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collecting-stories · 11 months

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November 29 - Racetrack Higgins

Request: can I request a little racetrack or finch x fem!reader where she has press night for a broadway show they’re in (your choice!) and he is just admiring her, maybe with a little 62 and 80 from prompt list?

A/N: I decided to set this in 1899 instead of doing an AU so I changed the zipper line because zippers weren't used on clothing until 1925. The play is Ben Hur, which premiered on Broadway on November 29 1899 and was a massive success at the time.

Broadway Masterlist

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You didn’t want to admit it but you were terribly nervous. Katharine was there in the bustle of people and press who had the privilege of attending the show that evenings, a rather exclusive who’s who of New York City elite, and you felt out of place, even in your new dress. It was nicer than anything you’d ever worn before, the sort of thing meant to impress wealth and prestige and yet, it felt like it was suffocating you.

As your co-star answered questions about the play you stood beside him, listening but hardly able to pay attention. While Katherine’s presence was reassuring, it didn’t quite provide the calm feeling that you were looking for. What you really wanted, as silly as it may have sounded to these people, was to be back at the boarding house with everyone. With nobody to impress, or at least with people who didn’t need you all dolled up in fancy clothes that felt like they were suffocating you, flashy red shoes and rogue on your cheeks. You just wanted to be back sitting on the rooftop with Racetrack, trying to stay cool in the summer and listening to all the sounds that threatened to keep you awake.

Katherine called your name softly as she came up beside you, offering the sort of well-mannered greeting (a polite kiss to your left cheek and a reassuring hand on your wrist) that belonged in upper society circles. “Seems you have an admirer.” She teased and you finally looked away from all the stuffy jackets and skirts in the room.

“What?”

“Look,” she instructed, nodding her head back so that you looked just beyond her shoulder. Standing there near the exit, in nicer clothes than you knew him to own, was Racetrack. Jack was standing with him, grinning at all the people hobnobbing their way about the lobby. Racetrack was looking right at you though, nothing seemed able to distract him as he stood there, grin on his face, watching you receiving praise from all the wealthy theatre goers of New York City.

When he realized that Katherine had told you he was there, he waved and mouthed a silent ‘hello’ to him. You held your hand up just enough that he could tell you were waving back and then you pointed off to the side, nodding your head in the same direction just in case Racetrack didn’t get the message to meet you at the side door. He nodded.

“You think anyone would mind if I sneak off?” You chanced asking Katherine, “just for a moment?”

“I’ll cover for you, promise.” She replied.

You snuck off as quietly as possible, weaving through the crowd and then slipping through the double doors into the theatre. You walked the empty aisle down to the stage, through the back and to the side door where Racetrack stood, already inside.

“You were supposed to wait for me to let you in.”

“Picked the lock,” he shrugged, smiling at you. There was a deep blush across his freckled cheeks as he stared at you, “you look beautiful, prettier than those Gibson girls.”

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face as you moved closer to him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. You and Racetrack had been friends for as long as you had been living on the street and you had liked him just as long. You’d wasted money on dances before, gone along with friends who were looking for a more secure future than a newsie had the means to offer, but nothing had ever stuck. You loved Race and you knew you did and whether it was the way he was looking at you or the fact that all your nerves had been calmed at the sight of him or even just the knowledge that it was your name on the marquee outside tonight, you wanted to make sure that he knew how much you loved him.

“Wow,” Racetrack looked a little dumbstruck when you pulled away, a dopey smile on his face, “thanks.”

“Thanks?” You nearly laughed, “...your welcome?”

“No I didn’t mean...I just meant...aw hell,” he shook his head before leaning forward initiating another kiss.

You had a marquee with your name on it and hundreds of guests crowding into the theatre to see you but all that felt like second best to the feeling of kissing Racetrack. You felt like there were butterflies in your stomach as you leaned back against the dressing table that had been set up in the tiny closet of a room you’d been given backstage. Outside the closed door you could hear footsteps and voices, people bustling around now that the preshow cocktail hour was over. Soon you’d be expected, ready and in costume, to go onstage.

“Racetrack,” you pushed gently at his chest, “Racetrack, I have to get ready.”

He nodded his head in understanding, though he didn't look ready to let go of you just yet, "I know," he lamented. And then, leaning in again, "I know I've kissed you like ten times but just another ten please?"

Before you could protest, a knock on your door let you know that you were expected out on the side stage, ready for your entrance. "I have to go," you insisted, pulling away. This time he let you though you didn't get too far, turning your back to him and looking over your shoulder, "can you help me do up this dress? Since you've somehow managed to undo it."

Racetrack smiled, holding up his hands and wiggling his fingers, "nimble fingers," he replied. He did up your dress though, the brightest smile on his face the entire time. "Beautiful."

You could feel your face warm at his compliment. Racetrack always knew how to give your butterflies in your stomach. "Wait until I'm gone," you asked, checking your makeup in the mirror behind him, "I don't need anyone thinking I'm a charity girl."

"That'll be comical...after tonight you'll be the one giving me gifts for favors." Race teased, laughing when you swatted at him, "you think they got a name for that? A bloke who gets gifts from his girl, instead a the other way 'round?"

"I'll see you after the show," you promised, opening the door just enough that you could sneak out of your dressing room and blowing him a kiss that he caught and pressed to his heart.

#collecting stories imagine #racetrack x reader #racetrack imagine #racetrack higgins x reader #newsies imagine #newsies fanfiction #newsies fanfic #newsies oneshot

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miryum · 1 year

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A Roll of the Die (Spot Conlon x Reader)

New York was divided into levels. Levels that made up skyscrapers and classes of wealth. There were the rich people- the top tier of New York City. Then there were the people directly under them, middle class who were their assistants or worked away at the bank or as a maid and butler. There was also the lower class. The people who had two or three jobs, scavenging away for the smallest scrap of money. Maybe seamstresses, factory workers, or newsies. And then there was the lowest of all of New York. The street rats. The homeless. The scabbers.

Y/n hated the levels of New York. As she was on the bottom, her opinion would make sense. Y/n made a living as a scabber. She worked many small jobs- wherever she could find them. Most of the time, she sold newspapers alongside the newsies. She wasn’t officially a part of the newsie ranks, nor did she ever intend to join them, but it was a somewhat stable job that helped her maintain enough money for her and her family to eat, so in her book, it was a mighty fine job.

However, Y/n got wind of a strike that was stirring in the newsie ranks. Her scabber friends, Mark and Joseph told her that the newsies were upset at the raise in price and were deciding to do something about it. Apparently, the newsies had stopped Mark and Joseph from buying papes yesterday while Y/n was off sewing clothes with her sister.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Y/n groaned once she heard the news as the trio slowly made their way to the circulation centre. “You let them stop you from buying papes? What about your day's work? And now you’re telling me I should stop getting an honest day’s pay?”

“They’ll beat you up if you don’t.” Mark warned.

“Like they’d beat up a girl.” Y/n chuckled. She hopped down onto the street, a carriage barely missing her. Joseph pulled her back onto the sidewalk.

“I heard that they even got Spot Conlon on board,” Joseph gossiped.

“That little guy?” Y/n rolled her eyes. “What’s he gonna do to me?”

“You’re not scared of him?” Mark laughed incredulously.

“No.” Y/n shrugged. The three of them got to the gate of the circulation centre and as Mark and Joseph joined the growing ranks of newsies, Y/n nonchalantly stepped up to the counter.

“Hi Weisel.” Y/n grinned, “200 papes please?”

Weisel raised a brow. “Really? You of all people not joining the strike? Thought you scabbers would wanna change the laws.” He then turned and yelled, “200 papes for the girl!”

“Not so loud!” Y/n hissed, “the newsies can’t know I’m buying.”

“Looks like they already do.” Weisel smirked and nodded to the crowd around her.

Y/n sighed and reluctantly turned to face the throng. She was surrounded by angry and expectant newsies. Mark and Joseph looked worried from the back. Weisel slid the pack of papes towards her and gestured for his money. Y/n slammed her coins down and Weisel happily took them.

“What are you doin’?” The lead newsie asked. It didn’t sound like a question.

“Buying papes,” Y/n snorted a laugh. “Obviously.” Life on the streets had shown her to act indifferent until the first punch was thrown.

“Haven’t you heard about the strike?” Another newsie with a cigar hanging from his lips asked.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t buy papes,” another said. “We won’t allow it. For the strike to work, no one can sell papes.”

“Yeah, but some of us need to eat,” Y/n pointed out. She took her papers and started out the clump of newsies. They blocked her and Y/n stepped back into the middle of the circle. She squared her shoulders. Y/n didn’t like being surrounded. The odds weren’t in her favour and it made her feel trapped.

“You can’t sell papes!” The first newsie argued. He seemed to be their leader. “We’re in this together. I know you wanna get your money, but just cause we make pennies doesn’t give them the right to rub our noses in it. Are you gonna roll over and let Pulitzer pick your pocket? They need to respect your rights! All we ask for is a square deal. I told your buddies this yesterday, and Imma tell you this today: for the sake of every overworked kid in this whole city, I beg you. Throw down your papers and join the strike.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Real nice speech you got going on there. Worked on my friends.” She jerked a head towards Mark and Joseph. “But… it’s not gonna work on me. I need this. More than any of you. You know nothing of my life and how hard it’s been. I need to get my money. I need to feed my siblings. No one else will feed them except me. And without you lot on the streets, maybe I’ll actually be able to buy some food for myself. Ever think of that?”

Someone pushed through the crowd. A teenage boy stopped in front of her. He was maybe fifteen or sixteen with a cap pulled low over his dirty blond hair. His blue eyes pierced hers. “Listen… goil,” he finally decided on before continuing, “do you know who I am?”

“No.” Y/n deadpanned.

“Spot Conlon. King of Brooklyn.” The boy smirked.

“Am I supposed to be impressed by that?” The newsies all fell silent. No one had ever talked back to Spot Conlon before.

Spot huffed. “If you weren’t a goil, you’d be on the ground, bleeding after the soaking I gave you.”

“Then do it.” Y/n challenged. “I’ve been beaten up before.”

“Listen,” Spot ignored her comment, “I didn’t come all the way from Brooklyn for this strike just for some scabber to mess it up.”

“Sorry, Spot Conlon,” Y/n pushed him aside and the newsies gasped. “but I gotta go.”

“Did you just… push me?” Spot gaped.

“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Leave us,” Spot Conlon waved everyone away. His newsies pushed all the other boroughs away to leave Y/n and him alone. Y/n felt a stir of panic in her chest. What was about to happen?

“So,” Spot laid an arm around Y/n shoulders. She shrugged him off and replaced him with her papes. “Where do we start?”

“What?”

“I’ve never sold in ‘Hattan before. Where do you sell?” Spot asked.

“What are you doing?” Y/n squinted at him. “What’s your angle? Your tactic?”

“No tactic, doll, just wanna help you sell.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Where do you sell, doll?”

Y/n rolled her eyes at his insistence. “Fine. But the first sign that you’re manipulating me, I’m ditching you.”

“Fine by me.” Spot stayed at her side as she walked to her selling spot, seeming to take it all in. He seemed relaxed, hands in pockets and looking around casually. Y/n’s wariness of the boy hadn’t gone away, but after a while, she felt herself loosen up a bit and step into the newsie role.

Y/n had one of the best days selling. With no other newsies around, people flocked to her to get their hands on the news. Some asked her where the others were and Y/n replied with, “they’re on strike.”

If her customers had been poorer, they would’ve looked on with confusion and disdain, wondering and judging her for not joining her friends to try for a better life. However, her patrons were richer and simply complimented her on staying true to business and even tipped her extra.

At the end of the day, Y/n’s bag was brimming with coins, leaving her smiling proudly. This would certainly provide a couple meals for her family.

Y/n had expected Spot to try and disway her from selling, but he just found a bench to lounge on, watching her and the passerby’s intently.

“You’d make a good newsie,” he commented lightly after the day had passed.

“I’ll never be a newsie.” Y/n said hotly, as if taken personal offence. “I’m a scabber.”

“Do you ever do work in Brooklyn?” Spot asked, looking at her as they walked.

“Not usually.”

Spot hummed. “You should.”

“Why’s that?” This time, it was Y/n’s turn to look at him inquisitively.

“I’d get to see you more.” Spot smiled softly. A group of young men passed them and Spot instinctively took Y/n’s arm, guiding her carefully past them. Once they were gone, Spot’s demeanour eased up and offered Y/n his arm. Y/n shook her head and pushed him away.

“This is all a ploy to try and get me to join the strike,” Y/n said dismissively.

“How is me wanting to see you going to get you to join the strike?” Spot chuckled lightly.

Y/n was silent for a moment before replying, “I don’t know, but I know you’re smart enough that you have an endgame.”

“Aw!” Spot nudged her. “You think I’m smart.”

“Listen, bud.” Y/n rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about you. I know your true colours. I know not to trust you. I’m not joining the strike and I’m not working in Brooklyn. End of story. Goodbye.” Y/n then turned on her heel and walked up a set of stairs that led to her family’s apartment.

A week had passed when Y/n’s sister shared some interesting news with her. “Y/n, can you do me a favour?”

“Anything,” Y/n instantly replied, looking up from her mother- mandated sewing.

“Well, there’s a job opportunity that pays really well that’s been offered to me.” Her sister said hesitantly, a large smile growing over her face.

“Really?!” Y/n set her sewing down. “That’s great! When do you start?”

“Tomorrow. But, there’s a catch,” her sister sat down next to her. “It’s in Brooklyn and I would need you to walk me back and forth.” Y/n’s brows tightened and her sister quickly exclaimed, “But you could come back to ‘Hattan during the day to work and all I need is someone else to walk me so I stay safe! It’s really not that far away. With the pay increase, maybe I could catch a trolley some days? Or you could get a job in Brooklyn too.”

“I’m really happy for you and what this means for the family,” Y/n started, “so yes, I’ll walk you. But how did you get the job?”

“Well, see, that’s the odd part. A kid just came up to me one day and said that he knew someone who was looking for workers. He introduced me to the guy, and here we are!”

“Who was the kid?”

“Um, I think his name was Spot Connon? Or something?”

“Spot Conlon?”

“Yeah! That’s it! Do you know him?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

It seemed too big of a coincidence for Y/n as she marched next to her sister, walking her to work. And when Spot Conlon was seen selling papes on the next corner over, it felt too bad to be true. After she had ushered her sister inside to her new job, Y/n strode up to Spot and jabbed a finger in his chest, disrupting the few customers around him. “What the hell, Spot?!” She cried.

“Geez, Y/n,” Spot grinned. “Came all the way to Brooklyn just for me?”

“Why’d you get my sister that job? How dare we even talk to her! Stay away from me and my family and stop trying to get me to join the strike!”

“The strike’s over, doll.” Spot chuckled, waving his papes in her face. Y/n stood for a moment, processing his words. “Now, would you like to apologise for storming over here and disturbing my sales?” His words were coy and made her want to slap him.

“Just, come here!” Y/n growled, pulling him away from the customers.

“An impromptu make out session?” Spot teased, “I’m down.”

“Shut it, Conlon.” The girl turned to face him. “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.”

“Y/n, I think I’ve made it pretty clear,” Spot’s demeanour changed drastically. “I wanna be your friend. I like being around you. If you didn’t hate me, I might even ask you out. I should be asking you the question of why don’t you like me?”

Y/n bristled, startled by his confession. “Because,” she hesitated, “because you were trying to get me to join the newsies. All my life I’ve had to look out for me and my family. I’ve had to scrape along the bottom of the barrel just to survive. It doesn’t seem fair that instead of working hard and being unhappy and burnt out, you guys earn the same amount of money but you’re happy while doing it. You have friends. You’re loved.”

Spot tilted his head. “Doesn’t your family love you?”

“They’re too busy.” Y/n muttered, shaking her head. “Mom and dad work two jobs each just to pay rent so it falls on me to earn money for food and clothes. It’s not fair.”

“Nothing about life is fair.”

“Could you offer some sympathy instead of truth?” Y/n asked snarkily.

“Isn’t truth better than wool over your eyes?” Spot retorted easily.

After a moment, Y/n muttered, “how did you become so smart?”

Spot grinned. “I’ve always been smart, doll. You’ve just been too dumb to see it.”

“I have the same street smarts as you,” Y/n said. “It’s not my fault if I don’t have proper schooling.” Y/n’s hands balled into fists and she glared harshly at him. Spot noticed and gently took one of her hands in his. Y/n jumped back, but kept her hand in his. Her jaw tightened and Spot slowly reached up to cup her face, running his thumb over her tense jaw and then moving his hand up to her eyebrows, thumbing the space between them, making her relax.

“You’re right,” Spot whispered. “None of this is your fault. It’s a bad roll of the dice. But we can make the best outta it. We can make friends and family outta it. You can’t spend your life in misery, especially if you have people looking out for you.”

“Are you looking out for me?” Y/n was hesitant in asking her question.

“I thought I’d made that perfectly clear,” Spot said, cocking his head slightly. “Why else would I seek you out or try and help your family? It’s not everyday I see a pretty girl. I wanna hold onto her while I can.”

Y/n exhaled a laugh, looking away from Spot. He frowned and tilted her chin toward him, forcing her to meet his eye. “Why’re you laughing? Do you think you’re a joke?” He asked, “Do you think I’m joking about you being beautiful?”

“Spot,” Y/n gently pushed his hands away from her face. “I’m a scabber. I know daughters of CEO’s might be a little outta your league, but anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“But I don’t want just anyone,” Spot muttered. “I want you.”

The tension in the air held the words aloft. Did he really mean it? Slowly, waiting for Y/n to stop him, though she never did, Spot stepped closer to her. “Is this okay?”

Y/n nodded. She couldn’t trust her words. Before Spot’s lips could brush hers, Y/n wondered, “are you sure you want to?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, doll.” Spot smirked slightly. And then he kissed her.

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kellyscowboy · 10 months

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꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ OUTLAWS OF SANTA FE

ᯇ summary ! ✦ “You know what they say about cowboys who brag too loud about their women.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose. Jack gave a mock laugh. “Anyone in town would tell you I’m not queer. ‘Specially the ladies who pass through. Who do you think you are, anyway?” As the boy pushed his hat out of his face, he made direct eye-contact with the outlaw. "I think I'm the fella that can send the ‘famous’ Jack Kelly home crying to his mama." Jack was silent, stunned. His finger was still pressed into the man’s chest, but it had begun to shake. "What now, Cowboy? I'd tell you to take me down like you promised," Deadwood gave a slight shove to Jack’s shoulder, yet he found himself almost toppling over. "But you're too corned to even stand straight." aka the wild westsies au i've had in my drafts forever ᯇ tag list ! ✦ @bound-for-santa-fe ,, @fandomtrashcollector (taglist form is in my pinned post!!) ᯇ warnings ! ✦ cussing, alcohol consumption, violence, use of guns ᯇ vienna's thoughts ! ✦ here are the meanings of the wild west slang words in here:) paintin' his nose - to get drunk corned - drunk fogy - a stupid fellow dynamite - whiskey ANYWAY, i've had this in my drafts for forever and i just wanted to finally finish is so sorry that the ending is really rushed el oh el. also i recommend listening to Billy the Kid by Tex Ritter before reading!! as always, reblogs & comments are always appreciated <333 ALSO READ IT ON AO3 THE PLAYLIST 2883 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

WANTED Jack ‘Cowboy’ Kelly $1,000.000 REWARD Wanted for robbery, murder, and disruption of the public. Does not attack without motive. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

WANTED The Delancey Brothers $500.000 REWARD Oscar and Morris Delancey are wanted for robbery and attempted murder. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE Deadwood David $5,000.000 REWARD Wanted for robbery and murder, on a large scale. Does not attack without motive. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

A proud cowboy listened to the chatter of customers outside of Spots Shootin' Saddle Saloon. A cocky smirk played at his lips as he pushed through swinging doors. He heard gasps and the sound of multiple pistols being dragged from his holster. Then, the saloon went silent—save for the high-pitched squeak of wet glass being towel dried.

The bartender didn't even spare him a glance. "Well, well. If it ain’t the famous Jack Kelly."

“I could say the same to you, Spot. Lookit you, got yer own saloon and everything.”

One of the saloon boys perked up. "Jack!” The boy gave a half-hearted excuse to the men he was serving, he made up for his departure with a wink. He eagerly made his way behind the bar and began fixing the ex-cowboy a drink. "What brings you into town?"

Jack gratefully took the drink with a tip of his hat. “You’re a good man, Race.” He downed the drink before addressing the question before him. "Can't a lonely cowboy just visit his old friends?"

"Why, sure he could!” Racetrack grinned, already refilling his glass.

“That is, if that's what he was really doing." Spot added quickly. “Besides, can’t really be calling yourself a cowboy anymore. Not when a wanted poster names you an outlaw.”

“I can call myself whatever I please.” The cowboy realized it was a fight not worth fighting. He waved him off and dragged the newly poured whiskey closer. "Howd’ya know it was me?”

Spot laughed. "What, when you walked in? Yer the only fella I know who quiets my saloon like that.”

Racetrack leaned forward against the counter; his arm wrapped lovingly around Spot’s waist. He rested his head in his own hand, his elbow digging into marble, and gave Jack a pointed look. "Not anymore. Say, Jack; you heard of that David feller, yet? He paid us a visit couple’a days ago. Shoot, we didn’t hear much noise in here ‘till the next day!”

Jack's fingers squeezed his glass, before they relaxed and stretched. "Yeah, I've heard of him. Fill 'er up again, would'ya?"

Spot took the glass and kept his gaze on the outlaw whilst he poured the whiskey. He placed it in front of the boy with a thump, then glared at him through narrowed eyes. "What are you really here for, cowboy?"

"Just paintin’ my nose, Spot." Jack pushed away from the bar, drink in hand. He sat down with a boy who was lazily pulling at the strings of his guitar. “Tell me a story, Al."

The boy responded with a toothy grin, then tipped his hat up and out of his eyes. He slowly looked up and made eye contact with the outlaw. “Long time no see, Jackie." He plucked at his guitar more rhythmically than before. "What'cha wanna hear?"

"Why don’t you tell that one about ole Billy the Kid?”

"Only because you're an old friend." Albert chuckled. He took a deep breath before he put on his story-telling voice. His demeanor demanded the attention of those around him, and he always got it when he was performing. "Some folks do a lot of good in the world, that encourages us to do good. A few people start off on the wrong foot - their black deeds serve as a warning post to us. The song I'm gonna to sing for you now, fellers, is about a boy who sorta wandered off the straight and narrow trail, took up a crooked course. As usual with all outlaws, he paid with his life. His name,” a pause, “was Billy the Kid."

His singing was mesmerizing, just like his stories, and everyone in the saloon slowly began to sing along. Some of them absentmindedly hummed along as they gambled, and others gave the man their full attention. They swayed merrily back and forth with each other, their glasses raised to the gods as they hooted and hollered.

"I'll sing you a true song of Billy the Kid. I'll sing of the desperate deeds that he did. Out in New Mexico, long time ago, When a man's only chance was his own forty-four."

While everyone sang along, a boy slipped in through the doors, entirely unnoticed. He whispered to Spot and kept his head hung low. Had he made any noise, it had been covered up by obnoxious singing. The boy pushed a couple of coins across the counter before he slumped farther into his hat.

"When Billy the Kid was a very young lad, In old Silver City, he went to the bad. Way out in the West with a gun in his hand- At the age of twelve years, he killed his first man."

Racetrack wanted to tell Jack about the man at the bar, but Spot had instructed him to keep quiet. He had been told to loosen the outlaw up, and he did just that. Race kept a close eye on Jack’s drink and made sure he never reached the bottom of his glass.

"Fair Mexican maidens play guitars and sing A song about Billy, their boy bandit king. How ere his young man-hood had reached it's sad end, Had a notch on his pistol for twenty-one men."

To say the drinks had loosened him up would be an understatement. Jack pranced around the table—dragging Racetrack along with him—with his glass raised. The whiskey sloshed over the side and splashed his boots. He jumped atop the tables and managed to gain the attention of all the customers. It wasn’t long before everyone was shouting and throwing their drinks into the air.

"Twas on the same night, when poor Billy died, He said to his friends, 'I'm not satisfied, Twenty-one men I have put bullets through. Sheriff Pat Garrett must make twenty-two."

Jack tried to sing along, but his mouth had other plans. He rambled to Albert, who just smiled as he sang, about his recent affairs. “I could take down the sheriff!” He bragged. “No! I could take down big ol’ Deadwood David… with my eyes closed!” Al shook his head and his eyes flitted quickly to the man at the bar.

"Now this is how Billy the Kid met his fate. The bright moon was shining, the hour was late. Shot down by Pat Garrett, who once was his friend. The young outlaw's life had now come to its end."

“Don’t make promises ya can’t keep, Kelly.” Spot warned with a sigh. Racetrack cocked an eyebrow from his place next to Jack. He raised the pitcher in question, and moved away from the table when Spot shook his head. The cowboy waved off Spot’s warning as the bartender whispered lowly to his customer.

"There's many a man with a face fine and fair, Who starts out in life with a chance to be square. But just like poor Billy, he wanders astray And loses his life in the very same way."

Everyone cheered in unison for the song; although, some might’ve been cheering for their gambling wins. Albert smiled and tipped his hat before he went back to strumming mindlessly at his guitar. A small grin made its way onto his face as Jack drunkenly droned on.

"D’ya hear Spot? Talkin’ bout promises I can't keep!" He scoffed; a drunk burp made its way up his throat. "I mean- Listen, I've got way more kills under my belt than Billy the Kid had got." Jack took a sip of his glass. Race had been filling it with coffee, but he was much too drunk to notice. “He would’ve never died if he was as experienced as me. Besides, this Deadwood guy’s a total poser. I betcha I could take him on with my-” He looked confused for a second. “With my- my eyes closed!”

“So you’ve said.” Albert shook his head and chuckled. "Anyhow… the song ain’t a challenge, Cowboy. It's a warning. Don’t mess with something that ain’t botherin’ you.”

"You’re starting to sound like my Papaw, Al.” Jack bumped Albert’s shoulder with his cup. “He don’t look good on you. Oh! You know who looked good on me, though? Them gals over in Tombstone.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!" He slurred. "I mean, practically a different girl each night. Gorgeous women too. Unlike any lady out in these parts."

An obnoxious scoff came from the boy at the bar. He circled his finger around the rim of his glass as he spoke, his head still down. “I sure ain’t heard any Tombstone ladies bragging on about pirooting with a Jack Kelly.”

All conversation ceased at the boy’s words. The notes on Albert’s guitar suddenly became more dramatic, and Jack would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so offended. Spot let out an exasperated sigh, but the rest of the customers were visibly tense. Every man had a hand on his gun, waiting for a showdown.

Jack turned and stared the boy down. "Maybe you ain't talked to the right ladies.”

"Maybe you just ain’t worth bragging about.” The boy took a sip of his drink. Racetrack let out a short giggle, then nervously ducked under the counter to make a drink that nobody had asked for. “Or, maybe, you ain’t really been with as many ladies as you claim.”

Disgruntled, Jack got up and made his way to the bar. The boy laughed as the outlaw tripped a little over his own feet. Jack grabbed the man by a shoulder and forced him to spin in his chair. He shoved a mean finger into the man’s chest. The man at the bar snickered, his face still covered by his hat.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Huh?”

“You know what they say about cowboys who brag too loud about their women.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose.

Jack gave a mock laugh. “Anyone in town would tell you I’m not queer. ‘Specially the ladies who pass through. Who do you think you are, anyway?”

As the boy pushed his hat out of his face, he made direct eye-contact with the outlaw. "I think I'm the fella that can send the ‘famous’ Jack Kelly home crying to his mama." Jack was silent, stunned. His finger was still pressed into the man’s chest, but it had begun to shake. "What now, Cowboy? I'd tell you to take me down like you promised," Deadwood gave a slight shove to Jack’s shoulder, yet he found himself almost toppling over. "But you're too corned to even stand straight."

Spot cleared his throat. “I won’t have you dunderheads havin’ a showdown in my saloon. Be respectable, boys.”

“There wasn’t gonna be no showdown, anyhow. This feller’s too drunk to do anything. He couldn’t shoot at me even if he had his pistol to my head.” Deadwood flicked a coin to Spot. “Thanks for the dynamite, Spot.” And with that, he proudly walked out of the saloon.

Jack watched the man leave and stood tall with fake pride. After the man was gone, he made a drunken attempt to sit down but instead accepted his place on the floor. Racetrack sighed and raised the outlaw by his armpits before sitting him on a barstool. Spot scoffed as he handed the outlaw a glass of water. “I told you not to make promises you can’t keep, you stubborn ole fogy.”

"I'm fixin' to keep that promise. But right now,” He started to gag, “I think I'm gonna be sick."

“Steady, Izar.” Jack mumbled. “Ain’t too far from here.” His horse neighed, almost as if she was responding to him. She even sighed as he stumbled into her. Jack could almost hear her complain about his recklessness. “I ain’t that drunk, Izar. Honest.”

He led her into the stable behind the Conlon home. “Spot was kind ‘nough to give us a nice little place to stay in for the night.” Jack looked around the stable and flinched at the smell of manure. “Well, he offered to let me stay in the house. But ya know I can’t leave you, mama.”

“Second I heard about you, Jack Kelly, I knew you were insane.” A voice muttered from the corner. “But I never would’a figured you was the type of insane to talk to yourself.”

Jack groaned. “Fuckin’ Spot. He knew you’d be here. Ain’t that right, Deadwood?”

“Yup.”

A tense silence fell over them, but Jack was far too tired (and drunk) to start a fight. He began to take off Izar’s saddle. “I wasn’t talkin’ to myself. I was talking to Izar.” He explained and gestured to his horse. Though, as Deadwood laughed, he realized that wasn’t a much better excuse. “Listen, I don’t feel the need to explain myself to you.”

“Yet here you are. Doing it.” Deadwood snorted as he pulled his hat further over his face. The hay he was laying in enveloped him as he snuggled deeper into it. “Now, I promise not to kill ya if ya promise to shut up.”

Jack grunted in agreement. His intuition screamed at him not to let his guard down, but Izar had already nestled herself into the hay. At that moment, he figured his awful gut feeling was just the whiskey from earlier. Besides, Izar had a good judge of character, most of the time. She curled around Jack as he rested against her, and the two slowly drifted off to sleep, just inches away from one of the deadliest men in the country.

Yelling voices and the sound of cracked wood startled Jack awake. Once he came to his senses, he realized that Izar was no longer behind him. Panic filled his chest and he scrambled to his feet. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he began to barely make out what was happening in the shadows.

Deadwood had a lanky boy pinned beneath him, his pistol to the person’s head. Another boy laid up against the wall of the barn; he was surrounded by splinters and his own blood. His head lolled against his shoulder, the blood from his nose pooled on his leather vest. The boy had a gun in his hand, the safety off and his hand on the trigger.

David lifted the boy underneath him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. “I knew you were pathetic, Morris. But going so low as to kill a man in his sleep? We may be outlaws, but we have some sense of morality.” His hand in the Delancey brothers’ shirt tightened as he pushed the boy farther into the wall; Jack could hear the wood cracking beneath him. “And you don’t kill a man’s horse. Not unless you’re too much of a pussy to kill the owner.” Then, he dropped the man to the floor and spit at him.

Morris used a dramatic hand to wipe off his face before he scrambled to his feet. His hands shook as he moved to grab his pistol. “You place a single finger on that gun, and I will break every single one of your fingers-” Deadwood growled and grabbed the boy’s wrist. “One. By. One.”

After he let go of Morris’ wrist, the boy tripped over himself as he picked up his brother. Oscar barely seemed alive; his only sign of life had been the elongated groan he let out as Morris lifted him. David stopped the two before they could hurry out the door. “You two better never point a pistol at my Cowboy or his horse ever again. Next time, you don’t get a warning. I’ll line you two up and watch the bullets go straight through both of you.”

The two hesitantly nodded (Oscar moved his head down, and that was enough for David). Morris dragged his brother out the door, and it wasn’t long before the sound of galloping hoofs grew quieter and quieter.

“What the hell was that about?” Jack demanded. Deadwood rolled his eyes and led Izar out from behind his own horse.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Cowboy. Go back to sleep.”

“You’re losin’ it if you think I’m gonna let this shit go,” Jack argued as he moved to pet Izar’s neck. “They got you riled up enough to call me your cowboy.” He scoffed. “And you called me queer.”

David cocked his pistol in retaliation. “I defended you while you’s was asleep, but I’m not against shooting a man who’s awake.”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry, Deadwood. I won’t tell no-one ‘bout this. It wouldn’t be good for my reputation, anyhow. Cowboy don’t need no-one to save him.” He closed his eyes, an amused grin on his lips, and went back to resting against Izar.

The infamous outlaw stared at him, before he broke into laughter. “Spot was right. You are a stubborn ole fogy.”

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frogmanfae · 9 months

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Race: you like Davey

Jack: yeah of course he's a great guy

Race: no

Race: you LIKE Davey

Race: like you're full on in love with the guy

Jack: what? No! I was in love with Katherine like a year ago

Race: so?

Jack: SO I can't like dudes, I like girls

Race: you're obviously bisexual

Jack: what?

Race: bisexual. You like both?

Jack: holy shit I can do that?? Thats an option???

Race: duh? You didn't know that was possible??

Jack: no????

Race: where the hell have you been your whole life??

Jack: uh, the closet apparently.

#this was a big build up for a very mediocre punch line #i still think it's funny #newsies #david jacobs #newsies uk #92sies #uksies #newsies 1992 #davey jacobs #livesies #newsies live #jack kelly #racetrack higgens #incorrect quotes #i originally wrote this for a stranger things oneshot #surprise surprise steve was jack and robin was race #it was funny #i think so anyway

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ethereal-bumble-bee · 6 months

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Some Sort of Peace- Racetrack Higgins

(No trigger warnings)

Summary- Davey’s the Manhattan newsies’ leader now, but that doesn’t mean that Race still isn’t second-in-command- and it doesn’t mean that there isn’t still problems to solve.

************************************************************************ “What do you want?” Davey snapped from his place at the door, and Race swallowed any nervousness as he looked sheepishly at him.

“Heya, Dave,” he greeted the taller newsie, doffing his cap and offering Davey a grin that was not returned. “So, I was just thinkin’, and I got an idea for a solution to the whole situation with Brooklyn.”

“Make it quick.” Davey glared somewhere over Race’s shoulder, in a direction that Race knew well enough to be facing the Brooklyn Bridge. Ever since Jack had taken off to Santa Fe and Davey had taken control of Manhattan, tensions with Spot Conlon and his boys were rising endlessly- Jack’s charisma had been a bigger asset than any of them had known at the time, and with him gone, they had nothing to keep Brooklyn placated other than compromises, which were adding up by the ton.

“Well, since a lot of the problems are with Brookies sellin’ on our turf, maybe we could station some newsies near the bridge?” Race watched Davey’s face for any sign of further agitation, any note that he should back off and come back later, but the other’s face remained stone cold. “If we set definite rules for where Conlon’s boys can go, he won’t try and push the boundaries any further back.”

“How do you know this’ll work?” Now, Davey seemed interested. Race almost heaved a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t be facing the wrath of their new leader, who’d changed so much from the meek and polite boy the newsies had first met that it was uncanny, especially how fast he’d been to take over when Jack left. It’s like remarryin’ while your wife ain’t even cold, Race mused silently.

Clearing his throat and twirling his cigar in his fingers, Race continued. “I’ve been hangin’ around Brooklyn a lot- had a lot of conversations with Spot, y’know- and I’ve notice that for all their toughness, the last thing Conlon wants is a fight.” His lips turned up in a smile. “If we play nice for a while, give ‘im a soft reminder that Manhattan ain’t his turf, he’ll back off.”

Davey’s hand toyed almost nervously with the seam on his sleeve, picking at the worn thread. “Go see if Specs’ll deliver the message,” he commanded, and Race resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Not even a thank-you?

“Sure thing, boss.” As Race turned to leave, he felt some sort of shift in the air behind him. Turning to look one last time, he saw Davey looking at him- were his eyes that misty before?

“You’re doing great, Racer,” Davey smiled softly, a complete one-eighty from the angry expression he always wore. “I know that it’s been hard without Jack here, but… you’re doing just fine.”

Race grinned back. “Thanks, boss.” Before he shut the door, he called back, “You’s not doin’ too bad yourself.”

And with that, he swept out of the room, off to try and organize some sort of peace with Brooklyn- with a plan in his head and a friendly feeling in his heart.

#newsies #oneshot #racetrack higgins #davey jacobs #david jacobs #broadway #writing #fanfiction #here’s a little something I wrote

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jack-kellys · 9 months

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knots, tangles, and other ties that bind us

[an accidental exploration of friends versus family, friends and family, and friends as family.]

Too much has been left unsaid weeks after the strike, and Finch won't stand for it any longer. Not when Jack left his whole family alone to scramble to pick up the pieces- and each other.

for @whistlingstarlight !! i hope you enjoy it, i really loved writing this. read it here on ao3!

#i LOVED writing for finch so much this was so hype!!!#i hope i included everyone in a way ur happy with!!!#i’ve been thinking abt this concept in my little uksies analysis posts and i finally got to write it out <3 big win for rizz nation #newsies fanfic #newsies fic exchange #finch cortes #jack kelly #crutchie morris #elmer newsies #romeo newsies #racetrack higgins #newsies #newsies uk #uksies #fizz writes #fizz freaks #this is. a 5k oneshot. i love fic exchanges sm

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heliads · 2 years

Note

Hi friend! I love your writing and I was wondering if you were taking requests could you write a racetrack x reader oneshot where they’re not that close but they have both been secretly crushing on each other, and they finally admit it to each other after they have to do a project together? You can take it from there!

this is me, taking it from there

masterlist

There is no better gossip in Manhattan than the stuff Katherine Pulitzer brings to the table. Talking to her, you understand why no one in this godless city is able to turn her down for an interview, why no piece of information is ever far from her reach. She has ways of sinking her claws in you, pulling and tugging until you end up telling her your entire life story.

All this, and she’s still the best friend you could ever ask for. Katherine’s been busy as of late, the thrills of having a full time job that she loves, but you still make time for her whenever you can. Right now, the two of you are cloistered in a corner of the Manhattan newsies’ Lodging House, watching the sun sink beneath the horizon through a few cracked windows and keeping each other up to date on everything that’s happened since your last get together.

Katherine has her legs propped up on a table nearby, arms crossed as she surveys the scene. You swear she grows less and less ladylike every time she visits, although that’s surely due to no small share of influence on your part. You’re a wreck already, and you’re determined to drag her down with you. She loves it, you know that.

Jack Kelly has already joked a thousand times that the two of you could take over the whole of New York City if given three days and some cool weather, and you have no doubt that it’s true. That’s the best part of a good friend, you think, there’s nobody here who knows all the ways your brain clicks and whirs except Katherine.

Well, she doesn’t know one point of interest. See, Katherine is convinced that you’ve got a crush on somebody here, that surely you’ve set your heart on at least one of the newsboys. She’s trying to figure out who that potential suitor could be. Unfortunately, given her successful track record when it comes to figuring out stories, you’re fairly sure that she’s going to solve this problem soon enough.

You try to distract her anyway, on the off chance that it might work. “I don’t know why you’re so set on this whole idea. Why would I like anybody here?”

Katherine scoffs, eyes roving the packed Lodging House. “You, Y/N, live in a house full of cute boys who all but worship the ground on which you walk. There’s no way you don’t have a crush on at least one of them.”

You arch a brow. “That seems fake.”

Katherine gestures vaguely at herself. “It worked for me, didn’t it? Once upon a time, I was just like you. Stubborn, hardworking–”

You cut her off with a grin. “Utterly devoted to herself and not other newsboys?”

Katherine holds up a finger in agreement. “See, I thought that at first too, but look at me now. I found Jack and I’ve never looked back.”

You chuckle. “Just because you accidentally fell in love with the most infuriating boy you’d ever met doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same thing. What caused that, anyway? You two bantered one too many times and suddenly you thought he was your sun and stars? That sort of thing is totally absurd. Why would enemies ever fall in love?”

Katherine casts you a knowing look. “You’d be surprised, trust me. Besides, you’re missing one important fact: he was cute. Also, he has a heart bigger than this entire city. I didn’t realize that at first. Now, who’s your crush? I know there has to be one.”

You sigh. “Good luck on that front. I don’t like a single one of these boys like that.”

Katherine’s eyes spark. “Not even Race?”

You freeze, and although you force yourself to breathe normally as soon as you can, even your half second delay doesn’t go unnoticed. Damn Katherine and her eagle eyes.

“What? Race, what about him?” You say, doing your best to remain as innocent as possible.

It’s too late, though. Katherine knows. “Goodness, it is him, isn’t it? I knew it.”

Your eyes widen. “No you didn’t. You’re just lucky that you tossed out that name first.”

Katherine laughs. “I’ve known for weeks. You stare at him so much you’d think the boy was a priceless headline. It’s kind of cute.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks. “I’m glad you’re having a good time with this. Look, I don’t feel the same way about Race as you did about Jack. I’ve talked to Race maybe once since I started being a newsie. I just think he’s good looking, that’s all. The feeling will fade in another week.”

Katherine steeples her fingers together. “I’m willing to bet otherwise. All you need to do is get close to him. Just talk to the guy, okay? I swear it’ll be different then. You’ll be irrevocably in love.”

She clasps her hands to her chest in mock theatrics, and you shove her in the shoulder, making the other girl laugh. “Alright, alright, Juliet, you can cool it. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Katherine’s grin, though, is a little too knowing. It sets your suspicions racing. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” she says, and you can’t help but wonder what your friend’s got in mind.

It would be great if Katherine weren’t half so cunning, or half so connected to the leader of the Manhattan newsies. When a week comes and goes and suddenly Jack starts talking about how he wants everyone to settle into partners for selling papes, you smell a bad deal. Katherine’s got her hands in this, you can tell.

Your fears are confirmed when Jack calls for you and Race to work together. Supposedly, the ships coming in and out of a nearby harbor have changed, leading to a sudden influx of potential customers around the city blocks. Jack wants the two of you to work together to make sure you can handle all of the new arrivals.

Although the explanation makes sense, it’s a strange partnership. This seems like an important opportunity, right? Jack is only having two people work together because he wants to make sure not a single visitor goes throughout their day without having been sold a paper or ten. Why, then, would he have you and Race be partners, especially when the two of you have never worked together before? You’re untested in the face of a grand opportunity. It makes no sense.

Or, it would make no sense, were it not for the fact that Katherine surely set you up. You don’t get a chance to see your friend for another couple of days due to some major deadlines on her end, so you won’t be able to confront her about this for a while. The only option you have, then, is to weather this storm and stay so close to your crush until this whole thing blows over.

Race is only half as surprised about this as you are. He whistles as the two of you walk over to the streets near the harbor, occasionally breaking up his melody to point out interesting things the two of you pass. He keeps glancing at you as if he expects you to take off running and abandon him for another friend, but when you don’t, his nerves seem to settle.

You were expecting this whole affair to be stilted and awkward, featuring you tripping over your own words as you try to act normally. You’re not used to being this close to Race; usually, he’s just out of reach, across the room or down a street. He’s a painting to you, a portrait of brilliance that has never been yours, not even to name or touch.

All of a sudden, he’s now feet away, within arm’s reach and looking at you for casual conversation. You didn’t realize his eyes would be this blue up close, nor that his smiles would come so easily for something you said. It’s almost unsettling to be so near him. Usually, you can hide your longing looks through distance, but here, you’re on display.

Race can tell whenever you’re staring at him because he has nowhere else to look but at you. He certainly takes advantage of it, too– every time you’re unable to keep your eyes from straying to him a second longer, more often than not he’s already turned towards you. The two of you engage in the same immediate shift away, both of you pretending you weren’t looking at each other, but you repeat the same process soon enough. Away and back again, away and back.

Halfway through the third day, Race says something quietly to you under the guise of rearranging the papers in his bag. “I’m glad Jack put us together.”

You glance up at him in surprise, although for once the boy refuses to meet your eyes. Apparently his papers require a serious amount of attention, because he can’t seem to drag his gaze away from them.

“What?” You ask, not sure if he was even talking to you.

Race’s face flushes a little, but he keeps going anyway. “For this assignment, I mean. We haven’t really spoken before this, and I didn’t know you all too well, but I feel like I know you now. I’m glad we got the chance to talk more often, I mean.”

You smile, and a moment later, Race looks up at last and smiles as well. “I’m glad he had us work together too. I’ve liked getting to know you.”

Race’s face brightens at that. “See, I felt the same way. Always knew you were cool, right? I just never got the chance to check it out for myself.”

You laugh. “We’ve been in the same house and in the same job for years. You’ve had plenty of chances.”

Race playfully shoves you with a free hand. “Rude. You could have done the same thing, you know. I’m not the only one with the ability to speak.”

“Ah, but I thought I’d give you the chance to be a gentleman,” you say, “I wanted to be nice.”

Race scoffs. “Oh, because all of us newsies are nothing but gentlemen. I know I’m incredibly handsome and all that, but I’se never claimed to have manners.”

You grin. “Does that save me from having to be a proper lady? It’s never fit me half as well as Katherine, I can admit that.”

Race frowns. “Of course it does. You know, every now and then I see the two of you walking together and I’m never sure if you’re one of her rich friends or not. Trust me, you’se as ladylike as they come.”

Your brow furrows. “I didn’t realize you saw us. Or paid enough attention to notice us, for that matter. Hell, before Jack put us together I didn’t think you even knew my name.”

Race’s eyes widen. “Why wouldn’t I know you? Y/N, sweetheart, I’m hurt. If I’d known you thought that little of me, I’d have introduced myself a lot earlier.”

You laugh. “You’re calling me ‘sweetheart’ now? You really are taking this gentleman thing to heart, I can see that now. I’m sorry to have ruined your image. Consider me proven wrong. You did pay attention to me.”

The corners of Race’s lips twitch up into a smile despite his best attempts to silence it. “All the time, sweetheart. Far more often than you thought, believe me.”

He glances again once he says it, and you realize that Race might have been keeping a more careful eye on you than you thought. It makes you smile.

“You wouldn’t be the only one looking,” you say carefully, “I saw you too. Just didn’t think you were seeing me.”

The two of you have been walking down the block, but Race stops all of a sudden, looking you straight on with an intensity you haven’t ever seen on him before.

“I saw you all the time,” he whispers, eyes a deeper blue than ever, “I still do. I don’t think I see anybody but you.”

Your breath catches in your chest. You’ve pictured this moment, or something like it, dozens of times in your head, but those were only fantasies. This, though, this is real, and suddenly you don’t know what to say. All of your imagined responses suddenly bleed dry.

Race’s gaze flicks to your lips, and suddenly you know the perfect answer. With the last bit of your courage dancing like sparks around your eyes, you lean forward and kiss him. You’re close enough that you can feel Race startle when you do, but then he’s kissing you back with enough force that it’s your turn to be surprised. How long has he been wanting this? Perhaps just as long as you.

When the two of you break away, Race’s forehead is tilted against yours, his breath soft on your cheeks. “That was certainly something, sweetheart. I’m beginning to think that I should have asked us to be selling partners a long time ago.”

You laugh quietly. “We still have plenty of time.”

And so you do. Today seems endless, next week a blessed eternity. You have all the time in the world to explore this love, and in the meantime, you need to set up an appointment with your best friend. You certainly have a good story to tell.

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie

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zoeyslament · 11 months

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LGBTQ+ Newsies Headcanons

Jack—He/Him, cis, bisexual, dating Davey

Davey—He/They, AMAB demiboy, gay, demisexual, dating Jack

Katherine—She/They, AFAB demigirl, bisexual, dating Sarah

Sarah—She/Her, cis, lesbian asexual, dating Katherine

Race—He/They, trans ftm, pansexual, dating Spot

Spot—He/Him, cis male, bisexual, aroflux, dating Race

Crutchie—they/them, non-binary, aro-ace, not dating

Elmer—they/he/it, genderfaun, panromantic ace, dating Albert

Albert—they/he, transmasc, gay, dating Elmer

I WILL DO A PART 2 IF WANTED!

#newsies #jack kelly #au #davey jacobs #headcanon #david jacobs #headcanons #oneshot #livesies #ships #albert dasilva #Elmer newsies #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #katherine plumber #sarah jacobs #crutchie

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hotguycomiczine · 3 months

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Week 2 Statistics!

This just in, live from the racetrack! Artists continue to take the lead with a significant gap but — what’s this?! The editors are on the board! Right ahead of them are the writers but it’s anybody’s game with two weeks left on the clock!

Are you interested in being a page illustrator? A comic artist or writer? Even an editor or oneshot writer! Submit your application! There's plenty of roles to go around!

APPLY HERE!

🎨 ARTIST: Apply with this form → https://forms.gle/3UG5rSDHWwmj2FSu7

📰 WRITER: Apply with this form → https://forms.gle/yCswxemr5doAFiMT8

🖊️ EDITOR: Apply with this form → https://forms.gle/x554d4AsekBvhaJv7

Find out more about our project here: CARRD

#hotguy comics zine #zine updates #statistics #hcsmp zine #hermitcraft #zine #grian #gtws #hermitcraft zine #hermitcraft fanzine #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft season 9 #hermitcraft s9

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juneknight · 2 years

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˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗juneknight masterlist˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

☽Moon Knight☾

Drabbles: 1k or less

Idling: Masterlist: Jake keeps having to front for Marc and Steven's new girlfriend. (series, explicit, angst + future sex)

Dozing: A man falls asleep on you on the bus. (oneshot, fluff)

Drifting: A change in your hours at work has you and Steven on different schedules. (oneshot, explicit, sex)

Dizzy, Drunk: You and Jake get sidetracked on the way to your date. (series, explicit, sex)

Deeper than I Can Reach: Steven spits in your mouth. Yeah. Then Marc wants a turn. (series, explicit, sex)

Good for Nothing: Marc wants you to degrade him. (oneshot, explicit, sex)

Make Room for Me: Jake wants to knock you up, whether you want to be or not. (oneshot, explicit, sex)

Status Ailment: Marc gets a migraine. (oneshot, fluff)

Cigarette: Jake comes to you for comfort. (oneshot, hurt/comfort)

An Island No More: For once, Marc believes he has a future. (oneshot, hurt/comfort)

Fractional Focus: Steven distracts you while he reads. (oneshot, explicit, sex)

The Thing About Marc Spector: Marc is determined to make you squirt for the first time. (DRM, oneshot, explicit, sex)

Racetrack: You feel lost about your schooling, your major, and your life. Steven helps. (oneshot, hurt/comfort)

Obsessed: Marc likes eating pussy and offers to eat yours. (DRM, oneshot, explicit, sex)

Slow Degrees: Steven is shy; reader corrupts him. (series, explicit, sex.)

Take These (Sunflower Seeds): A take on the soulmate trope where a goose will lead you to your soulmate. (oneshot, fluff)

Pushing Buttons: You've been popping your bubble gum all night. (DRM, oneshot, general)

Sweet Requitement: The power goes out on campus during the winter. You and Marc stay warm. (DRM, oneshot, general)

Audible: You catch Steven reading erotica and ask him to read to you. (oneshot, explicit)

Making Trouble: Marc finds where Jake stashes his cab, and he can't help but fuck you in it. (oneshot, explicit)

Sea of Sadness: You come back to your dorm room with Marc after being assaulted at a party. (DRM, oneshot, mature, non-con)

Pleased to Please: Jake finds out that Marc has a storage unit, and he can't help but seek his revenge. (sequel to Making Trouble, explicit)

Kinktober '23: Days 1-9 were able to be completed.

Be Lost: Reader asks Marc to dominate her and it changes their friendship forever. (multichap, explicit)

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #some of you all asked for this #not much but it's honest work #jake lockley x reader

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darsynia · 1 year

Text

Until My Steps Return | Tony Stark/OC oneshot

Summary: Tony Stark and his girlfriend Leigh Balci make up for the three days he was away on a business trip. Explicit sex, minors DNI

Length: 5,655

Notes: Set in a soulmate AU where Tony's first word to Leigh, 'Tony,' is written on her right wrist. Leigh has waist-length blonde hair. Established relationship.

Tags: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne @munstysmind

Excerpt:

“I tell you what, can you go into the bedroom and grab my robe? Not the one that looks like you can see through it if you squint hard enough. I would like to be decent for the elevator ride."

“I think I missed a step?” He’s stalled out on the racetrack, too horny to remember the steps to fixing a flooded engine.

She tosses her hair back and pulls it onto a shoulder, squeezing the towel against it. Her brown eyes are loving and amused. “You want me in the penthouse, right?”

“I want you everywhere.” He grins. “But, yes.”

“Well, until you invent a teleporter, I will need to be clothed for that particular trip, Tony.”

“Two robes, coming up.”

Until My Steps Return

Tony Stark wishes he was the kind of man who has a doctor on retainer, one who will prescribe whatever the heck you want, just because you’re rich. He’s that kind of rich, but he was never that kind of an addict. He’s addicted to pleasure of all kinds, he can admit it. Tony spent years chasing variety, and the truth is, he doesn’t really regret that. Now, though? Now he has variety in constancy, and he likes it so much better.

Now, he has Leigh. His soulmate.

Except, not right now. Because he’s on an airplane, and even though it’s a fast one, it’ll still be another six hours of flight time, combined with another hour of nonsense before he can come home to his tower. He won’t even come directly home to his girlfriend, not really, because she hasn’t moved into his penthouse yet, despite the fact that he’d actually begged her to, the day he’d left for this business trip. Begged. Him! Outside some very specific sexual scenarios, Tony Stark simply does not beg. But he’s in love, and so is she, so he feels comfortable to push boundaries.

The annoying part is, it’s his plane, and it has a bed. If he had a sleeping pill available, if he could skip the rest of this flight by sleeping through it, Tony absolutely would. He’s still going to try, but it’s not a guarantee, and he doesn’t want to drink to do it. The last thing he wants is to come home to Leigh with a hangover. They’re due to get in right after dinner, and he wants… well. Thinking about that right now would not be conducive to sleeping. If he heads to that bed in this aircraft, given its history? That’ll be what he spends his time thinking about. He’d rather do those things with her instead, in a few hours, instead of by himself, without her.

Tony sighs, pulling the travel pillow out from under his head and hugging it to his chest petulantly. He can fly. He has the power of the internet at his fingertips with an AI smart enough to cut through the busywork bullshit. He has enough money to obtain pretty much anything he wants, whenever he wants it. But he can’t make time move any faster, and that’s just some kind of bullshit.

Tony: The fact that the Concorde is no longer a thing is absolutely not okay

Leigh: I miss you too, three days is too long.

Leigh: You should sleep, the flight will go faster.

Tony: Yeah, I know. I keep thinking about what I want to do when I get home, and it’s keeping me awake

Tony: I could tell you if you like. Then you could tell me what you’d do in response

Leigh: Oh I don’t think so.

Leigh: You should have thought about this exact scenario before you told me that you have FRIDAY read out your texts when your hands are busy, hmm?

Tony: fuck.

Leigh: Patience, patience.

She’s not in the penthouse when he gets in, which is probably not surprising. Tony puts his things down and frowns down at his wrinkly suit. He should take a shower, but there’s a nonzero chance of doing that with Leigh, and he’d never turn that down. He hops into the elevator and heads down to her floor. When he rings at the door, there’s no answer, but five seconds after hitting the button, the door opens. He feels a surge of affection for her. She must have asked FRIDAY to code it to let him in. The sound of the shower is loud when he gets inside, and there's a tantalizing hint of her spicy shampoo. He finds out shortly that this is because she’s left the bathroom door open.

Tony undoes his tie and leans in the doorway. “You know you have full access to the penthouse?” he says, by way of greeting her.

Leigh’s rinsing suds out of her hair, which apparently means freeing the shower head to handheld mode and lifting chunks of her wet hair with one hand while going over it with the spray. The motion shakes her breasts enticingly, not that he has the greatest view through the mostly fogged over glass of her small shower.

“I don’t know how to make the shower head strong enough for my needs,” she says.

“Well!” Tony says, laughing. “I can’t help but notice there aren’t any towels in here.”

“I was counting on your plane to come in on time,” she says, her voice rich with amusement. “I’m more than a little grateful that worked out.”

“What’s in it for me?”

The water shuts off, and he can see Leigh move close to the fogged-up door of the shower. Instead of opening it, though, she pushes up against it with her chest. Her nipples pebble up from the cold as soon as they touch the glass, despite the heat of her shower, the rest of her body merely a shadow in the background. She keeps going until her breasts are spread out, literally on display for him.

“You can get me so sweaty and gross I’ll need a second shower,” she says. Her voice is throaty, with just a hint of vocal fry.

“Towels, coming right up.”

Her laugh chases him out into the hallway where the linen closet is. Tony is already so turned on from her visual display that his pants are getting uncomfortably tight, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He comes back with four towels and a sense of determination. Because she is a complete adorable tease, Leigh takes the first towel and wraps it around herself, tucking it in so the edges overlap in the front, but barely by much.

“Easy access?” he asks.

“First things first,” she says, leaning over and taking towel number two. “The receptionist at work bought me one of those super absorbent hair towel turban things in our Secret Santa exchange the first year I worked there. I was really tempted to take a picture of just how little of my hair fits in one of those.”

The bathroom in her apartment is a fraction of the size of his. Leigh’s faced away, basically standing right beside him, and the rhythmic movement of her arms squeezing the water from her hair as she’s bent over is affecting him a lot. The strong clean scent of her spicy shampoo fills the room, enhancing his desire for her. Leigh does a little wiggle as she rubs the towel against her neck. The towel she had wrapped around her body falls off.

“Oops.”

Tony pulls her up against him. Her body is damp and warm, and he groans to feel her heat after missing her for so many days and nights. He kisses her shoulder, hearing her hum in approval, and Tony slides his hand up from her stomach to the underside of her breast, straightening her spine so he can access the back of her neck.

“As much as I love where this is heading, the end result right now is a face full of wet hair for me,” she reminds him.

“Hair dryer?”

She gasps in affronted horror, and pulls away.

“No hair dryer,” Tony says, dutifully.

“Better,” she laughs. “I tell you what, can you go into the bedroom and grab my robe? Not the one that looks like you can see through it if you squint hard enough. You can take that up with us, but I would like to be decent for the elevator ride."

“I think I missed a step?” He’s stalled out on the racetrack, too horny to remember the steps to fixing a flooded engine.

She tosses her hair back and pulls it onto a shoulder, squeezing the towel against it. Her brown eyes are loving and amused. “You want me in the penthouse, right?”

“I want you everywhere.” He grins. “But, yes.”

“Well, until you invent a teleporter, I will need to be clothed for that particular trip, Tony.”

“Two robes, coming up.”

He takes time in her bedroom to adjust the press of his boxer briefs on his erection. Tony has a suspicion that Leigh timed this deliberately, setting obstacles (sexy, fun ones, at that) between him and what he wants to do with her. He is completely certain she wouldn’t admit it if he asked, though.

He finds the robe she doesn’t want to wear in the elevator and completely understands why. It’s white, made of a soft, see-through material covered in lacy vine patterns in a golden yellow color. The only part of it that’s in any way opaque is a three inch thick ribbon belt that wouldn’t cover anything pertinent anyway. He loves it. Tony grabs the lavender fluffy robe she has hanging in her closet, too.

When he gets back into the bathroom, her hair looks much more dry, and the towel wrapped around her body is back.

“This is my new favorite thing,” Tony says, holding up the filmy robe. He drapes it around his neck like a scarf. It barely weighs anything. “And here’s your ticket to barely decent-ville,” he tells her, waving the purple robe.

“Thanks. My hands are full, though. Can you--” Leigh says. She’s toweling off the top of her head and comes over, pushing her chest out where the towel around her torso is precariously tucked in between the valley of her breasts.

“This is a concerted effort to kill me,” Tony declares, but he reaches for the towel. Then, he snatches his hand back. Tipping his head to the side, he examines the structural integrity of the tuck, leaning over and closing his lips around the small glimpse of towel hem sticking up between her breasts. Mostly, he’s kissing her, but he tugs just a bit, and the towel collapses under its own weight.

He’s beyond caring how obvious he is, now, banding an arm around her waist and bending his head to paint his tongue across her damp, delicious skin, lower and lower until he nuzzles her nipple with his nose.

“Tony,” Leigh says, her voice urgent.

“Mm hmm,” he murmurs, curling his tongue around her nipple, loving the way she catches her breath and clings to him, her towel and still-damp hair forgotten. Tony walks her back against the doorframe so he can slide his hand around and thumb at her other nipple, pressing his knee between her legs in a vain attempt to support her.

Suddenly, Leigh hisses, and he pulls back. “What?”

“Hinge,” she says ruefully. With both hands apologetically pressed to his chest, she sucks a kiss to his lips and steps away.

“I put it there vindictively. So you’ll move in with me,” he says.

“Yes, this hinge stamped with--” Leigh leans over and pretends to read out, “‘Hinge-City, purveyors of fine pain inducements to move since 2010 when this tower was built and you hadn't met me yet.’ Wow!” she grins at him. “You were right.”

“Put on the robe, Miss Balci,” Tony says.

She trails a hand along his neck where the revealing robe is resting, then bends down to pick up the purple one.

“Head up, I’ll be there soon,” Tony says, gritting his teeth. He should just drag her over to her bed and take her, but she’s being tempting on purpose, trying to entice him with the ability to have sex with her in two separate places. Really, he wants her up in the penthouse with him all the time, and he will not be dissuaded.

“What?” she asks, fastening the tie around her waist, her hair in disarray, brown eyes dark with how much she wants him.

“I am synched to a completely fucked up time zone, I just spent however long on an airplane, and I want to wake up in my own bed next to you after however much time we spend catching up. I do not , and don’t you dare ever quote me on this, want to have sex in the elevator.”

Leigh laughs, and he even finds that sexy, Tony realizes. “Okay. See you soon.”

She walks out of her apartment barefoot. He almost chases her and reneges, but his back won’t thank him, and he never was the kind to have a Dr. Feelgood to fall back on, there.

Besides, the two of them have a great track record when it comes to her waiting for him to show up, horny as all hell.

Tony doesn’t see Leigh when he steps out of the elevator into the living room of the penthouse. This is actually encouraging, because he wants her to feel more at home in his space. He doesn’t see her in the bedroom either, though, so he checks in his large bathroom to find it empty as well. Only when he walks out of there does he see her, leaning up against the wall waiting for him. Leigh’s got one foot flat on the wall, separating the sides of her robe. She sways that leg, giving him a shadowed glimpse of what lies underneath it.

Tony had never understood the lure of sirens until he met her. He’s hers with gratitude, no reservations, no matter what might tear him apart in the future because of it. He doesn’t even care that he’s a sailor shipwrecked on her shores, as long as he gets to know what that tastes like.

“I thought about this moment all day,” he tells her. “Come here.”

Leigh smiles and pushes off from the wall, but when she is close enough for him to reach for her, she pauses and shakes her head at him.

“Let me undress you?” she asks. Leigh’s a little nervous, he can see, but he fucking loves when she’s shy but brave like this. It always, always works out well for them.

Because he’s a recalcitrant asshole who wants her to manhandle him, Tony adopts a sardonic expression and slides both hands into his pockets before nodding. The little determined twist of her lips in response makes him ache to touch her.

Leigh steps close, choosing not to take on the challenge of removing his suit coat while his hands are in his pockets. She instead slides her hands up from his chest to the small buttons that hold his collar to the shirt, undoing them. She’s distracted enough by this that Tony sneaks his hand out of his pocket and grabs one free end of the bow keeping her robe closed. Leigh’s standing so near that he can just slip his hand back into his pocket with it. The next time she moves far enough away, the whole thing will come undone. He wonders if he’ll come undone first.

Tony knows he’s been horny too long without relief when he gets impish like this, but that’s the thing. Leigh knows that about him too, by now. She seems to be counting on it, which makes him want her even more. They’re recursive, and he loves it.

Leigh sweeps his collar up, pulling off his tie and dropping it on the floor. Then she starts working on his buttons.

“This does not involve enough kissing,” Tony observes.

Leigh is a little minx. Her response is to kiss the space on his chest that is revealed with each subsequent unbuttoned section of shirt, instead of his lips. By the time she’s done, he has forgotten about trying to troll her with his hands in his pockets, and he’s reaching for her, sliding his hand into the glorious mass of her hair and pulling her close. The tie for her robe comes close to unraveling, but he’s past caring about that at the moment.

Tony nips at her, pressing his thumb against her full bottom lip and tracing it with his tongue, teasing her just as she’s teasing and denying him. The thing about Leigh is, though: she’s generous and giving, so when it becomes clear to her that he’s holding back as a result of her holding back while undressing him, she yields, pushing against him, tangling her tongue with his. Leigh burrows close, worming her hands underneath his suit coat and pushing it down his arms even though Tony’s hands are busy opening her up for his kisses.

“Cross-purposes, here,” he murmurs.

“Is it though?” she says, pulling back long enough to strip his arms of both coat sleeve and shirt sleeve. Leigh grabs both ends of the flimsy robe he’s still got draped like a scarf around his neck, and starts backing up. The movement slowly loosens the rest of the tie to her fluffy robe, and it gives up the ghost right as she reaches the edge of his bed and sits down.

“Leigh,” Tony groans. The picture she presents, mostly naked and looking up at him, her hands at his belt, is setting him on fire.

“But I’m not done,” she says innocently, working to loosen the belt, flicking it open and tugging his button out of its buttonhole. He can see her tight, pebbled nipples peeking against the fabric of the robe.

“Swap me?” he asks in a hushed voice. Tony’s tired as fuck, but if she doesn’t want to trade places, he’ll hold himself up with sheer force of will if he has to. He’s a moth to her flame, desperate to singe himself on her heat, heedless of the danger of being consumed.

“Okay,” she agrees easily. Tony helps her stand, if only because he gets the chance to shove her robe off of one shoulder so he can kiss it. Leigh draws down his zipper and pushes his slacks down, and he steps out of them. Tony slides off the boxers himself, sits so he doesn’t crassly kick them under the bed or something, but Leigh dips down to a half kneel at his feet and pulls them away from his feet.

She is always surprising him, Tony thinks, because that’s not something he would expect her to do, not in a moment like this, but it’s also economical, necessary, it brings her right where they both want her to be.

“I want to swap,” she says, and he’s momentarily confused until she takes off her robe and tosses it at the foot of the bed, pulling on the one around his neck.

“Fuck, okay,” he says. He had figured she’d hang the thing up in his closet and wear it another day, but no, she’s pulling it on but leaving it hanging open. Her curves are lush and inviting, warm and his, and he’s grateful, besotted, hungry.

“I want to try something,” Leigh whispers. She puts a hand on either of his knees and spreads them apart, settling her hair on her right shoulder and leaning up against his body, kissing him. Tony’s drugged by sensation; he can feel the strands of her hair dragging across his chest, can smell her arousal, taste her sweetness. Leigh moves her right hand from his knee right to his cock, gentle but firm, and he groans into the kiss. She tips her head to the side, tickling him with her hair as she strokes him.

“Look,” she whispers. Tony looks down and bucks his hips into her hand. He can read his name clearly on the same wrist she’s jacking him with, and her hair is framing the motion. It’s as sensual an image of how he feels about this particular woman as Tony could possibly imagine.

That’s when she slides down his body and takes him in her mouth for the first time.

“Leigh, fuck, yes, ahhhhh,” he groans out.

She pulls off and moves her hand on him. With her other hand, she drapes her hair on his left leg. “Pull it. Yank it, do whatever. I like that, especially now,” she tells him in a husky voice.

He’s literally speechless. All Tony can do is look down at Leigh and watch her swirl her tongue on the head of his cock before taking him in her mouth again, sucking on the way down. She’s systematically destroying him. He grabs the locks she’d offered, twining it around his wrist once, and, trusting her, Tony sinks his fingers into her hairline and holds on.

She moans against him. Tony gives up all sense of restraint and starts rocking his hips, knowing he’ll have to stop her soon. He’s never going to stop being amazed at their alchemy, the way that loving her has turned the rougher parts of him into gold, and likewise the fragile parts of her into steel. Leigh backs off when he thrusts up too deep just once, recovering quickly, kissing along his shaft as she clears her throat a few times. When she starts to take him in again, Tony pulls hard on her hair, and she chuckles against him, sucking just the tip before spelling out obscene messages with her tongue.

“Okay, I need--” Tony says, shaking his hands free of her hair and pulling at the fabric of her robe, trying to get her to climb up.

“Yes, okay, yes,” she soothes. Tony isn’t gentle as he hauls her up his body, spearing his tongue into her mouth, fighting her robe to get his hands on her body underneath it, desperate.

“You’re rewriting my DNA,” he accuses. “I was never this determined to mark someone as mine before.”

“I’ve never been so willing to be marked,” she admits, gasping and holding still. Tony’s sucking a kiss onto her shoulder, and he grazes his teeth along her skin there right as he finally gets his hand between her legs. She’s wet and warm, yes, but what he loves is how fucking responsive she is. Everywhere he touches her, she’s always gasping, arching, shaking, as if she’s physically incapable of hiding his effect on her.

Suddenly, he needs to know how that would translate to tasting her. Tony turns them, laying her on the bed and looking down to see Leigh splayed out for him. Her hair is everywhere, right hand stretched out to cling to the sheets in the way he fucking loves, like she can’t not grip something when she’s in the throes of desire for him. The robe is gapping like the best wrapping paper ever, and best of all, when Tony starts to run a hand from her stomach down, she closes her eyes and arches her hips toward him.

Tony decides he likes the implications of her not being able to see him right now. He reaches up and rests her left forearm over her eyes, kissing it and kissing her lips, pressing, making known what he wants without words.

Leigh nods, her chest heaving in anticipation. Tony can’t resist kissing one of her nipples on his way back down, but he avoids using his tongue, because she’s perceptive, and she’ll guess.

“I want to watch the way your hips move,” he tells her, hands warm on her thighs. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I feel like a complete wreck, and I’ll turn into a hellcat if you don’t touch me,” she promises, her voice sounding rough. Tony has to clamp down on his own desires for a quick minute at the thought that maybe her throat is just the tiniest bit sore from his presence there.

He’s got both his hands on her legs, spreading them apart before resting his palm on her stomach. Leigh whines and juts her hips up.

“Please,” she begs. “Missed you.”

Tony had wanted to surprise her with his mouth but his hands have a life of their own, seeking out her folds like she’s her own force of gravity. He strokes her, kissing her knee, kissing her thigh.

“Tony…” her tone is whining, uncertain.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his lips a hair’s breadth away from the thin skin right beside the mass of honey gold pubic hair.

“I’ve just never--”

Objectively Tony knows he should not find it so arousing that he’ll be the first to do this. She has every right to share her body with whomever she chooses, and if none of her previous relationships were with men who had any idea what they were doing, that’s not his business. But he likes this chance to show her what she’s been missing.

“Allow me to catch you up on all the years of severe neglect you’ve been experiencing,” Tony says in a low, sardonic tone. Her thighs clench together, shoulders shrugging up, her whole body responding just to his voice. Fuck, this is going to be amazing, he thinks to himself. “You trust me?” he says, selfishly wanting to hear her voice, excited about how throaty and desperate he’s sure it’ll be.

He’d somehow forgotten what she’s actually like in those three days he’s been gone.

“Give me my phone, I’m calling backup, you’re clearly only here to tease me,” Leigh says, rolling over and nearly kneeing him in the face in the process. She crawls up the bed, her hand reaching out for her cell phone on the nightstand.

Tony grabs her ankle and yanks, shifting his body up onto the bed as he locks that leg over his shoulder. He reaches up and flattens her onto her back with one well placed hand, gentling the movement once she’s in position. With his thumbs millimeters away from her sex, Tony uses both hands to spread her legs, holding her open for him in the process.

Her whole body is trembling now. When he looks up, she’s got the fleshy part of her palm between her teeth, moaning softly around it.

Tony bends his first finger and draws his knuckle up, along her wetness. She groans. He follows the movement with his tongue, pressing his hand at her hips in anticipation of their movement. Tony’s always liked this taste, has done it enough to know that it subtly differs with different foods. He presses closer and swirls his tongue around her clit without actually touching it yet, loving the hitched, shocked noises Leigh’s making. The muscles of her thigh under his hand are rock solid, she’s so tense and focused on what he’s doing.

Leigh’s heel is digging into his upper back so hard he hopes he gets a bruise there. That’s much more intimate than a hickey.

She’s rocking her hips ever so slightly with every movement of his tongue, and Tony gives in to his desire to feel that from the inside. He slides two fingers inside her, groaning a hum with his lips against her clit as she clenches down hard on him.

“Honey,” he murmurs, lifting his head to look up at her. Her chin is up, head arched back, but as he watches, she looks at him, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. Tony grins, hoping she can see the slick of her on his lips. Sometimes she’s embarrassed by the intimacy of such things, and he wants to ruin that instinct with as much joy and openness as he can. He’s an asshole that way. This is one of those times. “You had something with honey, at dinner.” He twists his fingers in just the right way as he says it.

“Tony,” she gasps. “There’s no way you-- Oh my God,” she whimpers, reaching up and pulling one of the pillows onto her face and holding it there.

He notices, though, that she doesn’t close herself off from him as much as she might have. She trusts him. Tony can’t stop the way he rocks his own hips along the edge of the bed to ease some of his tension at the thought.

“I can,” he assures her. “Want to try?”

He angles his head down and takes an obscenely large swipe across her entire sex with his tongue. He lifts himself up as if coming to kiss her, and now she curls her body up defensively.

“Maybe? No. Oh my GOD, I’m a fallen woman, what the actual fuck are you even doing to me right now,” Leigh groans into the pillow.

“It’s my personal mission to debauch you,” he says. “But not to make you uncomfortable.”

Leigh drops the pillow and looks at him with doubt painted across her features.

“Much,” he allows. His hand drifts back down to stroke her again.

“Yesssss Right there-- Tony,” she groans.

“Going to come for me?” he asks, sliding up to lay beside her on his side, hand still moving just the way she likes.

“Mmmm hmmm,” she draws out.

He slides his head closer so he can whisper in her ear. “Speaking of debauching you, I pictured myself doing this on the airplane. Except we were on a commercial flight, and you’d lost a bet with me.”

“Not realistic,” she says, eyes still pinched closed, hips rocking against his hand. He loves her focus, especially because it comes and goes in stages. Soon comes the stage where she’s delirious and gasping.

“The flight, or the bet?”

Leigh chuckles lowly. Tony speeds his movement, and she laughs again.

“Who is manipulating whom, here?” he whispers.

“Toss-up,” she manages through bitten lips. “Almossssst--”

“On the plane, I brought you right up to the edge,” Tony murmurs.

Leigh moans, and he sits up so he can use a second hand.

“Fuck, ok yes, that, whatever you want, just keep-- ahhhhhh!”

“Then I told you to come for me. Loudly. And you did.” Tony says, pushing some command into his voice. “Do it. For me, come for me, right now.”

She does, her whole body freezing in an arched posture one second and then releasing in a shudder of clenched gasps and moans the next. It goes on for longer than any she’s had with him yet, and he pulls his hands away to climb on top of her and thrust in, chasing the last of her clenching convulsions.

“Ohhhhh,” she breathes, sliding her legs up to bracket him.

“Too much?” Tony asks, hoping like hell she won’t say yes.

“Always,” she says, twining her arms around his neck so she can kiss him. Her every action spells out that ‘always’ is an answer that doesn’t mean he has to stop. “That shouldn’t work, you know,” she says when he moves from kissing her lips to kissing along her jaw and onto her neck.

“Mmm?”

“Ordering me to come,” she whispers in his ear, like it’s too shameful to say out loud in a room full of the sounds of their bodies moving together. Tony loves her contradictions, sometimes.

He hopes she loves his eccentricities, too, because he can’t help but goad her. “Wait till I can get you to do it over the phone, the next time I have to go on another trip.”

“I won’t have to wait,” she murmurs, altering the angle of her hips so she can press on his ass with her heels. “I could just call you during a meeting. You wear those in-ear things to get insider information from FRIDAY during those, don’t you?”

Tony quickens his pace, needing to feel her shake underneath him again. It’s like a craving, he’s noticed, and satisfying it is fun as hell.

“You’re suggesting you’d call me and talk me up in the middle of a meeting? I’m dubious,” Tony goads her.

She slides a hand down his stomach to where they’re joined. Tony can tell the instant she touches herself in the way that she likes, because she clenches down on him in pleasure. “Do you know where my hand is, Mr. Stark?” she whispers in his ear.

The speed at which his orgasm is approaching has just hit Mach 3.

“Look at me,” he commands, pressing his forehead to hers.

She does, but then she says something unexpected.

“Come for me. Right now. Do it,” she says, undulating her body under his, squeezing, holding eye contact.

His orgasm slams into him from all sides, it seems, flooding him with pleasure as he slams his hips into hers and holds there, groaning. Tony can’t keep her gaze, he buries his head onto the bed beside her shoulder, breathing in the sweet, spicy scent of her hair. This is what he’s always wanted, he realizes, groaning, delighted, wrecked, pleased.

“Fuck,” he remarks, a full minute later when he’s able to form words again. “Call it a truce?”

“I think we both won,” Leigh says, snuggling into his side. “Knowing you well enough to be able to sense when you’re about to-- well. That’s its own kind of victory.” She ducks her head against his chest, as if hiding her blush. “That’s a really powerful kind of intimacy.”

“The best kind,” he says. “There are more of those,” he whispers into her hair.

“More of what?” Leigh tips her head back to meet his eyes.

“Intimate ways of knowing.”

“You mean how I know you’re about to make a comparison between what I said and some ridiculous made-up thing, like when I’ll learn to have a cheeseburger ready for you the second you are done working in the lab for an indeterminate amount of time?” she asks, giving him a penetrating look.

He was about to say something exactly like that, so he twists his lips petulantly. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry. Someday soon you’ll know when I hold those back, and you can feel loved by that experience, too.”

He already does.

Leigh and Tony's story is told in the story Exile All the Longer, coming someday to Tumblr but for now is on AO3.

#tony stark imagine #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x oc #tony stark x smut #tony stark original character #iron man fanfiction #iron man #iron man x oc #iron man x original character #iron man smut #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #tony stark #fyeahsuperverseocs #ocfairygodmother

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miryum · 2 years

Note

Okay I had an idea for a Spot Conlon x reader!!

Passing out outside his door after getting soaked, Spot finding the reader and taking them inside his room to take care of her.

She/They pronouns of you don’t mind!!

Spot Conlon was anything if not intelligent. He had risen through Brooklyn not only on account of his strength, but his smarts. He had his smarts with him when he became the King of Brooklyn. He had his smarts with him when he upped his paper buying- buying and selling a hundred and fifty papes instead of only one hundred. He had his smarts with him when he beat up the Delancey brothers for harassing one of his newsies.

However, he may not have had his smarts with him when he agreed to join Jack Kelly’s strike and he definitely didn’t have his smarts with him when he carried in an unconscious girl that appeared on the Lodging House doorstep.

“Spot?” Knicks ran up to him. “We have a situation- wait. You have something bigger going on.” Knicks noticed the girl in Spot’s arms. “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know.” Spot pushed past Knicks and the small crowd of newsies that had begun to form.

“What are you doing? How’d they’d get here? Do you know where Vinny’s hat is?” Knicks started questioning Spot.

Spot groaned at the boy’s questions and started towards the stairs. “I’m bringing her up to my room to take care of her. I don’t know. I found her on the doorstep. As you can see, she’s beaten up pretty badly. And no, I haven’t seen Vinny’s hat.”

Spot was right. The girl in his arms had been soaked and looked pretty rough. She had a black eye that was a nasty black, purple, and blue. On the other side of their face, another bruise was creeping up their cheekbone. Her lip was split and had a smattering of other cuts and blemishes on their face.

Before Knicks could ask anymore questions, Spot quickly sidestepped him and hurried to his room.

Spot set the teenager down and before exiting the room. He wanted to grab some things to clean them up. Maybe some bandages or ointment? Truth be told, Spot was better at soaking someone than healing them.

Once he got back with his half-hazard supplies, he found the person sitting up on their elbows.

“Hello?” Spot looked at her sceptically. Should he trust this random person?

“Who are you?” The girl asked, trying to sit up further.

Spot shook his head and said, “Lay back down. What happened to you?”

“Answer my question.”

Spot raised an eyebrow. No one ever talked back to him. But, this kid didn’t know he was the King of Brooklyn. He could cut them some slack. “I’m Spot Conlon, newsie, and King of Brooklyn.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed but she laid down as Spot had asked. “I’m Y/n. I-uh.” They cleared their throat, “The Delancey Brothers got to me. They thought I was stealing something.”

“Were you stealing something?” Spot asked in a deadpan voice. He wouldn’t be surprised if this dirty street-rat needed to steal to stay alive. He wasn’t about to diss on it, though. He knew all too well about life on the streets. He started cleaning the girl up.

“Yes.” Y/n admitted. She pulled out a policeman’s whistle, a proud glint in her eye. “It just looked so shiny and I thought I could get some good money for it.” She then squinted at Spot who was cleaning some cuts on her arm, careful for her fresh bruises. “Why’d you take me in? I know newsies are all about loyalty and crap, but I’m not a newsie.”

Spot huffed a laugh, “Just ‘cause you’re not a newsie doesn’t mean I’d leave you out there. That’s cruel.”

“You were still taking a gamble. I could knock you out and steal from you right now.”

This time, Spot laughed for real. “Yeah, sure sweetheart. You could beat me in a fight. And, I don’t know… there was just something about you? I couldn’t imagine you doing anything terrible… Sounds stupid. I know.”

Y/n hummed. “Alright, Spot Conlon. I trust you.”

They went to stand but Spot pushed them back down. “That was a bad soaking. You were unconscious. I’m not about to let you waltz out here.”

Y/n glared at him, “I can take care of myself.”

“From what I just saw, no you can’t.” Spot contradicted. “You’re staying here until you get better.”

Y/n leaned back on Spot's bed, arms crossed. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me, Spot Conlon.”

Spot grinned, “I guess I am.”

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kellyscowboy · 1 year

Text

꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ BROOKLYN RED

ᯇsummary ! ✦ in manhattan they'd call it a sin, but race's wearing brooklyn red for him ᯇpair ! ✦ spot conlon x racetrack higgins (livesies) || inspired by Tennessee Orange by Megan Moroney & these (one) (two) posts by @crystallized-twilight ᯇvienna’s thoughts ! ✦ uhhh i definitely think this could be better but i just wanted to get it out of my drafts tbh LMAO. i swear the next piece or writing will be better :') 1249 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

"Racer!" Spot groaned. "I give up. Ya ain't never gonna learn the damn song."

Racetrack smiled and took a drag from his cigarette. "Well, I like the teacher betta than the lesson anyway."

"No amount of flattery can make up for how badly ya butchered our song," Spot laughed. He continued to speak, but his words were lost in the night.

The lights on the Brooklyn Bridge gave Spot a certain glow. One that made his skin look like that of an angel. Racetrack couldn't help but stare as he watched the boy laugh. He wanted to listen to Spot, he really did, but how could he listen to him when he was so beautiful? He tries his best to focus, but who could if Spot was sitting in front of them looking like a gift from God?

Race wanted to tell him every one of his thoughts. How Spot's laugh was probably what Heaven's trumpets sound like, how gorgeous his eyes were-

"I mean, honestly, how do ya mess up the wor-"

"Red's definitely your color." And he winced because that was definitely not what he had meant to say. It didn't even begin to cover half of what he was thinking.

Spot smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "Red's Brooklyn's color, Racer."

He groaned, "I just meant- It looks good on you. Like, really good. Ya look heavenly right now. You sure you're real?"

"Pretty sure. Speaking of red," Spot shoved his hand into his selling bag and pulled out a crumpled shirt. "I know you'll always be Manhattan, but... I thought, maybe, you could play Brooklyn sometimes too?"

Race moved to grab the shirt and exchanged it for the one he had been wearing. He scoffed, mostly at himself. "God, the boys would kill me if they saw me wearing this."

"Ya still ain't told anyone 'bout us?"

"Have you?" Race snapped, slightly defensive.

A beat.

"No." Spot admitted as he adjusted his hat. He crossed his arms, defeated and grumpy. Race slumped down with him, he intertwined their fingers and let his forehead bump into Spot's neck.

"I didn't mean to snap at'cha." He sighed. "I just- I don't know how to tell ''em that the Spot Conlon—the one who left us for dead during the strike (hey!)—is my sweetheart. Hell, how am I supposed ta tell 'em you got me wearing Brooklyn red?"

Spot rolled his eyes. "I did not leave you for dead." A shrug. "You're all still alive, aint'cha?"

Race smiled fondly and rested his forehead against the others. "Yeah, I guess we is."

"I'm glad you are," Spot whispered. Then he straightened himself and pushed Race an arms-length away, and held him there. "Because if you weren't I woulda never seen how good you look playing Brooklyn."

He laughed and shoved Spot's cap—which was really his own; he had been sporting Spot's actual cap ever since the time they went to the racetracks—over his eyes. "Don't forget it's just playing. I'm only Brooklyn in your dreams."

"Damn right."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Race flipped the shirt in his hands over and over again. He stared into the deep red that felt so much like home that it almost made him sick to his stomach. God, if anyone saw his damned red shirt. It was just a stupid shirt, but holding it in his hands felt like treason.

"Hey, Racer. Haven't seen ya in a while; where ya been?" And his heart dropped into his stomach as he rushed to crumble up the shirt and shove it under a blanket. Jack threw his hat onto a random bed before addressing him again. "Woah! Ya good, Racer? Ya look like you'se a ghost or somethin'."

"I'm alright. Hey, uh," it's now or never, "I've gotta tell ya somethin'. But- Listen, you can't tell the other guys, they'll probably kill 'im."

Jack's eyebrows furrowed, concern flooded his expressions. He leaned against a bed frame with his fists clenched. "Did someone hurt ya, Race? Did'ya mess with some dame and her fella got at ya?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "I'm fine, Kelly. Seriously. You've taught me better than that. Kind of."

The strike leader all but sighed with relief, then sat down on the bed across from Race. "So, what'dya need to tell me? What, ya done sellin' papes or something?"

"No, no. I'm still sellin' papes. I don't got enough money ta quit." He paused. "I might've... met someone."

Jack smiled, crossed his arms and leaned back in amusement. "And?"

"And... he's really good to me. He's got these eyes and they're... they're so blue that it's almost scary. Ya know the kind? He holds doors open for me, stop laughing. And he ain't made me cry yet. Which is saying somethin' for him." Race was looking down at his hands, a stupid smile beating the embarrassment to his face. "He ain't from 'round here, but he still- He still feels like home, ya'know?"

"I know the feelin'. Who's the fella?"

Race looked up, only to meet Jack's eyes just for a second. "Ya can't tell the other fella's, Jackie. I mean, they'd probably call it a damn sin-"

"Racer, come on. They ain't like that-"

"No. Not 'cuz of that, not 'cuz he's a guy. 'Cuz he's..." Race sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "He's got me wearing Brooklyn red, Jack."

And to that, Jack let out a long sigh.

"I know! Brooklyn ain'tcha best friend. Hell, they ain't no-one's best friend." Race started to grin a little again. "He, uh, he took me out to the bridge last Saturday."

"Oh, so that's where ya run off to. To betray us." Jack teased. He even reached forward and gave Racetrack a playful punch to the shoulder.

Race's smile was back in full force. "Anyway. It wasn't nothing like 'Hattan, but nothin' ever will be. But man, I'd like to personally thank whoever made the lights on that damn bridge. Ain't neva seen someone look like that. He looked like a damn angel."

"Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed-"

"I'm sorry Jack. It's just... man, I like him a lot. I'm even learning that stupid Brooklyn chant."

Jack laughed. "Race. I'm not actually disappointed, I'm just messin' with ya. But everyone looks better in 'Hattan colors. Can't deny that." He stated, pulling at his own shirt.

"Obviously. But that smile he carries with him makes ya forget all that. I mean, the grin he had when he made me try on a Brooklyn shirt; made me think I should only ever wear red for the rest of my life!"

Jack grinned and shook his head. "Well, well. Neva seen you so smitten over someone. So, what? Ya Brooklyn now?"

Racetrack laughed. "Never. Not even Spot's smile could make me crazy enough to leave 'Hattan."

"Ya fella's the Spot Conlon? Man, you ain't dating a fella from Brooklyn. You're basically dating Brooklyn itself!"

"I know."

"Listen, Race. Manhattan's gonna loves ya. Even the traitor part of ya." Jack leaned forward to grab Race's shoulder. "If you're happy, we're happy."

Race let out a sigh of relief.

Like a tidal wave, the rest of the newsboys poured into the lodging house. Jack gave the other boy a wink━a promise of secrecy━before he reached under the blanket, pulled out the Brooklyn shirt, and jumped up to wave it in front of the crowd. "You guys won't believe who Racer's swoonin' over!"

"Jack!"

#if this is bad just squint and it might be better!#i hate my writing someone send help #anyway!!#very different from what i wrote last time #country music is so good i wont apologize #i only edited it once so bare with me #posting it so that i don't have to deal with the guilt of it in my drafts #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #sprace #newsies #livesies #newsies live #broadway #newsies broadway #˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ newsies // oneshots ❥#☄. *. ⋆ vienna's ... writing

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