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Doing the groceries had always been a boring chore to you. They weren't fun, and supermarkets felt like overstimulating death traps, what with the harsh fluorescents and kitschy pop music being looped on the speakers.
Your hand brushed against the packets of instant ramen in stock, trying to decide whether or not to get beef, chicken, vegetable or prawn flavoured ones. There was a small voice in the back of your mind telling you eating ramen for the billionth time wasn't exactly healthy, but since when had you ever been a healthy person, really?
Picking up one of each and placing them in your basket, you turned to head down the aisle-
"Hiya there, pretty," a grating, sleazy voice suddenly interrupts your thought process, and you look up from the linoleum to come face to face with a guy who looks like he's seen better days.
The guy smiles, and you can clearly see his yellowed, neglected teeth, some of which were missing. Which, uh, ew.
"Yeah, you liked that, didn't you?" He says smugly, getting closer. In fact, he's seriously beginning to encroach on your personal space.
"-Can you not? Back off, dude, I'm not interested," You scowl, trying to inject a good amount of self-assuredness and confidence into your tone, but God, you can feel his breath on your face and it stinks of cigarettes and alcohol (who has alcohol at 11AM?!) and your heart is fucking running a marathon.
"Playing hard to get?" The guy snorts; an ugly sound that makes you grimace. "Of course you're interested, people are always interested in being shown a good time."
He's getting closer, and with a sort of dread-filled realisation, you feel your back hit the shelf behind you. He's backed you into the unit.
Before you can even do anything to try and shove him away, you feel his ice-cold hands shoved up your shirt and grabbing your hips to hold you in place, and your heart goes similarly icy with horror and disgust as he begins to lean in for a wet kiss.
This is it. This guy's gonna assault you in the middle of a fucking supermarket at 11 in the morning, and there's nothing you can do-
The weight of him pressing against you suddenly vanishes as if he's just been completely yanked off you like a ragdoll.
"Get the hell off them," you hear a different man say, a Brooklyn accent strong in his furious words.
Blinking, you take a moment to re-combobulate yourself and you try to see who just literally saved your ass and-...
...Is that the fucking Winter Soldier?!
"Oh, yeah? And who are you to say that?" The sleazy jerkwad spits at James Buchanan fucking Barnes, who apparently shops for his groceries at a damn mini-mart in the rougher end of Manhattan, what the fuck. "I got here first, you dickhead."
Bucky falters for a split second, and his eyes find your wide eyed gaze for a moment before he steps closer to you and grabs your hand. "They're my partner, you idiot. Safe to say I definitely got to them first."
Your stomach does a flip. Partner? What?
Your hand is suddenly squeezed lightly, as if to say 'play along', and you startle back into the present. "Um, yeah. This... He's my boyfriend. Yup."
You can practically feel Bucky staring at you in absolute disbelief at how crap your acting is, but there's no time to ponder it, because the sleaze is scoffing and beginning to slink away in defeat.
"Fine, whatever," he grumbles as he walks off, "they're ugly as sin anyways. I don't want 'em. Take your leftovers."
The words make Bucky stiffen beside you, and his lip curls in distaste before he seems to force it back down and turns to look at you.
"You okay?" He asks gruffly, "He didn't do nothin' to you, did he?"
It takes you a moment to even realise he'd said something, because you're too busy trying to get over the fact James Buchanan Barnes potentially just saved your life and is still talking to you.
But after a good minute where you've said nothing, the man arches an eyebrow expectantly, and you clock back in to reality.
"Uhm, yeah! No, uh, I'm fine," you reassure, "you got here before he could actually, uh, do anything. Which. Thank you, by the way. For helping me. I appreciate it."
Fuck, that came out way awkward.
Bucky shrugs, stuffing his metal hand into his pocket. "No problem. Couldn't just let you get assaulted and go on with my shopping, could I? Wouldn't be very... New Avengers...y."
Bucky cringes visibly at his own words, like he thinks being a 'New Avenger' is something to be embarrassed about.
"...Yeah, no, it wouldn't have looked very good," You hazard, not entirely sure how you're supposed to talk to the hundred-and-something war veteran. "But, uh, you didn't let me get assaulted, and that's what counts, right?"
Bucky smiles thinly, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess so."
There's a really awkward silence between the two of you before Bucky suddenly starts talking again.
"Anyway!" He forcibly brightens up. "I gotta finish shopping for the shit Yelena and Bob want," he says, stepping towards the shelf to look at the instant pasta stuff. "Something about Kraft mac and cheese... Or something."
"Kraft mac and cheese?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. "The world's newest, mightiest heroes eat Kraft mac and cheese? What, can you not cook?"
Bucky grimaces. "The last time someone tried, it was Alexei, and he burned half his beard off. So... We just let Yelena make instant stuff or we order in. It's... It's not the greatest."
You snort, shaking your head. "Well," you say, grabbing a couple of the blue boxes and handing them to Bucky, "I can't exactly judge." You gesture to the instant noodles in your basket and smile ruefully.
Bucky takes the boxes, a little surprised, but he smiles after a bit. "You can't cook either, huh?"
"It's not exactly my forte, no," I grin sheepishly.
"Good to know me and my team aren't the only hopeless cooks in New York."
There's a silence afterwards, but it's not nearly as awkward as the last. In fact, it's quite a comfortable one as Bucky finishes grabbing a couple more mac and cheese boxes.
"Yeah... Well," he starts, beginning to step away. "You stay safe, yeah? Here-"
Bucky sticks his hand into his jean pocket and pulls out his wallet, opening it and sifting through the contents. After a while, he takes out this pale cream card with small writing on it, and passes it to you.
You grip it like it's precious, reading the printed text before my stomach does another funny flip. "Is this your business card?" You ask, stunned.
"No, it's my trash," he says, rolling his eyes. "Just... In case you need help again. Or something. Stay safe."
That's all he says before he's off again, disappearing round the corner like he'd never been there in the first place.
You stare at the card in your hand again, before reverently pocketing it.
You were certain of one thing, that was clear. You were sure as hell leaving this supermarket a lot happier than you were when you entered it!