Just be Safe Tonight(buck x fem reader)
word count: ~1354 This is a bit inspired by a post I saw here I cannot find it anymore and I'm annoyed at that but yeah if yall find that person @ them pls TvT thx to em I got creative and might add more to that story
The bar was packed, noisy, and heavy with the scent of sweat, beer, and something greasy from the kitchen. You were halfway through your shift and already three hours behind on rest, caffeine, and patience.
“Here you go, hon,” you chirped as you dropped off a couple shots and a round of IPAs to one of your tables, making sure to lean in just enough to help your tip jar later. “Let me know if you need anything else, alright?”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” one of them said, already halfway drunk.
You straightened up, turned, and nearly collided with three new guys standing near the host stand. You caught yourself just in time, tray balanced tight in your hand.
“Sorry,” one of them said quickly—tall, broad-shouldered, soft accent. “Didn’t see you there.”
You looked up at him—dark brown eyes, neatly trimmed beard, smile that seemed relaxed even in this chaotic mess of a bar.
“No harm,” you replied, eyeing the rest of the floor. “Looking for a table?”
“Yeah. Just the three of us.”
You waved him along, leading the trio to one of the booths near the middle of the room. You could already tell they weren’t local—something in their posture, the quiet way they scanned the place like it wasn’t just a bar.
They sat, and you handed out menus. “Alright. Your server is me. If you’re nice, I might even tell you the good stuff we’re hiding behind the bar.”
The bearded one grinned. “I’ll try to behave. I’m Buck, by the way.”
Of course he was. The kind of name you don’t forget.
You smirked. “Nice to meet you, Buck.”
The three of them were a good table. His friends were getting louder as the rounds came, but Buck himself stayed cool—always polite, always made sure to look you in the eye, never let the jokes get too wild.
You’d just finished clearing another table when you heard the voice behind you.
“Hey, baby—got a second?”
You turned, already feeling the tension coil in your spine.
It was a different table. One guy, alone, beer in hand, face already red from drinking. You knew the type: entitled, bored, and looking to make someone uncomfortable to feel powerful.
“I’m with another table right now,” you said calmly.
He smirked. “That’s not what I asked. Just thought maybe a girl dressed like you might be looking for some attention. Talking all sweet. Smiling like that.”
You froze for half a second. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You working for tips or trying to get someone to grab you on the way out?”
You stepped back. “You need to watch yourself.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping. “You’ll change your tune when we’re outside later.”
You flagged the bar manager, who came over and ushered him out—not kindly, but not nearly fast enough for your liking. Your hands were still shaking when you went to grab water for another table.
You forced a smile back on. You always did.
But when you returned to Buck’s booth, he wasn’t smiling.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
You hesitated. “Just another creep. I’m fine.”
He looked toward the door, jaw tight, then back at you.
“Can I make a suggestion?”
“When you’re done here… if you don’t want to walk out alone, I could drive you home. Not trying to be weird, I promise. Just…” He paused. “You looked scared. And I hate that you had to look scared.”
Your breath caught slightly.
“I appreciate it,” you said, guarded but not cold. “But I don’t know you.”
“That’s fair,” he nodded. “How about this: you take my plate number, and my name. Send it to someone you trust. I’ll wait outside after your shift. You decide, okay? I just want you to get home safe.”
That offer—no pressure, no expectation—was maybe the kindest thing anyone had done for you in weeks.
You gave him a small, tired smile. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”
An hour later, when you stepped outside after clocking out, Buck was still leaning against the passenger side of a black SUV. His friends were inside, half-asleep or laughing about something on a phone.
He looked up when he saw you. Didn’t say anything. Just waited.
You pulled out your phone, snapped a photo of the plate, and looked at him.
“Still offering that ride?”
You opened the door and slid in.
It was quiet in the SUV. The seats were warm. Buck didn’t speak until you gave your address.
“Want me to take the long way, or get you there fast?”
“Long way’s fine,” you murmured. “I’m in no rush to get home.”
He nodded, turned up the heater a notch, and drove.
The drive felt easier than it should’ve. You talked—about dumb things, mostly. The bar. His friends. The fact that one of them tried to argue that hawks were overrated and pigeons had “untapped military potential.”
Buck laughed easily. So did you.
By the time he pulled up in front of your building, you almost didn’t want to get out.
You hesitated, fingers still wrapped around your seatbelt. “Thanks. For the ride. For waiting.”
“No problem,” he said, voice soft. “I meant it. You didn’t deserve what happened in there.”
You nodded. “It’s like that a lot, honestly.”
“That sucks,” he said honestly.
You smiled faintly, hand on the door handle.
“…Don’t take this the wrong way,” you added, “but if I didn’t feel like I needed to lie down for a year, I’d probably flirt with you.”
Buck blinked, then laughed. “Is that right?”
“Maybe,” you said, smiling to yourself.
You got out and shut the door—but just before you closed it fully, you reached back inside, pulled a small slip of paper from your hoodie pocket, and dropped it on the seat.
That night, Buck didn’t open the paper until after he dropped his friends off. Inside was your name. And your number. A small smiley face drawn in the corner.
The next morning, he texted you:
“Guess you didn’t mind the long way after all. Hope you slept okay.”
The two of you started talking more after that. You’d message him between shifts. Joke about your co-workers. Send selfies with food on your break just to ask what kind of sandwich guy he was (turkey, no mustard, apparently).
Then came the night after work, when you were ranting outside with your phone to your ear.
“My roommate changed the locks,” you muttered. “So now I get to either crash at my mom’s where my stepdad will probably comment on what I’m wearing—or sleep in the bar’s breakroom. Which smells like wet fries and broken dreams.”
Buck didn’t even hesitate.
“You want to crash at my place?”
“I’ll pick you up. Just a night. You can have my bed. I’ll take the couch. I’ll even throw in a fresh toothbrush and a shirt.”
You hesitated for one more breath.
Then: “Yeah. Okay. Please.”
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up again, leaned over to pop the door open, and handed you a plastic-wrapped toothbrush like it was the most normal thing in the world.
His apartment was clean, a little warm, smelled like coffee and laundry detergent. He gave you a soft black shirt, a pair of drawstring pants that hung low on your hips, and pointed to the bedroom.
“Fresh sheets. The bed’s all yours. Seriously.”
You stood in the doorway, watching him grab a blanket for the couch, and felt something settle in your chest.
Not butterflies. Not fireworks.
You didn’t get that a lot.
You held up the toothbrush. “You always keep extras around?”
He grinned. “Only for girls who flirt with me while exhausted.”
You laughed, shook your head, and disappeared into the bathroom.
For the first time in weeks, you actually looked forward to morning.
~to be continued(maybe<3)
