Newsies Imagines

Morris Delancey x Male!reader

~For all my guys, cause I gotta upload more stuff for all y'all!

~Vibin' to lesbian music while writing this sooooo

~Mike Faist is hot

3rd person POV

It was dark, the only source of light being the moon, shining high above the New York skyline. The buzzing of the cicadas and the occasional bark of a stray dog filled the otherwise silent summer air. It seemed the whole world had fallen asleep, well, the whole world minus one boy. Morris Delancey tossed and turned trying to sleep, but anxious thoughts clouded his mind. Thoughts revolving a particular newsboy. (Y/N) had been the only newsie, well the only person in general, who was nice to him. And it wasn't in a "well, I mean I guess that he doesn't bully me" way, but a proactive way, even going out of his way to compliment the boy. And honestly this confused Morris. He knew he didn't deserve the affection, especially with the way that he treated the newsboys, but here he was, (Y/N) (L/N), the handsomest newsboy (in Morris' opinion), being nice to the boy who deserved hell. Every time he saw (Y/N), there was something in Morris' heart that fluttered, and he could swear that the sun shone a little brighter whenever the newsie smiled. 

"Osca'! Osca', you'se awake?" Morris whispered to his brother, who was asleep on the bunk below him. The boy stirred in his sleep and opened one eye.

"Whaddya want, Morris?" Oscar groggily whispered back.

"Well, I'se just wondrin'....how do you'se know if ya in love?"

"I mean ya heart gets all fluttery wheneva you'se thinkin' 'bout dem. An dey always make you'se smile, even on a bad day. You always feel like you'se gotta protect dem, but you don' really know why. An' sometimes dey's all you can think about," Oscar explained, "Why'dya ask? Are you in love?"

Morris took a deep breath, all the "symptoms" that Oscar described were exactly how he felt towards (Y/N). "Maybe," he replied.

-------time skip cause why not-------

"Why's we in Brooklyn again, Osca'?" Morris asked his brother, as he scanned for Spot and his boys.

"Relax, will ya? You'se got ya brass knuckles, right?" was the only reply Oscar gave.

"Yeah, what are we doin'?" Morris pressed.

"Look, dis kid owes me money an' he ain't payin' up, so he gets soaked," Oscar finally answered.

"You gotta stop bringin' me into ya fights, Osca'," Morris responded.

"I dunno what's gotten into you'se, love an whateva, but you'se gettin' soft," Oscar spat. Suddenly, a marble whistled past his ear.

"You boys tired of terrorizin' Hattan an' decided ta come afta' bigger fish?" Spot called down from his perch on the roof.

"Get on ya brass knuckles, idiot," Oscar quietly said to his brother. Morris complied as five of Spot's entourage strolled out of the shadows. Each had menacing scars marring their bodies. "Give us ya worst!" Oscar shouted.

"What da hell, Osca'!!" Morris yelled, "I thought we was goin' after some kid!"

"Did I forget to mention dat kid was Spot Conlon?" he replied.

"Yes!!" Morris responded. The Brooklyn boys slowly advanced on the brothers, before launching into an organized attack. The brothers didn't stand a chance, with Oscar running off an abandoning Morris in the middle of the fight. Eventually, once the boys had gotten their message through, they left, leaving a bruised and bloody Morris behind. The beat-up Delancey barely made it to Manhattan before collapsing to the ground. Every inch of him hurt horribly and he lay there, waiting to die, until he finally blacked out. When he came to, Morris noticed that he was no longer on the street corner where he had collapsed, but instead laying on a bed. Albeit not a very comfortable bed, but a bed nonetheless. He tried to  sit up, and pain shot through his body.

"Hey, hey, you'se ain't fully healed, don't overexert yourself!" a familiar voice told him. He looked over and saw (Y/N) sitting on a chair by the bed.

"Did- did you bring me here?" Morris croaked.

"Yep!" (Y/N) replied, "Welcome to the Newsboy Lodging House, more specifically, me an' Elmer's bunk! D'ya mind takin' off ya shirt?"

"What?" Morris asked, feeling his face heat up.

"So I'se can bandage ya chest," (Y/N) explained.

"Oh," Morris complied and unbuttoned his shirt.

"Damn, you'se got beat up real bad," the boy told the injured Delancey, "What sorta trouble you get youself into?"

"Brooklyn trouble," Morris replied.

"What were you doin there?!"

"Oscar was bein' dumb."

"Say no more," (Y/N) sighed, applying a bandage to the wound that cut into his stomach.

"Why is you'se helpin me?" Morris asked, "You'se is s'posed to hate me. God, I'd hate me too, if I was you."

"Well, I don't" the newsboy simply responded. (Y/N) took Morris' hand and wrapped the boy's knuckles in a bandage, pressing his lips to each knuckle before closing the bandage. "Kisses," he explained, "always make the pain last a little less."

"Who told you dat," Morris asked with a small smile.

"My mam. She said that it will only work when you love someone very much, though. I didn't have anyone to see if she was right until now," (Y/N) answered.

"Wait, you-  you love me?" Morris' voice shook.

"Yeah, I do. I think you are handsome and smart and funny, I think you are kind deep down. But you are scared that all these things a love about you will make you vulnerable, so you build up these walls. I'se want you to know that you don't need those walls around me. I wanna know all of you, so I can love all of you. Yes, I love and I'se not afraid to say so."

"I-i think I love you, too," Morris replied, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. He leaned in a bit, and (Y/N) eagerly closed the distance. Morris could feel his heart doing backflips in his chest the instant their lips met. After the initial bliss of the kiss, Oscar pulled away.

"I think the kisses worked," he whispered, "But I might need an extra one just to make sure."

"Happily," (Y/N) smiled and pulled Morris in once more...