#jack traven

[discoscoob]

His hand on Annie’s 🥺

[discoscoob]

Our hero for @scarlettspectra 😮‍💨

[evilphosis]

still keanu'ing , even after many years .

[johnwickb1tsch]

break me, softly

When your ex Jack Traven pays you a late night visit after a tough case, you can’t turn him away. Jack Traven x Fem!Reader ficlet

warnings: smut. angst. brief mention of hostage situation/death. slight inebriation. fluff. ❤❤❤

For @treedaddymcpuffpuff who whispered in my ear "hey you should watch Speed" and sent me down this rabbit hole (i luv u girl, you're our Keanuverse Guide & Tastemaker!) 😘😘😘 and @scarlettspectra who requested some fluff fic 😘😘😘.

It’s late at night, when you hear the soft knock on your apartment door.  Usually, you wouldn’t dream of answering such a thing–a woman living alone, in this city? You’re not looking to get murdered. But something, some feeling from deep in your gut, pulls you out of bed. You walk on bare feet in just your nightie and look through the peephole. Nothing. 

You know it’s probably a bad idea, but that uneasiness nags at you still. Not that you’re in danger. That someone needs you. You have a sense about that, after so many years as a nurse. Or maybe, you just always have. 

You undo the deadbolts and stick your head out, to see the tall figure of a man retreating down the hall. 

You would know that backside anywhere. Those broad shoulders, that trim waist, those long legs…and by the way he’s walking, you can tell he’s a little drunk. 

“Jack?”

He freezes in his tracks, clearly debating with himself. Probably wondering what the fuck he’s doing here, and if you’ll tell him to go to hell, after the way he pushed you away three months ago after dating for two whole years.

He turns to face you slowly. You can say a lot of things about Officer Jack Traven–but never that he’s a coward. 

“Hey, y/n.” 

It’s the first time you’ve seen him, since the day he shattered your world when he broke things off with you. It feels about precisely like being punched in the gut. He’s still so handsome it hurts; those soulful dark eyes, cheekbones to make a fashion model weep, a manly-man’s jawline softened by such a full, sweet mouth. Immediately, upon looking at that face you still love so well, you know something is wrong. 

“Are you ok?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it. Takes a deep breath, tries again. Nothing. It’s as good as a five page report, to you. To you, who knows his every gesture, his every tell. For all it’s worth, now. 

You already knew, in the back of your mind, that you were still in love with this man. It was like a fine buzzing in your heart you’d managed to push into the background of your day to day. But seeing him again makes it all surge up with a vengeance. You know that being near him again will be like feeding your heart through a paper shredder–slowly. You also know that something terrible must have happened at his work, for him to show up here like this, and so you open the door wider, laying your heart on the sacrificial altar, the way you always do.

“Come on,” you say gently, waving him in. “I’ll take care of you.”

He gives so much of himself, always trying to help everyone else in this big, mean, city. You know he forgets to leave a little fuel in the tank for himself. It’s maybe something the two of you have in common. 

You watch as he fights a war within himself, teetering on the balls of his feet, undecided between staying or leaving. In the end, he takes a step towards you, then another. You try not to read too much into that. He’s just here because he’s drunk and feeling vulnerable. It doesn’t really have anything to do with you. 

You’re not really sure how this will go. Probably he’ll just come sit on your couch with a beer–you still have his favorite in the fridge–and talk a little. Not about what’s actually bothering him. No, heaven forbid. But circular small talk, to get his mind off the bad thing. It’s something you’ve done a thousand times before.

And yet, when you are standing toe to toe, and he has to crane his neck to look down at you–there’s a dark fire in his eyes, and with a little thrill you feel the urge to flee before his big hands engulf the sides of your face, and his mouth is on yours. 

Oh. That’s what you’re doing.

You can’t say you forgot what it’s like to kiss Jack Traven–but maybe the intensity of the memory had faded a little, if for anything out of pure self defense. How could a woman keep her sanity, if she remembered how good he was, if she knew she’d never taste him again? You stand on tiptoe to throw your arms around his neck as he devours you, and he easily picks you up with an arm around your waist, walking the two of you back into your apartment and slamming the door shut with his booted heel.

This. This had never been a problem for the two of you. Passion. It was everything else that got in the way. Most of all, his dangerous job, which though it wore on you, you had never complained about. But he’d seen the way you worried about him, the way it absolutely chewed on your nerves when there was a situation on the news and you didn’t know if he would be coming home that night. You’d been willing to weather that storm for him, but the guilt of demanding that of you ate at his conscience. 

He’d broken things off with you, in your own hospital, after he’d taken a bullet in the chest and you didn’t leave his side or really even sleep until he came to. I can’t ask you to keep doing this for me. You deserve better. 

You’d protested, of course, but he’d made up his mind. 

Until now, apparently, where he is walking you backwards towards your bedroom, half carrying you in the ardor of his embrace. You recognize this need for life-affirming intimacy. You’d gotten to know it well, over the years, and you surrender to the storm, letting him take what he needs. Letting him fist the fabric of your cotton nightie in his big hands, drawing it up over your head before falling on you again, pushing your panties down the curves of your bottom and your thighs. 

You always marveled that despite his strength and the things he knows how to do with those hands, he never ever hurt you, not even when he was like this, desperate for your softness, frantic to lose himself inside the momentary bliss your body could bring. He barely has the patience to let you pull off his white t-shirt, or to enjoy the swathes of toned flesh beneath. His belt is flung forgotten to the floor from the moment you pull it from its loops and he picks you up by your thighs, walking you the rest of the way to the bed. Boots are kicked away as his mouth is attached to yours, pants and boxers shed with a sharp push. 

You might have been embarrassed, by how ready you are for him, how sopping fucking wet you were for him from the moment you saw him,  if you could have formed a coherent thought as his thick tip kisses your entrance, before he absolutely plunges himself inside you. The delicious shock of it steals the breath from you, your soul escaping with a moan, only to be reclaimed with his mouth on yours. He takes you like the ocean, relentless and rolling, filling you with every thrust. It’s gratifying, the animalistic sounds of abandon he makes as he fucks you. If you didn’t know any better–you might have swore you were making love, despite his hedonistic frenzy.  

The same way you knew something was wrong in the first second of seeing him in the hallway, you know he’s close to finishing already, his breathing frantic in the bend of your neck, his grip just this side of bruising. He seems to remember that he’s done very little to see to your pleasure, amidst the haze of chasing his own gratification. He sits up on trembling elbows, making to reach between you. “Fuck. I’m sorry, baby. You feel so good.” Maybe it’s ridiculous, that it brings tears to your eyes to hear the endearment. You find you don’t even want to cum, as much as you just want to make this haunted man feel better. 

“It’s ok,” you pant in answer, catching his hand to place it on your breast. “Cum for me, Jack. I know you need it.” 

He buries his face in the bend of your neck; you’re not sure if the sound he makes is a moan or a sob, as he thrusts as deep as he can inside you, bathing your cervix with the hot flood of his seed. He continues to hold on to you as though you are the last sane thing on this earth, and you let him, your legs still wrapped around his narrow hips, your hands smoothing across the muscles of his broad shoulders. 

Only much, much later, does it seem to dawn on him what he’s done–and maybe just who he did it with. He draws back to look at you with concern written in those big brown puppy eyes, smoothing your hair away from your face. You can’t help but close your own lids; jesus, how you missed his touch. You feel utterly breakable in that moment, but he’s the one who needs healing right now, so you get your shit together, gather it all back up tight and shove it down in your lockbox of a heart. 

Before he can apologize or say something stupid, you pull him down to rest on your breast, the way you’ve done a hundred times before. Surely the muscle memory of it is as comforting for him as the act in the moment itself. “It’s ok, Jack. Just rest. I’ve got you.” 

He sags against you, curling that powerful body around yours–and falls asleep. 

You were right, of course. Your heart feels exactly like it’s been fed through a grinder, as you hold this beautiful manchild in your arms, your thighs deliciously sticky with his cum. A part of you hopes that he’ll just sneak out in the morning without waking you. It would almost hurt less, than any excuse he’ll have to offer you, when the sun comes streaming through your window. 

***

But when next you wake, it’s not to the sun, or the shift of weight on the mattress while a large man tries to slip out without a sound. It’s to wet kisses upon your neck, and an agonizingly gentle touch sliding down your torso, tracing the ladder of your ribcage and the swell of your belly, before making his way up again. 

“You know,” he says softly against your cheek, “you really shouldn’t open the door to anyone in the middle of the night.” 

You wonder if he can see you rolling your eyes in the dark. But then his lips touch yours, and the urge to argue with him for argument’s sake dissipates into thin air. Instead you opt for honesty, the spell of intimacy not yet broken in the shadows of what must be early early morning. 

“I think…I knew it was you.” 

He lets out a shuddering sigh, kissing your jaw, then lower. 

“Baby…” It feels so good, to hear him say it like that against your skin. You can almost forget it isn’t true anymore. You’re not his baby. You’re not his anything, even though he’s here in your bed, and his big hand is sliding down your belly again, his fingers combing through your curls. “Let me touch you?”

You really should say no. 

“You don’t have to.” 

He ducks to suck the soft skin of your breast lightly, then kisses it to soothe the burn. That luscious mouth…god it curls your toes. “I want to. I promise you.”

There’s so much you want to ask him. Things like why? And I thought you didn’t love me anymore? You’ve since reasoned that it’s the only way he could truly bear to break things off, the way he did. You certainly hadn’t had the strength to give him up, no matter what the stress of his occupation wreaked on you. 

You don’t have the strength to say no. You do manage not to beg, like the needy little thing you are, with his big body curled over yours. You’ve always felt like nothing could touch you, with him by your side. As it turned out the only thing that could hurt you all along, was him. 

You nod your assent before catching his mouth, sliding your tongue against his as his thick fingers explore your puffy slit, still wet from both of your juices. He makes a sound in the back of his throat that lifts every hair on your body, a delicious shudder running through your spine. His strong fingers circle your aching clit, just the way he knows drives you wild. Not too hard, not too soft. Fuck, this man has your number still.  

You haven’t been with anyone, since the last time you were with him, despite your well-meaning girlfriends dragging you out to bars and trying to get you to forget this man who left your heart shredded like bomb shrapnel. Because deep down, you knew, you just knew this man ruined you, utterly fucking ruined you for anyone else. Who the fuck could compare? Not some asshole hoping for a one night stand down at TJ’s, that was for sure. 

You realize you have tears running down your cheeks, you don’t know how it’s possible for it to be so good and hurt so much all at the same time. 

Unfortunately when he moves to kiss your cheek, he notices. “Hey, hey,” he says, his hand stilling between your legs, making your hips writhe with frustration. “You ok?”

“No,” you answer honestly, reaching for him. He has you cradled in those big arms, and  you can feel his manhood so firm and silky smooth against your hip. You are not ok, without him inside you right now. “Will you make love to me again?” 

He pays you a ghost of that usual blinding smile, a thing a woman would sell her soul for, and it just breaks your heart all over again. 

He never really answers you with words. The two of you move with pure magnetism, your leg hooking over his hip, pulling him close, inviting him inside. Without a condom, again, you think as he settles between your thighs, sinking inside you so smoothly. Maybe not smart, even though you're on birth control, but it’s the way you’re meant to be together, raw and no barriers between you. As usual, he fucks you and makes love to you all at the same time, looking into your soul while he does it, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever known. This time you cum together, and maybe it’s a little pathetic, the way you cling to each other in the darkness of your bedroom, like you really can stave off the misery of the outside world with this bit of human intimacy, your bodies inextricably entwined. 

You fall asleep together, this time with your head on his chest, and as you drift you decide you’ll wake up and make him breakfast, and you won’t ask him any painful questions about what this means or if he wants you back, or if this is just a comfort fuck and you won’t see him again until the weight of the world gets too much–or maybe never, because this man is bound to find someone to settle down with. Someone he can’t bring himself to let go, the way he did you. 

So you are so surprised, when you wake up, and you smell eggs and bacon and something sweet cooking. You stumble into the kitchen to find him in his blue plaid boxers, flipping a pancake, singing under his breath to R.E.M. on the radio playing low. He’s so beautiful it hurts, and it’s like your heart is gripped in an unforgiving fist. 

He turns to see you in the doorway and offers you a smile. It’s still not quite the usual 100 watt Jack Traven special–he’s not feeling well enough for that. This man hides nothing, he’s so true, he wears it all on his sleeve for you. You love that so much about him, and it hurts like a knife between the ribs. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

“Hungry?” 

“Yeah.” 

You shouldn’t feel so shy about walking into your own kitchen. 

But you aren’t sure where you stand. Do you kiss him, hug him, the way you want to, the way you used to? Or are you operating under one-night-stand-protocol? Play it cool, act like you barely even like the guy? It’s so fucked up, and you never wanted to be in this position again. 

Sensing your hesitance, he crosses the floor to you, engulfing the side of your face in his big hand as he kisses you good morning, like nothing ever changed. “Hey,” he says again, his forehead pressed to yours. 

“Jack.” 

“Yeah, baby.” 

You told yourself you weren’t going to ask painful questions. Remember? Remember that? So you just sigh, and close your eyes, and absorb this moment for what it is. “Do you feel better?” you ask. Another important question. 

“Yes and no.” 

You sigh again through your nose. The corners of his mouth twitch, because he knows you so well, and that one little gesture conveys a novel to him too. 

“Thank you,” he says, for last night, and whatever else, you don’t really know.

“Any time.” You mean it, when you say it. 

“Yeah?” There is a hint of his usual sparkle in his eyes as he asks this. And a part of you wants to pick a fight, to say I’m not the one who left. But maybe you have grown up a little, because you bite your tongue for now. 

“Yeah.” You reach up to touch his hair, the soft spikes of his buzzcut like velvet beneath your fingers. You know he would have beautiful hair if he grew it out. You’d seen his high-school pictures. He had the potential for hair to make a grown woman weep. 

Later, with your mouth full of pancake, you ask gently, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He flexes his jaw, looking out the window. He always bottled things up, before. He didn’t want to burden you with the hard things he saw at work. You didn’t want him to carry it alone. Usually you had to pry it out of him, because of course he refused to see the shrink at work. 

You realize you are gobsmack surprised when he actually volunteers, “We had a hostage situation. A woman…died. The bank robber shot her. It was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. It was the criminal’s fault. He brought a gun to a bank with the intention to steal money by any means necessary. You did your best.”

Once upon a time, he would have argued with you on that too. His jaw clenches as he thinks about it, argues with you in his mind, at least. 

But this time in the end, he closes his eyes, nods. Reaches for your hand across the table. You take it, holding on to him. Those warm, strong fingers wrapped around yours feel like home, and you try not to start crying because you’ve missed him so much. 

“Y/n…?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. For pushing you away.”

Once upon a time, you would have said something inane, like that’s ok. You’ve grown as a person too, and this time, you nod, because he does owe you an apology. “Thanks for that.” 

“I know…I don’t deserve it. But maybe…if you’d let me…I could make it up to you?”

You close your eyes at hearing that, light headed. You might have fallen out of your chair, if not for his hand anchoring you. 

“I would like that,” you admit, giving yourself points for not sounding too pathetic, and crawling across the table through the breakfast dishes to sit in his lap. 

Then, he does flash you the 1000 watt Jack Traven smile, and the circuits in your brain melt. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you big idiot.” You’re really not sure if he pulls you, or if you get up and walk, but you find yourself in his lap with your lips on his, his strong arms wrapped around you and his lips on yours. He rocks you like a child, smiling against your mouth between stealing kisses.  

“I love you.”

You feel as though the desert of your heart has suddenly undergone a superbloom, the ferocity of your love making you lightheaded.

“Jack…”

“Yeah?” He really is smiling now, in between kissing you, cute little snatches of sweetness all over your face. With hands on his cheeks you catch his lips, smiling against his mouth after a long smooch. 

“I love you too. But if you ever break up with me for any reason other than you don’t love me anymore, I might maim you.”

This wins you that radiant smile that curls your toes again. “So much for the Florence Nightingale oath.”

“Leave her out of it, this is between you and me.” He chuckles, and squeezes you again in his big arms.

“Alright. Consider me warned.”

“Good.”

His big hand runs up your thigh, that dark sparkle in his eyes that never fails to take your breath away. “I feel like I should start that making up I have to do here.” Suddenly you find yourself seated on your kitchen table, Jack smiling up at you from between your legs. He reaches for the syrup, and you can’t help but throw your head back with laughter, certain he’s teasing you. “You are going to make such a mess!”

“Honey, you’re the one going to be making the mess.” He has the nerve to smirk up at you before stealing your panties, and smearing syrup up your thighs.

[ghcstpyre]

tom ludlow x f!reader x jack traven

cw: jealous!tom, rookie!reader, cis female reader, implied age gap, alcohol consumption, one sided pining (or is it? oooo), nicknames for reader (rookie, kid), slight horniness, SFW.

word count: 3.6k

anon: Do you take requests? If yes, may I request a jealous Tom Ludlow drabble?

a/n: thank you so much for the request! I hope you don't mind that I made this a crossover, I couldn't resist including the other LAPD dreamboat 🤤 I know next to nothing about the way american police systems work so sorry for any mistakes or inaccuracies!

Tom's eyes were glued to you as you chatted away with a young man at the bar, perched daintily atop one of the rickety looking barstools. He was vaguely aware that Captain Briggs to his right was talking to him, something about a lethal cocktail he tried in a seedy bar during his holiday to Europe, but only half of his attention was paid to his colleague.

The bar was fairly crowded with groups of friends engulfing the tables, playing pool and sitting at the bar. The dim lights washed the room in a warm glow, the sound of blues music and laughter filled the space between the bodies and the faint smell of cigarettes could be smelled lightly wafting in from the entrance whenever anyone left or entered.

A few of the officers were out to celebrate the birthday of one of the guys from the bomb squad - Jake or Jace or something like that. Tom never really went out of his way to get friendly with the adrenaline junkies. Since his already weary heart was torn in two by Wander, he hadn't gone out of his way to get friendly with anyone.

Briggs being one of the exceptions of course. The scrawny, smug asshole was the only thing that stood between him and a lifetime of hell behind bars after his blood-soaked hunt for the monster behind Washington’s murder. Turns out that glueing your life back together after it crumbled around you in rapid succession really puts a spin on how you feel about a guy.

The only other exception was you. You, with your sparkling eyes, perfect smile, sunny disposition and pure, uncorrupted sense of justice. 

When the Captain introduced you as Tom's new partner, he wasn't so sure. You were young, fresh from the academy with the same childlike wonder shining in your eyes that he had when he was a rookie himself. He was old and tired and quite frankly he didn't have the patience for training the newbie. But you'd very quickly exceeded his insultingly low expectations, and if Tom was completely honest with himself, the two of you actually made a good team.

You were competent in the field, able to hold your own but also smart enough to know when to seek assistance. You listened to him, but also questioned him when you thought it necessary. Easily the biggest bonus was the fact you didn't mind the piles of paperwork that came after a bust; more than once Tom had been more than happy to slip away to get some real work done while you buried your pretty face into those dreaded stacks of dead tree. You threw yourself into it, much like you did with everything else that came with the job. 

And yet, even after witnessing some of the horrors that came with being a detective, still you shone brightly like a beacon of innocence and hope amongst the jaded and corrupt.

That is why Tom Ludlow began to fall for you. And god he hoped that light didn't burn out like his had done all those years ago.

“...om? Tom? Oi, Ludlow!”

One of Briggs’ boney hands waved in front of Tom's face, drawing the detective's attention away from you. Tom took a sip of his drink - whiskey, neat since he didn't have to try and cover up the stench of booze for once - and turned his head to look at Briggs who looked less than impressed.

“You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?” Briggs deadpanned.

Tom scoffed. “Sure I did. Something about cocktails and your titillating discovery of European prostitutes?”

The captain rolled his beady eyes. “Ha ha. Y'know, I think I prefer Vodka-Tom. He might be a sad sack, but at least he doesn't think himself a comedian.”

Tom barked out a short laugh. “Unfortunately for me there ain't a single version of you I like, James.”

Briggs grinned and the two men clinked their glasses together, enjoying their little bubble of solitude tucked away on a table in the corner while the younger officers joined in with the joyous din of the bar. A small reprieve from his longing for your attention, albeit brief. The Captain eventually excused himself to use the restroom and although Tom had tried to force his gaze to wander over the groups of people scattered around the bar, it always eventually ended up landing on you again. 

The little black dress you wore flattered you in all the right places and the black heels on your feet sent a thrill through his body. Your hair fell over your shoulders, washed and blow-dried to perfection and when he caught the rouge on your lips he swore his heart skipped a beat. He'd only ever seen you during work hours with your hair nearly pulled back, bare faced and donning your uniform. Always professional, always put together.

Tonight he was seeing you in a whole new light. While he was only watching you from afar, Tom could tell that you were a little tipsy and all smiles for the man sat on the barstool next to you. He watched, his jaw clenched as you laughed at something the man said, twirling your straw around in your glass before bringing the thin tube of plastic to your plush red lips to take a sip of your drink.

Tom couldn't get a good look at the man, but he could see that he was tall, broad and sporting a buzzcut and a badge hooked to his belt. Part of the bomb squad, Tom deduced, if his stature was anything to go by. A puff of air left Tom in a quiet huff and he shifted in his seat, sipping from his drink again while he tried to get a better look at you and the man he’d already decided he didn't like.

The detective had only decided to show his face tonight because you'd mentioned you were going. He didn't know how you knew the birthday boy, but he'd be damned if he missed an opportunity to see you and spend time with you outside the precinct. Obviously he'd dragged Briggs along as his plus one; there was no way in hell he was suffering through any sort of bomb squad party without a friend there to kill time with.

Besides, it was an open invitation party which was as good an excuse as any to bump into you.

Mr Buzzcut eventually left to meander his way through the crowd over to the retro jukebox off to the side of the bar, leaving you sitting pretty on that shit barstool by yourself. Tom threw back the rest of his drink, wiped his mouth and decided to talk to you while Buzzcut wasn't hanging around.

As Tom weaved his way through the groups of drunken partygoers, he kept reminding himself that there was nothing wrong with an officer making conversation with his subordinate off duty. He might've been older than you - by quite the margin - but there was nothing out of the ordinary about two coworkers having a casual chat and a drink.

“Rookie.” Tom greeted you gruffly as he stepped up to the bar next to where you were perched.

You turned your head and looked up at him, still having to tilt your head up to meet his gaze despite being sat on a tall barstool. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and you immediately sat up straighter upon realising who it was.

“Detective Ludlow! I didn't know you were here.” You half yelled, doing your best to be heard over the din of the bar and not slur your words at the same time. “If I had I would've found you sooner to say hello, Sir.”

Tom huffed in amusement and waved one of his large hands dismissively, his other arm resting atop the bar from his elbow. “Don't worry about it. And we're off duty, no need to be so formal, kid.”

You smiled and he noticed the way the tension in your shoulders began to unwind, no longer sitting straight as an arrow. “Alright then, Tom, what are you doing here?” You asked, angling your body to fully face him and cross one long leg over the other. It took all of Tom's strength to not follow the movement of your leg with his eyes. Hearing you call him by his name did things to him that certainly weren't appropriate for the relationship he had with you. “Didn't think you were that fond of the bomb squad.”

“Oh yeah? What gave it away?” He grinned, a curious eyebrow raised.

You tapped your index finger against your chin in mock thought and cocked your head to the side. “Hmm I don't know, maybe the constant grumbling whenever any of them enter our office? The sarcastic comments? The general hostility?” Your pretty face scrunched into a comical scowl and you puffed out your chest in an attempt to impersonate him. If it was anyone else Tom would tell them to fuck off, but coming from you it was just downright adorable.

The corners of Tom's brown eyes crinkled into crow’s feet  as he smiled and laughed, a deep baritone sound rumbling from his chest. He shifted his stance, inching a little closer to you and leaning his weight onto one hip. You could smell the notes of his cologne drifting towards you and maybe it was because you were a little drunk, but you couldn't help but notice how good he smelled – and how good he looked.

He wasn't wearing anything fancy, just a black t-shirt, dark blue jeans and a pair of brown ankle boots. But his t-shirt was tight enough that it stretched across his broad chest and strained around his thick biceps. The heavy silver buckle on his belt did things to your insides (you'd already seen the way Tom could handle a belt once before and the fire it lit beneath your skin had you wanting to see him do it again) and his denim jeans hugged his long legs in all the right places. The Cuban-esque heels on his boots were the cherry on the cake; he looked absolutely delicious.

You were definitely drunk, you told yourself, because you found yourself wanting to get closer to Tom so you could get a whiff of that cologne at least once more. After sucking up the last of your drink through the straw in your glass you hopped down off the rickety barstool to stand next to Tom.

As your heels touched the wooden floorboards you wobbled drunkenly and stumbled forward, right into Tom. He seemed to anticipate it however, and reacted quick enough to catch you before you face planted right into his chest – not that he would've minded it if you had done. The arm that wasn't resting on the bar wrapped around your waist to hold you firmly against his body while you regained your footing.

“Easy there, rookie.” Tom murmured, his voice a deep, pleasant rumble.

It was the first time you'd been this physically close to eachother in a situation that didn't involve any sort of danger. You felt secure in his strong hold and as you looked up to meet his gaze from beneath your lashes, you couldn't quite place the look on his face. 

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Before you could say anything, Tom exhaled and let his arm loosen around you. His hand, however, stayed resting protectively - almost possessively - on your lower back as you took a small step back, still staying close enough to smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body.

“S-sorry,” Though you were apologising your lips still curved up into a smile. “I turn into a clutz when I've had a few.”

Tom returned your smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling once more. “It would seem so. Better be careful or you'll end up clinging to your superior officer all night.”

You could've sworn there was a suggestive tinge to his voice, but you chalked it up to the booze swimming throughout your system. Tom's smile only widened when you didn't blanche or recoil away and instead inched closer to him, close enough that you were practically tucked against his side.

“Oh no,” You faked a swoon, dramatically pressing the back of your hand against your forehead and leaning your full weight against him. “I’d get a big strong man looking after me and you'd get a hot young woman on your arm all night – what a predicament!”

Tom barked out another laugh, the rare sound flooding your chest with warmth.

Big strong man, huh? He thought.

“Jesus kid, you are drunk. Think you've got room for another?” The hand that rested on your lower back slid upwards to curl around your bare shoulder and give it an affectionate squeeze.

It was difficult for him to ignore just how soft your skin felt beneath his rough, calloused hand, and how perfectly you slotted against his side. Tom was already committing the curves of your body to memory.

“Hell yeah I do.” You grinned up at him and he signalled to the bartender with his free hand to order drinks for the two of you.

Once Tom had paid for your drinks you perched yourself on the barstool again with him relinquishing his hold on you and following suit. You scooted your seat closer to him under the guise of wanting to hear him better over the noisy patrons as you chatted and sipped on your booze. If he saw through the lie he said nothing, though you didn't miss the way his pupils dilated, swallowing the warm brown hue of his irises when your ankle rubbed against his leg as you crossed one over the other.

The rest of the bar seemed to fade away, all of your attention on the man in front of you. It was as if all of the voices, laughter and music around you had been turned down to volume 0 and the visuals shifted out of focus until they blurred. You didn't even realise the music change from a bluesy number to ABBA. How had you never noticed how handsome, how charming Tom was before? 

You weren't even sure you could blame it on the beer goggles anymore.

It was someone else's hand on the small of your back that pulled you back to reality. You watched as Tom's eyes narrowed at whoever had interrupted the two of you and for a moment you thought it was some creep trying to cop a feel. But when you turned your head to look at the owner of said hand, you immediately relaxed.

“Jack!” The upbeat notes of ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’ finally reached your ears. “Welcome back birthday boy. Did you put this one on?”

Jack flashed you a dazzling grin of pride, seemingly completely unaware of Tom's existence on the stool next to you despite the glare being shot his way. “Hell yeah I did. Do I get the star detective’s seal of approval?”

The sleeves of his loose-fitting faded flannel shirt were rolled up to the elbow, showing off his toned, bronzed forearms and he'd neglected to button up the first two buttons at the top, exposing just enough of his chest to make you want to rip open the rest. His light blue jeans and white sneakers had him sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the blacks and browns of the other patrons.

Your ankle retracted from Tom's leg and you laughed. That sweet sound would've been music to Tom's ears had it been directed at anyone other than that cocky prick. The grip he had on his drink tightened, enough that his knuckles began to turn white.

“Absolutely you do, I love this song!” 

You were all smiles and rosy cheeks for this guy and it was taking all of Tom's willpower not to butt in and put this boy in his place. He'd had a few run-ins with Jack Traven in the past when their cases crossed over and needless to say, the two of them did not get along. Tom respected Jack for his heroics on that bus with the bomb; it was rare to find someone else with the balls and grit to say fuck it to the endless red tape and just get shit done, but that was where his like for Traven began and ended.

“Really?” Tom piped up, casually sipping on his drink, reclaiming your attention and gaining Traven’s. “You like this kinda stuff?”

Tom's gaze dropped to your lips as you playfully rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him. He knew for a fact he'd be thinking about the cute shade of pink of your tongue while he laid in bed later in the night, trying not to think of you at all.

“Tom, this is Jack from the SWAT team. Jack, this is Tom, my partner in crime. Or law? I guess?” You said, not clocking the obvious tension between the two men either side of you.

The attractive, charming SWAT member who flirted with you whenever he needed to stop by your office, and your hot, older superior officer who smelled amazing and made you think extremely inappropriate thoughts. You just knew you were going to have some very interesting dreams about this later.

“Yeah, we've met.” Jack's voice didn't hold as much charm now that it was directed at Tom and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. The detective simply nodded in acknowledgement. “How's Briggs doing? You still keeping his desk piled high with paperwork thanks to your…heroics?”

You raised a freshly plucked brow at Jack, then turned to Tom. The older man’s poker face didn't crack, completely unphased by Jack's obvious passive aggression. “How's Annie?”

You could feel Jack's hand on your lower back stiffen.

“You guys were pretty loved up after that train popped up from the ground. Must be an intense kinda girl.” Tom continued, bringing his glass to his lips once again, nonchalant to the core.

Jack removed his hand from you and stood up to his full height. He couldn't have been much shorter than Tom, maybe by a couple of inches. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and while the two men were busy doing their best to be subtle about their peacocking in front of you, you were slurping your drink through your straw and trying to process the possibility of Jack already having a girlfriend.

“We broke up. Thanks for opening up that wound, old man.” 

Old man. Tom grinned and huffed in amusement, knowing he'd hit a nerve. “Ah c'mon champ, the wound can't be that bad. I could've sworn I saw you in here with a different girl not too long ago. Y'know, curly hair? Hoop earrings?”

Jack's thick eyebrows pulled down in a frown and he puffed out his chest beneath his folded arms. “Are you jealous? What's your problem?”

“I just don't want a womaniser like you sniffing around my rookie. So why don't you be a good SWAT hound and sniff somewhere else?” 

Tom spoke in a possessive growl. If you weren't several drinks deep you'd be embarrassed by the heat pooling between your thighs at the detective calling you his. You were about to pipe up and attempt some drunken damage control, but Jack was stepping around you and up to Tom before you could say anything.

The detective slid off his chair to stand to his full height the moment Jack was close enough for the toes of their shoes to touch. He leered over the younger man, eyes narrowed in fury, daring him to try it.

“You wanna say that again old man?” Jack spat, his words dripping from his tongue like venom. “Why’re you acting like some jealous boyfriend over a girl half your age anyway?”

Tom's fists were balled up so tight his knuckles had turned white. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene right in front of you – he was older and knew better – but goddamn if he wasn't tempted to clock this insufferable prick right in his jaw to teach him a lesson and shut him the hell up.

“She's your subordinate too, right? Maybe I should pay Briggs a visit, I'm sure he'd love to hear about this little abuse of power.”

“Okay!” You put your now-empty glass down on the bar with a forceful clunk and hopped down from your perch to grab the sleeve of Jack's flannel shirt and pull him back so you could stand between the two peacocking men. Luckily for you, Jack allowed you to move him, the tension building up within his muscles immediately easing off at your touch.

The fact that you'd gone for Jack and not him only riled Tom up further. But, for your sake, he inhaled deeply and let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, forcing himself to simmer down as he watched you turn to the younger man and place those dainty little hands of yours on his chest.

“You, birthday boy, are missing out on Dancing Queen and still owe me a dance, and you–” You removed a hand from Jack to jab a finger into Tom's chest. “--Sir, need to rescue Captain Briggs from that very drunk woman over there.”

Tom's intense gaze flicked down to where your finger lingered on him a little too long, then to your pretty eyes before finally turning around to see that, yup, his friend had been cornered by an extremely inebriated woman on his way out of the bathroom. She was practically hanging off him with her arms around his neck whilst the much skinnier man desperately tried to point out the wedding ring on his boney finger.

Both you and Jack had to do your best not to laugh, stifling your giggles behind your hands as Tom deflated like a balloon in front of your eyes. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He groaned, his altercation with Traven immediately forgotten as he stomped over to rescue Briggs. Your gaze lingered on the older man as his long legs ate up the space between him and the Captain, leaving you with Jack who was already taking your hand in his and tugging you towards the dancefloor.

With a roll of your eyes you allowed yourself to be dragged away by the handsome young man, despite the urge to follow after Tom like a little lost lamb. Jack held both of your hands as the two of you began to move and sway enthusiastically along to the upbeat tune of ABBA.

When Tom had finally managed to untangle the drunken woman from Briggs without flashing his badge, he couldn't help the way his heart sank in his chest at the sight of you cosied up to Traven on the dancefloor. If he thought about it hard enough he could still feel the curves of your body pressed against his side, all soft and supple and goddamn delicious to the point where he almost ached with the desire to map out those dips and swells with his hands, lips and tongue.

“Let's get outta here.” He grunted, forcing himself to look away from you before the urge to start drinking vodka crept up on him.

“Already? You still owe me a drink.” Briggs complained.

Tom didn't bother replying, already making a beeline for the exit, his eyes focused straight ahead on the squeaky double doors to avoid seeing the way Jack's hands moved to your hips to pull you against him.

What he didn't see was your pretty head turning to watch him leave.

[97keanu]

₊‧꒰ঌ ໒꒱‧ ° Here is the prompt list for our community wide event if anyone wants to join in! The orange side is for more fluffy fall prompts and the red side is for more horror style prompts, feel free to pick and choose whichever or do both if you'd like!

₊‧꒰ঌ ໒꒱‧ ° I would love it if we could use the #keanuween on here so everyone can find the event and would be happy to be tagged in any keanuween posts (so I can read and reblog them!)

₊‧꒰ঌ ໒꒱‧ ° Event starts with

week 1: Oct. 1-6

week 2: 7-13

week 3: 14-20

week 4: 21-27

week 5: 28-Nov. 2(for any late fics!).

Feel free to do as little or as many as you want! I just want to read some fall time stories about my pookies even if that means you only have time to do 1!

₊‧꒰ঌ ໒꒱‧ ° All are welcome to participate, writers, artists, gifmakers, editors, ANYONE who wants to create ANY kind of fanwork for the event! If you'd like a space to share your work further, consider joining our community!

[chiefnooniensingh]

KEANU REEVES and SANDRA BULLOCK Speed (1994) dir. Jan de Bont

[discoscoob]

I don’t want to learn to drive, I want to be forced to drive a city bus under stressful circumstances where I have to keep it above 50mph to prevent a bomb going off while I develop a bond with a hot SWAT officer through our shared intense experience and receive an honorary drivers license afterwards as reward for my heroic efforts.

[foreveric]

Kind of going off your list of the Kenau characters with a pregnant reader

what about them with a reader in labour!

keanuverse characters x pregnant!wife!reader in labor — headcanons.

jack traven

do NOT let his calm take on action get you thinking he'll be just fine when you're in labor. the nurses that were coming in and out of the room would have to give him updates to tell him how you're doing and if the baby was alright or how far along you were. after the baby's been born, he'll burst into the room and rush over to you with his heart pounding against his chest like roaring thunder. whatever you want or need for recovery, he's your man for every need; even taking care of the baby.

john wick

he's going to be with you through every second of the way, and he'd be damned if anyone tried to tell him otherwise. only because they're the medical professionals ensuring you and his child's safety. sure, he's panicking inside, but the stoic expression on his face would never let on otherwise. when you're finally able to meet your little bundle of joy, he doesn't hesitate to help with cutting the umbilical cord. he'll whisper reassuring things into your ear to soothe you from any lingering pain that you may still feel from the birth. of course, you've already planned out a name for either gender, and you're more than prepared to welcome in your little one.

kevin lomax

sure, he's a bit neglectful towards you in your marriage. but, when it comes to your family together, he's always going to be there for you no matter what. he can't understand your pain, but he'll still give you the verbal encouragement that he could while under the pressure of the moment. while you're in recovery, he will help to take care of the baby — even to put it to sleep at night when you need the break, or he'll even learn how to change a diaper.

[discoscoob]

When Jack Traven says “let’s take this off, shall we?” I want him to say it to me but about my clothes instead of a bomb vest

[johnwickb1tsch]

🚨Alarm! Alarm🚨help is needed! Code red!

LOL I didn't MEAN to set the kitchen on fire, but thank goodness you're here, please don't punish me... 👀😂😂😂

[discoscoob]

I made a gif by myself for the Practical Magic AU with Jack and Tom that I’m going to try and write. I’m proud of myself 😂

[discoscoob]

JT and loser/nerd!Neo 🥹please

Okay, no pressure, I hope I get your man right! 😅

Idk a lot about defusing bombs but if he can do that then I reckon he’s good at fixing things around the house. If you’re dating or he’s your hot neighbour, you’ll be calling him around when something goes wrong and you’d rather not hire an electrician, plumber or mechanic just to be overcharged. Jack is more than happy to help you out and it gives you both an excuse to spend more time together, if you’re not dating yet you’d definitely have the feelings are requited but you’re both idiots thing going on.

He doesn’t know how to switch off. He is always vigilant and on guard. If he is off duty, it doesn’t stop him turning up to the station on his day off with a perp he arrested because he was causing trouble or harassing a girl.

He loves karaoke night. He’s a karaoke king! This is inspired by @scarlettspectra’s headcanon that Ted and Jack are one and the same. Getting up on stage and singing takes him back to his youth, even if it’s in a stuffy bar full of drunk people, he will sing his heart out and air guitar.

He loves swimming at the beach, almost every morning he will wake up before a shift and drive to the beach for a swim. It’s a refreshing start to his day and good exercise to help him keep in shape.

He loves romcoms, it’s his guilty pleasure. His days are action packed so action flicks aren’t really for him, they remind him too much of work. He will definitely quote you some cheesy lines from a romcom when he’s trying to impress you. Would reenact the fake orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally in a crowded diner just to see you blush and get flustered.

Neo headcanons can be found here!

[johnwickb1tsch]

practical magic au, but you're Sandra Bullock's character + Jack Traven... 👀