soft evan 'buck' buckley imagine! ⋆.࿔*:･
2nd person, lowercase, gender neutral reader.
buck will sometimes call you after a shift, when he's still got enough adrenaline running through his veins to not be tired, and he'll tell you to "be ready in ten minutes". he'll drive over to your apartment and pick you up while you're still in your pyjamas, having pulled a hoodie (his hoodie) over your head. you'll open your door to him standing there— boyish grin on his face, looking softer with his shower-fresh curls and grey sweats. "come on," he'll say, and you follow him out to his jeep, climbing into his passenger seat.
he listens to a mix of music normally, but he puts on his quieter playlist on these nights. it's los angeles, so it's not deserted, even at this time. but you'll drive around for hours talking about anything. you never know where you'll go with him, but lately, it's been a quiet overlook, the furthest you can drive up in griffith park, overlooking the city lights spilling out towards the distant ocean.
you'll both climb into the pickup bed; he's taken to keeping a blanket in the back of the car for these nights. he just likes being with you. feeling your sleepy head against his shoulder. he'll usually tell you about his shift, a cute kid or a silly emergency. rarely, after a bad one, he'll go quiet. he might tell you about it, or he'll just sit in silence. but you always know. you'll pull him into your lap and run your hands through his curls, over his shoulders and across his back. he'll go limp in your arms, content with the comfort, and lie with you until the sun rises.
