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jesuistrestriste · 10 months

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♡ You're Such A Loser pt. 2; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw (18+) cw: switch(dom)!art donaldson, switch(sub)!reader, reader guiding art through domming, begging, brief choking, slight hate fucking themes, orgasm denial, slight bit of tears/crying (he’s okay), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, praise, degradation, creampie.

all that frustration from losing his matches has built up in him, and now Art is ready to let it all out. only because you’re letting him, of course.

word count - 2.9k

note : part twoo (part one) !! i hope that those who liked pt. one will like this part just as much :) it’s a lil bit of a switch in dynamic (pun not intended)

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He’s diving back into your cunt without hesitation, lapping at the remnants of your orgasm that have spilled and sprayed down your inner thighs. His arms are hooking under your legs so that he can bury his tongue deeper and deeper into you.

You groan deeply, running your fingers through his hair before pulling the locks taut in your fist.

“Yes, baby, just like that.. your mouth always feels so damn good,” you breathe out, moaning at his expert tongue skills.

As you gaze down at him, you can see the way that his eyes are squeezing shut and his brows are turned up in arousal as he licks at your insides. He lets out a pathetic whimper at your words of praise, which shoots a mouthful of vibrations up through your form. Your knees tremble, clamping down on his flushed cheeks, and you use your grip on his hair to guide him gently up to your clit. He takes notice of your cue, and moves his mouth up to suck your sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasp brokenly and toss your head back, before looking down again to see his face.. and god, he is beautiful. His brows are still knitted up, but now his big aquamarine eyes are watery and looking up at you like a lost puppy. He was all yours. Just yours, and he knew it too -- in fact, he loved it.

“That’s it, sweetheart, doing so--mmf!--so well,” you moan out, using your hand to now stroke at the back of his head and give him a bit more physical stimulation. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling of your fingers brushing against his scalp, and out of habit he reaches up with one of his free hands and uses his middle and ring finger to brush against your dripping hole. Immediately, you wince at the contact, and he lets out a drawn out groan that you can tell is an incoherent plea for permission. You nod.

He wastes no time in turning his wrist so that his hand is palm-side up, and then his fingers are gliding into you without any resistance whatsoever. Your body is absolutely starved for him at this point, and you can’t do a thing to hide it. As he feels your insides wrap warmly around his digits, his eyes prick with tears while he continues to mouth at your clit.

He brings his head back, detaching his mouth from your body, and moves to look longingly at the way your fingers are sucking him in every time he pulls them back. Your slick is covering his chin and his lips, which are currently parted in arousal as he huffs and puffs from desperation. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, relishing in the way that he can feel you clench and twitch.

“You’re so hot,” he whispers, not breaking eye contact with the point of connection between your body and his. He then decides to bury his two fingers so deep inside of you that they actually completely disappear. Next thing you know, he’s curling his fingers repeatedly in the “come hither” motion while he’s still buried up to the hilt. About thirty seconds of this is all it takes for you to get there.

“SHIT-! Oh my god, Art, don’t fucking stop, don’t stop, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m g’na-”

You manage to moan out a quick warning before your hips are arching into his touch, going completely still for a few moments. Then, wave after wave of your orgasm washes over you, causing your pelvis to spasm rapidly as you babble incoherent phrases of praise to your partner.

Art’s mouth is now completely agape, his eyes lidded, as he takes in the show of your orgasm, not stopping the movements of his fingers. You couldn’t really tell over the sound of your own vocality, but he was letting out tiny whines and whimpers from the way that your body was making his cock leak pathetically in his already-soiled boxers. He could barely hold his second orgasm off.. it was so damn hard.

After you collapse fully on the bed in an attempt to recover in your afterglow, sticky with sweat and panting heavily, you are now able to fully hear Art’s pure and unfiltered anguish. He’s moaning lowly as he glances from your cunt down to his clothed cock, which is jumping over and over in his underwear -- begging for attention. He then moves to pull his wet fingers from inside of your pussy, which allows for a few drops of viscous wetness to spill from your hole. Without hesitation, he lurches forward with his pretty tongue sitting gently on top of his bottom lip so that he can gulp down the taste of your release. He sucks and licks greedily at your hole, letting his eyes flutter closed as he grips his own thighs. He doesn’t want to touch himself yet. After all, you never gave him permission.

“You’re such a good boy, baby.. so needy and hungry for me, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly but shakily, his nose brushing against your clit as his mouth continues to relentlessly engulf your heat.

“You want me to let you cum?” you ask, knowing from his track record that he’s probably already on the edge.

He pulls back, licking at his bottom lip to not waste any of your taste, before he removes his hands from gripping his legs and instead places them to your waist. He digs his fingers into your soft flesh as he looks up at you from his position on the floor.

“Please, please, I’m already there-- just tell me I can and I will! I promise,” he gasps out, drawing out the second half of ‘promise’ to emphasize his sheer closeness. His brows are still turned up as tears start to well in his eyes. He’d cry if you said no, you knew that. The real question was: did you want to keep punishing him tonight? Had he had enough?

“Tell me how bad you want it, love.”

You could stand to be cruel a little bit longer.

He whines, his fingers clenching around the skin of your hips, as his pelvis continues to buck involuntarily.

“I want it so badly- I wanna cum- I’m so close, please please please.. I don’t know if I can stop it,” he moans, the slight friction of his cock against his wet boxers pushing him closer and closer to the point of no return.

“What if I said no?”

“Nooo, god, please don’t.. I’ve already made you cum.. I could prob’ly cum just from you telling me that I can.. can I? Oh shit, please-”

“I’ll tell you what: I’ll let you cum if you can take control for once.”

He looks at you, confused, before trying to stave off his orgasm by biting down on your thigh as he lets out a broken whimper. You yelp, before stroking his hair, knowing that he was deep in an animalistic state of mind -- he didn’t mean to hurt you, he just was trying so hard to be good.

“Use your words, Art.”

He releases you from between his teeth, before tears are spilling down his cheeks.

“I,” he sobs, “I can try.. but you know that I’m not like that..”

“I know, baby, I know. I want to teach you. Would you like to try that?”

He nods. He’d do anything to cum at this point.

You use your hands to push yourself farther back onto the bed so that your head is now close to the headboard. Art watches your every move, but stays as still as he can. He still wanted to please you, and didn’t want to do anything without your say-so. This was going to have to change within the next ten minutes.

You pat the bed’s comforter, and he immediately crawls up onto the bed and hovers over your form. His breathing remains uneven as his cheeks continue to flush with the torment of his delayed release. The erection in his boxers is still as stiff as ever, and you eye the way that it visibly jumps with anticipation.

One of your hands reaches up to comfortingly caress his face, and he leans into your touch.

“Breathe, honey, breathe. You’ll get what you want soon.”

He sighs, which almost turns into a moan, but he cuts himself off as you start to give instruction.

“Okay, first I want you to take off my top and bra. Undress me, understand?”

“Yeah,” he responds breathlessly, moving to pull your shirt over your head and unclasp your bra in under a minute. You were now completely naked, and he allowed himself the pleasure of drinking in the sight of your uncovered body. You were so gorgeous, it made his dick twitch.

“Good. Now, take off your boxers and shirt. I wanna see you,” you couldn’t help staying in a dominant headspace for a few seconds more.. it was just so fun to boss him around. He was so quick to follow directions, too.

He unsurprisingly does as he’s told, swiftly removing his gray tee and pulling down his boxers. At the sight of his bare cock, you bite your lower lip and place a hand on the back of his neck to guide him down to meet your mouth. You kiss him deeply, letting your own tongue lick his as he reciprocates with equal ferocity. He’s mashing his lips with yours, moaning into your open mouth when you pull back to switch the angle of your head. You bite down on his bottom lip before sucking it, which causes him to groan deep in his chest. Your hands snake to his lower back and you pull him down in one swift motion so that his body is now pressed flushed to yours as you continue to make out. A few more moments of this go by before Art knows that he has to speak up..

“I th-think I’m gonna c-cum,” he stutters, rubbing his hard cock against your lower stomach, “I can’t hold it, I cannn’t-!”

You reach down quickly and grasp his dick, which makes his eyes roll back into his low lids, and then you’re sliding it inside of your tight hole without warning.

“Nnghh-! I’m--fuck!” he sobs out, immediately spilling a thick, warm load inside of you. You let him thrust shallowly into you as he pumps you full of cum.

“Ah hah hah haah-!” he cries as he overstimulates his cock by continuing to fuck himself through his long-awaited orgasm.

As you watch his face with a smile and feel his throbbing dick inside of you, Art suddenly pushes himself up onto his hands so that he’s looking down at you. He’s gasping for more air but his brows are sitting low on his face and he looks weirdly upset.

You reach a hand up to his face, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and shakes his head without breaking eye contact with you.

“Don’t,” he breathes out, before beginning to thrust his spent cock more forcefully inside of you. Was he pissed that you had initially denied him..?

“Wha-”

“Don’t say anything, please,” he cuts you off, “just let me fuck you some more..”

You close your mouth, feeling a new kind of heat swirl in your gut. There was something about his tone that was new for him.. there was a bit of authority in it. Art hangs his head as he groans, pulling his cock all the way out to the tip before slamming it back into you. The wind feels like it just got knocked completely out of your lungs, and you squirm on the sheets.

“You feel so good.. f-fuck, I’m already hard again,” he moans, a growl beginning to creep up his throat.

A moan escapes your lungs as you let your head fall back into the plush pillow, and then before you can fully comprehend what he’s doing, his hand is over your mouth. His elbow is resting by your neck as his palm covers the lower half of your face and muffles your sounds.

“I said to be quiet,” he says gruffly, now speeding up the movements of his hips. They snap back and forth with a renewed sense of fervor, filling you up with his heavy cock with every thrust inside of you. You moan, although muffled, and you can tell that your stifled sounds were driving him crazy.

“You did a lot of talking tonight, babe, now let me say something--”

You drool under his hand, your mouth open and panting, as you try to focus on his words,

“I don’t get why you called me a loser when you’re my coach.. my loss is your loss- shit!”

The tip of his cock hits your cervix as you clench around him, causing him to briefly lose his train of thought. He finds it quicker than you thought he would, though.

“So that means that you’re a loser too, aren’t you?” he spits out with gritted teeth, leaning down close to your face and looking deep into your eyes. You compulsively whimper and buck your hips up to meet his.

“Use your words, baby,” he mocks you from earlier, anger laced potently in his command.

He knows that you can’t talk coherently right now, and it’s not his hand that’s stopping you. He knows damn well that if he removed his hand from your mouth, you’d still be a slurring mess of moans and pleas for more beneath him. His cock was fucking you so well, and it was hitting all of the right places at all of the right times. You weren’t sure you were going to last much longer, and neither was he to be honest..

Before, he was in the mindset of a defeated, washed-up tennis champ, but now he was taking on the same persona that he did when he was in his prime. When he won back-to-back matches. He was a fucking beast.

“Mmmph-! Mm-!” your moans rolled around in your chest and were muffled by Art’s large palm as he continued to fuck mercilessly into you. You felt the cord in your gut being pulled taut.. ready to snap at any moment..

Suddenly, he pulls his hand from your mouth and groans, bringing it up to his mouth as he licks depravedly at your drool left behind on his skin. You whimper at the sight, and he follows it up with a similar vocalization before speaking down to you.

“You taste so good, baby, fuck fuck...” he pants, the movements of his hips becoming sloppier by the second.

he places his wet palm down across the center of your collarbones, and you groan lowly at the feeling, before you take his wrist and manually move his hand up to the base of your throat.

“please,” you whimpered.

and he readily obliged.

Art squeezes gently at the sides of your throat, stifling the blood flow to your brain and initiating the spread of a pleasant fuzziness throughout your body and head that made your impending orgasm feel that-much-more intense.

“you like that? you like when i choke you, baby..?” he moans, clearly enjoying the switch in dynamic as much as you were.

you nod immediately, trying to take in more oxygen as his fingers pressed deliberately against your pulse. then, he released you from his grasp like a lion drops a gazelle from its mouth before feasting upon it.

you take a huge, broken breath into your lungs before everything begins to feel like it’s getting too much .. everything feels too good right now..

“Honeyimgonna-mffphh!-imgonnacumpleaseohmygod” you couldn’t stop the slurry of nonsensical pleas and whines as you felt your orgasm getting ready to wash over you.

“I’m gonna give it to you so good.. i wanna fill you up.. you’d be nowhere without me, let’s face it.. if i didn’t win any matches we’d have no income.. so i’m not a goddamn loser.. i’m not.. i’m.. i..”

Art was becoming more and more incomprehensible the closer he got, and then he felt everything crash down around him once your orgasm started to rip through you and pulse around him.

“OH GOD! HOLY SH- OH FFFUCK! I’M CUMMING I’M CUMMING!” he shouts, unable to hold anything back as he fills you up again.

You feel the warmth and tingly pressure of his release spread throughout your cunt as you cum on his throbbing cock, your eyes rolling as your head tips back against the bed. You whimper and groan as you take in the feeling of your second orgasm of the night, and relish in the heat and aftermath of your partner’s third one.

After you both come down slightly from your highs, Art collapses in a sticky, sweaty mess on top of you as his chest heaves against yours. You close your eyes, smiling, as your hands move to rub lovingly at his lower back. As his head rests heavily in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, he slowly pulls his hips back and you whimper as the feeling of emptiness starts to rush through you in the absence of his length.

You could feel his cum oozing down your pussy, and you laughed softly at the sudden realization of the reality of your situation.

“You know,” you huffed, still trying to catch your breath, “i think you just came inside of me again.”

he laughs.

“i don’t think i could have stopped that from happening..” he smirks, rubbing his soft but sensitive cockhead against the inner part of your right thigh.

“right, right.. all i’m saying is that you better not get me pregnant. you’re already a handful as it is.”

“You love it,” he whispers, picking up his head slightly to bite at your neck.

“Whatever you say, loser.”

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guys, this took so long to finally finish up and that’s on me lmaoo

writer’s block had me in a firm chokehold n i didn’t like it

i feel like i ended this fic a bit quickly, but i think that can mostly be chalked up to sleep deprivation.

anyways, hope this quenched ur mike faist thirst for the moment, but i have more ideas that i want to write about asap.. so there’s definitely some more hot stuff coming soon hehe

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youaintnothinbuta · 6 months

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I’m so glad I found a person who writes for newsies! Can you write something about Jack being super protective and caring about the reader? They aren’t dating yet but whenever the Delancy bros bother her or another newsie he’s like 🏃 “gotta go protect my girl”

Thank you!!!

“You don’t need to put up with their nonsense.” - jack kelly x reader

Summary: ^^^

Pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 413

Warnings: none, fluff, probably typosss you know how I am

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You navigated the crowded sidewalk, your focus set on the task that was getting your stack of papes for the day. You dreaded this point in the morning, as the Delancey Brothers were never particularly kind.

As you approached the gates, Oscar and Morris intercepted your path. A pair of mischievous grins painted their faces as they watched you, you knew their snide remarks were about to begin.

“Look who we got here, you lost little girl?” Oscar quipped, a sly grin playing on his face. You startled slightly as he jumped in your face out of nowhere.

Morris joined in, “What's the matter, sweetheart? You’re not scared of me, are ya?”

“Please, just gimme my papes.” You sighed, trying to brush off their comments, determined to maintain your composure. However, the relentless jabs persisted, wearing down your resolve with each passing word. Amidst the taunts, Jack, who had been preoccupied with sorting through a fresh batch of papes, caught wind of the commotion. His eyes narrowed as he observed the Delancey Brothers harassing you, a protective instinct flickering within him.

Without hesitation, Jack swiftly approached, his stride purposeful and his gaze piercing. “What's going on here?” he demanded, a subtle growl underlying his words.

Oscar, ever the provocateur, responded with a dismissive laugh. “Just having a little fun with the girl, Kelly. Nothing to get your feathers all ruffled about.”

Jack's eyes flashed with a mixture of concern and a simmering anger. He positioned himself between you and the Delancey Brothers. “What a poor excuse of a man you are to be picking on a girl like this.”

Morris scoffed, locking eyes with Jack. “Save the hero act. She ain’t bothered, are ya honey?”

You looked at Jack, your eyes asking him not to leave. Jack reached to your hand and took the pennies from you, he smacked them down in front of the Delancey brothers and snatched a stack of papers from Oscar, handing them to you. Jack's hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you away from the Delancey Brothers with a protective gesture. “You don't need to put up with their nonsense. Stick with me, I won’t let them harass you like that again.”

“Thank you, Jack.” Your cheeks were tinted slightly pink by his words.

As you continued on your way, Jack maintained a protective hold on you, casting a lingering, meaningful glance over his shoulder to ensure the Delancey Brothers got the message.

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no-i-wanna-go-down · 1 month

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The desperate search for good, finished Newsies fics that aren’t modern aus or just aus in general because MY GOD there’s so many :( no hate to anybody who writes modern aus it’s just that part of the charm of Newsies for me is the time period if that makes any sense actually at all

Anyways if anybody has fic recommendations that take place in the canon time period please gimme. Preferably a decent mix of angst and fluff, just all around good fics :)

#axol:yaps #sorry for this #might delete tbh #complaining about things that really don’t matter at all actually #newsies #newsies broadway #92sies #livesies #jack Kelly #Crutchie Morris #spot conlon #fanfiction #fanfic

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orangesand-lemons-234 · 4 months

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School Newspaper AU

Set in the present time, all the Newsies are a part of the school newspaper when they notice that the head teacher, Mr Pulitzer, has set up a new anonymous advice column called "The Bottom Line." Nobody knows who's the one writing everything and have been desperately trying to figure out who it is.

Jack, the cartoonist, has ended up becoming friends with a member of the exhibition committee, David. Though if you were to ask Katherine, Jack's best friend and head reporter of the paper, he most definitely has a crush on him.

As The Bottom Line grows more popular, and Jack starts to notice how distant and stressed David's becoming, he starts to put the pieces together and realises the pressure Davey's under by Mr Pulitzer to keep the column running with no help whatsoever.

When he looks around at the whole newspaper committee, he realises the stress everybody is under. The only photographer, Racetrack, is constantly running around the school to take pictures of everything he can, Katherine's running out of ideas for headlines, Crutchie and Albert, the editors have the shortest deadlines ever and none of them have any help in these positions.

So he declares a strike. They're striking until Mr Pulitzer gives them the help necessary to keep the newspaper running.

#im gonna write a fanfic on this probably #a modern au in full swing yippee #also yes the other members would come into play as the story went on #but yeah bada bing bada boom #newsies #uksies #92sies #david jacobs #racetrack higgins #jack kelly #spot conlon #crutchie morris #davey jacobs #albert dasilva

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aj-theteenagecondition · 4 days

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my horrible dry cough is so bad I would be dead if this was a newsies fanfiction

#newsies 1992 #newsies fanfiction #newsies fandom #newsies #jack kelly #david jacobs #92sies #livesies #newsies musical #newsies broadway #newsies fanfic #newsies live

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theres-no-escaping-us-pal · 1 month

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i have the urge to write javey fanfic

opinions?

#newsies #livesies #newsies brainrot #newsies broadway #davey jacobs #newsies live #i love newsies sm #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #katherine plumber #newsies fanfic #javey newsies #javey #javid #javid newsies

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47-possums-in-a-trenchcoat · 1 month

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help im tempted to start writing a 92sies javid fanfic-

#92sies #newsies 1992 #fanfic #help #javid #jack kelly #david jacobs

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we-are-inevitable · 1 month

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i found something in the woods somewhere // javid

Summary:

Fresh. That’s the word that he keeps coming back to. Growing up in the city, he’s never had access to this kind of environment– fresh air and quiet, trees everywhere, dense wood all around. It’s lovely, but David really hasn’t had the chance to explore it.

Something tugs in his chest, and whispers in the back of his mind: You have time now. Why not?

Seventeen minutes later, dressed in jeans and converse, wearing a blue and black flannel, with nothing but a backpack full of four plastic water bottles and a whole box of granola bars, David crosses the treeline in his own backyard and walks into the woods. - David Jacobs doesn't know who he is. He wants to find out.

Jack Kelly knows exactly who he is. Maybe he doesn't want to.

After a lifetime of feeling stagnant, Jack and David search for the answers.

---

Author's Note:

this baby is not finished but BOY is it fun! i have had so much fun writing this for the @newsiesminibang24 <33 please go check out the blog and see all of the AMAZING writing and art that has been created this far, and look out for a treat from Rizz ( @jack-kellys ) later today!! also pls comment/send asks/etc about this bc i have SOOOO many thoughts. i love putting davey in situations <33

Read on AO3!

#jac txt.#jac writes #davey jacobs #david jacobs #jack kelly #javid #javey #newsies #livesies #uksies #west endsies #newsies live #newsies uk #newsies fandom #newsies musical #newsies fanfic #newsies fic

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annmariethrush · 3 months

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Supernatural Nephil pregnancy fics walked so that Denis Villeneuve’s Dune Part 2 could run

#the overlap between these two things may be untenably small #I said what I said #and I meant that shit #if you don’t understand this post isn’t for you #nephilim #spn #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean winchester #destiel #castiel #Kelly Kline #Jack Kline #nephilim pregnancy

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make-friends-with-the-rats · 1 month

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Red for Courage, Red for Love...

Newsies fic draft / excerpt

Pairing: David Jacobs / Jack Kelly

In which David Jacobs wears Jack Kelly's bandana...

(this is largely self indulgent, but tell me what y'all think!)

---

David wakes gradually, like a flower slowly unfolding itself from the comfort of night, petals peeling from sleep to meet the sunlight. His senses come to life again one by one, so it takes a long, timeless moment before David registers the absent warmth from his side. No Les. No, because Jack spent the night. But Jack isn’t in bed beside him either.

David turns over groggily, fighting the weight in his eyelids to squint against the morning sun… he hears a soft laugh from the foot of the bed, his eyes following the sound to catch on Jack, a golden silhouette in dawn’s first rays, buttoning up his shirt and looking at David with a bemused smirk.

“Morning, Davey,” Jack teases.

Fresh from sleep, David doesn’t have any ready words to toss back at Jack, so he simply turns over again to huff an irritated breath into the pillows. Much to Jack’s amusement.

The Jacobs’ apartment is quiet, and that quiet might as well encompass the whole world for all David knows, for all David cares… the illusion is only fractured by the soft sounds of Jack. The rubbing of fabric and the wrinkle of sleeves as he works carefully on his buttons. The brush of leather as Jack pulls his suspenders over his shoulders. But these sounds too were quiet, and almost soothing in a way. They only reinforced David’s almost subconscious conviction that now was a time for sleeping. David could feel himself giving in to that feeling, his body slowly slipping into a dormant state again… of course Jack would come and disrupt everything.

“Dave,” Jack murmurs, shaking David’s shoulder. “Come on, time to wake up.”

David doesn’t want that to be true. He tries to protest against this rude intrusion, pulling against Jack’s hand on his shoulder and burrowing further into the covers. David tries to protest verbally too, but he’s pretty sure that only comes out as a muffled groan.

A funny kind of grin finds its way to Jack’s lips, something crooked and found as he watches David’s sleepy resistance. And Jack would feel guilty about waking soft sleepy David up, if not for the earful Jack knew he would get from irritable conscious David if he didn’t.

“Dave,” Jack tries again. “Papes ain’t gonna sell themselves…” David’s expression scrunches into an endearing pout against the pillows at Jack’s words, signaling that David is at least awake enough to know that he shouldn’t still be in bed. It makes the guilt less when Jack takes the blanket firmly in hand and pulls it to David’s feet.

David immediately recoils into himself, skin prickling in the cool morning air. “Jack!” David complains.

“You’re awake,” Jack answers, insistent. “Come on. Get up.”

David huffs again, but compiles, eyes opening to fix Jack with a hard blue stare. Jack holds up his hands in surrender, but he’s unable to keep the smile from his eyes. David stretches, curling up into a sitting position and blinking the stubborn sleep from his eyes.

Jack is sitting on the edge of the bed now, bent over and tugging on the laces of his worn out boots. The curve of Jack’s neck and back make an almost effortless arc, as natural as anything else Jack does. A shaft of sunlight lands in Jack’s hair, turning it bronze and gold… David looks away quickly before he’s caught staring.

David’s gaze flickers to fix on the bed frame instead, his attention drawn by a twist of red fabric wrapped around the iron bars. Jack’s bandana. David’s reaching for it before his brain catches up to the action. He rubs the bandana between his fingers, it’s both ruff with dirt and sweat and worn soft by the friction of Jack’s neck. And David suddenly realizes that he doesn’t know how long Jack’s been wearing it for, or where he got it in the first place. All he knows is that it has been a fixture in Jack’s appearance since the day they met and doubtless since long before then. Such a thing as recognizable as Jack as the cowboy’s smile or the shape of his shoulders from behind... David twists the fabric around his fingers, scolding himself for the embarrassing urge to smell it as soon as it appears. David is definitely awake now.

“Are you staying for breakfast?” David asks, in an effort to change the direction of his thoughts.

Jack catches David’s eyes over his shoulder, finishing up his laces in a messy knot. “Sure, if your ma doesn’t mind.”

David rolls his eyes. As if. David doesn’t say anything though. If he starts up on the subject right now, he might not stop.

Jack stands from the bed, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves and going to stand by the window. He won’t venture out into the apartment until David does, it’s almost sweet how much Jack worries about what the Jacobs’ think of him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” David asks, holding up the red bandana in response to the confused wrinkle in Jack’s brow. David waves it like a flag, almost tauntingly.

Jack shakes his head in mock annoyance. “No, you’re right,” Jack agrees ruefully. “I did forget something.”

Jack comes forward to take the bandana from David’s hands. And then, in one swift motion, Jack has wrapped the bandana around David’s neck and used it to tug him into a kiss.

By the time Jack’s pulled away, David’s face is a shade that rivals the bandana, which has been deftly worked into a knot around David’s neck. Jack smirks at him in a way that does nothing to help the flush in David’s cheeks.

Jack’s eyes travel down to the bandana before landing back on David’s eyes. “Looks good on you,” Jack decides.

---

ao3: spilling_blood_and_stories

---

#david jacobs #jack kelly #javid newsies #javid #newsies 1992 #1992 newsies #1992sies #92sies #newsies #newsies fandom #newsies fanfic #my writing #i wrote this instead of sleeping #why am i only creative at ungodly hours?

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leading-manhattan · 27 days

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Dysfunctional || Modern AU

You can also read on Ao3!

David is dead on his feet. After a day of morning classes and the shift he picked up at the restaurant he feels like every spark of energy he had in him has been drained away. The only thing keeping him from sitting down in the stairwell of the apartment complex and passing out then and there is the promise of Jack waiting for him up on the second floor. There's nothing more satisfying than shoving his keys into the lock and pushing open the door. Unsurprisingly the lights around the flat are all on. It's not a big place by any means, they were two broke college kids lucky enough to find an affordable single bedroom near campus, but Jack often flipped on all the lights when he was working late into the night on a piece. In the center of their living room Jack's easel was set up with a medium-sized canvas nearly finished perched in its grip. Hence the lights.

David throws his keys on the counter, glancing around the space to see if Jack is in the room but quickly coming up short. He takes another look at the painting and furrows his brow. He recognizes the painting, splashes of navy and shades of purple that he couldn't name flowing together in a brilliant forest scene, it was the same commission Jack's been working on for the past week. The same commission that Jack's client was supposed to pick up tomorrow. It should've been finished by now so it'd be ready to collect by the evening after Jack wrapped up his classes.

"Jack, I'm home!" David calls just in case Jack didn't hear him come in from, he assumes, the bathroom. A soft grunt comes from the couch, the cushions blocked by the back facing the door, and a sense of dread starts to stir up in David's gut. "Jackie?" He murmurs much softer into the quiet air of the apartment, slipping his bag off his shoulder and hanging it off the back of one of their dining chairs as he makes his way towards their makeshift living room.

He's close enough now to see just who's on the couch and his chest constricts at the sight of his boyfriend. Jack is stretched out on his side, head propped up on one of the throw pillows, staring listlessly at his unfinished painting. He's still clad in the tank top and sweats he was in this morning when David left, streaks of paint scattered about his arms and clothes, and his eyes look so dead that for a moment David doesn't feel like he can breathe. He gently bats his anxiety aside and lowers himself slowly onto the armrest by Jack's feet. David swallows thickly, trying to think of the best way to approach this, but ultimately tries to take a casual approach.

"Is this the one you were working on when I left?" David asks softly, careful still not to break the fragile bubble that seemed to encase them. Jack offers another noncommittal grunt in response. David tries to push down the worry that flares cold and demanding in his chest. "I thought they were gonna pick this one up tomorrow, did they say they couldn't make it?" He presses tentatively.

Jack makes a choked sound deep in the back of his throat and David feels like his whole world collapses when Jack's lifeless expression cracks and tears quickly flood his eyes. Jack curls up, arms wrapping around his middle and legs pulling up to his chest, and David immediately jumps into action, leaping from his seat and immediately rushing to Jack's side. It's an awkward fumble lifting Jack up from the cushions high enough so that David can slip onto the couch but he manages and settles Jack lovingly against his chest. Soothing words spill from David's lips as he holds Jack tight, pressing soft kisses into his hair while Jack trembles violently with the force of his repressed emotions.

"I just couldn't do it," Jack gasps, arms uncoiling from his waist to latch desperately onto David's work shirt. He's sure there's a sauce stain on him somewhere but neither of them is in any mindset to care. "I was so prepared to finish it today, I was, but then I just sat down and suddenly it was like I couldn't get up and I-" Jack chokes on his words, a strained sob ripping from his throat.

David feels even more helpless than he did before, arms tightening around Jack while the other man tries pathetically to hold himself together. David's familiar with executive dysfunction, his anxiety has put him in very similar positions to Jack, but he also knows that there's nothing he can really do now to help. It was far too late for Jack to try and finish this painting for his client and Jack had classes tomorrow that he couldn't taint by pulling an all-nighter anyway.

"Hey, hey, hey," David says frantically into Jack's hair when he hears Jack's breath hitch. "It's okay, baby, it's alright. You can have an off day, that's okay." He promises warmly, nuzzling the top of Jack's head softly. He projects as much care and assurance into every movement, throwing himself into the act of holding Jack together.

Jack sniffs and shakes his head, burying his face into David's chest, "I gotta have this done by tomorrow. Ain't no way I'm gonna get this finished. They're gonna drop me and then I'm gonna 'ave a random paintin' I won't be able to sell." There's an undercurrent of anger and bitterness wrapped in Jack's sorrow and David hates how much self-loathing he can hear in Jack's voice. He slides a hand up Jack's back and runs his fingers soothingly through Jack's hair.

"How about this, huh? You're gonna tell the guy that you need a couple more days-" Jack looks up and opens his mouth to protest but David presses a swift kiss to his forehead to silence him. "And if the guy is a big enough asshole that he can't understand than I promise you so many people would love to get their hands on that painting. Jack it's gorgeous. No matter what you're gonna sell it." There's not a doubt in David's mind that if Jack were to list his painting somewhere it'd sell quickly. Jack was incredibly talented and even if he only did commissions sparingly there were plenty of people around the campus familiar and infatuated with his work. Jack's biggest critic was himself.

Jack lets out a watery laugh, offering David a shaky smile that nearly melts him with relief, "Just like that, huh?" Jack asks.

"Just like that." David promises easily. Jack swallows thickly, gaze drifting back to the unfinished painting that was taunting him a few feet away. "Hey, how about we turn off all these lights and order in? We can put on one of those musicals you like." David is determined to keep Jack's focus away from the easel that Jack's been lost staring at for who knows how long. If Jack sat down and just couldn't get himself back up David wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't eaten anything all day and that just wouldn't do.

Jack snorts, unclenching a hand from where it was fisted in David's shirt to wipe away the tears in his eyes, "Shuddup, Jacobs, don't act like you don't like 'em too."

David finally relaxes as the dread and worry start to uncoil. It makes room for the fondness and love that Jack imbues in him. "Yeah, they aren't so bad." He concedes agreeably. David didn't mind musicals but he'd be lying if he said that Jack singing along wasn't his favorite part.

"Can we get Chinese from that place over in Queens?" The tension is bleeding out of Jack's body and without it he melts against David's chest. He's quickly becoming a dead weight, perfectly pliable, and while this makes it a little harder to get up and turn off the lights David can't really say he minds.

"Of course we can." David nods easily, still carding his fingers through Jack's dark hair. Jack sniffles and turns his face into David's chest once again. The feeling of defeat and guilt isn't just going to leave but David's still glad to see that he's helping to make it more bearable.

"You're covered in sauce," Jack mumbles, a whiny note to his voice.

"You're covered in paint." David throws back.

A pause. "Touché."

#|| circulation gates #| davey |#| jackie |#jack kelly #david jacobs #livesies #newsies live #newsies #newsies fanfic #newsies fanfiction #newsies broadway #javey newsies #javey

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youaintnothinbuta · 9 months

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— jack kelly boyfriend hcs —

ೃ⁀➷ summary: just a bunch of cute boyfriendy hcs about jack !

pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

warnings: none

A/N: feel free to request a specific trope of hcs, maybe some nsfw ones next ?? Hope you enjoy <3

• He is incredibly gentle with you

• He needs to be making physical contact at. all. times. Even when he’s talking to someone else, his hand will still be on your shoulder or on the small of your back

• He’s always brushing your hair out of your face, usually followed by a caress of the jaw

• “Let everyone see that pretty face’a yours.”

• Gently rocks you whenever you’re curled up on his lap. It’s very subtle, but he always does it

• During cuddle sessions, he’ll usually hum or softly sing with his chin rested on the top of your head

• Consequently, you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his throat against your head (which you find oddly comforting)

• WHINES LIKE CRAZY when you tell him you don’t feel pretty and then spends the next 20 minutes RANTING about how you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, no matter how many times you try to take back your original claim

• Whines also when he doesn’t get morning cuddles for as long as he’d like (even if you are lying there squirming telling him how much you need to get up to pee)

• Seriously every second sound that comes out of his mouth is a whine

• He craves the smell your skin. Just loves to bury his face into the crook of your neck, which is what he would describe as the most comfortable place in all of New York

• Purposely ignores you when you’re tugging on the hem of his shirt or sleeve cuff for attention, because by doing so you’re giving him attention, which he loves

• He won’t let you walk though a crowd without holding his hand. Like he physically will not move until your hand is in his

• Did I mention he whines a lot? Cos you can’t tease him. Not even a little bit. He’ll just whine and trod after you like a desperate horny teenager

• He absolutely FOLDS whenever you fix his collar without him asking. The feeling of your fingertips lightly grazing the back of his neck sends chills through him

• When you say something and he doesn’t hear you, he pulls you in by the waist and turns his head by your face and says “say again, sweetheart”

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ill-say-anything-i-hafta · 2 months

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I wrote a Jack & Crutchie story for @loiteringandlurking re: his post about Jack who is an amputee.

One-Handed

In the circulation yard, Crutchie watches the new kid with the knotted-up shirt sleeve, watches how he holds the top of his bag open with his stump and then shoves the papes in one-handed. Crutchie knows that dance; he's got two good arms himself, but one of 'em's always occupied. It ain't as easy as it looks.

Kid says his name is Jack. He's straight from a factory job -- by way of the charity hospital on Hudson Street -- and can't hawk a headline for shit, but he can tie a bootlace real tight, a hard-won skill he's clearly proud of. First, he does up the dangling lace on Crutchie's bad foot. Then he tackles the other side for good measure. Double knots on both scuffed boots. And Crutchie lets him. For once, he don't care who sees him getting help because it makes the guy so happy.

Crutchie lets Jack follow him around, too. Teaches him the ropes. Why not?

::::

August in the crowded dormitory bedroom, hot and airless. Most of the boys have stripped to their undershirts, including Jack, sprawled out on his bottom bunk. Crutchie glances quickly away from the place where his right forearm abruptly ends, the scar still red and angry, and looks down at the sketch slowly developing. A nighttime scene in a desolate place, a wolf howling next to twin pine trees, mountains in the background, a crescent moon riding overhead. Jack scratches his pencil along the wolf's back. His neck flushes with frustration. He still ain't used to drawing with his left hand.

"Looks real good," Crutchie says quietly.

Jack spits out the rubber eraser he's been holding in his teeth. It lands on his pillow and Crutchie waits for him to say something mean. But he only uses the eraser to rub at some of the smudges. "Not every day you gets to see talent like this up close, huh?"

::::

Someone sends word that Jack's old man is doing poorly, so he stops by with a carton of cigarettes he bought. The place is a tenement on Mulberry, prostitutes coming and going. Jack insists that Crutchie wait on the stoop to protect their pile of newly bought evening Worlds. He's back in less than ten minutes, looking slightly out of breath.

"If he lives so close, how come you don't stay with him?"

"Well, I used to," Jack says, though that don't answer the question at all.

"He hit ya?"

"Nah, never." Jack seems to realize he's walking too fast and slows his pace. "Sorry. I think maybe ... I think seein' me makes him feel bad. So I just don't go by there too much."

Crutchie knows exactly what Jack means, and it makes him mad. He stops in the middle of the street to call the headline to an old woman in a kerchief. Jack waits, lighting a cigarette one-handed, while Crutchie juggles his crutch to make change. "You's still a kid," he says. "Your pops should be helpin' you out. If he ain't gonna do that, the least he could do is be proud of how good you is doin'."

"He don't need to be proud. I's just livin my life," Jack says. "Not everybody's gonna understand." He slings his good arm around Crutchie's shoulders. "But I got you."

::::

Ladies like Crutchie. They always have. They want to help him; they buy his papes and sometimes they gives him food and things. But it's girls that like Jack Kelly -- girls their same age.

And Jack seems to like them back, too. He'll pick someone out special to pass the time with, take her to the music halls -- he can sell a hundred twenty papes on a good day and always burns through his money -- draw pictures for her, tell her all about the Wild West. When the boys at Duane Street tease him, Jack tells them to shut up: this is the one.

Somehow, none of them girls ever is. But when it ends, Jack don't seem too heartbroken. Nothing bothers Jack, nothing Crutchie has ever seen.

Maybe he is the wolf in the picture. Maybe he is the moon.

Seems awfully lonesome.

::::

When Jack talks about New Mexico, Crutchie can't help but worry. He's been working to support himself ever since he was eight, but he's only ever done the kind of jobs people think a cripple can do. Who says anybody would hire guys like them them for farm labor?

Jack hooks his right arm over the top rung of the fire escape ladder and reaches his hand down to take the crutch. He says, "We'll just hafta show 'em, pal. We can find a way to do most anything we wants to. Can't we?" And he pulls Crutchie up behind him.

They stand together on top of the world. No mountains, no majestic pines. Just them and the buildings that crowd all around them, the landscape of the city where he was born. Life ain't fair; he's always knowed that. But in this moment, Crutchie thinks what Jack says might be true.

Because he ain't never felt sorry for Jack, not for a minute. Why would he? Maybe there is folks out there who won't feel sorry for him neither, who will see him for all that he is.

FIN.

#jack and crutchie are bros #why did i write this?#amputee jack kelly #disability solidarity #jack kelly #crutchie morris #newsies #livesies #newsies fanfic #jackcrutchie #tw ableist language #bonnie's newsies aus

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ya-what--ya-erster · 24 days

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Goodbye Don't Last Forever

Javey. Kind of funny ngl. Enjoy.

David Jacobs was eighteen and newly graduated when his girlfriend, Francis Sullivan, left for Santa Fe, leaving no goodbye and no way to contact her.

David went crazy when she left. He loved her and she left without a word to him. He made some stupid (but not too regrettable) decisions in the time after. Dyed his dirty blonde hair a dark shade of brown. Started wearing his glasses again. Went outside only when required (as in almost never). Stopped talking to many of his friends.

Only two of the habits died, and fortunately it was those last two. He found himself to be pretty fine within a few months of her being gone.

Six years later, David Jacobs was 24 years old and getting a new roommate.

"Hi, are you David?" A confident voice came from behind him.

He turned to face- woah he's hot- the person asking the question.

"Yeah, yes, that's me. David Jacobs. Hi."

The man smiled and held out a hand to shake.

"Jack Kelly."

Those eyes... that handshake. So familiar. But the familiarity was out of reach in David's mind.

So he stood up a little straighter, smiled back, and said, "Nice to meet you in person finally. I mean I trusted Albert enough to not find me a serial killer roommate but... I feel very assured now, haha..."

"I won't kill ya, Davey."

Davey...

"Good to know. Same here. Do you need help taking anything up?"

Jack shook his head. "All I's got is this." He nodded to a moderately sized suitcase that he was gripping.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't-"

"It's nothing, Dave. I just had to leave kinda quickly and didn't have much anyways."

"Well, uh. Let me uh... I guess, follow me?"

...

David was down bad for his roommate. And, down bad as in like, Taylor Swift "if I can't have him/I might just die it would make no difference."

Something about him, Jack, felt so familiar in all the most wonderful ways. His smile was a smile David felt like he had seen dozens of times.

David wanted to know why. He wanted to know why this boy felt so natural in the environment. Why he seemed to be the missing piece in David's life.

He was going to find out.

Not today though, he decided, when Jack entered the apartment looking like he was about to burst into tears.

"Hey, are you okay?" David asked slowly.

Jack nodded stiffly, putting his head down and throwing his bag and coat to the floor.

"Jack, you look sad."

"I'm fine."

"Jack."

"I ain't- you don't gotta be all in my business." Jack was heading to his tiny bedroom, so David grabbed his arm to stop him.

"You can tell me, you know?"

Jack leaned forward, hugging David, beginning to cry.

"Woah, hey. Hey, it's alright, let it out..." David wished Jack would hug him more often, and not while crying.

Jack continued to cry for maybe three minutes, David didn't know exactly. What David did know is that when Jack made eye contact with him, he looked like he had done something horrible.

"I ain't a real boy, Dave."

David's heart could have shattered just then, hearing Jack sound so broken.

"What do you mean, you aren't a real boy?"

"I wasn't- I'm not- I am a boy. I know and promise that I am but I just- wasn't born that way and I feel like a fraud and I get sad sometimes."

"That's okay to be sad, Jack. But you're a boy, I know you are. If you say you're a boy, you're a boy. No, how old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Okay, Jack Kelly, you are no boy, you're a freakin' man."

Jack smiled a little, wiping his eyes dry.

"Thank ya, Davey."

...

David was having none of this "stay up until 3 AM painting" bullshit.

"Jack Kelly, you will start going to bed at a decent time or so help me-"

"I'm fine, Dave!" Jack defended himself.

"You drank four coffees today and three energy drinks. I don't even know how you're still alive!"

"Fine, fine. I will be in bed no later than midnight."

"Is that the best I'm gonna get?"

"Yup."

David sighed, deciding to give in.

"At least show me what you've been working on into the ungodly hours of the night?"

"Maybe someday." Jack smiled mysteriously and disappeared once again into his room.

David was not staring at his fine ass as he retreated. He wasn't.

...

"Davey, do you got any food?"

David was regretting getting a roommate but also enjoyed having someone around. He didn't appreciate having to buy random shit every other week because Jack had a craving and pretty much no money. (He spent his money on rent and art supplies, which David didn't mind because his apartment was cheaper and Jack's art was amazing.)

"We have fruit snacks and spaghetti-o's if that qualifies as food. We might also have a banana."

Jack strolled into the kitchen area after David's previous statement and pulled out a packet of fruit snacks, a can of spaghetti-o's, and the blender.

"What the fuck are you doing?" David asked, shocked and amused all at once.

"I'm making me some dinner, you want some?"

"Jack, there is no way in Hell you are going to eat- drink spaghetti-o's and fruit snacks put through the blender. It's gonna be terrible."

"Actually, no it isn't. My old friend dared me to do it and it actually tastes good."

David had a brief memory flash through his mind.

"Francis! I dare you to put the two most different things you can think of in the blender and then drink it." Race shouted.

"Okay, I'll do it." Francis smiled that daredevil smile of hers and got started. Spaghetti-o's and fruit snacks.

When it was complete, Francis took a long drink.

"Wow. That's actually not terrible."

"Davey, you good?"

David nodded. "Sorry, just. You just reminded me of something."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Ex-girlfriend."

"Thought you said you're gay?"

"She kind of helped me out on discovering that."

"Well. That's nice of her. How so?"

"Uh. It's a long story."

"I bet I can handle it. Besides, I have an abomination to drink. I'll listen."

"Oh. Okay. Well. Basically, she decided she was going to Santa Fe and wasn't going to, you know, say goodbye to me or anyone. And I spent a long time angry and then realized I didn't really miss her romantically at all and just was pissed, and then me and my friend Albert accidentally fucked when we were drunk and I was like 'wow that's allowed?' and anyways uh Al and I aren't and weren't interested in each other at all, we were just drunk like I said, but then it all made sense why I wasn't like, sad over the 'love of my life' leaving because it was just a high school girlfriend and I'm not even into girls. So I'm not even mad at her anymore really I'm just gay and confused and I've talked a lot now sorry."

David looked up at Jack for a reaction. He was wearing this face... David could not name the emotion.

"What was her name?"

Huh. Weird question.

"Why?"

"Well, I was just wonderin' if maybe I met her, since I's come here from Santa Fe and all."

"Oh. Yeah, uh. Her name's Francis Sullivan."

"Have a picture?"

"Yeah, one sec." David scrolled through his phone's camera roll until he found her. "Here."

The picture made Jack frown, and David kind of would have done anything to make him smile again.

"You know her?" David asked.

"Yeah, uh. I knew her."

David's heart sped up.

"Really? Is she doing okay? Is she alright? Do you know where she lives, cause I might need to go-"

"Davey. Stop."

"What?"

"You can't exactly go visit her."

"Why not?"

Jack seemed to be looking inside himself instead of at David when he spoke.

"She was... the real depressed type, Dave. Always sad. She never smiled, I don't think. She was in a real bad state of mind."

"What're you-"

"She ain't alive no more."

Everything stopped in David's head.

"What?"

"I'm real sorry, Dave. She just ain't... But I'm here."

"What's that supposed to mean? 'You're here?'"

Jack hesitated before opening his mouth. "She didn't exactly... die the way you're thinking. She, uh. She just... more... changed? She ain't Francis anymore. She cut her hair and went on T and got top surgery and goes by a boy's name now, and he/him. So, uh, tellin' ya she died was probably not the brightest idea but that was an in-the-moment decision."

"Good for him. What does that have to do with you being here?"

Jack made absolute eye contact with David, wondering how he could be so fucking stupid, and held it. Held it as he crossed the room and held it up until the moment he pulled David into a hug.

"I'm sorry for leavin' you. I just had ta get away."

David jerked away from Jack in a quick movement.

"You? You're... You- I can't-" David's brain was moving too quickly and all he could think to do was punch Jack in the face as hard as humanly possible.

Which he did.

"Son of a bitch- Dave! I only told ya cause I thought you said ya weren't mad anymore!"

"Yeah, well. Now I am, asshole. You... You deep friend burnt-ass dino nugget dickhead. You absolute.... I can't even. How dare you? I fucking loved you, yes even if I'm gay now, and you, you just ran the fuck off and never bothered contacting me for six years. I would have understood if you needed to leave, needed to leave me, needed... whatever. I would have given you your space. I hate you."

Jack looked hurt. It made David feel good. All that pain he went through and it was being passed on.

"Davey-"

"David."

"Right, sorry. David. I'm really sorry. I don't- I never meant ta hurt you. To be honest, I thought you'd be glad if I left and never came back."

David felt less good.

"I just- I wanted to feel like I could be free. It didn't really... go as planned. Because I just realized I wanted to come back. Mostly for you."

David didn't stop to think. David just kissed Jack like he was hungry for it.

"I fucking hate you." He said, pulling away.

"No you don't."

"Don't test your luck."

A small moment of touching silence passed.

"So..." Jack started. "You slept with Al?"

"Now I actually do hate you. Get out, I'm calling him. Maybe he'll be nice to me."

"Davey... I love you. I always did."

"I'm... good to know. I can't- I'm still mad, bitch."

Jack just laughed, and he knew right then that it would all be fine.

A/N: hope y'all liked it :) It'll be on ao3 asap

#newsies #javey #fanfic #newsies fanfic #javey fanfic #I think its amazing #uhh has some cussing #but some bomb-ass insults #newsies live #trans Jack kelly

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saveugoodmadam · 4 months

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lost & found

🦭this is my personal take on @chimeofthecomet's selkie au, all credit for creating the au goes to pip! :3 word count is around 2.5k 🦭

"Got your pelt?” Davey asks as he and his brother walk back to their house, their path illuminated by softly glowing streetlamps. Les nods, patting his selling bag, then opens it to show a pelt of soft, thick fur with a few patches beginning to develop on the jet-black fluff. His name is inked on the skin, written in their mother's loopy handwriting.

“D’you have yours?” he asks Davey.

Davey opens his bag, expecting to see his familiar spotted pelt inside, but is met with just empty air instead. He stops dead in his tracks. His breathing is rapid, his hands clutching tight to the strap across his chest.

“Is it back at the lodge house?” Les asks, hoping that the effort of finding an answer will stop his big brother from panicking.His plan works. Davey’s hands slowly unclasp and his breathing regulates as he combs through the evening they've just spent with the newsies in his head. He remembers lounging on an old, saggy, threadbare sofa and listening to Jack talking about his newest backdrop. He remembers a short nap he'd taken, lulled to sleep by Jack's smooth voice before he'd been woken up by Race and Albert’s loud bickering. Only now does he remember how his bag was lighter when he'd stood up to confront them.

“Y- yeah, I think so. Somewhere on the couch. I- I-" No. He can't go back and get it now. They're too far away from the lodging house at this point, and they need to be back home for dinner.

“I’ll get it back next morning. I'll be fine without it for a night.”

But he knows he's lying. All through dinner there's a pull in his chest that he knows will only quiet itself once his pelt is back beside him.

“Are you alright, my little leanabh ròin?” Esther asks as he picks silently at his meal. “Is the food too much for your tongue today?”

He shakes his head. “No, Mama. It's very nice, thank you.”

“Whatever the matter is, bubbeleh,” Mayer reassures him with the sort of smile that Davey thinks only fathers can have, “you can always talk to us. We're your parents, are we not? We want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Yes, Papa. It's nothing really. I'll always seek your help if I need it, I promise,” he tells his father, making extra sure to eat everything on his plate.

His sleep is fraught that night and whenever he does drift off for a small burst of unconsciousness, the sea fills his dreams. Guilt seeps into his body, saturating him with the shame of losing the one thing a selkie must never lose. In an act of desperation he knocks on Sarah's door, weeping in relief when she lets him in and wraps the both of them in her own pelt. Perhaps because they are twins and therefore their sealskins are almost identical, the presence of her pelt against his body means the pulling feeling is calmed enough to let him finally drift off.

As early as he can the next morning, he brings Les down to the lodging house to retrieve his pelt and soothe the tugging in his bosom. It's Crutchie who opens the door when he knocks, the older boy's face souring at the sight of him.

“Hey, Les!” Crutchie says, then adds curtly, “Mornin’, David. Jack ain't here.”

“Oh, I'm not here for Jack today. I, uh, I left something here last night,” Davey explains. From the way Crutchie's acting, he's hit by the not unfamiliar feeling that he's really badly messed up but doesn't know how.

“You sure did. And I'll tell you what, we all know what you left.”

Davey freezes up, his hand clasping Les’ tighter. “You do?”

Crutchie nods, his mouth a thin line. “Mm-hmm. There's a seal Jack talked with, down by the harbour. He loved that animal. Wouldn't stop talkin’ about it every time he went down ‘n’ talked at it ‘n’ slipped it bits’a fish. An’ now suddenly you leave its skin behind in the lodge house.”

Suddenly, Davey feels sick to his stomach. Of course the newsies don't believe in selkies. They believe in poachers.

“Listen, I can explain. I promise, this is all a big misunderstanding!” he stammers. Crutchie's harsh eyes soften just a little.

“I sure hope it is, and I sure hope you can explain. But not to me. I don't need explanations. Jack's down at the harbour, with whatever the hell remains of that poor animal.” Crutchie looks like he's done speaking, then adds- “You broke my little brother's goddamn heart, David, and you're damn well gonna fix it up again.”

Davey nods meekly. “I will. I swear.”

He leaves Les at the lodge house and runs.

There are three things that Davey can trust his instincts to lead him to- the ocean, his pelt and Jack. There's a perfect harmony thrumming in his bones as his legs lead him to all three at once. He reaches the harbour as soon as he can- feet hammering against the ground, heart hammering against his chest. Jack is easily spotted from here; his crimson shirt sticks out like a sore thumb against the grey-blue of the water. Davey's heart sinks at the sight of the hunched-over figure at the end of the pier.

“Jack?” he questions softly, approaching the boy.

Jack turns around, his eyes wet and narrowed in outrage. Tear-tracks bleed through the dirt on his cheeks.

“How could you?” he splutters, the bite in his voice softened by grief.

The pelt is clutched to his chest, the fur wet in patches from being wept into. Davey's instincts are hot behind his ribs, urging him to snatch back his pelt and reclaim his second nature. Despite this, some other feeling that always swells in his chest when he's near Jack is weirdly comfortable seeing Jack's fingers against the sealskin, hugging such a crucial part of Davey so close to him.

“Jack, it's not- not what it looks like. I promise, I really-”

Davey starts to speak after a few moments of silence, but Jack quickly interrupts.

“Yknow, I'd never’a pinned you down as one to go around slaughterin’ innocent creatures. That seal hadn't done nothin’ wrong to you! He was… he was my friend…”

“I know. He's not gone. He's still your friend,” Davey tries to explain. Sitting cross-legged next to Jack, he takes back his pelt, feeling a blanket of relief settle over him as he cards his fingers through the fur, gently untangling small knots.

“How?” Jack asks. His tone begs for an answer more than it demands one. “You think I don't recognise the little fella’s skin when I see it? And out of all’a the seals in New York you could’a done this to, it had to be the one who meant the most to me? I'm so used to losing people, Davey. I'm so tired of it. You know that. I thought I could at least trust you not to be the reason I lost anyone else!”

It breaks Davey's heart to see Jack look so horribly betrayed. He’s never realised how much Jack trusts him until now, not really.

“Jack… the answer is- it's easiest to show you. You won't believe me if I use words.”

“Sure,” Jack hisses, his voice hollow and defensive.

In a single practised move, Davey wraps the pelt tight around himself and draws his head under the hood with his eyes shut tight. When he looks back up at Jack it is with the same big wet eyes he first looked at him with when he poked his head above the water on that rainy afternoon in late May.

“Dave?” Jack breathes, using the nickname he reserves only for special situations like this. It's a world away from the Jack who was there just a moment ago. His face is a mask of utter shock. “You was... that seal was... it's you."

Davey barks an affirmative. Jack's face buries in his hands, his shoulders heaving.

“Are you okay?” Davey asks, unwrapping himself from his pinniped form and rushing to console Jack. His answer is a nod as Jack lifts his head, his mouth open in silent laughter, tears of mirth forming in the corners of his eyes. Awkward as ever, Davey just sits there, unsure what to say but happy at least that Jack isn’t upset or angry.

“Oh my god!” Jack says once he's finally calmed down enough to speak. “That little honky bark…sorry, I shouldn't'a laughed, but it was so hilariously adorable.”

“It was?” Davey asks, confused.

“Yeah!” Jack chuckles, then groans slightly in embarrassment. “Oh god, I said so many things I regret now!”

“It's okay. You didn't know the seal was also me.”

“Fair, but, I mean- I did say some kinda embarrassing things in hindsight.”

Davey flashes a wicked grin. “What, like ‘hey there, water doggy’?’ ‘Want some fish, cutie patootie’? ‘Awww, stop lookin’ at me with those big ol’ wet eyes’?”

“Alright, okay!” Jack laughs. “Point well made, Mr Jacobs.”

Then he turns his puppy eyes on Davey, the ones that Davey hasn't learnt to say no to yet.

“Can we pleeeeaaaseee forget that ever happened now, Davey?”

“Fine,” Davey concedes. He doesn't add “you can still call me cutie patootie though”, but he wants to.

Instead, he adds, “If you're wondering, and I don't blame you, I'm a selkie. So long as I have my pelt with me, I can be a human or a seal depending on which is most appropriate at the time. Without my pelt, I'm just plain old David.”

“Hey, you ain't plain!” Jack interjects kindly.

He pauses.

“Sorry I- well, actually that me ‘n’ all the fellas jumped to conclusions.”

“Its fine.” Davey murmurs as he nuzzles the pelt against his cheek, inhaling the familiar scent. His chest-feeling thrills a little at the fact he can smell Jack on it too. “Not the most logical of conclusions, is it?”

Jack shakes his head and offers out his hand as a silent peace offering, which Davey gladly accepts. Their hands pull away slowly when it is over, fingers lingering for want of touch.

“What's the writin’ on it mean, then? The, uh, the word on the skin bit.”

Davey's gaze breaks away from the point in the middle of the sea he's been staring out at.

“Oh, you mean this?” he asks, pointing to his mother's writing.

“Yeah. That word. Dàibhidh,” Jack reads, lips forming around the word in the clunky way all non-speakers’ lips do. His brow furrows in concentration. He looks so desperate to get it right. Davey's lips quirk up in a small smile, finding the effort utterly charming.

“Dàibhidh,” Davey repeats, tracing a thumb over the letters. His tongue wraps around the word from his birthplace’s tongue like he's greeting a long-lost lover. “My name, in the language of where Mama and I were both born. So mine and Sarah's pelts don't get mixed up.”

“So it's a family kinda thing? Damn, I wonder if my folks used t’be selkies?” Jack muses, idly drawing swirls and stars on his arm with a piece of charcoal he's taken from his pocket.

“There's only one way to know that. Have you ever felt a longing for the sea so bad you couldn't do anything but follow your feet down to the beach and dive in?”

Davey trails his fingers wistfully in the water as he waits for Jack's reply. A warm laugh bubbles up from his best friend’s throat.

“Not for the sea, no. But I can tell what you mean.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Santa Fe.”

“Nope.”

He tilts his head in confusion as he turns to look at Jack, who has an old paper set on the planks of the pier and is drawing on it. Curious, he scoots over to see what the picture is of. It's him, just a moment ago, laid flat on his stomach with his arm dangling downwards from the pier. It's in that moment he realises that Jack hasn't drawn Santa Fe in a long while, and that most of the drawings that decorate the Penthouse are of him. In that moment he also realises how tenderly Jack's looking at him, how soft his smile is (oh, those dimples will be the death of him) and how, if he ever did have to give up the sea forever, Jack is the one person he'd do it for. Maybe that's what love is, then. Maybe that's the name of the feeling in his chest. Maybe it's the name of the feeling in Jack's chest too. Now that it's been named, the feeling swells and swells until it bursts and Davey knows.

For just a second, Davey hesitates before he passes the sealskin to Jack. Something suddenly has made him braver than he's ever been in his life; braver than on the swim to America with his pod, braver than the day his dad got into the accident, braver than he was during the strike.

“You know,” he tells him, trying to keep his voice steady, “when a human gives a selkie back their skin, it counts as marriage in our culture. Well, not marriage exactly, more like eternal commitment, but it's got the same level of cultural importance. It means we trust that person enough to let them have control over our future, and they respect us enough to let us choose. The stories always say you know who you'll give your pelt to when you find them. And I know, I know, Jack, that it's you.”

Jack's mouth opens in an ‘O’ of surprise, his eyebrows raising as he realises what Davey just said, what Davey just did. His fingers trace lines between the spots on the pelt, feeling its warmth, Davey's warmth.

“An’... an’ you want me to…”

“If you don't want to, that's okay,” Davey clarifies, a horrible nausea settling in his stomach at the thought he's misread this situation. Jack probably doesn't want this. Maybe he’ll hate Davey now and never talk to him again. Or he'll take off running with the pelt and Davey won't ever see him again and won't ever be able to come back to the sea again, no matter how much the yearning in his chest hurts him.

“You can just put it down and I'll pick it up and we can forget this ever happened. That's probably what you want, isn’t it? I'm sorry, I'm a fool, I should have asked, shouldn't have assumed. I’ll just- just go, should be getting back to selling-”

He stops as he feels soft fur against his hands. Jack's callused fingers brush against his soft ones. A gasp escapes his throat as his sea-glass green eyes meet Jack's driftwood-brown ones. Then he's enveloped in a hug, strong arms closing around him and giving the exact amount of pressure that he likes. This feels right, feels comfortable. His instincts are gladly adapting to the change, labelling Jack as husband, dearest, darling, mine.

“How the hell are we gonna explain this?” Jack asks with a fond smile.

“I don't know. But I don't doubt we'll find a way. You're an extraordinary man, Jack Kelly, you know that?”

“No less than you are, Davey Jacobs.”

#hitch writes what he knows #newsies #newsies fanfic #selkie au #davey jacobs #jack kelly #crutchie morris #les jacobs #:3 👍 pip thank you for this wonderful au gdushsja i love selkies so much

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