sublimeinvention
Fandoms
Recent works
-
pour out a beer on your crotch challenge by sublimeinvention
Fandoms: The Nice Guys (2016)
26 Jun 2026
Tags
Summary
#pouroutabeeronyourcrotchchallenge
or, pour some whiskey on your partners crotch challenge, in March's eyes. -
Tags
Summary
"Oh my god!" March squeaked, suddenly sitting up straight. "Oh my god, Healy— you're hard!"
Healy wanted to disappear. Or punch March in the face. Or both.
aka: Holland March is a huge tease and has to deal with the consequences. (He doesn't mind.)
-
Tags
Summary
Grief was a like a hand holding you down and right now it had Holland March by the neck. Squeezing and grabbing and not leaving any room to move, to breathe, to take a look around and realize that the sun was starting to peek over the horizon.
-
Tags
Summary
"Look away." Healy raised his gaze to meet March's eyes before turning around with half a shrug. Not being able to stop himself, his eyes traveled back down in the mirror to the magazine covering the other mans crotch. The mirror was dirty and the magazine was still held up half haphazardly with March's broken arm. He really should be able to see his dick. Stop thinking about this guys dick, Healy. Damn it.
"You know there's a mirror here, right?"
March's heart sank. Fuck. He did not need this guy to see his glaring lack of a dick. Why was he even looking? Pervert.
Or; me and my friends are all perverts and thought about Healy fucking March in that bathroom in the bowling alley.
Recent bookmarks
-
Tags
Summary
And that's how they ended up here; with Holland holding a pool stick, trying to focus on the colorful balls on the pool table and not on where Jackson was bent over said table, one hand carefully guiding the pool stick.
or:
remember that one tweet that went "men invented pool tables so they could watch each other bend over"? yeah... -
Tags
Summary
It was a stupid fucking idea. That had already been established beyond reasonable doubt. However, Healy was not entirely opposed to stupid ideas, and often encouraged them, even passively, just to see what happened. That's how he ended up here, wasn't it?
It seemed to happen in a blur. It wasn't like there was a discernible point in which he could've thrown up his hands in disgust, or exhaustion, or- or-
“Y'like?” March was leaned up against the orange wood of his bathroom door frame, the pale backlight lighting him up like a star. “Is it convincing, at least?”
──
Holland March taps into his feminine side for a case. Jackson Healy, despite himself, also really wants to tap into March's feminine side.
-
Tags
Summary
In the early afternoon, he finally hears the bedroom door click open, and footsteps padding down the hall.
"Thank God you're finally awake," Holland says, still hunched over the paper. "Jack, baby, they got me fucking stumped, they're making up new words. What's an eight-letter synonym for life, starting with a V?"
There's no reply. Healy can usually think of at least one thing to throw out, even if it doesn't fit. The silence goes on for a beat too long, and Holland didn't hear him move to the kitchen. He turns around —
— and it's Healy, standing there, it's definitely Healy, but it's a Healy who looks like he's in his fucking twenties.
His face is completely unlined — his hair is dark, not a speck of gray — and he's staring right back at Holland.
"Um." Holland's at a complete loss. "Hi."