#Tom ludlow
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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE AMAAAZING @treedaddymcpuffpuff 😘😘😘) - Chapter Thirteen ---> (all chapters)
TW's: abuse of police authority, manhandling, unfair power dynamics, unreasonable hotness in a man this annoying
Days go by, and you don’t hear from Tom Ludlow again. You think to yourself that it’s fine, that that’s exactly what you wanted, but deep down you’re a little pissed off, and more than a little needy.
Maybe that’s why the next time you have to drive home late at night, you go back to your old, faster route of taking the highway. Defiance roils in your bones like lava churning in a volcano, and you just refuse to be intimidated by that man, even if it means digging your own grave. Figuratively speaking, of course. Officer Ludlow doesn't want to hurt you. He wants to fuck you, and maybe even buy you dinner first, and you might have come around to him eventually if he just hadn’t been such a fucking dick about it.
You’re not hoping that you get to see him again, here on the empty highway. But if you do…you kind of want to fight him. Because someone should tell him what a reprobate he is. Not because you love the fiery feeling you get in your veins, or the spark of wicked enjoyment in his dark eyes.
You’re almost to the exit, and there is no cop car in sight. No flashing red and blue lights. No little wooo of the warning siren behind you. Why are you worried? Why are you disappointed? Why are you pouting like the baby who got their candy taken away?
There’s a few options, and none of them appeal to you. Sure, maybe you should be delighted that this meathead has decided to either let it drop or get fatally injured—your stomach lodges in your throat at that second thought. That means you won’t have to deal with his antics anymore. But, god damn you, you were starting to really like those antics.
Tom Ludlow pissing you off has become a vital reason for your willingness to get out of bed, and that thought terrifies you, because this shit never ends well. At least not for girls like you who love too much and expect the same in return. You pulled your heart from your sleeve and zipped it back into it’s protected, designated cavity after a slew of failed one-sided relationships (whether the friend or romantic kind), and now the treacherous organ is trying to claw right back out again for Tom Ludlow to squeeze dry in his big hand.
You get home, and you feel empty. Bored. Worried about a man who has made your life kind of, if you’re being honest, a living hell. Does that stop you from sticking your hand down your pajama pants and fantasizing about him? From wishing he’d call again? No. Not at all.
You are loath to admit it, and you’ll take this to your grave, but you’re actually relieved, the next night, to see the twinkling red and blue lights following behind you while you’re pushing 90 in a 70 only half on purpose.
Your heart transforms into a mini circus as he walks up to your driver's door and taps on the window glass.
Before he can even open his big mouth, you start in on him. You’ve been planning this spiel for days now, after all, and it would be useless to waste it. “You.” You have to take a minute when you see that he doesn’t sport his usual smirk. “What is a detective like you doing working the complaints desk, and now working traffic at night?”
“So what?” He folds his arms over his chest, biceps bulging through the thick uniform shirt, distracting you from your resolve and switching on cavewoman brain for a minute.
You almost have to shake yourself to snap out of it. “Are you just playing cop? You’re not even actually on duty right now Officer Ludlow.”
This smile is less ‘playground bully’ and more ‘hungry wolf’. “Are you challenging the law, Miss y/l/n?”
“No, I’m challenging some dickhead who thinks he’s top dog just cuz he wears a plastic badge. Where’d you get it, anyway? Fisher Price?”
“Please exit the vehicle, Miss y/n.”
“This is bullshit.”
“Please be calm.”
It is the absolute worst thing he could possibly say to you. After a twelve hour shift, your feet are killing you, you’re covered in the grime of your long day, and to add insult to injury–you’re mad at yourself as much as him, because he made you miss him. That is when you do exit the vehicle, and your finger stabs into the middle of his broad chest (and you know part of that bulk is a vest but jesus fucking christ this man is burly in all the right places) and snap, “I’m tired, I’ve had a long fucking day and I don’t need this shit from you.”
Officer Ludlow takes one amused look down at that finger in his chest and suddenly you are turned around, your palms on the hood of your car. He is tall and broad and warm behind you and fuck you if the cavewoman part of your brain does not respond in the worst possible way, a soft but utterly audible little cry escaping your treacherous lips. You know he hears it by the way he pauses behind you, the way a wolf perks his ears at the sound of a rabbit in the brush. You seem frozen in this ridiculous position for several seconds longer than what is necessary (not that any of this is necessary) and you get the sense that this man is savoring this closeness with you.
“Resisting an officer is a misdemeanor, you know,” he says in your ear, and that low baritone sends a thrill to the marrow of your bones, ties your belly up in knots, makes you wet between your thighs. Hearing him through the phone is one thing, having his breath tickling your skin is an entirely different beast.
You turn your head slightly towards him, and you know some of the venom goes from your tone but you just can’t help it.
“What about harassing a civilian?”
“Depends on the civilian.” Well, isn’t that the truth. Like you needed a reminder that you are, in fact, a nobody with no connections in this town. Although, you doubt that he's telling the truth about it “depending on the civilian”, because he handcuffed and assaulted a popular, lawyer ready ER doctor just days ago. Which is just great, because if he felt entitled enough to do that to Julian, what’s stopping him from doing much worse to you? “Are you armed?”
“Clearly,” you snark, because you’re wearing your cute blue scrubs and it would take a miracle to hide something under the thin fabric.
“I mean besides that fiery temper.”
He kicks your legs a little further apart, just hard enough to make your feet slide in the loose gravel of the shoulder, and you think you might self-immolate right there. It’s all you can do, not to arch back into him like a cat in heat. It really has been too fucking long since you got laid. Something firm pokes into the curve of your behind, and it had better be his fucking utility belt.
He actually starts to pat you down, the cheeky fucker, those big hands making their way lightly down your sides. You know he can feel you trembling under his touch–with fear or excitement, it’s hard even for you to tell. Maybe that’s what makes him bold when he reaches your thigh, those long fingers giving you an appreciative squeeze.
It reminds you of that time not so long ago, when you’d drunkenly wanted him to slide his hand up your skirt, and he’d refused you. You shouldn’t want that from him, but you do, and that makes you so angry you could spit. Now he thinks he gets to feel you up? Your foot flails out, catching him in the shin with your Croc-clad heel. It totally throws you off balance, sending you down onto the hood of your car, but you are mad and you don’t care.
“Watch it!”
He, however, couldn’t be more delighted. You can hear the practical glee in his tone as he sings out, “Assaulting an officer? Someone’s just asking to get booked.”
Maybe you’re a healer by nature, but there is just something about this man that makes you want to commit murder. Just the once. You even think Florence Nightingale would understand.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
That’s when you realize he probably, absolutely fucking would dare. So far he has proved that he gives jack-all for the rules that should apply to him as an Officer of the Law. And you cannot have that on your record. Even if you told the truth and it turned into some He-Said She-Said bullshit that would drag out for months–years, possibly, even–your license could be suspended. You live paycheck to paycheck in this expensive fucking city. You cannot afford something like that.
“You asshole.”
“Maybe. But you’re lucky I’m not actually a bad guy, y/n.”
“How do you figure?”
Somehow, his voice lowers an octave, and no matter how livid you are, your lady parts absolutely rebel with an almost violent ache between your thighs. “Because if I was I’d spank that beautiful behind of yours for kicking me. With crocs? Really? I’m going to have to show you a few things, you scare me honey.”
Is this man offering to teach you to defend yourself in the same breath he’s using to blackmail you? You’re nearly cross-eyed from the whiplash.
“Sorry, I’ll be sure to wear boots next time.”
“Great. Wear them to dinner, tomorrow night. And we’ll forget this ever happened.”
How he knows you’re free tomorrow, you don’t really want to know.
You feel yourself deflate, knowing he’s finally got you over the proverbial barrel. The thought should not excite you the way it does. “You’re serious.”
“I tried asking nicely.”
“Most men get the picture when you tell them ‘no’ more than twice? A million times? I forget how many.”
“Maybe, except I see the way you look at me, when you think I’m not looking and my ass is hanging out of a hospital gown. I know how pretty you sound, when you orgasm to my voice while I talk you through it over the phone. And when you’re in trouble, I’m the one you know you can call, because I’ll drop everything to make sure you’re safe. So, you’re finally going to give this thing between us a chance, whether you like it or not. Pick you up at eight?”
You sigh, shoulders slumping, head resting against the warm car. His eyes immediately hone in on the column of your throat, and the way he wets his bottom lip doesn’t seem intentional, which just riles you up even more. You grit your teeth, but it doesn’t really look like you have a choice. “Sure.” Asshole.
This time, you’re smart enough to keep that to yourself.
As though he heard you think it, he spins you around, practically picking your feet up off the ground, and braces you against the door of your car, one hand on either side of your head, full wolfy grin sending a thrill of danger through your spine. The way he can just manhandle you like you weigh nothing crosses some vital wires in your brain–you cannot think.
You try to stay defiant, raise your chin to look up at him, keep some semblance of pride. It’s not fair that he has such sway over you and you seem to have absolutely none over him. You have to even this playing field somehow.
“Maybe you have a badge and you think that makes you hot shit, but at the end of the day you’re just a bully, Tom.”
His gaze travels up your neck, over your face, until he lands on your own guarded, defeated stare. Something changes in his expression. “You think I don’t know you? Well, maybe you don’t know me either. But you’re going to find out, sweetheart, I’m not a bad guy.”
You eye him suspiciously. “I guess I don’t have a choice, right?”
He leans down, brings his nose an inch from yours, invades your personal space. For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you, and it makes you go stiff and lax all at once. The heat of his breath tickles over the nerve rich plump of your lips, and they part for him despite your brain’s vehement protest.
“Right.” He’s gone as soon as he comes, dropping your stomach from throat to feet. You hope he doesn’t hear the desperate, quiet sound that you try to burrow under your tongue.
You think he’s just going to walk away and leave you here in the warm, damp, lonely, dark highway like a sitting duck, but instead he opens your door and motions for you to slide back into your seat.
“Don’t forget to buckle up, honey.”
As he saunters away, thumbs looped through his belt—God, he’s fucking painfully sexy—you don’t bother hiding the way you watch his ass move this time.
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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six
TW: violence, choking, mentions of bdsm, abuse of authority, cops, unfair power dynamics, harassment, body fluids and drug use mentions, mentions of harm/accidents
For California, it’s a bit chilly out this morning. The sun is getting a lazy late start, just beginning to yawn golden orange and fiery yellow over the horizon. Julian’s hair in that light is the high shine of fashion magazine model locs, and you’re, as usual, opening your mouth before you think. “What shampoo and conditioner do you use?”
He seems thoroughly amused. “Honestly? You’re going to be mad about it.”
“Try me,” you prod, slipping inside his little sports car that smells like lemon air freshener and coffee.
He seems a little cramped in the seat, knees bent up and head almost touching the ceiling, and you wonder if he actually even tried to get into this thing before buying it.
“It’s a rental,” he explains.
“Did you get into an accident?”
“A truck hit mine while it was parked.”
“How are you so calm about that? I’d punch someone.”
He looks over at you with a sculpted, raised brow. “I just cannot imagine you hurting a fly, y/n.”
“Flies are innocent, truck drivers are free game.”
He gives you a big laugh that strokes the flame of your ego. “You’re hilarious. I use men’s body wash.”
“What?” Okay, he’s right, you are a little mad. You use shampoo and conditioner that are specifically supposed to soften your hair, but the poof on your head absolutely pales in comparison to his soft, beautiful mane that gets the luxury of … what? Old spice? Axe body wash?
“I told you,” he sings, turning on the engine.
Genetics is a bitch.
He takes you to a fancy little French inspired coffee shop cuddled into the center of an outlet mall with salt lamps and big ferns and comfy chairs. You settle into a nook closests to the sunned windows so Julian can keep an eye on his rental, which is understandable. No part of LA is good to have a Porsche in, but especially not the inner city.
“This is delicious,” you tell him through a mouthful of warm croissant, covering your lips in embarrassment when you realize that your table manners are less than adequately prepared for a date with a doctor.
“They have the best coffee,” he agrees, taking a sip of his steaming latte.
You don’t have time to stop your brain from comparing Julian to a certain cop you know who prefers his coffee black and bitter, or at least that’s what he told you when he saw you drinking your vanilla cream cold foam at the nurse’s station.
Julian is talking, you think, and you’re only half listening while you remember how Tom had snatched that drink right out of your hands and held it up in the air.
“Give it back!” You hissed, reaching up on tiptoes while he laughed at the pathetic rescue attempt.
“Careful, honey, don’t hurt yourself for this pathetic excuse of caffeine. What is it anyway? Is there even coffee in here?”
After he walked away with his discharge paperwork, your coworkers were understandably curious about the tall, puckish cop who fucked with you any chance he got.
Miguel watched his ass move the whole way down the hallway and out the glass exit doors while literally clutching the rosary under his scrub shirt as if a devil had just walked by, then looked over at you. “What a man.”
“Are you alright?” Julian asks, bringing you back to the present conversation with a hand over your forearm. He does seem concerned, and it makes you feel like a piece of shit. This guy is a gentleman and here you are on a date with him fantasizing about the brute that is Tom Ludlow.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You wave away his concern. “Tell me about you, Julian. What do you do for fun? Doctor-by-night, Violin-player-by-morning?
He chuckles. “Nothing that cultured. I like riding motorcycles.”
“Really?” You ask, genuinely surprised and trying to imagine Julian in a gang of bikers with cracked leather skull and snake jackets.
“I love them.” He nods. “I have three that I take for long rides along the coast. You get lost in it, the wind and salt and sand. The rumble of the engine under you.”
“I’ve never been on one,” you tell him, “and I’m honestly surprised you ride them after what we see in the ER. Don’t you remember that guy that had his calf hanging on by a tendon? Or that woman who had half her face missing?”
“Yes, I do. But I go the speed limit and wear the proper gear. And I like the thrill.”
It’s not just the casual t-shirt and worn jeans or the way the light halos his thick silk nest of hair or the roguish grin that makes you see Julian in an entirely new way, now. “You’re wild, Dr. Mercer.”
He licks spilled cream at the ridge of his coffee cup, rubs at the skin of your forearm with his fingers, and winks. You wonder what he would look like between your legs doing the same thing, except with your fingers gripping that luscious hair.
“You should let me take you for a ride, sometime,” he suggests, and for a minute you forget you’re talking about motorcycles.
“Oh, I don’t know, Julian.”
“C’mon.” He nudges your knee under the table and relaxes back into his seat, now reminding you too much of someone else you know. Same height, same hair color, same facial structure.
Fuck. Really?
“Good boyfriends take their girlfriends on long, romantic motorcycle rides.”
“But you’re not my boyfriend.”
His smile droops a little bit and it makes you feel bad for being so illiterately ignorant. Well, you feel bad until he opens his mouth. “I am, though.”
He paints it playful, but it sounds a little bit pushy-bossy, even. “I don’t know about that, either, Julian.”
He tries a different angle. “You know, believe it or not, most women would consider me quite the catch.”
You hope your face doesn’t betray the little bit of ick you get from him saying something so egotistical. “I don’t doubt it, and you deserve someone that can give you what you’re looking for.”
“You think you can’t give me what I’m looking for?” He leans across the table in sudden intensity, and you balk at the notion.
“No, I honestly don’t.”
“Why?”
You start to say something, but he cuts you off. “And, I really mean why? Why can’t you give me what I’m looking for? Enlighten me.”
“I’m not-I have too much baggage.” You unconsciously lean away from his swelling intensity.
“That’s a little vague.” He frowns.
“I’m not normal, Julian. You seem like you would like normal women.” You cringe at the childish sentiment, but truly have no idea how to get the point across except for basically telling him that you’re a freak with a bad past and worse coping mechanisms. You eat slices of bread for dinner and drink out of the milk carton. Julian probably irons his shirts. This will not work.
“You’re assuming I’m normal?”
“Yes. I guess I am.” You lean back and cross your arms over your chest.
“Well, I’m not. In fact, I’ll prove it to you.” He takes out his wallet, pulls a laminated card from it, and slides it over the table to you.
“What..” It’s a little red card framed in black with big bold letters on the front advertising a BDSM club in the heart of downtown Venice. “What is this?”
“BDSM is bondage, domination-“
“I know what that is,” you interrupt. “I just meant.. You go here?”
“I do.” He nods and takes a drink. “I occasionally engage in scenes.”
You decide that you should coat your suddenly very dry mouth and drink a big gulp of your coffee. “Like with a dominatrix?”
He laughs at you, puts his head in his hand and shakes his head. “No. I prefer to be the dominant one.”
You look at-really, really look at this man for the first time and honestly cannot imagine him taking that role.
He must see the confusion on your face, because his laughter grows. “That’s the usual reaction I get.”
Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity killed the-you know what, fuck it.
“So, what do you do at the club?”
“A typical play scene, you mean?” How in the hell he can be so casual and relaxed about this you’re not sure. Because you can already feel the cold sweat breaking along your shoulders and neck.
“I guess? Yeah.”
“Well, ideally the woman is tied up in some fashion, and of course there’s a safe word, negotiated limits. Perhaps a punishment scenario with pain play. Are you okay?”
He looks at your table-clutching, white knuckled hands, searches your face, giving you a genuine concerned expression that makes you wonder what actually is going on with you right now. You feel like you're on a tightrope over a ravine of crocodiles and Julian’s on the other end lazily sawing at the rope with dull scissors.
“I’m fine,” you say breathily, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about all that.”
His gentle smile is nothing less than kind, though maybe also, a little disappointed. “I get that a lot too.”
“Is that…the only way you enjoy sex?” you ask quietly, leery of the blue-haired old lady just two tables away.
“No,” he seems happy to tell you. “Though it is…the way I enjoy sex most.”
You blink, digesting this with understandable trepidation. He’s basically telling you that it would be impossible to be in a relationship with him without dipping into this eventually. And you…?
Are definitely intrigued, and you’re not really sure why.
“You said you have baggage,” Julien probes cautiously. You can feel him looking at you, but you’re not quite up to eye contact with him yet. You fix your gaze out the window. “Well, I do too. I haven’t had a perfect life. No one does, and I’m not interested in a perfect girlfriend. I like you, y/n.”
You feel your breath go out in an audible whoosh. It actually makes him smile-you feel it like rays of the sun. How can this man be so warm, and yet have such a dark side?
Well, maybe it’s not a dark side, you reason. Maybe it’s just…a thing he likes, and between consenting adults, what’s the harm?
“So…” You can’t help but think about how odd this is, discussing this in this coffee shop filled with mild-mannered caffeine addicts. What you really want to ask, is what happened to him that makes him like this kind of sexual play, but you know it would be too far, and you damn well don’t feel like talking about your own fucked up past. But there is something you do feel you have a right to know. “Is this something you want to do to me?”
Again, he fixes you with that bad boy smirk that gives you chills and utterly ruins your panties. “Since the moment you stood up to me over that patient,” he admits. And maybe that should alarm you, that he wants to tie you up and hurt you for being defiant about something that deserved defiance. It does alarm you, but… It also… It sounds a little thrilling. “In fact-“
Julian and the rest of the world and even your own thoughts disappear when you meet a pair of familiar, sun tinted eyes out the window of the coffee shop. He’s grinning-when is he not grinning at you like he knows what it does to your helpless insides?-and licking his fingers, tearing off a yellow parking ticket to slap it under the windshield of Julian’s rental.
“Uh, Julian-“
“Just let me finish,” Julian insists. His bossy tone irritates you, but Tom brightens the mood by making a jerking off motion towards the doctor, and then winking at you.
You can’t help but laugh. It’s honestly involuntary, the loud wheeze that tears from your chest and makes Julian look outside to see the yellow ticket shining under his wiper as Ludlow’s ass saunters away.
You’re not sure what Julian’s plan is when he storms outside to catch Ludlow by the arm, but you’re definitely following ten strides behind to prevent his untimely death.
“I’m parked legally.” His voice is a menacing growl instead of the smooth honey you’re used to, and yeah, maybe now you can see a little bit of that Dominant Persona he was talking about.
“Not after 9AM,” Tom says, unbothered by Julian’s anger, still grinning like an idiot.
“It’s eight-thirty,” Julian argues, tugging on Tom’s sleeve-that earns him a bent back arm and even the appearance of handcuffs.
“Tom, stop it, fucking really?”
“Sorry, honey, your boyfriend’s going to jail.”
“For what?!” You and Julian both demand at once.
“Putting his pristine fucking hands on what’s mine.” Tom tugs Julian up on his toes and clicks one handcuff into place.
You hope he means his uniform, but you have a feeling he doesn’t.
“That’s way too tight and you know it,” Julian grunts.
“What, someone likes to dish it out but can’t take it? Don’t be a bitch,” Tom muses, grabbing Julian’s other arm and twisting it-not gently-behind his back.
“Tom, you fucking dickhead.”
He looks at you as he’s putting the other cuff on your date. “Oh, I’ll deal with you later.” His grin looks more like a snarl at this point, and you think that Julian could probably take some pretty good Dom pointers from Tom, because your heart is galloping and your clit is pulsing despite the absolute absurdity of the situation. Also-it's a miracle-your sassing mouth has snapped shut.
After Officer Ludlow practically throws Dr. Mercer into the back of his Charger, slamming the door, he turns to you with a smirk and his thumb in his belt. Goddammit, if that fucking look doesn’t go straight to your lady parts.
“Tom…you cannot do this.”
A tow truck has pulled up, and is in process of impounding the sweet little Porsche.
He steps up to you in those big black boots that make him a mile tall.
“You’d be surprised what I can and cannot do, sweetheart.”
“Please.” You hate how desperate you know you sound.
He taps his chin. “Well, I do like the sound of that. But it would be a lot more convincing if you got on your knees and said it.”
“You asshole,” you seethe, even as you can feel the moisture pooling between your legs.
“That kinda language definitely isn’t going to get Doctor Bitch Boy out of my car.”
“What the fuck do you want then?” You know it was a stupid question the moment it flies from your mouth. He’s going to reply with something filthy, and demeaning, and-
“Have dinner with me.”
You’re going to need another tow truck just to get your jaw up off the ground.
“You’re going to get in trouble for this,” you say. “This isn’t harassing a lowly broke-ass nurse. He is going to sue the shit out of you.”
Tom just snorts at that, unimpressed. “Did you know your friend likes to hang out at a BDSM club in Venice Beach? Whips and chains and shit? Bet this asshole has mommy issues from here to Pasadena. Come on, y/n, you don’t need that in your life.”
It almost sounds like he’s…worried about you?
Officer Ludlow has no idea how badly he’s misjudged you, now that he’s pissed you off. “Maybe I like it,” you snipe back, stretching up so you’re almost in his face. “Fact is, it’s none of your fucking business.”
Ludlow just narrows his eyes down at you, those dark orbs glinting like sharp obsidian. “Well, sorry, guess he’s not tying you up tonight, baby. He’s gotta cool down in the tank.”
He makes to go, but you reach out, not grabbing him, per se, but just touching his chest. He freezes, and you can practically feel him vibrating beneath your hand. With excitement, because he fucking lives for being an asshole, or…you hate to think you know the real answer.
His mitt of a hand covers yours, holding it just above his heart.
“Tom….” Caught up in this tension between you, you’re not even sure what you’re asking now.
You expect him to say something dirty, or snide, but instead you swear that just for a moment, his gaze softens as he looks down at you. “Dinner?” he asks again, with a note of hope in his voice that is almost endearing, if he wasn’t being such a class A jerk.
“I can’t.”
His demeanor changes in less than a second, drawing up to his full height, his shoulders squared. He flicks down his sunglasses that were on his head, so you can no longer even see his eyes. His voice changes, drops an octave, something. The authority in it makes you shudder inside. “Wave to Dr. Bitch Boy, y/n, we’re going for a little ride.”
Before you can grab him, or do anything, really, Tom is behind the wheel, speeding off with a very pissed off Julian in the back seat.
Your heart drops to your feet as you are left standing there alone on the sidewalk without a ride, and completely at a loss as to what to do.
***
“I’m going to fucking sue you,” Julian grits, kicking the back of Tom’s seat for good measure.
“Yeah, yeah, with your doctor money,” Tom grumbles, taking a big swig of coffee with one hand and steering recklessly with the other because it’s fun to watch that skinny fuck bounce around helplessly in the seat.
“I’m not getting booked tonight, Officer Ludlow. I’m calling my fucking lawyer.”
“Sorry, Doctor Bitch, your Lawyer’s busy until tomorrow afternoon, didn’t you hear?”
“You son of a-“
Tom gasses the car over a big pothole and it sends Julian flying into the opposite door. It’s a sight he could almost get off to.
Julian, big goose egg swelling up on his temple, gets yanked out of the squad car and tossed on the shit smeared, needle peppered streets of South Central. “They probably need you here more than the hospital, Doctor. Have fun–”
“Wait! Fuck. I’m still cuffed for fuck’s sake!” Tom gives the little guy credit for being able to get up on his feet so fast with his hands behind his back and a probable minor concussion. “You can’t leave me here.”
Tom pauses with his hand on the lip of the hot car door, but only to memorize the sight of a sweat-stained, wild eyed, trembling distinguished doctor about to get his shit wrecked on the mean LA Streets. He’s guessing Julian’s never visited much outside of Hollywood, Venice, and Santa Monica, and the cute little horrified expression on his face is testament to that.
Tom taps the hood of his car. “See ya, Doc.”
“You know,” Julian says, “this isn’t going to stop me from seeing her, Tom.”
Well, if he wants a fight.
Tom slams the charger door, whips off his belt, backs Julian up until he falls on his ass into a steaming puddle of unknown origin, and loops the leather around his neck.
He tugs him up by the belt, onto his toes, eliminating that fraction of height difference just so he can see the whites of this prick’s eyes.
He doubles the wrap of the belt in his fist, and Julian sputters something unintelligible through a thick choke.
“What’s wrong? Thought you liked this shit?” Tom pretends to wait for an answer that he prevents. “Oh, that’s right, you like being the one doing the choking. That gets your dick wet, huh? Beating on women?”
He wants nothing more than to choke this fucker unconscious and leave him on the streets for the hepatitis rats to chew on his toes, and, fuck it, if he ends up passing out by the time Tom’s done saying his peace, then so be it.
“You can see her all you want, asshole. Take her on as many dates as you like. But if I see one fuckin’ bruise on her-one red mark on that pretty skin-I’m gonna make the rest of your short life very fucking unpleasant. Comprende?”
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Chris Evans and Keanu Reeves in Street Kings, 2008
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Call me Ortiz the Dog Boy because I’m barking
#keanu reeves#john wick#kevin lomax#john constantine#scott favor#donaka mark#tom ludlow#don john#david allen griffin
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KEANU REEVES UNIVERSE ☆
≽^•⩊•^≼ ⦙ 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇. i write for plus size black & brown readers in mind, all my fics are catered to plus size/chubby readers. if my works don’t cater to you, there are many talented writers who might. do not come on my account to spread hate, you will get blocked. minors dni with my nsfw content, you will get blocked also. blank pages = blocked. please do not plagiarize my works, if you feel inspired by them please give me credit. give credit when credit is due.
*if a work with ☙ next to it, it means it's an old piece*
recs | rules | taglist | help hub | main m.list
fics.
john wick…
once lost, now found - jw (fluff, angst, typical violence) ☙
drabbles.
no jupiter tonight.
headcanons.
john wick…
maybe insane, maybe in love - jw (smutty, dark content, 18+) ☙
wiinterz © do not repost, copy or translate my works.
#keanu reeves#keanuverse#john wick#john wick x reader#x black reader#x black fem reader#plus size reader#woc!reader#john constantine#john constantine 2005#don john#john wick 1#john wick smut#keanu reeves x reader#ted logan#jack traven#johnny utah#johnny utah x reader#tom ludlow#tom ludlow x reader
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Me happily watching Swedish Dicks: 😊
My Mom: IS THERE A FUCKIN THING YOU WATCH WITHOUT KEANU REEVES IN IT!?!?
Me: Nope!!😊
#keanu reeves#keanu my beloved#john wick#keanu reeves characters#tex johnson#swedish dicks#movies#tv shows#john constantine#tom ludlow#ted logan#bill and ted#keanuverse
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Send in your requests! No limitations, let your imaginations run wild! I really want to write for Keanu and his characters.
Here's my ✨Masterlist✨ where all the characters I will write for are. Including keanuverse.
(Gif Credit is Pinterest-)
#writing#writers on tumblr#fanfic#reader insert#keanuverse x reader#keanuverse#neo matrix#johnny utah#john wick#kevin lomax#tom ludlow#conor o'neil#julian mercer#ted theodore logan#john wick x reader#kevin lomax x reader#johnny utah x reader
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Imagine having a threesome with the good-hearted Keanu Reeves and his villain role Donaka Mark 😏❤️
i can just imagine keanu as my most intimate bestie, almost like my homie, my mate, or some shit like that. someone i would meet somewhere to drink some beer or soda while we gossip.
However, what i can imagine is something like this:
Donaka's imposing and expert hands gently squeezed your hips, keeping a slow and deep rhythm that managed to successfully hit that sweet spot that was begging to be filled by his blessed seed… While on the other side there was that policeman: Tom… (or idk, I really could have put Johnny Utah, but obviously it didn't fit. Or well, I wanted expert people here?maybe Scott Galban could have been useful, but neh) He was different from Donaka since his touches were more aggressive, assertive. The swaying his hips did without any care was something glorious. You could hear the little splash from the wetness of your own mouth every time he went back and forth again and again for his own pleasure, making your saliva slide down your chin...
yeah i can imagine him in this way
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#street kings#keanu reeves#Tom Ludlow#movies#loop gif#action#crime#thriller#violence#hood#gun salute#blood splatter#corruption#revelation#raining gif#all alone#alone#depression#thoughts#mood#melancholy
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how would keanu characters react to reader having weird kinks and asking them to use it on her? (could be choking, knife kink, blood kink…etc, whatever you are most comfortable with writing!)
reader with extreme kinks,⠀⠀౨ৎ⠀⠀keanuverse. gn reader.⠀/⠀cw. vaguely smutty.
john wick — so super nawt down for it … i know i write him to be mad kinky sometimes, but i’m sure he will 90% of the time gently pass on anything too extreme. john’s already surrounded by so much violence, and gore in his life— he can’t see himself using knives or any weapons on you. (wee bit of a madonna/whore complex vibes with this man.. but i digress).
at most he’ll indulge you in very little choking / slapping. and by that he’s very gently hold your neck, or give you small soft pats on your face.
he’s a gentle giant !! soz !!
john constantine — he’s a little freaky, so i think he’d be more into trying your kinks. constantine’s more into pain / power play imo, so if you ever wanted to try stuff like wax play, temperature play or smth like that … he’s into it !!! and not just on you .. i’m a firm believer in masochist!constantine, so just ‘cause he might not wanna do it to you, doesn’t mean he don’t want you to do it to him 😵💫😵💫
johnny utah / jack traven / tom ludlow — not to lump all my cop!keanu’s in the same box, but i mean c’mon! these boys in blue definitely will do whatever kink you like if it’s stuff like bondage or restricting you. esp with their easy access to handcuffs .. ehem …
i just get a bit of control freak vibes from them, so they would love to have you tied up and depending on them for pleasure. yeah …
kevin lomax — oh jeez this guy’s the worst of the bunch! he’s the son of satan, and a canonical toe-sucker so out of everyone on this list, he’s your guy! if we’re talking kevin whose already fully corrupted: that man will do any debaucherous thing you ask him to do.
my gut tells me he’s hella into blood play— something about just seeing your skin stained with crimson feels so primal to him. like he’s corrupting you with his bare hands.
ted logan — poor boy might actually blush and explode with giggles if you ever bring stuff up like that. he’s so immature, and so vanilla, it’s sickeningly sweet. the kinkiest thing he’ll ever do with you is probably sixty nine .. oops !
#love letters.#keanu reeves x reader#keanu reeves imagine#john wick x reader#john constantine x reader#*⠀john constantine.#*⠀ted logan.#*⠀kevin lomax.#*⠀john wick.#*⠀johnny utah.#*⠀tom ludlow.#*⠀jack traven.
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officer ludlow is haunting my brain😭😭
SAAAAME I LOVE HIM SOOO MUCH!!!😭😭😭😭😭
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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One
Summary : After you treat him in the ER, Officer Tom Ludlow asks you out. You turn him down, thinking you know his type, but he’s not willing to take no for an answer. In fact, you find out he’s more than willing to abuse his authority in his pursuit of you. Maybe Ludlow seems like an asshole, but when you are drawn into a dangerous conspiracy that could go all the way to the top of the LAPD, he might be the only thing that stands between you and a shallow grave.
TW : Abuse of authority, alpha male, sexual harassment, the word “no” is not in this man’s vocabulary
The ER is overflowing tonight. There was a huge drug bust down on South Hampton Avenue that ended in a fire and gunfight: turned out to be a big enough debacle that they had to call a code black throughout the hospital, which basically means, at least for you, no breaks or time between patients. In times like this, charting even takes a back burner thanks to a hospital policy where everything you learned in nursing school flies out the window and you don’t have to document what you’re doing.
It’s a good thing, because you don’t have time to log onto a computer let alone write something down with pen and paper. Burn victims, gunshots, every bed full, people boarding in the waiting room and hallways with broken limbs and makeshift pressure dressings on bullet holes and stab wounds.
The once chemical, pristine floor and walls now look like something from a SAW movie, and you’re not much better off. Bloody, dirt caked scrubs, exhausted, sweat stains. You’ve probably done more chest compressing tonight than you have in your entire career leading up. And you’ve seen more people die tonight… well, more than you’d like.
You wipe some tears off your cheeks, pretending it’s sweat, before walking into the lobby to catch the stragglers. “Thomas?”
“Call me Tom.” He’s a cop, still in uniform, sitting on the floor with a big puff of gauze pressed into his shoulder. You kneel down beside him.
“I’m y/n, can I take a look?”
“Sure.” He winces, pulls the bloody dressing away to reveal a big, messy gash slicing into his left shoulder. It will need stitches, that’s for sure, but other than that it looks like a fairly clean cut.
“Knife?” You ask him, pulling back on his shirt.
“Some fucking idiot crackhead with a sword, actually,” he grits.
You laugh a little bit. “I’m having a hard time believing that.”
“So am I.” He tries to grin at you, but it comes out more like a snarl because of the way you’re poking and prodding at him.
Maybe it's just because you're exhausted, you've had a terrible night, and you hurt all over, but you can't help but notice how handsome this man is, even after his own ordeals on the mean streets of the City of Angels. He watches you with sharp dark eyes that miss nothing. You almost feel sorry for the criminals who find themselves on the receiving end of that stare. As it is, you almost feel a little unnerved yourself, until you notice a sparkle of humor for you in those dark orbs. However, you still get the feeling like he's studying you while you are tending his wound.
“I gotta stitch this,” you tell him, a little shy under his gaze, now.
“Are you good at that?”
You’re kind of in your own little world when he asks that, looking at his arms. Solid and big. Nice veins. It takes you a minute to register that he even said something. Yeah, you chastise yourself, why don’t you just start fucking drooling while you’re at it?
“Good at what?”
His grin tips higher. “Stitches…”
“No, but I'm going to stab you repeatedly with a needle anyway…”
He chuffs with laughter. “You just seem a little distracted.” The way he smirks at you, you just know you're caught out. Get it together, you scold yourself. Maybe act like a professional instead of oogling the nice police officer.
“Sorry. It's just been a really long night. I promise, you're in good hands.”
“Looking forward to it,” he answers, with a beam of direct eye contact that nearly brings you to your knees.
This is where you catch your lucky break, because this is where you start to get annoyed. Mostly, at yourself, but partly at him too. He clearly knows how attractive he is. He's just that kind of asshole. And it's been fucking forever since you've gotten laid, because the world is just so full of assholes… It's not fair, the way he uses this advantage to tease you, when you feel like an extra in a Rob Zombie film. You do your best to appear unaffected as you walk away to retrieve supplies. You also pretend not to notice him staring at your ass, which, okay, you have to admit, it’s a little bit of a confidence boost.
It’s almost stupid to put towels under his arm as you spray him off with sterile water - this floor could actually use it. You get the edges pink and shiny, uncake the blood and the viscera. Grateful for the distraction - distraction from the big, brown eyed cop who won’t stop looking at you.
He has that type of stare that has weight to it. You feel it, on your skin– and you hate to admit it– in the aching throb between your legs, which is the last thing you need to be distracted by right now. Ah, the stupid lady parts, always making their vote known at the worst possible time.
Even though you let the anesthetic sit for a while, modern medicine can’t account for all the pain. He’s wincing and grunting while you tug his open flesh back together, and those gruff sounds are not helping this whole being attracted to him situation. You feel like your skin is on fire from his overwhelming stare, from the noises coming out of that long throat. Christ, he’s not even touching you…
“You alright there sweetheart? I'm the one under the needle.”
You look at him, some of that anger escaping in your tone. “Please don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Sorry. Been a long night for me too.” He lifts one of those sculpted dark brows at you, and you feel it as your heart tries most earnestly to tap dance right out of your fucking chest.
You sigh, narrowing your eyes so that he knows he's not in the clear. Unfortunately, he just seems to find that adorable, those dark eyes sparkling like black diamonds.
“Just…let me finish you off so you can get out of here.”
“Didn't know you performed that service here,” he quips with a smirk, and you're almost relieved he drives this final nail into his coffin, even if the suggestion makes a spear of desire shoot through you.
“I'm starting to side with the crackhead now.”
“Ooo, ouch,” he snarks, unaffected. “Take your time, this is the most fun I've had in a while.”
You decide not to answer, concentrating on your work. This man has a quick comeback for everything, you have a feeling. Worse, you kind of doubt a girl like you has a chance in hell of outmaneuvering him.
As you're bandaging him up, he senses your time together is coming to a close. His demeanor changes a little– if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was sad about it. “Thanks for stitching me up,” he says, surprisingly humble. He rolls those big dark eyes up to yours, and you feel your resolve to be a stone cold professional crumble–a little.
“You're welcome.” It's possible your touch on his shoulder lingers just slightly longer than it should.
“Hey…” He clearly feels bold enough to catch your hand in his. And holy shit, that hand. Your little mitt disappears in his, wrapped up in long, blunt fingers. The things you bet that hand could do to you…
It's definitely not a helpful thought.
“Any chance I could give you a call sometime?”
Your initial, knee-jerk reaction to this question, from this fine-ass man, is Yes, please and thank you. You're sure he sees it in your eyes, the way you're practically ready to sit up and bark for him.
But then, past experiences raise their hands to the situation, and how grateful you are.
You know this guy's type, you convince yourself. Handsome, and macho, and they think they're so cute they can say anything and you'll just keep eating out of the palm of their hand, grateful to be their girl. You've starred in this show before– and it always ends in tragedy, with your heart in shreds, and them shrugging you off before moving on.
Not tonight.
“Sorry, but…I think it's best we keep this professional.”
Why does it hurt to say it?
You expect him to sulk, maybe even get mean, the way so many manly men do when a woman bruises their fragile egos. However, it seems this man is different. He just smirks, and you realize with a skip of your heartbeat, that he is not deterred at all.
“If you say so, sweetheart.”
With your heart in your throat, you have a feeling this is not the last you see of detective Tom Ludlow.
#Tom ludlow#street kings#keanuverse#tom ludlow x reader#collab fic#Johnwickb1tsch is amazing at graphics!!!#Tom Ludlow fic
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Street Kings , 2008
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Conor O’Neill is Tom Ludlow coded
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tom Tom TOM!
your thighs have their own zip code.
Filmed ALL day. Rolled on the mats FOR HOURS.
@buttercup32sstuff
@hecatemoon87
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Congratulations to Keanu Reeves' characters for being my longest running obsessions. Their award is my heart.💝
#keanu reeves#x reader#john wick#keanu reeves characters#keanuverse#constantine 2005#tom ludlow#donnie barksdale#donaka mark#neo anderson#ted logan
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