#newsies x reader

[sl-newsie]

Normal people: look up an actor to see what other shows they've been in

Me: sees a hot character and immediately researches for fanfiction about them

It's an instinct now.

[baugettetaylorsversion]

RIP Luke Castellan, he would’ve loved Newsies.

[diorgirl444]

newsies but they mew so it’s called mewsies

[youaintnothinbuta]

Hi, love your writing

I would love to see more Jack Kelly images and little bulbs, fluff, smut literally anything.

Maybe one where reader and Jack just spent time cuddling in jacks penthouse, trying to hide from the other boys cus they keep tease them.

“they won't find us in here” — jack kelly x reader

Summary: you and Jack are hiding away in his room, trying to have a little cuddle, which the other boys always like to make the centre of their amusement

Pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 556

Warnings: none, fluff, maybe typos if so sorryyy <3

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The dingy light of the Lodging House barely reached Jack's room, casting a warm, golden glow on the worn-out furniture and scattered newspapers and clothes. You and Jack, seeking a quiet escape from the high energy of the other newsies, found solace in his bedroom. The laughter and banter of the other boys still echoed through the air, but Jack had expertly tucked the two of you away, hidden from their teasing eyes.

As you settled into the cozy space, Jack draped an extra blanket over his bed, creating a makeshift nest. The soft sounds of hushed laughter and the muffled chatter of the boys outside filtered through, creating a comforting background noise.

Jack motioned for you to join him on the bed. “They won't find us in here,” he whispered with a mischievous glint in his eyes. You couldn't help but giggle, realising the absurdity of the situation. "Is this really how much effort it takes, just for us to have some cuddle time?" you teased.

Jack chuckled, a sheepish grin playing on his lips. "I wouldn’t say this is a lot of effort- they're just nosy."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you nestled into the blankets beside him. Jack pulled you into a warm embrace, the scent of newsprint and a hint of cologne enveloping you. The soft touch of Jack's fingers traced patterns on your back, a rhythmic motion that seemed to synchronise with the beat of your hearts. “This is nice,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. You couldn't help but agree.

As you rested against him, the teasing banter of the boys outside became more audible. The distinctive voices of Race, Albert, and the others echoed in the hallway, their comments gradually becoming more pointed.

“Where's Jack?”

“Probably off being bottle fed!”

“Whispering sweet nothings I bet.”

“Can't believe he turns into a softie around a girl.”

Jack, his brows furrowing, shot you an apologetic look. “Sorry about them. They're relentless.”

You laughed. “Hey, I’m not the one they’re insulting. They just don't get to see this side of you often."

He smiled, the warmth in his eyes deepening. “You're right. It's our little secret.”

Jack's fingers idly played with a strand of your hair, continuing their gentle caress. The quietude of the room invited a sense of relaxation, your words slipped out almost as a murmur.

“You’re so comfy. I could just fall asleep.”

He grinned, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You can do that, sweetheart.”

With a sigh of contentment, you allowed the gentle embrace of sleep to envelop you, feeling the rise and fall of Jack’s chest as he held you. Jack listened to the fading banter with a mix of amusement and exasperation. As the night unfolded, Jack carefully adjusted the blankets around you, ensuring your comfort. The usual mischievous glint in his eyes instead softened into a tender gaze as he watched you sleep peacefully.

The creak of the door signaled the return of the newsies, their laughter now reduced to tired murmurs. Jack, ever protective, shot a warning glance at the doorway, silently urging them to keep their distance. The boys, catching on to Jack’s mood, exchanged knowing looks and dispersed, respecting the unspoken boundary around Jack’s room. Eventually, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep too.

[kozykomo]

help why is every fandom so so freaky 😭

it’s not bad but like where is the toothache fluff, the kind that makes u want to cry and puke at the same time cos it’s so good. maybe i’m not looking the right place BUT STILL

[miryum]

HAPPY NEWSIES STRIKE DAY 🎉 WOOT WOOT🎉 GO OUT AND HARASS YOUR NEIGHBOURS WITH OLD TIMEY ACCENTS AND NEWSPAPERS

[auspicious-manner]

maybe a little morris delancey x ballet dancer!reader and him getting all soft when he sees her perform up on the stage?

oh i am ALL for this. as an ex-dancer, this was a dream to write! i tried not to include too much terminology so it wouldn’t get confusing.

so sorry this took so long, life has gotten very busy being back at university. but i’m trying to keep up as much as possible!

fem reader x morris delancey

warnings: none

mike taglist: @diorgirl444

Tough

•

“whaddya say to spendin’ the night with me, pretty girl?” your boyfriend, morris delancey, asked as you walked down the streets of new york city, hand in hand. the sun was just beginning to disappear behind the horizon, lighting the city up in an ethereal orange glow.

you leaned your body closer into his arm. “as lovely as that sounds, i got a show tonight.”

in order to make some extra cash to survive in new york, you got a job at medda’s theater performing three shows a week. when asked what special talents you had in your interview, you told medda that you had trained in ballet since you were young, but given that you barely had enough money to keep food on the table, you couldn’t afford pointe shoes despite being trained on them.

on the spot, she offered you a deal; typical performers performed one to two shows a week, but if you could handle it, she’d give you three shows a week and take the cost of the shoes out of your pay every other week. to you, that deal sounded like a dream come true.

morris never came to your shows, he always said he had “business to attend to” on the nights you performed. you weren’t really sure what that meant, but you could assume it had something to do with harassing those newsie boys that you felt a bit of sympathy for. he always claimed he was too tough to be seen watching a show in a theater.

morris threw his head back dramatically as you both walked. “you’re always at that theater. we never get to spend time together anymore.”

you smiled playfully. “you know, you could come to my show tonight since you keep avoidin’ it like the plague. what’s it gonna hurt you, morris?”

he thought about it briefly. “i could take a night off, come watch you do your little thing. how about that?” morris asked, half joking.

you immediately burst into a grin, ignoring the fact that he sounded a bit sarcastic with that proposal. all you’ve ever wanted was for your boyfriend to come watch you do what you do best. “that sounds perfect.”

unbeknownst to you, morris didn’t exactly want to see your show. sure, he loved you and would do pretty much anything you asked him to, but his idea of a fun night wasn’t going to a theater to watch a boring show with a bunch of old people. but seeing how you beamed at the idea of him finally coming to watch you made him feel like the only thing worse than going would be not going.

you stopped walking so you could stand in front of him, his tall stature standing over you. “the show starts at 7. you promise me you’ll be there?”

morris hesitated before nodding. “wouldn’t miss it for nothin’.”

you stood on your toes to reach up and give him a soft kiss. “i have to start getting ready. i’ll see you there?”

he put his hands on your hips, pulling you close. “of course.”

you whispered an okay before removing yourself from his grip, as much as you didn’t want to leave. you weren’t far from the theater, and when you got there, you found that you had approximately two hours to get fully ready and warmed up.

your dressing room was small and compact and below ground level. it was the only room medda could provide you, but you were thankful to even have a dressing room. there was one small window near the ceiling that provided a small look into the streets of new york city.

as you applied your stage makeup, you heard a light tapping coming from the window. you frowned, as hearing rhythmic noises directly against the glass was uncommon. you pulled your chair over to the wall, standing on it and further standing on your tip toes to pull the small curtains away to find a smiling morris on the other side of the glass. he was laying on his stomach so his head was level with the window.

you tried to contain laughter as you unlocked the window. “are you crazy?”

the window was far too small for him to climb in, so he just kept his head close to the opening as you looked up at him on top of the chair.

“i might be, but i’m just glad i finally found the right room. knocked on a few other windows, them ladies did not like me doin’ that.”

you giggled. “what are you even doing here? i told you to come for the show, not to my dressing room window.”

he shrugged before saying, “i wanted to wish you good luck, that’s all.”

you looked at him knowingly. you knew your boyfriend, and he didn’t go through all of this just to tell you about something you didn’t even really need.

“nice try. what’s the real reason you’re here?”

morris looked up, seemingly embarrassed. “where do i sit when the show starts?”

you paused. “i know sittin’ may be difficult for you, morris, but luckily for you there’s this new invention i think you’ll really love to try. it’s called a chair,” you said sarcastically.

he rolled his eyes playfully. “sweetheart, you know that’s not what i mean,” he said, his thick new york accent prominent. “where am i suppose’ to go? front row, back row, balcony? i don’t know how any of this stuff works.”

“as a matter of fact, i actually let miss medda know you were comin’ for the show, so she has a box reserved just for you.”

morris was reluctant to come at first, but now he was simply curious to discover what occupies so much of his girlfriend’s time. he wanted to make sure he could get the best view possible.

he put his head through the window, and you stood on your tip toes to meet him with a kiss. “i’ll see you after the show?”

he nodded. “of course. break a leg,” morris started, going to stand up but turning around to the window again. “but not actually. don’t actually break a leg, please.”

you laughed, holding his hand briefly through the window as he began to leave “i won’t!”

after he left, you finished getting your makeup on and got into your costume. every week, medda throws together a new theme for your performances, and this week she went with a forest theme. you were wearing all forest green costume that made you look like a fairy. your makeup fit the occasion too, and jack kelly’s painted props and artwork set the backdrop for your show.

about ten minutes before showtime, you stood backstage once the first act finished and your props were being moved behind the curtain that separated the stage from the audience.

your performances never lasted long; they were apart of some other, bigger show within the theater. but you drew in lots of crowds as you were becoming a household name. critics raved about your performances, and people came to medda’s theater specifically for you.

normally, you were a pro at keeping your nerves in line. the build up to the shows didn’t make you nervous anymore after weeks of doing it. but tonight, knowing morris was somewhere out there watching your every move made you immensely nervous. you weren’t just performing for a crowd tonight, that you could handle. you were performing for someone. your someone.

“miss Y/N, you’re shaking,” medda said behind you as she put her hands on your shoulders. you turned around; you were too in your mind to notice the shaking.

“sorry medda, just nervous, that’s all.”

you turned around to meet her, seeing a confused and unbelieving expression on her face. “you? nervous? i don’t believe it.”

you shrugged in response. she tilted her head, still questioning you, then you could tell her expression changed in an instant. “oh, i know why you’re nervous.”

you shook your head. “no you don’t.”

she smiled playfully, hitting your shoulder lightly. “oh yes i do. it’s because that delancey boy is out in the audience getting ready to watch you, isn’t it?”

you couldn’t hide the blush on your cheeks now. you didn’t even have to say anything; medda knew.

her tone changed, and she leaned in close. “don’t get distracted, kid. believe me, i’ve had my fair share of men in my life. but don’t let any man get in the way of you doing what you were born to do. you’re a natural at this, you have nothing to be nervous about.”

you took a deep breath. she was right. you knew exactly what you had to do. you nodded, and she backed away.

she smiled. “let’s get this show moving!”

medda walked out on stage in front of the curtain blocking the set, and that was your cue to get in your place on the props.

morris sat out in the audience, waiting anxiously for your presence on the stage. he had the perfect view from where he was at in the audience, and he held his breath waiting for the show to start. he couldn’t care less about the speech medda was planning before you went on, he just wanted to see you up there.

“i know many of you have come from far and wide to watch this next performer do what she does best. i would rave about her, but i’ll just let her dancing do the talking. up next to take my stage is the one and the only, Y/N L/N.”

medda bowed and walked off stage, and morris watched as the curtains fell away and he saw your figure in the darkness laid on a prop that was painted to look like a tree stump.

the lights came on, and the music began. morris watched as you slowly and gracefully worked around the prop, acting as a mythical creature in a forest. his eyes stayed locked on you, not entirely sure what he was watching, but enthralled nonetheless.

you stood on top of the tree stump, going up en pointe and holding your balance in an arabesque, your arms stretched out to your sides.

you glanced into the audience, still holding your balance, searching for morris. you couldn’t find him, but you ignored your heart thumping erratically in your chest as you brought your other leg down to leap off of the prop, sending your legs soaring out.

morris watched in awe in the audience. he liked to think of himself as tough as nails, and he frowned upon himself showing emotion. but, it was becoming harder and harder to uphold that facade as you continued moving around the stage. he knew you must have been talented to have your own show like this, but never in a million years would he have guessed you would be like this.

the turn sequences were your least favorite part of your shows. you were more of a jumper, you loved the feeling of soaring through the air. along with that, you were flexible, and you had tremendous balance for kicks. you were able to hold your leg impossibly high like it was nothing. but turns were a different story.

you began your prep, and as you did, you spotted morris in the audience, right in front of your vision. your heart began to race even more, and you saw as he smiled, knowing that you had just seen him.

in order to prevent yourself from getting dizzy, you used morris as your spot during your turns. you were turning fast, but as you kept your eyes locked on him, you were able to hold your balance en pointe. it felt like you and him were the only ones in that theater.

morris kept his eyes on you as you spun around and around on the very tops of your toes, a small gasp escaping his mouth. he had never seen anyone do something so quick and difficult while simultaneously having so much grace and fluidity.

after nailing the turns and flowing seamlessly out of them into the next section, you forced your eyes to pull away from his.

not only was morris awestruck by your movement, he was drawn into your storytelling. anyone in that room could see you were on an adventure through the forest, and he felt as if you were taking him along for the ride.

after what felt like hours but somehow not enough time, morris watched as you retreated to the back of the stage, hitting one last pose on the faux tree stump before the lights went dim.

the crowd immediately erupted as the curtains drew to a close, but morris stayed in place. he couldn’t quite process exactly what he just saw, but he was upset that it ended so soon. he could have watched you up there for hours.

when the curtains closed, you got off your prop and headed backstage as medda announced the last act of the night. another successful show, you thought to yourself.

as you sat backstage taking sips of water, you felt a presence behind you. before you could turn to see who it was, a voice spoke in your ear. “well if it ain’t the most talented girl i’ve ever seen.”

you stood up from your chair, seeing a smiling morris who had a singular rose in his hand. before you could jump into his arms and give him a bone crushing hug, he got to you first, wrapping his arms around your waist and picking you up off the ground.

“you were amazin’ out there, Y/N.”

you pulled away, the biggest grin you've ever had on your face. "you really think so?"

"i know so."

you rolled your eyes. "you're a big softie and you know it."

he smiled sarcastically, setting you back on the ground and lightly pinching your cheek. "any more of that and we're done, silly girl."

you giggled, and only then did you remember the single rose in his hand. morris looked down, almost as if he had forgotten about it too.

"oh, yeah, uh… this is for you. for being so beautiful up there," morris said, immediately getting shy. you bit your lip, holding back a giddy grin.

you stepped closer to him and stood en pointe to give him a kiss on the lips. "it's lovely, morris. where did you get it? you didn’t have that earlier," you asked, taking his hand in your free one.

"i took it from the bouquet that the guy sittin' next to me had."

you blinked at him before sighing. "of course you did."

[heliads]

LISA !! your requests being open again is a glorious occasion, i’m so happy !! 

now, could i pretty please request spot conlon with a gender-neutral reader who’s a brooklyn newsie ? the reader’s newsie nickname is sunshine because they’re known for being super cheerful and sweet and pretty much always having a smile on their face, but thing is that spot’s kind of closed-off and gruff with them, even more than he is normally, because he finds it kind of grating how relentlessly happy they are when as newsies they live the way they do. but the reader just keeps on being the way they are, being kind to spot and smiling whenever they see him no matter how he always responds with a scowl, until finally he snaps at them and tells them to quit being so weird and happy all the time, but then they actually do and it makes him realize that he’s relied on seeing their smile every day and that he actually likes seeing it, so he goes to find sunshine and apologize, telling them that he actually admires how strong they are to keep being kind and happy despite everything and how much he appreciates it. it doesn’t have to end with a confession or anything, but hopefully at least some romantic undertones ? now, as always, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but thanks in advance if you do, and i hope you’re doing well !! <3

'cloudy days' - spot conlon

masterlist

For once, it’s not a gray and blustery day in New York. Spot Conlon doesn’t know what the hell he was thinking, settling in a place like this, although he supposes he never really had a choice about it at all. It’s a cold and shady city, and that mood translates to its people. No one here would give him the time of day unless they absolutely had to, and he wouldn’t give them a damn thing either. That’s the tune of the city, and Spot drums it daily. Eat or be eaten. Kill or get killed.

That’s the way it’s always been, the way it always will be. Spot doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy. He’s grown past the point of needing it. Spot will do what Spot does best:  look out for himself, never take handouts, never be dependent on anything save his feet to carry him places and that weird thing beating between his ribs to keep him alive.

The other newsies respect that, and look up to it. Brooklyn may have a reputation for being the meanest borough around, but the newsies protect each other like no one else. Even when the sun don’t shine for months on end. Even on rare days, like today, when it does.

The bright streets have Spot thinking a little funny, just like always. When the sun is out and the skies are blue, he starts feeling a strange thing some might describe as happiness. For once, everything isn’t totally terrible. It’s like the high he gets after soaking his enemies, ‘cept his knuckles aren’t bloody and his eyes aren’t blackened.

Maybe it’s got him in a good mood. Maybe that’s why, when a new fella comes looking for a spot in Spot’s growing army of newsies, he’s inclined to say yes. This new ally of his is nothing like Spot has ever seen before. They’re smiling at him before they so much as tip their hat or say hello. At first, it makes him wonder if they’ve got some sort of problem, then he realizes that the newcomer isn’t grinning like that to be threatening, just because they’re legitimately, well, happy.

Strange. Confusing, even. Still, the abundance of sunshine is rattling Spot’s brain, so instead of laughing in their face, he actually offers them a place amongst the ranks. Were it any other day, he’s sure he would have made them go somewhere a little more sickly-sweet, where friendship is magic and everyone can stand around, fuckin’, square dancing or something, whatever it is they do over in ‘Hattan or the other less serious boroughs, but he doesn’t. He welcomes them into his home. He pretends he isn’t completely baffled by their happy-go-lucky act. 

And, since it’s clearly on the brain anyway, he gives them a nickname then and there, a real Spot Conlon first edition:  Sunshine. He reckoned it seemed pretty true at the moment. As it turns out, he had no idea. Sunshine gets on his damn nerves every moment of every day. They’re so sweet it makes him want to throw up. If he ever saw them without a smile on their face for longer than thirty seconds, he’d suspect an imposter. They toss out compliments like they mean it or something, and they actually pick flowers to give to their friends.

Spot would think it was an act, except it actually isn’t. No way a human being could keep up a pretense that long and not go totally crazy. Spot, for one, does feel like he’s going crazy, but that’s neither here nor there.

Every day is the same. He wakes up too early, drags himself out of bed and gets ready, then pokes his head out of his space just to find Sunshine already up and at it, beaming at him and wishing him a very good morning, Spot, before turning to the next half-asleep newsie and repeating them message, and man, he wants to throttle someone already. In the line for papes, they’re excitedly talking to him about how they hope for a good headline, and whenever Spot runs into them while selling, they’ve always got something funny to say. If Spot wanted to laugh, he’d go to the circus. Although even he has to admit that New York feels like that half the damn time anyway.

It’s actually starting to make him angry. Who is this newcomer to burst in and disrupt everyone like this? Spot’s no fool. Even though he’s proud of his newsies and glad to be among the best company there is, this isn’t the life any of them would choose if they had other options. The newsies are here because they have no money and no prospects. They are the terrible youth, set out on the streets because there is no one else to watch out for them but each other.

Yet here’s this stranger, bounding down the halls of their lodging house, beaming and laughing as if everything were sugar and sweet. It feels as if they’re making a mockery of the whole thing, and Spot doesn’t like being taken for a fool.

It twists his judgment. Spot isn’t exactly known for his warm and caring personality, but he cracks down even harder around Sunshine. Maybe then they’ll figure out that the whole super happy thing doesn’t fly around here. Dreams don’t get you anywhere, and pretending otherwise only costs a lot of effort that could instead be directed towards selling some papes.

He should be better, Spot knows that. Already, his closest friends have started to scold him (very carefully) about how he’s treating sunshine. “Y/N’s no problem,” they’ve said. “It’s just you, Spot.” But he doesn’t listen.

One day, he gets to the breaking point. After another restless night, Spot drags himself out of bed despite not getting nearly enough sleep. He’s hardly stepped out of his room before Sunshine’s smiling cheerily at him, asking, “How was your sleep, Spot?”

As if they can’t tell by the look on his face. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Spot positively growls at them, “Terrible, obviously. God, can you just quit it with that stupid attitude? It’s makin’ me crazy.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just pushes right past them and heads downstairs. He’s a grouch all morning, purposely making sure no one is near him while he’s selling and not talking to a soul all throughout the day. He manages to pull himself together enough to sell the papes he needs, but other than that, Spot is barely functioning at all.

Even the Brooklyn newsie home base seems quiet and uneasy when he gets back. Spot sits by himself in his office, temper growing worse with every passing hour. He can’t put his finger on the issue until nightfall, when he hears a chorus of cheerful voices out in the hall and realizes that Sunshine hasn’t spoken to him all day. Not since he snapped at them.

Cursing faintly, Spot drags a tired hand across his face. He’s fucked up, hasn’t he? Thinking back on it now, he remembers the startled look in Sunshine’s eyes when he told them to stop being so fake all the time. It’s fine, he tells himself. Everyone gets their feelings stepped on in Brooklyn. Things will be back to normal this time tomorrow.

Only, it isn’t. When Spot wakes up, Sunshine isn’t there to wish him a good morning. They avoid him in the line to pick up papes, and they steer clear of him throughout the entire day. Even when he makes a point of emerging from his office to sit with the rest of the newsies, Sunshine talks to every damn person there but him. It’s enough to make anyone feel a little guilty. Even Spot Conlon.

As the days go by without a single word from Sunshine, Spot feels worse and worse. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to see their smiles and hear their laughter until he didn’t get a drop of it. It’s like he’s trapped in permanent storm clouds. Only gray clouds and cold nights for him.

God, he’s getting poetic. This is horrific. Spot knows what he has to do, and even though he dreads the idea of having to admit he was wrong, he gathers his strength and goes to find Sunshine. At first, they try to duck out of the way when they see him coming, but Spot tracks them down, pulling them into an empty room so they can talk.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Spot says by way of introduction.

Sunshine doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

A sharp prick of guilt stabs through his chest. “I thought that, too. Turns out I was wrong.”

Sunshine’s head snaps up, and their eyes meet his. “Really?”

“Really,” Spot confirms. “I– I like being around you, Y/N. I like hearing you talk. I’m sorry for making you feel bad about being you.”

A slow, careful smile spreads across Sunshine’s face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Spot says indignantly. “What, you’d think I’d go around saying things that ain’t true? What a waste of time.”

When Sunshine starts laughing, Spot feels his cheeks start to rush with warmth. “It’s not– you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I do,” they grin. “I’m just glad to hear you want me back.”

“I do want you,” Spot breathes. “Back, I mean. I want you back. Yes.”

When Sunshine smiles knowingly at him again, Spot gets the odd feeling that he’s revealed more of himself than he really ought to, like he’s been caught showing his cards halfway through a bet. He gets the feeling he can trust Sunshine to not call him out, though. For some reason, he believes in them more than anyone. Maybe even more than himself.

The threadbare curtains on a nearby window shift slightly, allowing a thin, tenuous ray of sunlight to slip through the cracks. It slices neatly through the room, illuminating Y/N’s face in thin tendrils of gold. The sun’s back again. They’re back again, and Spot might be okay after all.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

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

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[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

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

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

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

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.”

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

[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.

[lowkeyrobin]

miscellaneous oneshots

SIMON KALIVODA

none here yet, leave a request!

ZIGGY BERMAN

none here yet, leave a request!

ZIGGY KATZ

trans-something

STANLEY BARBER

none here yet, leave a request!

CARL GALLAGHER

none here yet, leave a request!

KIDBLINK

none here yet, leave a request!

JACK KELLY

none here yet, leave a request!

DAVID JACOBS

none here yet, leave a request!

SHAWN HUNTER

dating hcs

moonlight

[sl-newsie]

My strange coping method?

[lovingmusicalmen]

"Wh- so you did remember my birthday!" || "Of course I did. How could I ever forget?" with Jack Kelly?

This one's lowkey v cute! I hope you enjoy!

Still accepting blurb requests!

Fluff 21 - "Wh- so you did remember my birthday!" || "Of course I did. How could I ever forget?"

If you were to ask Crutchie, he would say that Jack was moping.

A claim that Jack himself would vehemently deny. Jack Kelly did not mope, though that didn't mean that he didn't occasionally feel a tad bit disappointed. Especially when his girlfriend avoided him at every turn and gave absolutely zero inclination that she knew his birthday had been coming up.

And, yes, perhaps that mild upset was showing through Jack isolating himself on the roof of the lodging house with only his sketchbook for company. If you were to ask Jack, that was the ideal way for anyone to spend their birthday.

So no, of course he was not moping, no matter what Crutchie and Race and whoever else had to say about it.

"Jackie? You up here? The guys said they saw you head up here."

Jack tensed up at the familiar voice floating up to where he sat sketching from his penthouse.

"Oh so you actually want to talk to me now?" Jack bit out before he could think better of it.

Okay, so maybe Jack was a little more upset than he wanted to let on.

"Jackie?"

He let out a long sigh, snapping his sketchbook shut and turning around to face his girlfriend.

Y/N stood at the edge of the penthouse, her arms behind her back. There was a nervous smile on her face, and she was bouncing up and down a little on her heels. Her clothes were surprisingly clean considering that Jack knew she had been working far harder than usual lately.

"Yeah?"

"I have something for you," she said, smile widening.

Jack raised a single eyebrow at her, refusing to let her words raise his hopes.

Y/N crossed over to him, moving her hands to her front to present him with two small parcels and a piece of card.

"It's not much - but happy birthday, Jackie."

Jack blinked at her, staring between his girlfriend and the gifts she was presenting him with.

"Wh- so you did remember my birthday?" Jack asked in mild disbelief. Y/N let out a quiet laugh, biting her lip as she nodded.

"Of course I did. How could I ever forget?" Y/N asked, her voice soft.

"But you've been avoiding me."

"I wanted it to be a surprise. And I've been taking a couple of extra jobs to try and save up for what I wanted to get for you."

"You didn't have to do that!" Jack hadn't realised he had stood up until he had already crossed over to her. He clasped his hands ever-so gently on her arms.

"Of course I did - I love you, Jackie! Happy birthday!"

Jack learned and pecked her cheek before accepting the objects in her arms. He couldn't help but laugh at the card - two crudely drawn figures on the front holding what Jack presumed were meant to be newspapers.

"Yeah, okay - we can't all be artistic geniuses, Kelly," Y/N huffed, pouting.

"It's beautiful. I'll treasure it forever, baby," Jack promised, swallowing back any further laughter that threatened to bubble up.

True to his word, he strode over to where he had tacked up several of his own drawings to the railings, adding the birthday card to the mix.

"Crutchie is going to think your artistic talent took a serious hit," Y/N snorted, and Jack turned around just in time to see her flop down onto the piles of old clothes and blankets which served as Jack's bed.

Jack just grinned at her, joining her on the bed and carefully peeling away the newspaper which wrapped the two parcels.

A single cupcake was revealed in the first box and Jack's mouth watered at just the sight of it.

"This must've cost a fortune,"

"You deserve a birthday cake, Jackie - not every day you turn 18," Y/N murmured, grabbing hold of his hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

"I love you," he said, tightening his hold on her when she tried to pull away and instead tugging her closer to peck her lips.

"Yeah, yeah," Y/N waved it off. "Open the other one. That's the real present."

"The real present?" Jack repeated incredulously. Y/N just nodded eagerly, eyes fixed on the scruffy parcel. Jack picked it apart carefully, his eyes widening as he revealed a brand new set of paints for him to use. "How the fuck did you buy these?" He whispered.

"I told you - I've been taking a lot of extra work," Y/N shrugged bashfully.

Jack didn't think twice before lunging towards her to pull her into a long, deep kiss.

[delulu-enough-for-you]

Cocky - Spot Conlon x Reader

Content: flirty fluff!

⚠️ Warnings: female pronouns used, Y/N used, spot being a dick, cursing, not proofread well

Author's note: fine men. thats all. Enjoy!!

_________________________________________

-Y/N's POV-

I had taken the younger newsies to the park and had just returned to see Spot sitting on my bed. I rolled my eyes and walked over to him, my light green dress between my fingers. "Spot!" I said. "What're you doing on my bed?"Just enjoyin' da view," he smirked. I frowned and crossed my arms. "You're still wearing your outdoor clothes. Why would you sit on my nice clean bed wearing them?" He just shrugged and smirked again. "I'on see a problem wit' it.' "Well, I do." I fired back. Spot just groaned and got up from his place on my sheets. "I'll leave, as long as I can sleep 'ere tonight. Mighty fine bed, mighty fine lady." Spot had a shit eating grin on his face. I looked him straight in the eye. "You. Fucking. Wish." I growled, smoothing out the space where he sat previously. He held his hands up in defense. "I'll be back after dinner. Hope the bed bugs don't bite. " He winked and walked out.

_________________________________________

Newsies headcannons, anyone? 🫣

_________________________________________

[youaintnothinbuta]

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

Thank you!!!

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

Summary: ^^^

Pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 413

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bookloover35]

Snyder the Spider- Jack Kelly x fem reader.

The clang of the Manhattan Newsboys' iron gates echoed in your head as you pressed your back against the wall of the alley. Your father would skin you alive if he caught you here, but the pull was too strong. Jack Kelly had a way of weaving promises that seemed unbreakable—until you remembered the steel gaze of your father, Warden Snyder.

For weeks now, Snyder had been growing more suspicious of your "errands." The Reform School's walls were suffocating, but nowhere near as oppressive as his overbearing rules. "You're my daughter," he would sneer, his voice dripping with disdain. "That means you follow my orders." If only he knew how often you disobeyed them.

And now, here you were again, sneaking out to meet Jack.

"Heya, doll," came his familiar drawl as Jack rounded the corner. His grin was as wide as the Manhattan skyline, his newsboy cap tipped just enough to make you smile. "Thought maybe Snyder locked ya up for good this time."

"Not yet," you replied, your voice low but tinged with defiance. "But if he catches me, he'll probably double my curfew. Or worse."

Jack's face darkened. He reached out, pulling you into his arms, his fingers brushing against your cheek. "You gotta let me handle him, sweetheart. Snyder ain't gonna keep us apart. I won't let him."

You leaned into him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. "You don't understand, Jack. He's relentless. He'd never let me see you. And if he finds out about us—"

Jack cut you off, his tone firm. "I'm not scared of Snyder. He's just some big-shot spider with a web that's startin' to fall apart. What's he gonna do, huh? Throw me in the Refuge again? He'll have to catch me first."

You wanted to believe him. Jack had a way of making the impossible seem possible, of painting a future that was bright and free. But you knew Snyder better than he did.

The sound of a carriage rumbling in the distance made both of you tense. You clutched Jack's sleeve. "I have to go."

"Wait," Jack pleaded, holding onto you. "You don't gotta keep runnin', Y/N. Stay with me."

You hesitated. The idea of leaving your father and the suffocating prison of his expectations was tempting. But where would you go? How could you live without looking over your shoulder?

"I can't," you whispered, pulling away. "Not yet."

Jack's eyes softened, but his jaw tightened with resolve. "I'll think of somethin', I promise. Snyder don't scare me. And he ain't gonna take you away from me, no matter what."

Before you could respond, a sharp voice broke through the quiet of the alley.

"Y/N!"

You froze, your blood running cold. Snyder's towering figure emerged from the shadows, his face twisted in fury.

"What in blazes are you doing here?!" Snyder barked, his voice echoing off the brick walls. His eyes darted to Jack, narrowing into slits. "Kelly," he spat, his tone venomous. "Of course."

Jack stepped forward, shielding you. "She ain't doin' nothin' wrong, Snyder. Let her go."

Snyder sneered, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. "You think you can protect her from me, boy? You're nothing but a street rat. A criminal."

"And you're nothin' but a bully in a fancy suit," Jack shot back, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air.

Snyder's gaze turned to you, cold and unyielding. "Get in the carriage, Y/N. Now. I won't tell you again."

Your heart pounded as you glanced between Jack and your father.

Jack turned to you, his voice softer but no less determined. "You don't gotta listen to him, Y/N. You got a choice."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "I can't, Jack," you whispered, the weight of your father's presence pressing down on you.

Snyder grabbed your arm, his grip like iron. "That's enough. You're coming home."

But Jack wasn't done. "You don't own her, Snyder!" he shouted, his voice ringing with defiance. "She ain't a prisoner!"

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Then, with a surge of courage, you yanked your arm free.

"No, I'm not," you said, your voice trembling but strong.

Snyder stared at you, stunned. "What did you say?"

"I said no," you repeated, stepping closer to Jack. "I'm not going with you."

Jack's grin returned, full of pride and hope. "That's my girl."

Snyder's face twisted in rage, but before he could react, Jack grabbed your hand. "C'mon, sweetheart. Let's get outta here."

Together, you ran, leaving Snyder shouting behind you. For the first time, you felt free. Jack's hand in yours was all the reassurance you needed.

Whatever came next, you'd face it together.

The End.