#Newsies Fanfic

[livingathousandlifetimes]

For a piece of media that hasn't come out with new content in a long ass time, I'm constantly flabbergasted by the things I learn being in the newsies fandom

[kitswritingantics]

Jack teaching Davey to do rope tricks, but the rope ends up around Jack, and Davey pulls him in and just kisses him

"Jack, I genuinely don't understand how this is s'posed to—" "C'mooooon, Dave, you got it!" Jack said encouragingly, untangling the rope from around the lamppost near him. The two were in Newsies Square just before sundown, Jack determined to teach Davey how to work his rope. Davey grumbled to himself, fiddling with the rope and finally gripping it correctly. Jack nodded proudly, smiling at him. "Good, that's good, Dave. Yer doin' fine." A light blush colored Davey's cheeks as he avoided Jack's eyes, examining the rope. His knuckles turned white as he gripped it tightly, looking back up. "Are you sure I'm doing it right?" "Yer doin' perfect so far, Dave. C'mon, jus' give it a try!" Jack said, stepping back to give Davey room.

Davey hesitated, then nodded, winding up the rope and tossing it, actually managing to get it around Jack, which was the goal the whole time. Jack shot his arms up in triumph, whooping loudly as Davey grinned in surprised pride.

"I knew y'could do it!" Jack said, unraveling himself and tossing the rope back to Davey. "C'mon, one more go, Davey, y've got the hang of it now."

"Jack, I'm not sure, it's getting kinda late—"

"Relax. Sundown ain't fer another fifteen minutes er so. Jus' a couple more gos, c'mon!"

Davey's face cracked into a grin, and he nodded, trying a few more times and slowly getting the hang of it.

His last attempt, just as the sun was going down, Davey tugged Jack close by the middle using the rope. Jack spluttered a little in surprise, prepared to make a snarky comment when Davey reached down to cup his cheek in his hand. Davey's lips met Jack's just as the sun was going down, and the two boys smiled to themselves. Jack's arms came up to wrap around Davey's shoulders, his fingers tangling in his hair.

This moment was perfect.

[youaintnothinbuta]

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

Thank you!!!

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

Summary: ^^^

Pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 413

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[jack-kellys]

OOUGHGHHHH CAN U MAYBE DO ,, WHO DID THIS TO YOU ,,,, W JAVEY ,,, PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC WHATEVER FITS THE VIBE IDK ,,,,

also unrelated sidenote i accidentally misread "soup for the sick" and thought it said "soup for the dick" and i was like yknow what? yeah sure. before i reread it and realized what it actually said LMFAO

soup for the dick as a bad things happen event.. hmm

ao3 series is here, and u can request a trope from these. let's get into it.

David isn’t one to stay over at the lodge. It’s not a simple thing to head all the way to his family’s small apartment, give them the news, and head all the way back afterward. Usually it’s rather late when he gets the chance to, and consequently hard to prove to his parents why he should stay out instead.

So this time, he doesn’t tell his parents.

Today marks the last day of Jack’s first week as an artist at the World. Sometimes he gets out early enough to sell the evening, or sometimes he goes in late enough to sell the morning. Today was a morning sell day, so David hasn’t seen the boy all day, and he should be seeing him… about thirty minutes ago, approximately. 

David sits on the lodge’s steps inside, feeling like an overgrown weed as other kids tumble up and down past him as they come down for or finish up their suppers. Maybe it’s childish to wait up for the other, and Jack could have easily gotten caught up with something at a place like that with all these fancy people. Maybe Katherine is simply introducing him to some people, or something. 

“I ain’t like it either,” snaps David from his thoughts, and he glances up and behind him at the stairs’ landing. Crutchie’s pulling himself out of the window there, so he must have been up on the roof. He gives David a small smile. “You’re waiting for him, right?”

“Yeah,” David half-grumbles. At this point he and Jack’s…tendencies toward each other were quite apparent with the Lower Manhattan newsies, so he supposes he shouldn’t be too embarrassed about being obvious. “He’s not usually this late, not after office stuff.”

Crutchie bends down with a balance and strength David can only wish he had, pushing his crutch toward David. David crawls up a stair or to and takes it leaving Crutchie free to hop down with the railing. 

“I know,” Crutchie agrees. “And, I mean. He knows this’s the one time to see you today?”

David bites lip, giving a slight nod.

“Then I really ain’t like it,” Crutchie chuckles, though his eyebrows furrow. David smiles his nervous appreciation at the other. “Look, Dave, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. He’s probably thinkin’ all about how you’re sitting here sighin’ to yourself as you stare out the front window.”

“Crutchie,” David mumbles, feeling his face heat up. He’s not as much sighing and batting his eyes as he is gripping the fabric of his slacks and trying to slow his mind down from the top speed it wants to run at. “I’m worried.” 

“Me too,” C assures, tossing an arm over David’s shoulders once he sits himself down. David leans into the other, frowning to himself but glad to no longer wait alone.  

‘Alone’ quickly becomes a luxury as another twenty minutes slips by. The volume in the building has reached its exponential climax upstairs- most of the kids have washed up after dinner and plenty of them will be heading downstairs to the supper tables again to play cards and other games before lights out. 

“Move, Davey!” is demanded of him by 14-year-old JoJo, and David looks up to see her hands on her hips, expectant. Crutchie remains seated, also giving David an expectant look. David does as told. 

Children bounce down the stairs, followed up by Racer, Specs, and Albert, who pause when they see David and Crutchie. 

“Jack ain’t show?” Albert sighs, shaking his head. “Jeez.” 

“I haven’t heard anything from anybody, either,” Specs supplies. “No one’s seen him since the morning edition- not enough to know where he’s at now.” 

So a longer length of time than David had thought. His mind starts running at the speed it wanted to, gaze sliding to Racer’s. They had to start searching.

Racer nods, thankfully reading David’s mind as he heads down the rest of the stairs. “Let’s go, come on.” 

David jumps up instantly, feet wanting to move by now after far too much waiting, but movement outside of the front door stops both of them. 

“Great timing as always, Jackie,” Racer mutters to himself, but the door opens, and it’s Katherine, eyes shockingly wide, door still concealing most of her body.

“Kath?” David says, coming up to the door to open it for her. “You okay? Where’s-”

And then he opens it all the way. 

Jack Kelly is pressed desperately into her side, his arm slung over Katherine’s shoulder as she clearly holds most of his weight. Both his eyes are half closed, one clearly by someone’s hard fist as the bruise around it purples part of his wide nose, smearing half the boy’s face in the color. His lip’s busted, blood only starting to congeal as past drippings of it still line his chin. His cheek’s split, the knuckles David can see are bruised and open, who knows what’s under his shirt, someone's touched his hair. 

David’s stiffened, he realizes, as he knows everyone’s gaze on him. His eyes are only on Jack, blindingly on Jack, edges turning red, especially when Jack grins. 

“Davey…” he says, smiley, too smiley for David’s liking, “you’re still here, ‘s good, good. Wanted to see you, so Kath- Kath go’me here.” 

“Kath,” David says, steely, softly.

“Yep,” she replies, and David takes Jack’s other side, the both of them carrying Jack through the door together in silence, save for Jack’s sharp intakes of air every few steps. 

The thing about the main floor is that it is small and filled with tables. The thing about nearly every bed in the building is that they’re up a flight of stairs. Long ago, David figures, this problem was recognized and a couple mattresses were tossed down the stairs to live in the back of the main floor. This also means David and Katherine are forced to drag Jack’s corpse-looking figure to said mattress, and the last person to occupy it had been Splasher after the strikebreaking.

Every single kid in the building watches as David and Katherine move Jack to the back, eyes huge. Race, Specs, and Albert speed ahead to start pulling tables back and out of the way, and Crutchie follows, speaking softly to a few more vocal newsies to calm them down. It’s more quiet than David’s ever experienced in the usual madhouse of noise the lodge is. 

Slowly, he and Katherine lay Jack down on his back, and Kath immediately turns to him. 

“I just found him like this, right outside the main building,” she says, words hurried and brows crumpled into a deep crease. “I don’t know if someone tossed him there or- or if it happened right out in the open and I had no idea- I- I was working late and I’m- his ribs are busted up too, I checked. I didn’t know how else to- where else to go.”

“Right place,” Race says with a curt nod. “I’m gonna grab Mush, this’s… a whole operation.” 

He zips off, leaving still too many bodies around David and Jack when Jack is hurt and David’s chest is about to fucking burst with the fact. 

“Uh,” he lets out quickly, suddenly, his mouth motoring without his permission. Crutchie, Kath, Albert, Specs, everyone in the room looks at him. “Can you-” David stops himself. He won’t get anywhere if he asks. “Move, guys. Move, for a minute.”

It’s callous, he knows, and demanding, and maybe even unfair. They’re all worried, just like David.

They move. Katherine squeezes his shoulder, and Crutchie gives himself one last look at Jack, but they all move. It’s just Davey and Jack. 

David looks down at the other again, gaze withering. Carefully, his fingers touch the safest parts of Jack’s face, and Jack just barely turns toward him. 

“Who did this to you,” David demands, clear, enunciated, burning.

Jack watches him as much as he’s able, but he deliberately looks away after a few moments, delirious smile dimmed.

“Y’know those’m, those… friends I said I made? At the World?” he mumbles out. His lip quirks, since he’s about to admit something, and David finds a kerchief in his pocket to wipe the boy’s lip quickly. “They.. ain’t my friends, ‘s f’sure, Davey.”

“No they would not be,” David tries to agree softly, but it comes out of his mouth argumentative, maybe. Jack gives him a smile, covering a wince- David catches his hand trying to find his ribs. 

“You look like you’re gonna do something stupid,” Jack hums. 

“I don’t- have.. a look that indicates that,” David spits out. 

“If you’re gonna do it,” Jack continues, and there’s this look in his eye that tells David that Jack is just as angry as he is, “bring someone.”

David brings Race. 

He gets a general description from Jack as the night goes on, Mush having peeled back Jack’s shirt to ice his ribs and stitch up the cut in Jack’s cheek, and Kath points the two boys out to Race and David the next day. It’s kind of a team effort, sure, but to David the effort isn’t done until his fist is in someone’s gut. 

Things have made him feel ugly inside before, it isn’t that unusual for him, but this ugliness is hot and flaming and demanding action. And in the name of the boy David thinks he loves, he’ll let it the hell out. Race’s dark smirk only encourages it. 

He and Race surprise the boys, catching them on their way home. David hasn’t been in many fights since the strike, in all honesty, but he’s had to fend for himself at school as the new resident working boy in his classes. 

David doesn’t let himself think. If he thinks, he’ll stop, and that’s probably the better option, so David has to ignore it. He’s doing the stupid thing, he brought someone, and they screwed up one of Jack’s braids and beat his face in and–

He forgot how much it hurt to hit someone…

David shoves one of the guys into the alley as Race does, and his knuckles find his guy’s nose- once, twice. He earns one to his jaw, and he tries not to reel in surprise, because Race isn’t- Race takes his punch to the ribs he receives and hits back two times quicker as if to erase the action as a whole. 

David isn’t fast in that way, but he’s damn tall, and he takes his target’s shoulders and drives him against the wall, nailing him in the gut while he holds him there. The boy tries to rip David’s grip away, but David practically slams him back as a knee-jerk reaction. His eyes widen at himself, but it’s fine, it’s an opening. He runs his fist into the boy’s cheek. 

“David,” Race hisses after what must be a while, and David’s attention snaps up and over at the other. He nods, and they both drop what they’re doing and scram.

They slow to a quick walk after a few blocks, and Race grins, slapping David’s chest. The boy’s sporting a bruise by his temple, and David thinks he remembers Racer’s head hitting the brick wall.

“You gotta tell Jack! Davey, I never seen you fight like that,” Racer says, beaming at David- proud of him. David can’t help sending a tiny smile back.

“I know that was- uh- well, very reckless, and unbelievably stupid, so,” David sighs out, “thank you.” 

“Yeah, man, I got you,” Race nods. “For Jack, yeah?”

David finds himself nodding, vigorously, not thinking. Not needing to think.

“For Jack,” he echoes. 

The lodge welcomes them back heartily, and David can see Jack sitting up on the mattress in the back, which he should not be fucking doing. He ignores the cheers and rushes over to him.

“What are you doing?” he hisses. “Didn’t Mush say you shouldn’t sit up on your-”

Dark, cherry-colored lips press to his, sudden and silencing. David can feel the cut on Jack’s bottom one with his tongue when he pulls away. 

“You’re nose’s bleedin’” Jack whispers, smirking. David wipes it quickly.

“Uh, sorry,” he lets out, blinking at the other. 

“Did you get ‘em good?” Jack asks, looking up at him, a little differently. Jack’s gaze keeps slipping downward just a tick. David nods slowly.

“I think we did, yeah,” he confirms. “Race was a great help.”

He sits himself next to Jack, even though the boy should really lay down. Instead, Jack shifts himself against David, making himself comfortable. David’s arm slips around his waist.

“You really…care, about me,” Jack says softly. 

“Of course I do,” David nearly scoffs. “Jack. I-”

“This’s something else, Davey, yeah? Somethin’ new?”

David thinks about the burning, and the ugliness- how Jack’s pain had made him feel ugly inside, not just Jack. How he didn’t even think.

“Yeah,” David says. “You okay with it?”

Jack gazes at him again. One of his eyes is officially swollen shut, but the other is wide open, burning with something beautiful.

“Yeah,” Jack smiles. David returns it, without a thought. 

[ya-what--ya-erster]

if y’all have any alleyway scene javey fics I will take them gladly

[aj-theteenagecondition]

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

[orangesand-lemons-234]

Albert running into his art studio wasn't something Jack expected on a random Wednesday evening, but there he was.

He had a tattered notebook in his hands, and his fingers were stained splatters of different colours with what looked to be water colour paints. His face was red and puffy, showing that he must've been crying before he'd came over.

"Al? What's wrong with ya?"

"I need you to teach me how to draw and paint... right now."

Jack snickered, only to be met with Albert's face. "Oh, you're serious?"

Albert raised an eyebrow at him. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm serious as a heart attack."

"Albert, you can't just learn how to paint overnight." He explained. "It takes years to learn- I've been doing it for ages, and I'm still learning."

"Well then, teach me the basics! Please!" Albert exclaimed. "Show me how to draw a person- it doesn't even have to be everything! Show me the easiest of the easiest skills you know!"

Jack stared at him for a moment before speaking again. "Right, Albert, where is this coming from?"

Albert huffed and slid the notebook towards Jack. "I saw you drawin' Davey, and I wanted to try it out myself and draw Race, but I couldn't- I didn't understand how to do it. Every time i did it, it just didn't look like Race."

Jack flipped through the pages and saw the countless drawings of Racetrack on each page. Some were just plain pencil doodles, while others were coloured or painted in.

They actually weren't half bad. Some were definitely a little rushed, while others looked to have genuine time put into them. But on every page, you could read Albert's aggravated annotations in the corner.

"doesn’t look like race."

"too shape-y."

"wtf am i even doing here"

"sketch looked so much better"

"too stiff"

"who even is that"

"why can't i draw my boyfriend???"

"Okay, are you stressed out over this?" Jack asked, holding the notebook up.

Albert nodded slowly, scratching at the skin around his fingernails. At this, Jack threw the book into a drawer and shut it. He got up and walked over to a shelf, pulling a plain sketchbook off of it.

"Right, c'mere." Jack said, signalling to Albert to sit on the seat at his desk. He then grabbed a stool from the corner and sat it next to him. "We're gonna forget about your other sketchbook, and we're gonna start a different one, 'kay? I got this one off of Denton a while ago, but I'monly halfway through my current one, so this can be yours."

Albert nodded again, rubbing at his eyes. Jack reached over into a small basket on the corner of the desk and pulled out a sticker. It was of Simba from the Lion King. He peeled off the back and quickly stuck it onto the front cover.

"There. Now it's really all yours. Got your favourite character and all."

This got a laugh out of Albert, which told Jack that they were free to carry on.

"So something you should know about drawing is that sometimes you just can't draw the people you love. It's odd- some sorta science behind it, I think, but I don't know the real cause." Jack explained. "For me? I think it's because you love that person so much that you don't know how to draw them in a way that does that admiration for them justice."

"But you drew Davey for his birthday?" Albert questioned.

"Albo, when's David's birthday?"

"May 18th?"

"I began plannin' that painting in December. It took me half a year to plan that and practice that and draft that properly."

"Oh."

Jack patted his shoulder and smiled a little. "You don't have to do all that, though, but I can teach you bit by bit how to get to a point where you'd maybe like to try that out?"

"Okay then." Albert smiled back. He wasn't picking at his skin now, and he looked excited to begin.

"So, first step: pick up a pencil. Seems pretty simple, but you wouldn't believe how many times I've accidentally picked up a paintbrush instead."

-

That night, Albert fell asleep the second his head reached the pillow. He'd left the sketchbook out on his bedside table, alongside his bracelet and his black stud earrings.

Race leaned over to give him a kiss before he fell asleep himself, only to notice the book, which he didn't recognise.

He picked it up and went to open it. If it's a diary or something, he'll put it right down, but he did wanna see what it might be.

On the first page, he saw a sketch of himself. There were a few notes in Jack's handwriting littering the page, but that's not what he was focused on.

He didn't care if it wasn't perfect or anything.

Albert had drawn him. And he loved it.

[theres-no-escaping-us-pal]

i have the urge to write javey fanfic

opinions?

[we-are-inevitable]

and the sun still sets the same // ch. 5 - javid

It feels wrong. It feels wrong that David is here, but he’s not David, and that feels… different. Jack feels something crack deep in his chest. Does David even want to be here? Does David feel like he has to change for Jack? Why does David feel like he has to do anything for Jack? Does Jack want David to want to change for him? The moment the thought crosses Jack’s mind, he feels a twinge in his gut. Jack doesn’t want David to change. Jack wants David just the way he is. Jack wants… Davey.

Read on AO3!

[mingyusfool]

Something to Believe In: Prologue Part Two

Pairing: n/a, this section will just be a backstory for newsie!reader.

Prompt: Newsies inspired Seventeen fic

Warnings: Violence and bullying.

Release Date: September 19, 2024

Summary:

You find yourself out of work and are looking to secure a new job working as a newsie for the largest newspaper printing company in the city: The New York World. Daunting as that might be, you head to Newsies Square early to beat the other newsies to the stand to buy papes and hopefully impress them. However, luck is not on your side and your day ends up quite differently than you planned...

Prologue Part Two: Welcome to Newsies Square

You tread across the cobblestone path as you clung to a small bag thrown over your shoulder. In it, a collection of your personal belongings that you decided to take with you. The rest, you’d given to the other newsies who seemed to need it more than you. An old slingshot that you enjoyed when you were younger but no longer found use of, you’d given to your youngest, hoping she’d enjoy it just as much as you had. A couple of articles of clothing that no longer fit you, you’d given to some of the others who were a bit smaller than you, and they’d repurposed their old clothes to those who were smaller than them too. It was something you’d always instructed everyone to do, to make the best use of your resources, but it was especially important now that you wouldn’t have each other to rely on anymore. 

You ensured everyone found a new job before the GG was shut down, whether that was as a newsie working for a different company, in a factory, as a shoe shiner, or something else of that nature. You needed to make sure your people were safe and taken care of. So much so that you’d barely thought about yourself. You’d saved up enough money to survive a couple of weeks on your own but you didn’t want to spend those weeks by yourself on the streets. You needed to find work fast which is why you found yourself in this particular part of town, staring up at The New York World Building. 

It was the tallest of a couple of structures that were responsible for writing and printing the most popular selling newspaper in the whole city. If you had your choice, you’d love to take a shot at writing for them, but you know they’d never let you with your lack of experience. You’d never written like that for anything. You’d only ever written short stories in a journal you kept, occasionally reading them to the younger newsies as bedtime stories. Though you lacked experience, your stories had gotten good reviews, even from a couple of the older ones who swore they were only listening because it was impossible to turn off their ears. 

The place you stood in now was entirely different from Gramercy. You were only used to your small group, your tight knit family who hardly left your side. Gramercy was quiet, full of trees and nature; your little peaceful oasis away from the rest of the city. Now you were surrounded by skyscrapers and you felt an unmatched energy all around. You could picture these streets during the day, flooded with newsies, as they would be within the hour, you were sure. However, you’d gotten there early, before anyone else in fact. You knew with there being so many newsies living around these parts that it was the only way you could make your coin for the day. 

You managed to find the window where the papes for The World were sold and were greeted with a middle aged man who flashed you a smile. He smoked a cigar as he counted a couple stacks of coins before him. 

“Tough morning, kid?” he asked, looking you over. 

“Not particularly…” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows and fishing in your pocket for your coins. “I’ll take five stacks of papes.” 

“We don’t got five stacks,” he told you, taking a puff on his cigar. 

“How long until you get the papes for the day?” you asked, not wanting to be caught up here for the whole morning. Surely The World was just finishing up their printing for the morning and the papes would be released any moment. No one could afford being late in this business. If the papes weren’t released to the newsies at first light, then the newsies wouldn’t be able to sell them to anyone on their way to work, and The World wouldn’t make any money. And one thing was for sure, you were never late. 

“You’re about an hour too late,” he told you. 

You stared at him in disbelief. You had gotten up extra early that morning so you could be certain you would get to the news stand before everyone else. You knew you needed to buy my papes and beat them to the streets so you could make your keep today and prove to the Manhattan newsies that you would make a good addition to the team. Now that plan was ruined but there was still plenty of the day left to make decent coin. 

“I’ll take whatever you have left,” you told the man. He promptly slammed one stack of papes on the counter and you sighed. Then you paid him and left the news stand. 

You made your way out of Newsie Square and took to the streets of the city, taking a quick look at the headline at the top of the news. It was another political story, which luckily everyone wanted to read about. You quickly thought of a much more interesting headline than the one that was written and began shouting “Political Brawl in Queens!” to try to catch the attention of anyone passing by. You managed to catch the attention of a couple individuals, selling them papes and moving on down the street. 

As you continued shouting, you were approached by two younger gentlemen, both dressed in matching bowler hats. 

“You look lost, kid,” one of them said to you with a snide smirk on his face. 

You looked up at them. You were not in the mood to play games with men like this. “Do you boys wanna buy papes or can I be on my way?” 

“Don’t you newsies usually travel together? Ya know, to keep each other out of trouble?” the other man said, crossing his arms. 

“And to protect the weaklings…” the first man frowned, mocking a pout. “Just in case something like this happens!” 

Suddenly, he slapped the stack of newspapers you were carrying out of your hands and onto the ground. And of course with your luck, they landed scattered across a mud puddle. The two men laughed and you glared at them. 

“What are you going to do? Cry about it?” the second one cackled. 

You needed to escape these schmucks as soon as possible and you knew what you needed to do. While the one man was cackling you stamped as hard as you could on his foot. He screamed in agony and awkwardly hopped away on one foot. As the other man approached you, you spit directly in his face as a diversion and started running in the opposite direction. 

However, as soon as you turned around you ran face first into someone’s chest. The force knocked you back onto the ground and you landed right in the mud, with the two men not far behind you now. 

“Are you alright?” 

Whoever you had just bumped full force into extended a hand in your direction. When you looked up, you saw a young man, dark eyebrows furrowed with concern. He wore a white tank top that clung tightly to his skin, leaving his arms out on full display. His tan trousers hugged his thighs and were held up by a pair of suspenders. And atop his dark hair sat a tan newsie cap. A couple of other young men stood behind him, their outfits similar to his. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, taking his hand and allowing you to pull him up with ease. 

“Good,” he said, then he stepped to the side to face the two men who had been bothering you. “Well if it isn’t the Delancey Brothers. I knew I smelled an unpleasant aroma. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you boys to leave my newsies alone.” 

“Well your newsie was sellin’ us a fake headline,” one of the men said, glaring at you. 

The newsie looked at you. “Is that true?” 

“‘Course not. I only glorify the headline, like every other newsie. I don’t make up entirely new stories,” you told him. 

“Ya heard it here boys. Us newsies only speak the truth! Now why don’t you go and find a real job instead of botherin’ us folks? Must be hard for you now that everyone knows you got fired from The World,” the newsie said with a smirk. 

One of the men suddenly pushed the newsie back a few steps but he held his ground. He was much bigger than both of the men. 

The newsie chuckled, “C’mon Oscar, is that really the best you’ve got?” 

The man, Oscar, came at the newsie again, but this time he was prepared. He sidestepped and Oscar flew forward, losing his balance. On his way toward you, you managed to trip him and he fell onto the ground, face first into the mud. 

The other man swung at the newsie but he caught his hand, skillfully twisting his arm behind his back and locking him in place. 

“If I ever find you messing with my newsies again, there will be no place in this entire city where you’ll be able to show your face again and not end up with it unrecognizably smashed into the pavement. Have I made myself clear?” the newsie growled at them. 

After confirming that they understood, he let both of them go, watching as they did, making sure they didn’t come back. You finally got a chance to clearly observe all of the newsies before you. These were the newsies from the center of the Manhattan borough. They were tough, there’s no doubt about that, but not nearly as tough as the Brooklyn newsies. It’s safe to say that everyone felt a little uneasy when it came to the Brooklyn newsies. But you knew these Manhattan newsies were no joke either. These were the ones who were responsible for the start of the strike about a month ago now. These were the ones who took charge and created their own union, demanding fair working conditions from the chief editor and publisher of The World: Joseph Pulitzer. It’s thanks to these newsies in particular that all of us have those fair working conditions now and it’s thanks to them that we’re not just looked over as if we were scum. All newsies owe it to them, which is why you felt a bit anxious standing there as they all perceived you. 

“I was doing just fine on my own-” you began turning to face the newsie who was seemingly the leader of their group. 

“Fine, I’ll watch the Delancey Brothers ruin your pretty mug next time,” he spat. 

“You didn’t let me finish,” you said to him, deciding to disregard the fact that he just called you ‘pretty.’ “I was doing just fine on my own but I’m glad you were there to help me stop them. And don’t let that get to your head.” 

“Too late,” you heard one of the other newsies call out, though you weren’t sure which one. 

“They call me Coups… Leader of the Manhattan borough.” 

“I’m y/n, leader of- Well I used to be the leader of the Gramercy Newsies. We just got shut down a few days ago which is how I found myself here,” you explained. 

“So now you wanna work for The World?”

“Listen, I loved working for a company like the Gramercy Gazette but I can’t take that chance anymore with all these smaller companies getting shut down,” you told him. 

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Shoot.” 

“Why be a newsie?” Coups asked. “There’s plenty of other jobs in the city. Prob’ly better payin’ ones too. Why spend your time sellin’ papes?” 

You’d never thought about it before. You just did the job because that’s all you’d ever done. Of course you’d grown to love what you do… but why? 

“I suppose… I suppose it’s ‘cause I like stories. I like to know what’s going on in the world and I like reading about it. I think there’s a lot to learn from reading the news, and reading in general. Everyone deserves to know what’s going on in the world and everyone should stay updated when it comes to the news. Not saying the news is completely factual, but staying updated on the news unifies the world a little by little each day. It brings us together. And I like to be one of the many people helping to get that news out there.” 

Coups looked you up and down, then looked around as the other Manhattan newsies. 

“I like that answer, y/n. It will be good to have someone like you on the team who cares about this job as much as the rest of us do,” Coups smiled at you. “Now why don’t you stick with us for the rest of the day. I’m sure you could use a couple people on your side right about now.” 

He raised his hand to his mouth, spit in it, and offered a handshake. 

“Friends?” 

You hesitated but after he assured you that “it’s just business,” you did the same, spitting in your hand and shaking his. 

Author's Note:

Okay part 2 is finally done and thank you for reading it! I think this part of the story was a lot more interesting than part 1 and it's only going to get more interesting from here. Finally some of the boys have been introduced AND Scoups got in a little fight for you hehe. Can you tell I'm blushing through the screen? Of course I had to include the Delancey Brothers and if you're a Newsies fan you'll get it! I should be getting out part 3 a lot faster than I got out part 2; my life has been a little crazy over these past few weeks. Hopefully you'll stick around to see where this story goes! Thanks again and I'll see ya in the next one! :)

[itsgrapes-exe]

fanart of the fanfic run boy run by @pigeonwit!! it’s literally so good go read it right now

im suprised at how this turned out it was better than i thought it would be

[livingathousandlifetimes]

Welcome back my Newsies brainrot mental illness! Today I thought of something that has emotionally devastated me but will have absolutely no bearing on literally anyone in my life so you all get it here:

Jack Kelly was 17 during the strikes in 1899. WWI started in 1914 when Jack would've been 32. I'm SPRINTING to AO3 to see if anyone's started mining this hurt/comfort GOLD yet and I'm 100% gonna cry tonight

[kat-in-a-trashcan]

If you were writing a Javey high school au fanfic where they're doing a musical, who would be the student director WHO ISN'T KATHRINE?

[youaintnothinbuta]

I am begging for either Jack Kelly or Race smut!

“Give me another one, sweetheart, come on.” — jack kelly x reader

Summary: Jack fills you with his cum, bringing you to orgasm, but wants to see his fingers fuck you as his cum drips down them, so he forces another (intense) orgasm out of you

Pairing: Jack Kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 1,900 (sorry, for some reason I can never write short smut!!)

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), mature language, forced orgasm, typos probably

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As you and Jack step through the door, a sense of relief washes over you both, finally home after a long day spent at the races with the boys. Jack closes the bedroom door gently behind him, the click echoing softly in the room as you make your way to your side of the bed. A subtle exhale escapes Jack, partly in admiration for how stunning you looked in your specially chosen dress, partly in frustration that he hasn't gotten a moment alone until now.

He stands beside the bed, his fingertips grazing the smooth surface of the duvet, his eyes lifting from the bed to meet yours. “I couldn't get that dress out of my mind all day,” he confesses, his voice low and intimate.

”Really?” you inquire, crossing the room to join him, gently urging him to sit as you perch yourself on the edge of the bed, your foot resting on his knee. He obligingly unbuckles the strap of your heel, his touch tender yet purposeful, silently asking for the other. “More or less,” he replies with a nonchalant shrug, slipping off your second heel with practiced ease, “maybe less.” His voice is low and deep as his hand ventures under the fabric of your dress, tracing a path up the back of your thigh.

With a firm grip on the ankle of your foot, still delicately poised on his knee, Jack effortlessly pulls you onto his lap. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the how hard he was beneath you, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His skilled fingers roam freely over the expanse of your thighs and the curves of your ass.

Your own fingers deftly work to undo the buttons of his shirt as his lips find their way to the nape of your neck, trailing a path of fiery kisses down to your shoulder. He grabs both sides of your dress at once, effortlessly pulling it up and over your head.

He pauses to take in the sight of you, bare except for your underwear. “Fuck,” he breathes out in awe, his hands instinctively cupping and squeezing both breasts through their lacy confines. He runs his hands down your sides, gripping the fabric of your underwear and pulling them off in one swift motion, leaving you entirely exposed to his hungry gaze.

Standing, Jack wraps his strong arms around you, effortlessly lifting your naked form against his bare chest. You wiggle in his arms, trying to get some friction through the fabric of his pants that separated your heat from his. “Mh, desperate,” he nips at your jaw.

“You're the one who wants to fuck me so bad you can barely stand it,” you retort. With a decisive gesture, he lowers you onto the bed. Dropping to his knees before you, he gazes up at you intensely, sending shivers down your spine, his hands reaching to grip one of your legs and draping it over his shoulder. A gasp escapes your lips as anticipation courses through you, his lips mere millimeters away from your dripping core. Kissing a trail along the soft skin of your inner thigh, his hands firmly anchored on either side, you can't help but plead in a breathy voice, “Please.”

Nuzzling closer, he breathes in deeply, intoxicated by your scent. With gentle reverence, he spreads your lips apart, his gaze fixated on your glistening entrance, his mind racing. Slowly, slick moisture drips from you, coating your entrance in a tantalizing invitation.

“You're so wet for me,” he groans, his voice heavy with desire, as he savors the sight before him.

Leaning in with a hunger that matches your own, Jack's tongue traces a slow, deliberate path along your sensitive folds. A low, guttural moan escapes your lips as he expertly laps up the juices of your arousal. He slips a finger into you, skillfully curling it to graze that spot deep inside you. Your body responds instinctively, an audible symphony of pleasure building with each stroke. Another finger joins the first, stretching you deliciously as he continues to work his tongue over your clit.

“Jack, oh, fuck,” you whimper, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate plea for more. With a sudden withdrawal, your senses are sent reeling as Jack pulls away from your trembling form. Blinking back into awareness, your gaze meets his as he stands once more, shedding the last remnants of his clothing.

“Hands and knees, baby,” he commands, his voice a husky whisper. With eager compliance, you position yourself as instructed. With a tender gesture, he brushes your hair aside, trailing a path of fervent kisses down to where your body arches in eager anticipation.

“I'm going to fuck that pretty little pussy so hard, just the way you like it,” he murmurs against your skin, his words dripping with promise as he strokes himself. Jack rubs the swollen head of his cock against your slick entrance, teasing you mercilessly with the promise of ecstasy.

Each touch sends a surge of electricity coursing through your nerves, eliciting a small gasp of pleasure at the exquisite sensation of his hardness against your delicate flesh. As he finally begins to push into you, the world seems to slow, every inch of him stretching you as he fills you inch by agonising inch. A primal groan escapes his lips, mirrored by your own as he buries himself deep within you, his hips pressed flush against your ass, his tip grazing over that intoxicating spot buried deep within your core. For a moment, he holds himself still, allowing you to adjust to his size.

“Fuck me,” he breathes out, his voice thick with desire, as your walls clench around him, instinctively seeking more of the pleasure he offers. With a subtle shift of your body, you begin to move against him, eager to feel the delicious friction of his cock sliding in and out of you. Yet, before you can fully lose yourself in the rhythm, he seizes your hips with a firm grip, stopping your movements.

“Uh uh. That's my job,” he murmurs, his voice thick like honey. Slowly, deliberately, he withdraws from you, the sensation leaving you momentarily deprived as he reclaims his place within you.

With each thrust, he sets a relentless pace, his fingers deftly finding their way to your clit.

“Fuck, Jack,” you moan, the words torn from your lips in a desperate plea for more as he picks up the tempo, driving into you with an intensity that leaves you gasping for breath.

“Jack, don't stop,” you pant, your voice a breathless plea. Sensations collide from every angle.

“Baby, I can't hold on, I need you to come,” he groans, his own need echoing yours as he teeters on the edge of release.

“Cum for me, Jack,” you implore, your words urging him ever closer to the brink. With each relentless thrust, he pushes deeper into you, his fingers dancing skillfully over your sensitive clit. As his grunts morph into primal moans, a usual sign of his approaching orgasm, you tighten your walls around him, eliciting a long, drawn-out string of needy moans from his lips. The circles he traces on your clit quicken in pace, sending jolts of electricity racing through your trembling thighs as you too are close to climax.

“I'm coming, I'm coming," he whines, his voice raw with need as he plunges his cock as deep as he possibly can within you. A surge of hot cum spills from him, flooding your pussy as he continues to drive himself further into your trembling core.

Thats all you needed to feel your own orgasm come crashing over you like a wave, coating his cock with even more slick as pleasure consumes every fibre of your being. He groans as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his cock still hard inside of you.

“F-fuck,” he pants out, as the final waves of his high crash over him. As he finally pulls out of you, a sense of emptiness replaces him.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he declares, his voice thick with desire as his fingers trace a tantalising path over your slick entrance and swollen clit. A small yelp escapes your lips at the sudden touch, your nerves still on fire from the intensity of your orgasm. He hums in satisfaction, relishing the sight of his cum on his fingers.

“Jack,” you mumble, not sure if you can handle it again.

“Sensitive, huh, baby?” he remarks, He smiles, curling his fingers inside your writhing body. “Push past it, baby. You know you can,” he encourages you, watching your face scrunch with the overwhelming sensation.

With a determined nod, you steel yourself against the overwhelming sensation. As his fingers continue to rub you, you release a deep breath.

“Good girl,” he praises you, pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them to your lips. You suck them into your mouth, tasting yourself on him. He hums in approval, a satisfied smile gracing his lips as he watches you, his gaze smoldering with a carnal intensity. Soon the tone of your moans shift slightly and he knows you’ve moved from painful pleasure to just intense pleasure. He changes the direction of the circles his thumb is drawing over your clit, your thighs try to clench closed.

He shakes his head gently, prying them open with his free hand. “That's it, baby, ‘atta girl now.” He praises you as you start to tremble around his hand. Your jaw hangs slack, your gaze alternating between his eyes and the mesmerizing sight of his hand working tirelessly to coax another release from you. Covered in a slick cocktail of your wetness and his cum, his fingers move with practiced precision, each stroke driving you closer to orgasm.

“Jack, Jack,” you whimper, his name a desperate plea torn from your lips as the pleasure builds to a fever pitch. He chuckles proudly at the sight of your trembling legs.

“Give me another one, sweetheart, come on,” he coaxes, his voice a gentle but stern. A moan escapes your lips as Jack deftly spreads your legs wider, granting him better access to your heat. He feels the walls of your pussy clench around him again and he knows it’s time for another orgasm.

“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs in encouragement, his voice guiding you through the pleasure building within you, as your body tenses and trembles around his hand. He lets out a small groan at the way your thighs clench so hard against him that it he couldn't pull his hand away if he tried. With a scream unexpected even to you, your fingertips grip his hair, and he gasps a stream of liquid flows from your body. With quick reflexes, he redirects his fingers to your clit, prolonging the sensation of your squirt, a string of squeals and cries coming with it.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he groans, his voice thick. As you ride out the waves of your climax, he keeps his thumb pressed lightly against you, ensuring that every last tremor of ecstasy is savoured, your abs convulsing as you finish.

“Jack,” you pant out as he finally pulls his hand away from your pussy. He brings it to his mouth and licks your juices off of each of his fingers, before pressing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Oh my god,” you say, your body still shaking from the intensity of it all.

He chuckles and kisses you again, lying down next to you on his side. “You okay?” he inquires, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your flushed face.

“Yeah,” you reply with a contented sigh, feeling his warmth enveloping you as he rolls on top of you, pressing soft kisses along your jawline.

“Good,” he murmurs against your lips, then flipping you over to lay against his chest.

[jack-kellys]

hiya fizz!! can I request davey + forgetting to eat for the bad things happen bingo? idk it just feels so Him yk

bonus points if there's javey involved asw (maybe with the anger born of worry trope idk)

tyy :))

hey theeere kit of course! one box per fic, though, making it harder for myself >:)

ao3 series here, and request a trope from these here!

The chillier breezes and shifting leaves of autumn came quicker than David could have planned. Not like he can plan seasons, of course, but he hadn’t had time to factor in what autumn meant to his, shall he say.. outside responsibilities.

School, for one, had picked up once September finished- assignments were piling enough and David left home that morning with Les with arithmetic still to complete. It occupied his lunch period, pencil messily scratching across the page to finish it before his next class.

And after school he’s at the circulation gate, waiting for the evening edition with a couple of the boys. Sometimes Sarah accompanies him when she can get out of the house, and especially since their folks don’t permit Les to sell anymore (much to the now ten-year-old’s chagrin), but today isn’t one of those days. It’s solely David, tapping his foot.

“He’s late,” he mutters out, not to anyone in particular.

“Who, Jack?” Racer asks, perking up. That’s true, but not what David meant.

“Wiesel,” David sighs. “Folks are expecting us on the streets in only a few minutes, right?”

“Cool it,” Racer chuckles. “Ain’t a thing. We got better things to be pissed at him about.”

“I’m not- pissed,” David frowns, shoulders bunching a little. He stops tapping his foot. Race gives him an exaggerated nod, eyes widened, and David rolls his own. Finally the gate opens and when David turns away from the window with his fifty papers in hand, Jack appears in front of him with some kind of smile on his face.

“You’re also late,” David says, and Jack only smiles wider. “You selling?”

“Ain’t I always,” Jack smirks, patting his bag- less than his usual, David thinks. “I got a request.”

David’s lips quirk, following Jack when he begins to walk them away from the circulation center. “What kind, exactly?”

“A good one, promise,” Jack replies, setting his hand on Davey’s shoulder, likely to steer him toward whatever odd adventure Jack’s planned. “It’s startin’ to get colder, you know, and Klopp can only buy so much for us. It’s up to us older fellas to pick up the slack. New socks, new gloves, extra fabric to stuff clothes with.”

That’s reasonable in terms of necessity, but not in the way that matters most. David turns his head toward Jack. “How did you get the money for that?”

Jack smiles again, wide, eyes narrowed in amusement or pride.

“Easy,” he states. “I didn’t. Now c’mon.”

For all of the legends and stories David has heard, he’s never seen Jack’s thieving skills in action. There are lots of things he’s swiped over the years, apparently, that simply hadn’t made it to his rap sheet- and most were far more impressive than food and clothing. So while David doesn’t exactly like it, he makes conversation with a shop clerk while Jack slithers into the store behind him. The bottom line is that they can’t afford it, and the kids at the lodge need it, and that has to outweigh the moral consequences of it all.

David’s normally a talkative person. Not a good talker, maybe–definitely a better one now–but he can keep going, and going. He’s leaning on the counter, having linked his english class to the price of wool going up somehow, and he feels his brain start to…slide, almost. It feels distracted, but not by anything he can tell, and his gaze falls to the counter as it does. Maybe he’s just tired, but he has to keep talking so Jack can get–

“Hey. Hey. Kid, you alright?”

David’s head snaps up with a quick inhale at the clerk’s voice, blinking a few times to sort out his vision. He’d been really intent on that counter.

“Uh, yes, yeah,” he nods quickly. “Just fine, ah- sorry, what was I talking about..?”

“You ain’t been talking for nearly a minute,” the clerk replies, “what- HEY!”

That can only mean one thing. David can hear the door open, and before it can close, he’s running outside.

“Thought you said you were good at this!” David yells, catching up to Jack. His paper bag is filled, and his shirt must be stuffed- he’s gripping his sleeves like random objects might start pooling out from them.

“I am when my partner ain’t suddenly go dead silent!” Jack retorts, glancing behind them. He picks up his pace, and painstakingly, David does the same, a pit forming in his stomach.

His expression slackens. More than a pit- something like a hurricane, swirling his insides in circles, over and over.

“Jack,” he tries, but his voice doesn’t carry this time. He’s way more out of breath than he should be. “Jack. We need to- I need to stop.”

His partner’s head swivels at that, expression incredulous. “Dave, we-”

Jack blinks, eyes widening suddenly, and he nods vigorously. Ask and David shall receive, apparently…

In a moment, Jack’s hands are on him, as if he knew David was inches from stumbling. He practically shoves David into an alley, the change in direction jostling his brain. His legs are keeping up, but his brain can’t seem to, and every time he blinks they’re an extra five feet ahead of where they only just were.

Finally, Jack stops, and so does David, breathing hard. Spots are entering his vision, and he tries to blink them away, grabbing onto a railing at the bottom of a fire escape to steady himself.

“Shit, Dee,” he hears Jack hiss, and his fingers fall away from the railing as he’s guided and then sat against the wall. In front of him are Jack’s big, blurred, midnight-dark eyes, his eyebrows creased with concern. Light dapples parts of his face from above, landing on his pink-brown cheeks. He must’ve set David under the stairs. “Davey- Davey, hey, what’s goin’ on? What happened?”

Jack pats his cheek suddenly as he speaks, jerking David back to an attention he hadn’t realized he’d left.

“I just… can’t. Run. Ri’now,” David supplies, blinking at the other.

“Yeah I got that,” Jack almost chuckles, gaze still filled with worry His hand finds David’s forehead. “Are you sick?”

David shakes his head slowly, leaning into Jack’s palm. “Had to do math, during lunch.”

This somehow confounds Jack more, eyebrows scrunching, before he nods.

“Davey,” Jack sighs. “You gotta eat during lunch, okay? Gotta do that, or you’re gonna black out mid-sprint.”

“I blacked out after,” David corrects. The corrects again- “I didn’t black out.”

Jack nods in what David assumes is mock-understanding, before the boy shifts closer, pressing a quick kiss to David’s temple. Then he leans back, sitting on his knees and watching David for a moment. He can feel himself smile slightly, and Jack mirrors it meltily, before David snorts as the other tries to quickly wipe it off his face.

“Stay there,” Jack orders, standing himself up. “I’m gonna go grab you somethin’, alright? Then we’ll head back.”

David nods, leaning his head back against the brick behind him and resting his eyes. There’s no movement in front of him.

“Stop staring and get me some food, Kelly,” he hums.

“I–” Jack huffs. There’s a pause. “On it.”

[ya-what--ya-erster]

This doesn’t even get a title just enjoy some silly Ralbert

Race was dead.

Race was dead and the newsies were at his funeral.

And Albert DaSilva was sitting on a bench in the back of the church with sunglasses on, sipping a Kool Aid and watching TikToks without ear buds in.

It didn't make sense to anyone. Albert was Race's best friend, and everyone but Race knew that Albert was absolutely head over heels in love with Race.

So why was Albert acting like this was no big deal at all?

“Hey asshole.” Spot said, snatching Albert’s phone from his hands. “Have you noticed that the love of your life is dead?”

Spot had obviously been crying, his eyes red and his cheeks streaked with tears.

“Oh, I noticed. I just think he’s a little bitch who deserved it.” Albert said, taking a long drink of his Kool-Aid.

“You’re the bitch, Albert. You should be lying there, not him.”

“Listen, Spot. I’m just trying to hold it together until I can have a minute alone with, in your words, the ‘love of my life.’ Not that you’re wrong.”

“I can get everyone cleared out, but you better be sobbing when you come out of this room.”

“Alright.” Albert shrugged as if it made no difference to him.

It took about five minutes for the room to be empty, Spot’s doing.

Albert approached Race’s casket.

“Listen, Race… I know you aren’t dead.”

Race sat up, grinning. “Yeah, no shit.”

“So why are you faking your death exactly?”

“Wanted to see how long it’d take for someone to notice.”

“Classy.”

“Plus, I gathered some neat information, such as: Romeo is the one that stole my watch last week, Spot actually is capable of crying, and you’re in love with me.”

Albert choked on his Kool Aid. “I didn’t mean-“

“No, but I know you did mean. And I love you too.”

“look- wait, what?”

“I love you. Now kiss me, dammit.”

Race reached for Albert, who leaned away teasingly.

“Gross, you’re dead.”

“Right.” Race laughed. He climbed out of his casket with a smile.

Albert leaned forward to kiss him, but right before they would have met in the middle, Albert pulled back and shouted: “GUYS YOU CAN COME BACK IN.”