#holland march fanfic

[emsvertigo]

Reckless Serenade

image not mine, found on pinterest

summary & genre — fluff & nsfw. you & holland meet in a rundown bar when you order the same drink. when you find yourselves alone, your attraction towards each other becomes apparent.

warnings — sexual references, smoking, alcohol use, emily tries to write comedy (probably fails), one use of strong language.

character & pairings — holland march x fem!reader (the nice guys. 2016)

word count — 2.2k

a/n — i fucking hate writing dialogue but you need it AHHH. anyway i rewatched the nice guys and it sparked me to write this cause holy shit holland is my dream man. i’m so glad the ‘barbie’ film has opened people’s eyes to how hot ryan gosling is lmaoo. thank you so much for all the love on my seb fic since ‘barbie’ released. anyways, i have literally never been to l.a in my life, so please excuse the bad descriptions of its environment. hope you guys enjoy!

find my old fics here! ✿

You note his hands first. The way they slide up and down the bar, in a sense of nervousness that buzzes through the air. How his fingertips bounce against the wood, creating calm in his mind. The dimples and blemishes littered over his hands, creating pools of imperfections and bruises, highlighting age where his dimmed face could not. The whiteness of his knuckles when he downed a shot, the silver liquid coating his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed. His wrist adorned a cast, bloodstained and browning from wear. You notice the way his nimble fingers balanced cigarettes between creases. The smell of smoke his figure expelled, thick yet pleasantly alluring. The same smoke combed his hair and left an addictive taste on his lips. His hair fell from its perfectly gelled structure, placed into a cascading loop of colours and strands, framing his face.

You didn't know him, but you didn’t have to. The way he had strutted into the bar with the confidence of an emperor, only to have him sit far from you and cower like a terrified mouse, had given you a strong impression. He had ordered something strong to start, blending into your assumptions of him. His sunglasses slid down his long nose, giving you a glance at his eyes which were blazing with apprehension. You knew the man was broken, and he didn’t know how to hide it, no matter how hard he tried. The dim bar lights above bled onto his figure, creating fast shadows around his fitted suit. The side of his face was left in a mist of gloom, keeping his identity hidden.

First interactions came suddenly as his hand extended into the air, raising two fingers towards the barmaid. He slurred his order into her ear, the syllables dripping off his tongue. Your eyes glanced at him as he spoke, a hint of recognition on your features.

“That’s what I drink.” You smiled towards the stranger, a hint of humour in your voice. He smirked in response, holding the glass to his lips and dripping the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes again moved to his hands, the silver rings on his fingers absentmindedly gliding over his thick moustache.

Silence blanketed you both in a cloud of drunken thoughts. The taste of your drink, which he had copied, stuck to your teeth with saccharine fuzz. Your own hands drummed the tabletop in rhythmic focus, tearing yourself away from the stranger. Sounds from the jukebox swam through your mind as you attempted to think of something else to say. But he spoke first.

“My wife used to drink them.” The statement was directed towards himself, but you couldn't help but overhear. You tucked a stray hair behind your ear, shifting your body closer to his. The man turned to you and his features were truly shown.

The sunglasses obstructing your view from his eyes slid further down his face, cornering you with seafoam colour. His eyes were decorated with dark marks which drooped into exhaustion. He was incredibly gorgeous, though something pathetic hung around his aura.

“Oh!” You said in surprise, “You’re married?”

A solitary sob left his lips, closely followed by a sigh. His head hung for a moment before he drunkenly picked it back up with a forceful swing. The motion toppled him backwards, almost crashing to the floor in a heap, but he caught himself clumsily on the bar.

“Not anymore…” He finally spoke, rubbing his fingers over his long nose, and pushing his sunglasses up his face.

“I’m sorry.” You begin, a hole forming in your heart, pushing your emotions into a tidal wave. He feebly smiled, not wanting you to persist.

“Don’t be, I shouldn't have brought it up.” He spoke, returning the awkward stillness which created hyper-awareness of your situation. You cleared your throat, bringing a hand up into the air to summon the barmaid, delivering a warm grin her way as you ordered your drink.

The sizzling air between you both didn't cease when you returned to your drink, mindlessly observing the ornate walls. Your fingers glided across the tall decorated glass, condensation cool against your fingertips. You could feel his soft eyes on you, but the intent he wished was not one of violence, it was one of comfort and care. In the electric air, you almost felt a chill travel across your spine. As you felt his eyes drifting over your face, around your body and down your legs, you couldn't help but dream of his hands doing the same. The texture of his palms, the tickle of his fingertips gliding across your frame until they reached your sensitive points.

You gasped quietly to yourself, brushing away the dirty fantasies your brain had designed. You dipped your head back and downed the rest of your drink, the liquid burning its way down your throat. You coughed at the sensation, holding your hand up, keeping your decency in front of the stranger. The scraping of a seat beside you caused your attention to divert. Boots thudded against the floor, patting loudly against the wooden surface below. You glanced up from your drink and made eye contact with the barmaid, who was wiping the bartop with a wine-stained cloth.

“Sorry, but I think you should go too, I’m about to close up.” She spoke, wiping the bar of any grease that clung to its wood. You shook away her comment in realisation, turning to each side to notice that the seats situated behind you were empty. The house lights blinded the room in white colour, contrasting with the cosy environment from earlier. Wooden chairs had been placed on tables, and another girl was sweeping up the mess made by previous customers.

“Oh shit, my bad.” You quickly apologised, fumbling around in your bag for a bill, which you placed on the bar next to your empty drink.

You strung your bag around your shoulder, letting the material ruffle your dress in the rush. Your heels clicked against the floor as you clambered off the bar stool, and staggered towards the exit. The amount of alcohol you had drunk now flooded your thoughts, and the ground started to spin slightly. Waving goodbye to the workers inside the bar you stepped outside, your face immediately hit with the humid L.A air.

The moon hung bright in the sky, illuminating the alleyway, along with large neon lights advertising different clubs which sat across the seafront. The alleyway, though small, was safe and protective from harm, the main street only being a few moments away. Puddles from an earlier rainstorm littered the ground, answering your question as to why the air was so humid. The noises of car horns and splashing puddles echoed from the distance, and the buzz from the neon signs droned lowly behind you. A large overflowing dumpster nestled in the corner created an overwhelming stench, flowing into your nostrils and out of your mouth. Leaving a horrible taste on your tongue, vomit almost rising to your throat. You reached up and pegged your nose with your fingers, any attempt to crush the smell.

“I can’t smell that.” A voice next to you whispered. You jumped, almost dropping your bag from your shoulder in surprise. The figure next to you let out a squeak, muttering the Lords name into the night, frightening himself with your reaction.

As you turned, you recognised his eyes from earlier, although now they weren’t adorned by dark glasses. The piercing blue was reflected by the purple neon lights, painting him in an oceanic glow. You noted quietly how his cheekbones dipped and sunk in the shadowing light, the stubble crowding his jaw and creating depth on his young face. You smiled with recognition, not paying any attention when your bag slipped from your shoulder to the ground.

“You startled me!” You whispered, moving your face closer to his in order to be heard. Your noses almost touching for a moment, breaths mingling until you pulled away. He giggled, alcohol buzzing off his body with heat and hysterical energy, a personality which he did not express back inside the bar.

“I’m sorry for bringing up my wife earlier.” He spoke, a flash of sadness painted across his perfect features, his hair was messier now and strands were flying out of place every which way. You held your hand out, placing it on his chest. The fabric of his tie underneath your palm, making your heart beat faster. Letting your fingertips drift absentmindedly.

“It's okay, I’m sorry for reminding you of your wife.” You smiled sympathetically at him, his cheeks red from drink and closeness. You could feel his heart beneath his clothes, fighting for its life as it thumpped twice as fast.

“That’s why I like you.” He whispered, swaying slightly from side to side. He reached one of his hands to rest behind your head, onto the wall, trapping you against the building. If you couldn't feel his heartbeat, you would think he was a natural at this.

His breath fanned onto your cheeks, the smell of scotch and beer pouring from his mouth into your nose. His scent was overpowering, cigarette smoke bloomed throughout his build, grasping onto your senses with a firm fist. You looked up into his eyes, his eyelids heavy and hooded, his lips turned into a smile.

“Is that so?” You breathed, placing your other hand onto his chest, running your palms along his body, his blue suit slightly out of place. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing his tanned skin for you to see, sweaty from the humidity. A gold chain hung from his neck, adding to his charm.

He hummed in response, looking over his shoulder for a moment. His side profile flashed before you, jawline sharp and your hands reached up to grab the sides of his face, pulling him back into reality and your deep stare.

“What’s your name?” You whispered, the buzz of the neon lights behind you both creating the only sound in the alleyway. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, heat rising to your cheeks as he looked down at you, pulling his lip between his teeth.

“Holland.” He spoke, bringing his casted hand up to rest on the wall instead, while his other hand moved to cup your jaw.

“Like the country?” You smiled, continuing to move your hands up and down his front. He chuckled in response. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his thick cast, a doodle of a goose now apparent on the strong material in the purple light.

“How’d you break your arm?” You breathe, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

His eye contact dropped before returning, a flash of light in his eyes.

“Minor workplace accident.” He replied, his fingers running their way across your jawline, keeping your face focused on him.

“Oh really?” You smiled, the intoxication evident in your voice, liquor dripping from your tongue into the air.

“Yeah. It gets tough out there.” He sighed, acting as calm as he possibly could with his body so close to yours. It was humourous, the way he shrugged off statements like they were nothing, when his body language told a different story.

“What do you work as?”

“I'm a P.I”

“Sexy.” You breathed, your eyelids heavy as you looked up at him through long lashes.

The single word dripped from your mouth, causing him to lean in even further, his breath pushing into your mouth with every exhale.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, causing you to nod, mouthing ‘yes’ without any further questions. From the moment he had walked into that bar, you had wanted to feel his lips on your skin.

Slowly he closed the gap between you both, his fingers finding their way into the back of your hair. Your lips locked with his, cementing their place together. The taste of cigarettes overwhelmed your mouth, addicted to the flavour and the sensation. Your hands wandered up his neck, delving into his hair and pushing him closer towards you, your noses meeting on each other's cheek.

You moaned as he parted your lips, gasping like he was drowning in your touch. He opened his mouth to speak but the words didn't form, you crashed your lips into his once again sighing as you felt his hands leave your face and wrap around your frame. Your heartbeats were so close, almost as one as your chests flushed against each other. You heard him moan as he slipped his tongue through your teeth, licking its way into your mouth in an attempt to become closer to you. You had only met this man, but from the way he kissed you, it felt like something you could get addicted to.

“Holland.” You breathed as his lips retracted from yours again to begin kissing at your neck, the sensitive skin now on fire. His breath was hot against you, filling your mind with lustful desires, clouding your thoughts with his name over and over. The tickle of his moustache made you even more interested in him, wanting to feel the irritation everywhere.

He paused for a minute to examine your eyes, feelings and diminutive reactions to him. When he saw your drooping eyes, surveying him in the same manner, he kissed you again. This time breathing in your scent as he did so, his smoke-flavoured tongue licking your lips carefully.

When you pulled away breathless and head spinning, he let his hands wander over the small of your back.

“What's your name?” He whispered, kissing your forehead with an intimate peck.

“Give me your number and maybe you'll find out.” You groaned, leaning yourself forward into his touch as he pushed you against the wall.

#holland march #holland march x reader #holland march fanfic #the nice guys #the nice guys fanfic #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fanfic #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling fanfiction #fanfiction #imagine #x reader #hioreh fanfictions

[bisexual-magnus-bane]

Tears of Pleasure

NSFW, crying, angst, smut

Holland March was the biggest mess you have ever had the chance to meet.

The grip on your hips burned like a harsh bug bite. Teeth clashing into lips and fumbling with clothing.

“God you’re gonna be the death of me.” Holland moans into your mouth.

He was drinking everything in sight at the party and now you know why, the ring hanging around his beautiful neck.

Not to complicate matters anymore but as he laid you down on the bed it swung and hit you in the face, giggling you told him it was okay no need to be upset. Now with tears already in his eyes, he slowly pulled at his own clothes. Ring now hiding under his wife beater.

“Hey listen you don’t have to take it off, you look sexy just the way you are!” You exclaimed to him. He had a small smile on his face as he took his hands off himself and put them to work on getting the rest of your clothes off.

When his pants were finally off and you were fully naked is when you realized how big he was, in fact huge. With a condom on he proceeded to thrust into and all was going well, your moans filled the air and it was great until you felt water on your boobs and didn’t know what the fuck was happening.

Holland kept repeating the same thing over and over again.

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever felt. The best thing I’ve ever felt. The best.”

You didn’t know why and where the tears were coming from so you grabbed at his face and the look you got made you want to swaddle him in a blanket and never let this man go.

“Hey hey it’s okay why are you so upset talk to me!” You managed to get out through the moans, oh yes he didn’t stop fucking.

“It’s so wrong to say but I never felt anyone better than you.” He sputtered out and with a sharp thrust and a long, low moan he was cumming and you didn’t even get the chance. But here was this man who was crying on your chest and trying to explain and you just didn’t have the heart to get upset with him.

Sliding him out of you and taking off the condom you’re shocked with how much cum is in the condom. Regardless you throw it in the trash and turn back around to his sobbing frame. Wrapping him up under the covers you crawl in naked, snuggling into his large body. You slowly lull him to sleep with words of kindness and he finally stopped crying. You hummed to yourself as you slowly breathed him in.

Holland March was the biggest mess you have ever had the chance to meet. But you feel for him even more that he needed someone around.

#pinterest #aesthetic #ryan gosling #the nice guys #holland march #holland march x reader #holland march x you #holland March fanfic #holland march smut #ryan gosling x reader

[elusivewildflower]

Just Another Case | Holland March x Reader

Pairings: Holland March x F! Reader

Summary: You and Holland have been partners for the last year, solving case after ridiculous case together. Even though you’ve been mistaken as a couple countless times while working, the two of you are simply close friends. You might have feelings for him, but you’re sure he doesn’t feel the same. That is, until one particular case comes along on your laundry day, where you’re down to your last piece of clean clothing---a dress and no underwear. 

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sex, the case is about catching a husband cheating. Mostly turns out to be pretty sweet. 

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve written or posted anything, but I hope I’ll be able to get back on track soon! Work and life has been pretty busy lately. I know in the movie Holland mentions that a “no-fault” law ended a lot of his cases like this, but let’s just say one pops up every now and then. (Because let’s be honest, even if I could divorce with no fault, I’d still like to have proof my spouse is cheating). Thank you to @ninjathrowingstork & another friend for beta-ing this for me! Based on the scene idea I had last week and the request I had sitting in my inbox by @wndawtch​.

You press your back against the wall in your kitchen, holding the phone to your ear as your fingers twirl the cord impatiently. The line rang once, twice, and then a third time before you cursed under your breath. If he hadn’t answered by the third ring, you knew he wasn’t going to. It rang two more times before you were greeted with the familiar message of Holland’s answering machine. 

“You have reached March & Co Investigations. This machine records messages. Wait for the tone and speak clearly.” 

The answering machine beeps and you begin speaking. 

“Holland, did you forget you’re supposed to be working today? We were scheduled to meet Mrs. Jenkins at noon and you never showed.” You paused, heaving a sigh. “I swear, if you’re fully dressed and asleep in the tub again—“

The other line picked up and Holland’s groggy voice reached your ears, cutting you off. “What’s so bad about sleeping in the tub?” 

“Aside from the chance of drowning?” You asked rhetorically before continuing, “because you think that sitting in a tub full of water washes both you and what you’re wearing. Which is so not true, by the way.” 

“Oh yeah, says who?” He retorted defiantly.

“I do—and probably a lot of other people if we asked.” You responded quickly, not even waiting for Holland to come up with a response before you began speaking once more. “Get yourself dried off and ready to go. I’ll pick you up in an hour so we can actually start working—I’ve got a lead.” 

Holland gave a grumble of agreement and you slammed the receiver back onto the base to hang up. Sometimes you couldn’t understand why you had agreed to be Holland’s partner over a year ago. He had a serious drinking problem and always seemed to get himself into trouble. On the other hand, he was also extremely intelligent—one of the best private investigator’s you had ever seen on his good days—and he was quite attractive. Throw in his sob story about being a single father to a teenage daughter who lost his wife in a house fire and you were hooked. 

Not that the two of you had ever crossed over the line of being business partners and friends aside from a few flirtatious remarks, but honestly you wouldn’t mind it. You had grown rather close to the young widower and his daughter, Holly, over the last year. Hell, when Holly started her period a few months ago, she called and told you first before mentioning it to her father. You spent more time at their rental home than at your own, and you honestly lost count of the times people had mistaken you for a couple when you were on a case.

You glanced up at the clock on the wall before heaving a sigh and pushing yourself from the wall you were leaning against to call Holland. There was enough time to start a load of laundry, but it wouldn’t finish drying before you had to leave. As you rounded up the hamper from your bedroom filled to the brim with dirty clothes, you cursed yourself for not waking up earlier in the morning—and also cursed your past self for not doing laundry sooner. You had donned your last piece of clean clothing this morning before meeting Mrs. Jenkins, which was a knee-length floral dress. Its color complimented your skin tone nicely, and the deeply cut neckline made your breasts look fantastic. It wasn't exactly what you'd wear on a normal day of work---unless the day consisted of trying to catch a man cheating on his wife. Which, technically you were, but today's lead included the address of his supposed mistress. You and Holland would simply need to do a bit of a stake out to see if you could catch Mrs. Jenkins' husband coming or going from the property, and the dress was definitely not needed.

Before you knew it, an hour had ticked by. You grabbed your purse, slid your heels back on, and locked the door behind you as you exited your house. You told Holland you’d pick him up in an hour, but you only lived a few streets away and he was never ready on time, so you didn’t care that you were late. Honestly, you weren’t the best with time management either, so you were thankful you had a partner that ran late. A few minutes later, and you were pulling into March's driveway, honking your horn to announce your arrival.

About ten minutes later, Holland finally emerges from his home, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. As he climbs into the passenger seat he glances over at you, doing a double take as he realizes what you’re wearing. “What bar or club are we going to?” He questions curiously.

You shake your head as you reverse out of his driveway. “We’re not going to a bar or club.” 

Holland’s brows furrowed in confusion as he ashes his cigarette out the window. “But you’re wearing the dress.” 

You should have known he’d recognize the dress. “I have the address to the alleged mistress, we don’t need to go to a bar. We’re gonna do a stake out.” You explained.

Holland still seemed confused, a frown forming on his face as he eyed you over. “What, do you have a hot date after this or something?” 

He was clearly not letting this go, and did he seem a bit upset at the thought of you having a hot date? You had to be imagining that. 

“No, no hot date. I just felt like wearing a dress,” You gave a shrug as you lied. After criticizing his method of laundry—the thought of sitting fully dressed in a tub still made you shudder—you didn’t feel like admitting that you didn’t have anything else clean. 

Holland must’ve believed you, because he stopped badgering you with questions about it. He did, however, start asking about the case. You spent the rest of the drive filling him in on the details he missed when he overslept the meeting you had with your client.

As you pulled off to the side of the road to park, your heart dropped to your stomach. Your client neglected to mention that the mistress’s house had a seven-foot tall fence all of the way around and a gated driveway. You could feel Holland’s eyes boring into the side of your head. Ignoring him, you grabbed the binoculars from the back seats and simply exited the car. You walked up to the gate at the driveway, double checking that you had the right address. Your shoulders slumped when you realized that you were at the correct address. This was going to make capturing photos for proof of his cheating more difficult. 

You heard the passenger side door slam shut as Holland joined you. “Well, this is great.” He deadpanned, placing his hands upon his hips as he surveyed the fence. 

You sighed, nodding your head in agreement. “Yep.” 

A moment of silence passed between you until Holland broke it with a click of his tongue. “Alright, come on. I’ve got an idea.” He ushered, moving to kneel down beside the fence.

Your brows furrowed as you watched him, unsure of what he was planning. 

He noticed your look of confusion and sighed, beckoning you closer. “Come on, I’m gonna lift you up there.” 

“What?” The question tumbled out of your lips before you realized it, your heart rate rising as fear coursed through you. Holland wasn’t exactly the strongest man in the world, and he tended to be clumsy. You trusted him with a lot of things, but being capable of not dropping you wasn’t one of them. Not to mention that you ran out of clean underwear this morning and were currently going commando under your dress. You swore to yourself that this was the last time you’d ever wait so long to wash clothes.

“Well, I don’t see you lifting me, and someone needs to be able to see over the fence.” He explained as if his idea made perfect sense. Which, in fairness, it did. Except for the two things you were currently worried about; Holland dropping you and seeing up your dress. 

You remained still for a few more moments, your feet refusing to move from where you stood as you mulled over your options—or lack thereof. 

Holland rolled his eyes at you as he grew impatient. “Oh, come on.” He beckoned you again, “before someone sees us!” 

Taking a deep breath, you finally agreed. “Fine,” you began, “But do not look up my dress, Holland.” You warned him sternly, pointing a finger at him. 

Holland looked insulted. “Why would I look up your dress?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, your finger now wagging at him. “Because I know you.” 

Holland raised his hands in surrender, dropping his insulted act. “Alright, alright, I won’t look up your dress.” 

Appeased by his answer, you close the distance between you. Holland laces his fingers together, giving you a spot to place your foot. You hold onto his shoulder as you step into his hands, and he lifts you up as he moves to stand. He lifts you a bit too high too fast and you’re suddenly scrambling to grab hold of the fence so you don’t fall. 

“Jesus! Not that high!” You scold him as you struggle to find your balance. 

Holland mutters out an apology and lowers you slightly. 

Leaning yourself against the fence, you raise your binoculars to your eyes. You scan the windows of the house, starting with the first floor. Disappointment flooded your veins as you were coming up empty-handed, that is until you panned to the last window on the second floor. A nude woman was pressed against the window getting railed from behind. You couldn’t tell by who, but you assumed it was your client’s husband. You let out a gasp. Jesus Christ. That must be nice. Just as you opened your mouth to tell Holland what you had found, you heard his voice below you. 

“Holy fuck—You’re not wearing any underwear!” 

Holland’s words caused you to release your grip on the fence in a panic, snapping your attention towards him. You find him still staring up your dress in shock, his jaw dropped open. You reach out to swat at him, shouting his name in an annoyed tone. “I told you not to look!”

Your words seemed to shake Holland out of his stupor, but your swat only backfired on you. Holland tried to dodge your hand out of instinct, which only served to make him lose his balance and send the both of you toppling to the ground. It happened so quickly you don’t even remember falling, but you definitely felt the pain of the impact. Every part of your body ached, but it didn’t feel like you had broken or sprained anything, so that was good. Your head may have been pounding from smacking the ground, but it was better than your skull being cracked open by the sidewalk. You had missed that by just a few inches, you realized as you rolled onto your side. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you lift me,” you groaned out, looking over at Holland.

Clearly, you had taken the brunt of the fall, as Holland was already sitting up and staring at you. “Why aren’t you wearing any underwear?!” He asked incredulously, ignoring your previous comment.

“It’s laundry day and I didn’t have any clean!” You admitted.

Holland shook his head unbelievingly. “Jesus Christ, I need a cigarette…” He spoke as he reached into his jacket, pulling out his lighter and a cigarette just a moment later. After pulling the first drag, he regarded you once more. This time it seemed like he was checking you for any injuries, rather than staring at you like a deer in headlights. “I’m sorry for dropping you. Are you alright?” He asked sincerely, gesturing towards you with his hand.

You nodded and moved to sit up, another groan tumbled from your lips as your body ached in protest. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You assured him. You may wind up with several bruises and have a hard time getting out of bed tomorrow, but you’d survive. 

A comfortable silence fell between you once more as Holland smoked and you let the pounding in your head subside. After a few moments, Holland snuffed out his cigarette in the grass. “That’s why you’re wearing the dress,” he announced, having put together that you lied to him earlier. “You didn’t want to wear that, you just didn’t have anything else to wear today.” 

Your eyes snapped up from the grass to meet his as he broke the silence, but you didn’t bother giving him a response, your facial expression was enough. He was right and he knew it, you didn’t need to confirm it with words. 

“I may bathe in my clothes, but at least I always have clean underwear.” He spoke in a chastising tone that had you rolling your eyes. “So, did you see anything?” He asked after a moment, gesturing towards the binoculars that were lying on the grass. 

As you glanced at where he gestured, you remembered what you had witnessed right before Holland dropped you. “Yeah, I saw a naked woman being railed against her bedroom window.” You shrugged and continued speaking as Holland reached for the binoculars. “I couldn’t see by who, though, so we’ll just have to wait until he leaves.” 

Springing up to his feet, Holland tried his best to see over the fence, hoping to catch a glimpse of the action. It was no use, though, as he wasn’t tall enough to see over it unless he backed all of the way up into the street—and then he’d likely be hit by a car. He sighed defeatedly and turned back to you. “When does Mrs. Jenkins say her husband comes home after this?” 

You looked down at your watch, your eyes widening as you realized what time it was. 1:54 p.m. Mrs. Jenkins said her husband usually got home around 2:30 p.m. and you were about thirty minutes away from where she lived. As if on cue, you hear the sound of an engine starting up in the driveway. Your attention turns back to Holland, his blue eyes connecting with yours. “Right now.” You spoke hurriedly, rushing to get yourself up from the ground. Like the gentleman he is, Holland helped you to your feet and the two of you took off running towards your car. 

“Why is our timing always so terrible?” Holland asked exasperatedly as you ran. 

“I don’t know, but I blame you.” You replied, slamming the door shut behind you as you hopped into the car. 

Holland’s door slammed shut right after yours. “You blame me? Why?” 

You’re digging around in the backseat for your camera, not even looking at Holland as you respond. “Because you distract me,” you admit carelessly, not paying attention to the words that fall from your mouth until it’s too late. The car in the driveway is growing closer to the gate, and if it was your client’s husband that was leaving, you needed to capture a picture of it in order to be paid. As you return to your seat, fiddling with the camera to turn it on, you realize what you just said to Holland and your heart hammers in your chest. 

Holland shakes his head in disbelief. “I distract you? No, no, it’s you who distracts me.” 

Your brows furrow as you glance over at him . “How do I distract you?”

“Are you kidding me? Did you forget what happened not even fifteen minutes ago?” Holland gestures towards the spot the two of you were standing previously. “I just saw up your dress and you’re not wearing any fucking underwear! Do you know what that did to me?”

His question seemed rhetorical, or maybe you had just lost all function in your brain at the implication of his words. 

“And don’t even get me started on that dress. You look so god damn sexy in that, and I hate that you only wear it to lure married men into flirting with you for a case.” Holland admitted, only pausing long enough to suck in a breath of air before he continued. “I get so fucking jealous watching those men think they have a chance with you, and you don’t even notice!” Holland stares at you as he finishes, waiting for a response as your brain tries to wrap around what he just confessed. 

Your thoughts are running a mile a minute, trying to remember every time you’ve had to flirt with a married man for a case. Did you really not notice that Holland was jealous? Or did you just try to shrug it off because you didn’t believe he could ever feel that way for you? Your mouth suddenly feels dry at the realization, but eventually you speak. “I didn’t realize you felt that way about me….” 

“Of course I do, how couldn’t I?” Holland spoke as if he couldn’t believe you didn’t notice sooner. “You’re gorgeous, extremely smart,” he then gestured towards himself, “you put up with my bullshit, and you’re so good to Holly.” A small smile spread across his face as he spoke of his daughter. “She loves you, you know?”  

You returned his smile and nodded, leaning in closer to the center console. “Yeah, I know.” 

Holland closed the short distance between you, his face mere inches from yours as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, hesitatingly whispering his confession. “And I love you, too.” 

Gazing into his cool blue eyes, you couldn’t help the blinding smile that grew on your face. “I love you, too, Holland.” You admitted before capturing his lips. Holland’s hand rose to your neck, gripping the back of it as he locked you in a passionate kiss. His tongue prodded against your lips for entrance, but the sound of a gate opening made him pull away. 

“Mrs. Jenkin’s husband, Mrs. Jenkin’s husband!” He cried out, pointing at the car that was pulling out of the driveway right in front of you.

“Oh, shit!” You exclaimed, pulling yourself away from Holland and quickly grabbing the camera from your lap. You raised it to your eye and managed to snap a few incriminating photos of the man who matched the description of your client’s husband driving away. 

You placed the camera back into the floor of the back seat and turned towards Holland with a grin. “Well, let’s go get paid.” 

Holland leaned over, gently grabbing your jaw and pulling your lips to meet his. “As soon as the check’s in the bank, I’m taking you on a date.” He promised, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek.

“I’m looking forward to it. I’ll even buy a new dress.” You spoke softly, nuzzling your nose against his before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

A smirk spread across Holland’s face. “Any chance you won’t be wearing any underwear then, too?” 

You scoff and swat at his chest with a laugh. “Holland!” You shout his name in a scolding tone, turning back to face the steering wheel as you turn the keys in the ignition. 

“Well, that’s not a no….” He trails off as you start the drive back to your client’s home, eliciting a giggle from you. 

#holland march #holland march fic #the nice guys fic #holland march x reader #the nice guys #ryan gosling fic #ryan gosling #myfics #requests #holland march fanfic

[drivinmeinsane]

Give Me the Night

※ Holland March x Jackson Healy ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: Like most jobs involving stakeouts, the night is going by slowly. That all takes a turn, however, when March finally pushes his fellow Nice Guy too far.

※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content

※ Content/Tags: Idiots in Love, Blow Jobs, Tit Jobs, Inappropriate use of a Semi-Public Space, Excessive Cum, Internalized period-typical homophobia, Emotionally Constipated Jackson Healy, Typical Idiot Holland March, Porn with Comedy AND Feelings, Collaboration

※ Word count: 7,759

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: This fic was written in collaboration with @danime25. We worked up the outline together and she kindly took the reins and wrote Holland's POV after our good pal Healy makes a break for it. It was wonderful working with her on this!

Yellow light filters through the windows of Holland’s car. The streetlights have been on for hours now, illuminating the sleepy street just enough to make out the shapes of shrubs and mailboxes. The two detectives inside the car are not concerned with the small details. They are looking out for the comings and goings of a man located in house number 1438. It’s a rather plain ranch style home with new porch railings.

The Nice Guys Detective Agency had been called the day prior by a woman who was concerned that her husband of three years was stepping out on her with another lady. It was the same old story that Holland March had handled his entire career as a PI. He gets a new one about once or twice a month. More over the holidays since the offending partner claims overtime at their place of employment to explain the sudden absences at home. The cases pay well enough, easy work to boot as long as the survailed party stayed none the wiser.

Holland shifts uncomfortably in his seat, drawing Healy’s attention. The bruiser eyes him with a passive curiosity. His back is stiff from being confined in the vehicle for so long, but he knows that his investigation partner must be feeling worse. Instead of breaking Holland’s left arm like he had planned, he had fractured the radius in Holland’s right. As fucked up as it sounds, he hadn’t wanted to risk damaging whatever issue the other man has going under the bandage of his left. The result was that the PI was down to limited functionality in both arms. The left is still full of stitches while the right is weighed down by a palm to elbow length cast. Still, the arm situation does not directly correlate to Holland’s current bout of bizarre behavior in any way that Healy can discern.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, March?” Healy asks, aiming for politeness. He misses by a mile.

“Excuse me? Why the fuck are you looking at me like that for?” Holland retorts with a disgusted tone. 

“Because you’re acting weird.” 

“I’m not acting weird. You’re the one acting weird.” Holland’s voice is shrill, and a bit defensive.

“I’m not the one squirming around like I gotta take a piss.”

“Fine! You really want to know?”

“No, March,” he throws up his hands, “I asked because I don’t want to know.” His tone is sarcastic.

“Well… it’s been a while since you broke my fucking arm .” He flings the affected limb in a sweeping gesture for dramatic effect, narrowly missing Healy. 

“I said I was sorry.”

Holland scoffs and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket along with his lighter. “Well, your apologies are worth shit to me when I can’t crank one out in the bathroom.”

The look on Healy’s face is incredulous. “Seriously? That’s it, asshole?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘that’s it’?” He places a cigarette between his lips and lights it, letting it rest loosely in his mouth.

Healy is almost upset enough to snag the cigarette right out of the other man’s mouth. He has no reason to be this bothered by their conversation. His skin feels too warm, the collar of his shirt too tight.

“What the fuck do you want me to do about it? You want me to give you a little handy between partners?”

“Well, for starters, don’t look at my crotch like you enjoy it,” Holland snarls back, using his more functional hand to block Healy’s view. “I just need something to get myself off with.”

A light turns on in the house closest to them. The porch light follows shortly after. Their shouting must have been loud enough to wake the occupant. The last thing they need is the actual police getting called and thrust into their business. 

“Shut up and stop thinking with your dick. We’re on a job,” Jackson responds, irate. 

Turning the key in the ignition, Holland starts the car and floors it. They pelt out of the neighborhood in an obnoxious screech of tires on pavement. If their yelling hadn’t woken the entire block, Holland’s maneuver certainly finished the job. He pulls into an empty lot. The only source of light is the vehicle’s headlights. 

“Real subtle,” he mutters under his breath, still ruffled. 

The other man hits the steering wheel with the palms of both hands. He lets out a gasp at jostling his injured arms unnecessarily. He turns on the man seated beside him once he shakes off the pain. “Great, we’ve lost at least three days on that lead thanks to you.”

“‘Thanks to me’,” Healy repeats, “Do you even hear yourself sometimes?”

He fumbles for the door handle and gets out of the car. He slams the door hard enough to rattle the entire machine. The bruiser needs a moment to cool down or he will do something that they will both regret. He is almost shaking. From what? He doesn’t know exactly.

Holland doesn’t leave well enough alone and exits the car in pursuit of his partner. He stops with the door ajar and his hand on the roof. “Yeah, I do hear myself. I have a pretty voice, thank you very much.”

The shorter man shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and walks further away from the Benz. He forces himself to accept the PI’s words with equanimity. He’s struggling with it. Does the other man ever stop running his mouth? 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Holland slams the door, shutting his blazer in it without realizing. He tries to set off after him, but comes to an abrupt halt when he gets yanked back by the caught jacket. He struggles out of it, leaving it hanging sadly in the door and gets up in Healy’s face.  

“See that? You just cost me my favorite jacket and for what?”

“Get out of my face, March,” Jack says calmly, too calmly. His tone is a warning of an imminent punch to the face if the detective doesn’t comply. He puts a hand on the other man’s chest, cautioning him. 

“Or what?” Holland sneers, “You gonna kiss me?”

Healy doesn’t say anything, He drops his hand from Holland’s chest and takes a step back, turns partially away. Nausea rolls through his stomach. 

“Hey, hey, Jack, I was just kidding.” Holland sounds a little softer.

He waves a dismissive hand with forced casualness and starts walking back to the car. “Let’s get back to work. Don’t want to waste the time here.” 

The detective purses his lips and follows after him only to stop a few feet away from the vehicle. He has a calculating look on his face. It’s the kind of look Holland gets when he is about to make a decision that is going to make whatever partner of his want to tear their hair out. Healy opens his mouth to ask him what he is about to do right as Holland throws the keys. All he can do is watch in speechless horror as they go sailing into the darkness and clatter noisily somewhere onto the ground. He’s damn near blind during the day with his reading glasses on, much less at night without any aid whatsoever.

“What the fuck , March?” He growls once the initial shock has worn off. 

Holland gestures at him, equally upset. “Enough of this. Just say you want to fuck me or something.”

The nauseous feeling grows more prominent. It feels like his stomach acid is trying to crawl up his throat. Why the hell was his partner doing this? Healy had tried hard to be normal around the other man. He had not let his eyes wander because that was the kind of shit that got your ass beat in an alley. 

“Yeah?” He lets out an unconvincing laugh, “What makes you think I wanna fuck you?”

“I mean, look at you,” the PI scoffs despite having to adjust himself so his erection isn't so obviously tenting the material of his white slacks. 

“Me? You’re the one panting over there like a dog. You can’t control yourself, March.”

That spurns Holland into crowding against him. Healy holds his ground, he’s not going to be bullied around by his partner. The other man leans down to speak, but he misjudges the distance in the dark and his lips brush against Jackson’s mouth. They recoil from each other like gunshots had been fired in their direction.

“I knew you wanted to fuck me,” Holland says, laying the blame for his own error onto Healy. He makes a show of looking him up and down.

Impulsively, he grabs the collar of Holland’s shirt. He twists his broad hand into the expensive fabric and jerks the taller man forward until they’re nose to nose. “I never said anything about wanting to fuck you. Sounds like you’re making excuses to fuck me.”

“As if,” is the response he gets, but Jackson does not miss the considering way March eyes his mouth. The detective adjusts the angle of his head, aligning their mouths, mere millimeters between them.  

At the feeling of Holland’s mustache brushing over his upper lip, Healy makes a small sound. A whine? A moan? He panics, and his fist swings up without his permission and collides solidly with the face of the man coming onto him. His hand slips off the other man’s shirt, and Holland takes a few staggering steps backwards. 

“What the fuck?” March whimpers and looks up at Healy, “The hell was that for?”

Healy refuses to look at him and instead starts fruitlessly scanning the ground. “Shut up and help me look for the keys.”

He hears the other man rub his face with a groan. The bruiser knows his partner has a good chance of sporting a black eye tomorrow. This entire night is turning into a nightmare. He has not felt this unsteady since Joanne had admitted that she was fucking his father. The scuffle of shoes on the ground is the only warning he gets before Holland grabs ahold of him. Before he can protest, the taller man kisses him. It’s an awkward clash of mouths, too much teeth, but Holland is making up for it by sheer enthusiasm. 

Healy stiffens, but then he is grasping desperately onto the PI. He kisses him back like a man lost in the desert who has just been given a glass of water. He chases after the other man when he pulls back for air, capturing his mouth once again. His hand rests heavily on the nape of March’s neck, worked in the short hair. They shouldn’t be doing this. They’re old enough to damn well know better than to do this.

That line of questioning does not stop him from wedging a thigh between Holland’s legs, rubbing it against the taller man’s clothed erection in the process. His partner catches on quickly and chases the friction. Healy wraps a hand around March’s narrow hip, encouraging him further until the detective is all but humping his leg like a dog in heat. They’re panting into each other’s open mouths, eyes closed.

Holland moans out a soft little, “Fuck.”. He sounds almost as though he is begging for more, even as his hands grab desperately at the back of Healy’s jacket. 

“Yeah, you would like that, March,” he mutters against the side of the PI’s neck. He slides the hand cupping the back of Holland’s neck to his front and works at pulling the other man’s shirt free from his pants. Healy almost feels drunk despite turning down his partner’s offered flask more than once during the stakeout. A shiver courses through him when he feels Holland start to return his interest by putting his hand underneath his jacket, not seeking bare skin yet, but the heat of his touch through the tropical patterned shirt is enough to get Jackson to grind his own hard dick against his partner’s hip. 

He feels the wet pressure of Holland’s lips connecting with his cheek and has to swallow. This is more intimate than he had ever dared to imagine in the most repressed corners of his mind. Maybe Holland had bashed him over the head in the car with his cast and this was all some kind of fucked up wet dream. The twitch of the other man’s cock against him feels real enough though. 

“Whaddaya want, huh?” Jack dares to ask.

“I want…” Holland trails off, clearly contemplating, but instead of coming up with a response, he shoves his face against Healy’s shoulder. All traces of his bravado are gone.

“You’re never this quiet, March,” he grumbles. He drags his thick fingers down the detective’s stomach to right above his belt. “If I knew this was all it took to get you to shut up… Look, do you want me to give you a handjob or what?”

“No, I want,” Holland makes a gesture with his hands that suggests he’s cupping a pair of invisible breasts, “you know, that .”

The look Healy gives him is flabbergasted. “March, you… you know I’m not a woman, right?”

“Yeah, I fucking know that.” Holland looks down at where he and Healy are pressed together like a pair of randy teenagers, “I’m not a fucking idiot.” 

Shaking his head, he opens his mouth to say something in response to him, but just shakes his head instead. There’s no use in arguing with him. Healy knows that the other man is a fucking idiot sometimes and that knowledge is enough for him right now. He decides to humor March and strips off his jacket and tosses it onto the ground behind him. He makes short work of the buttons on his shirt and leaves it hanging open to reveal the white wifebeater he wears as an undershirt. Jack fights the instinctive urge to cover himself, knowing that his body is not in as good of shape as his companion’s.

“We’re actually doing this?” Holland asks despite already beginning to work his belt off with the hand not encased in a cast. He’s doing such a poor job of it that it prompts Healy to swat his hand away and undo it for him. 

“Whatever ‘this’ is,” he says with a shrug of his good shoulder. He pulls the detective’s belt free of the loops and tosses it in the vague direction of where he threw his jacket just moments before. They’ll have a considerable scavenger hunt on their hands at the end of this. 

Holland undoes the zipper on his dress pants and unceremoniously pulls his dick out. “Okay, I’ve never done this before.”

Healy watches as March closes his eyes in preparation. For what? He doesn’t have the faintest damn clue. “Why fuck are you closing your eyes. This isn’t jumping off the diving board,” he says incredulously. 

“ Jesus! Just shut up,” Holland snaps back, opening his eyes reproachfully. He puts a hand on Healy’s shoulder and tries to encourage him onto his knees. Jack doesn’t budge. “Just… let me use your chest.”

“For what?” He grumbles. He decides to humor Holland’s cues and lowers himself to the ground. A rock digs uncomfortably into his shin and he mutters a complaint under his breath, shifting his leg into a spot with less gravel. He tries to tune out how hard his dick is in his own pants. The kneeling position has pulled the fabric taut over his crotch, and he has to suppress a groan that’s more arousal than discomfort over this indignity. This is right up near the top of the most asinine things his partner has asked him to do since they met about a month ago. He’s gone along with the other man this far though, and he might as well continue. 

Holland moves to get onto his knees, but he pulls up short of actually doing it. “This isn’t going to work, let’s go to my car,” he says, offering a hand to Healy and helping him to his feet without bothering to tuck his dick back into his pants. 

“You have to be fucking with me,” he protests but follows the taller man back to the car all the same. He hovers awkwardly next to the rear tire on the passenger side. He’s really starting to be on the verge of regretting this. Holland has to be playing some kind of joke on him. His hands hover over the buttons of his open shirt and he’s about to start doing it up when March pats the top of the trunk.

“Come on,” he says encouragingly. The PI sheds his own over-shirt, stripped down to his undone pants and sleeveless undershirt. 

He instantly follows Holland’s lead and lets his own touristy shirt fall from his shoulders and onto the ground. This entire vacant lot is going to look like some type of crime scene by the end of night. He heaves himself onto the trunk, heels briefly making contact with the tire. He’s perched on the edge, tense as though he’s ready to fight. Jack is not given much time to work himself into abandoning this whole ordeal because Holland steps up into his space, forcing a home for himself between his legs. Desperation and arousal is written all over the taller man’s face. Either Holland is a surprisingly good actor or he’s actually not yanking Healy’s chain.

The detective puts his full weight into the kiss. Healy’s breath hitches when March’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip. He feels the other man grin in response to his reaction. It’s all Jackson can do to put a calloused hand on the back of his partner’s neck and hold him close. Holland’s facial hair is surprisingly soft against Healy’s stubbled face.

“Fuck,” Holland says softly and drags his pants over the curve of his ass, down far enough to be able to kick  them off before crawling onto the car. 

The bruiser lays back across the trunk, the metal is cold against his skin, but Holland is blazingly warm against his stomach as he gets into position on top of him. He takes the hem of Healy’s shirt in his hands and encourages it up and over his head to get discarded somewhere on the ground by the driver’s side of the car. Holland shifts so he’s properly straddling him, knees bracketing his sides. The detective’s cock rests in the divot between Healy’s pecs. 

“The fuck you doing, March?” It comes out as a near whisper in the darkness. 

“What I wanted,” Holland says and spits, slicking the space where his dick rests just enough that it glides smoothly on the first few thrusts as he begins to rub himself off using Healy’s chest.

Suddenly, Holland’s comments about using his chest to get off are crystal clear. Taking a deep breath, Healy pushes his elbows against either side of his chest, forming a tighter passage for his partner to fuck against. It was like something he’d seen women do in pornos sometimes. His chest is quickly made slick by the copious amounts of precum leaking from the man on top of him. 

Above him, Holland lets out a broken whine as he chases his release. He’s thrusting against Healy like both their lives depend on it. March’s hands are firmly planted to either side of his shoulders. Jack can’t hold back an answering groan, so uncomfortably hard in his jeans with no relief in sight. His chest hair is going to be a sticky, matted mess. All of this shouldn’t be as appealing as it is. The only thing that could make it better in this moment is if he could just see his partner a little more clearly. He wants to know what Holland’s face looks like when he cums. 

“C’mon, March. You wanted this,” he says, spurring him on. He has a good, if a little blurry, visual of the other man’s upper body with their current position. If he were not occupied with holding his amble chest together for Holland to use, his hands might be tempted to wander. 

In response, Holland whines and picks up the pace, nearly rubbing them both raw as he brings himself to the finish line. Jack swears he catches a glimpse of tears in Holland’s eyes as the man finally orgasms. He releases the pressure against his pecs and catches his partner as he goes limp on top of him. Healy feels like he is getting sprayed down with a hose. The other man’s cum floods in the valley of his chest, pooling at the base of his throat and trickling down either side of his neck. A stray shot or two catches him in the face. He tastes bitter saltiness on his lips when he reflexively licks them. It’s a lot of cum, way too much really.

“Shit,” the PI sighs and gingerly scoots out of his hold, further down his body. His dick twitches and a few stray droplets of cum fall onto Healy’s stomach. His own dick is throbbing in his pants when Holland unintentionally makes contact with his crotch.

Healy continues to lay back across the trunk, slightly dazed as his partner shimmies off the vehicle and pulls his boxers and pants back on. He had just let another man rub himself off on him and he hadn’t hated it. He’d enjoyed it even. Near his feet, Holland zips his trousers up and Jack feels himself tense at the crisp sound. He braces himself for the punchline now that the other man has had his fun and gotten his rocks off. He did not particularly think March would be cruel enough to mock him, but this… he didn’t have a script for this. 

“What do you want?” Holland asks after a moment of awkward silence, cutting right to the chase. 

“Surprise me, March. You’ve been doing a real bang up job of it tonight.” Healy responds, a little hoarse. He doesn’t know what the hell he wants. 

“Okay… uhh… sit up, I guess,” he replies, getting onto his knees. His eyes are level with Healy’s crotch.

He obliges him, ignoring the pop in his back as he does. Holland’s cum slides coldly down his chest before stopping somewhere on his stomach. He’s too struck dumb by arousal to care. The other man is on his knees for him, how could he have any rational thought? This has gone far beyond Healy’s wet dream hypothesis and the handjob only gay porno he’d dared to sneak a look at once.

Encouraged by Holland’s hands on his knees, he spreads his legs further to make room for him to shuffle in between them. He manages a reassuring nod when his partner checks in on him with a raised eyebrow that he can barely make out in the dark as he feels the kneeling man slide his left hand up his thigh to get at the front of his pants. Holland has no trouble with the zipper and button on Healy’s jeans despite the fumbling of his own belt earlier. There’s no underwear to tug out of the way. Jackson can’t be bothered to do any more laundry than strictly necessary. 

“Shit, I thought I was big…” Holland mutters under his breath and puts his mouth over the head of Healy’s cock. 

It was a line straight out of a skin flick, but damn if it didn’t send a hot rush of arousal down Jack’s spine all the same. His head falls back and he lets a guttural noise in response to the way his partner is tonguing along his shaft. Shakily, he puts a hand on his shoulder, gripping firmly. His thumb rubs back and forth against the side of Holland’s neck. He can feel the other man’s throat working as he gives him a blowjob. 

A Holland-esque whine almost bursts from his lips when the detective pulls off of him with a wet sounding pop. “Good?”

“Yeah, yeah, real good,” Healy admits, breathing heavily. “Now, please shut up and y’know…”

“Keep going?” Holland finishes with a smirk that’s blinding even in the dim light, and then his mouth is back to work doing something other than engaging in his usual vices of smoking, drinking, and talking way too fucking much.

He tightens his fingers on March’s shoulder like he’s a dog gripping onto a squeaky toy. As inexperienced as the PI clearly is at this kind of thing, it’s almost more than Healy can handle. He’s torn between shoving the other man away or pulling him closer. It has been so long since he’s gotten off. He hadn’t even wanted to touch himself after his wife admitted to cheating on him with his own father of all people. There had not been a single pair of pretty legs that had gotten his attention until Holland came along. Hell, if he admits it to himself, even his wife hadn’t really done it for him. There had always been an undercurrent of wrongness to the whole situation. He’d chalked it up to the fact that she was cheating on him during their marriage, but upon reflection, he hadn’t exactly been performing in the bedroom before that whole relationship started.

“Fuck,” he groans, fighting to keep from thrusting up into his mouth. He’s close, too close. He’s about to- “Holland… Holland .”

The other man moans around Healy’s cock. He’s doing his best to swallow down what he’s given, but some of it leaks out of his mouth and onto his goatee. They make eye contact as he proceeds to milk Jack dry. He pushes against Holland once the suction becomes too much around his softening dick. The other man lets him slip free and while Healy hastily tucks himself, oversensitive, back into his jeans, he leans against his car.

“That was… good,” Holland offers into the silence between the two of them.

Healy takes a moment to respond, busying himself with zipping up his pants and sliding the button home. The turmoil of feelings that he was experiencing earlier is back in full force. They’d both gotten off but no… there was the aftermath. 

“March…” he starts but peters out. He slides off of the car. He’s all too aware that he’s still shirtless and covered in Holland’s semen. It’s slowly drying into his chest and stomach hair, getting clean in the dark with no water and no spare cloth is a lost cause. 

“Yeah?” The PI responds the moment he realizes Healy isn’t going to add onto the thought. His tone is hopeful, bordering on needy.

“Why…?” He's not sure how to find the words. Hell, what does someone say in this kind of situation?

“Why what?” Holland asks with a touch of tentativeness, as though Healy is going to lay into him. 

“Why’d you… this wasn't some kinda joke was it, March?” He questions, shoving his hands into his pockets and curling inward slightly. What he would give to be fully dressed right now. Not that it would help much, he hasn't felt in control since he and Holland started fighting in the car. He isn’t a feelings kind of guy. That would mean he's weak.

“No!” Holland’s voice peaks and cracks. It settles into a more normal range as he continues. “I don’t know… I don’t know how to explain it. This feels different than the way I felt about my wife.”

Healy mutely nods as the taller man starts feeling himself up for his pack of cigarettes before realizing that they’re still in his jacket pocket. Holland wanders around the other side of the car, out of his field of vision, to go after his suit jacket. 

The new addition to the Nice Guys Detective Agency can agree though. Whatever is going on between them feels different than it had with his own, now ex, wife.  For him, it had felt… right. He absentmindedly follows March around to the other side of the car and picks up his undershirt. He pulls it back over his head, grimacing as his wet chest makes contact with the fabric. The minute he has a chance, he’s jumping in the shower. In the middle of shrugging on his Hawaiian shirt, he hears what sounds like the door of the Benz being opened followed by the rustling of fabric. Incredulous, he turns to stare at the other man. 

“The door was open.” Holland says to him, not looking up from the ground.

He doesn't even have it in him to be mad, just lets out a helpless chuckle. “You have to be fucking joking.”

“No,” he sounds sheepish, “but we still gotta find the keys to get out of here. Unless you’d rather talk about what,” gesturing between the two of them, “ this is first.”

“Let’s find the keys first, then we can talk.” Privately, he wants the option for Holland to just leave his ass here if things go south. He doesn’t want his partner to feel trapped with him.

“Sounds good,”  Holland says, closing the door and slipping his jacket back on. He flashes Healy a wide smile and bounds over to the approximate location of where he had thrown the keys a while earlier.

Healy locates his jacket and pulls it on. It’s dusty from the dry soil of the lot. He squints into the darkness, scanning the ground for the keys. He almost feels like he would be better off getting onto his hands and knees like that chick in the orange turtleneck that was always losing her glasses on the show Holly’s been into, the one with the talking dog.

He moves to stand next to Holland, brushing shoulders with him in a friendly way. “Why did you have to throw the keys?” He finally comments when his straining eyes fail to see a glimmer of metal.

“I don’t know,” he admits flatly. “We had to resolve whatever that tension was between us somehow.”

Jackson frowns, shrugs. He takes a few steps forward away from Holland, kicking at the ground fruitlessly. He doesn’t get rewarded by the sound of pebbles hitting metal. “What kinda tension you talking about?”

“Y’know… Where I was up in your face and you were trying to get out of mine. That tension.”

“Right, yeah,” he grumbles. “Look, March. What are you wanting outta this?” 

“I dunno. Right now it just feels nice when I’m around you.” He shrugs, “You know what I had on my hand when we met? ‘You’ll never be happy’?”

“Yeah? What about it?” Healy tries to not sound choked up over Holland’s words. Where did all these emotions come from? He was an even tempered man, occasionally angry, but this… There was no word of the day for this. 

“When I wake up and see you and Holly on the couch… I’m happy.” Holland shrugs and looks at him.

Healy is silent for a long moment before he speaks, his words slow, measured. “You and the kid… it gives me a reason to get up in the morning. Don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Jesus.” Holland lets out a sigh, putting a hand over his own chest, “Haven’t been this nervous since I got down on one knee… you know, for Holly’s…” he clears his throat, not finishing the thought.

He teeters on the cusp of saying something sincere, but it’s not the time. He doesn’t want to go down an upsetting path, not tonight. They had enough to think about. “Guess I’ll be the one getting on one knee then,” he jokes. A gleam of metal catches his attention when he shifts in place. Holy shit, it’s the keys. He doesn’t dare move in case he loses sight of them with his crap depth perception. He grabs the air in Holland’s direction with one hand while pointing at the keys with the other. “March! March! Keys! ”

“Yes! Fuck yes!” The detective yelps and dives for the keys. He snatches them off the ground with a flourish and crowds into Healy’s space, heys in hand. He kisses him, an enthusiastic press of his mouth against his. He’s smiling even as he pulls back and a shy look crosses his face. “I mean, thanks.”

Healy can’t help himself and draws the man back in, allowing himself to initiate for the first time tonight. He brushes his mouth gently over Holland’s. He lingers for a moment before breaking away. Perhaps if the spell doesn’t break, he could get used to having this. 

“Let’s… go home.” March rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. They stare at each other until Healy raises his eyebrows at him. “Right! Home,” he says with a nod and hoofs it back to the car. Jack follows and settles himself into the passenger seat. He feels more content than he has in years.

The drive back to Holland’s house is free of any drama. Holland spends the time aimlessly chattering. It relaxes Healy. He’s nearly asleep by the time they pull into the driveway. 

“Huh,” he hears Holland say, and he opens his eyes to see the light of the television flickering from the living room window. 

He gets out of the car with a groan and the two men make their way to the front door. Holland fumbles his house key into the lock. Opening the door reveals Holly and Jessica standing in the living room in front of the tv, clearly surprised at being caught still awake. 

 “Jessica, what are you doing in my house?”

“Sorry Mr. March. My sister’s busy,” she apologizes.

“Yeah, I bet she is.” Holland scoffs. Jack resists the urge to kick him in the back of the leg.

Jessica looks at the men and blurts out. “Oh! Do you go to the same nighttime baking class as my sister?” Holly makes a noise like a stepped on mouse. 

Healy is ready to shrug it off as one of Jessica’s eccentricities and Holly having a hiccup, but a cold knife of cognizance suddenly impales him. He remembers that he and Holland didn’t wipe off their faces. He can feel the mostly dried jizz so clearly on his neck and lower half of his face. Oh fuck.

“What…” Holland starts to say before looking at Healy. His eyes go wide in his own realization. “Yeah. Baking. Baking class.”

“Yeah, cinnamon rolls tonight. The icing is real. Uh… real tricky. Gotta make it from scratch. Gets messy.” Healy manages. Why can’t he shut up? He’s sweating. Holly is staring a hole into his soul. Oh, god, she knows he and her old man were doing the hanky panky like a pair of teenagers while they were supposed to be working. If she looks at them any harder, they are both going to catch on fire and burn into two piles of ash right here in the entryway. 

Making things worse, Holland dips a finger into the mostly dried cum on Healy and brings it up to his mouth, sucking on the finger. “Wow. Um, really good icing.” 

“March, what the fuck are you doing?” Healy questions as nicely as he can manage given the circumstances. Holly makes a retching sound. Jessica as always is oblivious to anything going on around her. 

“Just… getting the last bit off you,” the man says with a shrug. Healy watches in fascinated horror as a bead of sweat rolls down his partner’s face. He can see his own release dried into Holland’s goatee. This is too much. 

“Well, uh. I’m going to use your shower. If you will please excuse me,” Jackson says politely, too politely, and tries to pretend he isn’t fleeing the scene of a crime. He leaves Holland to deal with the fallout and ducks into the master bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. What a mess. His undershirt is ruined, but he should have enough clothes to get back to his own apartment after this. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

“Well then, let’s get you home Jessica.” Holland clasps his hands together and keeps his lips pressed tight to one another to avoid the awkward smile that was creeping across his face. He feels the cold, sharp daggers that his daughter’s eyes are shooting at him and he turns around to pull his coat back off the hanger. Holland is looking for any excuse to avoid the lecture that he knows Holly has in store for him when he gets back. Unfortunately for him, Jessica has one of the first rational thoughts in her life. She digs her heels a bit into the shag carpet as Holland attempts to push her out the door and says,

“Wait, Mr. March. I live just across the street, remember? I can just walk home.”

Holland’s eyes go blank. He didn’t remember, honestly. “Right. That’s right,” he repeats to himself mostly

“Anyway, bye Holly. I’ll see you at school!” Jessica walks out of the house like she’s a member of the Brady Bunch. That’s the show Jessica liked, right? He shakes his head. It doesn't matter now. What matters is how the hell Holland is going to get out of the scolding that Holly has at the ready for him. He puts the poor coat back onto the hook before slowly turning around to face his daughter. What could he say? She already looks more disappointed in him than the first time she had to drive and pick him up from the bar. 

“Hi, honey.” He waves slowly at her, hoping to diffuse some of the tension in the air. This does not work. While he was trying to skirt on out of his own house, Holly had stood up from the couch and crossed her arms in front of her.

“Did you and Mister Healy have… sex and stuff?” She gets right to the point

“Don’t say ‘and stuff’...” Holland starts on his usual spiel. He zips his lips back up when he can see the look in Holly’s eyes getting even more venomous.

“Were you and Mister Healy having sex and stuff ?” She doubles down, making sure to punctuate every word as she repeats her question. She is not about to let her father out of this.

“Fine, we were… having sex.” Holland rubs the back of his neck as he says this. He looked like a teenager caught having a house party while his parents were out of town. Holly rolls her eyes at him and sighs, the gesture laced with disapproval for her dad’s carelessness. She sits back down on the couch before looking back at him and telling him,

“At least clean him up next time, Dad.”

“Fine. I will.” Holland huffs a little bit. His chest puffs up defensively before asking, “Why do you care?”

“Parents should treat each other with respect,” she shrugs. “Also maybe you don’t need to soil the eyes of your teenage daughter by bringing him back looking like that.”

“Okay, fine. You’re right.” He looks away. Up, down, anywhere that wasn’t the direct gaze of his daughter’s judging eyes. He begins doubling down on himself, “I just thought you’d be in bed.”

“Whatever. Just go check on him.” She settles in and watches the tv. She’s going to push her bedtime because her dad is the bigger problem right now. He had no room to judge when his own house wasn’t in order.

“Fine.” He walks to the bathroom with his tail tucked between his legs. He holds his ear up to the door for a second before knocking on the wood. “Hey, Healy?”

“Yeah?” Healy calls back over the sound of the water. He had barely set foot in the shower. It had taken him an age to peel himself out of his undershirt, his hair sticking uncomfortably to the cloth. How the hell did Holland cum so much? The other issue at hand was trying to figure out how to use the shower. After a couple of false starts, he managed to switch the water to the shower handle instead of the bath faucet.

“You mind if I come in?” Holland asks, his voice soft again. He doesn’t want to intrude on the other man if he isn’t welcome, but he wouldn’t be upset if he got a full look at Healy. With Healy’s permission, of course.

The other man hesitates for a moment but decides that it’s fine. He replies with a quick, “It’s your bathroom, March.”

“Yeah, but…” Holland lets out a quick sigh before he opens the door and walks in. He manages to undress himself quickly and glances over at the mirror. He uses his hand to run over his facial hair and mentally mark down where he needs to clean himself up. That was a problem for another day, however. He tugs gently on the shower curtain before asking, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” The bruiser moves to the side to make room for the lankier man. It’s become second nature for Healy. As of late, his entire life has somehow molded around being a part of Holly and Holland’s little family. Not that he’d complain about the recent lack of loneliness.

“Hey.” Holland grins. It’s a quirky little half smile where his lips are almost hidden but there’s just enough there for Healy to see just how happy Holland is. He almost looks like a golden retriever. That’s before he asks the other man, “Can I… kiss you again?” He closes his eyes firmly, fully expecting a ‘no’ or ‘that’s too much’ from Healy, but Healy seems to have no problem with this. He leans in, taking the dive yet again. He pulls Holland into his arms by his waist. He kisses the other man in a way his probably shaky voice could never begin to explain. After they break their contact Holland just kind of laughs, “I was just gonna do this…” he explains. His lips meet with the crown of Healy’s head. His arms work their way around his kind of boyfriend and rests his chin atop the other man’s head. They stay still in the water like this for a moment together. It was oddly intimate, even though a mere hour ago the blond was using the other man’s chest to get himself off. Healy lets a soft pleased moan slip from his lips while Holland cleans off his mess from Healy’s chest. He reaches up and gets some shampoo lathered in between his fingers. His fingers work their way through the blond’s hair. This is a moment of intimacy Healy hadn’t had with someone outside of sex before.

A couple minutes later, after the two were clean, Holland reaches behind Healy’s back and switches the water off. He carefully pulls the shower curtain to one side and reaches for a towel, offering it to Healy. He steps out of the tub and starts to rummage through his bathroom closet. It shouldn’t be this hard to find a damn towel. After he finds one he starts drying himself off and looks over at Healy, who offers him a quick, “Thanks” in return for the shower. Jackson picks up his pile of clothes and forces himself back into his jeans. At this point, he’s sure that Holland’s sick of him and is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Before that can happen Holland interrupts his thoughts.

“You wanna… sleep in my bed?” Holland asks, again expecting that it’s at this point Healy’s gone along for the ride for too long, and he’ll finally want to stop. He offers further, “Or if you don’t, you can sleep on the couch. Just kick Holly out and back to her room. She should be asleep anyway.” His sentence continues to trail as he fills in the silence that had settled between the two of them. Healy sighs and runs the palm of his hand across his face before saying,

“I didn’t know staying was an option.” His words are soft, and a bit hesitant. “Where do you want me?”

“I…” Holland starts to stutter. He takes a breath to calm himself down before finally saying, “Honestly? I want you in my bed.” He scoffs to himself. If he hadn’t done it before, Healy was sure to get off now. It was really an outlandish thing for Holland to ask of the other man.

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that. Forgot to bring my pajamas though. Wasn’t expecting a sleepover,’ He jokes, using this opportunity to zip up his jeans.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Holland rubs his eyes as he starts getting tired. He walks over to his dresser and scans through his clothes for something to wear. He settles on an undershirt that’s clean enough for Holland’s standards and a fresh pair of boxers. He lies down and sprawls across his bed before making room for the other half of Nice Guys Agency to lie besides him. 

Healy uses the blanket on the bed to cover himself up a little, but lets his hands rest on top of his still bare stomach. He’s trying his best not to break some unspoken boundary between the two but he can’t help but feel tempted when he sees the way Holland takes up the space on his bed. Holland’s no better than him, not with him sliding a cautious arm around the other man's back. He lets that hand lean against Healy’s side, fingers running through the other man’s body hair ever so slightly. Healy seems to notice this discrepancy and looks down at Holland’s arm.

“Thought your left hand was too fucked up to stroke anything, March.”

“I… yeah it is.” Holland slides his hand back, doing his best to pretend that it was still screwed up. His face was bright red, not that anyone would be able to tell. He didn’t want to admit it, Healy hadn’t really caught him, had he?

Without a thought, Healy catches Holland’s arm before it gets too far away. He moves it back to its previous spot. “If you wanted attention, you could have just said something. Woulda saved us some trouble.”

“And say what?” Holland snarks back at him, “ ‘Hey, Healy, give me a handy will ya?’ No thanks.” Jack shakes with a silent laugh.

“I did offer you one, y’know. In the car.”

“Yeah. I know.” He rolls his eyes, “I was probably thinking more with my schwantz than I want to admit.”

#the nice guys (2016) #the nice guys #the nice guys fanfiction #ryan gosling #holland march #jackson healy #holland march x jackson healy #healland #holland march fanfic #ryan gosling fanfiction #my work #my posts

[webbo0]

A Night To Remember

AKA: How did Holland get that hand tattoo?

Warnings: Alcohol, Angst, negative self worth, dead wife mention (?), usual Holland messiness

Part of the Pathetic Holland trio fics along with I Can Fix Him. by @ken-dom and Drunken Stranger by @hollandstrophyhusband. Shout out to them for enabling encouraging my writing, go check them out!!

Also be forgiving about the formatting, this is my first time posting fanfiction to Tumblr 😅

The problem with a loving marriage, Holland thinks, is that you start to collect small anniversaries all the time, happy memories worth celebrating. The first date, the first kiss, the first time going to the disco, the first time staying the night, the proposal, the wedding, etc. And Anne had loved to celebrate each and every one. Something about “loving each day as if it’s your last”.

And look how that turned out Holland thinks as he finishes his first drink of the evening. 

Today was one of those small anniversaries. Well, it would sound small to anyone else, but it was one of Holland’s favorites. 13 years ago tonight, he knew he was ready to be a father. Anne had gone into labor a whole week earlier than the midwife had told them was expected and she was panicking. Her whole pregnancy Holland had been a nervous wreck; researching the foods to avoid, buying every weird gadget on the market, and fastidiously believing he would be a horrible father. His own father was shit, and well, the apple never falls far from the tree, y’know?

But when the contractions had started (a whole week!) early, all of the sudden he was laser-focused. He got their go-bag, called the midwife, and even drove them to the hospital without his usual clumsiness. It wasn’t until he saw his daughter- Holly- it wasn’t until he saw Holly that it finally came together. Anne was glowing, holding her like the treasure she was, and handed her to Holland. It all clicked in place. 

“This is what I was meant for.” he choked out, tears collecting in his eyes. “I never want to forget this moment” He locked eyes with his wife, and everything was perfect.

Every year after that, they celebrated this moment. They made sure to do it 2 days before Holly’s actual birthday, to prevent any hangovers or potential mishaps from ruining their baby girl's day. 

So here he is. In the bar they went to every year for 13 years. Her favorite drink was a sweet red wine (she hated anything bitter), so Holland takes a sip from a glass of some after every shot. Which means he’s 5 sips in? He doesn’t remember.

Memories are a funny thing, Holland muses.

His memory’s been shit his whole life. He struggled in school, never remembering his assignments, never knowing where his wallet was, and don’t get him started on his paperwork. It was why Anne was so insistent on celebrating the little things

“You have to start living in the present, honey” she would tell him, always with a small smile. 

But tonight he was stuck in the past.

It had only been 2 years since she di- since the fire, and his memories were already starting to slip away from him. Maybe he should write them down? He turns to the bartender.

“Heyyyy Pam, d’ya have a pen or something?” He knows he’s slurring his words, but he doesn’t care. Pam the bartender had worked there for years, and Holland had a sneaking suspicion she remembered him, seeing as his glass hadn’t been empty all night. She turns to him with a look in her eyes. Is it pity? Disgust? Worry? Holland’s too drunk to tell. She hands him a pen and turns back to cleaning some glasses.

Holland lets himself slip back into the past, trying desperately to remember.

Remember her voice, her smile, her smell, anything. 

He knows he’s forgetting something. When he finally handed Holly back to her at the hospital, she had said something to him. Something important. He shakes his head as if he could stir up the memory from the haze of alcohol and regret.

“You will never…” he mutters to himself. He knew it started with that at least. He’s gotta write this down before he forgets again. If he writes it on a napkin he knows he’ll lose it, but luckily he has a hand right here! He’ll just jot it down so sober him can write it down properly later. Well, sober-ish, he can’t remember the last time he was properly dry.

He goes to write down the few words he knows, but his hands are shaking far too much. Shit. 

“Hey, Pam?” He calls out, probably too loudly. “Can you help me out for a second?” This time he knows he’s slurring his words, but he has more pressing matters.

“I’m not helping you invent a new drink again, Mr. March. I never got rid of the stains from last time” Pam says, but still, she turns towards him.

“No, no, my mixology days are behind me” he jokes but his smile is more forced than usual

“Can you just write something down for me? Right here?” he asks, holding up his hand for her to take.

She raises an eyebrow, but takes his hand (he misses her touch so much it burns), uncapping the pen in preparation.

“Thanks” he mutters God, what was it again? Right. 

“Ok, ok, write down, uh, ‘You will never’, um, You will never…” he trails off. He can’t remember.

“You will never what?”

Holland lets himself fill in the blank and blurts out the truth.

“You will never be happy.”

Pam pauses, glancing at Holland with a look that this time he knows is pity, but she dutifully writes it down.

Holland holds his hand up to take a look. She had added a smiley face. 

“Thanks' ' he murmurs again, as he stands (more like tumbles) from his seat, making sure to leave enough money behind for the bill plus a nice tip for Pam. He slams back the last of his liquor, and stumbles out the door, into the bright lights of LA. Why had he left? He doesn’t remember. Stupid fucking memory.

“Gotta make sure I remember…gotta be permanent” he slurs out to no one in particular. He feels his consciousness fading into an alcohol-induced blackout.

Tomorrow he'll wake up in a bathtub with a tattoo permanently reminding him of his worth.

Tomorrow he’ll cut his arm open trying to break into a bar for his latest stupid case. 

Tomorrow he’ll come close to dying in the back of an ambulance and his last thoughts will be how much he’s fucked everything up. 

In two days he’ll meet the man that will change his life forever, and then the day after that he’ll take a case that’ll change his life even more.

But right now it’s today. And before he slips into blissful nothingness, Holland remembers the sound of Anne’s laughter and the smell of gas.

#the nice guys #the nice guys fanfic #holland march #Holland March fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #angst #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fanfic

[castieltrash1]

i’m gonna need you to write some really soft moments with holland. perhaps how they spend their mornings together or some comfort. thank you :)

holland march x gn!reader; fluff and mentions of alcohol/smoking ♡

your mornings with holland are entirely dependent on how his night was beforehand. if he spent his late hours investigating (drinking and smoking) then he’ll probably wake up in the tub or face down on the couch. the only exceptions to this are when you catch him stumbling inside and manage to wrangle him into bed before he passes out. now that he’s with you, his days of waking up hungover after noon are at an all-time low! you’re far from a prude, but even you know that holland could benefit from a little less alcohol and nicotine in his life. it’s almost shocking to him how much better he sleeps when he’s not blackout on his kitchen floor, but instead curled up beside you in the comfort of his own bed. who would have guessed?

the more consistent your morning routine is, the more affectionate holland becomes. he hasn’t been able to enjoy this level of domesticity in a while, and though it takes him a bit of getting used to at first, he enjoys every second of it. weekend mornings are his favorite because he knows he has nothing to do, so he allows himself to relax and indulge in the peaceful serenity of you, half-asleep curled up beside him. if he wakes before you, he'll spend as long as he can admiring the way the streaks of light between the curtains spill over the various curves and lines of your figure. he knows dating him can be stressful, so seeing you at ease with him means the world.

holland inches closer to you with a tired groan, his arm coming up to wrap around your waist and pull you firmly against his chest. his mustache tickles the soft skin of your neck as he speaks, his voice raspy with sleep: “what time is it?” you open one eye, glancing at the alarm clock on your nightstand and watching as it flips from 11:38 to 11:39. rough fingers dance under the hem of your pajama shirt, the cold metal of holland’s pinky ring on your stomach making you shiver. 

“noon?” he guesses, still waiting for your answer.

“earlier,” you reply, lashes fluttering shut as you nuzzle into your pillow. “saturday. no school.” not that it matters, since holly walks or takes the bus anyway. the birds outside chirp a high-pitched tune and you breathe in the linen scent of freshly washed sheets as you wait for holland’s reply. a second passes, then five. “holland?”

all he lets out is a snore.

+ drives are holland's favorite morning activity, just above breakfast in bed. he loves cruising around town with the radio on, singing poorly with you in the passenger seat and an embarrassed holly in the back. he'll pull up beside a park and let you take in the fresh air while he skims the paper or shaves, nodding his head to whatever song is playing. if you ask nicely, especially if you employ holly for some extra puppy-dog-eyed pleading, holland will drive you all to get coffee and donuts (but no eating them in the car!)

gosling sleepover (currently closed xoxo)

#holland march #holland march fluff #holland march x reader #the nice guys #the nice guys fluff #ryan gosling #the nice guys fanfic #holland march fanfic #t: writing #answered #anonymous #gosling sleepover

[arag0rn2931]

The Nice Guys (a love story) - part one

part 2

Julie Healy (replacement of Jackson Healy) beats people up for money. When her job leads her to P.I. Holland March, her relatively simple life turns into something more dangerous and messy. She ends up having to work with Holland in order to find a missing girl named Amelia. Together, they uncover a government conspiracy whilst slowly falling for each other along the way. This is basically the plot of the movie The Nice Guys but I've replaced Russell Crowe's character with a woman, changed the dialogue a little and made her a love interest to Ryan Gosling's character.

Warning!! Lots of fluff (not in this part though… she’s beating him up), pining from Holland, enemies to lovers tropes, and more…

This story can also be found on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/348465727?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=cat_n0ir15&wp_originator=Q3ak6Nr2TwScSd1AF%2B0jeVcPp4VnqeK%2FFpG8h883%2ByZYGgU2PIxfNxKTA3u%2BJh01ac%2BkLHewo5ojbj06hTeBHh%2Fja2ZQ5QiF8Wa9pnTlj39KKAEKnk2wfWhkb8ga8dTF

*I don't own any of the characters or events that happen in the movie this is just an adaptation*

"Love. Wonderful, isn't it? The intimacy of being understood. I was in love once. But you can never be wise and be in love at the same time. Remember that.”

Julie woke up to the radio, the same thing she did every morning. She hadn't gotten much sleep but that wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Her watch sat on her bedside table which she picked up. She then put on her shoes. Usually she would sleep in her clothes because no one was around to tell her otherwise. It saved time. Time for what? She didn't know. Her flared jeans were tight on her body and they usually left marks along her stomach, but they were hidden by her jeans. Solve the problem by hiding the problem. The top she wore however looked a little off colour so she decided to wear a different, more colourful one, maybe dazzle her next target a little.

She made her way to the sink, got out her toothbrush and vigorously started brushing her teeth. Her fish tank sat close by and she went over to examine it as she brushed her teeth, sprinkling a bit of fish food inside. All her little fish bobbed their heads up and began eating the multicoloured specks of food on the surface.

"Equanimity," Julie said to herself, reading the 'Word of the Day' for October 26th. "The quality of being calm and even-tempered." She spat out her toothpaste then looked into the mirror as she spoke: "She accepted his betrayal with equanimity".

Julie grabbed her keys and her sunglasses then made her way out of the door, shimmying her long brown coat on as she switched the power off and closed the door behind her. She drove in her car to Holland March's house, her next target. Sunglasses on for this encounter. As she drove up to the house, she noticed a blonde girl around 13 years old counting her steps as she walked, pretending to open a door then sit down on the grass with a book that she began to read.

She pulled up to the house and got out of the car, surveying the area. It was a nice house, pretty big. The guy had a nice car too. She checked the paper Amelia had given her one last time to confirm she was definitely at the right house. An incident had occurred once where she beat up the wrong guy (7s and 1s look the same). After walking up to the door, she rang the doorbell and waited patiently. Sometimes she would get a little nervous before a job but today wasn't one of those days, she wanted to beat this guy up after seeing how scared he'd made that poor girl.

"Who is it?" Holland called from the other side of the door impatiently.

"Messenger service. Is Holland March home?" Julie responded.

Holland opened the door with a hint of annoyance in his eyes at being disturbed but that emotion was replaced by another as soon as his eyes landed on Julie. Damn it, Julie hated when they were attractive, it hurt her a little to damage pretty things. She moved her sunglasses to sit within her hair, her eyes surveying his with no barrier.

"And who might you be?" He leant against the doorframe with a smug little smirk on his face, his eyes slowly making their way up and down her figure. Never mind, Julie thought, this guy was an asshole. And with that she punched him hard in the face, making him stumble backwards. "What the fuck?" He muttered, then slammed himself against the wall and slid to the floor.

"Mr. March, we're gonna play a game." Julie picked him up by his arm aggressively. His bicep felt hard and strong against her hand. Not that she noticed.

"I think you have the wrong house," Holland gasped. Julie didn't like what he was suggesting with that comment so she chucked him across the room, sending him flying.

"It's called, 'Shut up unless you're me'," she kicked him which led to him being flung onto his back. He desperately tried to wriggle backwards away from her but a barricade soon blocked his progress.

"I love that game," Holland wheezed as he rested against the barricade. Julie took his wallet out of his jacket pocket that had come off him in the scuffle.

"You're a private investigator?"

"Look, there's 20 bucks in there, all right? Just take it."

"No, I'm not here for that. I told you, I'm a messenger," she said. She then made a point of looking around his house. "You can afford to live like this as a P.I.?"

"What's the message?" Holland asked angrily.

"Oh, right, right," Julie remembered, leaning down close to Holland's face, making direct eye contact. She cleared her throat. "Stop looking for Amelia, all right?" She smiled sarcastically as she poked his chest for each word, ending with a tap on his nose.

"I'm not even looking for Amelia. She's a person of interest, man," Holland responded with the air of a petulant child. "Fine. I'm done. Put a fork in me," he said, looking and gesturing to anything that wasn't Julie. He then realised what he'd just said. "Don't really put a fork in me," he pointed at her, resuming the direct eye contact. Julie lifted herself away from his eye line but his eyes followed her.

"Amelia is gonna be so happy that you got the message so quickly. It's gonna make her smile. That's good." Julie looked around the house again then back to Holland. "Now, ahem, I got one more thing I need to ask you before we're done here."

"You wanna know who hired me," Holland groaned.

"Bingo. Yeah," Julie smiled broadly, "Now we can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way."

"Glenn."

"What?"

"Lily Glenn. Two N's. Old lady hired me to find her niece on Tuesday."

"You just gave up your client."

"I made a discretionary revelation," Holland said as he pulled himself up again.

"No. No, you just gave her up. I asked you one simple question. You gave me all the information... What little respect I had left for you is now gone," Julie rolled her eyes.

"I though that's what you wanted," Holland replied. He then quickly leant over the counter to grab a gun from the cookie pot but Julie had already noticed. She punched him before he could shoot her. He dropped to the floor and the gun left his hand.

"Now, I'm very sorry that you didn't get the message," Julie said as she leant against the counter looking down at a groaning Holland.

"Me too," he sniffed. "But I get it now. I get it. I dig it." However he obviously hadn't as he began determinedly army crawling across the floor toward his gun. Yet Julie managed to kick it away from him before he could grab it. "Shit!" Holland lay his head on the floor in defeat.

"What about now?" Julie lifted up his chin so that Holland was looking at her, "You get the message now?"

"Yep," Holland nodded vigorously whilst looking into Julie's dark, brown eyes. They looked unnervingly cold.

"Are you sure?" Julie asked him as one would ask a child.

"Yeah. I'm-" Holland began to say but Julie dropped his chin from her grasp and his head hit the floor, hard.

"Alright then," she brushed herself off as she stood up tall. She walked around his tense body that was still on the floor. "Give me your left arm."

"Huh?"

"Your left arm. Give me your left arm. This one," she grabbed his left arm but Holland began to struggle.

"No!" He struggled under her grasp.

"Yeah, come on," Julie managed to grab Holland's arm and pulled it back behind his body whilst Holland screamed many refusals. "Did you cut yourself?" She asked, an ironically worried expression on her face. The cut looked very deep.

"I'm dealing with an injury," Holland responded childishly.

"Right, look, when you're talking to your doctor, just tell him you have a spiral fracture of the left radius," Julie held his left arm firmly.

"No. NO!" Holland shouted.

"Deep breath," Julie said, then twisted. A satisfying crack followed. A not so satisfying shriek came after as Holland reacted to the damage. "Do you mind if I have an apple?" No reply. Julie took one anyway. "All right, Mr. March. You have a good day, okay?" She took a bite of her apple then left.

As she walked to her car, apple in hand she was stopped by the same blonde girl she'd seen acting strangely before she'd met Mr. March.

"Hi," she smiled at Julie, a bag of groceries in her hand.

"Hey," Julie responded as she opened her door.

"Want a Yoo-hoo?"

"A Yoo-hoo? Are you kidding?" Julie turned around, chucking her finished apple behind her. She looked into the bag and took out a Yoo-hoo. "Oh, yeah. You know, I haven't had one of these in about 20 years."

"Are you a friend of my dad's?" The blonde girl asked with a smile.

"Yeah, yeah... we're um-"

"He never has girls over," the girl said with a sly sort of expression.

"Oh no, sweetheart. Your dad and I, we're, uh, business associates. He's inside, resting..." Julie confirmed with a small smile which the girl returned sweetly. "Didn't I see you crawling round a vacant lot a couple of blocks over?"

"Um, maybe," the girl looked behind her, slightly awkwardly. "I read there sometimes."

"Right," Julie nodded. "Thanks again for the Yoo-hoo," she said as she got into her car. The girl smiled and walked towards her house, completely unaware of her fathers' agony on the other side of the door.

"Bye," the girl said.

#holland march #holland march x reader #the nice guys #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fanfic #ryan gosling x reader #fan fiction #movie adaptation #fluff #imagine #the nice guys fanfic

[danime25]

Break Your Dad's Back

masterlist // ao3

Summary: Chiropractors were becoming the hot thing for the stars in Los Angeles. Not that he was a star. After hearing from Janet about the miracle that was chiropractors, Holland March just had to try it out for himself.

Rating: +18 for explicit mature content

Content/Tags: Semi-public sex, Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Blow Job, Bathroom Sex

Status: One shot/Complete

How the hell had Holland March ended up here? Well to start, a friend of a friend of Holly's friend said that 'Chiropractors' were the new 'it' thing.

"All the stars are going to chiropractors!"

Now he wasn't normally one to follow trends but when Janet wouldn't shut the fuck up about an aunt who opened a new practice… he needed to do something to get that girl to stop talking. So there he was, sitting on a suede couch, watching a goldfish swim aimlessly around in an all but silent reception area.

“Mr. March?” A woman opened the door and looked up from her manila folder to scan the room. God if all the other men in the room didn’t turn their heads at her

“Jesus.” He muttered under his breath

“I beg your pardon?” The woman asked

“Ah. Nothing.” He stood up from his chair and walked to her. He held out a hand and she shook it gently. Her hands were… soft. They were also warm, and kind of comforting. He seemed to forget his trepidation about whether or not the chiropractor was going to be a quack as he followed her long legs down the hallway and into a private room.

“Nice to meet you Mr. March. My name is…”

“Holland,” He interjected, “You can just call me Holland.”

“Alright… Mr. Holland. This is your first appointment here, yes?”

“Yes.” He said out loud, not wanting to let the rest of his thought escape from his head

“Do you have any previous issues with your back?”

“Um no?” He raised an eyebrow, trying to think. “But I had a thing with my… left spiral…”

“A spiral fracture?”

“Yeah that.” He smiled at her and stared into her eyes. God, they were as pretty as the night sky

“Would you mind?”

“What?”

“I just asked if you would mind sitting here on this chair.” She repeated herself

“Oh sure.” He shuffled over to where she had directed him to. “I don’t need to take my shirt off or anything like that, do I?”

“No. I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” She laughed a little, “People seem to confuse my practice for a massage parlor.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that.” He laughed along with her. “So… where do I put my arms on this thing?”

“Just let them rest at your side. If I need you to move them, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good.” He smiled. He felt her hand press gently against his back and he tried to pull away from her before she made a little noise and said,

“Don’t squirm.”

“Well it’s a little fucking hard…” He started to roll off with a sarcastic tone before regaining enough sense to put his foot back into his mouth

“A little fucking hard what?” She sassed him back. His eyes shot open, a little fear caught in his throat

“When you’re not used to someone touching you like that.” He said, pulling back on the sarcasm

“I understand.” She said, patience of a saint this one had. “I get a lot of clients that say it’s an odd sensation.” She let her fingertips linger on his back for a second before going in with her hand once again. She got a good feel of him, and talked about where Holland had seemed to be holding tension. Or some shit like that. Holland wasn’t really paying too much attention to her words. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to start my work.”

“You haven’t even started yet?” His voice rose

“No I haven’t. I can stop if you’re uncomfortable though…” She offered

“No. You’re fine.” He bit down on his lip

“Alright.” She said with a smile before she applied pressure with the center of her palm. “Take a deep breath…”

Next he heard a crack and a wave of pain erupted across his back. He really should have taken that breath because the next words that shot out from his mouth was a high-pitched, “Jesus!”

“Are you alright?” She asked

“Fuck I heard this shit was supposed to help.” He whined

“It will. You just have to let me do my work.”

“Fine, jesus.” He huffed and tensed his back up in fear. Her hand moved down lower on his back this time before another popping sound and some more pain. “Fuck!”

“If it’s hurting too much I can stop.” She offered once more

“No. See I’m waiting for that part where the pain is supposed to stop and shit is going to feel better.” He mouthed off

“Fine!” She sassed back a little before applying pressure in another area she had mentioned was an issue, only to be met with the same reaction as before

“Fuck!”

It was… a process like that for another half an hour or until the appointment time was up. He’d shout some obscenities, she’d chastise him for not trusting in her work and he’d go back on the defensive about how he’ll trust her this time.

“There, I’m done.” She announced. He got up from the chair, ready to point his finger at her and say she didn’t do shit but noticed that his back felt lighter than it had an hour ago.

“Uh. Thanks for that.” He bit his tongue

“You’re welcome. I tried to get rid of most of your problems, but it’d be better if you came back for continual appointments…”

“Is this a fucking scam? After all that?” He scoffed

“No. I’m just saying it would help.” She countered him, “That and I wouldn’t mind seeing you again. In spite of your profanity.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow and gave her a little half smile that would charm even the coldest of hearts. Or so he thought anyway.

“Yeah. You’re not too bad on the eyes.” She looked him up and down

“Um…” He fumbled to get something from his jacket pocket and managed to get a card out to give to her. She twirled the card in between her fingers while she read it

“You’re actually named Holland March?”

“Of course.” He smiled at her

“I’ll call you.” She smiled back at him

“Yes.” He pumped his fists and walked out of the room, before walking back in. “Um. Did you see that?”

“I did.” She laughed, and tucked her bangs behind her ear

“Can… you pretend you didn’t?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ugh.” He groaned before walking back out into the lobby and setting up another appointment.

---

“You have reached Nice Guys Investigations. This machine records messages. Wait for the tone and speak clearly.”

“Hi this…” A woman’s voice said over the line and Holland ran across the house to pick up the phone

“Hi.” He answered

“Who’s calling?” Holly asked her father

“None.”

“None what?”

“None of your business.” He snapped at her and continued his call like nothing had happened. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” She sounded happy on the other end, “I was thinking…”

“Yeah?” He used one leg to prop himself up against the wall as he listened

“Want to meet up tonight?”

“Yeah. Yeah that sounds great. We could go get dinner… and stuff.”

“Why are you saying ‘and stuff’? You hate ‘and stuff’.” Holly scoffed, just who was this man in her dad’s ugly shirt?

“Shut up.” He said into the phone before apologizing and resting the receiver on his shoulder, “I’m trying to get some work done. Why don’t you just go over to Jessica’s or something?”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. Clearly her dad was a love struck teenager again the way he was acting all weird… and stuff.

“Sorry, again.”

“So tonight?”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll see you then.” He hung up on her, practically slamming the device down. He went to the bathroom to make sure his hair looked good and that his mustache looked… decent enough. After he cleaned up he got into his car and headed to the address she had given him. He did one last swoop to make sure the hair was in place, then hopped out to meet her. “Damn you look… really nice.”

“Thanks.” She smiled down at her feet and sat across from him at the table. They made small talk but he wasn’t really interested in that. He couldn’t stop staring at her, thinking about how pretty she was. When she realized he wasn't paying attention to the conversation she excused herself to run to the bathroom before whispering, "Meet me in 5."

"Here?" He started choking on his water, but she didn’t answer back. She was halfway across the dining room. Once he had regained his composure, he got up from the table and walked to the bathroom. He knocked on the door on the stall at the back of the bathroom and she opened the door for him. She kissed him first before he firmly gripped her hips and pinned her to the wall of the stall. Her lips connected with his once more after moving her hands under his coat. She bit down on his lip and his eyes practically popped open. Not that he didn’t like the feeling… he relished it, in fact. Once she felt like she had him eating out of her hand she pulled herself away. He let out a quiet protest in the form of a whine as she looked at him with hungry eyes. He watched her as she got down on her knees and slowly undid his fly. Holland bit his lip as his erect cock felt the cool bathroom air. He looked down at the confident woman as her plush lips pressed onto the head. He let out an odd noise, somewhere between a grunt and a moan as her tongue worked its way along his shaft. One more good lick and her mouth was wrapped around him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and his right hand weaved through the strands of her hair, his grip firm against the back of her head. She started bobbing her slowly, pushing him further into her throat.

“Jesus…” He moaned. She took this as a sign to go faster. His breath became less automatic and more concentrated. He bucked his hips into her face, just to be closer to her touch. He didn’t last long, having been without much relief in a couple of years. He felt himself growing weak and released inside of her. Never breaking contact, she looked up at him as she swallowed his load. He shifted his weight fully into the wall as he slouched. She got up off her knees, and used the edge of her thumb to clean up the corners of her lips.

“You like that?” She asked in a coy manner

“Yeah.” He replied, letting out a cough that made him shake before muttering another “Fuck.”

The bathroom was quiet for a second before she broke it by saying,

“Let’s go somewhere more private.”

“Okay.” He grinned like an idiot and followed her out of the bathroom from a distance, so as not to arouse suspicion. After paying for their meal, practically pulled him out of the restaurant and threw him into his car. She kissed his cheek and rested a hand on his shoulder, using her hands as a means to gauge

“You’re starting to feel tense. I might be able to fit you in for an adjustment later in the day tomorrow.”

“It’s a date.” Holland nodded before driving her back to his place for the night

#my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #holland march #the nice guys #the nice guys 2016 #holland march x reader #holland march smut #nsft

[foxdev1l]

#so uhm #yeah #ryan gosling #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #writing #the nice guys #holland march #jackson healy

[gayiconwaluigi]

The Nice Guys is the fandom I have the most reads for that I write for I love you guys thanks for reading we’re all in this together

#the nice guys #holland march #jackson healy #Shane black #the nice guys 2016 #the nice guys fanfic #I was a pretty big writer for Sunny back in the day and never got this much traction

[saltysideblog]

❁❁ Daisy ❁❁

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

A self indulgent Nice Guys OC

Summary: How they met.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

A/N: I don’t have a mystery planned, sorry, but I do have specific scenes who won’t let me know peace until they’ve been written. Enjoy!

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

Casinos. Healy had never been fond of them.

Gambling, booze and scantily clad waitresses who’d serve more than just drinks if you knew how to tip. The perfect place to go if you were looking for a good time or looking for a client’s rebellious teenage son, which is exactly what he was doing.

Now Holland, on the other hand, seemed awfully preoccupied with the former. He found himself a cozy little spot by the craps table, arm wrapped around a pretty brunette in a silky dress who kept him supplied with drinks. Healy scanned the crowds, never straying too far, making sure Holland didn’t wander off to god knows where, but the aforementioned brunette seemed very keen on keeping him close,

“You know what you get when you rearrange the letters in March?”

Holland shook his head, swaying slightly from his fifth or sixth drink of the night. She placed her bet and grinned,

“Charm. As in lucky. Which is exactly what you are”,

she emphasized her point with a poke to his chest,

“so you’re gonna park yourself right here and blow on these dice for me.”

She held up her palm and he obediently blew on the little red cubes, earning a wink from her and an eye roll from Healy. He left his partner’s side, strolling across the busy floor to hopefully get some actual detective work done.

So long as Holly still had a college fund by the end of the night, why should he be worried?

He would soon find out.

A few fruitless hours of searching later, Healy started making his way back to collect his drunken friend and call it a night, but he’d barely exited the back room he’d broken into when someone ran right into him.

The brunette.

She almost looked relieved to bump into him. Glancing behind her quickly, she grabbed both his shoulders, eyes widening in realization,

“Hey, you’re that tough guy for hire, right?”

He barely had time to correct her, that she maneuvered herself behind him, dragging him backwards down the hallway. Footsteps were fast approaching. She continued,

“Wow, that’s really cool, you available right now?”

Again, she didn’t let him answer.

“What’s your fee?”

Shouts could be heard coming towards them. She panicked, stuffing a handful of dollar bills into his shirt pocket,

“Never mind that, just have however much this is.”

Three thugs in black suits cornered them. Healy put his hands up. She clung to the back of his jacket, peering over his shoulder,

“Get me outta here alive!”

#🎰 🎰 🎰 #is very short i know #but it is all i can write for now :3 #daisy streets #the nice guys #holland march #jackson healy #the nice guys oc #holland march x oc #fanfic #canon x oc #self insert #oc fic

[lifeiskentastic]

gn!Reader in one car with Holland March in the middle of a traffic jam

Gif by @adoresbenho

A/N: Tell me, would you read a fanfic about Ryan Gosling's five-minute role as a lecherous elf on snl New Year's episode? (this sounds so crazy, but Ryan is so cute with the pointy ears, bangs, and tall hat... I just need to write it.)

Summary: Agency partner Reader once again gets stuck in a traffic jam with Holland;

Song I recommend: Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen was just made ror Holland;

Word count: 724 words;

Nice reading!

It was just another morning as the third member (counting from the moment of join, although Holland always argued with Hilly to take over as "second" as if it were something really important) of the detective agency. It was just another morning traffic jam in Los Angeles, the only advantage of which was extra time to shave or drink a cup of coffee. After all, as it turned out, working as a detective requires punctuality, which in the case of Holland March was a big problem. So from the very beginning of the day, you were in a hurry, rushing to get things done, and only during irreparable traffic jams could you afford to exhale.

Holland could finally shave, and you could have a cup of strong coffee instead of breakfast.

For such occasions, Holland even kept a thermos of coffee and mountains of plastic cups in the car. No matter how many times you persuaded him to get rid of at least half of them, he categorically refused, calling it a "necessity of life." Well, given that he also used them to drink his liter-long supply of alcohol, it's not surprising.

The only thing that remained a mystery even to the three detectives was why a jar of whipped cream kept appearing in the glove compartment of his car. Although you had a bold guess that after you told Holland that you loved whipped cream coffee, he took it too much to heart.

"Do you think Healy is there yet?"

You asked, sipping from your cup.

"Oh, yeah, Mr.I'm-right-on-time-because-this-is-an-important-job has been there since sunrise."

You couldn't help but laugh out loud at that. The special relationship between your two partners couldn't help but make you laugh, literally, every day.

Holland beamed with pride when he managed to make you laugh.

"Oh, and also..."

But another laugh from you didn't let March finish his sentence. But what could you do? Still, the naive look on Holland's face with a piece of shaving foam on his cheek was more amusing than you could have imagined.

"Pfft... Ha-ha, wait..."

You reached for his cheek to brush away the remaining lather as Holland watched you in pure embarrassment. His eyes looked even more confused when you were a few millimeters away from his face.

However, you quickly returned to your seat, showing traces of white, puffy foam on your palm.

"Is that what made you giggle so much?"

This made you think back to that unsuspecting look on March's face, caught up in his own joke, and made you laugh uncontrollably again.

"I'm sorry... You just looked so cute."

"Did I?"

Holland leaned closer to your seat, scrutinizing every part of your face. You were about to ask what he was going to do, but...

"Aha! Found it!"

His head came as close to yours as possible, and he touched something near the tips of your lips with a triumphant exclamation.

"Is that cream? You're such a sloven."

Holland's finger did indeed show traces of cream from your coffee. And your partner seemed to be expecting some kind of funny reaction from you, looking expectantly into your soul, but you were honestly not in the mood for it... Still, your heart was still racing from being so close to Holland. For some reason, when there were so small distance between the two of you, you began to feel strange jolts inside your chest.

When you barely regained consciousness, the only thing you could do was to move your whole body as close to Holland as possible, making your partner's eyes widen in surprise once again. You didn't know what was driving you at that moment, but you knew you had to work, and you were within a pinkie nail's distance of March's face.

"You're one to talk..."

You ran your fingers through Holland's mustache, wiping away the subtle streaks of shaving foam that had started this whole thing.

Although you wanted something like this, you hadn't expected Holland to do it first. That he would push forward, quickly crossing the short distance between you, and confidently touch your lips. Of course, you immediately returned his kiss.

It seems that car horns were already blaring behind you and angry drivers were furious, but for now you were too busy with each other to pay attention to such trifles.

#holland march #holland march x reader #holland march fluff #holland march x you #the nice guys #the nice guys not the fall guy alright #ryan gosling fanfiction #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #fanfiction #fluff fic #nice guys #gn reader #x you #x reader #the nice guys fanfiction #ryan gosling imagine

[elusivewildflower]

Sunday Breakfast | Holland March x Reader

Pairing: Holland March x F! Reader

Summary: You’re Holly’s babysitter, surprising her (and her father) with a homecooked Sunday Breakfast to make up for missing her birthday party. 

Warnings: Cursing, brief mention of the death of Holly’s mother/Holland’s wife and the reader’s mother also dying when she was young. I think that’s it? It’s mostly a bit of fluff. 

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I know there’s not much of a fandom for Holland March, but I think that needs to change. I may give this a second part/chapter if people want one? Let me know your thoughts <3 Thank you so much to @hederasgarden​ for being my beta on this! I really appreciated it <3

Twisting your key in the lock, you slowly pushed open the front door of the March’s home. It was bright and early on a Sunday morning, and you had promised Holly that you would make up for missing her birthday party. That’s what had you sneaking into their home, your footsteps light as a feather as you made your way to their kitchen. Holly had mentioned– on one of the various nights you babysat her while her father was out– that she really missed a home cooked breakfast. You shimmied the bag you had brought with you off of your shoulder and onto the counter gently, rummaging through it quietly to bring out all of the ingredients. Holland really didn’t seem to keep much stocked in this house–aside from alcohol–so you had to make a pretty hefty trip to the store. 

You hummed softly to yourself as you flitted around the kitchen, gathering the bowls and pans that you would need for the breakfast. You tended to make Holly dinner when you babysat her in the evenings, so you knew exactly where everything was. Moving in a haste, you made quick work to get everything on the stove, not knowing when the father-daughter duo would wake. You thought you had been doing a pretty good job at keeping quiet, but the sound of footsteps entering the kitchen proved you wrong. 

“Holly, it’s too fucking early to be making such noise. I haven’t even had a drink yet.” Holland groaned out as he entered the room, a cigarette dangling from his lips as his hand rubbed at his temples. He was hungover. No surprise there, you thought with a grin. 

“Uhh, I’m not Holly,” you called out, taking in his white undershirt and boxer-clad form. It was the first time you’d seen him in anything other than a suit, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes linger for a bit longer than they should’ve. 

Holland’s eyes snapped open when he heard your voice. “Jesus!” He screamed out, clearly not expecting to see you in his kitchen this morning. “How the hell did you get in here?!” 

You bit down on your bottom lip to keep your laughter at bay from his reaction. “Holly gave me a key ages ago,” you explained with a shrug of your shoulders, breaking your gaze from his and turning back to the eggs you had on the stove.

No longer startled at your presence, Holland moved further into the kitchen. He glanced around and took in the carton of eggs, an open pack of bacon, a bowl full of pancake batter, and the various messes you had made on his counters. Messes you fully intended to clean up once you had the chance. “This isn’t what I pay you for” He gestured towards everything in the kitchen with a lit cigarette between his fingers.

You scoffed as you turned your attention towards him. “You don’t even pay me!” 

He looked a bit taken aback by that statement. He blinked a few times and then glanced up and to the left, as if remembering something. A second later, he snapped his gaze back to you. “I don’t? Then why the fuck are you always here?” His question came out a bit harsh, but the way his brows furrowed showed he was curious to know the actual answer. 

You froze for a moment, hand holding the spatula that had been scrambling the eggs. That was a loaded question. You swallowed thickly as you tried to come up with your answer. 

“...Because I want to be?” You silently cursed yourself for how unsure that answer sounded, how weakly it came out. 

Now he looked even more stumped, his eyes surveying your form as he placed his cigarette back between his lips for a quick puff, his arms crossing over his chest. “But why?” 

You resumed scrambling the eggs and then began flipping the bacon, making sure to not burn them. You wouldn’t want to ruin Holly’s surprise. Why? You repeated his question in your mind. Why did you enjoy being around them so much? You supposed it was because you stumbled across a little girl one day who was walking around in an empty lot all by herself. It started out as small talk, checking in to see what she was doing out there. Reading, had been the response you had gotten from her at first, but after you started stopping by each time you saw her out there, she began to open up to you. 

She had lost her mom, the lot was where their house burned down, and her dad was often drunk or out working a case. She was constantly being passed off to stay at a friend’s house and she was sick of it. Her story not only pulled at your heartstrings, but it also felt familiar. You had also lost your mother at a young age, and recalled going through most things alone. That’s when you offered to be her ‘babysitter.’ Whenever her father had to be out, she had the chance to stay right at home and not have to deal with one of her annoying friends. She quickly took you up on that offer.

Whatever emotion had splayed across your face whilst you thought more deeply over your response must’ve been caught by him. When you snapped out of your thoughts and gazed back at him, his expression had softened. You cleared your throat gently and sucked in a breath of air. “I lost my mom when I was young, too.” You gave a half-hearted shrug of your shoulders. “I know what it’s like, and I didn’t have anyone there for me, and I didn’t want her to wind up the same way.” You moved to cut off the heat for the eggs and bacon, now focusing on pancakes before you realized how that would have sounded to him. Your eyes flashed up to meet his cool blue ones before you began babbling out an apology. 

“That came out wrong–not that you’re not there for her, you’re her father. But, it’s different when you don’t have a mother in your life. N-Not that I want to be her mother! I mean, you’re very attractive, but I really just see her as like a little sister.” Your arms flail about as you try to explain yourself, your cheeks heating up as your embarrassment creeps up your neck. “If you don’t want me to be here as often, I get it. I’ll step out of your hair and give the both of you your–” 

Your words were cut off by a second pair of footsteps entering the kitchen. Both your and Holland’s heads turned towards the sound. “Something smells delicious,” Holly yawned out, her arms stretched over her head. “(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” She stopped abruptly as she finally noticed that you were the one cooking. 

You gave her a beaming smile. “Surprise, kid! I thought I’d make up for missing your birthday party by making you breakfast.” You gestured towards the stove. “Scrambled eggs, bacon, and homemade pancakes. All your favorites, right?” 

Holly gave a nod of her head, a bright smile gracing her face. You flipped the last few pancakes and then began to plate the food. Holland had made himself useful–at the request of Holly–and poured everyone a glass of orange juice, setting them at the table as you brought over the plates. Each of you settled around the table and dug right in. The only sound that could be heard was the scratching of knives and forks against the plate. 

Holly was the first to speak as everyone’s plates neared half-way empty. “My mom used to always make a big Sunday breakfast like this,” she began softly, drawing the attention of you and her father. “Even if she’d rather have a full English breakfast, she always made it the way dad liked it instead.” She ended her emotional words with a small chuckle, her fork poking around at what was left on her plate. 

You gave her a warm smile. “My mom always made a big breakfast too,” you paused briefly as her eyes lifted to meet yours. “Must be a mom thing.” You shot her a quick wink before shoving a piece of pancake into your mouth. 

The younger girl nodded her head with a smile to match yours. “Must be.” 

You felt eyes burning into the side of your face as you watched Holly begin eating once more. Turning your head towards the only other person who could be looking at you, you caught Holland’s gaze. His blue hued eyes regarded you with a look you couldn’t quite place. Your brows furrowed with confusion and his gaze fell back down to his plate. 

You shook your head to clear your mind and looked back over to Holly, asking her how her party went. She rambled on and on about how rude Janet was being to her, and how annoying Jessica was. By the time everyone’s plates were cleared, you felt like you had actually been at the party. Holland had only interjected into the conversation when Holly told you details of the party that he claimed weren’t true–like Holly giving him a rim job, it was a rim shot he stressed. Otherwise, he seemed content to just sit there and watch the two of you converse– something you chalked up to the fact he was nursing a hangover. 

You moved to stand and gather the empty plates from the table when Holly jumped up to aid you. “I’ll help!”

Holland beat her to it, taking the empty glass from her hand with a shake of his head. “No, I’ve got it. You go watch your cartoons.” He gestured towards the tv that sat in the living room with his free hand. Not needing to be told twice, Holly gave a shrug of her shoulders and made her way to the couch, flipping on the TV when she got there. 

You moved to the kitchen with plates in your hand, Holland right on your heels with the glasses. “You don’t have to help–” 

Holland cut you off with a wave of his hand, “Nonsense. I want to.” 

Your cheeks heated as you thought back to the conversation you were having before you were interrupted by Holly’s arrival. Maybe he did want you around? The two of you alternated between washing and drying the dishes that were used for breakfast in a comfortable silence. Holland raised his head and glanced over towards Holly as he dried a pan. She was captivated by the cartoon that played on the television set, laughing at something the animated characters had done. She certainly seemed happier whenever you were around. His eyes drifted down towards the words he had tattooed upon his right hand. He regarded them for a long moment before raising his gaze back up towards you. Maybe it was finally time for him to be happy again, too? 

His voice broke the comfortable silence you both had been working in. “For the record, I find you very attractive too.” 

#holland march fic #holland march x reader #the nice guys fic #ryan gosling fic #holland march #the nice guys fanfic #ryan gosling #the nice guys #myfics

[drivinmeinsane]

Don't Go Breaking My Heart

※Chapter Two ※ Holland March x Jackson Healy ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { previous chapter }

※ Summary: Even during the most wonderful time of the year, Holland March can't help but be clumsy. A stressful hospital trip to set the detective's re-fractured arm leads an unfortunate revelation about his relationship with Jackson Healy.

Part of the Butterfly Effect collection. Can be read as a standalone.

※ Rating: 18+ for mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Fluff and Angst, Smut, Established Relationship, Period-Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Injury, Canon-Typical Alchohol Consumption, reference to religion, Typical Idiot Holland March, Insecure Jackson Healy, Collaboration, first time anal sex, lotion as lube,(Seriously do not use lotion as a personal lubricant), Holly just wants her dads to get their shit together, mention of Christmas

※ Word count: 3,474

※ Status: Complete/Multichapter, Chapter 2 of 2.

※ Author's Notes: Second chapter of the collaboration I did with @danime25. It's always a pleasure to cook with someone else. &lt;3

It’s the harsh beam of sunlight boring through his eyelids that wakes Holland up. Without opening his eyes, he rolls over in the bed and reaches out for his partner. His hand makes contact with nothing but slightly cool air. It’s so jarring that he’s instantly awake, staring at the space Jackson Healy that has been occupying every single night without fail for the past few months.

Scenes from the night before flash in his mind and he can’t quite suppress a groan. He can only hope that the other man is still in the house and not in his crappy apartment above the comedy club that had turned into an office space rather than a place to live. Surely they can fix whatever the hell went wrong between them.

The detective awkwardly scrambles out of bed, all too aware of his injured arm. He goes through his minimal morning routine feeling as though he’d been run over and left for dead in the street. He hasn’t felt this battered since the Amelia case that had brought Jack into his life to start with. Roughly wiping his damp face off with a towel, he finally steps foot into the living room.

His knees want to buckle in relief when he spots the other man standing in front of the coffee machine. Holland has to rein himself in to keep from rushing over and wrapping his arms around him, seeking reassurance that everything is all right between the two of them. Instead, he takes a seat at the breakfast bar. His cast makes a heavy thudding noise against the counter-top. Healy doesn’t so much as twitch at the sound.

Pulling a cigarette out of the pack resting on the counter, Holland observes the shorter man. He puts it between his lips and lights it. While he contemplatively takes a drag, he watches Jack take two mugs out of the cupboard and pour them both coffee. Despite last night, the other man is careful to leave Holland’s black, doctoring his own with a heaping spoon of sugar and way too much creamer. Healy picks up both mugs and places the PI’s down in front of him before taking a seat at his side.

“Holly left a note. She’s at Jessica’s. Wants us to figure our shit out,” the other man says as a greeting. Holland just nods, tired.

“So, my head is a little hazy from last night,” he says around the dangling cigarette, “but did we break up or something?”

His partner’s hold noticeably tightens on his coffee cup, almost enough to shatter the ceramic, before he relaxes his hand. When he speaks, his tone is bitter. “What was there to break up? Two men can’t be in a relationship, March. Last night at the hospital sure proved that.”

“C’mon Healy, you don’t mean that,” his voice catches in the back of his throat.

If Jackson says another hurtful thing like he just did, Holland is going to have to show him the door. He knows how he feels about the other man. Society be damned, if loving Healy is wrong, he sure as hell didn’t want to be right. He knows they’re doing to face vitriol over their relationship, but he knows there are other people like them. Hell, there is that politician in San Francisco… what was it…? Narancia? It was some kind of drink. Thinking out loud, Holland mumbles, “Juice?”

“It doesn’t matter what I mean. I can feel however I wanna about you, and it still doesn’t change things,” the other man responds while Holland thinks. After a lengthy pause he looks at him, confused. “What the hell does juice have to do with this?”

“Huh? Oh, there’s this politician. His name is some kind of drink…”

Healy puts his face in his hands and lets out a hopeless little chuckle. “Jesus, March… What do you want from me?”

That is enough to snap him back onto the topic at hand. “I just want us to go back to what we had… even twelve hours ago. When I could kiss you and you wouldn’t flinch away like I was trying to kill you. Shit, I just want us to be together without all of this .” He waves a hand in the air, his cigarette tucked between his fingers.

“I don’t want you to wake up down the line and realize you wasted your time on someone who doesn't legally matter. I can’t be there for you and Holly like a woman could. I’m the worst possible option for you.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you? That doesn’t fucking matter. I love you regardless,” he snaps back, hackles up. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t realize he said the thing that he’s been struggling to say for weeks. It dawns on him and he winces. It’s too late to suck the words back into his mouth.

Healy is deadly still. So still that Holland would even take a slap across the face if it meant that the other man had heard him. His cigarette burns to the end of the filter and he snubs it out in the nearby ashtray. He doesn’t look at his partner

Finally, the silence is broken by the bruiser's audible swallow. “You don’t mean that, March. You can’t waste that on me.”

“No, I do mean it!” He shouts, getting up from his seat to pace. Holland gets more worked up with every step he takes. “Damn it, Jack, I love you.”

Much to his trepidation, his partner also gets to his feet and approaches him. Jack stops short and clenches his hands, self-soothing. The grizzled man looks unsure, very much unlike the image of himself that he presents to the world. “I want what’s best for you and your daughter.”

“You’re what’s best for us. Look at everything positive that has come out of this. Holly thinks of you as another parent. I think of you as a partner. What I want is you .”

Jesus, he could use a little liquid courage. Even without, he still bridges the gap between the both of them and kisses the shorter man, arms firmly around his neck to keep him close. Holland meant every single word of his outburst. He breaks the kiss, anxious. “I love you so much, Jackson Healy.”

His words are finally enough to get Healy to turn the affection. Holland can’t help but sag with relief as the other man’s arms wrap around his waist and hold him tightly. They’re forehead to forehead, breath intermingling. “I… I love you too, March.”

“You better,” he quips before ducking in for another kiss. This time it’s eagerly returned. He smiles into it, nipping lightly at his partner’s mouth. He pulls away, trailing his fingers from the nape of Healy’s neck to his stomach. He toys with the hem of the other man’s shirt. “You know… there was something we were going to do last night.”

“Right, and then you went and broke your arm,” Jackson says, carefully deadpan.

“Well, yeah… But we can make up for that now.”

He’s pleased when he receives a low sound of agreement and a squeeze on the hip from his partner before the man sets off in the direction of the bedroom. He might be hopelessly needy for Jackson Healy, but at least the other man was equally as infatuated with him when he wasn’t having a crisis. If anyone was going to be panicking, it should be March. It’s his role in this ragtag little family.

On the way to the bedroom, Holland starts working to strip himself of his clothing. With his daughter out of the house, he doesn’t have to be nearly as modest. He lets his pants fall the moment the door is closed behind him. Healy is immediately crowding him against the wood. The other man’s hands with their scarred knuckles slide underneath his shirt and pull it off his head to reveal his soft body. The detective feels something tender well up in him at the careful way his partner extracts his re-fractured arm from the sleeve. Soon, he’s left in just his underwear and socks.

Healy is panting in his ear, sloppy kisses laid in the crook of his neck. He groans at the feeling of the other man’s facial hair scraping along his sensitive skin. The knee that the shorter man just wedged between his thighs is going to speed things up more than Holland would like He feels like a live wire, ready to spark at any moment. Reluctantly, he pushes at his partner’s chest with his good arm, shoving him backwards until he nearly falls on top of him when the backs of Jack’s knees make contact with the bed and he goes down onto the mattress.

With a clumsy hand, Holland strips the prone man of his sweater and his undershirt. His dick twitches with an almost painful throb in his underwear the minute the other man’s upper body is exposed. Holland desperately wants to grab hold of his shoulder and rut against his partner’s stomach until his cum is matted in the dense trail of hair adorning it, but there’s something he wants more. He clamors up onto Jack’s jean-clad thighs, legs spread wide to accommodate the girth. He presses his forehead against the man’s broad shoulder so they don’t have to make eye contact while they discuss what he wants.

“Uhh…” he starts, not very eloquently.

“Yeah, March?” Healy's newly placed hand is a soothing weight on his back.

“I know we usually give each other handies or blowjobs…” he trails off, scouring his mind for the words he needs. He fails. “Maybe we can do something more?”

“… Like using my chest?” He questions, referencing one of Holland’s earlier requests. The first one he’d ever made.

“Actually… more inside than that,” he clears his throat, thankful that the other man cannot see his flushing face. Holland has seen enough porno content while on cases. They both have holes, surely his partner can pick what he’s implying here.

“March…” Healy trails off, sounding strangled, “you want me to take it up the ass?”

“ No! I want you to stick it in me. Have me take you up the ass.”

“Oh… Yeah, yeah, we can try that, but… I haven’t y’know.”

“Well, neither have I.” Holland shrugs a little bit, not too concerned. He trusts his partner enough to not hurt him.

Finally, he peels himself off of the other man. He scrambles to find a comfortable spot on his back beside him before stripping off his boxers and throwing them onto the floor. Jesus, what he’d give for a drink right now, but Healy doesn’t fuck around with him unless they’re on equal footing when it comes to being sober.

With less confidence than he’d like, he mimics the position he’d seen once playing on a television screen at one of the more questionable places he’d questioned someone at. His legs are spread, inviting Healy to kneel between them. The other man does. Through half-lidded eyes, Holland watches him swallow and run a nervous tongue over his lips. He leaves his arms at his side, wanting him to take the lead. He’s willing to be moved around like a Ken doll by Jackson’s hands

Holland is not disappointed by the other man’s initiative. He can’t contain a moan at the feeling at the warm hand wrapping itself around his soft cock, stroking it into hardness. His pleased noises get swallowed up by Healy leaning over him to press his mouth to his. Both men are wedged together with hardly enough space for the bruiser’s hand to work at him. Holland is the one who has to break it off to draw in heaving breaths, he’s already leaking copious amounts of precum over Healy’s knuckles.

Without pausing the steady movements of his wrist, his partner checks in with him. “You doin’ alright? You’re never this quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Holland responds, staring up at him. He feels his face flush again. Healy looks better than he has any right to after a night of presumably sleeping on the couch, but this was his guy. His partner. Of course he’s going to look good to the PI.

“Let’s do this already. We need lube…” He glances around the room for something to use before spotting a bottle of lotion on their bedside table. “The lotion is probably the best we’re gonna get.”

Without preamble, the other man leans over just enough to pick it up. Holland’s teeth end up worrying at his bottom lip as he watches Jack slick the fingers of his right hand until they’re pale and streaked. They two of them are as ready as they’re ever going to be for this.

His hole easily accepts the intrusion of Healy’s finger. He moans, throwing his head back into the pillow and arching his body. “Yeah, that feels good. Feels really good. Fuck .”

That finger feels even better when the other man pumps it in and out of him. He can’t keep himself still. The second only heightens the sensations he’s feeling, finally giving him enough of a stretch that foreshadows what’s to come. The detective nearly leaps off the bed when Healy’s otherwise unoccupied hand reclaims it’s place around his dick. That touch is all the warning he gets before the other man leans down and takes the head of it into the wet plushness of his mouth.

“Jesus!” He yelps. His hands are gripping the sheets, clinging onto the fabric like it’s a lifeline.

In response, his partner takes his cock further, almost deep enough to gag on it. Holland swears he’s seeing stars as he feels the bruiser’s tongue trace along the underside of his shaft. He’s still fucking into him with his fingers, daring to add a third. The lotion is just barely doing its job. The detective feels almost full.

“I’m not going to last long,” he admits, panting. It’s taking everything in him to not sink into the arms of his building orgasm.

At his warning, Healy pulls off. He stills his hands and looks up at his face. “Do you want me to stop? I can finish getting you off like this. Don’t have to go all the way.”

“No, I'm fine. Just hurry.” Holland's voice catches in the back of his throat, giving his words a whimpering quality. Something hungry flickers over his partner’s face.

“Okay, let me just…” Healy trails off, sliding his fingers free of the tight heat of Holland’s body. He unbuttons his jeans and unzips them. His dick looks engorged and flushed, twitching and tapping against his ample stomach. He slicks it down with copious amounts of lotion and takes himself in hand. He pauses with the tip of his cock just slightly pressing into Holland. “You ready?”

“Yes .”

Slowly, with a series of pauses, Healy eases his thick cock into him. Despite opening Holland up with three of his large fingers, it’s still a tight fit. The other man bottoms out, snugly seated inside of him. The sensation of his stomach brushing against his still very interested dick has him smothering a whine. He feels full, pleasantly so.

“Are you doing okay?” His partner asks, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responds, “Jesus, I never realized how big you were until now.” The sentence slips out of him without his permission. He tenses up as he realizes what a weird thing it was for him to say. He could slap himself right now.

Healy doesn’t look upset, though, merely flustered. The other man clears his throat and offers him an unusual compliment in return. “You feel really good, March.”

Holland relaxes when his partner rubs a soothing circle over his hip. Perhaps sensing that he’s starting to get impatient, Healy starts to move, a slow drag of his cock nearly all the way out and bottoming out back in. He settles in to a relaxed pace. Instinctively, the detective’s back arches ever so slightly, angling so that the other man’s thrusts plunge deeper. He’s still hanging onto the sheets.

Lightning strikes him when he feels the head of the Jackson’s dick graze over his prostate. Before he’s fully aware, he’s cumming in messy spurts over the bruiser’s stomach. The resulting clench of his hole around his partner serves to drag him over the edge right along with him. Both men are shaking and muttering broken words as they empty themselves.

Shuddering from the stimulation as Healy pulls his softening cock free with a wet sound and extracts himself from their tangled position, Holland can’t help but fumble for the bedside table. His hand manages to hand on a loose, half smoked cigarette still sitting in the ashtray. Good enough. He lights it and gets it between his lips the moment he finds the lighter he keeps next to the table lamp.

“Fuck, March,” the other man groans.

The detective just nods in agreement, stricken silent for once. He had liked that, liked that way more than he probably should. He wonders if his partner would be willing to let him ride him next time.

“Didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, it felt fantastic actually,” he says. Despite feeling fucked out and limp, he leans over and kisses the other man’s stubbled cheek.

His reassurance must sooth the other man because Healy hauls himself off the bed with a groan, back popping. He heads into the en-suite bathroom to clean himself up before returning to the bed with a damp cloth. He carefully wipes Holland down much to his appreciation. It saves him the hassle of moving his cast-bound arm more than strictly necessary.

“Thanks,” he says softly and snubs out the cigarette.

He sits up enough to pull the other man into the bed beside him once they’re both clean. It’s the most natural thing in the world to tuck himself against the broad man, to feel him wrap an arm around his back and hold him close. Holland is on the cusp of telling him that he loves him again when his partner speaks.

“So… I wanna apologize,” the other half of the Nice Guys Detective Agency starts.

“What do you mean?” He asks. He thought they were squared up, that they were good again. Sure, he wasn’t upset at getting an apology, but it felt worrisome. Healy won’t meet his eyes, instead choosing to focus his gaze on the ceiling tiles.

“I was an ass after the hospital. I was a pansy and didn’t handle it like I should’ve.”

“Yeah, you were… I know you said some of the things that were bothering you when we were fighting, but what got you so worried about us?” Holland follows his line of sight up to the ceiling.

“The nurse reminded me about how I can’t be there for you when it matters, y’know? You broke your fuckin’ arm and I just had to sit in the waiting room. ‘Sides, I don’t know how to be a good partner. I did so badly with my wife she left me for my old man.”

Oh , Holland thinks. His partner had felt helpless. That would explain a lot actually.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, patting the other man’s shoulder. “I’m not very good at it either. Hell, I still don’t know how I managed to get Holly’s mom in the first place.”

“She must’ve been a very patient woman,” Healy jokes dryly..

“Like a saint.” Holland responds in kind, mildly miffed at the implication that he’s a difficult person to be with. He hovers his hand over Healy’s hair before combing through it.

The other man lets out a groan and shifts enough to sling a thick arm over his stomach, settling against him more comfortably. “It’s a good thing you didn’t get the catholic school treatment too. We’d be even more cataclysmic.”

“You’re excused?” Holland makes a face as he tries to decipher what fucking word just came out of Healy’s mouth. This feels like their ‘eunuch’ schtick all over again. He tries to quietly mouth the word ‘cataclysmic’ and make sense of the word before his partner starts to talk. Again.

“It’s like ruination,” he supplies, not bothering to open his eyes. He’s dozing off.

“Maybe Holly can buy me a dictionary next year, and I’ll be able to understand you for once.” Holland grumbles. Jackson fucking Healy everyone. He shakes his head. “We’re getting off track… you were apologizing?”

The only response he gets is a loud snore from Healy. He’s actually asleep. Out like a damn light.

“Love you too, pal,” he grumbles, feeling more fond of the man using him as a pillow than he’d ought to be.

{ previous chapter }

#the nice guys (2016) #the nice guys #the nice guys fanfic #holland march #jackson healy #ryan gosling #russel crowe #ryan gosling fanfiction #russel crowe fanfiction #holland march x jackson healy #healland #.my posts #.my work #.collab with danime25 #.my collabs

[webbo0]

*Cowboy voice* “I Ain’t Quitting You”

Holland March x Jackson Healy

AO3 link

Length: 2,183 words

Summary:

"In my psychology class, we talked about something called an Oral Fixation; Freud made it up. Maybe you just need to have something else to like, chew on and stuff." "Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this —" "Oh my god, Dad, just get some gum or whatever!" AKA 7 things Holland March tries to help him quit drinking, plus the 1 time Jackson Healy helps him out. AKA Holland does NOT have an oral fixation, Thank you very much

Content/Warning: Idiot to lovers, Oral Fixation, Kissing, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking, Sobriety, Quitting Smoking, Post-Canon, chosen family, 5+1 Things, technically it's 7 + 1 things, slight angst, Mature Content, implied/referenced sexuality

Authors Note: This is actually the first fic I ever published back in September '23, but I never posted it to Tumblr, so here ya go!

Original Notes:

Welp. I finally did it. Almost a decade in fandoms and it was Ryan fucking Gosling that made me cave and finally write fanfiction. Shoutout to the Goosecord for the motivation/encouragement to write this and for the feedback, especially @sandpapersnowman for helping me format this for AO3!! Y'all are the best!!

Anyways enjoy!!

***

"March, we gotta talk."

Holland jerks up and immediately regrets it when his head pounds and everything tilts about 270° too far to the left. He groans and falls off the bed. Bed? He doesn’t remember getting there. Or undressing, apparently, because looking down, he quickly realizes he’s wearing nothing but some embarrassingly old boxers. And Healy’s standing above him. Holland scrambles back into bed and covers himself in a blanket.

"Stop pretending I haven’t seen you half-naked before. You’re acting like a Victorian duchess."

"A man must preserve his — hrrk — dignity," Holland retorts back in a bad British accent, having to pause and suppress a wave of nausea halfway through his sentence.

Healy scoffs

"Dignity, my ass! Holly found you passed out on the diving board. You could’ve gotten hurt! Again!"

Holland feels suddenly defensive. "And why do you care? What are you, my fairy drunk-mother?" Not your best comeback there, March, he thinks.

"You’re my business partner; I have a vested interest in having an income, so forgive me if I want my co-detective alive to work with me. You need to stop drinking."

Holland rolls his eyes. "I’ve got it under control, Healy. I’m a big boy, y’know?" God, he wishes he could take a nap right now.

"March, I’m serious; you’re going to do permanent damage to your liver. Plus," Healy hesitates as if he’s trying to figure out a way to finish his sentence without sounding like an asshole, "it’s not fair to Holly. You’re the only family she’s got left; you have to be there for her. She’s a teenager now and needs someone to guide her through adolescent idiocy. You’re her dad, you owe it to her."

That wakes him up. He’s always pushed down the guilt he has over his behavior, but when Healy lays it all out in front of him like that? He knows he’s deluded himself for years into thinking Holly wouldn’t notice, but she’s not a kid anymore. And the thought of her as an impressionable teenager following in his footsteps makes him nauseous for a whole different reason.

He sighs.

"Alright, alright, cut my balls off, why don’tcha? But fine, I get it."

"Thank you," Healy looks relieved.

"I can’t just quit cold chicken, though, withdrawals can be dead—"

"Turkey"

"Hm?" "The phrase is cold turkey."

"No, I’m pretty sure it's chicken."

"Why would it be — never mind. And yeah, it would be pretty dangerous to just stop altogether. What if we cut it down to one drink a day?"

"One? No way, pal, three a day minimum."

"Three?! There is something seriously wrong with you, March."

"Hey!"

An hour of negotiations later, they settle on a begrudged compromise.

That was a month ago, and Holland was regretting ever saying yes to the whole stupid plan. To substitute for the flask he always took a swig from whenever he needed to calm his nerves, he kept an extra pack of cigarettes, so he was smoking twice as much as usual. And Holly isn't a fan of his new habit. It’s a Monday morning, and Holland sits at the table, sipping his coffee, while Holly gets ready for school. Healy had stopped by to drop off some paperwork for their latest case, and now, for some inexplicable reason, is making them all pancakes. He bites back a comment about him making a great housewife and instead turns to Holly, arms out for a hug. She had a big test today and has insisted on the Mandatory Good Luck Hug before tests since kindergarten. She makes a face at him.

"Ugh, Dad, you smell gross!"

Tchk. Teenagers. "Holly, it’s rude to say that to someone’s face."

"It's true, March, you smell like an ashtray had sex with another ashtray," Healy comments from his place in front of the stove, not even turning around.

"Yeah, and then their house burned down." Holly adds, "You do know those will kill you one day, right?"

"Pfft, no way! Doctors used to give these to you! My own father had a prescription for a pack a day!"

Healy turns around. "Didn't he die of lung cancer?"

"Yeah, why?"

Healy pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks like he has a headache brewing.

Holly waltzes into the kitchen and steals a pancake from the ever-growing stack.

"In my psychology class, we talked about something called an Oral Fixation; Freud made it up. Maybe you just need to have something else to like, chew on and stuff."

"Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this —"

"Oh my God, Dad, just get some gum or whatever!"

She still leans in for a half hug while wrinkling her nose, because tradition is tradition. As she walks to the bus stop, Holland considers her words. Was he obsessed with things in his mouth? He took a sip of coffee before anyone could notice his face flushing a lovely shade of magenta.

The first thing he tries is Holly’s initial suggestion: gum. He gets a shit ton of flavors to try to find one he won’t get tired of. He settles on Bubblicious watermelon wave. The idea is largely effective, and Holland's smoking is cut down to what Holly decides is a "normal amount."

Unfortunately, Holland has the manners of a barn animal, so after only nine days of chewing with his mouth open non-stop, Healy is about to strangle him.

"March, buddy, I’m glad this is helping with your ‘mouth thing’," he starts. Holland opens his mouth to protest before Healy quickly cuts him off to finish. "But we have to figure something else out before I make the ‘arm incident’ look like a harmless prank."

Holland shuts up. No problem, he’ll find something else. He was getting tired of the gum sticking to his teeth anyway.

Holland’s next plan; a toothpick. More similar in shape to a cigarette and they last much longer. Bonus points: Holly thinks he looks “far out”. This plan lasts about 3 seconds before he gets a splinter in his gums. Toothpick is out.

Plan C is to just chew on the end of his pen as he works. Holland thinks it makes him look distinguished. Healy’s just kinda grossed out. Everything is fine until he finds a break in their case, jumps up in excitement, and promptly inhales the pen cap. Healy has to use the damn Heimlich maneuver on him, frantically grabbing him and squeezing harder than Holland thinks is necessary. But what does he know? And, wow, he definitely isn’t thinking about how Healy's strong arms feel around him.

When Healy silently hands him a teething ring meant for fussy toddlers, Holland almost punches him (attempted sobriety has him more on edge than usual). But hearing Holly’s muffled hysterics around the corner instantly dissolves his irritation. Something about Jackson and Holly working together just makes his heart flutter.

And sometimes, when he’s sure no one is looking, he’ll hold up the ring on a chain around his neck to his mouth. Softly, not biting or chewing, just letting it rest between his lips. And no matter what Jackson softly asks him one night, tears are not falling down his face. Those are the nights he really regrets cutting down on his drinking.

It’s when he starts keeping a lollipop in his mouth most of the day he notices Healy acting… Different. When Holland’s doing his work, going over papers and poring over phone books, he lets himself loosen up. Often he’ll tap his pen in random patterns, or jiggle his leg up and down (which drives Healy crazy), or more recently, he’ll hold his lollipop between his fingers like a cigarette and slowly lick circles around it. It’s a mindless behavior that helps him concentrate, but for some reason, Healy doesn’t like it. March can tell. He notices Healy glance at him and then darts his eyes down as if it weirds him out just to witness it. It hurts; Healy knows how much Holland is trying to be better, why would he judge him for how he’s coping? He tries to brush it off, wondering why it bothers him so much; he should be used to people not getting him by now.

They’re sitting next to each other on the couch in Holland’s living room, working on their latest case. It’s late at night and Holly is sleeping at a friend’s house for a birthday party. Holland is losing himself in the details of this case (who kidnaps a pet snake??) when he senses Healy’s attention on his mouth, which he currently occupies with a new blue raspberry lollipop.

After the fifth time Holland catches Healy staring at his mouth he snaps.

“I know I’m a fuck-up and everything but can you at least try to hide how much you —"

He’s cut off when something covers his lips. Oh. When Healy covers his lips. With his mouth. Oh. Holland’s brain takes about three seconds to catch up with what’s happening. Jackson’s kissing him. Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Jackson must’ve taken his frozen state as rejection because he quickly pulls back. Holland almost whines from the loss of contact.

“Fuck. Fuck! I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so sorry, Holland,” Jackson runs a hand through his hair, clearly panicking, “You’ve just been such a goddamn tease with the fuckin’, whatever it is you’re doing with those lollipops and I couldn’t hel—”

This time he’s cut off from finishing his sentence by Holland grabbing his face and kissing him so hard he’s distantly worried about breaking Jackson’s nose. Holland’s hands rest on the side of Jackson’s face and cup the back of his neck, bracing himself in a desperate attempt to hide how much he’s shaking. Jackson’s lips are firm and his 3-day-old stubble is rough against his skin; one of his hands automatically threads into Holland’s hair, and the other hovers over his side before settling on his hips. He squeezes and the feeling goes straight to Holland’s dick. He lets out a wet groan into Jackson’s mouth who responds with a deep rumble.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Jackson growls, pulling away from Holland to let him catch his breath.

“Tell me,” is all that Holland responds, dipping his head and latching his mouth to Jackson’s neck, drawing out a strangled gasp.

“Since the day you fell asleep on my shoulder during that stakeout, and grabbed onto me like a fucked-up koala. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you,” Jackson is visibly struggling to keep his composure as Holland's fingers move to the buttons on Jackson's shirt, frantically undoing them and pushing his hands under the cheap cotton. Holland moves his mouth down his neck, biting and sucking and doing things with his tongue that must be good because Jackson is making sounds that frankly should be illegal.

“Maybe Holly’s right, you really have a fixation on —”

Jackson yelps before he can finish his thought because Holland bites down hard into the soft skin of Jackson’s shoulder.

“Please don't mention my daughter while I’m giving you hickeys, it’s weird,” Holland mumbles while sucking what is sure to be a large dark splotch into Jackson’s collarbone.

“What I’m saying,” Jackson starts, as he grabs Holland's hair and jerks his head up to look him in the eyes, pupil’s blown. Holland would’ve whined from the loss of contact if he wasn’t moaning from Jackson’s hand tugging against his scalp.

“What I’m saying, is that maybe you just need to be doing something useful for once with that pretty little mouth besides drinking and talking non-stop.”

“And smoking, can’t forget all the smo—” Jackson shuts him up by shoving the thumb of the hand not tangled in his hair into Holland’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue. He moans around his hand in a way he knows must sound obscene. Jackson curses as Holland simultaneously starts sucking his fingers like it’s his job and fumbling with the buckle on Jackson’s jeans.

“God, you are something special, Holland,” he murmurs softly, and Jackson says his name with such reverence that if Holland doesn’t get the other man’s pants off immediately, he might explode.

He drops to his knees between Jackson’s thick thighs, because if everyone and their mother were so insistent he has this ‘mouth fixation’ or whatever, he might as well blow their expectations out of the water.

Heh, blow. Good one March.

He stares at the crotch of Jackson’s jeans, already starting to drool.

___

After that night, Holland sticks with the lollipops (now sugar-free, because his dentist nearly had a conniption when he last went in for a cleaning). No longer worried about Healy’s judgment, he loosens up and allows himself to fidget weirdly in peace. And if he and Jackson are alone on the nights when needs a little help with his mouth thing (because fine, yes, he might have a little fixation. Sue him), and he’s having a particularly hard time not turning to his vices? Well, that’s between him, his gag reflex, and Freud.

***

Hope y'all enjoyed!!! You get bonus points if you find all the other Ryan Gosling movie references Again, this is the first full fic I've written so any and all feedback is welcomed!

#the nice guys #holland march #jackson healy #holly march #Holland x Jackson #the nice guys fic #holland march x jackson healy #the nice guys fanfiction #holland march fanfic #ryan gosling #healland #Holland March fanfiction #fanfiction #ryan gosling fanfic #my writing

[mlmxreader]

Tell Me One Thing | Holland March x gn!reader

anonymous asked: hello hello i hope you’re doing as well as you can :) i was wondering if i could request some holland march x gn!reader with the prompts: “hey, hey, look at me c’mon” and “for what it’s worth, i’m proud of you”. where basically holland’s on a case and someone recognises him as the reader’s boyfriend but they have some very strong opinions about them being together and say kinda nasty things. he gets home before the reader and the latter finds him curled in upon himself like overthinking and stuff and comforts him. thank you! :)

summary: March has a habit of letting certain things get under his skin a bit too much, but thankfully, his partner comforts him when he needs it.

tws: swearing, alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of injury, mentions of alcoholism

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

It seemed like a normal enough day.

Healy was chatting to people in the busy street while Holland waited by the car and smoked; they were just looking for some old lady's lost dog, but money was money, and private investigators like Healy and March couldn't afford to turn down a job.

Holland did think, though, that he might be able to escape to the nearest payphone and call you; Holly was at school - hopefully - by now, which meant that the chances were, you were at home for a little while before your shift started.

He debated it, and when he saw that Healy was still chatting, he made his mind up; his bandaged fingers thumbled with the numbers, but he got there in the end and lit another cigarette.

But as it was ringing, someone knocked on the booth. Figuring that they probably just wanted to use it, he opened the door, and clenched his jaw.

"Can't you fucking see it's in use?"

The stranger looked him up and down for a moment. "Aren't you dating the person that used to live on Foxtrot Street?"

Holland quirked a brow. "Y/N?"

"Yeah," they nodded. "You're the new boyfriend, right?"

Holland shrugged as he scoffed. "The fuck do you wanna know for? Go on, get lost, pal."

The stranger didn't budge, folding their arms across their chest. "Y'know, I think it's absolutely sickening. A nice person like that, with scum like you - it's a surprise they haven't crawled into the bottom of a bottle, as well."

He rolled his eyes, attempting to close the door on them, but they put their hand on the frame. "Just fucking let me make a call."

"Please," they huffed. "Leave them alone. They deserve better than some P.I who drinks too much to even care about his own kid. You're gonna fuck them over, just like you fuck everybody else over. Leave them alone."

They only backed off once Healy approached, and although he wanted to talk about it, Holland couldn't find the energy to do so; he got in the car, hardly spoke but swigged from his flask like there was no tomorrow.

When Healy dropped him off, Holland had only one thing in mind: bed.

He flopped down onto the soft mattress, face buried against the pillows as he closed his eyes; maybe they were right. They did have a point, but he had been working on his drinking. But he was also useless - he fell off of several balconies that day, all on the ground floor at least unlike last time.

Maybe he would fuck you over. He didn't want to, but maybe he would. He spent what felt like eternity laid there, but eventually moved onto his side, cuddling into a pillow as he brought his knees to his chest, staring out at nothing.

He hoped Holly wouldn't be home any time soon, she didn't need to see her father worrying so badly about something that a stranger had said.

But Holly didn't come home first.

Holland knew it wasn't her when he heard the door lock from the inside, a muttering voice listing out all the chores to do throughout the house; familiar footprints slowly approaching along with the scent of his cologne, like the wearer had stolen one of his shirts.

He usually smiled, but not today. He just sighed and cuddled into the pillow even more.

"Hey, baby," you hummed, not thinking much at first as you shrugged your jacket off and hung it up on the corner of the wardrobe. Sweat trickling down your back and clinging to your forehead. "How was your day?"

Holland grumbled. "Why are you still here?"

You furrowed your brows as you turned around, shoving your hands into your pockets. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just gonna fuck you up," he sighed. "I fuck everything up and you… deserve better."

"Oh, Holland," you sighed, squatting down so that your eyes were on the same level as his. "Holland, Holland, Holland… you're not gonna fuck me up. I mean, you do give me really bad fright every time you go out, but that's because I know you - I know you're not exactly great with balconies."

Holland sighed.

But you wouldn't relent. "Hey, hey, look at me, c'mon… atta boy. Listen to me, baby - do you really think I'd leave?"

He shrugged. "You should."

"I'm not going to," you said softly. "No one, and I mean no one, has made me laugh as much as you can. You think I'd give all that up?"

"I make you laugh?"

"Yes," you leaned forward, gently kissing his forehead. "And that means everything to me, you know that… you wanna tell me what happened?"

"Someone approached me while we were working," he said quietly. "Said some pretty shitty things."

"And you let them get under your skin," you hummed, nodding. "Y'know, this is only like the window incident."

Usually, he smiled at the reminder.

When he had been playfully bickering with you at a party and he had thought that a window was shut, only to lean back and fall right through it, landing on a buffet table crowded by people.You laughed the entire way to the hospital, and he had never heard something so wonderful.

But he had allowed one of the doctors comments about you to get under his skin, just as he had now.

"Y'know, for what it's worth, I'm proud of you," you told him. "I really am."

Slowly, Holland dared to sit upright, spreading his legs so that you were between them, looking up at him with your head leaning on his thigh, a small smile on your lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirmed, gently pushing him back until his back hit the mattress, straddling his waist. "You gonna let go of the pillow?"

He threw it, and ignored whatever went crashing down with it as he eagerly gripped at your sides. "Better?"

"Much," you nodded. laughing loudly when he moved to pin you onto your back beneath him, your wrists in his hands as he pinned them above your head. "Don't start something that you can't finish, mind, March."

"I can finish it," he murmured. "Just… tell me one thing."

"Anything."

"Tell me you love me."

#mlem writes #holland march x reader #holland march imagine #holland march #the nice guys #the nice guys x reader #the nice guys fanfiction #the nice guys imagine #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling imagine #ryan gosling