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redocity · 21 days

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Buck as the eternal playboy but folding the second the reader hits on him back? Maybe corner him against a wall for funsies >:)

THE LONG GAME — E.BUCKLEY

flirting between friends was always fun, but sometimes it borders something that is definitely not platonic, and once that line is crossed, buck’s not sure he wants to go back to what you had before.

WARNINGS: 16+ for suggestiveness, alcohol, lots of flirting, chimney being a cockblock rip, buck is so sexually frustrated rip

evan buckley x gn!reader || ???? || 3.1k || requests open!

a/n: not me giggling over my own writing, how sad is that-

₊ ⊹ masterlist!!

Arguably the best part about your job was being able to celebrate a job well done.

That feeling of accomplishment after getting through a really tough call with nothing but a positive outcome.

The team never went half-assed on the celebrations, and you’re sure that the bar you all frequent post-shift knows you all by name by now from how often you all abandon your nights to spend an extra few hours in each other’s company.

That was another thing you loved about your job. The team. Your family.

You could spend 24 straight hours with them and they’d still make an excuse to spend a few more with everyone.

Today was no different. You rolled up to the bar in a tight-circle, eerily resembling the professional attitude you had to display during your work hours, one not yet shed considering it’d only been three-quarters of an hour since your shift ended.

You knew it wouldn’t last long, you’d all be too drunk to care about professionalism soon enough. Well except Bobby anyway.

You barely had time to walk through the front doors before Buck was running up to the bar to order everyone a round of drinks, a confident smirk etched on his face that only grew as the local news recounted the story of one of they day’s earlier calls with civilian footage.

“I wonder who that is,” He nudges your side as you walk over, cockiness washing all over his face as he nods up towards the TV hanging up by the ceiling. “They look pretty badass,”

You give him an almost dismissive hum as you pick up one of the glasses from the cluster to take a sip of the craft beer filling it. “I wonder,”

“Oh come on, you’re all over the news,” He gives you another small nudge. “You’re practically famous right now,”

He leans in towards you to talk over the music, reaching over to grab a pint glass of his own and clinking it animatedly against yours before taking a swig from it.

“He’s right you know,” Hen gives you nudge herself, joined by an enthusiastic thumbs up from Chimney behind her. “Own it,”

“Right? you pulled a whole superhero move,” Buck motions up towards the news broadcast again, where they are still replaying a clip of you kicking through a pane of reinforced glass on a high-rise from on top of the roof as an alternative method of entry to the collapsed stairwell on the inside.

“Sounds like you’re projecting Buckley, jealous?” You raise your eyebrow with an air of amusement as you take another swig from your glass.

“Absolutely not, in fact, I’m the opposite of jealous right now,” He leans in towards you again so that your shoulders brush together. “It was hot,”

“Okay horndog,” You roll your eyes at his comment, pushing away his face with the palm of your hand pressed to his forehead. “Keep it in your pants will you?”

He does nothing but laugh at the way you scold him, allowing you your personal space as he sits up straight once more.

Buck’s ability to flirt his way through any situation was honestly mildly impressive, how he managed to twist any situation into having a sensual undertone no matter what it was.

Last week it was Eddie carrying a sandbag into the station gym. The week before that it was the fact that Hen had cut a slice of lasagna for him instead of him doing it himself.

And apparently this week’s target was you. For jumping off a roof and shattering a glass window with your feet.

You’d question his taste if you didn’t know he was joking.

Although as the night went on and the table became increasingly cluttered with empty glasses, you started to question whether it was actually a joke.

Whether it was some quirk of his personality, or something more serious.

They say that drunk words are sober thoughts right? And Buck was definitely drunk and definitely spouting some choice words right now.

He whistles as you pot one of the striped balls on the pool table, his competitiveness all but disappeared underneath the haze that his alcohol consumption had laid over his brain. “Skilled with your feet and your hands? You’re just about every guy’s dream,”

He leans across the pool table to aim his shot, pool cue horribly aimed to the point where the cue ball barely skims the solid red ball he was aiming for. “Probably every girl’s dream too actually,”

“Instead of trying to kiss my ass, maybe you should focus on actually playing the game,” You genuinely can’t tell by this point whether his poor skills were an effect of the alcohol running through his system or if he was doing it on purpose just to get under your skin.

If there was one thing you did, it was play fair, and that included not letting your opponent give you an easy win.

“Oh how I would love to kiss that ass,” He makes an exaggerated show of leaning backwards to get a clear view, giving you another short whistle as you lean over the table to line up your next shot.

“Win the game and maybe i’ll let you,”

You swear you can see the moment his mind fractures, enunciated by another striped ball falling into one of the pockets and you lining up another shot.

He’s like a robot doing a hard reset, his eyes staring blankly at you like he physically cannot comprehend that you’d actually say something like that.

You don’t make your next shot, though whether by distraction from Buck’s eyes on the side of your face or your own drunken mistake you’re not entirely sure. Either way, when you straighten up to stand again, Buck hasn’t moved an inch.

“Go on, your turn,” You tap the side of his arm with your pool cue, amusement washing over your features as you watch him physically jolt from the contact and shake his head as if to physically shake off what you’d said to him.

Who knew such a casanova would get so flustered when someone played along with his little flirting game.

He ended up losing of course, you were far too much ahead for him to have a chance of catching up before you potted the eight ball and took the game, and you could swear there was a trace of disappointment in his eyes, and not because of the four solid colour balls still left on the table.

He didn’t even glance at them.

No, instead he kept his eyes firmly locked on you as you gloated your win.

“Now that is something to celebrate,” You lay your cue on the table with a victorious smirk. “Better luck next time I suppose,”

Your cockiness continues to flourish as you pot the remaining balls into the pockets and take Buck’s pool cue from him to lay it next to yours. “So what’s my reward then?”

”I- What?” He blinks at you a few times, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as his mind tries to catch up to the conversation.

“Well we laid out what would happen if you won, so what do I get for actually winning?” You tilt your head to the side as you take a step towards him, arms crossed over your chest with your eyebrow raised. “Surely I deserve to be rewarded, no?”

“I can uh…I can buy you a drink…” Buck pursed his lips together, dry swallowing as he leant backwards against the pool table upon your approach. He honestly didn’t know what was coming over him. Why was he so ruffled under the collar about this?

This was his prime domain, so why was it the second that you mirrored his interest he shut down and started backtracking on himself like a highschooler?

“I think we’ve had enough drinks don’t you?” You take another step forward as he sits on the edge of the table, essentially boxing him in despite there being very easy escape points at both his right and his left. “Besides, I want to be sober enough to remember this tomorrow,”

What on earth did you mean by that?

God he felt pathetic right now, a 6’2, 220lbs man being boxed in against a pool table of all things by one of his extremely attractive coworkers because you’d had a sudden streak of confidence and decided to flip his advances back on himself.

“Uh…” He gives a small, half awkward chuckle as his eyes flicker to consciously remain focused on your own eyes and not fall downwards. He knew the uniforms were tight but god did he not notice how tight they were until he was having to physically restrain himself from looking further down. “Right well- uh- what do you want then..?”

Buck watched as your eyes left his to flicker downwards, not so far down that you were staring at his chest, but just far down enough that he could tell you had your attention on a part of his face that was not his eyes.

He’d blame the bright red of his cheeks on the drinks if you asked about it, but you seem far too enamoured by the way he nervously purses and bites his lips under your gaze to even so much as glance at anything else.

“You know what I want..?” You break your staring to meet his eyes again, although you still make the time to turn your eyes down to his mouth again during the breaks between words.

He swears you’re leaning in with every word, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t leaning in himself, a sharp, stuttered breath escaping his lips as you get close enough so your breath fans across his cheeks. “I think so…”

You give a small hum at his answer, lips quirking into a smile as you narrow your gaze and tilt your head slightly to the left so that your noses don’t bump together as you bring your faces within an inch of each other.

His lips part on instinct, breathing a whisper of air into your mouth as he anticipates the contact with closed eyes.

“I want you to stop drinking my orange juice,”

The tension in his shoulders seems to drop at your statement, and his eyes shoot back open as you pull yourself back to stand fully upright, absolute delight drenching your features as you read the waves of shock and dissatisfaction that roll over him at the sudden change in atmosphere. “What?-”

He was so close. So close to having your lips on his. And you ripped it away from him with that stupidly hot smirk on your face like you knew exactly what you were doing.

You definitely knew what you were doing.

“In the station, I know it’s you,” You explain yourself like it’s no big deal, like you weren’t centimetres from giving Buck what he’d been pining for for so goddamn long a few seconds ago. “Buy your own juice,”

“I- Seriously?” Exasperation practically drowns his voice as he speaks, and he narrows his gaze with an air of desperation that makes you want to give him exactly what he wants. “You pretend you’re going to kiss me and then tell me not to drink your goddamn orange juice? Not cool man,”

“Maybe you shoulda won the game, I don’t know what to tell you,” You shrug your shoulders with an air of nonchalance that only you would be able to muster in a situation like this, and it frustrates Buck beyond all belief.

“That’s not fair,” Buck shakes his head as he stands. “I didn’t know you were being serious,”

“Well that’s just too bad isn’t it?” You clasp your hands together with a tilt of your head.

“No, we’re not just gonna move on okay?” It’s Buck’s turn to approach you now, his hands emphasising his words as he waves them in front of himself. “I have waited so long for you to suggest you were interested in me you cannot just back out like nothing happened,”

You swerve his approach with a laugh to walk around the side of the pool table, like his frustration is the funniest thing in the world to you and not literally tearing him apart with every moment you try to brush off the lingering tension between you. “You are way too pent up about this,”

“I am the exact right amount of pent up about this,” He follows you around the table to box you in as you did him, except this time there’s really no escape as he plants his hands firmly against the edge of the table on either side of you. “You can’t just lean in like you’re going to kiss me and bail right at the last second,”

“I thought you liked the long game,” You cross your arms over your chest as a deflection from the way your heart rate quickens, trying to cover the increase in how fast your chest rises and falls under the gaze he’s trapped you in.

“I’ve played long enough,” He leans his weight on his arms, bringing his face towards yours slowly. “I need to know if I’ve won,”

“I’d say so,” Your eyes are much less confident now the roles have been reversed, struggling to maintain contact with his as his face continues its steady path towards your own.

“Prove it.” You’re close enough now that you can feel the breath from every word he speaks on your skin, and his intentions are laid out very clearly as his gaze falls from your eyes to your lips.

He is going to kiss you if you don’t do anything to stop him.

He wants to taste the mix of alcohol on salt on your lips, explore the inside of your mouth with his tongue. He wants to feel the heat of your palms against his cheeks as you cup his face to stop him from pulling away and make you kiss him until neither of you can breathe.

He’s waited long enough to have you like this, and after your previous stunt, he’s not sure he can physically last much longer before he explodes from the frustration.

The way his hands slide from resting on the table either side of you to holding your hips solidifies that point tenfold.

He gives your waist a soft tug until your torso collides with his, and you have to brace your hands against his shoulders to stop yourself from losing your balance and stumbling right into him.

And then he’s leaning in again, his eyes flickering over your expression to look for any trace of hesitance or uncertainty in your features before he makes the final move.

And then there’s a shot glass between your faces.

“Shots?”

Chimney, ever horrible at reading the room —probably because he’s so drunk he can barely stand upright anymore— holds up two shots towards the two of you, one in each hand. “They’re on me~” He adds that extra part at the end as the true selling point, and it takes all of Buck’s self-restraint to not knock the glasses out out Chimney’s hand to make him leave the two of you alone.

You don’t seem so agitated.

“Why thank you,” You break from Buck’s grasp to take one of the shots from Chimney’s hand, raising it in Buck’s direction. “Here’s to playing the long game,”

You down the shot quickly, leaving the empty glass on the edge of the pool table to rejoin the group at the bar, leaving Buck alone and so goddamn sexually frustrated he genuinely thinks he might pass out from the strain.

You know exactly what you’re doing by dragging this out, and he has half the mind to prove your idea of ‘safety’ from his advances in the group wrong by sending his conscience to hell and giving in to his inhibitions in front of everyone.

But he’s not quite drunk enough to push it that far. Even if most of the team wouldn’t remember it if he did.

“So that’s a no on the shot?” Chimney raises the remaining shot glass in Buck’s direction, seemingly completely oblivious to the colossal cockblock he’d just imposed.

“If you weren’t so drunk right now I would punch you I swear-” Buck huffs as he all but snatches the glass from Chimney’s hand and downs the shot in exasperation, the sharp burn in his throat doing nothing to distract him from the ache in his chest from having a possible moment from you ripped from underneath his nose again in the span of less than ten minutes.

“Woah, what did I do?” Chimney furrows his eyebrows in offence at Buck’s statement. “We’re supposed to be family man, last time I buy you anything,” He scoffs in indignation as he leaves Buck to join the rest of the group once more, clearly unhappy with Buck’s reception to his ‘gift’ of a free shot.

A free shot and a missed shot at finally making a move on you.

He knew that come your next shift you’d ignore everything that had happened tonight, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to go back to the silent glances and subtle gestures. He wanted all of you, not just some aimless flirting that never went anywhere.

At least he had confirmation that you were in fact interested in him, that was a step forward in the right direction he supposes.

But god was the long game starting to get on his nerves.

#9 1 1 #9 1 1 fanfiction #buck x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley fluff #oliver stark #asks 🚒#redocity 🧯

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