#chernayavidua

[clawsextended]

@chernayavidua asked : [ MEND ] for sender to treat receiver’s wound which leads to them having to remove an article of clothing resulting in revealing scars hidden beneath

natasha gently shifts aside the hair at the nape of her neck — brushes strands dyed chocolate brown to match her soft, soft brown eyes. beneath marks crosshatch furious crimson in hateful lines. her gaze is enormous, rounded out and delicate, and direct contrast to the soft black flannel patterned in charcoal greys. she feels twitchy, stills it forcefully when fabric connects with skin to clean blotchy blood away.

one hole sits deeply embedded into the flesh there, an old scar left by the unkind embers of a cigar. all her own inflicted marks create an awful mess of pink and red. in spite of all things, that aged imperfection has never changed. and how she has around it.

“i fucking hate fear toxin.”

she’s only coming down from it now. and she’s been trying to pretend it hasn’t been in her blood for hours. every inch of her feels raw.

(at least holly’s with bruce. at least the only one she’s hurt is herself.)

[sevenbulletsavior]

New York had never been a blip on the radar of S.H.I.E.L.D. until the Invasion and after...after the city had been left to clean up the mess on its own. The people had persevered, they always did, and life had went back to what would be considered normal...except there was Fisk in the shadows, pulling strings, manipulating, crushing and killing to get what he wanted and S.H.I.E.L.D. turned a blind eye to it all, focused on other threats that they deemed more important to deal with. (And maybe they were more important but it didn't change the fact that Fisk was a dangerous man.)

S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't care because it didn't affect them so the fight back arose from within the city itself. Karen had watched the changing landscape, the birth of Daredevil and the Punisher, of the Iron Fist and Luke Cage and even Jessica Jones...but the city was never truly changed. Fisk was still there in the shadows, omnipresent and puppeteering.

When she'd plunged the knife into him and ended his life, much like the heroes who protected the city, who were birthed from a darkness that they were thrust into, Karen was reborn as well.

She never expected S.H.I.E.L.D. to interfere, let alone question a change in the status quo, but as she stared across at Natalya, gun leveled center-mass at her chest, Karen wondered what changed their mind. (Or was the spy doing this of her own accord?) The wine glass in hand was placed on the marble countertop, red lipstick staining the rim, and the woman let out a soft exhale of what could be construed as disappointment as she moved towards the other.

Should she had been afraid a bullet would be put into her? Probably. Was she? Not at all. Standing before Nat, a hand reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face and then Karen leaned in to press a soft kiss to the other woman's lips, gun pressing into her chest. As they broke apart, she stayed close, eyeing her lover's features closely before she spoke in a hushed whisper. "We could do so much good for this city, Talya. So much good."

@chernayavidua gets a kiss 💋.

[webheadedhero]

plotted starter for @chernayavidua

sometimes blending in had it's less obvious disadvantages, like the commute. he tried to save using his powers to get to work for the days that he was really running behind...or when he really wanted to get home. lamenting about the fact that he had to walk home, everything seemed to be moving slower today. classes, grading, everything. knowing his luck, the only thing that wouldn't drag today would be his limited free time. pulling his brows together as he got closer to his building, shifting the strap on his messenger bag, studying the frame of the woman waiting outside.

not exactly cutting the image of someone who moonlights as a vigilante with his tweed jacket and button shirt, hanging his head for a second and letting out a quiet groan. making eye contact as he got closer. tilting his head to the side and raising a curious eyebrow at her, " tutoring hours are tuesday and thursday..." giving a half smile before he spoke again. " you uh--you haven't been waiting long, have you?" pressing a finger so he could buzz himself into the building, holding the door open for her and motioning her inside. " I haven't checked the news today, but I'm guessing there's not some pressing emergency...right? this isn't a visit to tell me that you need all hands on deck?"

[praynot]

｡° ⸻ @chernayavidua.

Although Lee wasn't one to drink, she wasn't one to turn down being company for a drink, either. It wasn't uncommon to go out for something somewhat celebratory after a large investigation was closed out. Not just closed, but   solved   for every way the word meant. This particular case, to Lee, felt deserving of a celebration. Another round of serial murders, no particular target profile, and a particularly wide window of activity always meant 'round-the-clock alertness both in the details and in the day-to-day. They all deserved a reprieve from what felt endless for the last several weeks.

She sidles herself across from Natasha in one of the booths, her modest glass of soda set down as she does. Her eyes are traveling around the bar, around their colleagues, before they land somewhere between the two of them on the table   ( though mostly towards Natasha's direction ).

       ❝ You were phenomenal help in this, ❞   comes first, never really knowing how else to start a casual conversation other than something most relevant. There's a twitch of a smile that meets the corners of her lips;   blink and they'd miss it.   ❝ It's nice having help. ❞

[esoterium]

@chernayavidua || that's a meme right there || accepting!

blood, sender cleans blood off of receiver. / for steve

there's always something so unsettling about the quiet that falls after the last shell casing hits the ground when the fight's, finally, over. it's as hollow as the bent brass kicked aside by tired foot inside a worn, scuffed boot. the ride there only takes about an hour. feels like a little eternity inside his chest, though. steve's limbs are heavy. like gravity's come up, wrapped itself around each one and is trying to drag him underground with every step and swing of his arm. it takes him forever to climb the stairs to the place she told him she'd be if he needed her.

he's got no idea if she's still here.

but the little key in the pocket of his uniform says he hopes so. maybe counting on it. no, not maybe. he IS. by the time he gets to her floor (cause with the messy state he's in? he can't just walk into the building and take the elevator) he's showing his discomfort in the way he grimaces and crinkles his nose while rolling his shoulder outside the short hallway that leads to the only door on this floor. her door.

the little key's pulled from the pocket on the inside of his vest. dirty, weather-beaten fingers hold it delicately and it wobbles as he puts it in the lock and twists. she's standing on the other side like she knew he had to take a second to compose himself the best he could as he gave himself the task of letting himself in.

a dull thud and his helmet hits the floor. there's bloodstains on it but they've long dried and mostly flaked off by now. he wish so much could be said about the ones dried along the corner of his mouth. the coagulated mark cut above his brow that won't leave a scar because of what's in his veins but damn sure looks like it should even though the road gave it a little bit of a healing grace. scuffed up knuckles and a bruised up face. this one took a little out of him. they haven't gotten to what's underneath the suit. bruises mostly. though the outline of brown red across a diagonal streak near his shoulder says at least one jerk landed their mark on a weak spot.

she takes his wrist and pulls him to the bathroom letting him have his silence like she knows he needs until he's the one who speaks up. the tub's running warm water by then, she's busying herself with taking off the top part of his vest. sometimes the captain and the soldier truly do show how alike they can be from growing up together. and she understands. she knows. "probably shoulda called you this time. honestly? barely knew where this was coming from..." a small grin. tired, guilty. "guess retirement's outta the question. least for now."

[proofwhisky]

 🍒

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄 🍒 + 𝐀 𝐔𝐑𝐋 & 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 !! 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

jshakfd hello... honestly, we've not interacted or spoken ooc yet and when you followed me, i'll be honest, i was wary. i'm not a huge fan of marvel in general (especially not the mcu) and i've had rough experiences with other natasha blogs in the past, but i thought, fuck it, whatever, let's just give them a chance and bro i'm so glad i did. i love your writing and am extremely intimidated by you and your portrayal <3 ha ha please notice me

soph @chernayavidua :3

[jbbarnes]

@chernayavidua : ❝ I know you’re doing what you believe in, and that’s all any of us can do. ❞

The huff her words elicit was a mixture of self-conscious and fond. If anyone understood his want – need, really – to try and make up for what he had been forced to do, it was her. Steve always had a slightly pained look to his face whenever Bucky mentioned his plan, the reasons behind it. They'd talked past each other a few times, an old dance at this point. And he did understand Steve's point. He hadn't chosen to commit the atrocities Hydra used him for, but those memories were his all the same. His hands were the ones coated in blood at the end of the day.

He'd actually been expecting the same reaction from Ed when he told him his ideas in an otherwise normal therapy session a few months previous. Instead, his doctor had looked thoughtful, and asked enough careful, pointed questions to find the root of why Bucky really wanted to get back out there again. And together they'd found a healthier reason than he'd originally come up with. He'd been given a second chance. He wanted that for other people too.

"Thanks," he said, still a little sceptical as he lifted his gaze to look up at her. He didn't expect ridicule from her for wanting to help people – people many would assume past helping. But he didn't want her pity either. He tossed the small phone he'd set up between his hands a few times before looking up again. "Don't know if anyone will ever even ask but... I couldn't just keep sitting around, you know?"

[clawsextended]

@chernayavidua asked : [ MENDED ] for receiver to treat sender’s wound which leads to them having to remove an article of clothing resulting in revealing scars hidden beneath

cat’s claws are deft with a set of sutures, tied off and nimble, fingertips careful on the spider’s skin. kohl-rimmed eyes flit across the wound, a flush of something faintly red that chases her cheeks, exposes freckles in its wake. it isn’t shame or embarrassment that fills her, merely a humility that sets aside her gaze near shyly.

“you okay?”

she mutters, her little black domino mask discarded aside the sink. thick black liner still smudges her cheeks, makes golden her sweet brown eyes. she turns the faucet on her sink, a ring of magenta seated dead center of the drain from where holly’s decided to dye her hair. she dips a washcloth in warm water and raises it to clear away blood.

“uh is this — f… fine?”

she despises being touched, but she reminds herself: she doesn’t let people in her apartment she doesn’t trust. (her mind is a fucking black hole. she can’t entertain her paranoia. it dances on strings like bones rattling in their pitch black coffins, sleeping their deaths away.)

“seriously inconvenient, this whole — people having knives thing.”

[sevenbulletsavior]

Karen couldn’t put her finger on the exact moment her relationship with Natasha tilted the scales into something beyond friendship: one moment they were sitting together laughing with a glass of wine in hand each and the next moment they were undressing each other and falling into bed without a care in the world. Sometimes she would go to the studio to watch Natasha train and sometimes Natasha would come to her office bearing coffee, and each time they would steal kisses in a dark corner and make plans to see each other later in the privacy of one of their apartments.

Karen had come to the training center so she could interview the prodigy under Natasha’s training and tutelage. There had been quite a bit of chatter about the young woman over social media, and because of her connection with Natasha, Karen was able to get the first scoop to sit with the girl and let her talk about her dreams and aspirations. She had only blocked out an hour for the interview but by the time Natasha came to interrupt, they were two hours deep into discussing the younger girl’s aspirations without a care in the world. Both startled at the interruption, laughing as Natasha tapped her wrist pointedly, and as the younger girl thanked Karen and then scurried back too to do her training, the journalist was up and gathering her things with the assumption both left.

The door shut and the lock clicked in place, drawing Karen’s attention up and to Natasha who now leaned back against it with that look in her eyes.

Karen didn’t even have a chance to ask if they should before Natasha had her caged in against the desk, crushing her mouth with a searing kiss and her fingers already working on tugging up the hemline of Karen’s skirt, fingers expecting lace but brushing against bare flesh instead before she was on her knees and her mouth was nipping teasingly at the flesh of Karen’s inner thigh.

There was a breathy little gasp, a squirm of anticipation as Natasha’s mouthed teased and nipped at the pale flesh of her thighs, making Karen groan. “Come on, Nat, that’s not fair,” she whined, hips seeking out the needed contact of a tongue on her clit, but neither had been those teasing texts she’d sent the past two hours so perhaps this was tit for tat.

@chernayavidua / [ 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 ] : sender pleasures receiver with their mouth.

[ofeden]

@chernayavidua said ' it's always the last person you want to see that you end up running into, huh? ' / for yelena

❛      WHY  DON’T  YOU  TELL  ME  HOW  YOU  REALLY  FEEL    ❜  it’s  a  statement  ,  hardly  a  question  .  the  true  widow  stands  with  intrigue  flashing  in  bright  eyes  ,  amusement  attempting  to  palpitate  across  her  features  ,  and  before  long  ,  a  dry  laugh  escapes  .  it’s  bitter  ,  cold  and  laced  with  the  same  kind  of  poison  that  anyone  in  her  position  would  hold  . the  thing  is  —  this  was  her  doing  ,  after  all  ,  and  the  fallacy  standing  before  her  is  nothing  more  than  a  blank  slate  of  an  idol  ,  one  that  she  wouldn’t  mind  cracking  along  the  creases  —  when  the  time  was  right  ,  at  least  .  a  folder  of  dull  color  is  grasped  between  three  fingers  ,  cautious  (  not  cowardly  )  steps  amble  in  her  direction  ,  and  the  file  is  shoved  in  natasha’s  direction  .  this  isn’t  yelena’s  way  of  asking  for  help  —  she’d  rather  die  first  —  but  it’s  what  she  was  told  to  do  .  a  list  ,  a  long  one  ,  and  a  warning  .  every  operative  that  stands  against  the  widow  program  ,  every  name  ,  date  of  birth  ,  alias  ,  and  it  wasn’t  up  to  yelena  to  hand  it  over  .  no  .  she’d  compiled  it  ,  stalked  ,  pressured  and  preyed  ,  and  the  idea  of  handing  it  off  to  natasha  ?  disgusting  .  ❛      —  you  can  take  that  how  you  want  to  .  i’d  say  don’t  kill  the  messenger  ,  but  i  think  even  that  would  be  a  risk  ,  i  mean  ,  you  and  i  both  know  copies  exist  ,  right  ?      ❜

[devilisln-moved]

@chernayavidua​​ prompted: [ shower ]   your muse joining mine in the shower. 

     Matt heard her, just barely. He wondered if she ever made a sound for the sake of others. She probably didn’t bother with him because she knew it didn’t matter.  He listened to her undress. It wasn’t much. Natasha didn’t wear much to sleep in. She’d just borrowed one of his tee-shirts last night, before they’d crawled into bed together. It had been a rough one, as it often was when they were working in tandem. Not so much because of the fighting but the exhausting mission of pretending to someone. His throat hurt from mimicking an accent and his scalp was still itchy from the wig she’d had him wear. Still, it’d been a fruitful endeavor and they’d gone back to his place tired, a bit banged up, but satisfied.

     He smiled when he heard the door to his shower slide open and felt her hand move along the back of his shoulder. “Careful,” Matt teased lightly. “You know how I prefer my showers lukewarm.”

[inkedwaters]

*    ⟢    NATALYA  ROMANOVA   NATALIE  of  @chernayavidua​                            →   039    ❮  it’s  all  coming  back  to  me  now.  ❯  

“  i  banished  every  memory  you  and  i  had  ever  made,  but  when  you  touch  me  like  this,  i  just  have  to  admit  that  it's  all  coming  back  to  me.  ”

[esoterium]

@chernayavidua || a meme from this tag! || accepting!

026. a large penthouse overlooking the city . / for david miller in my detective au i've never actually written in

david's crouched down on his haunches. gum caught between his cheek and back teeth as he stares over the city. behind him? is the chaos that involves the expert work of a blood spatter analyst and a crime scene photographer. he's conceded the floor to their expertise (for now) and is giving an overtired brain his version of rest. which means an overly-caffeine saturated drink rightfully named an ER-911. it'll get him through the next however many hours he's going to refuse leaving to stay here and get his job done (not done. he's never done working. not until he's kicked out. that's how he's wired. there's nothing to go home to anymore.) for the night.

elbow props on a knee. fingers lift and he scratches the crown of his skull making more of a mess of his hair than it already was. it's past due for a cut. he doesn't really care. but someone'll tell him to do it soon enough and he will. just so they don't tell him to do it again. it's when they repeat their advice that he starts getting extra attention. extra concern. he doesn't need that hassle. not after, well, everything.

he sees her inside the reflection of the glass as she approaches him from behind. red hair catching the bright lights of the room creating a crimson halo around the top of her head. david reaches behind him, pulls out a little notebook from his back pocket and tears off a little sheet of paper from the wire binder. his gum's given one last chew, spit into the paper, wadded up and shoved in his front pocket before he tucks his notebook away.

the walls are splattered in blood. lines of red connect them like a spider's web. all to points of entry from stab and gunshot wounds. the analyst is doing his job well. she moves under and through them without touching. her little obstacle course through the gore and shell casings marked with their tiny yellow tents and two bodies laying in their brown and blackening red pools of blood. whoever did this was ANGRY.

head turns and tilts up so he can look up the length of her to catch her eyes. a grin. look. he's perfectly awake. perfectly alert. and ready to go. "bout time you got here. was about to send a deputy to give ya a pick up. see if you needed an escort. or are you too cool to be here when the nerds are having their fun and just waiting til we can? either way? we're having a better night than those two did. though the bottle of blue pills and two rubbers on the nightstand says romeo was about to give us a run for our money.." sucks to be him. not a single open wrapper in the trash or by the bed. but one of the pills is missing.

here's to dying while waiting for your dick to get hard.

[loyaltyworn]

@chernayavidua || dire situations || accepting!

[ UNEXPECTED ]  receiver comes home to find sender already inside .

Bucky feels her before his heel even pushes the door the rest of the way closed. Head down, he shrugs out of the heavy black coat still ghosted with chunky snowflakes that were falling steadily since earlier in the evening. A thick, crimson woolen scarf is unwrapped from around his neck next. He gives no indication that he can feel her eyes on him. No motion to make acknowledgement that his heightened senses can already smell her feather light perfume.

He knows it well..

Gloves are removed next while he nudges off snow toed boots. One flesh and blood hand and one black and gold vibranium flinch in the warmth of the cabin he's snuck off to. Far from the city in upstate New York near the frozen over falls of Elmira and Watkins Glen. One solitary cobblestone and dirt road leads into where he is. Past a rusty gate with a chain lock that's merely for inconveniencing someone rather than truly keeping them out. Something the owner he's renting the place from put there ages ago. She must've taken it before the snow started to really come down. No traces of her tracks were left behind. He's been gone for hours.

Stretching like a feline, arms over his head and a hint of skin appearing above a black leather belt clasped at his waist--he deflates with a groan that melts into a sigh after and lets his head fall forward. Once a blue gaze greets the floor, he grins enough that his profile shows it.

"How long've you been waiting? I'm honored you made the trip. Let alone stuck around without any idea when I'd be back. Or if I'd be at all.."

[writeshorror]

@chernayavidua​ || prompts for emotionally stunted idiots || accepting!

“  why are you really here?  ”

ANNOYANCE. embodied in the constant movement of his heel. soundless and not actually tapping the floor but coming damn near close with each rabbit’s foot paced bob. dark brown leather loafers bend easily at his toes. used to the abuse. he puts them through it on the regular. fidgets. comes with the territory of no sleep and anxiety. wicked combination. especially when the latter’s fueled by the too large latte sitting in front of him sporting the green and white label that says he was way too in a hurry to find somewhere good to go. Isn’t his first one either. 

his doctor would be PISSED.

her voice draws attention up. dark eyes behind his glasses lift in time with an eyebrow. his thumb pauses the digging against a white plastic lid on his paper cup. don’t ask him why he knows the sound of her tone. the accent. he’ll LIE. silence greets her question for a smidgen too long. leaving her hanging on purpose.

around them? the city carries on like normal. doesn’t matter that he’s sitting outside STARK TOWER having his lunch, does it? so said the shrug when she walked up to greet him with her first greeting that, when boiled down, amounted to her asking why he picked THIS cafe of all the thousands in the city. doesn’t matter what she actually said. it’s the CONTEXT. 

seance smirks. his head sways to the opposite side and before he lets it fall backwards towards the infinity high looking building behind him. “he really did do everything he could to build it as high as possible, didn’t he? you think that was making up for something? or was it just a STATEMENT?” his answer to her question? still absent. for now. “coffee..?”

[insidemyblood]

@chernayavidua asked: ❛ how many fights have you been in this week? ❜ / winterwidow bc i miss them so much 😭

"Do I look that bad?" Bucky let out a low chuckle, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he leaned against the wall, his eyes gazing down at the floor. "Lost count, to be honest," he admitted, a hint of a smirk still playing on his lips. "You know me, I've got a bit of a reputation for being a magnet for trouble."