cream crackered tbh love

“Should we call an ambulance or something?” you ask.

“Hm? Nah, he’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. You’re in the apartment next to mine, right?” he says, and says your name. You nod, shakily. “Right. Uh. I’m Healy.” You nod, because you’d seen his name on his mailbox. You’ve passed him once or twice, with polite nods of the head. “You got your keys? You should really be careful coming home at night, you know. All kinds of crazies out here.”

“Yeah,” you say, and without touching you, he leads you away from your whimpering assailant and up towards your apartments. You fumble for your keys and drop them, and he gently pushes you back, picks up your keys, and unlocks your door for you. His own hands are steady.

“Here,” he says. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him.

“No, you’re not, you’re shaking,” he says, and he opens the door and brings you in. He puts his hand on your back again, guiding you gently into your apartment.

You are surprised to find that his hand is steady and warm through your shirt. You realize abruptly that you are shaking.

“Come on,” he says, and gets you sitting down in your armchair, and goes to your sink, getting down a glass. “Sure the guy didn’t hurt you before I got there?”

“No, he didn’t,” you promise. “He was just being an asshole. I’m not even sure you needed to, uh, intervene.”

He shrugs a little, and brings you a glass of water. “People don’t intervene enough,” he says. “Sometimes you gotta. I only broke one hand anyway. He’ll be fine. Don’t worry about him.”

You take the glass from him, and take a drink. “I can’t believe you broke a guy’s hand. And you don’t even want anything for it?”

He looks down at you then. He’s a big man—not just fat, but solid. Well, you know how strong he is. You’d felt his hand on your back. You’d seen how he’d hit that guy on the stairway before crumbling his fingers like dried kindling. That had been powerful. And for a moment, you put it together—all that power, and surprisingly gentle blue eyes, his brows knit into a little frown.

“I never said that,” he says, and his voice is a low, rough grumble.

And that’s when you think of what else all that power could do. You lower your glass of water and look back at him. He’d just rescued you, you think. The least you could do is show him some gratitude—or pretend it’s gratitude, and not just a sudden desire to have all that power against you, moving into you—

“I have these fish,” he says then.

You blink at him a moment, jarred out of your fantasies. “What?”

“I have a fish tank,” he repeats. “I’m going to be gone for a week. Could you come by Tuesday and Thursday and feed ‘em?”

It takes you a long, long moment to process that. “That’s it?” you say.

“That’s it,” he says. “If you feed them every day the tank gets dirtier, and I won’t be there to clean it. They’ll be okay. Can you?”

“I…” You look at him again, your eyes on his soft, stubbled jaw, the breadth of his shoulders. “I mean. Sure. Yeah, of course I can.”

“Great,” he said. “You a little less shaky? You could come over now, I could show you where I keep the fish food and all that.”

“Sure,” you say, and set down your glass of water, rising to your feet.

When you go out of your apartment, you don’t look down to see if the guy’s still on the stairs. But you do look around his place when he unlocks it and lets you in. The fish tank is the brightest thing in the room, well-lit and colorful. He gestures you over, shows off his fish, and opens the cabinet for the fish flakes.

“Just a pinch,” he says. “That’s all they need. It’ll be fine. I just hate leaving them all week with nothin’, y’know?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah. No problem.”

“Okay, then,” he says, and gets down a spare key for you. “Tuesday and Thursday. Try not to forget.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “Your fish are in safe hands.”

A poor choice of words, bringing up hands. You think of the mangled fingers on the stairwell again and swallow hard.

But he nods, smiling a little, and you also think of his hand on your back, his hands carrying a glass of water to you. Maybe it’s not that poor a choice of words.

He brings you the key, and when you take it, your fingers brush against his again. You look down at both of your hands, and then you take a breath.

“Y’know,” you say. “When you said you wanted a favor from—from that, I wasn’t expecting it to be, y’know. Aquarium-related.”

“I’m not going to pretend I didn’t think about it,” he says, his voice low, and you look up at him. “Well, I did. But I didn’t want to ask you for that. Not this time.”

“Why not?” you ask. “I’d have been…”

“Because,” he said, “you were scared.” And then he takes his hands and thrusts them into his pockets, looking a little apologetic for having noticed.

“I wasn’t that scared,” you say.

“You were shaking,” he reminds you. “I’m not gonna ask a terrified stranger to have sex. Come on. I’d have to break my own hand for that.”

You let out a little laugh, but then your laughter fades a little. “Look. You know. I wasn’t scared of you,” you say, assuring him. “You’re a good guy.”

The smile he gives you is rueful. “Not all the time,” he says.

“Maybe enough,” you say.

You both stand there for a moment in silence, in his tiny apartment, a twin of your own. You can hear the fish tank filter, and somewhere a clock is ticking. And then you approach him.

“You were a good guy when I needed a good guy,” you say.

You put your hand on his soft, broad shoulder for leverage, stretch up a little, and press a kiss to his cheek, feeling the stubble rough under your lips, the softness of his skin underneath.

And then he turns, and his mouth finds yours, his hands curling onto your shoulders. And yes, you can feel the strength there, that same power. But you can also feel his restraint, a gentleness that does not surprise you, not after the things he’s said, not after the things he hasn’t said. And you kiss him back, pressing into it, pressing yourself against him, assuring him that he is not making any demands—any requests—that are more than what you’re willing to give.

When he breaks the kiss there’s a flush to his cheeks, and he reaches up to cup your face, his eyes serious for a moment. “I still need you to feed my fish next week, though,” he says, his eyes searching.

You bite back a giggle, and just nod. “I promise.”

“All right, then,” he says. “So. Where were we?”

And he spends the rest of the night proving to you that his hands can do a lot more than break fingers.

"Wish you could be back here with me right now huh, boys?" You pout as your fingers slip past the hem of your shorts, fingers now slipping through your folds and your slick covering your hand as you pace circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Jackson- " you moaned softly as you slip a finger in and begin pumping. The noises that filled the backseat would make even the toughest of men blush. And that, it did.

Healy adjusts himself in his seat, his face growing redder by the second as his cock strained against his jeans and hands white knuckle grip the steering wheel. He can barely keep his eyes on the road as they dart back and fourth between the rearview mirror trying to catch a glimpse of you.

You insert another finger with your attention now focused on Holland, head careening against the headrest looking at him with half lidded eyes and a devious smirk on your lips.

"mmmf- fuck March- look how wet I am for you-"

"Jesus, fuck- sugar I'm lookin'-" He twisted around in the passenger seat to face you, palming himself through his slacks when he reached back to run a hand up your thigh. Clicking your tongue, you quickly swat him away and a groan leaves his lips.

"Ah... No touching, Hol-" Healy hit a pothole and your fingers curled reaching that plushy spot just right, simultaneously cutting off your own attempt to tease Holland. Muttered filth escaped through gritted teeth as you arched your back, bucking into your hand.

"I'm gonna- woah oh shit-"

Healy quickly turned the car into the next alley he saw and your butt flew back down into the seat. You quickly grip on to the oh shit handle giggling as you brace yourself from sliding across the seat at how quick he suddenly whipped the car.

"Aw Jackson-" you coo'd at him, pitch teasingly higher as you say his name-"you're that desperate for me?"

"Yeah, well-" Healy throws it in park and turns to you, both of their eyes now met with the shit-eating grin on your face, "you're making it hard not to be with that show you're puttin' on back there, pretty lady."

You couldn't help but laugh at how fast the two of them left the car.

The door clicks open and the cool night time air made its way quickly down south sending shivers across your body as your fingers leave your soaked cunt.

Healy extends a hand and you graceously accept- a small thank you leaving your lips as he lifted you up and out with his other hand at the small of your back.

He lifts your hand to his lips and places a tender kiss on top. "Oh such a gentleman-" Red flushed across your cheeks as he began moving his lips along the back of your hand, peppering kisses, gruff beard scratching and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Anything for you, sweetheart-" He replied in a low growl and your knees felt weak.

He pecked at the tips of your fingers before inserting them into his mouth, humming, tongue swirling around your digits as he cleaned off the slick on your fingers. Holland could only watch speechless, stroking his cock as he watched his partner clean you up.

"Good boy, Jack."

If looks could kill, you'd be guilty with multiple charges the way you flashed a baiting smile at the two.

Next thing you knew your shorts were pooled around your ankles and Healy was behind you one hand on your shoulder; fucking into you so relentlessly your eyes rolled back as your body washed over with euphoria, mind halfway gone to the stars.

Holland cupped a hand under your chin and his thumb wiped away any tears that escaped past your lashes as you ran a stripe along the vein underneath his cock.

"F-fuck- you're such a good girl for us, babydoll-"

You hum as you wrapped your lips around his cock, hollowed your cheeks and begin bobbing your head with Healys rhythm.