𝗜𝗻𝗳𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 || Marvel One-Shots

Cat Got Your Tongue? (N.R) (M)

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Natasha's foot tapped at an uneasy rhythm against the steel platform. Wind blew from her right, causing her fiery hair to sprawl out furiously, but she did everything but try to part it from her face. All of her focus was set on one thing and one thing only; her boyfriend.

Her behavior was not odd—it was very common. Each and every time Y/N had to leave for a mission, sleep became non-existent, her focus would dissipate until she could barely remember her name, and her head was filled with constant reminders of his absence.

Although once the aircraft neared the landing deck, all the fear transitioned into excitement.

The ship was yet to set its landing gear on the ground when Natasha came speeding towards it like a child outside a candy shop.

The doors opened unbearably slow and out came the medics carrying a few wounded soldiers, but no Y/N, thankfully.

Out came Clint, then a few SHIELD agents, then Steve, then... No one. No Y/N in sight.

Shit.

Natasha was ready to dart up the ramp when Steve's gentle hand grasped her shoulder firmly.

"Natasha-"

"Where's Y/N?" She didn't want to hear anything; she could care less what happened, what they were there for, what they found, whether she was needed or not—all she wanted was Y/N. And all she'll get is Y/N.

It didn't help to soothe her fears when Steve's eyes failed to meet hers. She pressed on with a stern look and emphasized her words, "Where is Y/N?"

"He's in the ship. But- Natasha!"

She didn't care for anything else but him. Nothing mattered but to get him in her arms. She rushed into the ship and spotted him instantly, and without a second thought, fell into his arms with a tight embrace.

"There you are." A heavy breath eased its way out her lips when she felt his arms snake their way onto her hips. "Come on, let's go clean you up."

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Nat was laying under the heavy duvet covers reading absent-mindedly, waiting patiently for Y/N to leave the bathroom. The door opened quietly and out came Y/N in a tank top and the first sweatpants he could reach in his closet. His hair was damp, and his clothes had wet spots from the droplets dripping from his H/C locks. His bare arms exposed recent scars, still in the process of healing, which went unnoticed—so did the uneasy look on his face.

Y/N dropped the towel on the floor and slipped into bed almost robotically. Natasha followed her routine and set her book down on the nightstand, turned towards Y/N and curled to his side.

"How did the mission go?" she tried making small talk to ease him back into their nightly dynamic, but she only received silence as an answer. "Did you miss me?" she asked playfully—yet again, no answer.

"What's wrong?" Natasha turned to face him to see if he had fallen asleep, but the man was wide awake. "Cat got your tongue?" Now looking directly at him, she noticed the tears that ran down his cheeks.

She panicked instantly, thinking the joke made him cry, so the tried fixing it as best as she could. "Hey, I'm just joking. Don't cry, I'm sorry." She whispered while stroking his cheek, wiping stray tears from his pale cheeks. Y/N shook his head slowly, only confusing the Russian more.

"No? What do you mean, detka?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His lips moved frantically and his jaw trembled, yet not a single word could he muster. New tears were shed, and Natasha reacted by pulling his head onto her shoulder gently and letting him cry all he needed to. He never pressed her for answers, so she wouldn't either. He'll answer when he's ready.