Summary: You and Bucky talk about finding the perfect shot
A/N: This is an AU, Bucky is in modern times but he’s still Bucky (WWII Bucky before he “dies”), not the Winter Soldier, no metal arm. I found this prompt on Pinterest that reads “a sniper and photographer meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other’s occupation. They talk about how to take the perfect shot.”
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You sat at the bar alone, swirling your drink as you watched the bartender mix a few drinks. You had the most difficult day and you wanted to let your mind go numb for the time being.
You were the newest photographer at the hottest fashion magazine in the world. You should have been living the dream; it’s what you worked so hard for. Instead, you were deflated. The first week was fine; it was mostly HR stuff and getting to know your way around. It was the following week that had busted your balls.
The models were ready, the lights and the studio was set up perfect; but for some reason you couldn’t get the perfect shot. You took close to 100 pictures and none of them wowed you. The editor of the article liked them but she also wasn’t thrilled. Your portfolio was filled to the brim was incredible photos so you knew you were capable of such.
A man sat down next to you as you kicked back the rest of your drink, and summoned the bartender over.
The bartender looked at you, “same thing?”
You nodded your head and mumbled, “thanks.”
He turned to look at the man sitting next to you, “what can I get you?”
“She looks like she’s having a shit day too; bring me whatever she’s having. Maybe it’ll help.”
He turned on his stool to look at you, “any chance the drink’s helping your shit day?”
You scoffed and shook your head no, “not yet, maybe after this one.”
The bartender dropped off both drinks and returned to his work.
The man lifted his glass in a cheers motion before taking a sip of the amber liquid. He put his glass back down and reached his hand towards you to shake. “I’m Bucky,” he smiled.
“Y/N. Nice to meet you,” you replied shaking his hand. “That’s an interesting name. Nickname I assume?”
He laughed and took another sip, “yeah after my middle name, Buchanan. So, Y/N, what shitty thing happened that brought you out drinking alone tonight?”
You took a deep breath, “I couldn’t get the perfect shot and I think I blew it.”
“Fuck. I know what that’s like. Maybe I can help. Walk me through it.”
Your eyes lit up, a fellow photographer; this was perfect.
“Ok, so the conditions were perfect; the lighting, the set-up, the angle. I made sure to do my research before I went out there, I felt ready. When I got there though, I froze. I tried over and over again but nothing; I just couldn’t hit the mark well.”
“Hm…well…were you shaking or did you have a firm grasp? Were your nervous?”
“Well yeah I was nervous, first real job and all. I had a firm grasp and I pressed the trigger smoothly.”
“It seems like it was just nerves then, you’ll do better with the next one. Me,” he pointed to himself, “When I first started I was all over the place; but I had some friends show me the ropes and before long I was a pro. You just have to relax and breathe. Take a few deep breaths to steady your nerves before you mark your target.”
You furrowed your brows slightly; odd use of the phase, but it was good advice none the less.
“Yeah, that’s great advice; just get my head in the game. What do you shoot with?”
“I mainly use a M107, but I switch it up on occasion. What about you?”
Now you were really confused, you knew a lot of cameras and you had never heard of that one.
“I’m not familiar with that one. I use a Nikon D850. Are you sure you’re a photographer?”
He nearly spit his drink out of his mouth and started coughing as it went down the wrong tube.
“Fuck. No doll, I’m not a photographer. I thought you were a sniper. You were talking about getting the perfect shot, I just assumed.” He shook his head in disbelief, “fucking idiot, you’re too pretty to be a sniper,” he mumbled.
“You’re a sniper?” You voice raising a few octaves.
“Yeah, I mean, you were talking about not making the perfect shot,” he reached his hand behind his head and rubbed the back of his neck and quickly downed the rest of his drink. “This is awkward, I’m so sorry. I’m gonna go.”
He motioned for the check and pulled his wallet out, avoiding eye contact.
“No wait, don’t go.” You reached out towards him. “The advice you gave actually works for me, and honestly I don’t think anyone will believe this is the conversation I had tonight,” you laughed.
“Listen, I’ve had a few drinks and I really need something to eat. Wanna go to IHOP and get some pancakes? I’d love to hear more about you. I’m assuming military?”
He nodded his head yes and stared at you, not saying anything.
“Do you like pancakes? I’ll treat,” you tried to persuade him.
You smiled at him and closed your tab. The two of you walked down the street to the restaurant talking more about getting the perfect shot.
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