PJadeTree
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Summary
“It’s the seventies, March,” Healy says, rolling his eyes. “Some people are gay. You got a problem with it?”
“Me?” Holland demands. “You think I’m homophobic?”
“I mean, I’ve been trying to get you into bed for weeks, and you haven’t caught on, so I figured you were either homophobic or the most oblivious man alive. Guess it’s that second option after all.”
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“Think you can open your eyes for me, sweetheart?” And okay, March maybe whined a little at that. Opening his eyes sounded like too much work; he was happy where he was, thanks, plus he didn't really want to think.
Healy huffed out a laugh like he could tell exactly what went through March’s head. “Open your eyes,” Healy said, his voice firmer but still gentle. A command.
Well, when he put it that way…
March likes when Healy takes control. Healy likes when Healy takes control. It’s a win/win situation.Bookmarked by PJadeTree
04 Jul 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
YUM this was delicious so good march was exactly where he should be
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Summary
March was an expert at getting on Healy's nerves.
That's how they ended up here, in Healy's sorry excuse for a— how March had put it —living room, with March on his stomach and Healy above him, one knee digging into his spine.
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Summary
March has an affliction for keeping his mouth occupied.
Healy has become plagued by the thought of putting that pout to better use and of shutting him up with something bigger than a cigarette.
Healy decides to go to a club to curb the distraction.
Bookmarked by PJadeTree
04 Jul 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Excited for last chap this is So good holland march Oral fixation is true to me!!
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Summary
Healy didn’t have a body count. He wasn’t Jack the Ripper… or Amelia’s mother. But that’s not to say he was a saint. Blueface was dead because of him, and John Boy would have been too if Holly hadn’t stepped in.
This may be the one and only time Healy would ever break that promise. It was almost half past ten by now, and most neighbors would be asleep. If he acted quickly, none of them would hear the gunshot or Johnson scream. It had to be quick, despite how badly Healy wanted to slow down and make that fucker suffer.
Johnson’s hand- probably sweaty, clammy- had found a new home on March’s ankle, where his slacks had ridden up, where his knees were bent.
Squeeze. Settle. Squeeze. Settle. Thumb-rubbing back and forth.
“Holly,” Healy whispered, rounding the counter. “Get the gun.”
__________Or: Healy is jealous of March's cop friend and does something about it.
Bookmarked by PJadeTree
26 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Yum!!!!!!!!!!!
Jealous Healy is so special to me
Why’re you crying, princess? ... kill me now