chernayavidua - Tumblr blog

[chernayavidua]

                 a small smile of her own tugs at the corners of her lips. “you don’t owe me anything, rogers. it’s the least i could do for her. she’s a friend after all.” there’s a pause as she downs the remainder of her drink. the taste is good, the burn is pleasant but the effects are not there. it is more about the action and having something in her hands so they won’t be treacherous and betray the feelings she forces herself to keep at bay. the stress. the worry. she’s noticed steve has a tendency to have that effect on her: to wiggle past her defenses and make her feel like she doesn’t always have to be in utmost control of her body, bending it to her will. it unsettles her to say the least.

                 “i know what it’s like to give everything to a country only for it to blindside you in the worst possible way.” natasha doesn’t meet his gaze when she says this, instead looks into her empty glass before turning around to refill it. those in her homeland marked her as a traitor and still see her that way to this day. and if she was being completely honest, she wouldn’t put it past this country to pull something similar with sharon. which was why she was going to use every single person in her web until someone could get her what she needed to help sharon.

                 she hums, glancing over her shoulder at him with an amused look on her features. “at this rate you’ll be owing me until we’re both old and grey.” 

                 her phone buzzes in the back pocket of her dark wash jeans causing her to set her glass and the bottle down on the mini bar. taking the device out, natasha unlocks it and looks at the message. she sighs, lips pressing into a thin line. the thing about cashing in favors with this particular contact of hers was that they thought it was a game and always tried asking for one more favor from her. putting her phone back in her pocket, she turns around to look at steve. she studies him for a moment before speaking. “i can see how personally you’re taking what happened to sharon and it isn’t your fault. she knew what helping you would mean. and she knows you're trying to help her.” 

                 the device buzzes once, twice, three times in quick succession but she ignores it. “you’re being stonewalled because of politics. shield isn’t going to do anything because getting out of the government’s doghouse is almost a reality and hill isn’t going to put that at risk now that she’s in charge.” a fleeting glance is sent to the chair he’d kicked before changing the subject. “how long do you want to stay here in bucharest? i can tell my contact you'll stay longer. i think you should consider it because breaking furniture isn’t going to make things move any faster.”

guilt fills his features with a bent brow, a crease between eyebrows and his head sagging low. he won't let himself be defeated. when has he ever? it wouldn't be who he is if he just gave up. steve will fight until she is taken care of. he owes it to her. owes it to what she did for them. for bucky. for everyone. and he owes it to peggy. it's a lot of people he can't let down. but he's been in that position before. hasn't he? not once. not twice. there's not enough fingers on both hands, it feels like. and those hands are becoming increasingly tired. but refuse to stop.

blue eyes lift to watch her as she speaks. and steve. for all the world. looks like he's hanging onto every word she says because he needs someone to give him some hope. something tangible to hold onto. even if it's only nat's decency to not let him fall too low. and a steady hand with an offering of liquor to help wash the taste of what the aftermath of doing so much for so many people who just don't care to reciprocate the way they should for everyone across the board. even those who don't bear shields and wear stupid suits. not that he's always been on their good list. or benefitted from the outcome of doing what he's told and being a good soldier. hell. he's barely in their 'good' graces now.

"thank you. for doing everything you can. i hope you know that i know you're trying. and that means everything. and for keeping in touch with her? for keeping an eye on her? thanks.. it's been not easy." it's complicated. the feelings he feels when he's around her. most of the time? he feels like he should keep a distance. work to make good on his promises. fight to make sure she's taken care of. feelings, though? there's a lot of confusion. mixed with the chaos surrounding both of them? he's grateful that nat's been able to step closer where he hasn't. steve gently takes the glass from her fingers and takes a sniff before swallowing. the alcohol is warm and it goes down smooth.

he misses the days when he could feel it loosen the back of his brain. ease and numb the thoughts that'd overwhelm him in those years ago. take his body and make it feel floaty and relaxed and let the world melt away some. now? the taste reminds him of that. and, at least, there's a comfort in the familiarity. "one of these days. i promise. all these favors? i'll repay them. somehow.." a small grin before another swallow. "no idea yet, though."

[chernayavidua]

because i accidentally ending up giving phil a much bigger role in post wh events it now means that he has a bigger role in natasha's life... i was not prepared for this. if you want to read the thing click here

[chernayavidua]

for anyone who cares, i added a bit more info to her modern verse and added a quick blurb for her detective verse (which is now lowkey connected to the show chic*go p.d) and her apocalypse / zombie verse

[chernayavidua]

                                                                “All the world’s a stage,                                                                   And all the men and women merely players;                                                                   They have their exits and their entrances,                                                                   And one man in his time plays many parts,                                                                   His acts being seven ages.” ― As You Like It                                                                                                                                       2.7.139-143

[chernayavidua]

wishlist: a thread where each reply is a letter, signed and dated and everything. it could either be really long ones written over a long period or short telegrams. it would work so well with historical muses

[chernayavidua]

This has been on my mind for long but I’m gonna do this - please reblog this if you’re comfortable with pre-establishing relationships. I do not mean “met at the grocery store two weeks ago” or “have a common friend”, but rather stuff like “have been best friends since kindergrden”, “go for a beer every friday”, “friends with benefits”, “dated in highschool”, “hate each other’s guts because -insert reason-”  etc. Something meaningful (but not necessarily shippy) and I mean with muns/characters you have not interacted with, because I cannot believe I am the only one who prefers jumping right into the heart of the human interaction.

[chernayavidua]

                 barnes had mentioned the bakery in passing one time. another time tony had mentioned how his personal chef had a bakery in the city and had gone on to say how amazing her baking was. that was before things had gone south for natasha and while those conversations had happened a while ago, she decided to finally try it. after all, ivan had been telling her to get out of her loft for almost a week now. the air will do you good, natuska. i'll go with you. natasha knows he meant well, knew that he was worried about her. however, her current outing was due to someone else entirely. the shop had a few people sitting about and she was aware of two people in line behind her. it was evening already yet there was still a decent selection behind the display cases.

                 “i will have a slice of chocolate cake. a hot black tea and, if you still have any, an espresso as well. ” / @ncmad

☾ ─── ⋆ ❛ the hot cross buns are pretty good. ❜ she was a little bias , but ellie knew her skill and talent and she had been working on perfecting her hot cross buns since last year. giving the woman a soft smile , fingers tapped against the cool stone of the bench , while she waited for her to order. ❛ i also do chocolate ones. ❜

☾ ─── ⋆ @chernayavidua : liked for a starter

[chernayavidua]

*bites the inside of her thigh* :) - phil

                 the gasp turns into a low hum as a smile slowly stretches across her lips. half dressed and sprawled on unmade goose down duvet, the early morning sun spilling in through the large windows. a man eager to keep her in his bed, deciding over his first few sips of espresso that he'd have her for breakfast instead. what more can a girl ask for?

                 the beard is a new sensation and courtesy of a month long operation in the kandahar region. but so are the three broken ribs and the accompanying large dark purple-grey splotch on his right side. natasha lets out a soft hum as she practically melts into the sheets. he bites again, this time a bit harder. it earns him a firm tug of his hair and a moan. “isaiah is calling again. i have to go..” and yet she silences her buzzing cell phone, dropping the device next to her head.

i'll be quick. but there's no visible effort that he wants to be quick. she's noticed that he always like drawing one out of her either in a slow torturous way like he currently is or when she's completely boneless and certain that she can't cum again. his tongue flicks slow yet deliberate strokes against the soft skin of her inner thigh. m i n e.

                 it takes her a moment to figure out what he was spelling but it makes her grin and roll her eyes. “you'd love that wouldn't you?”

                 he sinks his teeth into her soft flesh. the pressure increases just enough to draw out another breath gasp out of her. her hips buck upward but all he does is suck hard on her soft skin. she pulls on his hair --again-- because she knows what he's doing: he's marking her. to feed his own ego of seeing her in his apartment, wearing his expensive dress shirts, sporting marks he made on parts of her body only he gets to see.

                 another bite. another hard suck to the inside of her other thigh. she feels his hand press against her pubic bone, stilling her hips as he starts slowly and lazily rubbing her clit with his thumb.

“phil...”

[chernayavidua]

too close …? thanks for submission

[chernayavidua]

natasha is above average for a woman at 5'7 yet she's surrounded by people 6'0 and over like karen, phil, alexei, steve, clint, matt etc etc ... and then there's canon bucky at 5'9

[chernayavidua]

hey besties! click this link to read my post wh drabble and let me know what you think

[chernayavidua]

✉

(sms ➝ draft) how do you get the green goop out of your hair?

(sms ➝ draft) would you be up to cat sit for a few days?

(sms ➝ draft) we should have a girls night out.

(sms ➝ draft) there's bagels in the kitchen.

(sms ➝ draft) never mind. thor and clint got to them first.

(sms ➝ sent) saved you a bagel.

five + one text message edition

[chernayavidua]

you’ve been avoiding me . (for phil)

YEAR: 2015 LOCATION: natasha's upper east side apartment

                 as soon as the words leave his mouth regret starts gnawing at him because they sound like he's accusing her of doing it on purpose. but given the circumstances, she has every right to do so. and yet after a dozen calls and half a dozen messages and voicemails, he feels like perhaps she is avoiding him and everyone else. natasha glares daggers at him but says nothing. slowly he follows her further into the lavish loft. the scattered papers, pictures, books, piles of old newspapers and magazines are everywhere. what he can only assume to be a marble breakfast bar is covered with them and the stunning wooden floor in the living room is also covered with all sorts of papers. a portion of the floor to ceiling windows is covered by pictures, flashcards, and sticky notes. a timeline. the multicolored squares remind him of his own attempts at remembering things and how those damn squares were in almost every room of his own apartment. there's a broken glass on the far side of the room. the scene is a familiar one to him. it nudges him off kilter only enough to cause the faint beginnings of anxiety to take hold.

what was so important that you had to show up here?

                 she looks a mess. she looks tired. exhausted really. the dark circles under her eyes look to be that of weeks worth of sleepless nights. the shadows of her high cheekbones mean that she hasn't been eating normally and the red around her eyes is self explanatory. she arches a brow from where she sits on the couch.

                 “i figured why take up more space in your voicemail when i can get a faster answer in person..” there's a momentary struggle of deciding if he should cross the room towards her or not. an urge he fights to suppress by crossing his arms, gaze flickering about the space. silence engulfs them.

i'm tired and angry. her voice wavers, head hanging low. his brows pinch. he waits for her to elaborate but instead she abruptly stands, hands ranking through messy crimson hair. you don't get it. everyone is fucking lying to me. everyone is hiding things from me like i'm too fragile to handle the truth. they look at my like if they say the wrong thing i might kill them. do you know what that's like? to have your friends, people you cared about, lying straight to your face?

                 he knows what it's like to not be able to trust your own mind. even all these years later he still has holes in his memory and certain memories feel more like dreams and sometimes he'll lose hours of the day, unable to even remember anything. and the nightmares. those damn nightmares used to make the nights feel longer than the days. sometimes they still do. even with melinda's help ---if one could call it that--- the effects of being brought back to life still lingered. he moves towards the coffee table as she paces, the curiosity that their line of work brings out getting the better of him. (she's a private person ---they both are--- and with his forced presence he's taking a chance by poking around.) he nudges one of the papers out of the way, revealing a handful of pictures scattered underneath.

                 “you're still confused about what happened between you and barnes.” he catches a glimpse of himself among the scattered photographs on the coffee table.. and the sick part is that it feeds his ego knowing that she's kept this picture of them, that she's looked at it, attempted to place it in a moment in time. he still remembers the sound of the little snort she let out that caused him to grin, attention solely on her. the moment forever frozen in time.

about him. about my time at shield. there's a pause as she turns her back to him and moves further away from the coffee table and couch to pace. about you. the last three years have been a lot to deal with, mentally that is. i don't even know if what i think is real was real at all. ivan can only help so much. i don't have an appetite. i get splitting headaches that make me nauseous. i can't sleep--

                 he pulls himself away from his thoughts. the moment captured in that photograph forgotten as his attention returns to her. the sleepless nights would explain the bottle of pills he saw in the kitchen. “you can't do this on your own. you need friends around you to help---”

friends? her voice rings out as she she quickly yet gracefully spins to face him. you mean the same friends that are lying to me? the same ones who didn't question why fury and hill told them not to talk about barnes to me after i took a so called 'deep cover assignment of an unknown duration'. those friends? what are they going to do? how exactly are they going to help me remember?

they stare each other down. the look she gives him daring him to challenge her, daring him to tell her she's wrong. you're here on fury's orders, aren't you?

“no. why---”

don't fucking lie to me, phil!

“i'm not! for fucks sake, natasha! i was the only person who was against fury putting a burn notice on you!”

a burn notice? hill insisted i take a leave of absence. after everything that happened, it made sense --- am i actually undercover for russia? ---no. no i'm not. i don't think i am but--- she mumbles to herself, moving towards the window with all of it's papers.

                 phil sighs, hands resting on his hips. ivan wouldn't have known about the notice in a million years and anyone who is talking to her, even if they're lying, would never have any idea about the official story. fury and hill had made sure that only a select few knew about it. he tried arguing a case for her but they were more concerned about a potential infiltration along with appeasing those within the agency who wanted answers for the deaths of a dozen agents at her hand. they didn't care that she'd been loyal to them for so long nor that she was their top agent. nor that she hadn't been herself when she'd attacked said agents. they had already decided to protect the agency above all else.

                 “if you don't believe what ivan says then believe me because i've been there for you for years. i'm won't lie to you, talya. i never have and i won't start now.” he moves towards her as he speaks. never lying to her was something he prided himself in. the truth might be uncomfortable and harsh and callous but at least it was the truth. lying to himself was an entirely different matter. he reaches for her and despite her attempts to push him away his grip on her wrist is firm as he pulls her to him and wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly against his chest. she's ramrob straight in his arms yet he presses a kiss to the top of her head. after a few long moments, he feels her sag against him. he smooths her hair down with a hand, the other remaining wrapped around her. moments drag on, silence settles around them like a blanket and soon enough, he feels her start to cry.

                 phil holds her as she cries, as if holding her tightly like this will make them both her whole again.

[chernayavidua]

                 relief floods her at the man's words. he knows who i am, the thought and feeling it brings is short lived. her brows furrow and she stiffens. “i'm sorry?” surely she must have heard wrong, surely martha was not leaving her with the wolves to be eaten alive. natasha's pulse picks up, gaze flickering about. she catches the reporter doing a poor job at listening to a couple but something tells her he is far more interested in the conversation she is currently having.

                 exhaling a breath she didn't know she was holding, the grin that takes over is dazzling. blue eyes meet dark ones as she wills her shoulders to relax. this is a performance of a different kind but a performance nonetheless. one she has no choice but to see through until the end. unfortunately, this time around, the crowd will be lacking a familiar face and their affectionate smile. (the thought, however fleeting makes her heart tighten behind her ribs.) even ivan could not attend but perhaps that was what she has wanted deep down. perhaps it was finally time to accept the fact that she was seeking a type of freedom she did not know she needed. what other reason was there to move across a vast ocean to another country if not to leave the past behind, to forget every familiar face she had once known.

                 “martha assured me she was going to be here.” her index finger start to tap against the glass in her hand to a song that only she knew. it was a steady and up beat only to abruptly stop. “i suppose there's no way to take a rain check, is there?” another smile, a soft chuckle. what else is there to do but accept the current circumstances because as much as she would love to gather her things and leave, she can't bring herself to do so. it wouldn't be the right thing to do.

One could say, he was trained for this his entire life. Futures and prospects built into the dotted line of his parents' marriage contract. And his parents would be remiss to remind him that the fruits of their labor or good luck has always been in the service of the city ; a city whose rot has been showing its teeth since he was a child. 

Sometimes, he wonders if he’s the only Wayne that could see it. 

But today wasn’t the day for such pondering. There was a duty at hand and he’s been out of the game for a while for it to feel that easy, he thinks. He shouldn’t notice that his tie is askew and that his hair is out of place but he manages before he leaves. Not even with Alfred’s prompting this time although the old man does still try. There’s some reassurance in that, something familiar, something he could anchor himself too. This should be no different if Alfred thought it was no different, after all. 

And yet when he arrives and the crowd seems to come in a deluge towards him, he feels that first inkling, that first spike of anxiety that he hides behind a practiced smile. This could be worse, he reminded himself, even as he rushed through the small talk as best as he could. Pulled by arm and by wrist from one person to another. Familiar jeers murmured through pearly teeth and half meant smiles riddled with half-made compliments. His Mother would have fared better, he thought. He’s not the one with the urge to knock all of their teeth off. 

It’s to some relief that another local celebrity arrives to distract them in his place. And he watched with relief and only mild curiosity as the crowd seemed to move with ease from him to the next fascination ; sharing the same compliments and the same bright smiles in their direction after him. He turned away, trying to blend away from immediate view, to get himself a drink. A glass of water from a passing waiter that he almost devours in just one gulp. A small spot of relief until he’s interrupted. 

A reporter with a readied pen and paper and a sparkle in his eye: Jack. His mother had warned him about him. He’d seen him on the news. He’s only as good as his bite, they said. But maybe his parents just didn’t see a slime ball even if they had him smiling with a mic in hand right in front of them. An easy smile. An easier introduction. If there’s anything, at least, Bruce knew how to handle himself when he was being cornered. He answered with sincerity when the question required it and danced around questions he knew was only meant to skewer him in his place. He’d been focused he almost didn’t notice her quiet approach, turning to her then and is starkly caught off guard by the singular thought of red.  “ You’re…Natasha, yes? “ He asked then, gently crowding her away already from the curious reporter. His arm around her shoulder and just a few steps away, somewhere out of earshot. “ I’m sorry I’m late. I was meant to look for you and inform you I’ll be standing in place of my Mother today. “ He started, setting down the glass then on a nearby empty table. “You see something had come up and she’s really sorry for the abrupt replacement. I hope you understand.”

[chernayavidua]

[chernayavidua]

miss romanova i love you

[chernayavidua]

i know i said that being self indulgent was the way to go and that i was happy on this blog well i was wrong lmao the edits i was excited for, the excitement to post the post wh we.b we.ave i had been planning for like a year now and the mashup timeline i'm slowly trying to work on and just writing dabbles to create said timeline but but honestly? this place is so discouraging. like outside of replies to threads everything seems pointless. like okay cool i am excited for the things i'm working on but i'm basically yelling into the void about it. i might as well just go back to posting things on my side blog no one follows, it would be the same thing.