POSSESSIVE DAVEY PLEASSEEEEEE I LOVE HIM HES MY BOY

Albert who chews gum and bites on a necklace when he’s nervous. Albert who bites his friends shoulders when he’s comfortable, but never enough to hurt. Just kinda a little nibble. Albert who grinds his teeth when he gets angry, who chews on hoodie strings and pencils.

everyone look at this fire newsies pin i got

based on @loiteringandlurking ‘s post :)

his post; “hs au javey where Davey (in a fit of frustration and sensory nightmares) takes off his shirt in the changing room during phys ed (…) cue jack stepping into the room right as davey's shirt comes off and immediately turning the other direction because oh my god is it disrespectful he's so fine fuck am I meant to look is it okay to look does he have abs????

and davey's like 'hey .... jack .....'

and jacks like 'IMSOSORRYWAITNOIDIDNYMEANIJUSTTHOUGHT' and Davey has to physically take a step back (…)”

Fuckin… gotta get this damn shirt off, the tag is fuckin scratchy and- I need this off Davey let out an annoyed hiss as he scrambled to get his shirt off in the empty locker room.

The PE teacher was yelling at the earlier class to finish their laps, and Davey was plugging his ears as not to overwhelm himself more. Unfortunately, taking off a shirt with your fingers in your ears is a surprisingly difficult task.

Davey finally unplugged his ears for less than a second, basically ripping his shirt off in that time. As he threw the fabric off of him and over his head, he let out a sigh of relief and stretched his spine, reaching towards the ceiling. 

He picked up his shirt off the dirty changing room floor, holding it as though he was scared of it. He looked around, coming down from the overstimulation, and noticed he was still alone. He could still hear the gym teacher yelling at the last class, and he didn’t want to subject himself to the berating he’d surely get for forgetting his PE shirt in the boys locker room.

He sighed and grabbed his phone, clicking “Jack Kelly” in his contacts.

The phone rang twice before his friend picked up, and Davey whispered into the mic; “Hey jack, sorry no time for formalities, can you grab my shirt from the locker room? My lockers D122, the code is 5-41-17, thank you bye!” He spoke quickly, then hung up.

Jack was confused, but complied. He grabbed the mentioned athletic shirt from Davey’s locker, going to the stalls to hand it to him.

“Davey?” He asked. No reply.

He thought he should check the changing room, but didn’t really suspect Davey would be in there.

As he turned the corner of the changing room, his eyes widened at the sight. There Davey sat, shirtless and gnawing at his nails anxiously. Jack didn’t notice the first bit until he was walking towards Davey and pulling his hand away from his lips gently.

“Dave, we talked about this-“ he paused, blushing “uh. Uh, where’s your shirt?” He asked awkwardly.

“Oh, sorry. Can I have it?” Davey asked 

Jack was preoccupied, noting every detail on Davey. He had abs. That was very much something Jack wouldn’t expect from Davey. “Er- yeah, sure.” He was still staring at Daveys abs as he spoke, accidentally dropping the shirt in his stupor.

“Fuck, sorry. Just- Just, you’re like… really built.” He blurted out, picking up the shirt and handing it to Davey.

Davey stood up to pull on the shirt, giving jack a short-lived sight of him. Davey was moderately confused at jacks comment, but laughed it off.

“Mhm- uh, I’m gonna… I have homework, or, uh, bye.” Jack mumbled, flustered from the experience and sprinting out of the room.

Later, in Jacks room “studying”

“He had abs! I’m telling you, he’s just-“ jack let out a pathetic scream as he rambled to his friends, Kathrine and Crutchie.

“We know you’re hopelessly in love. But did you have to stare at him for that long? God, you’re absolutely simping for that man.” Katherine rolled her eyes. Crutchie nodded in agreement.

“I’m not- I’m not whatever that word was! I’m just impressed, is all. He’s not the type’a guy I’d expect to have a fucking 6-pack.” Jack muttered.

“Just get some balls and ask him out already. Who knows, you could be seeing him shirtless in a different setting.” Crutchie said suggestively.

“Asking people out is scary! Especially Davey. He prolly has a girlfriend.” Jack replied defensively.

“No? He’s gay. And single. And what are you? Gay and single. Match made in heaven. Ask him out, ditwad.” Katherine commented.

“Maybe.” Jack said simply.

“Yes.” Crutchie responded.

“Yes.” Katherine added.

“Maybe.” Jack repeated.

“Two months, then we tell him ourselves.” Katherine comprimised

“Four months.” Jack demanded

“Three and you ask him out if we have to tell him for you.” Crutchie butted in.

“Fine.” Jack relented

“Mhm.” Katherine nodded calmly.

(End fic)

crutchie is a BIG fun socks guy ... he's got at least 10 pairs of utterly odd and colourful socks ... davey on the other hand only owns black socks and jack only owns white socks ..

rb in the tags what would be the physical feature used to identify you in fanfiction of you if you were a fictional character

proof i am superhuman: just got my period and broke out in hives at the same time

“Dave?”

“Sorry,” Davey murmurs, shuffling around again. “My leg’s just cramping up, I’m fine.”

Jack moves closer, opening his arms and shifting his knees further apart.

“C’mere,” he beckons, tugging Davey along by the shirt sleeve until he’s settling into the new space Jack’s created for him⁠—sitting in the vee of Jack’s legs, leaning back against his chest. “How’s that? Better?”

Davey carefully lowers himself down, letting his head rest just under Jack’s chin, and relaxes in with a soft sigh.

“Better,” he agrees. “Thanks Jackie.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Jack says.

Davey stills.

“You cold?” Jack asks. “Here, lemme…”

He adjusts their cocoon of blankets, his arms coming up to wrap around Davey’s torso⁠—warm and strong and secure.

“How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Davey whispers.

The movie continues, lights and color and action and sound, but Davey processes none of it, captivated by the gentle rise and fall of Jack’s chest beneath his cheek, the comforting heat of his body, the echo of his voice in his ear.

Unable to help himself, unable to just let things lie, he says, “Sweetheart.”

“What?” Jack asks, distracted.

“You called me sweetheart,” Davey says.

He feels more than hears Jack’s breath hitch in his throat, his hands curling a hair tighter around Davey’s waist before settling again.

He waits for Jack to take it back.

“I did,” Jack agrees instead, his words careful and measured. “Do you mind it?”

Davey breathes in and breathes out, finding the zipper of Jack’s hoodie and working it between his fingers. Jack sits patiently, rubbing soft circles along the his back as he waits for him to gather his thoughts.

“No,” Davey says quietly, after a while. “No, I don’t mind it.”

“You sure?” Jack checks.

Davey tucks his face further into Jack’s chest. He doesn’t know what to make of the warm feeling bubbling inside him and he’s unwilling to face it⁠—he’ll only ruin it.

“Yeah, ‘m sure,” Davey murmurs. “It’s nice.”

hi !

this is so random but can you write abt ralbert?? like literally anything ralbert, i need more fuel for headcannons :3

RALBERT!!!!!! I LOVE RALBERT!!!!!!!

teehee I wrote this in a moment of yearning, sorry it's so short :(

'Albert, seriously.' Race sounds exasperated, holding Albert's left hand gingerly with his own, holding a torn up shirt in the other.

'I'm sorry, okay?' Albert mumbles over his shoulder, away from Race. 'You don't have to wrap my hands.' He sucks in a breath as coarse fabric tightens against his bloodied knuckles.

'You don't have to get in fights protecting people who don't need protecting.' Race glances up at Albert under his cap, eyes hard and cold.

Albert stares back, trying to give his coldest look. But he winces when Race turns his hand over, so his knuckles are resting on Race's warm palm. The sensation hurts, but it's welcome. Race ties the fabric around Albert's wrist, and gently puts his hand down, picking up the other one, dripping blood on Albert's shorts.

'But he called you bad things.' Albert says quietly, scrunching his left hand up. 'He called Jack bad things. He called the newsies bad things.'

'That doesn't mean you should beat him up.' Race says sharply, pulling the fabric a little too taut around Albert's knuckles. 'We can protect ourselves.'

Albert looks away. 'But I care. About you and Jack and the newsies. How else am I meant to show that I care?'

Race ties the fabric around Albert's hand, finishing the wrap. He puts his other hand on top of Albert's, like a sandwich. 'You feel this, Albert? You feel my hands, and how warm they are? That means I care. Soft touches mean you care, not hurting ones.'

Albert bites his lip. Soft touches. When was the last time Albert felt a soft touch?

Race puts his hand up to Albert's cheek, rubs his thumb over the bump of an old scar. 'Soft touches mean I love you, Albert. Soft touches mean I love you no matter what you do or what happens.' He chuckles a little. 'That doesn't mean I condone you beating up Oscar Delancey for almost no reason.'

Albert smiles softly, before wrapping Race in a tight hug.

It feels nice.

Albert hasn't hugged or been hugged in probably years. He feels his insides melt with comfort as Race reciprocated the hug, rubbing Albert's back and tightening his grip around Albert's middle.

Soft touches mean I love you.

you guys are never gonna guess what this post is

jk it’s more newsies