

You gesture vaguely behind him, to where he’s clearly been ripping off hunks of metal from the side of the boat. “Need a hand?”

He offers you his own to help you onto the deck, and is relieved when you take it before you take the step down. He didn’t think it would feel normal, finally seeing you, but this feels normal. So, he risks teasing: “Why, you get yourself some super strength since I last saw you?”

“I might have.” You throw him a wink as you manoeuvre around him to retrieve a beer from the cooler. “I hear there’s been plenty of it going around.”

“Not anymore.”

You hum, and take the opportunity to look him over. He looks fine - healthy. Well-slept and wound-free, a far cry from the worst case scenario you had been fretting over for weeks. Bucky knows what you’re doing, catches the worry that shows in the way your mouth turns down and your fingers fidget around the bottle’s neck. That tight feeling works its way back across his chest, and he realises it’s the same feeling he would get when he left your messages unanswered, listened to your voicemails, pretended he wasn’t home when you knocked on his door.

Guilt.

“I’m fine,” he reassures you. “I’m doin’ okay.”

You believe him. He’s fine in the same way you are: a long way from perfect, but a hell of a lot better than you were. Still, something gnaws away at you; you came here knowing what you wanted to say to him, and you plan to get it out.

“I wanted to apologise,” you rush out, pre-planned speech already out the window and your free hand gesturing animatedly. “I know you needed space, I know you did, and you were going through a lot but I kept trying to reach you and I should have just left it-”

“Hey, no,” he scolds suddenly, gently, taking your hand to force you to stop moving it the way you do when anxiety is fuelling you. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologise.”

You shake your head. “But-”

“I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve just…” He trails off with a sigh, then digs his phone from his back pocket and frowns down at it. “I, uh, I kept your messages. When I woke up, after the nightmares, they helped. It helped… to hear you.”

“That’s good.” Your voice is smaller than you expect it to be when you finally find it. You clear your throat. “I’m glad.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, grimacing at the way it isn’t enough. He wracks his brain for anything better to say, for anything he can do, and comes up empty. All that therapy and making amends and he’d still messed up here, with you.

You pull his attention back to you with a gentle squeeze of his hand, and it’s only then that he realises he’s still holding yours. That feeling in his chest threatens to swirl into something else - something he’s refused to name for long enough that he’s not going to try now.

You’re smiling again. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“Alright,” you concede. “Then I forgive you.”

Instinct tells him to argue, tell you he doesn’t deserve it, but the look you’re giving him keeps his mouth shut. It’s the same quiet understanding, same gentle acceptance that he’s seen from you a hundred times now.

He smiles - properly, finally - and even though you’ve freed him of the burden of worry with just three words he still asks, “You sure?”

You roll your eyes and take a sip from your bottle. “I forgave you for launching me off of a bridge, Barnes, I think I can get past a few missed calls.”

The air clears with the sound of your shared laughter, tensions easing from you both as he pulls you forward a step so he can finally hug you, resting his cheek atop your head. “Still not gonna let that one go though, huh?”

“Not any time soon.”

Back on land Sam leans into his sister, a roguish smile appearing on his face. “I’ll bet you ten bucks I can get them sharing a room tonight.”

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