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“You got the bags, babe?” Clint called as he waited for Bucky at the door of their tower apartment. “Gonna need ‘em all for all the stuff you wanna get today.”
Bucky emerged from their kitchen with a wad of canvas bags in his hands and a grin. “Of course, don’t want to have to turn back halfway to Brooklyn to get them again.”
“Still don’t know why you made us go back that time.” Clint remarked as he pressed the button for the elevator.
“For the aesthetic babe. We can’t go to farmers markets without kitschy cloth bags.”
Clint just looked at him fondly. Bucky had his ridiculous straw hat and a Hawiian shirt on and he had nested the rest of the bags into the largest one that said “imagine whirled peas” on the front. He had their shopping list written out on a novelty Thor notepad. He was ridiculous and adorable and Clint loved him so much.
Bucky had become obsessed with farmers markets when he learned about the constant availability of fruit. Clint had a very weak will when Bucky got excited and his eyes crinkled about a new recipe or vegetable he had found, begging to spend a Saturday walking around the various tents and sipping lemonade. Not that it was a hardship, he didn’t even mind when the occasional tabloid would pick up a picture of them selecting romaine or arguing about chutney.
Bucky had recently had an urging to make latkes despite it being the middle of summer and was looking for ingredients. Steve had helped jog his fuzzy memory of some of his grandmother’s recipe and he had conferred with the older man at the bakery down the road from the tower. He was selecting a variety of potatoes, fresh onions, eggs from small farmed chickens, and apples of all shapes and sizes. Clint mostly just wanted the samples of fruit that the vendors would slice off for every one who walked past. He would occasionally stop and look at some novelty item, more interested in the greater offering of booths than Bucky who was hyper focused on the produce.
“Look babe, they had fresh pickled capers! I need to find some salmon. Is that one fisherman at this market or the one across Brooklyn?”
Bucky bounded up to him speaking a mile a minute, their “we make a grape team” and “drop it like it’s haas” totes now brimming with produce. Clint noticed a few seed packets in the bags as well and shook his head fondly. Bucky had been trying to grow flowers and vegetables on the roof of the tower, but nothing had ever taken root. But he went back to the market for more seeds over and over again regardless.
“I think there’s that fish place at this one. It’s a ways up though.” Clint swallowed a bite of the nectarine that he just bought.
They wandered through the tents hand in hand, occasionally drifting to one booth to look at the wares or when they remembered something they needed. Bucky lit up when he saw an organic bath goods stall, the smell of patchouli and lavender wafting through the summer air. Bricks of soap and cheerful bath bombs were piled up on the tables, as well as some boxes with smaller items. Bucky started talking to the person behind the table, discussing the formulas and sourcings of the ingredients while Clint mixed all the sample lotions together on his hand. He was sniffing one of the chapsticks when a squat tube caught his eye.
“Buck look.” Clint held it up gleefully. “Fancy lube!”
“Toss it in there” Bucky gestured to where their ‘fresh from my head tomatoes’ bag was getting filled with bath bombs. “Thanks ma’am.”
They eventually made their way to the fisherman’s stall, where Bucky haggled his way into a deal for more salmon tucked into their ‘pineapple rings’ bag adorned with a pineapple talking on a telephone. They enjoyed the meal made from the produce they bought that evening, followed by a bath in their luxurious jacuzzi tub. Bucky had dropped three of the bath bombs into the tub with them and caused a flurry of fizzing and colors. At the end of the day, they were very satisfied with all of their purchases.