Latest Posts by loiteringandlurking - Page 13

chipped my tooth during stage combat today

Davey Jacobs realizing that not only is Jack an idiot, but an idiot that he’s in love with

Circa 1899

Davey trying to sell newspapers

SPRINTS INTO YOUR ASK BOX, doubles over panting .

javey oneshot in a storm at night, jack stays the night at davey's and they're both exhausted so emotions come to the forefront a little faster than usual .......

PLEASE . PLEASE .... I would cry ..... bee ily so much ... bonus points if jack gets a shower for the first time since Davey has met him and he's all clean and pretty ...

bee I would cry ... no pressure tho !!!! I love ur writing so much ...

(Note: I’m super sorry that this was so late, but I absolutely loved writing this! I hope you enjoy it, and thank you so much for requesting something! 😁)

Jack watched Davey from the doorway as the taller boy turned the next page of his book, humming softly to himself and methodically tapping the cover of the book, almost perfectly in time with the rain pummeling the ground outside.

It was darker than it should have been, thanks to the storm, but Jack didn’t mind one bit. Davey’s face looked warm and soft in the candlelight, a far cry from the expression the world usually knew, the one framed by lines of worry and tired eyes.

He seemed so peaceful that Jack felt as if he was watching a moment more private than it was, his friend’s outer shell stripped away and leaving him vulnerable.

Davey glanced up, smiling when he saw Jack in the doorway, and a blush spread across the other newsie’s face as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, feeling quite small.

“Hey, Jackie,” Davey greeted him, scooting over and patting the ground beside him, not noticing Jack’s face getting warmer as he sat down. He nodded at a small bead of water on Jack’s arm, left from where he didn’t dry it. “Feel better?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Jack replied, running a hand through his damp hair. “Thanks for lettin’ me stay, by the way.” He shot him a smile. “Means a lot.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Davey yawned softly, and Jack felt a pang of longing shoot through him, one which he tried to ignore. There’s no way he feels the same, Jack, he scolded himself.

Gaining a tiny bit of courage, Jack threw a relaxed arm around Davey, nearly nodding off in the combined warmth of both the wool coat he’d borrowed and Davey’s form next to him.

He was exhausted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this tired- maybe the strike? No matter how long it had been, Jack’s mind was in shambles.

He felt Davey shift, wrapping his arms around him, snuggling into his neck. Jack fought back the urge to kiss him right then and there, opting instead to reach over and tangle their hands together, chuckling softly as Davey glanced up at him with a lazy smile.

“You’re amazing. You know that, right?” Davey whispered, closing his eyes and leaning into Jack’s arms. “I can see why Kath likes you so much.”

“Really?” Jack asked, wondering if he’d heard him correctly. “What does that mean?”

Davey looked up at him, a peculiar look in his eyes- one that Jack had never seen before, one that told him all he needed to know. You know what it means.

Perhaps it was that look, or maybe the drunken tiredness they both felt, but Jack leaned forward and kissed him, pulling him closer. Davey’s lips were soft, just like he’d imagined, and he tasted like cinnamon and warmth. Davey smiled into the kiss, and Jack gave him a final peck before pulling back, still holding him tight.

“It’s late,” Davey muttered, laying his head on Jack’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Jack rubbed small circles into his back, his heart full to the brim with love.

“G’night, Dave,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”

From then until the sun rose, there was no sound save for the rain pattering lightly on the window, soothing the two boys to sleep in each other’s embrace.

little miss “goes on a writing spree for a day or two, publishing a bunch of stuff, and then can’t write for nearly a week”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JERJOR

ur first and last recent emojis are ur gender now. mine is 🅱👨‍❤‍💋‍👨

davey talking to jack in French bc he knows it makes jack weak in the ole knees ...... however consider jack rebutting by pulling Davey in real close by the collar and teasing him with the whisper of a kiss ... however consider Davey continuing to say sweet nothings in French and jack folds ... he just cannot beat davey's confidence and put-together ness at all times .... in short confident davey who knows how to get jack wrapped around his little finger and jack who is unaware it's happening until Davey has him (literally? figuratively? you decide) pinned against a wall and he looks up into daveys grey-blue eyes and /god/ that smirk of his and he's weak at the knees but davey has him completely cornered ...... 'i win, Jackie.' 'IT WASNT A COMPETITION?????'

pidge,,, I have no clue if the prompt post you reblogged was supposed to be for suggestions,,, but the one about character A moving around character B and trying to turn the light of mid cuddle is just,, so javid. Javid who will do ANYTHING to prevent disturbing the other, no matter how urgent a task is,, (the 2am delirium is setting in)

(yes they were indeed!! and if anyone else would like to put something in the suggestion box you can do so here

thank you jasper for choosing the prompt i wanted to do the most)

"Jack," Davey murmurs into the comforter, "what are you doing?"

"Nothing," Jack whispers, "go back to sleep."

Davey makes a childish little hum in the back of his throat, clearly very upset about things he doesn't currently know about, but settles further into the cradle of Jack's arms with a soft sigh.

Jack breathes slowly, his whole body boiling over with Davey - Davey's warmth, Davey's weight, Davey... He's never going to get used to holding him, just... Touching him. Being allowed to do that. It'd taken him at least a week into being 'official' - three and a half weeks from their very first date and two months, three weeks and four days from first trying to work up the nerve (but who's counting) - to even feel like he really was allowed. Like Davey wasn't just waiting for him to reach out only to jump away from him and ask what the hell he was doing, as if he might've somehow misread all the flirtatious comments and obvious dates and Davey actually, literally telling him, "I want to be your boyfriend," word for word.

It'd honestly taken Davey pointing it out to him - trying very hard to be polite and chaste about it and failing miserably, because Davey doesn't like being denied, as much as he might pretend otherwise - for Jack to even realize, oh, yes, he can touch his boyfriend if he wants - and he has to think that Davey might regret giving him that realization, because those words went deep, deep into his chest, into something aching and wanting that he'd kept hidden away for years, and activated what Crutchie accurately calls his 'grab drive'; and now Jack can't turn it off.

It goes something like this: Davey will be making breakfast, still looking perfectly sleep-rumpled from the night before in nothing but Jack's sweater and a pair of long pyjama pants that, while Jack maintains are dorky as hell, make him look so heartwrenchingly soft. His hair will still be a mess of brush-stroke curls, not being bothered to've found a brush yet, and his eyes will still have just a bit of a sheen to them as he pulls himself into wakefulness, and he'll be punching the spatula into the frying pan in tiny jolts of movement, his limbs still sleep-weak and numb in some places. And then Jack, without even realizing, will be right behind him, arms around his waist and squeezing - not too hard - just to know that yes, Davey is real. He'll lean up on his tiptoes and prop his head on Davey's shoulder, nudging at the bare skin of his neck until Davey laughs once - a soft and sleepy sound - and turns himself into Jack's weight, flopping over him like a blanket, surrendering the spatula to Jack's more experienced hands (bless Davey's cooking skills, but the man is not patient enough for scramble). Grab drive.

There's more, of course - Davey's doing his 'tism pacing' (his words, not Jacks), wandering back and forth in the fog of overthinking? Jack's pulling him gently into his lap, letting him giggle and sigh and rest against Jack's shoulder as he works. Grab drive. Davey's reading on the couch, flat on his back, his shirt riding over the sharp jut of his hipbone, curls tumbling over the cushions? Jack's suddenly blanketing him, snuffling at Davey's neck, as Davey props his book against Jack's head, resting his wrists and rubbing little circles into Jack's scalp. Grab drive. Davey brushes his fingertips against Jack's wrists, slowly working his thumbs into the sore muscles? Jack's tipping his forehead into Davey's chest, nuzzling his forehead against the crest of his collarbone like he might fuse them at the marrow, and humming happily as Davey works out the kinks in his wrists and chides him for not warming up properly. Grab drive.

It's not his fault - mostly. If anything, Davey's the one who made him realize how very touch-starved he'd been all his life, denying himself hugs and head-pats and cheek-kisses from the time he was a child, because he'd done nothing to deserve them. Touch was earned, in Jack's experience, whether it was a soft stroke of his hair or a good, hard smack. It wasn't right to just expect someone to want you. It was rude, annoying, childish, bratty-

And then Davey showed up and gave him everything, without question - and Jack hadn't looked back since. He takes every touch Davey'll give him and does it with a smile - and he'd hope he gave back as well as he got.

Except - selfishly, perhaps - he does wish Davey might roll off his arm just a bit.

He should've said something, yes, but 'such is the hubris of man' or whatever else Davey might say if he were awake. It's Jack's fault, really, and he can't even bring himself to be that embarrassed about it. Davey likes to read himself to sleep most nights, which is fine, because Jack likes to tip his head onto Davey's shoulder while he scrolls aimlessly on his phone, so they can both trade memes or funny passages or whatever else - but this time, Jack had gotten just a tiny, tiny bit distracted. They were in the same position they are now, therabouts, Davey on his side with his book resting on the pillow and Jack hugging his face into Davey's chest like a koala (grab drive, baby) - and with every chapter Davey passed, he seeped further and further into the pillows, so enraptured in Alys Conran that he didn't even notice he was falling asleep. Jack did, though, of course, because Jack notices everything about Davey - particularly the way he fell asleep with his whole face nuzzled inside the pages, soft paper tickling his nose as he snuffles and hums. Usually, Jack's able to grab him right before he dozes off, nudge his way over Davey's long waist and click off his reading light without Davey so much as noticing, too caught up in the limbo of wake and sleep. But this was an image Jack had needed to just stare at for a bit, hold it in his hands, slip it into a scrapbook and doodle over it in glitter-pink gel pen, and by the time it'd even occurred to him to turn off the lamp, Davey was out like a light (ha-ha, irony) and sleeping like a rock on Jack's arm.

He tries to peel his left arm away from where it curls around Davey's shoulders, to stretch his joints until he can reach the switch, but no luck. He can almost hear Crutchie mocking him in the back of his tired mind-

("Alas, another victim of Jack Kelly's wee little nerd arms."

"You play DnD, motherfucker, don't start-"

"And I fuck at it, Cowboy, you wish you were me!")

Damn Crutchie and his noodle limbs - Jack can turn off a light. He shifts forward a little, tries to turn Davey just enough to let him reach over him - and Davey makes a noise like a baby rhino, shoving his weight indignantly against Jack's own.

"Come on, Jack, I'm tired..." He whines petulantly.

"I know, baby," Jack says soothingly, pitching his voice down to where he knows Davey's weak for it. "S'okay, go back to sleep."

"M'trying..." Davey mutters. "What're you doing?"

"Cheating on you. Go back to sleep."

"Oh?" Davey hums. "With who?"

"Hank Green. Go to sleep."

"Mm, that's so weird..." He can feel Davey smirking against his temple, which means Davey's at the very least awake enough to mock him - shit. "Hank never mentioned you."

"Oh? Are we on a first name basis with Hank now?"

"Yup," Davey nods, slow and sleepy, "we get brunch, like, every Sunday. Never mentioned you."

Jack laughs quietly, because the day Davey wakes up before noon on a Sunday is the day the world ends.

"Well, we just have that kind of relationship, y'know? We don't need to go bragging about it, we have that kind of..." He yawns into Davey's shirt, and feels Davey's soft chuff of laughter through his chest. "Natural intimacy."

Davey hums, stretching from his spine to his toes like a cat.

"I guess we'll have to share."

"Tragedy." Jack smirks. "Go to sleep."

"I can't if you're bothering me," Davey scoffs. Jack winces - if Davey can manage a word with three or more consecutive syllables, he has to be awake now. "What's going..."

Jack looks up in time to see Davey blinking awake, star-blue eyes still glossy with sleep. He frowns, penny-wide pupils shrinking at the sudden light - it's a battle for Jack not to clutch his chest and aw at the sight - and shakes his nose out of his book, twitching like a rabbit.

"Did I read-sleep again?" He asks, and Jack can't help his soft, confirming laugh. Davey giggles with him, glancing over his shoulder. "Did I leave the light on?"

"Yeaahhh," Jack winces. "I was gonna get it."

"You...?" Davey turns back to him, his frown turning soft at the edges as a smile toys at his lips. "Jack, is that seriously it? You just wanted to turn the light off?"

Jack laughs indignantly, shoving his palm against Davey's shoulder.

"You try moving when there's a six foot loser on your arm!"

"Five-nine, Jack, you're just little." Davey scoffs. "And you could've just woken me up."

Jack stuffs his face into the pillows and grumbles, glaring at his horrible, lovely boyfriend from over the fabric. He's going for cute, maybe a little 'so weird Davey's into it' if he's lucky, but Davey only stares at him in delight, eyes wide and calculating.

"Oh, Jack," he grins, his voice gilded with a teasing edge, "is that what that was? You didn't want to wake me!"

"I-!" Jack splutters, his face going warm. "You - you were sleeping, I didn't-!"

"Jackie..." Davey drawls, the just-barely-awake rasp in his voice doing very terrible things to Jack's mind. "You didn't want to wake me..."

"Stop it. That's your I'm right voice, and you haven't even proven anything-"

"You wanted boyfriend points," Davey snickers, "you wanted a good grade in cuddling, something that is both possible to achieve and-"

"Don't fucking Tumblr me, you menace."

Davey rolls his eyes, leaning over to drop his crumpled book on the bedside table, and hovers his hand over the switch with a teasing look.

"Can I turn this off, or will I be undermining your valiant efforts?"

"Mm, keep talkin' dirty to me, babe."

"Menace." Davey scoffs as he flicks off the light. They shuffle back to each other - Davey has a habit of pushing and shoving at his bedding, Jack included, until it's suitably comfortable for him - the two of them bathing in darkness, warmth and the whispers of each other's breath, already wrapped in soft slumber. Jack squeezes his waist with a contented sigh, one arm laid between them, the other pressed, palm flat, to the small of his back.

Yes. Very real. Good to know.

"Goodnight, Jackie."

"G'night, Davey."

might write shithead confident davey idk idk

@coircus-aceman WELL IF YOU PUT IT THAT WAY .................

picture this: davey when jack betrays the newsies ...... davey had just realised he had fallen with jack, this boy who he thought was sent from heaven .. he was going to tell him after the rally .. but jacks betrayal left him feeling heartbroken . davey sitting on a roof, watching New York, too numb to cry . the boy he thought he had loved ... only for his own personal gain ... davey feels used . unloved . completely useless ........ cue that mitski song ...

love when a moot likes my post after being away for a day or so ... like welcome back babe!!!

night time bus ride javey.... davey falls asleep on jacks shoulder .... jack has some emotions to work thru ...... pining javey .... on the bus ... close quarters ... it's night time .... maybe they're tipsy ...

just had a psychiatry assessment today I am NOT schizophrenic!! 🎉🎉

there isn't any public uksies boots yet! there'll probably be some eventually but since it's so close to the shows closing they're all private

THANK YOU!!!!! now I know not to work my ass off looking for one ...

where can I find uksies......

@races-stupid-cigar YOU GET ME !!!!!!!!!

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 ..

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 ..

"I am not a plant killer," Davey says primly, glaring at the shrivelled leaves as if they've personally wronged him. "The plants simply refuse to match my energy despite being invited into my space. And if my therapist is to be believed, that's their problem."

Jack raises an eyebrow as he snips off another yellowing leaf.

"So murdering your poor monstera is self-care, then?"

"Yes." Davey nods curtly. "Girlboss. Slay. Et cetera."

Jack shoots him an amused look, and he at least has the decency to blush a little.

"Look, I don't claim to know the lingo-!"

"No, no," Jack chuckles as he presses more soil around the freshly trimmed roots. "Girlboss, slay, et cetera - I get you. I'm pickin' up what you're puttin' down, Jacobs."

rewatching livesies for like the 15th time ... davey inviting jack home to dinner THE FIRST DAY THEY MET????????????? true love

consider jack and Davey growing up together ... davey is medda's son and jack often hides away in the theatre ... they become good friends over the years and fall in love or something .... I just need my childhood friends to lovers fix ...

hi there how’s it going!!!! I just kinda followed u out of the blue but hi davey guy! I uh kinda only know u as davey guy. So. Sorry. BUT HI!!! ENJOY SEEING THE F-ED UP MICKEY MOUSE ICON IN UR NOTIFS EVERY

SINGLE

DAY

so anyways that’s all sorry for the weird ask thing bye

LMFAOO THABK YOU ... ngl kicking my feet and blushing at being called the Davey guy ... tysm fucked up mickey mouse

panicked fruit.

picture this: davey when jack betrays the newsies ...... davey had just realised he had fallen with jack, this boy who he thought was sent from heaven .. he was going to tell him after the rally .. but jacks betrayal left him feeling heartbroken . davey sitting on a roof, watching New York, too numb to cry . the boy he thought he had loved ... only for his own personal gain ... davey feels used . unloved . completely useless ........ cue that mitski song ...

puppy want a treat?

puppy want a fucking break from it all

ough . javey ...

hi hi first let me just say you are absolutely my FAVORITE Javid writer and I love reading ur work while kicking my feet and giggling

and if u are still taking ideas for the cozy+content prompts could I maybe request “what’s wrong?” “your feet are cold!” with Davey having very cold hands and feet and Jack warming him up

so fun fact these two asks both gave me heart attacks when i first read them. i am not wired to receive compliments it makes me short circuit. but thank you! thank you very much!! i hope you don't mind me shoving these two asks together - i had an idea in mind for the first and the only thing i could come up with for the second was essentially along the same lines but with jack at the centre, and my jack voice is,,, not accurate imo. so i hope you enjoy it!

(also. um. i fully intended this on being a silly fluffy tumblr minific and it became 3000 words by mistake so. sorry bout that)

Davey’s already shuffling eagerly in bed when he hears Jack opening their creaky apartment door. He’s curled up in bed beneath two extra blankets with his knees up to his chest, and he’s still got a chill in his fingertips. It’s manageable, of course, but Jack gives him some much more than what’s manageable, and it’s safe to say Davey’s become a bit spoiled for it. There’s a quiet thrum of something through his body, a wash of comfort over his skin, as he hears Jack’s steps approaching. Soon, is all his sleepy mind is saying. Warm soon. Jack soon. Soon.

Jack stumbles into their room – Davey can’t help but smile into the pillow as he thinks it, their room – uncaffeinated and no doubt bone-tired, but Davey still makes out his soft and pleased hum when he sees him, huddled up under their blankets.

“Davey, darling,” Jack sighs over the slight jangling of him shucking off his jeans, “you are a sight for sore eyes.”

“Long day?” Davey mumbles, his voice muffled by the chunk of comforter he’s stuffed over his face to keep his nose from freezing. He feels more than hears Jack’s resonating groan, and he knows from reflex alone that Jack’s got his head tipped all the way back as he grumbles loudly at the ceiling, determined for the whole world to know that he is upset, thank you, and is going to make it everyone’s problem.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Jack says petulantly – Davey can hear a soft brushing of fleece on skin as he steps into his sweatpants. “Fuckin’ lecture hall was freezing, I think all my pens have turned into ink-cicles – oh, but of course old Professor Asshole-”

“Ashcombe.”

“He’s not even your professor, Dave, you don’t gotta do the teachers pet thing.” Says Jack, and Davey can hear the smile wrapped around the words. If it were anyone else, he might freeze, his brain backfiring as it turns the words over and over and over again, running through every possible implication – but he knows where he stands with Jack. They play with each other – but they don’t hurt each other.

“Anyway, the asshole kept his whole ‘no coats and jackets’ policy because apparently my phone’s wrong and it’s actually the nineteenth century or whatever the hell,” Jack continues, his voice muffling slightly as he tears his shirt over his head, “even made me take off my flannel, which is, like, hello? Since when is a flannel a jacket? Dude’s a dinosaur.”

Davey makes a small, humming laugh – he’s still all tied up in his cold-protective ball, arms and knees hugged to his chest, so it’s all he can really manage. He loves the way Jack just talks. Talks and talks like it’s his God given right to comment on every little thing, not bothering to stop for silly things like changing his clothes and climbing into bed. It’s nice, knowing Jack wants to tell him every little thing. Knowing he’ll listen if Davey does, too.

“Maybe he likes seeing all you handsome young artists without your layers on.” Davey points out, trying to lilt his voice playfully, but the slight chatter in his teeth makes it come out stilted. “One of those repressed Republican things, y’know?”

“Aw, c’mon, Davey, ew!” Jack snickers as he clambers under the covers, flopping down with all his weight like a great big cat ready for a well-deserved nap. “God, I’m gonna think that every time I see him now.”

“Another patented Davey-Brainworm.” Davey says with a smile as they shuffle towards each other without any hesitation, pulled into each-others gravity. “You can have that one for free.”

“And I guess I got what I paid for.” Jack scoffs before promptly shoving his face into the bend of Davey’s neck like he lives there – Davey sighs, bone-deep, as he arches into the warmth of Jack’s nose, his mouth, his soft breath on Davey’s skin. He unwinds his balled-up arms, wincing a little at the numbness, until he’s got them tangled through Jack’s own and wrapped around his waist, pulling him close enough that they slot against each other. Jack sighs long and slowly through his nose, nuzzling against Davey’s shoulder as he winds around him.

“Jeez-us, I needed this,” he sighs as Davey unlocks his knees and wraps them between Jack’s own. “Been so fuckin’ tense all day, like my spine’s just – fuck!”

Jack jolts upright like he’s been shocked right through the spine, tearing himself out of their comfortable cuddle-pile, and Davey can’t help his unhappy whine.

“Jesus, Dave!”

“What?” Davey blinks, suddenly very, very awake. “What’s wrong?”

“Your feet are cold!” Jack cries, as if Davey has committed the world’s greatest sin. Davey rolls his eyes and grins, pushing his toes against Jack’s calves.

“Are they?”

“God – fuck, Davey, no, you’re not being cute about this.” Jack says firmly. “Where are your socks?”

Davey feels his shoulders hunch up to his neck. This isn’t right – Jack usually loves joking around with him. But now it feels like he’s being scolded, and if there’s one thing Davey hates more than scolding, it’s being scolded by Jack. Jack’s not meant to make him feel like a child, neither of them are – it’s how they work. It’s like breaking a rule, their big rule, and it roils in Davey’s stomach like boil.

“I don’t like socks.” Davey mutters. “They scratch. You know that.”

Jack looks like he’s about to open his mouth, then blinks for a moment, trying to meet Davey’s eyes from where they’re burning into their sheets.

“I do know that.” Jack nods slowly. “Sorry, I wasn’t – I didn’t mean…” He sighs, sliding his hand forwards enough to bump against where Davey’s fingers are tangling in the bedlinens. “Davey, you’re cold. Why didn’t you turn the heating on?”

Davey scoffs, still feeling stung, and then immediately winces, because wasn’t that a petty, childish thing to do? No wonder Jack’s frustrated.

“We don’t need it, Jack, it’s summer.” He reasons. Jack only stares at him with a flat faced and raised brow, sending a flush up high on Davey’s cheeks.

“It is barely April, Davey,” Jack says, gently this time, because gentleness comes so naturally to him. “I know you’re bad with dates and all, but that’s a pretty big difference.”

Davey’s throat clicks as he tries to work his mouth, but he’s all caught off guard by Jack being cute, damn him.

“We don’t need it.” He echoes, but even he can tell the sound is distant. He can feel the way Jack’s looking at him as he says it, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. “Oh, come on, Jack, that’s not – it’s almost May, it’s warm out-”

“It’s April sixth, forty-four degrees and raining-”

“I know how to take care of myself, Jack!” Davey snaps before he can help it. Jack flinches backwards, one hand raised up reflexively – then pauses, swallows, eyes still wide, but body less taut. Davey shifts until he’s sitting properly, head ducked low between his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

Jack nods slowly, still not looking at him.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Davey says firmly. “We don’t yell at each other.”

Jack sighs, eyes so painfully soft, and nudges closer until their shoulders brush together. Davey takes the olive branch like a dog with a bone, melts into Jack’s side and crushes one hand against Jack’s chest like he might disappear.

“Hey.” Jack says quietly, nudging Davey’s temple with his nose until he looks up. “Tell me things.”

Davey’s lip quirks upwards without his permission.

“Things.” He says dutifully. Jack only watches him, the way he’d watch a painting on a wall, trying to unpick the colours and untangle the strokes, trying to weave himself into the frame and figure it all out, inside and outwards.

“I just-” Davey sighs, biting down on his lip. Jack’s quiet. He lets him click the words together in his head, puzzle them out. “I don’t… I don’t need it. And I don’t like it when people tell me what to do, like I’m stupid.”

Jack makes a dissatisfied noise in his chest, curling his arm around Davey’s waist.

“You know I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He mumbles into Jack’s chest, hot shame burning at his neck. “That was… Mean.”

“S’okay, baby.”

“We’re not mean to each other.”

“There’s a difference between being frustrated and being mean.” Jack says firmly. “That’s what you always tell me when I stay up ‘til 2AM painting, or when I’m tearin’ my hair out after work, or-“

“That’s different, though.”

“It’s really not.” Jack insists, and Davey’s about to disagree with him when he just barely rakes his nails along Davey’s scalp, just the way he likes, and sends him melting into Jack’s bones, the cheater. “Things ain’t different when they happen to you, babe. You’re allowed to be frustrated.” He dots a tiny kiss to Davey’s temple, holds him ever closer, presses the dorsum of his feet against Davey’s own. “You’re allowed to be warm, too.”

Davey winces, glancing towards their bedroom door where he knows the thermostat's waiting, mocking him.

“I was getting to it…” He tries weakly – Jack only raises an eyebrow.

“You get home an hour before I do. And your last class was cancelled today.”

Davey clicks his teeth. Right. Yes. Curse Jack and his intimate knowledge of Davey’s entire life. He must make a face, because Jack sighs, presses a hand to where his neck meets his jaw and tilts him upwards so that they’re looking at each other, so that all of Jack’s openness is laid out in front of him – and that’s just unfair, really, because how is Davey meant to lie when Jack’s doing that?

“C’mon, Dave,” Jack says softly, his voice low and warm, “you don’t need to do this anymore. You don’t gotta shiver in the fetal position just to get warm, you don’t gotta take showers that are, like, one notch above lukewarm and time them for seven minutes, don’t even try denying it,” he adds the second Davey opens his mouth, “you have the timer pinned on your phone.”

Davey curses under his breath. Damn his useless brain’s need for consistent organization. Jack keeps staring at him, keeps waiting for him to stay something, and Davey wants to be furious at him for it, wants him to just leave off and leave him alone and let him do what he’s always done, but… That’s not fair. Not when he’s always bugging Jack into doing better. Into sleeping on time and eating a proper lunch and warming up his wrists before he paints. They help each other. That’s what they do.

“It just…” Davey says quietly, struggling to push the words out from where they’re hiding beneath his tongue. “It’s hard. Like – at home? We couldn’t just… Do that. And it feels so – weird, a-and wrong to just do that here, when I know Aba’s still wearing long-johns to under his clothes all day and Ima’s still budgeting their hot water and-”

“Breathe.” Jack murmurs – Davey immediately sucks in a breath, suddenly realizing the way his whole body’d been straining for it without his notice. He screws his eyes shut and plants his face against Jack’s shoulder, like he might be able to hide from Jack’s gaze entirely. Jack only smiles – Davey can tell even without seeing it. He knows the little noise Jack makes when he’s smiling, even if he’s displeased, that little hum that gets tugged out from the base of his throat with the movement.

“Davey, baby,” Jack says gently – if Davey can repeat himself, your honour, unfair. “You don’t need you to freeze every night to prove that you understand the value of money. You’re good. We’re good. We can afford to put the thermostat up one night.”

Davey sighs. He knows this. Logically, he knows it. But Davey’s not the best with logic, no matter what all their friends think – it gets too tied up in all his nerves, all his thoughts, until it’s bent into something completely different. The sentiment’s still there at the heart of it, but – well, that’s just it. But. He knows he can afford to turn up the thermostat in his own home – but…

“I could deal with it.” He mumbles, a bit too childishly. “I could.”

“I know, baby.” He can feel Jack’s gentle smile in his hair. “But you don’t have to.”

“But-”

“But you don’t have to.”

Davey groans, more for the performance of it than anything else.  

“Jack…” He mutters – but Jack only blinks at him expectantly. Not pushing. Just waiting. Davey tips his head back and sighs long-sufferingly, screwing his eyes shut once before turning back to glare in Jack’s direction.

Jack only blinks again.

“Will you please,” Davey says, trying to sound only a little bit irritated, but there’s no denying how quiet he sounds, barely audible even in the silence of their room. “Turn up the thermostat for me?”

Jack smiles at him gently, pushing an errant curl from his face.

“Of course, baby.”

He doesn’t let it linger – he gets up, stretches his arms over his head, snips the tension away in one neat cut, and Davey loves him for it. He leaves the door open as he hops through the living room with his feet still bare, wincing over every other step, because Jack is a man on a mission when he’s decided to cheer people up, and he simply doesn’t have the time for frivolous things like socks or slippers or common fucking sense. Davey rolls his eyes; he really does love him for it.

“Right.” Jack nods to himself as he shifts the thermostat up a good few notches, bouncing on his toes once – his Dad Bounce as Davey’s dubbed it privately in his head, because even if he’s only joking, Davey’s not quite sure they’re anywhere near bringing up the word dad yet. Still, it’s heartwarmingly cute. “That’s goin’ good. Shove up, would’ja?”

Jack bustles around their apartment like the mother hen he is, taking a spare comforter from their closet, then all the blankets he can carry, and dumps them all on the Davey-shaped lump in their bed, entirely ignoring Davey’s squeak of protest. He hurries to and from their closet, their desks, their living room, snatching every pillow and plushie and throw he can find, dumping them all unceremoniously on and around Davey’s body.

“Jack-!” Davey yelps as Jack stuffs a whole Joltik plush over his face, but he can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. “What’re you doing?”

“One second!” Jack says dismissively as he fiddles with the fabrics, scrunching up the comforters into a circle around them, then filling it all in with every fucking blanket they own – Davey’s Middle Earth map, the quilt Medda made of all Jack’s childhood shirts, the weighted blanket they bought together on a whim, and the leaf-shaped throw that neither of them remember buying at all. He props all the pillows and plushes he can against the headboard, even the giant fluffy pumpkin they bought on a whim at Target because they couldn’t be bothered with pumpkin guts that Halloween – it’s bigger than both their heads and they love it – and once he’s done, he nods to himself, satisfied with his work, and all but launches himself into the nest he’s made for them.

“Oh-!” Davey huffs as Jack knocks all the air out of his chest. “God, Jack, this is ridiculous-”

“Ridiculously fun, thank you,” Jack grins as he starts bullying Davey into the little hollow between the pillows he’s fashioned for them, “now quiet, or I’m adding your beanbag.”

“Jaaack,” Davey whines, even as he allows Jack to flop firmly onto his chest like a sleepy old hound dog, pinning him into place. “We’re gonna get sweaty.”

“Then we can kick ‘em all off.” Jack answers with a self-satisfied grin. “But for now, you’re gonna warm up. Cool?”

“Technically, no.”

“I’ll kill you.” Jack huffs, and Davey can’t help but laugh into his hair. Jack’s head is resting against the crest of his sternum, a constant pressure anchoring him to the bed – and his whole body is plastered against Davey’s own, painting sunny yellows and warm oranges across his skin until he’s glowing from the inside out, safe in their little bubble of comfort.

“Jack?”

“No,” Jack grumbles into his chest. “Jack’s dead. He froze to death in class and Professor Asshole is writing him up for it.”

“Oh, shame,” Davey sighs, slathering his voice in fake-concern. “Is he gonna be okay?”

“Give him, like, two hours. And a hot cocoa.”

“Mm, that is the standard procedure, I hear.”

Jack digs his chin into the hollow of Davey’s chest, glaring up at him in a manner so very wronged that Davey has to try not to laugh, lest he disturb Jack any further.

“Davey?”

“Hm?” Davey smiles innocently.

“Go to sleep.”

Davey rolls his eyes, but obediently tips his head back against the pillows, running one hand down Jack’s spine and trailing his finger over the dip in the centre.

“I was just gonna say,” he says quietly into the pleasantly toasty air of their bedroom, “thanks for taking care of me.”

There’s silence, for a moment. Soft, comfortable silence, the kind that rests pleasantly on the ear. Welcoming and unjudgmental. And then he feels a press of warm lips against his breastbone, melting through his shirt, through his skin, all the way down to his heart.

“Welcome.” Jack murmurs. “Now go to sleep before I hit you.”

Davey rolls his eyes and tucks Jack’s head into his neck, one hand rubbing tiny circles into his scalp and the other tracing poetry into the small of his back.

(They wake up swelteringly hot, sweating through their PJs, a plushie sandwiched between both their faces and half of Jack’s spoils kicked onto the floor in their sleep.

It’s okay, Davey tells himself. He’s allowed to sweat every now and then.

And when Jack looks up at him, grinning bashfully and snickering against his skin, Davey decides he’s allowed that, too.)

Tipsy Davey is a lovely Davey, easy to blush and fluster – it doesn’t take much more than a smile to send him giggling into his glass, and it drives Jack’s own ego to dangerous heights. He could spend whole nights murmuring compliments in Davey’s ear, tracing his knuckle against Davey’s thigh, listening to him giggle against Jack’s own temple, feebly nudging him away (and letting him come right back) and mumbling "Jackie, stop…" without meaning a word of it.

And then there’s Drunk Davey, when his flush settles high on his cheeks and his bashfulness settles with it. He loses that nervousness he keeps underneath his skin that’s always pulling him back just a little, telling him not to come on too strong. He touches freely, whispers the pads of his fingertips over Jack’s wrists enough to drive him insane, sweeps over the bridge of Jack’s freckled nose and murmurs, “Glory be to God for dappled things…”. The bitter little middle-schooler that still lives in Jack’s mind has always thought that poetry was something just too dorky to be attractive, but that bitter little middle-schooler sure shuts the hell up when Davey whispers pretty things in Jack’s ear on a dark corner of the dance floor. Jack’s not complaining at all.

And then there’s Jack’s favourite – Truly Shitfaced Davey. He’s a rare gift, reserved only for New Years, birthdays and Halloween parties, if his costume is slutty enough. Jack can recount every single Truly Shitfaced Davey encounter he’s ever had, and while they’re nowhere near as suave as Drunk Davey, they are by all means his favourites.

“Face,” Davey mumbles, poking Jack’s cheek and marvelling at the squish of it. Jack has to bite his lip not to laugh.

“Yeah, babe?” He asks sweetly, because he is a wonderful boyfriend, thank you very much.

“Your face… It – you…” Davey’s face pinches as he tries to find his words underneath the drunk haze that’s blanketing his brain. He promptly gives up and groans, waving an arm dismissively as he burrows into Jack’s side. “S’good.”

Jack grins, pressing a kiss to the curls tickling his face. He gives up on trying to stifle his smile – Davey’s too drunk to care, and far too drunk to notice the way he’s staring inquisitvely at Jack’s lips the way he usually stares at a good book.

“Thanks, Davey-mine. Your face is good, too.”

Davey stares at him for a moment, mouth squared and silent for a little too long, until he makes a strangled little squeak and ducks his face into Jack’s neck.

“Shuddup!” He orders as Jack laughs, but he can’t help it. As much as he loves Davey when he’s reciting sonnets from memory, he especially loves him speechless, if only for the novelty of it.

it's established in livesies that jack is a big mood destroyer in every single way ... consider a jack who CANNOT read a room for the life of him ... consider jack who- while harbouring a deep sadness within him -remains positive for the sake of davey who is very shaken up by his fathers injury. consider jack who doesn't realise how much he changes a room just by being in it. consider jack being both the mood lifter and dark storm cloud of the newsies ... consider crutchie having to physically pep jack up some days becuase he has this aura of Sadness ... but consider crutchie having to subtly tell jack that now is Not the time for 50 consecutive cartwheels .... jack with very bad mood regulation at the best of times ... jack who lashes out by accident very often ... something something hurt comfort fic something something coping with the sudden realisation that he is alone in his experiences .....

every time a moot likes my post directly after ive posted it I wanna say HIIII :] HAIIII :3 in dms SO BAD ..... ik you're online now, im online too ...... let's CHATTT