#flufffebruary

Her thick grey winter coat betrayed the chill that had descended mercilessly upon the city. It was evidence that she was temperature aware.

Her hands were bare. You watched them hang loosely by her sides. It was noticeable enough, personally offensive enough that you rolled your eyes at the stranger's back.

Who didn't wear gloves in sub-zero temperatures?

Worse still, you saw thick, waterproof winter gloves shoved into her left pocket. She'd deemed them useless.

One glove balanced precariously, too chunky to really fit in the pocket. It threatened to fall with every step.

In this way, all the cards played out just like they’d been dealt.

.

The glove fell elegantly into a disgusting puddle of slush. You bent over and reached in, soaking your own fabric glove to retrieve it. You found yourself half skidding on icy patches as you hurried to return the damned glove to a stranger with poor judgement.

You made brief contact with a gentle tap on her shoulder. 

In the next moment, you felt your back slam against the paved sidewalk.  All the air left your lungs. Your earphones jerked from your ears, clattering beside to you. Dimly you wondered what wrestling move you'd just experienced.

The woman peered over you. The world darkened slightly as she blocked out the sun. Her eyes widened as she saw the glove still gripped in your hand. Her mouth opened slightly as she put the pieces together.

She was beautiful.

‘Shit.’ She muttered.

You let out a pained wheeze. 

She offered you a hand. Her eyes were green.

She was really beautiful. 

You took her hand readily, figuring she could only slam you to the ground once before it lost some fun.

You climbed shakily back to your feet before handing over the wretched glove.

‘Thank you.’ The woman said, expression full of concern. ‘I’m so sorry. Are you okay?'

You were still a little bent over. Your ribs had had better days. At last, your lungs filled with enough air for an extended wheeze. 

‘Are you okay?' Who doesn't wear their gloves in winter?’ You muttered unthinkingly.

Something shifted in the woman’s face. Her lips twitched.

‘But I like living dangerously.’ She answered after a moment, her voice going deep with teasing.  

‘Yeah, well you are clearly superhuman.’ You muttered, straightening your back tentatively. 

‘I wish.’ The woman said, mirth barely hidden behind her small smile. ‘But I’m just Natasha’

You rolled your eyes, letting yourself wallow in the moment.

She’d slammed you into the ground. 

‘Uh huh. And what’s that short for? ‘Natasha ‘The Rock’ Johnson?’ You grumbled, rubbing your back pointedly.

Natasha gave a short sudden laugh.

She was so pretty. 

‘Natasha Romanoff.’ She supplied after a moment. 'But you can call me Dwayne.'

It took a moment for the penny to drop. Your eyes widened.

‘Oh, wow. Fuck.’ You marveled to yourself. The beautiful woman laughed again. A pleasant thrill ran up your spine.

‘You’re lucky to be alive.’ She teased you openly now. 

It took a moment for your brain to unscramble. At last you pulled it together.

‘Nah, ‘I’m Y/N.’

You had to pull off your damp, bedraggled glove when you shook her cold hand. 

.

A year later, Natasha met you on your way home from work. 

You spotted her immediately. The red hair peeking out from a dark woolen hat. You couldn't miss her.

She broke into a wide smile as she walked over to you.

You watched a piece of snow melt on the tip of her nose. You grinned at her. Natasha grinned back. Her cold, bare hand found your gloves ones.

‘You need to wear gloves.’ You reminded her. Natasha rolled her eyes. You smiled as her head pressed against your shoulder.

‘But I like living dangerously.’ She protested halfheartedly. You made a skeptical noise. 

You felt her thumb rub small circles against the thin fabric covering the back of your hand. The bobble from her hat brushed your cheek.