discoscoob

[discoscoob]

RAM Me, Baby!

Pairing: Thomas Anderson x Reader

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW (fingering, f oral?, squirting, spitting, pussy smacking, overstimulation, lil bit of MeanDom!Thomas, Sub!Reader, nipple play, rough smut, p in v smut) (always use protection), language, uhhhhh I think that's all

Requested by Anon! I hope you see this and that you like it <3

Thank you to @casuallyobssessed for proofreading <3

Requests are OPEN <3

Thomas didn’t mean to look at your search history. Actually, yes, he did, he just didn’t mean to see that in your search history. One thing that you always bragged to your friends about your boyfriend was that he somehow always knew exactly what you wanted for presents. You never had to drop hints, never had to fake a smile when given a terrible gift. You loved everything about Thomas, from his head to his toes, but that? That might be one of the top things you loved about him. 

The secret to his success? Looking at your search history to see what you’d been looking up lately. A necklace that caught your eye? Bought and shipped. A dress that you had seen some celebrity wear? In your size and on the way. Thomas loved seeing how happy it made you when he gave you something you truly wanted, it made his heart thump all funny and feel warm inside. 

Which is how he got into this mess. He was sitting at your computer, scrolling through your searches for gift inspiration when he saw a search that made his heart drop into his stomach.

Search: how do i tell my boyfriend i want him to be rougher in bed

His anxiety creeped up his spine and settled at the base of his skull as he read and reread that single search. Was he not satisfying you? Did you want to leave him because he hasn’t been rough with you? Were you not happy about how he made love to you? Because that’s what it was. Thomas never fucked you. He made love to you. Whenever he touched you, it was slow, gentle, reverent. He worshipped every inch of you, let you control the pace, the intensity, he let you control him. Thomas always made sure you came before he did, always prepped you with his mouth and fingers until he knew his cock wouldn’t hurt you. He never left marks with his mouth, thinking that it would be more work for you to cover them up in the morning. He thought you liked that he was gentle with you.

Evidently not.

Something hot and twisted coiled in his chest. You were his girlfriend and he would be damned if he didn’t give you exactly what you wanted. He had been holding back, not wanting to hurt you while fucking, but if you wanted it rough… Thomas could do that. All he had to do was wait for you to get home.

You came home after work, excited to start the weekend with Thomas. The show you two had been excited about for months had just premiered, so the plan for this whole weekend was popcorn and being utter couch potatoes. Domestic bliss with the man you love. Shrugging off your coat and putting down your purse, you kick off your heels and sigh in relief.

“Baby?” You call into the apartment. Usually, Thomas was home by the time you arrived, ready to greet you with a hug and kiss. You frown softly as you don’t get a reply, taking a few steps farther into the apartment. The lights were on, the fan on the ceiling whirring softly. Thomas was definitely home, he never left the lights on when he was out. You strained your ears to hear if the shower was running, only to be met by disconcerting silence. The TV was off and so was his computer monitor. You went to the bedroom and pushed open the door to peek inside. Maybe he was asleep, you thought. He was always working so hard on his coding that sometimes he forgot to sleep unless you came and physically made him stop to rest. 

“Tommy-” You step into the bedroom, only for a mass of warmth and muscle to pin you against the door. You yelp, your hands automatically shooting up to push against the chest of the person in front of you. With wide eyes, you stop as you look up into the deep brown eyes of your boyfriend who is now looming over you. You let out a breathless chuckle, your heart still pounding in your chest from the adrenaline of the scare.

“Baby, you scared me.” You say softly, smiling up at him. Thomas’ face doesn’t change, still looking down at you with an intense light in his eyes. No warm smile, no sweet murmurs of how he missed you. Just staring at you with an expression that made something in your stomach clench. That wasn’t an expression you had ever seen from him before. Thomas always reminded you of a puppy with his soft eyes and eager-to-please demeanor. But now? Now that puppy looks more like a hungry wolf. He leans in slowly, holding your hands by the wrists as he pins them against the door above your head.

“T-Thomas?” You squeak, blushing despite yourself. You test his grip, trying to break free only for him to tighten his hold with a warning rumble in his chest. You’ve never seen him like this before and you’d be lying if you said you haven’t dreamed about this. His hot breath is on your face as his eyes flick between your wide eyes and your lips.

“So I’m too gentle with you, hm?” Thomas hums, voice low as he presses himself against you. You gasp as his lips find the underside of your jaw and lets you feel how hard he is in his pants. “Didn’t wanna break you, babe… But if you want me to be rough, I’ll stop holding back.”

“Fuck-” You moan as his free hand fists in your hair and pulls your head to the side. The pain tingling on your scalp shivers down your spine, pooling in your gut. His teeth find the skin of your neck, biting down hard enough that you know that there will be a mark there in the morning and only adding to your arousal. Your hips buck on instinct, grinding against him in a desperate attempt for more stimulation.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” Thomas growls in your ear, using his hips to keep you pinned against the door. “Dirty girl, already grinding on me. You’re this worked up just from a little bite?”

He doesn’t give you enough time to answer before he releases your hair in favor of roughly groping your breasts through your shirt. You whimper as his fingers sink into the soft flesh, hot and panting for more of his touch. Thomas keeps marking your neck with his tongue and teeth, painting purple bruises and red splotches across the skin where your pulse is hammering in your throat. His hand shoves under your shirt and bra, cupping your breast. You moan at the difference between his cool hands and your overheated skin. Thomas rolls and pinches your nipple, plucking it until the bud is sore and sensitive before switching to its twin. “Baby, please-” You whine, squirming against him and trying to free your hands, in need of more but unable to move from his body holding you in place. 

“Please what, sweetheart?” He coos with a fake sweetness that makes your cheeks burn in embarrassment. “Use your big girl words and tell me what you want.”

“Please, fuck me…” You trail off, soft and unsure as you voice your desire. Thomas pulls back with a smirk before finally crashing his lips against yours in a demanding kiss. This isn’t like the kisses you usually share while making love. No, this is Thomas claiming your mouth as his own and leaving no doubt in your mind about that fact. You moan into his mouth, lips parted and pliant under his onslaught. His tongue plunges into your mouth, hungrily meeting yours. The kiss turns sloppy, saliva escaping both your mouths and going completely unnoticed. Thomas pulls back sharply, a strand of drool connecting your mouths before it snaps.

“Good girl.” He mutters, already pulling you off the wall and cornering you towards the bed. You’re too breathless from the kiss, too dizzy with the red hot desire you see in his eyes, to even notice he’s stripping your clothes off until the cool breeze from the AC blows across your dripping pussy. Thomas makes quick work of his shirt, opting to keep his pants on for the moment. The tight material does nothing to hide the thickness of his cock, hard and straining towards you. He pushes you back onto the bed, using his hips to keep your thighs open for him.

“Such a pretty cunt…” Thomas murmurs, sounding almost entranced as he swipes two fingers through your folds to gather your slick arousal. You jolt and whine as his fingers ghost over your hole and graze your clit. “So wet for me, aren’t you?”

“Please, Tommy-” You start to beg, only to squeal as his hand smacks against your wetness. Thomas laughs darkly, amused by your reaction. He expected pain, maybe shock, but not you to moan like a slut for him. He parts your lower lips, spitting on your clit before blowing a stream of cool air against your pussy and watching your walls clench around nothing. Your squeal trails off into a high moan as he pushes those two fingers into you. Your pussy spasms, fluttering around his digits as you whine from the delicious stretch. He starts curling his fingers in a come-hither motion, not even thrusting his fingers as he abuses your g-spot.

“This what you wanted, baby?” Thomas asks, watching as your eyes roll back and your thighs twitch. Your body is shaking as he rubs that spongy spot with the same precision he uses to build the CPU of a computer. Just as you get close to coming, as you teeter on the edge of pure heaven, he stops curling his fingers and starts to finger fuck you hard and fast. The change in stimulus makes your orgasm fade and rips a whimper of protest from your lips. Your disappointment doesn’t last long, the pressure in your stomach building again as he stuffs your cunt with his fingers.

Thomas nearly purrs from the wet, lewd squelches of your pussy around his fingers as he continues to finger you. You’re a moaning mess, unable to form any kind of coherent sound besides broken moans of his name and pleas for him to let you come. “That’s it, sweetie. Let me hear your pussy tell me how badly you wanna come.”

“Fuck, oh my god!” You moan loudly as he crooks his fingers again, now rubbing your clit with his thumb. “Please! M’gonnacome-”

He seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, throwing you over the edge and into your release. Thomas keeps sucking, flicking his tongue over your clit and making something hot and tight coil behind your orgasm. It washes over you like a tidal wave that knocks the breath from your lungs in a choked scream. Thomas groans, lapping at your release as you squirt into his mouth. He’s never made you do that before and now he’s addicted to seeing the way your thighs tremble. You sigh as your orgasm starts to fade, the tension in your muscles loosening as you get ready for the usual cuddle session-

“No.” Thomas growls, rising from between your legs and grabbing your chin with his forefinger and thumb. “I’m not fucking done with you yet.”

He slams his lips against yours, making you taste your come on his tongue as he devours you in the filthy kiss. Thomas pushes his pants and boxers down his thighs enough to free his aching cock. Still kissing you hard, he thrusts forward into your still clenching heat, groaning as you whine from the overstimulation. He starts to move almost immediately, setting a fast and deep rhythm that makes your toes curl and your back arch. Thomas sucks and bites across your breasts, leaving more hickeys on your skin as his hips slap against the back of your thighs. The wet plap of skin meeting skin echoes through the room under the sound of your breathless moans and his own raspy groans.

“Fuck, so fuckin’ tight!” Thomas hisses through his teeth, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you in place as he pounds into you. “God, you love this, don’t you? You love getting used like a goddamn toy-”

You didn’t stand a chance, in all honesty. Still sensitive from your previous orgasm, his bullying the soft walls of your cunt is too much. You come again before you can even say anything to him, moaning in a mix of pleasure and pain from the intensity of the sensations that feels like lightning through your body. Thomas moans as your pussy clamps around his cock, trying to milk his release out of him. He clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut, every fiber of his being focused on not coming in that moment. Instead of stopping or even slowing down, he pushes down more on your hips to get better leverage.

“Thomas, w-wait, please-” You plead between a moan and whine as he keep fucking you into the bed. The overstimulation is singing through your blood, straddling the fine line between ecstasy and torture as his cock continues to pump into you. Tears well in your eyes and you don’t know if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Aw, poor little thing.” He grins breathlessly, watching you try to squirm away from his relentless thrusts. The head of his cock drills deeper into you as he tightens his hold on your hips and pulls you to meet him halfway. “You wanted this, remember? You wanted me to be rough, so, shit, so fucking take it-”

You come again, almost painfully hard as your muscles lock up under him. Your moans and the spasming of your cunt around his cock are enough to send Thomas spiralling, his hips making jerky thrusts as he empties himself into you with a groan. He falls beside you on the bed, pulling your trembling body into his arms and rubbing soothing circles on your spine. You both lay there for a few moments, panting as you drift down from the spectacular high.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” You ask breathlessly, a dazed smile on your face as you look up at him. Thomas blushes, back to being your shy, awkward boyfriend once more as he rubs the back of his neck. “I… I saw what you searched for.” He mumbles softly, not able to meet your eyes. “I just wanted to give you what you wanted.”

“Tommy…” You sigh, gently gripping his chin to make him look at you. “Just because I like it rough doesn’t mean that I want that all the time. I love how you touch me, it makes me feel so loved and beautiful. It’s just something to spice it up, y’know?”

Thomas nods, hiding his blushing face in your neck. You huff out a soft laugh before leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“Baby?” You coo softly, kissing his temple. He makes a little noise of acknowledgement that’s muffled by your skin. “Can you fuck me like you usually do? Slow and gentle…”

Your boyfriend moans as he starts to plant kisses along your neck and shoulder. Now that you know what he’s like rough, you know the contrast with him being gentle will be even better.

“God, yes.” Thomas murmurs lowly, already hitching your thighs up around his waist again.

A/N: Yayyyyy!!! I love the idea of a dominant Thomas so this was a treat to write! I have more requests coming down the line so keep 'em coming!

Tags: @casuallyobssessed @scarlettspectra @discoscoob @johnwickb1tsch @devilsadvocatevhs @97keanus @lilithlinen @blackcoffeeblackeyes @sweetwolfcupcake @pointbreakvhs @arabellascented @barnabae-brooks-jr

[discoscoob]

[discoscoob]

Ted Theodore Logan

⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒ please, don’t repost/reupload my gifs, screenshots, fanfics and drawings without my permission or credits

[discoscoob]

John Wick...defeated in a rap battle by a sentient garden gnome.

JOHN WICK VS. SENTIENT GARDEN GNOME.

WHO WON? WHO'S NEXT? YOU DECIDE!

Made a mood board for u, nonny 🫶🏻

Requests are open!

[discoscoob]

🌹 a flower for everyone not feeling their best today

[discoscoob]

John moping around the house Wick is Pain (2025)

[discoscoob]

Johnny: What did I achieve, shouting "Chippin' In" to a bunch of angry, pimply kids? V: Ya gave those kids hope. That the suits couldn't buy everything.

[discoscoob]

Requests Are Now Open!

I am temporarily opening fanfiction and mood board requests for only Keanuverse characters (characters played by Keanu Reeves).

These will be x Reader unless specified.

When Requesting:

Tell me the character and the idea you're looking for.

Do you want a fic or a mood board?

Add as many details as possible when submitting a request. The more detailed, the better.

Tell me if you would prefer a Masc, Fem, or Gender Neutral Reader (and genital preferences if requesting NSFW). If you do not specify, it will be up to my discretion.

Will write:

NSFW and SFW

Most kinks

LGBTQ+ Content (we simply need more of it in this space tbh)

Most Dark/Fucked Up/Dead Dove themes

Will NOT write:

I will refuse anything that makes me uncomfortable.

If I am not familiar enough with a character, I may decline your request.

Will add to this list if needed, but I'm pretty open.

Dividers by /byuvly/ and /plutism/

[discoscoob]

Please state your name and occupation.

[discoscoob]

Keanuverse character receives a blowjob 2/?

Donnie Barksdale x gn!reader, 18+ He lounged back in his big, battered armchair in the dimly lit living room, his face occasionally illuminated by the flickering glow of the TV. The distant speech of the football game commentator and the cheers from the stands blared from the speakers, but your focus stayed on the dishes, your hands moving slowly under the warm stream of water. “Hey, bring me a beer, will ya?” Donnie’s low, impatient voice echoed in your ear. You sighed softly, a flicker of annoyance crossing your face, yet you still set down the dish you had been scrubbing endlessly and opened the refrigerator to grab a cold beer from the shelf. “Here you go,” you said, stepping into the dark room and offering him the bottle. He snatched it from you, not even giving you a glance or word of thanks. You turned to leave, but before you could take a step, his hand grabbed your wrist with a firm, sudden grip. “I need to blow off some steam,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at you. Even from below, his gaze was intense and commanding, sending a cold shiver down your spine. “D-Donnie, I have to- ” The words barely left your lips before he yanked you roughly onto his lap, causing a startled yelp. Every muscle tight with fear as you landed against his strong body. For a fleeting moment, you saw a glimpse of something almost tender in his eyes, a hint of the man he once was, the way he used to look at you when things were better. “I want this filthy mouth to do somethin’ more than just give me shit,” he growled brushing with his rough thumb over your trembling lips. His grip on your wrist loosened before his hands firmly guided you off his lap, positioning you between his spread thighs. “Don’t go actin’ like you don’t want it,” he murmured in a low, husky voice, “I know ya love this.” Donnie spread his legs wider, the leather of the armchair creaking as he shifted his hips for a better angle, making himself more comfortable. Your cheeks warmed, your hands moving slowly up his thighs, feeling the solid muscle beneath the denim. “Yeah, that’s right, darlin’…” As you unbuttoned his jeans, you glanced up, seeking a moment of eye contact. But his gaze was already back on the screen, focused on the game, with one hand casually wrapped around the beer bottle. As you began to suck, a low, satisfied grunt escaped him. His breathing grew heavier, though his gaze remained locked on the TV. Donnie took a long sip of his beer while his free hand rested on the back of your head, and his hips subtly bucking up to force you to take him deeper.

[discoscoob]

Keanuverse characters’ parenthood 6/6

John Constantine ✦ Ted Logan ✦ John Wick ✦ Jack Traven ✦ Marlon James

Donnie Barksdale

tw: pregnancy, humiliation (not from Donnie)

requested by @tcrturedreeves 🖤

“Do you realize you’ve messed up everything?” The manager’s voice rang out through the aisles of the store, his fist clutching a tin can. A few customers turned their heads, but no one intervened.

“I’m sorry, sir... I-I really am…” You stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

The manager’s face twisted in rage, the vein on his forehead bulging. “I don’t need your apologies!” he snapped, stepping toward you. “I felt sorry for you. Thought you could handle it…” He scoffed, eyes raking over you. “But with that belly, there’s no head at all!”

You shrank back, instinctively resting your hands on your swollen stomach. Before you could stammer another apology, a voice cut through the air. Rough, mean, and all too familiar.

“Hey!”

A cold rush of fear shot up your spine as you turned, already knowing who it was.

Donnie.

He stood at the end of the aisle, his broad frame rigid, fists clenched at his side so tight his knuckles went white. The brim of his baseball cap casted a shadow over his face, but it couldn’t hide the sharp, burning fury in his eyes. His jaw was locked, the muscles flexing under the rough stubble. 

Since you’d gotten pregnant, Donnie had been more on edge, more protective. More dangerous. He guarded you like a wolf protecting his mate carrying his pups. And right now, he looked ready to sink his teeth into your manager’s throat.  

“Get your dirty hands off her!” Donnie growled, long legs eating up the space between you in seconds. 

“No, no, no-” You darted forward, hands pressing flat against his chest in a feeble attempt to stop him. But he was a wall of heat and tension, and the second you touched him, your arms went weak.

“Aside, woman,” he gritted through clenched teeth, his large hand settled on your shoulder, pushing you gently but firmly out of his way.

You stumbled back, heart hammering as Donnie reached the manager in two strides and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“What the - ” The manager’s words cut off when Donnie yanked him hard and slammed him back into the shelf, making the metal frame groan. Cans toppled, crashing to the floor around their feet with heavy thunks and sharp clangs, rolling in every direction. The manager let out a strangled gasp, his hands flying up to grip Donnie’s wrists.

“Let go of me, Donnie! Have you lost your damn mind?!” he croaked, struggling uselessly, but Donnie’s grip only tightened.

Donnie shook him hard. The shelf wobbled, another cascade of cans rattling to the ground.  “What in the hell’re ya yellin’ at my wife for?”

“Donnie, please-” You moved quickly to his side, your hand landing on his shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch. 

The manager sputtered, his wide, panicked eyes darting in your direction as if you’d somehow save him.

You swallowed hard, panic rising in your chest.

“Look at me when I’m talkin’ to ya!” Donnie barked, giving the manager another rough shake, rattling the shelf behind him.

The man let out a choked gasp, his face darkening to a deep shade of red as his eyes started to roll back.

Two security guards rushed in, grabbing at Donnie’s arms, trying to rip him away. He barely budged. It took everything they had - shoving, wrestling, but only when one of them drove a punch straight into Donnie’s jaw did they finally manage to tear him off. 

The manager staggered forward, panting and red-faced, rubbing his throat.

“I- I’m so sorry…” you mumbled.

“I don’t wanna see you or your psycho husband in my store again!” he gasped, yanking at his rumpled collar with trembling hands.

The guards dragged Donnie toward the exit, his body still tense, still fighting, breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, until they finally hurled him outside.

You hurried after him into the settling night.

Donnie had already stepped away, bent slightly at the waist, hands braced on his knees. He spit a streak of blood onto the ground, his breath still coming in heavy bursts.

You approached him carefully, your hand brushing against his broad back. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, the remnants of anger still edged. He spat again, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Donnie…” You reached up, cupping his cheek. He let you tilt his face, just for a second, before jerking away. But you caught a glimpse of his split lip, a smear of red on his chin.

“I said I’m fine.” His voice was more controlled. He straightened up, towering over you. “Let’s head on home.”

The drive was silent, tension thick in the space between you. Staring out at the streetlights streaking past the window your hands brushed your belly, as you tried to find the right words. Finally, you swallowed and spoke.

“Donnie… you shouldn’t have…”

“Stop it.”  His fingers flexed on the steering wheel.

“I could’ve handled it-”

“You wouldn’t have handled a damn shit,” he cut in.

“It’s my job. Was mine…and now we-” The words stalled in your throat as a sharp jerk of the wheel startled you. The truck swerved off the road, kicking up a thick cloud of dust as it came to a screeching halt. You shrank back against the door instinctively as he leaned in, your breath catching in your throat, eyes squeezing shut, every nerve bracing for impact. 

“Ain’t nobody-” He barked, eyes burning into you.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

You hesitated.

“Look. At. Me.”

Slowly, you lifted your eyes to his. Your heart pounded against your ribs as his calloused, large hand moved to cup your cheek. His touch was unexpectedly gentle.

“Ain’t nobody,”  he repeated, slower this time, “gonna talk to ya like that. Ain’t nobody gonna humiliate ya. Y’hear me?” His grip tightened, ensuring you understood.

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

“Say it,” he demanded, his breath warm and heavy against your face.

“I got it.”

Donnie’s whole body seemed to ease, the hard lines of his face softening. His hand slid down from your face, past your throat, and settled on your belly.  

“I’ll make it work, pumpkin,” he murmured, his palm warm and steady on your belly. “But I ain’t lettin’ nobody mess with you or our baby.”

He leaned in, his bruised lips brushing against yours before pressing in deeper. The sharp, metallic taste of blood hit your senses, but you didn’t pull away.

No matter how fucked up he was, no matter how many fights he started or finished, you knew one thing for certain. You were safe.

At least for now.

[discoscoob]

ִ ˙ ✩°˖📚 ⋆｡˚ WORKS LIBRARY

REQUESTS NOT TAKEN

THE FULL WORKS

ECHOS ➠ Ted Logan x Reader: you struggle with the feelings you harbour for your childhood best friend as you watch him fall in love with someone else. 1.5k

ONE FOR THE MONEY ➠ Kevin Lomax x Reader: while on a work trip in Los Angeles where he is going to attend numerous social events, Kevin hires you to be his date for his entire stay. 3.7k [NSFW]

EDELWEISS + BREAK THE CHAIN ➠ Donnie Barksdale x Reader x Kevin Lomax: how an unexpected night out and a chance encounter with a charming lawyer leads to the end of your abusive marriage. 5.8k + during the turmoil of your divorce proceedings against your abusive husband, you and your lawyer confront your husband's relentless refusal to accept the end of your marriage. 2.6k

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU ➠ Ted Logan x Reader: Keanuverse Secret Santa contribution. 2.5k

COPS AND ROBBERS ➠ Marlon James x Reader (including Tom Ludlow): in desperate need of a large sum of cash, you and Marlon stage a bank robbery. It doesn’t really go to plan. Featuring an appearance from Tom Ludlow. - Inspired by @scarlettspectra’s Marlon James fic. 6.1k

SHORT STORIES: under 1.0k

YANDERE NEO || DEVIL KEVIN LOMAX || FRIEND ZONE NEO || MOULIN ROUGE ||

HEADCANONS

BOXER JOHN WICK || YOUNG DONNIE BARKSDALE || ESCORT JOHN WICK ||

WORKS IN PROGRESS

PHANTOM ➠ Neo Anderson x Hacker!Reader x Tom Ludlow: Veteran detective, Tom Ludlow, leads the hunt to find the hacker responsible for a cyberattack on the city's police department with the assistance of Neo, a criminal hacker that he keeps out of jail in exchange for information. Progress: 8.5k [estimated: 50% complete]

[discoscoob]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ COPS AND ROBBERS

˙ ✩°˖💰⋆｡˚ Marlon James x Reader

CW: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, criminal!reader, bank robbery, angst, slightly (or very) melodramatic, mentions of addiction, not very pretty descriptions of withdrawal, violence, threats, tons of swearing, my attempts at comedy.

synopsis: in desperate need of a large sum of cash, you and Marlon stage a bank robbery. It doesn’t really go to plan. Featuring an appearance from Tom Ludlow. - Inspired by @scarlettspectra’s Marlon James fic. Thank you to @casuallyobssessed for proofreading! 6.1k words.

The neighbourhood looks like it could use a little TLC. Patchy lawns with yellowed grass sit behind chain-link fences, not a single mailbox stands straight along the entire street with cracked sidewalks and potholes dotting the main road.

Dead leaves pile up along the curbs and under the windshields of the cars parked in the driveways: everyone of which is at least a decade old. A few houses still have crooked Halloween decorations and rotting Jack-o’-lanterns with drooping smiles slumped on their porch, even though November has already settled in.

It’s not the nicest neighbourhood in town, but it’s quiet. No sirens or neighbours screaming bloody murder, just the creak of a loose screen door, the squeak of a rusted gate, and a dog barking somewhere on the next street over.

Tom pulls up at the curb and kills his engine. Tapping his fingers upon the leather-bound steering wheel, he stares out through the tinted windshield.

He’s not even sure why he came here.

˙ ✩°˖💰⋆｡˚

“Everybody freeze!”

“Everybody down on the ground!”

You and Marlon shout simultaneously as you bust through the doors of the bank with your guns raised, expecting panic, screaming and mayhem. Instead, the customers and the bank tellers just… stare at you.

A heavy silence settles over the room. You could hear a pin drop over the faint whir of the AC.

Marlon shifts nervously beside you, tightening his grip on the revolver. His bandana sits askew over the bridge of his nose and his dark eyes dart skittishly around the room from beneath the tattered brim of his faded baseball cap.

“Babe, why ain’t nobody doing nothin’?” He hisses, leaning towards you, hoping you can shed some light on the situation, but you’re just as perplexed by the lack of chaos and panic.

“Well, son, if I may,” a middle aged man with a moustache that could rival Tom Selleck’s, politely steps forward, adjusting his oversized bifocals.

Marlon lets out an audible yelp, damn near jumping out of his skin.

“Holy shit, man! Where’d you even come from?!”

The man takes a step back, holding up his hands placatingly with a genuinely apologetic expression. “Woah, easy! Didn’t mean to startle you, son. It’s just– you and your err… wife?” He gestures vaguely at you.

“Huh? Oh! We’re not– I mean, I haven’t, y’know, not yet–”

“Right, besides the point,” the man cuts off Marlon’s rambling, “I’m just saying, this is clearly your first time robbing a bank, am I right?”

Marlon nods, earning a nudge and a tilted glare from you, silently warning him he probably shouldn’t be admitting that you’re a pair of amateurs.

“Well, the problem is the fact you gave us contradictory orders. One of you said freeze and the other said get down. Now, son, logically speaking, you do understand that we can’t very well do both at the same time, don’t you?”

You and Marlon blink as it suddenly dawns on you how out of your depths you both are.

“…Excuse us for one moment.” Marlon clears his throat, the sound echoes through the quiet room as he tugs you by the wrist.

Before you can react, you’re right back outside with the doors swinging shut behind you.

“Marlon, what the actual fuck?!” you hiss, yanking your arm back.

“I’m sorry! I panicked!” He removes his baseball cap to run a hand through his dishevelled hair as he paces in front of you. “I thought it’d be easier once we were in there, that I could just rely on the adrenaline to get me through it, y’know? But then we fucked up and they were all just staring at us! Then that dude started giving us advice. Who even gives the robbers advice in the middle of a stick-up? I think– I think I got, like… stage fright? Or the bank robbery equivalent. Robbery fright?”

You tug your own bandana down until it hangs loosely around your neck and you rest both your hands on Marlon’s tense shoulders, halting his nervous pacing.

“Hey, look at me. Just breathe, okay. Nice and slow. You’re fine. You just got a little spooked, that’s all.”

He follows your soothing command, his chest slowly expands with a deep inhale and then deflates with a gently controlled exhale.

“We looked like a coupla boneheads in there.”

“We did,” you agree with a shrug, “but it’s not the end of the world.”

Marlon doesn’t look so convinced but he appears slightly less panicked than he was a few moments ago.

“Ready to try again?”

Marlon looks like you just asked him to jump into a pool of hungry sharks. “You think we can still pull this off?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.” You answer plainly instead of feeding him some sugar-coated bullshit. “But we already got this far so we might as well keep going.”

Marlon puts his baseball cap back on, a silent confirmation that he’s ready to give it another shot and you nod, securing your bandana back over your nose.

“When we go back in, this time we’ll both shout ‘freeze!’” You instruct him, calm and steady.

“Right. Freeze. Got it.” He nods, psyching himself up with a shake of his limbs before adjusting his hold on the revolver.

You grab his wrist. “Let’s go rob a bank!”

“Let’s go rob a bank.” Marlon repeats, a little quieter, lacking the same enthusiasm, but you’ll take it nonetheless.

You storm back inside, guns raised as you bust through the doors again.

“EVERYBODY FREEZE!”

Silence.

You and Marlon sneak a glance at each other like a pair of kids in an elementary school play trying to remember who says the next line and then…

“Young lady,” an elderly man at the counter pipes up, frowning at your swollen belly disapprovingly. “You oughta be at home with your feet up, not runnin’ ‘round robbin’ banks in your condition!”

Silence. You stare at the man in disbelief, momentarily stunned by the sheer absurdity of the situation, wondering how much more ridiculous it could possibly get.

“Jesus fucking christ,” you mutter, “everyone’s a critic today!”

˙ ✩°˖💰⋆｡˚

The duffle is bloated with a generous helping of cash when the first distant wail of sirens reaches your ears, turning your heart into a cannonball that sinks straight to the pit of your gut.

“Shit– come on, babe. We better split.” Marlon swings the duffle over his shoulder, nearly toppling over with the weight of every dollar adding to the gravity of what you’ve both just done. He grabs your hand, surprisingly steady, despite the clammy palm betraying his nerves. You know him too well, inside he’s panicking just as much as you are, if not more. But the second he sees it on your face, he shifts, forcing himself to take the lead, because if he can hold it together, maybe you can too.

You crash through the fire exit, the weighted door slams behind you with a bang that echoes through the narrow alley. The scorching air hits you with a thick wave carrying the stench of piss and sun-baked garbage, but that’s the least of your worries. Wailing sirens close in, piercing your ears, spurring your scruffed sneakers over the cracked, uneven pavement towards the crookedly parked old Chevy that’s coughing out exhaust fumes like a chainsmoker.

The car door groans on its rusting hinges as Marlon yanks it open, releasing a billowing, swirling cloud of thick and skunky smoke, reeking sharp and earthy.

“Jesus, Harlan!” Marlon wheezes, swatting at the haze while steadying you as you lower yourself into the backseat. “The fuck you hotboxin’ the getaway car for? You tryna bake the damn baby or what?”

You keep the bandana secured over your nose, shuffling awkwardly over the hot vinyl seats to make room for Marlon. Clambering into the funky, soupy smog after you, he drops the duffle with a thud between your feet.

“Rich comin’ from you,” Harlan mutters, arching an eyebrow over his scratched-up sunglasses, while Marlon is cranking the window like his life depends on it. “Didn’t you have, like, half a pharmacy in your system when you knocked her up?”

“Okay, first of all, me being high didn’t have nothin’ to do with my decision to sleep with Y/N, alright. That was a conscious choice. One I woulda made even if I’d been sober. Let’s just clear that up right now.” Marlon jerks forward, wedging himself through the gap between the two front seats.

“Jesus, babe…” you whine, slumping down like a mortified teenager, palm dragging over your face.

“I ain’t sorry for speakin’ the truth. You walked in lookin’ drop dead gorgeous, I’d’ve had to be blind to not wanna be all over you.”

“Dude, c’mon. Save it for the wedding vows.” Harlan snorts.

“Second of all,” Marlon’s attention snaps back to his cousin, tone dipping sharp. “You really wanna bring that up now? My nerves are fucking shot and I’m- shit, I’m fucking armed, man!” He yanks the revolver out the waistband at the back of his sun-bleached jeans with a flair he clearly thinks is threatening.

“Like you’d ever use it,” Harlan scoffs, flicking the roach out the cracked window. “Fuckin’ pussy.”

“Hey, don’t talk to him like that! He ain’t a pussy,” the knee jerk response flies from your lips instinctively.

“Oh yeah?” Harlan chuckles smugly like he knows something you don’t. “He ever tell you ‘bout the time we got hired to pop some dude, and Romeo over here spent the whole time shittin’ himself? Guess who actually pulled the trigger.”

“That doesn’t fuckin’ count, man!” Marlon snaps. “The dude didn’t even die.”

You glance between them, eyes narrowing. The getaway car (if you can even still call it that) hasn’t moved an inch, meanwhile the sirens are getting louder still, and these two idiots have decided now is the perfect time to take a stroll down memory lane.

“Shit, how was I s’posed to know? I ain’t no doctor.” Harlan shrugs, smoothing his long hair away from his face. “Lucky for you, too. Else we’d be in county right now, fightin’ over who gets top bunk.”

“Ain’t no way you’d beat me to the top bunk.” Marlon jabs a finger at Harlan, in a last-ditch effort to save face and salvage some dignity in front of you.

“Please, you wouldn’t even stand a chance.” Harlan says, slow and smug, easing into a shit-eating grin.

“Would too,” Marlon fires back, just about climbing through the seat gap.

You flick a glance out the rear window, catching the flicker of red and blue lights veering into the far end of the alley, seconds away from being rammed further up your ass than a colonoscopy.

“Would not.”

“Would too!”

Your nails dig crescents into the busted vinyl of Harlan’s seat.

“I swear to Christ, if you two don’t shut up and get this fuckin’ car moving—”

You slam your palm against the back of Harlan's headrest. The thud jolts him and his foot hits the gas, abruptly lurching the car forward.

Marlon’s cheek smacks the passenger headrest and your body is thrown sideways as the rear tires fishtail across the uneven terrain.

The stream of red and blue lights bleeds through the rear windshield as the vehicle bounces over potholes, putting its suspension to the ultimate test. Harlan punches the gas, veering into the main road and weaving through traffic like he’s playing a game of Mario Kart. If only you had a stash of banana peels to chuck out the window to shake off the cops tailing behind.

You rest your forehead against Harlan’s seat, closing your eyes. Your heart pounds harder with every screech of the tires. The car swerves past another vehicle, its horn blaring, still the sirens howl behind you, ever present.

“Harlan started it.”

You blink your eyes open. Slowly, you lift your head and turn.

Marlon is looking at you like a kid tattling to his mother. Like he really thinks that matters right now.

You stare at him, too stunned to speak.

The father of your unborn child.

BANG!

The sound pierces violently through the air. Your whole body flinches, lodging your heart firmly in your throat. Marlon is on you in an instant, shielding you with his body, his arms cradling your head. His heartbeat rivals your own, pounding fast and frantic against your back.

“They’re fuckin’ shooting at us!” he hisses, voice strained with panic in your ear with his head ducked low against your shoulder.

You hold your breath. His weight is crushing, but it’s nothing compared to the realisation that Marlon would take a bullet for you without hesitation.

This is the father of your unborn child.

Behind the wheel, Harlan’s laugh cuts through the tension.

“Chill out, man. Ain’t nobody shootin’ at us.” he calls over his shoulder, patting the dashboard like you would a loyal dog. “She just does that sometimes when I shift too fast.”

It takes a moment for Harlan’s amusement at your expense to sink in before your frazzled nervous system catches up to speed and registers that your close shave with death had been nothing more than his old clunker backfiring.

You don’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream at Harlan for thinking this rickety death trap masquerading as a getaway car was at all adequate for a grand escape against a squadron of blazing cruisers tearing up the freeway in hot pursuit.

“Marry me.”

You whip your head towards Marlon.

You’re pretty sure that when most people hear those words and turn to the person saying them, they’re not met with the pasty, terror-stricken face of a man who looks like he just saw his life flash before his eyes.

“What?”

“Shit, this ain’t how I planned to ask you.” Marlon curses. “Until I met you, I never even saw myself as the marryin’ type but that changed the moment I laid eyes on you. I swear, I woulda dropped to one knee right then and there if that was, like, not totally weird… but I went and accidentally put a baby inside you instead… which is strangely more acceptable, I guess?”

Marlon’s brows set in a deep frown, his eyes glazing over, lost in deep thought, while the chaos swirls around you. His face is still pale, drained of colour; you’re not even sure he heard what Harlan said, or if he’s still convinced that bang came from a gunshot. You rest your hand on his thigh, offering him a tether so he doesn’t drift too far away and his dilated pupils meet yours, full of gratitude and lingering anxiety.

“Maybe it’s dumb,” Marlon continues, as if he might choke on his words if he doesn’t get them out fast enough, “but after that I was scared you’d think I was askin’ you for all the wrong reasons. Outta, like… duty or guilt or, I dunno, just ‘cause it’s the decent thing to do, y’know? And that’s the last thing I wanted you to think. So I was waiting for the right moment. I wanted there to be no doubt that this is what I want. Absolutely none. You’re what I want. More than anything, it’s important to me that you know that.”

You gulp back tears, your focus locked in on Marlon’s desperate, wide-eyed sincerity, forgetting about the wailing sirens, screeching tires and Harlan cussing behind the wheel.

“I thought if I got you a proper ring, real diamond and everything, with the leftover cash, that’d show you how serious I am. How much I love you. How much I wanna be your husband. I had this whole thing in my head, I was gonna make it real special with, like, candles and shit, though, I don’t even actually know why candles are romantic, knowing me I’d probably just fuck it all up and start a fire–”

He’s spiralling, eyes wild as the words tumble out faster than his train of thought.

“Marlon–”

“But I just realised,” he barrels ahead, taking your hand in his tight grip. “If I keep waiting to ask you, then I might never actually get the chance–”

“Marlon, babe,” you cut him off, reaching out to cradle his slightly stubbled cheek as you understand what he’s really trying to say but you don’t even dare let that thought enter your mind. “The car just backfired.”

“I know, I know. I heard him,” he sighs, screwing his eyes shut with a shake of his head. “But I’m not just saying all this ‘cause Harlan’s piece-of-shit car backfired. We ain’t outta this yet and those cops are just gonna keep chasing us and if– if anything happens…”

His voice gets hoarse, and you’re already shaking your head, refusing to accept what he’s trying to tell you.

“I just– while we’re both here, while I got the chance, I need you to know how bad I want this. You. All of it. You, me and our baby. I know we ain’t exactly conventional but I want us to be a proper family, whatever that is. Something solid. I never wanted anything more.”

He glances away, his face shadowed with shame.

“I took a big fuckin’ risk today. I put us both in danger. And if somethin’ happens–”

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” you firmly interject, pressing your forehead against his with determination. “You hear me? We’re gonna get out of this. We’re gonna make it.”

He tries to speak again, but you gently press your thumbs to his lips.

“And then– then you can propose to me properly. With as many candles as you want. We’ll keep a fire extinguisher handy just in case.” You muster a shaky laugh. “And I’ll say yes; even if the ring is from a gas station vending machine. I already know how much you love me; you don’t need a fancy diamond ring to prove it…” you pause before adding with a small shrug, “Although I’m not going to pretend that wouldn’t be nice.”

You begin to feel some of the tension melt from Marlon’s shoulders, just a little, as his body instinctively leans toward you like a flower seeking the warmth of the sun. His lips twitch into the briefest hint of a smile before he softly and suddenly presses them to yours.

You kiss him back earnestly without hesitation, threading your fingers into the scraggly strands of sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck. It’s clumsy and a little uncoordinated, both of you just desperate to be close and feel the other's solid form beneath your fingertips, scared they might slip away at any moment.

Just as you were finding your rhythm, the car lurches forward, sputtering violently like a choking cat, then emits a slow, defeated wheeze before rolling to a stop.

“Uhhh…” Harlan mumbles, tapping the fuel gauge with the edge of his yellowed fingernail. “Well, would you look at that. Empty.”

“Empty?” You whip your head around in your seat, “what the fuck do you mean empty?”

“We’re outta juice? Ain’t got no fuel? She’s running on fumes? Spiritually exhausted?” Harlan starts listing off increasingly ridiculous ways to say the car is out of gas and you smack the back of his seat hard because he’s not taking this shit seriously.

“You were supposed to make sure we had a full tank! You had one fucking job!”

The sirens howl in the distance; it won’t be long until they find you. Out the rear window you spot them cresting over the hill.

“Fuck!” You snap, flinging open the creaky back door. A blast of the thick, sticky hot summer air smacks you in the face. Your sweaty palms slip against the busted vinyl as you try to pull yourself out, struggling with the weight of the almost full-term baby pressing low and heavy in your belly.

Before you can exert yourself too much, Marlon is at your side with the duffle securely swung over his shoulder. He hooks an arm under yours and helps hoist you up and out without saying a word.

With no choice left but to escape on foot, you link hands, your grips tight and unbreakable as you bolt, or rather waddle, towards the abandoned bowling alley up ahead.

“Am I still getting my ten percent?!” Harlan calls after you, half-hanging out the driver’s side window.

˙ ✩°˖💰⋆｡˚

The bowling alley is still. The faint scent of stale beer and mildew lingers in the air, and dusty lanes stretch beyond the visibility of Tom’s flashlight.

Tom’s not expecting much, this place hasn’t been open since before he left high school, and he doesn’t even want to try and remember how long ago that was. But dispatch said the suspects ran this way, so he was sent to give the building a sweep.

Broken glass crunches beneath his boots as his flashlight slices over smashed-in claw machines, a retro jukebox, and fallen bar stools.

A scrap of paper near the bar catches his eye.

He crouches, picking it up between his fingers to get a closer look. He shines his light on the crumpled pamphlet with crease folds and curled up edges from being stuffed into a pocket too many times.

Shore View Rehabilitation Center.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

Then he hears it. The faintest sound of quick, shallow, panicked breath.

Keeping his footsteps light and his hand hovering near his holstered weapon, he rounds the bar, sweeping his flashlight towards the sound.

The beam lands on them.

Two people, huddled together on the floor, holding each other tight but something stops Tom in his tracks.

The girl is pregnant.

˙ ✩°˖💰⋆｡˚

Marlon gulps. He should’ve kept you out of this. Put his foot down. Grown a spine for once in his worthless life.

What kind of man lets his heavily pregnant girlfriend assist him in a bank robbery anyway?

The old floor creaks when the cop shifts.

Marlon snaps.

Before he can second-guess himself, he yanks you closer, pressing the cold, hard barrel of the revolver against your temple.

“Back the fuck up, man, or I- I swear… I swear, I’ll fucking do it!” His voice cracks. Frantic. Desperate.

Your breath hitches.

What the fuck?

For a split second your heart plummets. This isn’t real. It can’t be.

Marlon would never.

His own heart slams against your back, like it might crash straight through both of you. Hot, shaky nicotine laced breath fans against your ear as his chest heaves in quick, erratic bursts.

His arm curls tighter around you.

You’re smacked with a wave of shock.

Realising.

The slight tremble in his voice. The way he’s shaking like a leaf as he holds you. Not hurting. Not gripping.

He’s clinging onto you for dear life.

It’s an act.

He’s trying to protect you.

Trying to make you look like an innocent hostage instead of a willing accomplice; shouldering all the blame himself.

The beam of the cop’s flashlight blinds you, erasing everything beyond it into an inky abyss.

You expect him to start negotiating, try and talk Marlon down. But all you hear from the void is a tired exhale, like this whole thing is

nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“That right, huh? You gonna blow her fucking brains out?” A gravelly, almost bored voice travels from behind the light.

Marlon stiffens at the vulgar choice of phrase, and your stomach churns. If you didn’t know (without a shadow of doubt) that Marlon would never hurt you, you’d start praying to any god who’d listen right now, because this cop sure as hell isn’t going to save you.

“You must think I was born yesterday.” The flashlight finally lowers, revealing a face set in a hard, unimpressed glare.

He takes a slow step forward before he crouches to your level, fixing Marlon with a dark, challenging stare.

Marlon draws a jittery breath and pulls you tighter against him.

“Go on, then. Do it. Pull the trigger. Let’s see it.” The cop calls Marlon’s bluff.

Your head whips towards him and Tom sees it, the way you look more terrified of him than of the man holding an actual gun to your skull. You think he’s unhinged.

“You’re fucking crazy, man.” Marlon’s breath staggers out quick and panicked against your ear.

“I’m not the one holding a gun to my girl’s head.” The cop deadpans.

It hits Marlon like a punch to the gut. His whole body caves as he slumps against you, forehead dropping to your shoulder, hot and sticky with sweat. The gun falls from his grip with a thud.

“M’sorry, baby,” his voice breaks, quivering with the force of his tears as he crumbles. His lips find your forehead, then your cheek, trailing clumsy and sloppy kisses to remind you how precious you are to him. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words spill from him in a broken loop, like they’re the only ones he remembers how to say.

“Jesus Christ.” Tom mutters.

He scoops the revolver from the floor, inspecting the cylinder. Just as he figured, it’s not loaded.

Marlon clings to you, his head tucked against your shoulder, sobbing out barely coherent apologies. Your own silent tears get caught in his messy hair where you nestle your cheek.

Tom shifts, growing visibly uncomfortable with the raw, intimate display of emotion unfolding before his eyes. “Alright, kid, c’mon. You need to calm down, yeah?” He grumbles, gruff but not heartless. He tries to remain objective, not allow his sympathies to overrule his duty to the law.

Marlon peeks up, his red-rimmed eyes lock onto Tom’s, desperate and pleading. “Please…” he chokes, “please, man, just- just leave her out of it, okay? Arrest me, charge me, I don’t care. Just- please, you gotta let her go.”

Your lungs burn. The air thins. You choke on sharp, shallow breaths, clawing at Marlon’s oversized jacket, trying to breathe.

“She didn’t do nothin’, okay?” He frantically insists. “I made her come with me. I- I fucking forced her, man. She- she was against the whole idea.”

“Marlon–” your stomach twists.

He shushes you gently with trembling hands caressing your face, his thumb sweeps across your quivering lips.

“Shh, baby, shh. It’s okay, it’s okay, I promise. Everything’s gonna be okay.” His voice shakes, on the verge of cracking but his touch anchors you.

Your trembling fingers clutch his wrists in a white knuckle grip with no intention of ever letting go. His pulse pounds strong and erratic under your palm.

“Just trust me, babe, okay? You know I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you or our baby.”

His breath staggers, like the weight of it all has just struck him in the chest. His gaze drops, and his hands shift to your belly, rubbing over the curve of your bump with a touch so gentle your heart crumples and tears like a piece of paper.

“We’re having a baby girl.” He forces himself to whisper around the lump in his throat, his voice sounds thick and raw. “A little girl, man. And I- fuck-” He chokes on a sob, squeezing his eyes shut. “She ain’t even here yet and I- I already fucked it up for her.”

Tom’s gaze remains locked on the floor because how can he bring himself to look at you, look at the condition you’re in, and still do what he’s supposed to do? He’ll be the monster who tore a family apart. After all his years on the force, this is still his weakness.

Despite his best efforts to keep his face blank and impassive, the way his throat bobs when he swallows betrays his inner conflict.

Marlon sniffles, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve like a messy kid, then turns his puffy, tear-stained face back to Tom. “Please, man.” he continues to beg. “You can do whatever you want to me, you can lock me up. I don’t give a shit what happens to me. I’ll take the fall. I’ll say it was all my fault, I’ll confess to everything, plead guilty or whatever you want, yeah. I’ll do it. Just- just, please, let her go home.”

He’s just a junkie, just another waste of space who’s got no one to blame but himself for the mess he’s made. That’s the narrative Tom is supposed to believe. But the pamphlet in his pocket says otherwise. It tells the story of a man fighting tooth and nail to claw his way towards something better, against a system that’s rigged to see him fail. A man desperate enough to take such a dangerous gamble, fully aware of the risks. A man who is loved by a woman, so fiercely and stupidly that she is willing to risk it all alongside him, believing that they might find a better life along the way.

Tom exhales with a sharp huff, pinching the bridge of his nose as he reluctantly commits to the decision he’s about to make. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the crumpled pamphlet.

“You dropped this.” Turning the pamphlet over in his hand, Tom raises an eyebrow with mild interest. “Shore View, huh? That place sure ain’t cheap.”

Marlon barely glances in Tom’s direction, the fight has already drained from him. His shoulders slump with a sigh of defeat. “Yeah, well, I guess I ain’t got much chance of goin’ there now.” He sounds exhausted.

Tom observes the way Marlon is leaning against you with his head tucked against your shoulder, absentmindedly tracing patterns over the swell of your tummy. When he feels his heart clenching at the sight, he drops his gaze back to the pamphlet.

“So that was your grand plan, huh? Rob a bank to pay for rehab?”

Marlon licks his chapped lips, blinking slowly. “Yeah.”

“That’s a dumb fucking plan.” Tom scoffs bitterly and something inside you finally snaps.

“What the fuck would you know?” Tom and Marlon’s heads snap in your direction at your unexpected rebuke, it’s the first time you’ve spoken to the cop directly. “No, seriously, tell me what the fuck do you know about the shit we’ve been through?”

“Babe–” Marlon tries to interrupt you but you just keep going.

“Do you think we did this shit for the thrill of it? You think we woke up this morning and said, ‘hey, let’s rob a fucking bank! We ain’t got nothing better to do.’” You choke out a bitter laugh, feeling the fury boiling in your gut.

“We fucking tried. We tried every clinic, every program, every charity. Filled out stacks of forms, got passed from pillar to post, jumped through every fucking hoop – just to get told no. Over and over and fucking over again. Because he’s got a record, because we don’t have insurance, because we don’t meet some bullshit requirements made up by some dumb fuck in a suit who’s never had to watch the person they love most puke their fucking guts up and piss themselves because they’ve no choice but to try and quit cold turkey. Never had to tie them to the fucking bed just to keep them from running out to score because–” your breath catches, choking on a sob that’s crawling it’s way up your throat. “Because you’re fucking terrified that- that the next time you’ll see them, it’ll be in a morgue, identifying their body.” Your chest heaves and burns as a hot flood of tears slips down your cheeks.

“Do you have any fucking idea what that’s like? Huh? Knowing that if he died in some alleyway tomorrow, no one would give a shit?” Your voice cracks, rising several octaves as the words tear out of you. “Maybe you don’t give a fuck, maybe you think he’s just another junkie who’s got what’s coming to him but what about our baby, huh? You- you wanna punish her too? All we wanted was a chance at giving her a better start in life, so she didn’t have to grow up watching her daddy struggle and suffer and maybe fucking die because no one was willing to help.”

“So don’t fucking stand there and preach to us about dumb fucking decions because you’ve got no fucking clue. You’ll slap the cuffs on him, and get your pat on the back for taking another ‘low-life’ off the streets; because that’s justice, right? Tearing a family apart to protect some bloodsucking corporation that thrives on keeping people like us down in the gutter where we belong.”

When all the rage, fight and months of pent up frustrations have been spilled out of you until there is nothing left, you crumble like a house of cards, slumping against Marlon’s chest, trusting him to catch you. And he does, swaddling your trembling frame against him as the hot, relentless tears pour straight from your broken heart.

Marlon is stunned. He’s never heard you sound so raw, so broken, you’ve always been his pillar of strength. His breath hitches, he knows he should say something, offer some kind of comfort, but words fail him. Instead, he presses his chapped lips against the top of your head and holds you tighter in his warm and solid embrace. Silently communicating everything he struggles to put into words.

Tom’s face remains stoic, unreadable, except for the slightest raise of his eyebrow, which could mean anything. It’s enough to make your stomach tie itself into knots.

Then his hand reaches for his radio, deliberately slow.

Your breath catches.

Your heart drops, your whole body tenses in Marlon’s hold. It’s over. You ran your damn mouth, and as usual, you just made everything ten times worse.

“Wait–” you struggle to whimper, your voice weak with exhaustion.

With his eyes locked on yours, Tom clicks the button and raises the radio to his mouth.

“The bowling alley’s clear.”

You’re suspended in a moment of disbelief. Everything is still. Even Marlon’s hand, which had been stroking through your hair, freezes mid-motion, like someone just hit the pause button.

Carefully, you lift your head from Marlon’s chest, blinking away the teary blur as if it could offer you clarity.

“What?” There’s a raw ache in your throat from all the yelling, leaving your voice frayed.

Is he… letting you get away?

Surely it couldn’t be that simple.

“Well? What the fuck you waiting for? Get outta here!” There’s a sharp edge of authority in Tom’s tone that’s hard to ignore.

Marlon doesn’t need to be told twice – he’s already stumbling to his feet, tugging you up with him in a near-desperate rush.

“Babe, c’mon! Before he, y’know, changes his mind.” He urges, slinging the duffle full of stolen cash over his shoulder while dragging you along with a firm but gentle grip around your wrist.

Neither of you look back.

˙ ✩°˖💰⋆｡˚

FIVE YEARS LATER

Tom pulls up at the curb and kills his engine. Tapping his fingers upon the leather-bound steering wheel, he stares out through the tinted windshield.

He’s not even sure why he came here.

Over the course of his career, Tom has done a lot of things he’s not proud of; too many regrets to name. He’s not exactly the poster boy for a respectable, clean-cut cop. He’s made mistakes, some of which still haunt him. The rest, he does his best to wash away with a bottle of vodka.

Sometimes, he just needs to be reminded that not every choice he has made was a bad one. That sometimes bending the rules is the right thing to do.

He pulls up the record again on the department laptop, just to be sure he’s in the right place.

Marlon James. There are no recent charges, not even a speeding ticket. No drug offences, no DUI’s, no theft charges. Apart from his historic charges, his record is squeaky clean.

He looks up at the modest bungalow across the street, and there they are.

Marlon’s in the driveway, wearing grease-stained overalls, wiping his hands on a rag. A little girl, no older than four or five, bolts out from the screen door towards Marlon, who scoops her up, lifting her above his head. Tom hears her squealing laughter, even from across the street.

Then the woman steps outside, laughing at Marlon’s antics with the little girl. Carrying his daughter under his arm, he jogs up the porch steps and plants a kiss on his wife’s cheek.

The gold bands on their fingers catch in the light of the setting sun as they join hands and head back inside.

Tom already feels lighter.

He knows he made the right choice.

Starting the engine, he drives away without anyone seeing him.

A/N: The whole ‘freeze’ v ‘get down’ thing at the beginning of the fic is straight up stolen from the film Raising Arizona, if you knew that already, I love you! 🫶 and I feel like the book Anxious People by Fredrick Backman was also a massive inspiration. I love that book! Thank you for reading!

[discoscoob]

I Bet on Losing Dogs — Scott Favor x Mike Waters ❥ 1.9k Words

A/N: I don't know why I chose to write this. Sorry in advance. Divider creds to /uzmacchiato

Warnings: Dub/Non-Con, M/M, Blowjob/Anal sex, Alcohol use and Intoxication, Angst/Hurt no comfort, No Beta

Archive of Our Own Link

They're in some beaten-down shithole of a motel. The same kind they usually find themselves in with Johns willing to toss cash their way. There's none of that going on tonight, though.

Nope. Tonight is about Scott. It's his birthday and he's been drinking enough to tranquilize a horse. Yet somehow, he’s still standing. Wobbly at best, but upright all the same.

Mike hasn't had a sip. He wants to keep a sharp mind, just in case Scott needs him. Most of the time, it's the other way around. He figures Scott deserves one night of not having to look after him. Mike's never felt more sober in his life. 

-

Scott has gone from dancing around the room to some oldies tune on the radio to flopping down directly beside Mike on the yellowing, sunken-in couch. Mike has to shift uncomfortably to the side to avoid crushing the other man beneath his weight, not that Scott seems to mind. He doesn’t have a care in the world.

After a few minutes of silence, Scott rests his head on Mike's shoulder and lets out a sigh. Mike takes a breath, already overwhelmed by how close he is. 

Being close together like this isn't new. Often, Scott's had to cradle Mike in his arms during Narcoleptic episodes or during the aftermath where Mike's too out of it to move. That's their routine. Their song and dance. Mike drops, and Scott's there to pick him up, usually after he hits the pavement.

But this is different. Scott is drunk, and when he drinks like this (which isn't often), he gets handsy. Mike ignores the voice in his head begging him to lean in closer. He doesn't want to ruin the moment. Mike doesn't want to make it weird. 

Inebriated Scott doesn't care about making things weird.

One minute Scott’s quiet against him, and the next, his hand is on Mike's semi-hard bulge. Bold and blunt, like he’s been thinking about it all night. Maybe he has. And maybe Mike has too. He exhales, shakily. This is dangerous, but it’s already happening.

The next thing Mike knows, Scott’s palming him through his jeans, hot and heavy. His breath reeks of liquor and it's making him dizzy. This isn't something Scott would do sober, unless someone handed him a wad of cash. Mike knows he should stop him. Push his hand away, give him room to dry out and clear his head… but he won't. Mike needs this, and Scott knows it.

Scott's mouth finds the side of Mike’s neck, sloppy and slow. He drags his teeth against skin. A flick of tongue follows.

“You’ve always,” Scott murmurs against his neck in between bites, “wanted this, right?”

Mike nods, even though he knows he probably shouldn't have answered. 

“I wanna see how much,” Scott breathes, pulling away from his assault on Mike's throat and unbuttoning his own jeans, shoving them down just enough, “Show me, Mikey.” 

Sure, it's something he's done hundreds of times before, but his heart skips a beat when he slides off the scratchy couch and drops to his knees. He ignores that feeling, but it's harder to ignore the shaking in his hands as he reaches for Scott's boxers.

Mike never thought he'd have butterflies in his stomach when it came to giving someone a blow job. And yet, here he is, nervous like a virgin on prom night. He just hopes that Scott's too far gone to notice the blush burning on his cheeks or how hard it is to look him in the eye.

-

It's not like he hasn't seen Scott's dick before. Living the way they do, there's no such thing as modesty. Everyone sees everything eventually. It’s normal. 

Mike doesn't want to admit to being a pervert about his best friend, but the first time he saw Scott’s dick, he had to lock himself in the nearest bathroom for twenty minutes before his own hard-on calmed down. 

He's had many more experiences like that since. Too many to count. He would never tell Scott about any of it, but Scott isn't stupid. Mike knows that he knows. 

It's why Mike would follow him anywhere like a lost puppy, and Scott would let him, as long as he doesn't cross any of those invisible lines. Apparently, only Scott gets to do that. 

Mike leans forward, bracing himself on Scott's thighs, and slowly takes him into his mouth. It's a familiar motion, but he feels sparks when Scott tangles his fingers in his hair, gently grazing his scalp. The heat and weight of Scott's dick on his tongue satisfies a craving he didn't know he had. 

Above him, Scott groans as his hips twitch impatiently and Mike understands what he's asking for.

He takes Scott's length all the way into his mouth, bumping the head against the back of his throat with a small gag for emphasis. He usually does that for clients, to make them feel bigger than they are. He's not sure why he does it with Scott, though. He just wants to make this the best he's ever had. He needs this to be memorable for Scott, so he's pulling out every trick he knows. 

-

It's not long before Scott is pulling Mike off of him with a pathetic sounding whine, begging him not to make him cum too fast. Scott catches his breath and refocuses for a moment. His chest heaves and he runs his fingers through his hair. 

Mike, like a good dog, sits and waits.

“Come here,” Scott finally mutters, voice low and rough.

Mike blinks up at him, surprised, but he doesn’t hesitate. He lets Scott pull him to his feet. Scott’s eyes are glassy and unfocused. His fingers move clumsily as he fumbles with the button on Mike’s jeans. Mike swats his hand away before taking it upon himself to get his own pants off. 

“These too,” Scott slurs, snapping the band of his underwear against his hip.

Obediently, Mike lets them fall to the floor. Scott tugs him forward by the waist and guides him down into his lap. Their bodies collide, warmth against warmth. The way Mike’s body fits against Scott's makes him feel like he's found somewhere he’s meant to be. They were made for this moment.

Mike shifts, unsteady, straddling Scott like he's done a thousand times before, but never with him. It's never mattered this much. It's never been this important.

Scott’s hands rest on his hips, thumbs tracing small, lazy circles. Mike feels pressure building beneath the surface, but it’s the look in Scott's eyes that makes his chest tight. There's a softness in them that Mike knows won’t make it through the night. He would give anything to bottle up that alcohol-fueled glow, the burning embers in the eyes of the man beneath him. This vulnerable version of Scott… Mike knows he'll never see it again. 

He leans in hesitantly and Scott meets him halfway. Scott kisses him and it feels real, like he doesn't have to hide from it anymore. He moans into his mouth and Mike catches it in his throat, choking him up on the taste of something that won’t last. His hands tremble. It's not love. It's nowhere close, but Scott is damn good at pretending. 

“Condom?” Scott asks himself, feeling through the pockets of his jacket. With a pleasantly surprised look on his face, he pulls out a couple of condoms and a sachet of lube. 

Mike takes the lube from his hand and rips it open, squeezing a small amount onto his fingers. He knows he doesn’t need much prep, but better safe than sorry. Bracing himself against Scott’s chest, he reaches back and starts stretching himself open.

Despite how desperate he seemed earlier, Scott has gone quiet. He idly fondles Mike’s cock, waiting for the green light with uncharacteristic patience. 

Thankfully, after so much practice, Mike is able to make quick work of preparing himself. He leans back and gives Scott room to put the condom on. 

Scott tears one open with his teeth, rolling it on with uncoordinated fingers while Mike watches in silence, heart thudding in his throat. Scott then grabs the rest of the lube and slicks himself quickly, but he hesitates, eyes meeting Mike’s for a moment. 

“I want you, Mike,” Scott whispers, soft and clear, with no trace of a slur or intoxication lacing his tone.

Mike thinks he might faint. He positions himself over Scott and slowly lowers down until the head slips inside. Scott bites his lip with a low groan.

When Scott finally pushes inside him, Mike bites back a gasp from the way the other man holds him through it. One hand on his waist, the other cradling the back of his neck. It's gentle, like Scott's worried about breaking him. 

No one's ever touched him like this before. It’s too much and Mike can’t breathe. He doesn’t know what to do. The walls feel like they're caving in on him. Not now. Not now. Not now—

-

Mike’s body goes slack, collapsing against Scott. His head drops to Scott's shoulder, breath soft and steady, limbs loose. Scott freezes. He shifts to crane his neck and look at him. 

“Mike?” He whispers.

No answer. He lifts a hand to Mike’s cheek. He feels warm, his body's relaxed, and he's most definitely out. Scott knows the length of his episodes are entirely random. How long is he willing to wait?

Scott swallows, then jerks his hips upwards, letting out a moan. He doesn't stop.

-

Mike wakes finding himself in a heated haze with pounding in his head. Something is wrong. His head is foggy, his muscles are slowly waking back up, but he feels it. Hands gripping his body and an unmistakable rhythm of motion.

Scott is still inside him. Mike stiffens and his eyes snap open. 

Unfortunately, Scott doesn't notice at first. His eyes are shut, mouth slightly parted, and his breathing is ragged. He's lost in the sensation. Mike can't help but choke on the panic and bile rising out of his stomach. His hands clutch blindly at Scott’s shoulders. That finally gets his attention.

Scott's eyes open wide. They just stare at each other. Neither of them speaks. Mike pulls back slowly as reality sinks in. Scott doesn't try to stop him. He doesn't say anything.

Mike lowers himself to the side, slipping off Scott’s lap and curling in on himself on the far edge of the couch. His heart is beating so hard, he's scared it's going to explode. His chest hurts, his throat is tight, and he can't stop shaking. 

Scott shoves himself back into his underwear and yanks his pants back up. He tosses the condom onto the floor and stands up stiffly, swaying as he does so. 

“I didn't think you'd wake up so fast, man,” He says under his breath. 

He avoids eye contact with Mike as he walks past him and drops down onto the bed. He reaches out and turns off the only lamp in the room, darkness swallowing them whole. 

Mike is painfully aware of how the next morning will play out. Scott will wake up, hungover and guarded. He won't talk about what happened, and neither will Mike. None of this will mean anything tomorrow. Mike doesn't know how to carry the weight of that. 

[discoscoob]

I demand when John met Helen (please?🥺)

Anything for you, my love! 😘😘😘

(this is an outline-ish thing from...last january? I don't know if ill ever truly write it out, so here's the whole caboodle)

warnings: violence, serious amts of shmoop

Helen goes to a rare book shop curious if they can fix the binding of her dog eared copy of Jane Eyre. They quote her an insane price. She has a meet cute with John in the shop. Maybe she's looking through the classics, trying to find a copy of Jane Eyre so she doesn't destroy her other one more. Maybe she tells him she can't afford to fix her copy. She brought it in to ask. He is sheepish about it, but he says he could fix it for her. “What would you charge?” 

“Nothing. It's a hobby for me. I do it for relaxation.” 

“Wow. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You'd be doing me a favor. I could use a new project.”

She cants her head, looking at him. Weighing him. He finds himself standing up a little straighter, hoping he'll make the cut. 

“Ok. But you at least have to let me buy you lunch.” 

“I would like that,” he admits. 

“Deal.” She holds out her hand to shake. He takes her small hand in his, and doesn't want to let go. 

So he fixes her book. 

They go to lunch. And when it's time to part ways, they don't really want to. They go for a walk. And keep talking. He shyly asks if he can take her to dinner. She agrees eagerly. They fall in love in the span of a week, or maybe just that one perfect day. 

They have a date set but John has to text her to say he's not feeling well. She offers to bring him soup. He says that sounds amazing, but he doesn't want her to see him like this. In truth, he was working, and things got out of hand. He's told her he works in security. But she is not prepared for how he looks. 

Black eye. Cuts on his face. Bruised ribs. Bruises everywhere, really. 

She worries that he's trying to break their date. Making up an excuse. He can hear it in her voice. Scared he’ll lose her, (and wanting badly to see her) he agrees to let her come over that night, not sure how it will go. 

He thinks about his Manhattan apartment. Expensive, modern, very few personal touches. He's afraid she'll hate it. 

When she comes over with takeout she is shocked, and teary eyed. Seeing him in pain like this hurts her. 

“Oh my god, John, what happened to you?” 

“Sometimes, my work gets a little...spicy?” 

Lol. She just looks at him. That look. 

“I'm guessing you can't actually tell me what happened.” 

With a sad smile he shakes his head. “I want to share everything I can with you,” he admits. “But some things, it's better you don't know.” 

She chews on her lip as he tells her this. He wonders if this will be their deal breaker. But in the end she nods. “Ok, John. I trust you.”

Hearing that makes him feel better than the pain pills he'd taken earlier. 

“We could...watch a movie?” he offers, thinking snuggling with her in his arms might fix him. 

“Okay.” 

He falls asleep halfway through, and she holds him, looking at his wounds. He looks so boyish and innocent in his sleep. She fights not to cry. 

To make up for ruining their date night he offers to cook her dinner. Afterwards they kiss, in front of the window, the lights of New York shining down below. He pulls her against him, squeezing her in his strong arms like he can't get enough of her. It steals her breath away, she wants him so much.

Later,  they're out and about. She hugs him under his suit jacket, feels a blocky shape at his back. “Are you...carrying a gun?” 

“Honestly, I'm usually carrying a gun,” he admits.

After the business that went sideways, he doesn't want to get caught unawares. He can tell she doesn’t like it, but trusts him enough to go along with it. 

“Ok…”

Something happens where she gets to see him in action. It's awesome... and scary, honestly. Maybe they're walking to his car when they're ambushed by five guys. The leader is like, “Evening, John.”

“This isn't a good time, Mickey.”

M looks between Helen and John with a leer. “No time like the present, I say.”

They fight, and John lays them all out. In the end he’s taken Micky’s gun and is about to shoot him in the face. It's instinct and reflex. Finish the job. But he hears a gasp behind him. Looks to see Helen looking terrified. So he disassembles the gun. Drops all the bullets into Mickey’s face before throwing the pieces at him. 

“Come on, sweetheart, let's go.” They drive away. She is in shock. 

Afterwards, they go park somewhere with a view of the city below. She is only looking at him though. “I scared you,” he says. It's not really a question. 

“Yes and no,” she answers honestly. “I don't believe you would ever hurt me.” 

“Good. It's the truth.” 

“But I…” She trails off.

“It's OK,” he sighs, feeling so tired inside. “You can say it.” 

“I'm not sure I really believe your job is legal, John.” 

He sighs and looks at the steering wheel. “You... might be right about that.” 

She nods. His heart is in his throat. This is it. This is how he loses her, he's convinced. And she has every right to leave. He never had any business pursuing her in the first place, but…it feels like dying. 

He waits for the axe to fall, his eyes squeezed closed. 

“I don't know how to reconcile the man I saw today, and the man I know who repairs books, and cooks me gourmet dinners, and takes me on long walks while holding my hand.” 

John rests his forehead on his steepled fingers. “I’ve...never really had a choice. I was trained from childhood, to do what I do, for very bad people. It doesn't excuse me...but it is what it is. Maybe I enjoyed it, once. I am not a good man. But now…” He looks at her, with the look of a drowning man. “I would give anything, just to have you.” 

There are tears in her eyes too, he realizes. 

“Do you have to do it, forever?” she asks. “Is there no way out?” 

He shakes his head, to himself as much as her. “It's very rare,” he tells her. “And very difficult.”

She nods, and moves closer. “Will you hold me?” 

“Always.” 

He pulls her in close, thinking he could die happy like this, with her in his arms. 

Later, he asks point blank. He has to know, he can't contain it. “Are you leaving me, Helen?”

He's so certain the answer is yes. She'll try to let him down softly. I'm not sure I can do this. It's not you, it's me. 

He can hardly believe his ears when she answers, “You're not getting rid of me that easily, John Wick.”

He's not sure if the sound he makes is a laugh or a sob. He kisses her, desperate for the affirmation of her love, hardly able to believe his luck. He feels like his heart might explode, for all the love he feels for this woman. 

“I love you so fucking much,” he growls as he kisses her like he might devour her. 

Likewise, she tells him with tears in her eyes and her fingers in his hair. “Don't stop kissing me.” 

“Never,” he tells her. 

The next week he finds himself buying a ring. 

And the week after that, he finds himself bargaining with Viggo Tarasov, his freedom in exchange for slaughtering all of the boss’s rivals in one mad night of mayhem. 

If anyone can do it, it’s John Wick.

[discoscoob]

Keanu Reeves, during the filming of Speed 1994

I am convinced that the reason Keanu Reeves became a movie star is because he simply did not give a shit. And the reason he is still a movie star.. is that he simply does not give a shit.

[discoscoob]

Constantine (2005)