buckaroundandfindout - Tumblr blog

buckaroundandfindout · 5 months ago

Text

Exposure

Pairing: Hockey Player!Bucky x Sports Photographer!Reader

Warning: A whole tall glass of angst my friends.

Author's Note: I try not to get in my head during the editing phase since it's been so long, but alas nothing different.. Anyway here's part II. Part III based off the schedule i've decided to go with will be out Tuesday! Enjoy my little puck bunnies!

The following day you arrived at the arena before sunrise. You soaked in the moment; the city still wore its quiet. Streets hushed, the skies heavy and gray, you liked it this way, before the buzz started, before the lights turned on and the world expected you to smile or answer questions that right now you weren’t sure you had the answers too.

You slipped inside through the side entrance, badge clipped to the collar of your work polo, your camera bag slung high over one shoulder. Your footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, familiar and grounding. Your sanctuary. Game days were always louder. Busier. But the morning after? Just a few trainers and early risers. Equipment staff. And a few rookies running drills in the distance.

And You.

You made a beeline for the media room, needing the hum of your monitors and the soft click of your editing software like a balm to soothe the invisible ache beneath your skin. Shutting the door behind you, you flicked on the desk lamp, pulling out your chair as you took a seat opening the folder from last night’s game.

You tried to maintain your focus as you sorted through the gallery, but your eyes kept drifting to that one photo.

The one you shouldn’t have saved.

Bucky, turning mid-play. Looking right at you. Looking for you.

Your jaw clenched as you minimized the window, pulling up a different set; group shots, sponsor promos, post-game press conference angles. You worked through them all methodically, flagging and exporting, labeling for the Bruins’ socials and web team to go through when they had a chance.

“Hey you, good morning.” You startle in your chair hand clasped to your chest as you turn your head to find the voice.

Dolores, one of the media team assistants, leans up against the doorway, smile pulling at her bubble gum pink lips as she holds two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. “Didn’t think anyone beat me in today, but i shouldn't be surprised, you were on fire last night."

You exhale a breath forcing a smile onto your lips. “Thank you. I - I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah. Game high?” she questions stepping into your office.

“Something like that.” You nod, “figured I could get a head start today sorting through last night’s gallery.”

Dolores nods subtly as she hands you a coffee perching herself on the edge of your desk. “So,” she hums around a sip, “any thoughts on the new guy?”

You keep your face neutral at the mention of him, “He played well, I think he’s going to be great for the team.” you answer holding back all you really want to say

“Well? Did we watch the same game last night?" she laughs. "He was an absolute machine out there y/n! Three assists, two goals, and that overtime steal? The team is obsessed already. Not gonna lie, I didn’t think someone with that kind of name recognition would be nice, but he said thank you to everyone last night. Even the janitor.”

You stirred your coffee slowly taking in her words, everything you already knew, “That’s good.” you offer.

Dolores eyed you, brow raised. “You feeling okay y/n?”

You nod, offering up a smile, “I’m fine, just a lot on my mind with deadlines." Lie.

“Cool, cool” Dolores trails off, perking up when she feels her phone vibrate. You watch the brunette pull her phone from her pocket, eyes lighting up, “Oh, group text from Theo. They want to set up the media shoot for Barnes. Headshots, player profile, some PR content. Probably later this week.”

Your stomach dropped. Of course.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, right?” You choke on your coffee.

Dolores blinks brown raised in concern. “Okay, seriously you good?”

You clear your throat, nodding your head, “Yeah, fine, fine.” Another lie. “Just went down the wrong pipe.” you smile.

She gives you another wary look her finger hovering over her phone, “Actually you want me to cover the shoot when it’s scheduled? You’ve had the past few days stacked, I'm sure you could use a break.”

You hesitated. A normal person would say yes. A sane one. But the photographer in you, the one who never backed away from a challenge, never let her personal life interfere with her work—sat up straighter.

“No,” you said. “I’ve got it, Thursday, right?”

“Thursday.” she confirms smiles kissing her lips as she gets to her feet. “Should be fun. Plus, he's easy on the eyes.”

The smile doesn’t reach your eyes this time. “Yeah.” Dolores leaves without another word much less another glance back your way as she exits, your office door shutting softly behind her. Your eyes slip shut, forehead falling to rest on your hand.

What am I doing.

Four years ago, you had let yourself believe you’d have a life with Bucky Barnes. A future. He promised he wouldn’t forget you, and maybe he didn’t. But remembering wasn’t the same as staying.

Now he was back. On your turf. Wearing the same jersey, part of the same team. A dream you once had.

But you’d wanted space. Needed time to collect yourself. after the splash of cold reality.

Instead; you were being handed time alone with him, a camera lens, and nowhere to hide.

God how were you going to get through this?

After the bomb was dropped on you your morning seemingly dragged.

You buried yourself in editing, tagging, uploading and when your screen began to blur, you switched to shooting some behind-the-scenes content for the social team; quick snaps of the locker room being restocked, jerseys being hung, trainers prepping gear. Easy, harmless, no emotional landmines.

Until the sound of skates on concrete echoed through the hallway just outside the tunnel you were walking through

You didn't have to look to know who it was. The low cadence of Bucky’s voice carried with it that distinct scrape of memory, warm nights and colder mornings, whispers in the dark, promises traded under streetlights and winter skies. You backed up, ducking into the supply room, waiting for the sound to fade. Your chest felt tight, like it had forgotten how to expand all the way.

Coward, you thought, gripping the camera around your neck. This isn’t you.

But your feet wouldn’t move letting the seconds tick by until silence reclaimed the hall.

When you finally stepped back out, the air felt heavier, like it remembered him too.

—

Across the ice, Bucky had just wrapped drills with the second line and was toweling off when Sam skated up beside him.

“You good tinman?” Sam asked swiping his own towel across his skin. “You’ve missed the net twice.”

Bucky blew out a breath, shaking his head as if that would clear his mind. “It’s my first week Wilson, just settling in, getting used to the team.”

Sam raises a brow at his friend. “That look like settling to you? I've seen you do better with worse.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. Truth was, his head wasn’t in the drills this morning. Not with you somewhere nearby, probably avoiding every corridor he stepped foot into.

He hadn’t expected you to be here. Had hoped upon, maybe. But seeing you last night?

That had knocked the air right from his lungs.

You hadn’t changed much, still had that quiet fire in you, still moved like you didn’t want to be seen and couldn’t help but draw every eye anyway.

But your walls, they were taller now. Sharper. Like maybe he was the reason you had built them. He was.

Sam nudged him with his stick. “C’mon man. Don’t make me look better than you. It’ll mess with my image and you know how i feel about my image - i'll be downright insufferable."

Bucky managed a smirk, “yeah Wilson we all know how you are about your image.”

“Damn straight you do, now get your ass in line and show them why they made that trade, let them know who you are."

—

Later that afternoon as you checked the team calendar. The photoshoot had been scheduled for Thursday morning. You stared at the block of time like it might disappear if you willed it hard enough. Thirty minutes alone. In the white-wall studio. With him.

It wasn’t enough time to prepare.

It was too much time to survive. It was -

A knock at the door jolted you your head peeking over your shoulder.

Wanda peeked her head in, holding a paper bag in one hand and a concerned look in the other. “I brought food. And if needed, unsolicited best friend wisdom.”

You let out a tired laugh, lips turning up in a genuine smile as you took in your best friend. “You always know.”

“Damn right I do.” Wanda grinned stepping in the door falling shut behind her, you watched as she plopped into the chair opposite your desk. “You didn’t answer my texts last night. Or this morning. Got worried, I assumed you either died or ran off to join a convent after New's broke."

“I thought about it,” you said, voice flat. “The convent thing.”

Wanda arched a brow and handed over a wrapped sandwich. “So, how bad was it?”

You didn’t answer right away staring at the sandwich in your hands like it might crack open and reveal a solution to you.

Wanda leaned forward, her voice gentle. “Hey, talk to me y/n.”

You let out a shaky breath meeting your friends' eyes. “It’s like, he walked in and every part of me remembered. My body, my brain, my camera, my heart, they all remembered. And I’ve spent four years trying to forget. Four year’s Wands. "

Wanda’s expression softened. “Oh y/n..”

“I thought I was past it I really thought I was. I thought I made peace with what happened. But seeing him? Looking at me like I’d never left his memory?” You blinked hard, shaking you head. “It was like time didn’t care about all the healing I’d done.”

Wanda was quiet, letting you get it out.

You set your food down, untouched, suddenly not feeling very hungry as the next words came. “He came up to me after the game. Said one thing. One thing that once upon a time i longed to hear."

“What did he say?”

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t forget you.”

Wanda’s eyes widened. “He said that?”

You nodded tears pressing at the backs of her eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. “It’s not fair Wanda, why did he have to say that, I was okay, I healed – I healed.”

Wanda reaches across your desk gently covering your hand with hers. “That’s not nothing, that means something.”

Your watery gaze found hers. “It used to mean something. But he still left. And I stayed behind, picking up pieces of myself I didn’t know I’d dropped. I had to rebuild my life without him in it. I rebuilt it."

“I know,” Wanda said softly fingers squeezing. “But you don’t have to pretend you’re unaffected now.”

“I’m not unaffected. I’m - unmoored.”

The two of you sat in silence for a beat, the kind that wrapped around you with weight and warmth all at once. Pulling in a breath you wiped beneath your eyes with the tips of your fingers. “His media shoot is Thursday.”

Wanda blinked. “As in you and him, alone in a room with your camera Thursday?”

You nodded slowly.

Wanda winced. “Do you want me to pull strings? Get someone else assigned?”

“No.” You shook her head. “It’s my job. And it’s just thirty minutes. I can handle thirty minutes.”

Wanda gave you a long, steady look. “It’s okay to break a little, you know. You don’t always have to hold the frame.”

You offered a ghost of a smile. “Someone has to.”

Thursday. 10:02 AM. You adjusted the lighting rig with trembling fingers. The white backdrop behind you swayed slightly in the draft from the ventilation above. Everything was too bright, too clean. Too still. The silence felt artificial. Even your camera rested quietly on the stool beside you, waiting for you to break first.

You kept checking the time.

The media shoot was scheduled for 10 a.m. sharp.

At 10:04, the door creaked open.

You didn’t have to look up to know it was him, but you did anyway.

Bucky stepped in, a little breathless, in full gear minus the helmet. His hair was damp from morning practice, pushed back in a way that should’ve looked unkempt but didn’t. His cheeks were flushed, and there was a half-smile on his lips, the kind that came instinctively when he didn’t know what else to do.

It was like a body check to the ribs.

He stopped just inside the doorway. “Hey.”

You nodded attempting to tilt your lips up in a smile. “Hi.” Silence stretched between the two of you, taut and fragile.

He moved a little closer. “You still shoot on a Nikon?”

You blinked, he remembered. “Yeah, I do.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Thought so.”

You swallowed. “Still wear the same brand of cologne.”

That made him grin, unexpected, a flash of something that belonged to another life. “You remembered?” You shrugged softly, focusing your eyes on the camera instead of him. “It’s hard to forget something that used to be everywhere.”

His smile faltered, faded. “Right.”

You picked up your camera as youadjusted the settings. Your fingers didn’t shake this time. Not because you weren’t affected, but because the camera gave you purpose. And purpose, at least, gave you armor.

“Let’s get started,” you said setting yourself up.

He nodded wordlessly stepping onto the white tape mark on the floor.

You raised the camera and suddenly everything slowed. The viewfinder filled with his face, older now, sharper, but familiar in a way that made your throat tighten. You forced yourself to remain focused; you adjusted, snapped. Click.

He didn’t smile at first. Just watched you with quiet eyes, letting you work. Letting you look at him without looking directly.

“Smile,” you said softly.

He gave you a crooked one.

Click.

“Eyes up.”

He tilted his chin slightly, gaze catching yours through the lens. The way he looked at you, steady, careful, made something in your pulse quicken.

Click.

A pause. You lowered the camera.

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky said.

You stiffened shaking your head softly, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea Bucky we should really just focus on what we’re here for.”

“Too late,” he said gently. “Because I really want to.”

You hesitated. Then: “Go ahead.”

His voice was low as he asked the one question that had been ringing in his mind. “Why didn’t you write back?”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening slightly at his words.

He stepped forward then just a fraction. “I sent letters y/n. A few actually. I left you messages. I didn’t just vanish.”

You looked away, jaw clenched. “I know you didn’t vanish Bucky, trust me I know. You just became unreachable.”

“I tried, y/n. I know I was busy; I know things moved fast, but I didn’t forget -”

“Don’t,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “Don’t say that like it fixes anything.”

He went still.

You took a breath, tried again, quieter this time. “I didn’t write back because I didn’t know how to say I wasn’t okay. Not without sounding like I wanted to hold you back.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he said with a shake of his head. “You never could have.”

“But I didn’t know that then.” your voice cracked. “We were younger than Buck, and watching you become everything you dreamed of I wouldn’t be the one to hold you back from that - I needed to figure out who I was without you.”

The room pulsed with silence.

He stepped forward again, slower this time. “I never wanted to be someone you had to live without, I wanted your dreams.” I wanted you.

You blinked hard, eyes burning. You would not cry.

“I missed you,” he said, quiet and sure. “Even when I was surrounded by everything, I thought I wanted.”

You looked up at him, camera still clutched in your hands. “I missed you too Bucky. But missing someone doesn’t always mean you get them back.”

The two of you stared at each other, grief and longing suspended between the two of you like dust in a shaft of light. Then you lifted the camera again, as if to say: This is who I am now; without you.

He nodded, understanding. And despite your treacherous mind and heart telling you to take back your words, to talk to him, you pulled your focus back in on the task and finished the shoot.

Bucky didn’t leave the studio right away; even though you had turned away quickly after the last shot, pretending to check your gear, giving him an easy out his feet stayed planted on the white tape line watching you. You hadn’t forgiven him that much was clear, but you hadn’t shut him down either. You’d let him in, reminding him what it used to feel like to be seen by you; fully, quietly, completely. He wanted to know where to go from here, but his mind had no idea what the next step looked like.

It wrecked him.

“Barnes,” someone called from the hallway. Trainer’s voice. Break time.

He hesitated for a moment wanting to say more but not wanting to push when you had just barely let him in. With one last longing look at your back he turned, leaving the same way he came.

You waited until the door clicked shut behind him before sitting down hard on the edge of the backdrop stand. Your camera dangled from your hands, heavy and warm, like it had soaked up all the heat in the room. You felt hollowed out. You had held it together, and now you wanted nothing more than to fall apart. But there wasn’t time for that now, there was never time.

Running a hand over your face, you catch the edge of moisture at your lash line. You wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not here. The shoot had gone fine. Technically perfect. But emotionally?

A disaster.

He still looked at you like you were the only person who mattered most in any room he walked into. You’d hated it how all you wanted to do was soak it up. You didn’t know which instinct scared you more.

A soft knock on the door startles you.

You stand quickly, wiping your palms on the back of your jeans as you watch the door creak open a head popping through.

It wasn’t Bucky, It was Logan, the team’s media assistant. “Hey, you good? Coach wants selects from the player shoots by the weekend.”

You nodded, “I’ll have them ready before then, no worries.”

“You, okay?”

You smiled. Too polished, too quick. “Yeah. Just been a long week, just about ready to get out of here."”

He didn’t push. “Cool. Let me know if you need help sorting.”

“Thanks.”

When he left, you finally let yourself sit back down. And this time, you let your eyes close.

Just for a moment.

Just until the feeling passed.

—

Later that day, Bucky found himself wandering into the empty arena. It was quiet, ice freshly zambonied, light streaming through the upper windows in long, soft angles. He sat on the bench, helmet cradled in his hands, thinking about what you had said early that morning.

“I needed to figure out who I was without you.”

He’d never considered that you might’ve been drowning while he was flying. He’d thought you were the strongest person he knew. And you were, without a doubt in his mind, but strength didn’t mean pain didn’t touch you. He’d convinced himself the two of you were just growing apart. That the silence had meant acceptance. But now?

Now he saw it for what it was: self-preservation.

You hadn’t known how to be with him while he became someone else. And maybe, deep down, he hadn’t made enough space for you to stay.

He leaned back, letting his head tip against the glass behind the bench. It was cold. Grounding.

He didn’t know how to fix it.

But he wanted to.

For the first time in a long time, he wanted something more than goals, more than glory.

He wanted to be someone you could look at without flinching.

—

That night, as you sat curled up on your couch, laptop open, Bucky’s photos pulled up on the screen you paused. Each shot was good. Clean. Professional. But sterile, in a way you hadn’t noticed while shooting.

Until the last few.

Those were different.

Something had shifted between frame twelve and fifteen, his eyes had stopped performing and started speaking to you.

The final image?

It hit you like a sucker punch. He was looking straight into the lens. Not smiling. Not guarded. Just open. And somehow, impossibly, waiting.

You stared at it for a long time, you should have deleted it, but you didn’t.

You closed your laptop instead, falling to your side as you curled up further on the couch, your arms wrapping around a cushion like it might hold you together.

You see, the worst part wasn’t that he was back.

The worst part was that he still felt like home.

And you didn’t know if you could survive losing him a second time.

189 notes · View notes