#brooklyn newsies x reader

[unstable-spychy]

Does anyone know a Livesies (Newsies) fanfic writer that still does requests? Cause I had this idea for a fic:

It’s like in Brookline nine nine where Jake and Amy have that bet where whoever gets the most arrests by the end of the year get to make the other do whatever they want.

what if Jack/Race and the reader had a bet about who could sell the most papers by the end of the year.

And Jack/Race win and they make you go on “the worst date ever”

like Jake made Amy in BNN. But like Jake that’s when Jack/Race realize their feelings for the reader.

That’s all, message me if you would be interested in writing it or if you know a writer that’s would <3

[miryum]

You know I love you (Spot Conlon x Reader)

This has been sitting in my drafts forever

Warnings: Not proof-read, a sentence about a fist-fight, bruising

Remy tugged on your skirt. “Hey- Hey Y/n?” His voice was quiet and nervous.

“Yeah, bud?” Something was off in the usually lively and energetic boy. You scooped him up, bringing him to eye level. 

Remy looked down, avoiding your gaze. “Could I please have one of your apples?” 

“Of course,” you walked over to the small kitchen in the Brooklyn boarding house and picked an apple off of the counter. “Why? Did you spend all your money on toys again?” 

“Um, no.” Remy said, “I lost it.”

“You lost your money?” You frowned. Every newsboy bag had a special pouch for coins, its sole purpose being not to lose the pennies and nickels. “Where’s your bag?”

“I lost that too,” Remy mumbled.

With those words, you immediately knew that he was lying. The first thing a newsboy learns is to not lose his bag. It holds his papers and earned money- the most important things in a newsboy's life. What didn’t help your suspicion was that every younger boy was paired with an older, tougher, more experienced one. You made sure of that early on, pestering Spot until he relented (to be truthful, Spot had caved easily). Someone should’ve been watching Remy. 

“Who was with you?” You asked him. “Was it Patches?” Remy nodded and you gave a nod back. “Okay, you stay here and eat your apple. I gotta go talk to Patches really quickly.”

“Okay!” Remy looked happier now that he was out of your scrutiny and concern.

You scanned the room, seeing Patches stretched out on a couch, listening to Cal read a book. You weaved through the boys, hopping over legs and stepping over arms. You loved your newsie family and you would do anything for them. The scene of everyone relaxing after a long day warmed your heart. You knew that these boys would do anything for you and each other. 

You sat down on Patches’s legs, making him groan and kick your side. “I come in peace,” you said. 

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes. “What’s up?”

“You sold with Remy today, right?” He nodded in confirmation. You continued, “did you see him lose his bag?”

“He lost his bag?” Patches sat up, now invested in the conversation. “He told me that he gave it to Crackers for safekeeping.”

“Crackers was selling on Clermont Street,” you said slowly. “Weren’t you guys selling by Hicks and Clark?” 

Patches nodded, watching the concern on your face grow. “When did he tell you this?” You felt like you were interrogating the poor boy, but at the same time, you needed to know what happened. 

“I know Remy had his bag at four thirty. I remember him coming up to me and telling me about a guy who paid him double. I didn’t see him again until five.” 

“I’m going to try and get him to tell me the truth,” you stated. “Thanks Patches.” 

“Anytime.” 

You went back to the kitchen, finding Remy sitting on the counter, eating the apple to the core. But, before you could make it to the small child, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Knowing there was only one boy who would dare do that, you relaxed into your boyfriend. 

“Hey, Spotty,” you said quietly. 

“Hey, doll,” Spot replied softly. “How was your day?”

“You were with me for most of it,” you pointed out, referencing how Spot only let you sell with him.

“Yeah, but I got pulled away at the end.” Indeed, Fisher had needed Spot’s help with something before the selling day had ended, leaving you alone to pawn off the last few of your papers.

“It was alright,” you turned in his arms, leaving a kiss on his cheek. “But I’m a bit worried for Remy.”

“Why? What happened?” Spot’s brows furrowed, getting that telltale expression that meant he was stepping back into his King of Brooklyn role.

“That’s the thing; I don’t know.” You explained, “Remy said he lost his selling bag, but Patches said Remy told him he gave it to Crackers for safekeeping. But I know Remy. The kid would never lose or give away his bag. You know how protective he is over it.”

“Cause he carries his teddy bear in it.” Spot nodded, ending your thoughts.

“Exactly.”

“So what do you think happened?” Spot asked you.

You sighed and began speaking, “a little while ago, Lemon came to me saying how a group of older thugs had stolen her bag. I had her sell with Slugger for a bit, and the problem went away. Do you think that the same thugs could’ve stolen Remy’s bag?”

Spot hummed, “you’ve certainly got a memory about you, doll. It’s definitely not a bad idea. I’ll go talk to Lemon and Slugger about it and you talk to Remy?” 

“Deal,” you agreed.

“Pleasure doing business with you, doll.” Spot smirked and pressed a kiss to your lips before sauntering off to find Lemon and Slugger.

You chuckled before turning back to Remy and handing the kid another apple. “You’re hungry,” you commented.

“Yeah…” Remy looked shyly away.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “We all pitch in to buy this food.” After a moment, you quietly said, “I know you didn’t lose your bag, Remy. What really happened?”

Remy didn’t meet your eye, giving a small shrug.

“Was it some boys?” You asked, “did they steal it from you? Like they did Lemon?”

Remy chewed on his lip, turning the apple over in his small hands. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “They cornered me and called me small and weak.” His fingers clenched into fists. “Then they stole my bag. It’s happened four times.”

“Four times?” You knelt down so you could meet his eye. “Remy, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because they said I couldn’t fight my own fight. I’d be proving them right if I told you,” Remy mumbled. 

You sighed, feeling terrible and squeezed the boy into a tight hug. “Remy,” You whispered. “Don’t be afraid to tell me anything. Especially if people are bullying you.”

“But what if they come back?” Remy wondered, “What if they do this again?” He lifted his shirt slightly to show you a large, ugly bruise. Immediately, a rage boiled in your chest and your jaw clenched. “They did that?” You growled.

Remy nodded slowly, frightened by your change in demeanour.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down in front of the scared child. “It’s gonna be okay,” you told him. “We’re gonna get your money back from those boys and make them pay.” 

“Really? But how?”

You smiled stiffly, trying to disguise your hatred for the punks by a thinly veiled grin. “Don’t worry about that,” you said. “All you have to do is keep on selling.”

Remy’s head bobbed up and down happily. “Thank you so much, Y/n!” He hugged you tightly and you reciprocated the action. He then pulled away, his problem suddenly fixed and out of mind as only a six- year old could. 

Heart still burning with hatred for the thugs that messed with Remy, you knew it was now time to call upon the people who would stand by you no matter what- your newsies.

**

Remy cried out in his squeaky voice, “Read all about the car crash that killed dozens! Police are convinced it was murder!”

“Hello, squirt,” a deep voice laughed from behind Remy. “Sell any papers today?”

Remy gulped loudly and slowly turned around, gripping his bag tighter. “Wha-what do you guys want?”

“I think you know what we want,” the lead man growled, stepping up along with his group of ten or fifteen boys. 

“I-I’m not giving you my money!” Remy stomped his foot. 

“Oh really?” The leader laughed loudly. “What are you gonna do? Fight us?” The rest of the boys chuckled along with their leader.

“Well, no,” Remy admitted. “But this time, I have friends.” You stepped out from around a corner. 

The goons glanced around at one another before bursting out in short, loud, ugly guffaws. “I’m sorry?” The leader snickered out, “A girl is gonna beat us up?”

“I’m going to ignore your misogynistic comment, even though you probably don’t know what that word means, and even though I could kick your ass, just to scare you into never coming near Remy again, I brought my boyfriend. You may know him as the King of Brooklyn?” 

Spot, along with his cavalry of newsies appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Spot snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you close. “Where you messin’ with my doll?” He asked, knowing whichever way they answered, he was gonna soak either way.

“You looking for a fight?” The leader bit back. 

Spot shrugged, smirking. “Maybe. But I’ll let you off if you don’t come near my newsies again.”

One of the cronies grabbed the leader and whispered something harsh to him. The leader scoffed, but said, “Fine. We won’t bother your pathetic newsies again.” 

“And my girl?” Spot’s thumb drew circles on your waist.

“Never said anything about her,” the leader smiled tauntingly. 

You glanced at Spot to see the muscles in his jaw tighten. “Don’t,” you whisper to him. 

“Doll,” Spot drawled, swinging a look down at you, grinning brilliantly. “I have to.” And with that, Spot stepped forward and punched the leader across the jaw. The newsies cheered and rushed forward, intent on standing up for one of their own. The bullies quickly ran away after a few hits. You took Spot’s hand in yours and thumbed the split knuckles. Before you could chide him however, Spot simply said, “You know I love you.”

“Yeah,” you smiled and kissed his cheek. “I do.”

[whyareyouhere66]

Hi 👋, My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔

I’ve launched a fundraising campaign with the goal of raising $40,000 to relocate my family to a safer place where my children can grow up in peace and have a chance at a brighter future.

Unfortunately, my previous fundraising efforts were abruptly halted when my account was terminated without explanation. However, I remain determined to keep fighting for my family’s safety and well-being. 🫶

If you could take a moment to read our story, consider donating, or simply share our campaign with others, it would make an incredible difference. Every act of kindness, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to safety and a new beginning. 🙏

Thank you for your time, compassion, and support. ❤️‍🩹

https://gofund.me/fd1faea2 🔗

.

[iam-sol-emnlyswear]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Spot Conlon/Reader Characters: Spot Conlon, Reader, Original Newsie(s) Additional Tags: Soft Spot Conlon, Good Boyfriend Spot Conlon, Fluff, Reader Is Good with Kids, Based on Newsies (1992), Gender-Neutral Pronouns Summary:

In which reader is putting the little newsies to bed and one of them asks a question that Spot Conlon overhears.

Short and sweet chapter.

1,077 words

~~~~

“Hey, Presto? Have you ever been in love?”

Your steps stop short as you’re crossing the small room the younger newsies claimed for their bunks. They always ask you questions as you’re putting them to bed, but it’s never this kind of inquiry.

“What makes you ask that, kiddo?”

As the oldest girl newsie, you take the extra time out of your evening to help the little ones settle down for the night and essentially tuck them in. It isn't much, but you enjoy hearing about their day and know that the feeling of having a form of a maternal or older sister figure watching over them helps the young ones sleep better. Besides, they often say and ask funny things like that.

“Well, I had a couple a’ extra papes left over from the day, and I was practicin’ readin’ and read a lil’ bit about a weddin’ an was just thinkin’. Have ya?”

[ave09]

Jeremy Jordan!Jack Kelly x Fem reader, except Reader is from Brooklyn and they have to act like they hate eachother in public only to 100% makeout cuddle when they're alone. <3

-🎶

jerjordan!jack kelly x female!reader

note: i loved this idea! i hope you enjoy it!

Secret

“well if it ain’t brooklyn’s sweetheart!”

she recognized that voice, hell, she’d know that voice anywhere.

“and what do you want, kelly?”

“do youse ever smile?”

“do you ever shut up?” she asked, turning around to face him. “only if ya makes me.” he said, shooting her a wink, to which she did her best to ignore. other newsies had gathered, noting the boy in their presence, who’d decidedly brought along a friend who looked so very uneasy.

“what brings you?”

“gotta talk to the boss, and i ain’t talkin’ about youse.” he stated, “mind bringin’ him out?”

“spot’s busy.”

“he’ll see me.”

“will he?”

“oh, youse knows he will.” jack shot back cheekily. she pursed her lips. “what for?”

“i believe that info will cost ya.”

“you’re gross.” she mumbled. “ain’t even said my price yet!” he exclaimed. 

spot ain’t here.” she repeated.

“then i’ll come back later.”

“i’d rather you didn’t.”

“lucky for you, princess, i ain’t one for followin’ rules.” he grumbled before turning on his heel and walking away.

-*-*-*-

“youse is somethin’ else, ya know?”

“right back at cha.” she hummed as he raked his fingertips through her hair with his gentle touch. she leaned against his chest a bit more, sighing contently.

“you’ll put me to sleep if you keep that up.” she hummed to which he shot back, “might do you some good. those bags look horrid.” he teased, she simply rolled her eyes.

“i’ve gotta get back.”

“nah.”

“nah?” she repeated, attempting to sit up slightly.

“nah.” he murmured, gently forcing her to lay back against him. 

“jack-“

“i’m sure spot’ll be fine with youse showin’ up in the mornin’.” jack murmured, his arms moving to encircle her middle. “jack..”

“what?” 

“you have a strike to focus on.”

“can’t a fella multitask?”

“multitask? big word there, kelly.”

he rolled his eyes, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “don’t want ya to go.”

“you know i’ve gotta.”

“don’t wanna keep hatin’ you.”

“i know it’s just an act.”

“wanna hold you..” he pressed a kiss to her shoulder again. 

“wanna touch you..” his lips found her neck. “wanna show ya off..” hot kisses trailed up her neck and jaw, “wanna kiss ya.”

“then kiss me now.” she whispered as he smashed his lips against hers, savoring her taste, savoring *her.*

this secret.

their little secret.

[amoreva]

I JUST BINGE READ ALL OF YOUR RACE FICS AND YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD AAA💕💕 it feels like he’s real and the relationship is real and i’m actually in the world of the story holy shit,,, if you’re still taking requests can you write some race fluff, preferably in canon era, with like a cute lead up to him getting together with the reader (if you’re okay with it of course!) thanks!!

HOPELESSLY IN LOVE

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pairing: racetrack higgins x fem!reader

summary: the brooklyn newsies are strong and independent. they can hold their own and are respected; despite being a borough with a large amount of girls. so when one falls in love, her nature begins to crumble.

warnings: n/a

a/n: using the uksies as brooklyn, plus some from the broadway show. also, omfg i really appreciate it, thank you so much<3

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You never knew what romantic attraction felt like until you saw him at Medda’s Theater with his stupid blue eyes, his stupid blonde curls, his stupid cigar, his stupid cute smile—

Davey— that new Manhattan newsie was introducing your borough, respectfully, when you saw him. He was smiling at you, more so at your whole borough, ecstatic you showed up to the strike. That smile—that stupid cute smile made your heart flutter, your stomach churn with butterflies.

Of course, you knew what family love and platonic attraction felt like—you felt that for every newsie in Brooklyn. They were your brothers and sisters by heart. Yet, he stole your heart. Bastard. You ought to soak him.

Falling in love was a weird thing to do, especially since your priority was the sell papers to survive. You find yourself thinking about Manhattan’s second after the strike is won.

It didn’t help that he hugged you when Kelly announced the strike ended in their favor or when you guys talked during celebrations that night. The memories haunted your sleep.

A loud groan escaped your lips. That stupid smile of his. Your hands going over your warm, rose colored face as you sat on your bunk. Ritz and Hotshot peeked their heads into the girls bunk room, hearing you groan.

“What’re moping and griping about?” Hotshot asked, crossing his arms. His thick accent ringing in your ears.

You turn to look at you friends and remove the hands from your face. Before you could get a word in, Ritz is cupping your cheeks and feeling your forehead. “You’re burning up, Y/N!” Ritz exclaimed and shook your head side to side, lightly, to inspect your red cheeks.

“Ritz, please—” You begged the auburn haired girl to let your face go.

“Spot is going to be worried.”

“Ritz—”

“I think we have medicine somewhere.”

“Ritz, hang on—“

“Water and rest, that’s what my mama says.”

“I don’t have—”

“Spot ain’t letting you sell tomorrow.”

“Ritz!”

You shouted finally getting her attention. Ritz stopped her worrying. Hotshot stood up straight with raised eyebrows. You gently put your hands on Ritz’s wrists and removed them from your face. “I ain’t sick. I ain’t coughing or feelin’ bad.”

“Then what’s got your face so red, Y/N?” Ritz asked, she titled her head ever so slightly.

“A boy.” Hotshot spoke up.

You glared at Brooklyn’s second. Were you really that readable? Hotshot had to be a fucking psychic. A smirk danced on his lips. The silence said it all.

Ritz lit up like the Fourth of July. “You like a boy!” Ritz exclaimed with a wide grin. You slapped a hand across her mouth.

“Ritz, please don’t tell the others—” You begged to convey your seriousness. “You too, Hotshot.”

Ritz, still buzzing with excitement, nodded her head. You quickly shoved Hotshot into the girls’ bunk room and shut the door. “Who is it?” Ritz asked excitedly.

You pressed your lips together in a thin line. An internal dilemma with yourself. Would you rather suffer in silence, pin over a newsie in the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge or tell two people your crush which could potentially spread throughout the borough?

You decide to tell Hotshot and Ritz. Love is too confusing for you to suffer alone.

“It’s Manhattan’s second in command.” You mumbled, twisting your fingers as your face heats up. Just thinking about Race got your stomach all twisted up in a good way.

You didn’t think they heard you, but they did. Loud in clear.

“Race? Race!” Ritz confirmed.

Hotshot raised an eyebrow in amusement. “The one that “wanders” on our turf to bet at Sheepshead?”

“Yes.” You sighed exasperatedly and fell onto your bunk. “He’s just so—”

You couldn’t find the words to describe him, but then proceeded to go on a rant about Race for 10 minutes.

It wasn’t long before everyone in Brooklyn knew of your little crush on Manhattan’s second (and probably Manhattan). It was terrible with all the teasing and the questions on what you would do.

You didn’t know what to do! You would just lay in your bed and smile stupidly when you thought about him. “Pathetically in love” is what you thought.

Stray decided to do something.

With Spot’s permission (seeing you hopelessly in love was getting in the way of selling and Brooklyn’s reputation), Stray went to Manhattan. Stray had connections there. Her boyfriend and brother lived in Manhattan’s borough.

Stray told Specs, who told Elmer, who told Henry, who told Jojo, who told Mike, who told Finch, who told Race—that you liked him. When you got word that Race knew, you panicked.

Romance like that with him. You wouldn’t know how to act, what to do, or what to say. You’ve seen romance from afar; with rich couples, elderly couples, teenagers—all types of couples!

“Ya’ gotta relax, kid.” Spot patted your back after they found you contemplating your choices on your bunk. “If Racer is as half bright as you, he’ll see you’re a real gem.”

That gave you some confidence in yourself. You shouldn’t get worked up about some boy. Taking Mac’s advice seemed like the best option. “He’s just a guy!”

But, he seems real sweet and humorous and charming and ambitious. Keyword: seems. You might be setting yourself up for failure.

After days and days of dreading what you should do, Race came walking into Brooklyn, willy nilly, specifically to Graves’ and yours selling spot.

“Heya miss, can I get a pape?” Race asked.

You weren’t paying attention and grabbed a newspaper from your bag. Seeing him in front of you with his stupid blue eyes, his stupid blonde curls, his stupid cigar, his stupid cute smile—

You froze. A blush rising to your face. You spun on your heels and walked away. A fight or flight response.

Graves grabbed you with a smirk and turned you around. “Talk to him!” Graves whispered and pushed you towards Race.

He had that charming, amused smile on his face. “Hey.” He spoke, two hands on the strap of his paper bag.

“Hey.” You croaked.

“I—uh…got word, ya like me.”

“Mhm.”

Race looked at you awkwardly. If you looked hard enough, you saw a faint faint blush on cheeks. “You—uh…wanna go to the Sheepshead with me?”

“Now?” You asked incredulously.

“Now.” Graves spoke firmly. “You can sell at Sheepshead, don’t worry. I’ll be fine by myself.”

And so, you and Race went to Sheepshead Races. You held onto his arm like one of those rich ladies would do to a gentlemen. Conversation was made, no matter how awkward it was between you two.

The Sheepshead Races were loud and lively. You usually went here with Lucky and Scope when you had downtime.

“C’mon, they’ll start soon.” Race intertwined his hands with yours and pulled you through a crowd of people. “Gotta get the best seats.”

“Isn’t that the front row?” You asked, glancing back at where you and your friends would usually sit.

“Trust me, sweetheart. These seats are better than any front row.” Race grinned.

Your heart skipped a beat.

The name “sweetheart” sounded so right from his lips.

Race took you to a chainlink fence. You were close enough to see the jockeys’ faces and the horses shaking their head. The spot was at the bottom right of the original seating, in between the commentator’s box and the vendor.

He let go of your hand to lean against the fence. You frowned slightly, missing the feeling of his hand in yours. “Better than any front seat.” He repeated softly.

“Is this how you got your name?” You gestured to the races. Your nerves slowly disappearing. You were a Brooklyn newsie for Christ’s sake! Be confident!

“What?” Race shook his head as if you broke him out of his trance. “Oh—uh…kinda! That and I would be the first to the circulation gate. I’m pretty fast for a newsie.”

“You’re pretty for a newsie.” You responded without missing a beat.

“What’s that?” Race leaned in to hear you better. A smirk on his face.

Before you could respond, a gunshot sounded. Hooves slammed on the dirt track. The commentator spoke enthusiastically about the race. In no time, the horses and jockeys were passing you. The wind from them passing knocked off your newsie cape. You could practically see the sweat on the jockeies’ faces.

“Careful.” Race snaked an arm around your waist as soon as the horses passed. He pulled you towards him, concerned about your safety.

You yelped going face first into his chest. Race chuckled awkwardly. You pulled away slightly, but not out of his arms. You two met eyes, just staring. The sound of the hooves faded away.

His blue eyes, the same color as the East River, the same color as a beautiful day. No words were shared between you two. Race gulped. The tension palpable.

Cheering and groans were heard as the commentator announced the outcome. “If—you couldn’t tell…” Race spoke nervously, never tearing his eyes away from yours. “I think your cute—hell, I think your badass for being a Brooklyner.”

Usually when you saw a lady and gentleman like this, they share a kiss. Your heart was beating out of your chest. You never kissed anyone, but this seemed like the perfect moment.

“I don’t know how to kiss…” You admitted quietly.

“We don’t gotta kiss.” Race assured.

“But I want too.”

“…”

“…”

“Can I kiss ya then?”

“Please.”

The minute his lips met yours, the whole world froze. Your stomach twisted in a good warm feeling. Electricity and sparks flying with a single touch to the lips. Your brain was blanking. No words could describe a first kiss.

“Was that…okay?” Race pulled away.

“Better than okay.” You nodded firmly and pressed another kiss to his lips.

Both Race and you got a little more confident and kissed each other back. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was sweet. “There’s more to Brooklyn than the Sheepshead Races.” You pulled away this time.

“I figured.” Race laughed and ran a hand through his blonde curls. He picked up your newsie’s cap that flew off. Brushing off the dirt, he placed the cap back on your head.

“I wanna show you more places in Brooklyn.” You spoke without even realizing what you were saying.

“A date then.” Race smirked.

“A date.” You confirmed.

“Great.”

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[bad268]

Ledge (Spot Conlon X Reader)

Fandom: Newsies (Winner of the poll)

Requested: Day 4 of Writing Inktober prompts instead of drawing!

Warnings: insinuating exhibition briefly

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 498

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

Writing Inktober 2024 Materlist

~~(^Pinterest)

“Is that mine?” A voice from behind you scared you from your spot on the Brooklyn Bridge. After selling all of your papes for the day, you decided to hide out away from the bustling city. You always loved sitting at the pier, but there were a bunch of new guys, and your normal spot at the docks was filled to the brim. You just wanted a minute of peace, but clearly, the boy behind you didn’t catch the hint.

“So what if it is?” You teased with a smirk as you looked back at him, already knowing exactly who it was. Spot Conlon. He always knew where everyone was. You chuckled as you spun around on the railing to have your back to the water. You leaned forward, showcasing the button-down checkered shirt you had snagged from your boyfriend's trunk that morning.  “What’re ya gonna do about it?”

Spot shrugged with a smirk as he walked closer to you, wrapping an arm around your back as he leaned into you. You leaned further back, relying solely on Spot’s arm to keep you from falling into the river below. He moved his other hand, which was resting beside you, up to rest against your chin, lifting your head to have your lips meet briefly. “I could take it off ya.”

“And let the whole of Brooklyn and Manhattan see?” You questioned before hesitating and pretending to think. Then, you stood up and gently tapped your hand against his chest twice. “Nah, you’re too possessive for that.”

“What’s that mean?” Spot asked, a little offended. You saw right through it, though. He was playing up the joke.

“You don’t like to share, Spot,” You pointed out as you planted a short kiss on his jaw before walking back into Brooklyn. You reached around your back and grabbed hold of his wrist as you pulled him towards the city. “C’mon, Spot. If you’re gonna take it off, do it at the docks or in the lodging. Your pick on what you wanna do after.”

“What if I just throw you over the ledge?” Spot teased as he pulled you back and caged you tightly between his arms. “Your pick.”

“I was already planning to go swimming sometime today, but if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me,” You chucked as you held tightly onto his shoulders. “Maybe don’t throw us off the tallest spot of the bridge. That’ll hurt.”

“Then I’ll throw you off the docks,” Spot chuckled as he picked you up, threw you over his shoulder, and ran to the docks. None of the newsies stood in his way, knowing this happened quite often. He set you down right at the ledge before adjusting the collar of your (his) shirt briefly. “Y’know, you should wear my stuff more often.”

Without a second thought, he shoved you backward. You expected this as you grabbed his wrist tightly and pulled him off the ledge with you into the river.

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[youaintnothinbuta]

Hello! I know you've written a lot of Jack Kelly lately, so please disregard this if you're feeling burnt out. I was wondering if you would be in the mood to write a Jack Kelly x reader where the reader is scarier to the newsies than Spot but during the strike, she and Jack start working closely together and it's clear that she's not all that bad, just tough on people that do her dirty.

“Who would have thought?” — jack kelly x reader

Summary: you and Jack are up all night together planning the way you’re going to stop the wagons. The morning after, the wagons have successfully been stopped, and the pair of you share an intimate moment of rest, as you realise you don’t always have to protect yourself from everyone.

Pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 908

Warnings: none, fluff, probably some typos you know meeee

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You sat together in a dimly lit alley that separated Brooklyn and Manhattan, with a map spread across a couple upside down milk crates.

Jack glanced at you, his cap casting a shadow over his eyes. “So, you got a plan?”

“Why am I here, again?” You sighed.

“Because, Y/N, you want better pay too, whether you admit it or not. And people listen to you.”

You studied the map intently, tracing the routes of the wagons with your finger. “Your area’s the smallest and theres more of you, I think your boys can handle that, we should be in Queens for when the bell rings.”

Jack nodded. “We need distractions, too. Get 'em looking the other way while we make our move.”

“Next time you speak, can you make it something helpful?” You snapped, his brows furrowing in response.

Hours passed, and the alley echoed with the soft murmur of your voices, punctuated by the occasional sound of a distant shout from the newsies preparing for the confrontation. The adrenaline built, but amidst the planning, a shift occurred – a subtle transformation in your disposition.

Jack stole a glance at you, a genuine curiosity in his eyes. “You know, you're kinda nice.”

“Nice?” You repeated.

“Yeah, you’re actually not as scary as everyone says.”

You looked up from the map, meeting his gaze. The walls you'd carefully built around yourself seemed to soften, if only for a moment. “We all got our roles to play, Jack.”

Jack leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. “I've heard the stories. Brooklyn's enforcer, they call you. Meaner than Spot.”

A rare chuckle escaped your lips. “Spot's got his way of leading, I got mine. Keeps the streets in order.”

As the night wore on, the initial skepticism that Jack harbored began to dissipate. The shared purpose, the planning, and the unspoken camaraderie melted the icy reputation that preceded you.

Jack's playful banter continued, each word chipping away at the tough exterior you'd carefully crafted. “You gotta have a soft spot somewhere in you, you know.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. “Maybe, but you'll never find it.”

The atmosphere shifted as the night wore on, the impending confrontation with the wagons looming over your plans. You were up late into the night, and then early into the morning, making sure every newsie knew what the plan was, in order to actually make this strike a success.

***

As you approached the Manhattan lodging house, Jack, with his cap pulled low to shield his eyes from the early morning sunlight, greeted you with a half-smile. The adrenaline that fueled the morning’s activities still pulsed through your veins, a shared victory in your tired yet satisfied eyes.

Jack spoke first, his voice raspy from the long night. “Well, we did it. Those wagons won't be rolling through today.”

You nodded, a sense of accomplishment washing over you. “Yeah, we did do it.”

The night's successful plan to halt the wagons had taken its toll, leaving both of you fatigued and in need of a moment of respite. Jack's room offered a brief refuge, away from the clamor of all the other newsies sharing stories and reveling in the victory.

As you entered, the worn-out furniture and scattered newspapers created a cocoon of familiarity. Jack, with a reassuring smile, gestured toward his bed, teasing you slightly, “Sit down, tiger. We've earned a break.”

The weariness weighed on your shoulders, and without resisting, you sank onto Jack's bed. You and Jack exchanged a glance, the unspoken acknowledgment of shared victories and silent pride.

Jack, with a knowing smile, settled beside you, his presence offering a sense of security that allowed your guard to momentarily slip away.

As your eyes fluttered closed, your body drifted closer to his. The protective aura he exuded made it easy to surrender to the exhaustion that had accumulated throughout the night. For once, it felt like you didn't have to protect yourself. Your head gently found its way to his chest, falling asleep curled up on him.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack, too, succumbed to the weariness. The room, draped in a calm silence, cradled the two of you in a moment of reprieve.

Time slipped away as both of you rested. Yet, as the morning sunlight continued its ascent, your brain had finally caught up to you. Panic momentarily gripped you as you realised you had fallen asleep with Jack.

Startled, you jumped off of him, the remnants of sleep dissipating quickly. “I— I shouldn't have—“

But before you could finish your sentence, Jack's reassuring voice cut through your anxiety. “Hey, settle down, tough girl. Our secret. You deserve this.“

His words lifted the weight off your shoulders. Jack pulled you back into his embrace, dispelling the fear that had momentarily clouded the room. Jack's arms wrapped around you once more, holding you close as you let your eyes fall shut again. You got comfortable, laying on his body, his fingers beginning to trace patterns on your back, causing you to let out a relaxed sigh.

“Who would have thought? Your soft spot is here, in my bed.” He whispered, teasing you.

“Wrong. I don’t have one, remember.” You mumbled, a small smile tugging on your lips.

“Yeah, sure.” Jack laughed.

[companionjones]

The Favor

Pairing: Jack Kelly x Reader

Fandom: Newsies: The Broadway Musical

Requested by: Anon

Request: Jack Kelly x reader where the reader gets roughed up bad by Brooklyn Newsies and doesn’t tell jack who did it but since she’s his number two, they need to go to Brooklyn on business and they run into the Newsies who beat up and she gets nervous and jack gets protective?

Warnings: Cursing, Violence

*******

    Limping your way back to the lodging house, you cringed with every step. You wanted to make it back to your bed unnoticed, but that plan immediately went off the rails as you approached the building.

    It started off with somebody yelling from the window, “Hey, everyone! Y/n’s back!”

    Chatter immediately filled the night, coming from the lodging house, and the door opened for you.

    Racer came out toward you. “Hey, Y/n! It’s been a few hours since anyone saw you, are you--” The words died on his tongue as you came into the light.

    “I’m fine!” you called out to him. “Don’t--”

    “Jack!” Race called over his shoulder. He then looked back into the building to the boys by the door. “Get Jack.”

    You sighed as Racer walked up to you and helped you inside. “You don’t need to get him. I’m fine, seriously.”

    Race scoffed, “Yeah. Tell that to your black eyes.”

    “What the hell is this I’m hearing?” Jack was descending the stairs as you made it inside. He had fire inside him as he locked on your eyes. “Who hurt you?”

    “Jack--” you started in a calm tone.

    His jaw clenched. “Don’t start with that. Who did this to you? Tell me right now, and I’ll--”

    “Take me upstairs,” you told him once he had fully approached you.

    Jack huffed as he looked at you. He glanced around the room out of the corner of his eyes before settling his gaze back on you. He nodded before supporting your weight, just as Race did, and helping you back up the stairs.

    “This is one of the days where I don’t want to live on the roof,” Jack commented as the both of you were worn out from climbing all those stairs.

    “I know what you mean.” You laughed as Jack carefully set you down, but those laughs turned into quiet coughs.

    Jack was still standing as he asked, “Are you gonna tell me who did this to you now?”

    You looked away as your eyes grew glossy and you bit your lip, which hurt because that bit lip was split.

    Seeing you like that caused Jack to take a knee next to you. He put a hand on your shoulder. “Hey...You can tell me.”

    You took a deep breath before answering, “Do you remember, a few weeks ago, we were sitting up here, and I asked you what you were thinking?” You looked at him.

    Jack took a full seat next you and leaned on the same brick wall you were against. “Yeah, I do.”

    You smiled at him. “You wouldn’t tell me. I don’t know why, but you were so desperate for me not to know what was going on in your head that you asked for a favor.” You tilted your head as you looked at him. “...I’m calling in that favor.”

    You saw Jack’s gaze harden and his nose flare. “But...they hurt you, Y/n. You...you can barely stand.” He moved in front of you and put a hand on your knee. “Y/n...I want to kill them.”

    “I know you do,” your voice remained soft. “And that’s why you can’t know.”

    The following month, you spent recovering. The other boys sold your papes for you, and Jack barely let you leave the penthouse, no matter how much you complained.

    Once that month was over; however, you were back on your feet. You and Jack almost got into a physical fight over you going, but you ended up going with Jack over to Brooklyn to meet with Spot Conlon regarding Newsie business.

    “Y/n--?”

    “--Yeah?” You had been peering down an alleyway, but your head snapped toward Jack when you heard your name.

    Jack looked at you like you were acting weird, which you were. “Why are you so nervous? You’re the one who wanted to come with me in the first place.”

    “First of all, I’m not nervous. Shut up. Second of all, I wanted to come with you today because I’ve spent every day for the last month up on the roof twiddling my thumbs. You know that’s not me, Jack.”

    He replied immediately, “I know that’s not you. It also wasn’t you to have to’ve been laid up for the past month with injuries that you won’t even tell me where they came from!”

    Yes, it was true. Jack hadn’t let up on bothering you about the origins of your injuries, and you had yet to open your mouth.

    “Would you hear that, boys? The big bad Jack Kelly wants to know where Y/n L/n’s boo-boo’s came from. Why don’t we let ‘im know?” Three Brooklyn Newsies appeared from the alley across the street from the one you had been peering down.

    They were behind Jack, but when he turned around and saw them, you knew he must’ve had a bad feeling because he immediately started backing up to cover you. “What the hell are you talking about?”

    The leader of the three’s eyes shifted to you. “Y/n, why don’t you tell your boss how we know each other?”

    Jack glanced over his shoulder to see your shaking form that you were trying to distract from with a pissed-off look on your face. He slowly moved his gaze back to your enemies, and Jack asked a one-word quotation, “Why?”

    “Because you’re doing too much, Jack,” the leader clarified in a raised voice, “You think you’re getting all this power when you’re really not. You needed something to remind you of your place.”

    Through a clenched jaw, Jack lowly responded, “You went after Y/n because of me?”

    The leader was close to laughing at Jack. “That is correct.”

    Jack actually growled before jumping forward to go after the three Brooklyn Newsies.

    “Jack, don’t!” You held him back from doing what he wanted to do. “You can’t attack them.”

    “Why the hell not?!” Jack snapped.

    “Because I’m Spot’s second-in-command!” the leader remarked with a devilish look on his face. “Spot didn’t send me to take care of Y/n, but he might as well have! Jack you’re becoming too powerful for your own good, and we all know the one and only King of the Newsies is Spot Conlon. And what do you think Spot’s gonna do if he finds out you roughed up one of his best guys? I can’t imagine it would be far off from what you want to do me right now. And if that happens on both sides?”

    “A war would break out, Jack,” you finished.

    He thought a moment before quietly asking you, “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me who hurt you? Because I would start a war?”

    With tears in your eyes, you nodded.

    Jack then full turned to you and put a hand on the back of your neck. He tilted his head toward yours. “Did you ever consider that you’re worth fighting a war over?”

    That question stopped your heart from beating.

    “Alright, that’s enough with the theatrics.” The leader of the small gang approached you and Jack and put a hand on Jack’s should to get him to turn away from you.

    Jack did so, and he used the momentum from it to punch the leader in the face.

    So, Jack took on that guy, and that left you to fight his two minions. You dodged the first blow from the first guy, then caught the second guys fist and kicked his knees out from under him. You then threw the second guy into the first guy, resulting with both of them on the ground. To make it clear who won, you then leaned down and smashed their heads against each other, knocking them out.

    You were about to turn around to see how Jack was doing, but that was made clear when you were grabbed by the neck and yanked to your feet.

    Suddenly, Jack was looking helpless in front of you while the leader choked you in front of him.

    “Let them go,” Jack spat, “Let Y/n go, or I swear I’ll--”

    “You’ll what?” your attacker teased, “Right now, I’m holding all the cards. I think--Stop-fighting!” He was talking to you.

    You had yet to give up. You used all your strength to pull his arm just a little away from your throat, then you used all that space to get some windup before whacking your head into his nose.

    The boy stumbled back from you before you talked him to the ground and started in on punching his face. You got 9 or 10 blows in before deciding he had had enough. You got to your feet, out of breath. You told him, “I would’ve won the fight in the first place if you hadn’t surprised me.” You spat on him. “Fucking coward.”

    “You sure got that right.” Spot Conlon appeared with a large group of Brooklyn Newsies.

    “Have you been here the whole time?” Jack, who was standing next to you, asked.

    Conlon shook his head. “After these three briefly disappeared from my ranks about a month ago, I’ve sent a couple of my younger recruits to keep an eye on ‘em. They came and reported this to me as soon as the fight broke out.”

    Jack asked, “So, they weren’t working by your orders?”

    Spot scoffed, “No. Not even a little.” He looked down to the rogue leader’s bloody form. “And what the hell is this ‘King of the Newsies’ shit you were spoutin’ Timmy? You know we don’t work like that.”

    Timmy was barely able to speak. “I was trying to make you look good--”

    “Fuck making me look good,” Conlon cursed, “This is making me look shitty.” He looked back up to you and Jack. “Sorry, gotta cancel our meetin’ today so I can take care of these buffoons.”

    “All good,” you immediately responded.

    “Fine by me,” Jack was right behind you.

    The Brooklyn Newsies cleaned up their bodies and cleared out just as fast as they got there.

    Jack hugged you as soon as he could. He then brought you to arm’s length so he could examine you. “Are you okay?”

    “I’m doing just as well as you. Look at that shiner!” you laughed, referring to a bruise that was already forming under one of Jack’s eyes. You then looked into his eyes, and you saw an emotion that you had seen there many times before, but it was an emotion that you could never put a name to.

    Things fell silent between the two of you.

    “Ask me again,” Jack softly asked.

    “What?” you wondered.

    “Ask me again what I was thinking that night.”

    You didn’t have to ask what night he was talking about. “What were you--”

    Jack pulled you forward and kissed you. “...I was thinking the same thing I’m always thinking. I was thinking about how much I wanted to kiss you.”

    “Was it everything you hoped it would be?”

    Jack smiled, “And more,” he told you, then leaned back in.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, you should check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[heliads]

:D yay!!! I love your Newsies stuff sm (and yes you absolutely should rewatch its amazing). If you have time could you maybe write a Race x fem!reader where she's like Spot's second command and kinda like the "mum" of the Brooklyn kids - they go to her for like comfort and when they have injuries or have problems etc. And she's kinda reserved and such but became friends with Race from when he'd spend time in Brooklyn, and after the strike (during like KONY I guess) he goes to find her to ask for her help like getting everyone fixed up and the like, and at some point from there onwards it's like FEELINGS yknow? No worries if not! Only if you're inspired and have time and such :) I love your writing - you're so v talented xx

grateful for your support in my rewatching newsies agenda. anything for you anon xoxo

masterlist

There’s a newsie from Manhattan wandering your streets again. He’s not supposed to be crossing over into Brooklyn like this, none of them are, but for some reason that hasn’t stopped Race Higgins from showing up time and time again. 

It’s not like this should really matter. Shouldn’t, anyway. Brooklyn is messy and getting messier. One particularly plucky Manhattan boy shouldn’t have an impact on what you’re doing on a day to day basis. Spot’ll do some nonsense involving a good threat or two to scare the guy off. This sort of thing happens once a month, but Brooklyn always ends up on top. Always.

That hasn’t seemed to sway Race, though. Last time he tried this, one of the other Brooklyn generals was in a fighting mood and nearly left the blond with a black eye had you not stepped in and put a stop to the scuffle before it started. No one needed any more trouble when you’ve already got so much as is, or so you claimed.

Truth be told, you’re not really sure why you helped Race out. It’s not like you’ve got any particular fondness for the guy, he keeps bothering you whenever he sneaks over the turf boundaries. It’s like he has a sixth sense for figuring out where you are whenever you’re selling papes. Even when you tell him to bug off and leave you alone, he’ll just start selling half a block down from you, or right across the street. Just close enough that you can see the trademark grin on his face when you roll your eyes and do your best to ignore him.

At the end of the day, it’s not something that should be the pull of too much of your attention. It’s Race, for goodness’ sake, not a rogue Delancey brother or someone who could actually cause you grief. Race just wants to make you laugh, which is weird of him to do but not actually dangerous.

Dangerous is the rest of Brooklyn. Dangerous is what waits for Race when he’s not halfway in your shadow. Dangerous is what made you Spot Conlon’s second in command when there were so many other newsies vying for the title. You know dangerous, and you know how to handle it, how to keep your boys safe. That’s what you should be focusing on the most, not errant Manhattan newsboys who keep getting alarmingly close to making you crack a smile.

But. Well. It is easier to think of boys than trouble. Boys try to make you laugh, for the most part. They don’t come back under the cover of the dead of night, bloody and trembling, talking to you about cops and thugs busting up strikes, about workers from the Refuge who want to brazenly take kids off the street just so they can keep up their numbers. They didn’t always.

Then they did, and suddenly you weren’t quite so easy with your temper and gait anymore. Race was usually quick to a smile, a laugh, a joke. He’d offer you a cigar free of charge, then swear like a sailor at any other boy who tried to even look at his prized possession. You were different, he didn’t want to trouble you. 

So he said. Didn’t stop him from hanging outside your window until you climbed onto your fire escape just to get him to stop throwing pebbles at the dusty glass. You might have spent more than an hour outside that night, and the next one, and the next, but it was only so he’d let the others rest. You falling asleep on his shoulder at least once, then waking to find his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, was pure coincidence.

Race was always carefree. It was his job, you think, his role to play amongst the Manhattan newsies, just as yours was to keep track of your Brooklyn kids. Race used to tease you relentlessly about how the Brooklyn newspaper distribution system would completely grind to a standstill if you so much as got a cold.

It wasn’t entirely a joke, it was true. Race knew it. The two of you could hardly talk for longer than ten minutes before a boy or twelve would come up to you, asking for help on something else. He saw how long you faked your smiles just for the happy expression to start fading into an exhausted sigh whenever no one was around but him. You liked your position in the newsie ranks, truly you did, but it drained everything from you.

Sometimes it felt like it was just you and Spot fighting a losing war trying to keep all of your boys out of trouble. You teach them to be tough and loud and unapproachable, but it will never be enough? How could it be, in this city? Race tells his jokes and you laugh and you try not to pretend that everything is falling to ribbons. At least then you could marvel at the colors.

Still. Race stayed. Longer than you expected, in all honesty. You kept waiting for him to have his fun and leave you to your city that never sleeps, but he came around and it felt more natural by the day. Instead of being surprised that he showed up, you started feeling confused if a week went by without you seeing him.

And, when two newsies come to Brooklyn from Manhattan talking about a strike, and neither one of them is Race but both of them need your help anyway, you listen. More than Spot, at least. Spot gets wind of trouble and he shuts down their plea in an instant. Despite the fact that you think this is the best chance any of you will have to change something around here, Spot can’t risk his guys.

You never know when someone will back out without telling you, he tells you later, and then all of you would be stuck out there on the front lines without backup. The ace without the sleeve up which to hide. Brooklyn kids are tough, and they wouldn’t run, but who knows a damn thing about anyone else?

It made you want to scream and cry and run out there anyway, just to prove a point. You heard how the strike went later, how no one showed up except the Manhattan boys because no other borough would come without Brooklyn’s express approval. You catch whispers and threads of the story, but you don’t learn the whole thing until Race shows up.

He’s alone this time, beaten and bruised. You flinch when you see him, even though he’s not swinging. The look in his eyes, though– that’s enough to leave you bloody.

Race puts a hand on your shoulder. The knuckles are bruised, and you try not to notice the spatterings of skin already turning a mottled purple and green. “It’s not your fault. Jackie boy told me you tried to convince Spot to join us.”

You frown, look away. “You got hurt and we could have done something. That sounds an awful lot like I failed.”

Race shakes his head, puts a hand on your cheek so you have to look at him again. “I’m not here for that. This isn’t your fault, it’s his. Pulitzer’s. Him and those damn thugs. Not you.”

You nod slowly. It’ll take some time before you’re able to absolve yourself of the guilt, but you can try. “Let me get my first aid kit, I’ll come back with you, try to patch some of the kids up. Can I assume that a lot of them are worse than you?”

Race’s expression drops. “Yeah. The thugs came hitting pretty hard.”

“Well,” you say in an attempt to cheer him up, “I’d wager it’s because they knew your lot were the toughest around.”

Race cracks a smile, even though you’re sure it must be painful. “Oh, absolutely. I’d topple a building with a single punch.”

You can’t help but cast another worried look towards his hands. Damaged, bruised, and they had tipped his cap towards you just a morning or two ago. Race always liked to playact a gentleman when you were around. As if any of you have money or morals to spare. The only mansion you’ve got is the wide sky above you, the expensive habits of running too fast on green grass. Your gold is a rusty coin or two, your finery hand-me-down clothes. Your mockery of manners is the closest you’ll get to that sort of lifestyle, but it was always fun to fake it, anyway.

“No more punches,” you tell him. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Race retorts, “we’ve got to be out there again tomorrow for the strike. We’se not giving up so easily.”

The thought makes your stomach twist. Race, back out there, ready to get dealt another blow. Maybe this time he won’t be able to pick himself up so easily. Maybe this time he won’t be able to pick himself up at all.

No. You won’t let it happen. This is still your city, damn it, and you have not spent all these years sweating out your sunrises and sunsets to keep it informed just for the last bits of your control to be ripped out from between your desperate fingers.

“You won’t be alone tomorrow,” you decide, “I’ll get Spot to join you.”

Race frowns. “Jack and Davey tried that already, I thought. He said no. Isn’t Spot a dead end at this point? Unless there’s something else you know to change his mind.”

You sigh. “You’re not wrong. I talked to him, though, after your boys left yesterday. I tried. As much as anyone can try to talk to Spot, y’know. I’ll try again, though. The choice he made was–” There are a lot of words you could attribute to Spot’s decision to stay out of the strike. Stupid. Pointless. Backstabbing. You end up saying something a little more polite. “Not what I agreed with, to say the least.”

Race’s lips quirk up in a half smile. “Glad to hear it. I always liked it best when you were on our side.”

You snort. “I’se a Brooklyn newsie, remember? I don’t think we was ever on the same side.”

Race shrugs. “Maybe not in a turf war, but other times we got along just fine.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Race grins, leans a little closer to you. It feels like your whole world is tunneling– you can look at his eyes or his lips, but not both, and it’s enough to make you dizzy. “The last month or two, I swear you almost liked me. Sure, you’re a tough girl if anyone asks, but I know what I know.”

“And what do you know?” You ask carefully. It takes every fiber of focus in your being to keep breathing, chasing every word he says like a high price headline.

Race tilts his head to the side, considering this. Considering you. “I know that you’ve been hanging around me more and more. I know that you aren’t trying to run anymore. I know that no Brooklyn newsie sticks their neck out for someone from ‘Hattan unless they’ve got a pretty good reason. Most importantly, I know that I want to kiss you, but only if you want that too. Do you?”

He’s so close to you now, practically a breath away. Just enough room for you to run if you wanted to, but also for you to do something else, something you’ve been thinking about even when you swore you wouldn’t.

“I do,” you breathe, and that’s all Race needs to lean forward and kiss you at last. He tastes like blood and foolish hope and promises you know he’ll always keep. It’s a damn good mix, enough to make you kiss him again when he starts to break away.

This is how you keep him safe, then. You love him too much and you convince Spot to lend Brooklyn’s support by hook or by crook. You defend the strike and you defend your boy. There are a hundred reasons this could all go wrong, but thousands, thousands more, that all shout for you to keep going. 

Well, you’ve always liked a little bit of danger. Race is good trouble, and you are well inclined to keep him.

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

[lovingmusicalmen]

Request:

14. “Stay away from me!”

A mister Antonio Racetrack Higgins x f!reader

She’s new to being a Newsie and she doesn’t know who she can and can’t trust because she has had a rough life in the past which has left her to feel like she can’t trust anyone. So she keeps her guard up but eventually she decides she can trust Race and she lets her guard down around him and only him and maybe show once her guard is down with him but isn’t with the rest so she isn’t chill around them and only Race?

Sorry that is a lot. I really like ur writing tho so yeah!

Awwww this one's such a cute idea - I hope that this fits your idea!! I'm so glad you like my writing!!

Angst 14: "Stay away from me!"

Blurb Requests still open!

"This waistcoat is amazing, Sunny!" Race announced, sliding into the table beside Y/N in Jacobis.

Y/N rolled her eyes and plucked the cigar from his lips. Race shot her a cheeky grin and pulled out another one, which Y/N promptly removed again.

"I told you to stop calling me that," she muttered.

"I thought I was the exception - you made me a new waistcoat and everything," Race joked, finally giving up on trying to light up a cigar and instead leaning back on the chair to prop his feet up on the table.

"Tell any of the others that and I'll chop your balls off - I know where you sleep, Higgins."

"We should warn Spot Conlon that Sunny here's coming for his brand," Jack teased, joining them at the table. Race brightened up, while Y/N tensed, glaring at the newsboy.

"Stop calling me that," she gritted out.

"But you're just such a ray of sunshine," Albert joked as he, too, joined them holding a glass of water.

Y/N clenched her jaw, glaring holes in the table.

"Guys stop it," Race said with a slight laugh.

"But she's just been so open and friendly since she got here - what else could we possibly call her?" Finch said, clapping a hand on Y/N's shoulder.

Y/N gripped onto his hand and threw it off of her, standing up and pushing Finch back, sending him tumbling back a couple of steps.

The Manhattan Newsies fell silent, all eyes watching the exchange. But Y/N didn't have it in her to care, anger boiling in her veins. She stepped forwards again and jabbed Finch in the chest.

"Don't fucking call me that. And stay away from me," she hissed, then addressed the room at large. "All of you."

Y/N turned and stamped out of the restaurant. The moment that the door closed behind her, though, she dropped the stern facade and took off running, ignoring the tears that were blurring her eyes and the angry shouts of other pedestrians as she almost bowled over them in her haste to get as far away as possible.

It wasn't until the Brooklyn Bridge stood in front of her that she stopped, gasping for breath and leaning against the railings. She pulled off her hat - gifted to her the very day she had turned up, prickly and rude to cover her terror - and pressed it to her mouth to try and muffle her sobs.

It was only a couple of moments later that more wheezing breaths met her ears. She forced herself to look over at Race, who was doubled over, two newspaper bags slung over his shoulders.

"Jesus, Sunny - they should call you Racetrack. You run fucking fast," Race gasped out. "Sorry - know you said not to call you that."

"You probably wouldn't be so out of breath if you stopped smoking," Y/N whispered, not acknowledging the name. Because Race had been right in his earlier teasing - he was the exception.

Her friend offered her a smile and flopped onto the ground beside her. He hesitated and then lifted his arm, and Y/N fell into the embrace.

"I'm sorry about them - they've seen you opening up to me, thought it meant they could act the same as I do," Race whispered. Y/N just shrugged, still nestled into the crook of his arm.

"I just don't know how to do it."

"Do what?"

"You know..." Y/N shuddered a little. "Trust them, I guess? How do I know they're not going to... hurt me? Or try and send me back?"

Race's arm tightened around her and Y/N felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.

"You don't," he murmured. "I wish I could stop all the awful shit that happened to you before you found me - found all of us. But I'm glad you got here now," he kissed her hair again. "And we've all got our shit that landed us as Newsies. So all of them get it, even while they're dicks a lot of the time. But you trust me, right?"

Y/N pulled away from him, wiping her eyes. She mustered up a smile.

"Against my better judgement," she joked. Race rolled his eyes and reached over to ruffle her hair.

"So if you can't trust them yet - trust me. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you again, Sunny."

Y/N burst out laughing and lent back into Race, nestling her face into his neck.

"Anyone but you calls me that again and I'll bring them here and push them off of the fucking bridge."

[gurl-pls-evn-the-sharks-fear-me]

Spot Conlon x Reader

HELLO this is my first fix on tumblr it's gonna be a Spot Conlon x Reader. This is from 1992 and it's about the key necklace around spots neck. Tbh I only just noticed the necklace lmao. So I thought why not make my first tumblr fic :) y/n will have female pronouns and feminine features you can change the room s to they/them if you like but y/n will still where a dress sorry.

---------------------------------------------------------

Spot's pov:

I was walking down the streets of brooklyn, on my way to the bakery to visit the Baker's daughter, we met a month ago when I sold her my last pape.

Y/n's pov: (first meeting)

I was in a rush over to the bakery cause I was running late I was, since I was in Manhattan visiting my cousin and I forgot I had a shift today

On my way to the bakery I was stopped by a newsboy "pape! baby born with two heads! Excuse me miss would you like an evening pape" I bit the inside of my lip anxiously. I needed to get to my shift but i guess buying a paper wouldn't hurt "sure thing, uh what was the headline again? Baby born with two heads? Sounds weirdly interesting."

"Heh yea, good headline. I'm spot conlon, here's your papa miss." Thanks I handed him a penny as I grabbed the pape reading over the front page a little bit.

"I'm y/n Baker(a/n:yes I made her last name Baker cause The Baker-y it's a ounce it's supposed to be funny)" he seemed to think over the name until a little snicker came out "baker? Your the bakers daughter so baker...y hah! your pops a funny guy"

I nod my head muttering a small yea, "I uh have to get going, or I'll be late for my shift at the bak..er.y" I said that a little awkwardly (story of my life lol)

We said our goodbyes and I left for the bakery.

---------present time;spots pov:---------

Opening the door to the small business letting out a small ding letting people know someone walked in.

I looked around to see if I could spot (get it spot I'll stop now... Lol) the

Y/H/L girl when I felt someone tap on my should I was about to get ready to, make a snarky comment when they walked around me to face me.

"Hi spot" came a beaming face of joy of the girl I came here to see made me let out a small smile. "Hey y/n."

"I'm guessing the usual, and on the house of course" I nodded as she got out a small bag and tongs to pick up said pastry (it can be any pastry any) she handed me the bag and I put it in my newsies bag.

"So how have the boys been let me guess they ate the mini muffins in 3 days?" She said jokingly "actually five but they saved a lot of the younger ones they weren't that greedy" "good I put a lot of work in those"

"Hey spot I just got of shift if you were wanting to hang or walk around" "yea sure" we left the family owned businesses of hers and started walking around Brooklyn.

We were walking for a good half ouw until we stop half across the Brooklyn Bridge "hey spot I want to give you something." I could by the shakeness of her voice she was nervous. I nodded my head signaling her to continue

She reached into her pocket and pull out a key hang from a chain like necklace "this is a spare key to the bakery if we are very closed and you want to see me just use that key make sure you close it behind you tho. And go up the stairs usually I'll be in the living room. She hang the key around my neck as I just staired at her

"What... I made a mistake haven't I, I shou-" I cut her off by kissing her passionately, i broke the kiss before she could kiss back "you didn't make a mistake doll. You are perfect I will wear this key with respect." I smile at her.

She the leaned in to kiss me as I kissed back. I held her face with my right hand as and lean my left hand on the ridge of the bridge pulling her in.

We broke apart needing air. "Spot I love you. I love you okay I got it out...."

We both chuckled a little bit "it's starting to get dark we should head back" before I could walk away she pull me back

"I- spot if.. Your willing to try would you want to date like be partners??" I nod my head a little "yea I'm willing to give it a try" I replied with a smile

She let out a sigh of relief "okay we can head back now" we started walking back. Once we got back to her house/the bakery

We she walked inside holding the door open ikfted an eyebrow in confusion "don't just stand there you probably cold come in stay the night plus it's pitch black and gonna rain soon"

I nodded my head once again and walked in as she closed up the bakery and locked it

As we got ready for a the night sleep.

-----------------------------------------

That's the focus hope you enjoyed I can post this on ao3 aswell you can find me there on I think pumkyn_pvtch if not than look up Mischa bachinski/reader and it should be 3rd one down it's a oneshots book for RTC :)

[whyareyouhere66]

hey hey you should give me Spot Conlon hcs :)

I mean how could I possibly say no?

You sent this hours ago I’m so sorry-

Spot Conlon x Reader HCs

Fem or Male reader (gender neutral) - Platonic and Romantic HC’s included.

Romantic -

(Starting with the fluff, more lighthearted stuff)

◘ He just - he loves you.

◘ His love language is flirting with you, nicknames all that- and he also constantly has to have an arm around you. (So some physical touch)

◘ He didn’t really realize how truly touch starved he was until he had you, not saying he’s some lovey-dovey sappy kind of guy but just the casual arm around your shoulders, waist, etc brings him a nice hit of comfort. 

◘ And for those of you who aren’t into physical touch, he finds other ways to love you. Again, flirting, always has a nickname at hand, and even just the subtle things like passing you some of his food.

◘ “Hows about some flowers, eh? Y’like those- eh I’ll get youse some flowers” // “C’mere, sweetheart, you’re too far away.” 

◘ He’s so proud of you. Brags about you to Race, Davey, even Jack has heard about you enough to know any or all of your accomplishments.

◘ Race always feeds into it, of course, Jack kind of brushing him off. 

◘ Let’s not forget the sleeping arrangements. 

◘ He likes it best when you sleep next to him. Doesn’t matter if the bed’s small, he sleeps best when you’ve got your head on his chest, a lazy arm wrapped around your back. 

◘ That cute, dopey smile we got to see at Medda’s? Y’know the one, yeah- we get to see so much more of that when you’re around and the world thanks you for it.

◘ Trying to get deeper than just the same things everytime: the river. 

◘ The docs, the crates built up to make his throne, those are your spots. 

◘ Sometimes at night you two will just sit out there, either propped up against the crates or with your legs dangling off the docs edge. And you’ll talk, no one else around except you both. 

◘ It’s come to the point where if you can’t find him inside, he can’t find you, just go and look by the docs and you’ll find eachother, hidden behind the wood.

◘ And just like that we’re talking about more angsty stuff, here we go-

◘ The docs are where lots of the heavy, trauma dumping stuff happens. Or the inappropriate stuff- either work. 

◘ It took a while to get there, but he trusts you more than he’s trusted anybody. So he tells you things, you tell him back, and the bond grows stronger and stronger every time- an understanding builds, sometimes you don’t even have to say a word and he’ll know. You’ll know. 

◘ It doesn’t make you immune to fights though. Spot is outspoken, he gets stressed. And that can lead to him lashing out. 

◘ He doesn’t like it, sometimes he’ll regret it instantly and other times he’s gotta take a hot second to breathe, and then it’ll hit him. Either way he’ll find a way to make it up to you. 

◘ I’m not one to say how you’d react, maybe you’ll lash out too and maybe you’re more the quiet type. Either way he’ll take the time to swallow his pride and return things to the way it was before. 

◘ Oh yeah and he would fight literally anyone for you. The dude’s protective, over the newsies, his reputation, and his love. He isn’t scared to defend it or  himself.

Platonic- 

◘ Two ways I can imagine it- one, you both are complete menaces and cause chaos through Brooklyn. 

◘ Two- it’s calmer, more you both enjoying eachothers company and having that level of understanding. 

◘ Either way, he’s glad to have a friend he can trust, which is hard for him. 

◘ Just like the romantic hc’s, y’all hang by the river a ton. Just talking, mainly, sharing a drink and having a couple laughs. He isn’t as over the top “crazy” as Jack, closer to the sarcasm of Race. 

◘ Speaking of- you, Race and Spot always have a good time when together, the three of you get along, far better than any of the others. 

◘ You joke about stuff, Race tries placing bets, Spot stupidly takes him up on the offer, and you get to watch. It’s a great time, the main reason you even go to Manhattan cause you know what’s ahead. 

◘ Spot isn’t as hard on you as he might be to the rest of the Brooklyn newsies, he’s admittedly a bit biased. There’s more room for understanding, he’s more comfortable in your presence. The jokes you share and the talks you have allow him to loosen up a bit, his shoulders relaxing more. 

◘ You’re the first one he wakes up in the morning, doing it personally instead of letting the alarms wake you up like he does the rest. You’re the closest thing to second in command they have, it’s never been officially said but hey the other newsies have joked about it and recognized it so that’s official enough. 

◘ I know there isn’t as much platonic as romantic but hey I just wanted to add this-

Ok there you go 😌 I’m actually so glad you sent this request-

I could go more into detail about some of this too idk I love him.

[itaintlyinjustimprovingthetruth]

Newsies

(REDONE, POSTING OW ONTO FANFIC ACC!!)

David Jacobs x FTM!Reader

Jack Kelly is their brother

idea/prompt: The strike gets too violent, and the reader gets hurt in one eye, Jack gets extremely worried about them as well.

Setting: Rally at Irving Hall, Newsboys Lodging House

Word count: 1,781

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the Rally at Irving Hall, the place being filled with newsies from Richmond, Brooklyn, Woodside, and Bronx just to name a few. The rally was being hosted by who else  than Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon, and David Jacobs. After the whole speech, Miss Medda sang a song for all the boys. But, Snyder had come to the Hall, with so many bulls that it surrounded the place. A huge fight broke out. Y/N, however, was knocked out cold by the end of it, and who else than Davey had found them, and had taken him to the Lodging house to patch them up from any of the wounds they had, and let him rest. The time of this, starts when Y/N wakes up.

Y/N had woken up, a hand on his head. He looked around, confused for a moment before realizing he couldnt see through his right eye. He started to panic, looking around for anybody. That's when Davey, his beloved, had walked in 

“Y/N? Y/N you're alright!”  Davey ran over to his bed, hugging them gently, “Does anything hurt anywhere? Did I get all of your wounds and bruises?”

“ 'm fine, Davey, but there might be a problem..”

“Wh-? Did something happen?” His expression changed from relief to worry, as he looked at him

“I can't see out o’ my right eye, Davey..”

“You can't- wh? But how- what happened?” He looked very worried, hugging onto Y/n still.

“I think someone hit my eye, a bit too hard if ‘m bein’ honest..” you say, lightheartedly joking.

“Y/N, we shouldnt be joking right now, this is serious-” Davey said, worry flushing through his face.

You sigh, holding davey's face , and kiss his cheek “Ill be fine, though, when have’t i been?”

“W- well, i mean, you weren't fine for the few weeks you were out-” He replies, looking at Y/N. “And also when you just now told me you cant see through your Right eye-” he begins again.

“-But ‘m okay now, correct? I’s fine, Davey'' you give a warm smile to him, opening your arms for another hug, which he gladly takes.

“You better be alright…” he mumbles, staying close to you, looking up at you as well. You give him a smile, a smile that's comforting to him.

“May I’s get up yet..?” You drowsily ask, putting a hand in Daveys hair.

“Absolutely not- you're still hurt, y’know. And don't even think about saying you aren't, cause you'll probably stumble.” he says, getting up “And plus, you’ll worry the others.” Davey helps you sit up, smiling a little at you. 

“Ill be fine- gotta walk it of, ya know?” you smile back at Davey, going to get up, but ultimately failing. Davey had pushed you back into the bed.

“You're still not getting up- Want me to get you something?”

“My mouths kind of dry, i would’t mind wata” 

“Alright, i'll be back.” Davey leaves the room, leaving you alone. Is it a bad idea? Probably. Because you immediately get up, stumbling to the door. To be honest, you just wanted to check on the others. By the time you made it to the door, Davey had came back. 

“Y/N! Get back in the bed-” He brought you back to the bed, making you whine slightly. “Your still hurt, mister, you’re not getting up.”

“But Daveyyyyyy-” you whine, trying to get up again, which Davey had stopped you again.  “I wanna get uppp- pleaseeee?” you tried doing the puppy eyes, but davey had sat you down anyway.

“No, Y/N, your badly injured still, and im not risking anything. Now, drink the water you asked for.” he replies. You pout and drink the water. Davey smiles slightly, and gives you a kiss on your cheek. “Want me to get anyone?”

“Whoever wants to see me, Davey.” you replied, giving him a small smile back, shifting a little in the bed

“So far, Jack is worried the most- he’s worried about a lot, now that i think about it-..” he mumbles the last part, and goes to get Jack. Jack, once he heard he was finally allowed to see you, rushes in like the worried brother he is.

“Y/n! How have you been? Are you alright? What happened? Do I need to beat anyone up?” he said panicky, 

“ ‘m fine, Jack, and no- absolutely not, violence isn't an answer, Jack” you sigh, opening your arms for a hug, which in response he hugs you back, in a brotherly comfort way.

“Y/n, i know that- its ‘cause violence is da question and da answar’ is yes” your response from that was a sigh of disappointment 

“No, Jack, it isn’t, and it never will be.” 

“I guess your right then- Davey, didn't you say something about him bein’ hurt..? He looks all’right.”

“You wanna tell him or do I have to, Y/n?” Davey asks calmly, looking at you

“Jack- ive uhm, gone Blind in ma’ right eye..” you said, hoping jack wouldn't get too upset or angry at whoever did it to you.

“..and how'd that happen? Ans who dids it-” He looks at you, with a surprisingly serious face. You usually have seen Jack with a goofy or unserious face, so this was the first time in a while you've seen his serious face. The last time you've seen him so serious was when you were a kid, and that was a long time ago.

“Noone- not that i know of, atleast, and youse aren't beatin’ nobody, Jack” you respond with hesitance, because you didn't know if he was threatening violence or not.you honestly couldn't tell that much, reading tone was definitely not your strong suit. 

“I ain’ts dumb, Y/n, i knows not ta’ beat anyone up” he responds with a slight tone of voice you couldnt figure out if it was sarcasm or not. You didn't know why it was so hard for you to read tone because you could never learn how too, no one had taught you. Davey had been trying to teach you, and it was somewhat helping, but you couldn't read tone well.

“...So you aren't gonna beat whoever up?” you ask, looking up at the cowboy

“Nope, 'm not. I promise.” Jack replies, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

“Alright, ill trust you for now- Davey, keep an eye on ‘im?”  you turned to davey, who gave a nod “And Davey, you know i can't stay in this damn bed forever.” 

“I know, i know- but it's better for you to stay in bed for now, so you can heal to your best. Then i'll allow you to get up again.” He sighs slightly but with a smile “I can promise that, okay?”

“Alright- don’ make me get Jackie to watch ya” you go to steal his hat, so you can ruffle his hair. He tries to snatch it back but instead you ruffle his hair lightly, giving a sinister grin. His face responds back with one too, and he steals your hat and puts it on. You chuckle a little and put his on ”I have a cute guys hat on now” you say, making Davey blush a little. Jack leaves the two lovebirds alone, just meaning you and Davey were in the room. You do grabby hands for him, and in response he comes over and hugs you, gently. You kiss his face all over and smile a bunch. His face starts going red after the first few kisses, which just makes you smile even more.

“I see your feel better, Dear-” he mumbles out, letting you go

“I guess I am, hmm?” you give a cheeky smile “can i get up yet? ‘m feelin’  betta after all.” 

“Still no. i want you to stay in bed for at least a day, okay? Not risking anything. Also, i had to take your binder off and wash it, you were wearing it for too long and you were knocked out. Don't worry, nobody saw you. I made sure.” You nod a little 

“When can i have it back?” you ask

“Tomorrow, alright?” you nod again, sitting up 

“Can i atleast sit up, Davey? I promise i wont get uuup-”

“...Fine.” he sits on the edge of the bed, just there to keep you company. You two started small talk, Davey telling you about the strike news recently, stuff like that. You smile and listen, because Davey's voice could be calming a lot. You seemed to start drifting off to sleep, but stayed awake so Davey wouldn't think he was too boring again. You didn't really like it when he thought he was boring, because he wasn't at all. He seemed to be more energetic with people he knew well. You were one of those people, because Jack had introduced you two to each other when Davey and Les started being a newsie, which seemed to be a day before the strike started. I guess it could have been a coincidence, that's what everyone said, though. You just went along with it. When the two of you met, something had sparked with you two, and it seemed to be love at first sight. At least, that's what some of the newsies said. They usually saw hints before you could register them. That was something you liked about the other newsboys here. Sure, they could be mean sometimes, but you were fine with that. 

“Are any of the others hurt?” you ask, looking at davey.

“Not that i know of, not recently.” he replies, looking at you “Why do you ask?”

“Just a bit worried, is all” you said, shifting a little in the bed. “You know Davey says, getting up “you should sleep then, hmm?”

“Davey im not tired- oh! Lets get Racetrack in here and we can play spoons!” You jump up a little in excitement, and davey rests you back down 

“I know how you get when playing with Race, no. please, try and rest? You can play with him tomorrow- its already 9pm, Y/n.”

“But Daveyyyyyyy-” you whine, looking at him. You wanted to play badly, but he was right. He should really going to bed. He nods slightly and lays down, “Can I have cuddles, at least? You wont crush me or anythin’ ” you chuckle lightly at the statement at the end, and Davey comes over and cuddles you. You two share some cuddles, and soon the two of you drift off to sleep.

[miryum]

It’s After Five (Spot Conlon x Reader)

Lena poked Y/n in the ribs. Y/n rolled over to find Lena standing over her, grinning. Y/n let out a yelp and quickly sat up.

“What the hell!” The girl cried. 

“Wake up! The bell’s about to ring.” Lena dragged Y/n out of bed and through her morning routine. 

“Did ya sleep in again, Y/n/n?” Blink snickered as he passed. 

“Yeah, she did.” Lena grumbled. 

Y/n splashed water on her face in hopes of waking up. “Go away, Blink.” 

“Love ya too!” Blink saluted the two girls and sped out of the room. 

Lena and Y/n had become close friends after Lena joined the newsies three years ago. Y/n had been with the Manhattan newsies since she was little, but Lena only joined because her family needed a little more money. Before Lena had come, Y/n was the only girl newsie in Manhattan. She was very thankful that Lena had decided to join. 

“Can we sell by the Brooklyn Bridge today?” Y/n asked as they walked to the circulation desk. 

“Why?” Lena scoffed, “So you can possibly see the faint outline of Spit Conlon across the horizon?” 

Y/n grumbled, “It’s Spot. And no! It’s a good selling point. Lots of people come back and forth. There’s foot traffic.”

“Yeah… right.” Lena squinted at Y/n. She bought her papes and then let Y/n buy hers. “You know you only saw the guy once, right?” 

“Yeah.” The only time she had seen Spot was at Jack’s rally for the strike a year ago. Y/n was up on the stage with Lena, right by Jack. Spot had soon joined them and gave a small speech. Y/n had avoided eye contact the entire time. 

After the rally, Spot had come up to Y/n and Lena to introduce himself. “Pleasure meeting you goils.” Y/n remembered that day very clearly. Spot had smirked and winked in their direction. 

“You’se blushing.” Lena had told her bluntly afterwards. 

“He’s cute!” Y/n had protested. 

“Hm, decent headline.” Lena said, looking over the papes they had purchased. “Riots in New Orleans.”

“You hardly have to twist that.” Y/n joked, knowing full well that at the end of the day Lena and herself would be yelling something closer to thousands dead in New Orleans. 

Lena sighed, looking over at her friend. “Fine. I guess we can sell by the Bridge. If we sell enough, I’ll even humour you by walking cross it.” 

“Really?” Y/n’s eyebrows shot upward. “What’s the catch?” 

Lena laughed, “No catch. I like playing matchmaker every once in a while. Though we probably should tell Jack just in case we end up gettin’ soaked and dumped in an alley somewhere.” 

“Can we’s tell Race?” Y/n negotiated, worried Jack would forbid them from going.

“Davey.”

“That’s worse. Crutchie?” 

“Deal.” 

The girls saddled up next to Crutchie who was talking to Romeo and Albert. “Hey goils!” He smiled, “What can I do for you this fine morning?” 

“We’re going to be selling by the Brooklyn Bridge.” Lena said, “We’re trying to fuel Y/n crush.”

“Oooo.” Romeo teased, “You got a crush on a Brooklyn Boy? Bad idea. They’s awful!” He waved a hand in front of his nose, miming a disgusting smell. “Who is it?” 

“Spot Conlon.” Lena said before Y/n could protest. Y/n groaned, covering her face with her hands. 

Romeo and Albert hooted and ‘oooo’ed while Crutchie looked worried. “Spot Conlon?” He asked, “Ya sure? That’s… that’s a bad idea. He’s not good news. But, sure. If ya wanna, you can sell there. Just… be careful. If you’re not back by five, I’ma tell Jack and we’ll come look for you two.”

“Great!” Lena dragged Y/n out to the streets, the latter still groaning in embarrassment. 

With the semi-decent headline, the girls sold their papes by four o’clock, collecting a good profit. 

Y/n saved one pape to read herself, something she had been doing since she became a newsie. “Remember the Paris train that opened a couple days ago? It’s been getting a lot of attention and customers.” She commented lazily as they slowly crossed the Bridge. Lena threw rocks into the river below. 

“Cool. I guess.” Lena shrugged. 

“Where should we go?” Y/n folded the pape and shoved it in her pocket. 

“Well, you wanna see Spot, right?” Lena asked, “We could go down to the docks and see if they’re swimming there.” 

“I could go for a swim. It’s a hot day.” Y/n agreed, ignoring the comment about Spot.

“Great.” Lena took the steep, rocky path down to the docks below the Bridge. Y/n followed, making sure Lena didn’t step somewhere unstable and fall. 

The docks came into view, boys lounging around or swimming. Some noticed the girls then started to alert the others. By the time Lena and Y/n stood at the end of the dock, the boys were all watching them apprehensively. Some were standing, arms over chest, others were still in the water, hanging onto the dock and staring down the girls. It was obvious the girls were not from Brooklyn, and it was odd enough they were girls in newsie clothing. 

“Hey.” Lena gave a quick, tense smile, raising a hand in greeting. 

“And what do you goils want?” A boy spoke up. “You’re on Brooklyn turf. So whether you realise that or not, ya need to scram.” 

“We just wanna swim.” Y/n said, meeting his glare. “Is that a crime? Not many good rivers in Manhattan. And it’s called the East River, not the Brooklyn River.” 

“He’s not even here.” Lena muttered to Y/n out of the corner of her mouth. “Are we sure we wanna risk a soaking?”

“Are we sure you can back down from this?” Y/n met her question, asking about Lena’s infamous need to hold grudges and never back down from a fight. 

“Touché.” 

“This is still Brooklyn.” The same boy cut into their conversation. “Go back to Manhattan or whatever inferior turf ya’re from.” 

“I’m surprised ya know the word inferior.” Y/n chuckled. 

“I also know some other words:” the boy cracked his knuckles, “beating you up.”

“Now, boys,” a new, cocky voice interrupted, “is that how we treat guests? Especially these lovely goils?” 

Lena grinned and nudged Y/n in the side. Y/n rolled her eyes, trying to conceal how her heart sped up at the familiar voice. 

A boy appeared out of nowhere, jumping down from a pile of crates. His pimp cane tapped on the wood, his slingshot resting at his side. His smirk was wide and knowing, his cap slung over his dirty blond hair. 

Spot Conlon. 

“From the rally, right?” He stopped in front of the girls, making a motion with his hand that dispersed his newsies. “Pleasure to meet ya again.” Lena scoffed, breaking the intense eye contact Spot was giving Y/n. Spot spit- shook Lena then bent down and pressed a feather-light kiss to Y/n’s knuckles. He glanced up at Y/n who was staring down at him, a heavy blush dusting her cheeks.

“What brings you to our Brooklyn?” Spot asked, leading the two friends away from the docks and into the depths of the city. 

“Was finished selling,” Lena said, “Wanted to explore a bit.” She noticed Spot was only looking at Y/n. Y/n was staring at the ground. 

“No other reason?” Spot questioned, brushing a hand against Y/n’s. Shockwaves of lightning sped up both their arms. Spot controlled his breathing. 

Lena stayed silent, hoping Y/n would take the reins in the conversation. “It’s such a lovely day,” Y/n finally said, “We thought we could go swimming or something?”

“An’ ya couldn’t do that on your side of the river?” Spot continued to poke and prod at Y/n’s answers. 

“We heard that Brooklyn was better.” Y/n glanced over at Lena, who looked aghast that she would suggest Brooklyn was better than Manhattan. 

“Well, ya got that right.” Spot let out a small laugh. He stopped at the Brooklyn Lodging House. It loomed over Y/n and Lena, who were cautious to go in. Who knows what could happen in there? Lena looked at the sky, noticing the sun starting to go down. However, once Spot opened the door for them and Y/n stepped through, she had no choice but to follow. 

Inside, boys were scattered around, sitting on couches or the floor. Some were huddled around a table, engaged in a game of cards. Lena’s eyes lit up when she saw that. “I’ma gonna go join that. See if I can swindle some Brooklyn Boys outta their money.” She sped off, leaving Y/n and Spot alone. 

Spot smirked his famous smirk and gestured to the stairs. “I can give you a tour?”

“Sure.” 

Spot showed Y/n all around the Brooklyn Lodging House, even the very cramped places where they had to squeeze together. The last stop of the tour was Spot’s office. It had originally been a small room, but Spot has shaped it up. It now had a desk that faced the door, two chairs, and a stack of newspapers. The top newspaper was the one that displayed the newsies on the front page. Y/n could see a small, black and white Spot beaming up at her from the pape. 

“I remember that day.” Y/n said quietly, picking up the newspaper. 

“An’ I remember you from that day.” Spot countered, coming up behind her and looking down at the pape. Y/n was now painfully aware of the places where he was touching her. His chest was pressed to her back, his arm grazing hers, and his breath on her neck. 

“I don’t think we met that day, did we?” 

“No, but I saw you at the restaurant. You were talkin’ to some of your buddies. I remember thinking that yous were the most beautiful goil I ever saw. I wanted to talk to ya, but didn’t have the courage.”

Y/n turned to stare at him. “The great Spot Conlon didn’t have courage?” She dramatically gasped. “I wasn’t sure that was possible. 

Spot chuckled. “Even I get cold feet every once in a while.” 

Y/n started to step away but Spot caught her elbow. He pulled her back towards him. Y/n cleared her throat and began, “The real reason I dragged Lena to Brooklyn today i-is because I wanted to see you. You know, we haven’t seen each other since the strike and… yeah. I wanted to see you.” 

“I’ve never been more flattered.” Spot pressed a hand on the small of her back, pulling Y/n flush against him. 

His eyes sparked with something. Maybe a mix of cheekiness, hope, and arrogance. Y/n wasn’t really sure. 

Suddenly, a loud commotion could be heard from downstairs. 

“The hell?” Spot huffed, reluctantly pulling away from Y/n and rushing down to the main floor. Y/n hurried after him and the sight they saw was enough to frighten the girl. 

A hoard of Manhattan newsies were piled through the door, yelling and pushing the Brooklyn newsies. The Brooklyn newsies were retaliating, screaming and shoving back. Lena stood in the centre of it all, looking around helplessly. She caught sight of Y/n and Spot at the top of the stairs and tried to yell over the din, “It’s after five! Crutchie told Jack! Then Jack was stupid and did this.” She gestured around to the room. 

Spot muttered profanities, looking tired enough to collapse. Instead, he steeled himself and whacked his cane against a window frame, the metal clashing against one another. “Enough!” He yelled, the scream silencing the room. His glare penetrated both Brooklyn and Manhattan newsies alike. 

“Y/n!” Jack exclaimed, catching sight of you. You shrunk back, running a hand over your face. Why did he always have to blow things out of proportion? 

“What in god’s name are you Manhattan newsies doing here?” Spot growled, marching down the steps until he was face to face with Jack. Spot poked him in the chest with his pimp cane, forcing him back. 

“We came to make sure you hadn’t beaten up two of our newsies.” Jack snarled right back. 

“But they didn’t!” Lena chuckled nervously, “We’re fine! Look, I even got some dough outta it!” She reached into her pockets and pulled out a handful of coins she had gambled for. 

“Then why weren’t you back by five? Why are ya in Brooklyn of all places? And why were you upstairs with Spot?” The last question was directed to Y/n. 

“We told Crutchie where we were going.” Y/n mumbled. 

“And he agreed that if you weren’t back by five, we’d come lookin’ for ya. So we did. This isn’t our fault, Conlon.” Jack said. 

“They’re right. It’s our fault.” Y/n agreed, stepping down to take her place by Jack. 

“Hey-” Spot reached for her desperately but once he remembered there were others in the room, he retracted and put his mask back on. “Fine. Go back to ‘Hattan then. But nothing bad was happenin’ to them here. Lena was playin’ cards and Y/n and I’se were just talkin’.”

“‘Bout what?” Jack demanded.

“None of your business, Kelly.” Spot said smoothly. “It’s not my fault my boys were about to protect themselves.” He scanned the room, looking over newsies. “If this happens again, there will be consequences. Next time, come here with only a couple newsies- not every single one in ‘Hattan. If the goils aren’t here, we’ll help ya look for ‘em.”

“Who says there’ll be a next time?” Jack took a step towards Spot. 

Spot stepped up to meet him. “I do.” His mouth twisted into a snarl. “’Cause there are no rules in this here Brooklyn. The minute those goils pass our Bridge, they're in my turf. And I say they can come over anytime they want. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Y/n and I have a conversation ta finish. Lena can go with you now. One of your newsies may wait until Y/n and I are done, but I will be walkin’ her back.” 

And with that, Spot brushed Y/n back upstairs to his office. He sat down heavily in his chair and she sat opposite of him. 

“Thanks.” She whispered, “For standin’ up for me and Lena. It was nice of you to do that for us.”

Spot’s smirk returned. “I’se wasn’t just doin’ that for you. I wanna see you more too. If you can come and go as you please, this’ll make this whole dating thing easier.”

“Dating?” Y/n’s breathing turned quicker. 

Spot’s smirk widened. “‘Course. Unless… you don’t wanna date me?” Though his words were confident and sure, there was a layer of worry in them. Was he reading the signs wrong? Was Y/n going to reject him? Was he going to make a fool of himself?

“No, I do.” Y/n smiled widely. “It’s just, we haven’t known each other that long, and I wasn’t sure you liked me back.” 

“What’re ya talkin’ ‘bout?” Spot's confidence was back. “We’ve known each other for a year!”

“I guess that’s true!” Y/n laughed lightly. 

“And yeah, I like you back. Ya know, at the restaurant? I saw you laughin’ along with Lena and playin’ with the younger kids. You seemed really nice. And don’t think I’se didn’t notice that pape in your back pocket. You read them everyday, don’t you? Bet you’re smart.”

“Does this mean I get to come to see you whenever?” Y/n asked. 

“Yeah. I can’t not see my goil everyday.” 

“And does this mean I get to kiss you?” 

“‘Course. Though, why don’t we wait until your newsies aren’t downstairs.” 

“Understandable.” Y/n chuckled. 

“Let’s get you home.” Spot stood and offered his hand. Y/n took it and they headed downstairs. Outside, Y/n could see Mush and JoJo standing under a street lamp, making sure Y/n got home safely. 

Spot rolled his eyes, “Thought I said only one newsie.”

“Don’t blame them. Jack just wants to make sure I’m safe.” 

“You’re safe with me.” Spot protested. 

The over-protectiveness Spot was showing made Y/n smile and duck her face. Instead, Spot cupped her chin and made her look up. “There’s that pretty face.” He nodded once. 

Soon, they were at the Brooklyn Bridge. Spot walked her across it, Mush and JoJo trailing them. Once they got to the end of the Bridge, Spot stopped. 

“Well, this is as far as I can take ya. Goodnight doll.”

“‘Night Spot.” 

“Alright,” Mush came up next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, “time ta go.”

Spot scowled at Mush but didn’t speak. 

“You’re always welcome in Brooklyn.” Spot tipped his cap to Y/n, turning and starting to walk back to Brooklyn. 

“Spot!” Y/n called, darting to stop him. “Wait.” Y/n quickly pecked him on the cheek, a short and sweet kiss. “Same time tomorrow?” She asked. 

“Anything for you, doll.” 

Y/n waved and raced back to her friends. JoJo bumped shoulders with her and Mush rubbed a fist over her hair, mussing it up. 

Spot turned back to Brooklyn. He was certainly whipped for this girl.

[lynnsfics]

Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Spot Conlon x Reader

Request: hello! i absolutely love your writing! could I request a spot conlon x reader with prompt #19 from list #3? thank you so much! you’re amazing! <3333 Prompt: “It’s 3 A.M., shouldn’t you be asleep?” TW: Mentions of neglect, nightmares

Word Count: Approx. 1.8k words

~~~

“Get out of my house,” your aunt’s words echoed in your mind on an endless loop. You bolted up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Once again you were forced to relive the awful night over again in your dreams. 

With a quiet sigh you forced yourself to leave your bed. Immediately you began to shiver and started to regret the decision. You kept going, however. If you decided to stay in bed all you would do is fall back into another nightmare-infected sleep, or you’d stay up the rest of the night, staring at the lodging house’s ceiling. Either way, it wouldn’t be a restful night. At least if you were up now you’d be ready for selling in the morning. Besides, maybe if you were tired enough you could sleep through the  next night without issue. 

While you doubted that theory, you figured there was no harm in trying it. After all it wasn’t as if you had anything to lose at this point. You quickly slipped on a sweater, effectively blocking out some of the chill. The lodging house was quiet as you made your way down the steps. Brooklyn always felt so different at night. When the city fell quiet and you finally felt like you could breathe. All you could hope was that the others wouldn’t ask questions as to why you kept staying up so late. 

Reaching the entry of the lodging house, you breathed a sigh of relief. No one else seemed to be up. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to talk to anyone, you wouldn’t have minded the company. But they were almost bound to question why you were up so late, which would lead you to spilling everything, including a lot of tears. It was better for everyone that you kept all that bottled up.

One of the good things about being a newsie was that no one would ask about your past. Almost everyone who ended up selling papes had some kind of tragic backstory so it was only polite to avoid bringing it up. Truth be told, you hadn’t properly processed the trauma of being kicked out by your only family. But to be fair, how could you? As soon as you were on the streets you had to fight to survive, you couldn’t sit around wallowing about what had happened. 

As much as you tried to push it to the back of your mind you couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. Your mother had died when you were young, and your dad did his best to raise you. After he was tragically killed in a factory accident you were left in the care of your only remaining family- your aunt. She was an older woman who tried to raise you but had little money of her own. However she was too proud to admit to her financial situation, and wasted what money she had on frivolous trinkets rather than things you needed to survive. Your needs were always the least of her concerns.

One day you stole some bread from a local bakery, thinking you’d get away with it like usual. Most days stealing was the only way you’d be able to get something to eat. But you were tired, too tired, and didn’t notice the shopkeeper watching your movements. By the time you realized it, it was too late. The bulls had already arrived and you were taken into custody. Thankfully the shopkeeper was kind enough to insist you not be taken to the Refuge, but instead let off with a warning.

When the police escorted you home, you aunt was livid. It wasn’t because you were arrested, oh no, it was because you were arrested for stealing food. Imagine how badly that made her look! “What would people think,” she cried. “That I’m too poor to buy you food?”

“Maybe if you actually bought me food instead of worrying about your image, this wouldn’t have happened.” The words left your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt’s face contorted in rage, “Why you ungrateful little wretch. Get out of my house!” After that you were living on the streets. Fortunately you became a newsie, and now hardly ever had to steal to survive. 

You were too lost in thought to realize someone had entered the room you were in. It wasn’t until you heard someone say your name that you were snapped back to reality. Looking up, you glanced around the room. Your heart raced when you saw who it was. 

“Oh, hey Spot,” you said, trying to play it cool. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You prayed you hadn’t. Waking up the King of Brooklyn was probably a crime punishable by death. 

“No, I was up,” he answered, much to your relief. “But what are you doing? It’s 3 A.M., shouldn’t you be asleep?”

You shook your head, “Couldn’t sleep. You?” Maybe turning the conversation back to him would draw attention away from your vague answer.

He nodded in understanding. “Same thing. Want a cup of coffee?” You weren’t sure where he would get coffee at this hour but nodded yes anyway. It would be rude to refuse, right? Besides, maybe the coffee would help you stay up while selling papers tomorrow.

Beckoning you to follow him, he led you to a back room you had previously thought was just for storage. Instead it seemed to be a small office space. A wood burning stove sat in the corner, a pot of water boiling on its surface. The room had a homey, lived-in feel that you couldn’t help but bask in. Two plush, but worn looking, chairs sat near a desk, and Spot motioned for you to have a seat in one of them. 

“It’s my private office,” Spot explained. “Don’t be tellin’ any of the others about it, or else they’ll be in here all day,” he said with a small laugh. The fact he even let you see the office was shocking. While you had talked with him often, you wouldn’t have expected him to trust you this much. After all, it didn’t seem like he became too close with any of the newsies. 

He handed you a hot cup of coffee and all other thoughts instantly dissipated. It was perfect, not too sweet or too dark. Just the way you liked it. You drank your coffee in comfortable silence that was occasionally peppered with some small talk. 

When the morning bell rang he walked with you to the selling window, causing whispers amongst the other newsies. After the day ended you felt tired enough to fall asleep as soon as you made it back to the lodging house. However, later that night it was the same story as always. The same words echoing in your head, the same racing heartbeat as you woke up. Again, you made your way to the lobby to clear your thoughts, only to see Spot already sitting there. 

You smiled slightly, “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Nope. You too?” That’s how it happened that once again you found yourself in Spot’s office with a cup of coffee in hand. Before you knew it, it became a tradition. When you both couldn’t sleep he’d invite you to join him for a cup of coffee, and then walk with you to buy his papes. Eventually you’d end up sitting next to each other on the sofa in the lobby— close enough that you could notice the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke of a good selling day, but far enough away so if any of the other newsies came down they wouldn’t suspect anything was happening between the two of you. Because nothing was happening, right?

The two of you became closer during this time, often talking about anything and everything. As you opened up to each other he finally explained why he never seemed to sleep. Too many worries about the newsies and selling kept him up at night, leaving him unable to sleep. That night he asked the question you’d been dreading. “Why is it that youse can’t sleep?” 

You stared into your coffee cup for a moment before answering quietly, “Nightmares.” For some reason you knew he wouldn’t laugh at you for being plagued by the night terrors. 

“Do ya want to talk about it?” His voice was softer than usual, and you could tell he actually cared about what was bothering you. 

After a moment of consideration you nodded. You explained it all, from your father’s death to your aunt’s neglect. As you finished your story, explaining the nightmares about being kicked out, a tear slipped out the corner of your eye. Until then you had managed to hold them back, not wanting to cry in front of him, but eventually your emotions had betrayed you. 

He moved closer to you, gently wiping the tear away. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said quietly. “You ain’t there anymore, I’ve got you.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you found yourself leaning into his embrace. 

“It doesn’t even bother me about leaving,” you said honestly. “Life wasn’t good there. I think I just don’t want to be alone again.” 

His eyes met yours, “I’m here now, and I promise you that you ain’t ever going to be alone again.” Maybe it was his words, or the small gestures of kindness, or a million different things, but you felt yourself being drawn to him. He leaned in and you quickly closed the remaining distance. The kiss was soft and reassuring. As he pulled you closer to him, you felt safe for the first time in a long time.

When you finally broke apart you were breathless. For the rest of the night you two talked, opening up about your childhoods and things that worried you, occasionally sharing another kiss or two- or more. The whole time you were curled up next to him, his arms holding you gently. 

Eventually you felt yourself growing tired and without even realizing it you ended up falling asleep. Spot smiled, glad you were finally able to get some rest. It wasn’t too long after that he found himself dozing off.

When you two finally awoke it was morning. The other newsies hadn’t yet woken up, which you were thankful for. That day Spot stayed with you while selling, and he did the day after that, and again until it became the normal routine. At night you’d fall asleep in his arms, a feeling of security washing over you. He was your protection from nightmares and worries, and you knew you’d never have to be alone again.  

~~~

Requested By: anon

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