Reader inserts;
Fan ships;
Canon ships;
Maybe even some Non Romantic ones...
Also, I don't own ANY characters in this. It's all owned by Marvel Studios and Comics. Duh.
I do own the storylines though, unless otherwise specified.
You sat at your desk at work, typing away on your laptop.
You were extremely passionate about this one article, and wanted to finish it up before the deadline.
Your best friend sat across from you, on the verge of sleeping.
You had just finished writing the article and mailing it to your boss, when you saw the receptionist carrying a bouquet of roses towards the two of you.
You asumed it was for (b/f/n), since your boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, wasn't the type of a person who sends flowers for his girlfriend at work. In fact, that was the reason you once fought with him. So, you just smiled at the receptionist, and looked back down to your computer.
Much to your surprise, he placed the bouquet on your desk. "Hey (y/n), we received these a few minutes ago for you." He said.
You looked up, confused. The bouquet was pretty. It consisted of a combination of red and white roses.
"Oh, do you know who they're from?" You enquire.
"No, the delivery guy didn't say."
You thanked him, and he went on his way. By this time, (b/f/n) was looking over her laptop at you.
"Lover boy finally take the hint and send you flowers? Did you guys have another fight about it?" She asked, all traces of sleepiness gone from her face.
"I don't know. There's no tag. And no, we did not have a fight." Your face scrunched up in confusion.
"Well, ask him!" She urged you on.
"Alright, alright!" You texted Bucky.
(Italics- (y/n) ; Bold with italics- Bucky)
Hey, did you send me flowers?
No, (y/n), I did not.
You could practically hear his eye roll.
Oh, okay.
Why?
Oh, nothing I just received a bouquet, so I thought maybe you sent it.
Oh.
Was his only response.
You told (b/f/n). She said, "Maybe it was a secret admirer..." and winked.
You rolled your eyes, and decided to put the situation away for later, when you were on a break.
__________
You were about to wind up for lunch break.
You were putting your laptop on it's bag, when you felt a hand on your shoulder.
You turned around to see the receptionist again. He was holding another bouquet.
But this one was different.
It wasn't made of flowers.
It was made of fried chicken.
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Your eyes widen, and he chuckles at your reaction.
"In demand today, (y/n)? Well, I don't know about you, but I'm rooting for this guy." He gestured to the bouquets he was holding. "Oh, and there's a tag this time." He placed the bouquet on your now crowded desk, and left.
You picked the tag, and felt (b/f/n) lean over your shoulder to read it with you.
You opened it up, and read the contents.
Throw the stupid flowers out. You'll like this more, anyway. Love, Bucky.
