#spot conlon x reader

[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.”

[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!!

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-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.

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Newsies headcannons, anyone? 🫣

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[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.

[diorgirl444]

watched uk newsies and am now back in my newsies era. also spot conlon, riff lorton and dallas winston are the same character in different fonts and that’s just not up for debate sorry <3

[sunno-needs-to-go-outside]

This isnt meant to be hateful or to dunk on people who write like this, but I am so TIRED of people writing newsie fics with a fem!reader or oc thats like "im different, im a girl newsie" or "i had to dress up as a boy to be a newsie" or "its so hard to be the ONLY GIRL newsie", bc yes, there were no girls that explicitly played girl newsies in the movie or musical, but girl newsies DID exist!! You can literally search it up!! The only reason people didnt really notice a lot of girl newsies during the strikes was bc most of them became "scabbers", it payed better and you werent allowed to hit girls, so they got off scot free. But before and likely after that, there were probably just as many girl newsies as there were boys. You can argue that you use these as a plot device to build tension or to create conflict but PLEASE IT IS SO OVERUSED AND UNORIGINAL BY NOW. And your reader or character doesnt HAVE to be a newsie, they can have other professions and things that make them an interesting character.

[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

[lovingmusicalmen]

Requests are Open!!

So... it's been ages since I've posted on here, but I've finally got some actual time and I've just gotten back into the musical... fandom? I guess? Idk what to call it lmao

But I recently saw West Endsies, which made me fall in love with Newsies all over again, which led to me falling back into the rabbit hole of musical fandoms! So I'm going to be deleting all the old requests I have (unless I'm particularly inspired for one in particular), and opening requests for new characters and the same old ones!

It's going to be for short little blurbs, based off of a prompt list (linked here (credit to: @mangocherri))

Here are the characters I will write for (if you want to request for someone else not listed, feel free to - but also please also put who you wouldn't mind me writing for, if I don't feel comfortable writing for your preferred character (if that even made sense lmao)) - I've put a * next to my favourite characters to write for!

Platonic requests and ones not from the prompt list are also welcome and encouraged!

Newsies

Jack Kelly

Crutchie *

Racetrack *

Davey Jacobs

Spot Conlon

Katherine Plumber

Mike Faist

Riff * (also willing to write for other Jets/Sharks)

Dodge Mason

Connor Murphy

[lumaxforeverandever]

Enemies to lovers

Relationships:

Spot Conlon x Female Reader 

Reader name: Elizabeth ‘Bella’ Kelly aka Elizabeth Sullivan

Older Brother: Jack Kelly aka Francis Sullivan

Best friend: Race Higgins 

_______________________________________________________

“WAKE UP!!” Race yelled in your ear “I’m up, I’m up!” You say as you got up “C’mon Bella today is the day! We are going to visit Spot for two months remember? Jack wants us to stay for two months to help spot with-“ you roll your eyes as you interrupt Race “Yeah yeah I know. He has been talkin about it all week. Now if you don’t mind I’m gonna get dressed so we can go” you say as you pick up your shirt and pants and your hat and go get dressed as you finish you walk downstairs to brush your hair “Are you ready? Are you ready?” Race asks over and over again “No not yet!” As you go back upstairs to get your locket you and Jack’s parents gave you before your ma died and your Pa got in jail as you pick it up and put it on, you notice Jack standing against the wall “So you just gonna leave without sayin goodbye?” He asked you “No I was gonna come and say goodbye” you walk over to him and hug him “Good luck sis. Now remember if anythin happens you come to me, you understand” you let go of him “Yep I understand.” You say holding your Knapsack with some stuff you can’t live without such as a photo of you and Jack with your parents and some extra stuff, as you and race take off for Brooklyn you guys finally arrive at the lodging house as you and race open the doors you see Spot. Spot had always hated you from the moment he met you. Jack had introduced him to you when they visited him once. “Well if it ain’t Isabella Kelly..” Spot always knew you hated being called Isabella. “Hi Spot..” you said as you crossed your arms over your chest “Hey Race” Spot says “Heya Spot.” Race said as they shook hands “Eh why don’t you come inside” as you went inside spot led you to your bunk which no one used and was right by the fire escape as you set your stuff down you saw in the corner of your eye spot go into his little office as you went to go follow him he turned around Surprised to see that you followed him “Why do you hate me?” You asked sounding angry “I don’t know what you’re talkin about Kelly.” He responded “Cut the bull Spot!” You said getting louder “I don’t hate you!” Spot responded getting even louder than you “Really cus you act like it!” You said now yelling “You wanna know why I act like i hate you?” He responded now yelling also “YEAH I WANNA KNOW!” You screamed at him “IT’S BECAUSE I LOVE YOU BELLA!” He yelled back at you, there was silence for 5 seconds before spot walked closer to you and kissed you and wrapped his arms around your waist and you slid your hands on his neck you then both heard chuckling from the door you both stopped and turned to see Race laughing “Wait til Jack hears about this!” Race said yelling as you ran after him around the lodging house yelling “YOU ARE NOT GONNA TELL JACK!!” Finally after catching up to him “I swear if you tell Jack about this i will be so mad!” you responded as you let him go you went back to spots office and kissed him again.

[cant-see-sam]

Friendly Rivalry

Spot Conlon x reader

Word count: 2017 words

Enemies to lovers

Thanks @heliads for the ideas

Slight description of injuries, not in detail tho

Enjoy :)

Spot Conlon was competitive. Very competitive. From the moment you started selling papes with him and his boys, he saw you as competition. This, of course, didn't go unnoticed by some of the others. Those who could afford to make bets did, and others spread rumors about you and Spot.

Long story short. Spot hated you, and you hated him. The careful balance of the lodging house relied on your banter and arguments. Even when selling you were at each other's throats, the boy was determined to one up you in the smallest ways.

Spot walked along side you to your selling spot on the street corner, practically talking your ear off, “You’se gettin rusty (Y/N),” Spot taunted, “Maybe I should take a few of your papes.”

“You’re not stealing from me,” You quipped, “I’ll soak you if you do.” Spot seemed to want to reply, but he was quickly cut off by an older man approaching you.

“How much for one?” The man pointed to the paper in your hands.

“This one’s a penny,” You replied, handing it over to the man. He dug around in his pocket for the money, handing the small piece of copper over, “Thanks sir!” You chirped.

“You’re welcome,” The man replied, “Good day to you.”

“Good day, sir,” You replied, turning back to Spot, “You heard that, Spotty Boy? I’m getting every penny out of you.”

“You can’t get every penny,” Spot replied.

“Watch me.”

--

The babble of Newsies was a loud sound, but a welcome one nonetheless. Laces, Bouncer and Jackson crowded around a crate, handing over cash and other belongings to bet.

A small girl sat on her bunk with a paper book. Piper hadn’t gotten a name yet, she had showed up on the steps of the lodge last week. She was wicked smart, even at six, she knew how to fudge headlines. You sat next to her, earning a surprised squeak from the girl.

“Hey Pipes. Think of a name yet?” You pulled her into your side when she shook her head, “That’s okay, you can be like me and keep your name.”

“But I want a name,” She whined, “We have to find a name.”

“We don’t have to,” You said, “For a while, you can be Piper.” She nodded, and looked up at you, “Well, for now.” Piper nodded, then leaned her head onto your shoulder, and picked her book back up.

You sat there for a while, running your hand through the blond strands of hair that fell onto your shoulder from the girl next to you. At one point, she had fallen asleep, softly snoring with her book resting on her lap.

Nobody noticed that Spot entered. That was until Jackson opened his loud mouth, “Spotty boy! Fancy a game of Blackjack?”

Spot sighed, “What did I tell you about calling me that?”

“You let (Y/N) call you that.” Bouncer spoke up.

“Just- Nobody calls me that. Got it?” Spot huffed. A couple of ‘yes sir’’s came from the boys, “Good,” Spot continued, “I’ll be in my office if anyone needs anything. Try not to stay up too late. Mr. Vincent is waking us up. I suggest you listen. ”

--

Just as Spot said, you were awoken by loud clanging. You could hear groans come from one of the boys below you. Across from you, Vincent set down his pot and spoon in exchange for yelling, “Everybody up!”

Shuffling of sheets and box springs could be heard beneath your bunk. You sat up, squinting at the light coming from the crack in the door. Spot was standing in the doorway, coffee in hand, “(Y/N),” He mockingly cooed, “If you don’t get up soon, I’ll beat ya to the streets.” You sighed and flipped him off, but got out of bed anyway.

“Watch it,” Spot mouthed to you, glaring. You gave him a stern look and went to wash up. Spot chuckled a bit, but soon left to get ready.

The boys were already in the common room, waiting for you to join them. Bouncer, Jackson, Laces and Piper were all standing around the coffee pot. You walked over to the coffee pot and took a seat next to Jackson. The oldest of the home slowly started trickling down the stairs after the small ones, and once everyone was down, Mr. Vincent practically shoved people out of the house.

--

The streets were glaringly hot, even at seven in the morning. The commotion of men and women going to work drowned out your calls, but you still yelled, losing your voice is better than not eating.

A teenager approached you, dressed in clothes that probably cost more than your whole life’s earnings. You put on a sickly sweet smile and he mirrored it, “Hello little Miss. Don’t you look nice?” The boy all but cooed.

Ew.

You swallow the disgust rising in your stomach. A customer is a customer after all, “Would you like a paper?” You cleared your throat, “Third page has tips on how to flirt. Might want to try it.”

You watch the teen’s eyes go wide, “Well aren’t you a feisty one?”

“Have to make a living somehow.” You shrug. Something about the way he was looking at you rubbed you the wrong way.

He leaned in close, “I’ll tell you, come with me and I’ll give you more than what you need.”

“I think I’m fine here.”

He sighed, dug in his pocket and handed you a penny and took his pape in return, “Have a good day.”

You watched as the customer walked away and turned around, meeting hard blue eyes. Spot was glaring harshly at the quickly retreating teen. You turned to counting your papers, even with the feeling of eyes burning holes in your skull. Twenty more.

An hour passed. Fifteen.

Thirty minutes left you with eight, and soon enough you had sold the rest. While walking back you picked up a few pieces of candy for Piper, sticking one in your mouth to see if it was poisonous. (It wasn’t.)

The lodge was nearly empty, save for the few Newsies quietly chatting or playing card games. You moved toward the stairs, Spot standing there with a dirty look on his face.

“What was that about?” He cocked his head, a slight fire dancing behind his eyes. You knew this look all too well. Nothing good ever comes from it.

You shook your head, “What? Why were you watching anyways?”

“I saw someone downtown making eyes at you.”

“Really?” You scoffed, “You would come here and fight me for my attention?”

“I’se just wonderin how far you would go for a penny.” Spot snapped.

This little- “Well I hate to be the one to break it to you but I have morals. I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here.” Spot just rubbed the bridge of his nose and you took it as a sign to push past him.

Upstairs, you were met with silence. Obviously you had been overheard. Patches, a girl about your age looked at you curiously, “How are you not dead?” Shaking your head, you tried to ignore her. She continued, “If any of us talked to Spot like that we’d be soaked almost instantly.”

“She’s right (Y/N). You get special treatment. I bet Spotty Boy has a thing for you.” Bouncer chimed in.

You turned to the pair, “Spot doesn’t have a ‘thing’ for me. You’re delusional.”

Patches hummed, “I don’t know. It sure looks like it.” She smiled.

“We’re not having this conversation.” You groaned.

“I’m not surprised,” Patches leaned against a bunk, “You can’t run away from it forever (Y/N).” She shrugged off the exchange, but you couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not.

The rest of the day went as typically. The loud commotion escalated when more people finished selling. Mr. Vincent brought some food a bit after six, and by eleven everyone was in bed.

You tossed and turned late into the night. Spot couldn’t have really meant what he said, right? The scratchy blanket only aggravated you more. You needed to get out, but where? The fire escape was old and not very stable, and god knows you can’t go out on the streets at this time.

You climbed down from your bunk, the old floorboards creaking with every step. You were bound to draw attention eventually, and as fate would have it, Spot came out of his room at the same time you reached for a cup of water.

Hair slightly fussed, the boy across from you froze, “What are you doing up?”

“Why does it concern you?” You whispered.

Spot grimaced, “I’m not looking to start a fight.”

“Then don’t provoke one.”

You watched as his face morphed from exhaustion to slight anger, “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“It’s my best trait. Do you need anything else?” You rolled your eyes, suddenly all too aware of the way he was clutching his side. He was slightly keeled over in what seemed like pain.

He knew you noticed, because he quickly said, “It’s fine, just some boy’s from Queens crossing some lines.”

You reached to brush his ribs, pulling your hand away at the last second, “Spot I-”

“It’s okay.” He cut you off, “Just some scratches.”

“Can I see?” You tentatively asked. He watched you for a second, before nodding and pulling you into his small office.

Spot slowly lifted his shirt, sitting on the desk with his legs slightly hanging off. It was bad. Bruises marks ran up and his chest, occasionally marked with small cuts that were hard to see in the dim light. Spot hissed when you ran your hand over a particularly large patch of blue.

The tension in the room was palpable, and it took all your willpower not to slap him for getting into this in the first place.

He seemed to be waiting for something, but you weren’t sure what. You tried to keep your breathing under control, you could feel your heartbeat through your chest.

A hand gently grabbed your wrist, “Look at me.” Something in him changed and you were caught off guard. He was as far from authority as you could get. His eyes were tired, but hopefully not from sleep.

You immediately obeyed, blinking to clear the image of his face away. He smirked, “Why’re you doing this?” His tone was so suggestive, and you knew he was referring to the way your hands gently brushed his skin.

You sighed, “Can’t have the king of Brooklyn in pain in front of his boy’s right?” You pulled your hand from his grasp, moving to grab the bandages you know he stores in a drawer.

“(Y/N) can you be serious for once?” Spot replied softly. You shushed him to let you focus. He winced slightly when you stood between his legs to get a better angle to disinfect the best you could.

When you finished wrapping his torso he hopped down from the desk, still in front of him, you were shocked at the sudden night difference. Too shocked to notice how close he was. Warmth radiated off of the boy in front of you, causing shivers to run though you.

You struggled to find words, grasping as syllables to try and find something, anything to say, “Spot-”

He cut you off, “Thanks.”

Welp.

That’s odd. Spot Conlon never said ’thanks’. Why would he have to? He’s a competitive asshole who tests your limits every day. Yet here you were, standing inches away from him, in the dead of night after he just did who-knows-what.

While you were reeling to fill the gaps in your mind, you failed to notice how he slowly leaned down, softly pressing a kiss to your lips. It was quick, tentative and basically the opposite of the boy in front of you.

He gave you a small grin, “I think you’se best be asleep. Big day of selling tomorrow.”

“Shit- Yeah- Uh- Goodnight Spot.” You stepped back from him.

He gave a two-fingered salute, “Night (Y/N).” He watched you step out of the office, hand resting on your bottom lip and chuckled.

[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?”

[miryum]

A Roll of the Die (Spot Conlon x Reader)

New York was divided into levels. Levels that made up skyscrapers and classes of wealth. There were the rich people- the top tier of New York City. Then there were the people directly under them, middle class who were their assistants or worked away at the bank or as a maid and butler. There was also the lower class. The people who had two or three jobs, scavenging away for the smallest scrap of money. Maybe seamstresses, factory workers, or newsies. And then there was the lowest of all of New York. The street rats. The homeless. The scabbers. 

Y/n hated the levels of New York. As she was on the bottom, her opinion would make sense. Y/n made a living as a scabber. She worked many small jobs- wherever she could find them. Most of the time, she sold newspapers alongside the newsies. She wasn’t officially a part of the newsie ranks, nor did she ever intend to join them, but it was a somewhat stable job that helped her maintain enough money for her and her family to eat, so in her book, it was a mighty fine job. 

However, Y/n got wind of a strike that was stirring in the newsie ranks. Her scabber friends, Mark and Joseph told her that the newsies were upset at the raise in price and were deciding to do something about it. Apparently, the newsies had stopped Mark and Joseph from buying papes yesterday while Y/n was off sewing clothes with her sister. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” Y/n groaned once she heard the news as the trio slowly made their way to the circulation centre. “You let them stop you from buying papes? What about your day's work? And now you’re telling me I should stop getting an honest day’s pay?”

“They’ll beat you up if you don’t.” Mark warned.

“Like they’d beat up a girl.” Y/n chuckled. She hopped down onto the street, a carriage barely missing her. Joseph pulled her back onto the sidewalk.

“I heard that they even got Spot Conlon on board,” Joseph gossiped. 

“That little guy?” Y/n rolled her eyes. “What’s he gonna do to me?”

“You’re not scared of him?” Mark laughed incredulously.

“No.” Y/n shrugged. The three of them got to the gate of the circulation centre and as Mark and Joseph joined the growing ranks of newsies, Y/n nonchalantly stepped up to the counter. 

“Hi Weisel.” Y/n grinned, “200 papes please?”

Weisel raised a brow. “Really? You of all people not joining the strike? Thought you scabbers would wanna change the laws.” He then turned and yelled, “200 papes for the girl!”

“Not so loud!” Y/n hissed, “the newsies can’t know I’m buying.” 

“Looks like they already do.” Weisel smirked and nodded to the crowd around her. 

Y/n sighed and reluctantly turned to face the throng. She was surrounded by angry and expectant newsies. Mark and Joseph looked worried from the back. Weisel slid the pack of papes towards her and gestured for his money. Y/n slammed her coins down and Weisel happily took them. 

“What are you doin’?” The lead newsie asked. It didn’t sound like a question. 

“Buying papes,” Y/n snorted a laugh. “Obviously.” Life on the streets had shown her to act indifferent until the first punch was thrown.

“Haven���t you heard about the strike?” Another newsie with a cigar hanging from his lips asked.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t buy papes,” another said. “We won’t allow it. For the strike to work, no one can sell papes.”

“Yeah, but some of us need to eat,” Y/n pointed out. She took her papers and started out the clump of newsies. They blocked her and Y/n stepped back into the middle of the circle. She squared her shoulders. Y/n didn’t like being surrounded. The odds weren’t in her favour and it made her feel trapped.

“You can’t sell papes!” The first newsie argued. He seemed to be their leader. “We’re in this together. I know you wanna get your money, but just cause we make pennies doesn’t give them the right to rub our noses in it. Are you gonna roll over and let Pulitzer pick your pocket? They need to respect your rights! All we ask for is a square deal. I told your buddies this yesterday, and Imma tell you this today: for the sake of every overworked kid in this whole city, I beg you. Throw down your papers and join the strike.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Real nice speech you got going on there. Worked on my friends.” She jerked a head towards Mark and Joseph. “But… it’s not gonna work on me. I need this. More than any of you. You know nothing of my life and how hard it’s been. I need to get my money. I need to feed my siblings. No one else will feed them except me. And without you lot on the streets, maybe I’ll actually be able to buy some food for myself. Ever think of that?”

Someone pushed through the crowd. A teenage boy stopped in front of her. He was maybe fifteen or sixteen with a cap pulled low over his dirty blond hair. His blue eyes pierced hers. “Listen… goil,” he finally decided on before continuing, “do you know who I am?” 

“No.” Y/n deadpanned. 

“Spot Conlon. King of Brooklyn.” The boy smirked. 

“Am I supposed to be impressed by that?” The newsies all fell silent. No one had ever talked back to Spot Conlon before. 

Spot huffed. “If you weren’t a goil, you’d be on the ground, bleeding after the soaking I gave you.”

“Then do it.” Y/n challenged. “I’ve been beaten up before.”

“Listen,” Spot ignored her comment, “I didn’t come all the way from Brooklyn for this strike just for some scabber to mess it up.” 

“Sorry, Spot Conlon,” Y/n pushed him aside and the newsies gasped. “but I gotta go.” 

“Did you just… push me?” Spot gaped. 

“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Leave us,” Spot Conlon waved everyone away. His newsies pushed all the other boroughs away to leave Y/n and him alone. Y/n felt a stir of panic in her chest. What was about to happen? 

“So,” Spot laid an arm around Y/n shoulders. She shrugged him off and replaced him with her papes. “Where do we start?”

“What?”

“I’ve never sold in ‘Hattan before. Where do you sell?” Spot asked. 

“What are you doing?” Y/n squinted at him. “What’s your angle? Your tactic?”

“No tactic, doll, just wanna help you sell.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

 “Where do you sell, doll?” 

Y/n rolled her eyes at his insistence. “Fine. But the first sign that you’re manipulating me, I’m ditching you.” 

“Fine by me.” Spot stayed at her side as she walked to her selling spot, seeming to take it all in. He seemed relaxed, hands in pockets and looking around casually. Y/n’s wariness of the boy hadn’t gone away, but after a while, she felt herself loosen up a bit and step into the newsie role.

Y/n had one of the best days selling. With no other newsies around, people flocked to her to get their hands on the news. Some asked her where the others were and Y/n replied with, “they’re on strike.”

If her customers had been poorer, they would’ve looked on with confusion and disdain, wondering and judging her for not joining her friends to try for a better life. However, her patrons were richer and simply complimented her on staying true to business and even tipped her extra.

At the end of the day, Y/n’s bag was brimming with coins, leaving her smiling proudly. This would certainly provide a couple meals for her family. 

Y/n had expected Spot to try and disway her from selling, but he just found a bench to lounge on, watching her and the passerby’s intently. 

“You’d make a good newsie,” he commented lightly after the day had passed.

“I’ll never be a newsie.” Y/n said hotly, as if taken personal offence. “I’m a scabber.”

“Do you ever do work in Brooklyn?” Spot asked, looking at her as they walked.

“Not usually.” 

Spot hummed. “You should.”

“Why’s that?” This time, it was Y/n’s turn to look at him inquisitively. 

“I’d get to see you more.” Spot smiled softly. A group of young men passed them and Spot instinctively took Y/n’s arm, guiding her carefully past them. Once they were gone, Spot’s demeanour eased up and offered Y/n his arm. Y/n shook her head and pushed him away. 

“This is all a ploy to try and get me to join the strike,” Y/n said dismissively.

“How is me wanting to see you going to get you to join the strike?” Spot chuckled lightly. 

Y/n was silent for a moment before replying, “I don’t know, but I know you’re smart enough that you have an endgame.”

“Aw!” Spot nudged her. “You think I’m smart.”

“Listen, bud.” Y/n rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about you. I know your true colours. I know not to trust you. I’m not joining the strike and I’m not working in Brooklyn. End of story. Goodbye.” Y/n then turned on her heel and walked up a set of stairs that led to her family’s apartment.

**

A week had passed when Y/n’s sister shared some interesting news with her. “Y/n, can you do me a favour?”

“Anything,” Y/n instantly replied, looking up from her mother- mandated sewing.

“Well, there’s a job opportunity that pays really well that’s been offered to me.” Her sister said hesitantly, a large smile growing over her face.

“Really?!” Y/n set her sewing down. “That’s great! When do you start?”

“Tomorrow. But, there’s a catch,” her sister sat down next to her. “It’s in Brooklyn and I would need you to walk me back and forth.” Y/n’s brows tightened and her sister quickly exclaimed, “But you could come back to ‘Hattan during the day to work and all I need is someone else to walk me so I stay safe! It’s really not that far away. With the pay increase, maybe I could catch a trolley some days? Or you could get a job in Brooklyn too.”

“I’m really happy for you and what this means for the family,” Y/n started, “so yes, I’ll walk you. But how did you get the job?”

“Well, see, that’s the odd part. A kid just came up to me one day and said that he knew someone who was looking for workers. He introduced me to the guy, and here we are!”

“Who was the kid?”

“Um, I think his name was Spot Connon? Or something?”

“Spot Conlon?”

“Yeah! That’s it! Do you know him?” 

“Unfortunately, yes.”

**

It seemed too big of a coincidence for Y/n as she marched next to her sister, walking her to work. And when Spot Conlon was seen selling papes on the next corner over, it felt too bad to be true. After she had ushered her sister inside to her new job, Y/n strode up to Spot and jabbed a finger in his chest, disrupting the few customers around him. “What the hell, Spot?!” She cried.

“Geez, Y/n,” Spot grinned. “Came all the way to Brooklyn just for me?”

“Why’d you get my sister that job? How dare we even talk to her! Stay away from me and my family and stop trying to get me to join the strike!”

“The strike’s over, doll.” Spot chuckled, waving his papes in her face. Y/n stood for a moment, processing his words. “Now, would you like to apologise for storming over here and disturbing my sales?” His words were coy and made her want to slap him.

“Just, come here!” Y/n growled, pulling him away from the customers.

“An impromptu make out session?” Spot teased, “I’m down.”

“Shut it, Conlon.” The girl turned to face him. “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.”

“Y/n, I think I’ve made it pretty clear,” Spot’s demeanour changed drastically. “I wanna be your friend. I like being around you. If you didn’t hate me, I might even ask you out. I should be asking you the question of why don’t you like me?”

Y/n bristled, startled by his confession. “Because,” she hesitated, “because you were trying to get me to join the newsies. All my life I’ve had to look out for me and my family. I’ve had to scrape along the bottom of the barrel just to survive. It doesn’t seem fair that instead of working hard and being unhappy and burnt out, you guys earn the same amount of money but you’re happy while doing it. You have friends. You’re loved.”

Spot tilted his head. “Doesn’t your family love you?”

“They’re too busy.” Y/n muttered, shaking her head. “Mom and dad work two jobs each just to pay rent so it falls on me to earn money for food and clothes. It’s not fair.”

“Nothing about life is fair.” 

“Could you offer some sympathy instead of truth?” Y/n asked snarkily.

“Isn’t truth better than wool over your eyes?” Spot retorted easily.

After a moment, Y/n muttered, “how did you become so smart?”

Spot grinned. “I’ve always been smart, doll. You’ve just been too dumb to see it.”

“I have the same street smarts as you,” Y/n said. “It’s not my fault if I don’t have proper schooling.” Y/n’s hands balled into fists and she glared harshly at him. Spot noticed and gently took one of her hands in his. Y/n jumped back, but kept her hand in his. Her jaw tightened and Spot slowly reached up to cup her face, running his thumb over her tense jaw and then moving his hand up to her eyebrows, thumbing the space between them, making her relax.

“You’re right,” Spot whispered. “None of this is your fault. It’s a bad roll of the dice. But we can make the best outta it. We can make friends and family outta it. You can’t spend your life in misery, especially if you have people looking out for you.”

“Are you looking out for me?” Y/n was hesitant in asking her question. 

“I thought I’d made that perfectly clear,” Spot said, cocking his head slightly. “Why else would I seek you out or try and help your family? It’s not everyday I see a pretty girl. I wanna hold onto her while I can.”

Y/n exhaled a laugh, looking away from Spot. He frowned and tilted her chin toward him, forcing her to meet his eye. “Why’re you laughing? Do you think you’re a joke?” He asked, “Do you think I’m joking about you being beautiful?”

“Spot,” Y/n gently pushed his hands away from her face. “I’m a scabber. I know daughters of CEO’s might be a little outta your league, but anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“But I don’t want just anyone,” Spot muttered. “I want you.”

The tension in the air held the words aloft. Did he really mean it? Slowly, waiting for Y/n to stop him, though she never did, Spot stepped closer to her. “Is this okay?”

Y/n nodded. She couldn’t trust her words. Before Spot’s lips could brush hers, Y/n wondered, “are you sure you want to?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, doll.” Spot smirked slightly. And then he kissed her.

[delulu-enough-for-you]

Dating Spot Conlon Headcannons

Content: fluff of the highest degree!

⚠️ Warnings: physical touch, spot is protective, female pronouns used

Author's note: Request! Im out of ideas :) Enjoy!!

_________________________________________

- Spot first met you when you and Jack tried to convince Brooklyn to join the strike

- He tried to flirt, but you weren't having it

- This man is PERSISTANT

- You give in, go on a date, and the rest is history

- Spot tells ALL of the boys thag you're his

- Will soak ANYONE who comes within 5 feet of you

- Always wants to be around you or holding you

- Your'e better at reading, so you read him the paper

- Buys you little trinkets with his extra pennies

_________________________________________

[whyareyouhere66]

Can you do spot conlon x chubby reader hcs?

So for this one- I know that it can be different for everyone, some people being more comfortable with their bodies and other people not so much. So, I added some more general HCs for both. 

Also, the two bolded HCs are written specifically for a female reader, talking about beauty standards and what not- if you are not fem aligned, or that makes you uncomfortable, just skip those two- everything else is written for gender neutral readers.

Spot Conlon x !Chubby! Gender Neutral Reader

◘ As I’ve said before- one of the love languages is touch. Especially in private, wants nothing more than to just lay with you.

◘ In fact I think he’s a bit of a thigh guy- he’s not a sappy dude so it’s in more subtle ways. A hand on your thigh under the table, sitting you on his lap, resting on your lap for a bit.

◘ Normally he likes it when you lay on him, or are tucked into his side. But sometimes he does just want to be held- when he’ll be the one tucked into your side, resting his head on your stomach. Happiest man. In the world.

◘ If there’s ever a time when you feel insecure, whether that be a lot or a little, he would rarely verbally address it.

◘ Around this time, the beauty standard for women was to have all hips but no waist- so sometimes you’d question if getting a corset would be a good idea. 

◘ But he, without talking about it that in depth, would remind you beautiful you were- and that a corset was far too expensive for something that hid part of what he loved from him. 

◘ On that note- he loves seeing you confident. Loves it. Wether it’s a rare sighting or something he gets the pleasure of seeing everyday- he’s all for it.

◘ I mean, you’ll literally have him smiling wide as he watches you do whatever it is you’re doing.

◘ Now it’s a common concept about Spot that everyone in the fandom has seemed to agree on- he’s protective

◘ So, if he hears one negative comment about you or your body- depending on who they were, they’re getting kicked off his property or punched in the face.

◘ So the dudes got some anger issues.

◘ At the end of the day, he is itching to be rid of everyone else and just be near you- half the time not even changing from his street clothes as he just collapses onto the bed.

◘ You can be sitting on the bed, laying down already, or just standing next to it and he’ll wrap his arms around your waist and slouch over your hip, cause you took too long getting into the bed.

◘ “Hurry up, love- you’re taking too long.” [pretend that’s said in a heavy New York accent]

◘ but he’ll never admit to being so clingy.

Sorry for the shameless self promo but these are just some ones more specific to chubby readers- if you click here then you can read my other Spot Conlon HCs, which are also gender neutral reader- and incorporate the two together and get a big old thing of Spot Conlon x Reader Headcannons . 

I have many more romantic ones there too, so I recommend doing this just for some kick starts to the daydreaming. 

So yes, that’s all- i hope you enjoyed and I love you all <3

[sl-newsie]

Here’s some cheesy Newsies Valentine content! ❤️💕💙💜💗💛💖💞💚❣️💓🧡🤍🖤

[notjustsomeblonde]

Spot Conlon (Newsies) is young Kaz Brekker (Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone)

Actor: Gabriel Damon

Actor: Freddy Carter

1. Facial structure, eyes, hair, facial expressions, like the whole physical features

2. THE CANE

3. The facial expression, the demeanor

4. Both run a gang, are orphan boys, not afraid to create crime/chaos/harm for their fortune, and are known for their scheming intelligence

5. The flair for dramatics and late entry

Almost any comparison is accurate apart from the touch evasion. Name it and it’s there in the thought of Spot being young Kaz. Ugh, I cannot get over this comparison and connection!!

Like I’m sorry—but tell me that isn’t Kaz

[heliads]

hello! i was wondering if you could possibly do a spot conlon x reader where they're really good friends but she sees him getting a little chummy with another girl (but its only bc he wants to sell a pape but she doesnt know that) and so she becomes a little distant and when he confronts her, feelings come out and all

spot conlon is my boy my man my idol

masterlist

This is the part where it all breaks down.

This, right here, watching him talk to her, is where all of your carefully tied ends come undone, where your quiet afterthoughts revert back into raging storms. You had been doing so well up until now. You had been happy, if not blissful than certainly a meager sort of content, and then you had seen it.

This is also not where all of this begins. You are starting in the middle, finding the center of the storm, the worst destruction of your life. This is not where it starts, even if it feels like it all might end right here, right now. There is more before this, and before you can stop yourself, you pull it back to you.

There is a moment of spinning through time, and then your memories conjure up the perfect image of how it had all been. It is rare for girls in Brooklyn to survive by themselves on the streets for as long as you have, even more rare for them to seek a job amongst the masses of the newsies. You did both, and you did so quite admirably.

You can picture the memory just before it flashes before your eyes. He emerges out of gray haze and swirling inconsistency, walking briskly down a cobblestoned street that forms before your troubled gaze. Red shirt, bright as blood. Sharp grin, terrible as a knife. How he’d welcomed you with open arms.

It is unusual to look at a stranger and know immediately how much they’ll mean to you, but you’d swear a thousand times that you felt that sort of strength with Spot Conlon the second you laid eyes on him. You had heard scores of rumors about the brutal leader of the Brooklyn newsies, enough of his soaking kids for nothing but crossing his path to doubt even your own powers of persuasion.

When you’d tracked him down all those years ago, though, Spot hadn’t greeted you with fists but a smile. He admired your persistence, your unwillingness to take no for an answer. You’d told him outright that you would be working with the Brooklyn newsies before he could so much as ask for your name, and that was that.

Normally, Spot would never take that sort of insolence, but he must have felt something of the same strange familiarity as you did, because he just laughed like a drowning man and handed you the very cap off of his head as a job offer. He’d told you to never talk to him like that again, of course, but both of you knew he didn’t mean it.

The happiest time of your life had started there, with that laugh. Dark curls falling into dark eyes, a hand extended towards the newsies’ Lodging House and a declaration that it would be your home so long as you’d not get bored of it. You knew enough to tell him that you’d never tire of it, and Spot had said that he’d hold you to that promise. You have yet to break it.

It is something entirely different to find your best friend. It creeps up on you slowly, most of the time, a bond that weaves itself in the dead of night, not letting itself be known until you wake up at midnight and realize that you are not alone and never will be.

It was like that with Spot, despite your strong starting point. You blinked once and he was trusting you unconsciously to watch his back during a fight. His colors were your colors without question, and you could not shake free from him if you tried. You don’t know that you ever will, no matter how much it hurts right now.

The problem with such a quick friendship with Spot is that you never stopped trying to get closer to him. It wasn’t enough to merely own the title of being his best friend, you wanted to defend it, to get to a higher rank within his heart. Soon enough, that meant you started loving him, and that was your first and most treacherous mistake.

Spot Conlon is not capable of this sort of love. He had told you so himself, one dark night when the two of you had stolen drinks from a closing bar and taken them up to the roof of the lodging house. Both of you were past the point of no return when Spot had turned to you with a graver look than a dead man and told you that he would never, could never love. It was not in his nature, or so he claimed. He could never afford it to be in his character to love.

You had thought that it might have been an apology, if he had used his knack for always knowing what was on your mind long enough to realize what sorts of thoughts were forming there. Was he warning you off, when Spot said that he couldn’t afford a single weakness, not even if he wanted one? Or was he just taking care of loose ends?

You suppose you’ll never know. He’s proven himself wrong now. This is the sight that breaks you, after all, when you are dragged back to the present day and find that not a single circumstance has changed. You had been selling papes, and turned a corner to find Spot all but hanging off of a pretty girl from down the block.

The worst part is that it isn’t just a momentary lapse. Spot has been getting closer and closer to this girl all week, you’ve seen it happening. Today is the worst offense, though, and you watch as his hand rises to carefully brush a curl away from her face from where it’s fallen down from her updo. He leaves his fingers there, coiled against her collarbone, and the smile on his face is nothing like you’ve ever seen before.

Spot Conlon has never lied to you, so long as he could help it. Spot Conlon has just lied to you now, because you knew what he said when he told you he could never fall in love, and you’ve just seen that contradicted before your eyes. This is love in every form of the word. You can see the truth of it whipping around the two of them, drawing them to each other. It could never be anything else but love.

You turn hurriedly and head back the way you’ve come, but no matter how far or fast you walk, you can still see the sight of it burned into the back of your mind. Perhaps Spot should have tacked on an addendum to his declaration on that drunken night:  he could most certainly love, he just could never love you.

The agony of it dogs your steps, pulling you down the longer you live with the truth. You manage to sell the last of the day’s papers despite the fact that you feel as if you couldn’t force a smile if you tried. Maybe your misery makes the disasters of the headlines all the more credible, forcing coins into your palms despite your lack of enthusiasm, or maybe the city wants to be rid of you and would send any customer into your path so long as it would let you leave faster.

Regardless, you make your way back to the lodging house at last, the setting sun at your back. The lights are already on inside, and the shouts of the other boys hit you like a brick wall the second you slip inside the door. Despite the camaraderie of seeing your fellow friends, you can’t convince yourself to join in their jokes, so you head upstairs without another word.

There’s another reason to confine yourself to sleep earlier than normal, too. Usually, you would wait for Spot to return so the two of you could debrief on the day’s sales, but you don’t think you could face him without seeing that girl tucked around him. Spot comes by the bunks later that night, and you hear him pause by your bed, but you refuse to open your eyes and he ends up slipping away once more.

You had hoped that the day’s miseries would lessen with the dawn, but time heals few wounds, and least of all yours. A new morning only brings a new wave of resentment towards you, for falling in love with the one boy who would never have you, and bitterness towards Spot, for being so perfect in all ways bar one.

It takes everything in you to just wave a quick greeting to Spot across the crowded room when he locks eyes with you, and talking to him outright is out of the question. You hurry off to buy the morning’s papes before he can track you down, and spend the rest of the day trying to avoid all of his usual selling places.

It hurts to be without him. Spot’s absence cuts like a blade, but even that torture is nothing compared to thinking of how delighted he had been when curled around the girl from earlier. Besides, he couldn’t be missing you, he’s got her to keep him company. The only one currently suffering is you.

That’s what you intend to believe, at least, but you only manage to go about a week before Spot takes matters into his own hands. You’ve grown suitably capable at making sure your days rise and fall without Spot being a major character in them, but when the King of Brooklyn sets his mind to something, he always gets his way.

So, when you take up your usual selling spot at the corner of a major road and Spot finds you within about half a second, you can admit that there will be no losing him. That doesn’t stop you from trying to distract yourself with customers so Spot can’t find a moment to talk to you. All he does is wait for the temporary rush to fade, and then he’s upon you.

You keep your eyes carefully trained on the horizon, searching for buyers that aren’t there. Spot folds his arms across his chest, irritated that you’re not paying attention to him.

“Are you going to avoid me all day?” He asks, obviously bothered.

“Only as long as you keep pestering me about it,” you joke.

Spot doesn’t so much as crack a smile. “What’s up with you?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you respond, but Spot’s clearly in no mood for games.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he counters, “You’ve been avoiding me all week. Look, just tell me what’s wrong, alright? We can fix this, easy.”

You make sure your face remains studiously neutral. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired.”

Spot scoffs. “That’s the worst excuse I’se ever heard. There’s clearly a problem, just spell it out already. I don’t like this distance between us.”

“Neither do I,” you whisper. Unfortunately, Spot hears.

He spreads his hands. “Then tell me what’s wrong, and we can solve this. We always solve things like this, that’s how we work.”

“Yeah?” You ask, “Well, usually there aren’t other girls involved in how ‘we work’ now, are there?”

Spot blinks in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

Your lips tighten. “You don’t have to lie to me, Spot. I saw you with that girl. I know what it means.”

He stares at you, baffled. “What’s wrong with me talking to a girl?”

This makes you lose the last of your composure. “What’s wrong with– Spot, the problem isn’t that you’re talking to a girl, it’s that you’re in love with her.”

There, the truth at last. You’re not sure that it’s made either of you any happier to hear it.

In fact, Spot looks even more upset than before. “Love her? Y/N, I don’t love her.”

You laugh bitterly. “Of course you don’t. That’s what you promised me, you know, that you would never fall in love. Do me a favor, Spot, if you’re going to lie to me, don’t do it over something like that.”

Spot’s voice is soft. “Why would that matter?”

You look away. “Because that girl isn’t the only one who’d like to have your heart, Spot.”

Silence descends upon the street. You’re almost certain that he’s going to walk away from you when his hand touches your cheek, gently turning your head to face him.

“I don’t love that girl,” he says calmly, “I was flirting with her. Didn’t mean a thing. All I wanted to do was make sure that she was going to keep on buying papers from me instead of resorting to some other seller.”

You arch a brow. “And you expect me to believe that the display I say was just the result of harmless flirting because—”

“Because of this,” Spot returns, and kisses you. 

It takes your breath away. At first, you do not know what to make of it– could it be a ploy, perhaps, some folly of your mind and eyes to deceive you into thinking that the boy you love actually loves you back– but no, it is true and it is happening and you could not be happier.

When he breaks away, you’re almost too overwhelmed to say a thing. “What,” you manage to gasp, “was that?”

He has the audacity to grin. “That was me explaining things. If you like, I can do it again.”

You try to glare at him. “You’re too proud of yourself, you know that?”

“How could I not be proud,” he asks, “when I’ve just realized that you love me too? I didn’t think there was a chance of it. In fact, I took steps to make sure there wasn’t. That night on the rooftop, I was trying to convince myself that I wouldn’t fall in love with anybody as much as I was trying to tell you. I couldn’t afford to lose your friendship.”

“You haven’t lost it,” you reply, “far from it. Although I’ll have you know that I heartily disapprove of you flirting with other girls to sell papes from now on.”

“Very well,” he says, “but you have to stop flirting with other boys to do the same.”

You pretend to consider this. “I don’t know that I could do that.”

“Then I shall have to give them a reason to keep their distance,” Spot claims, and kisses you again. This time, you know well enough to believe it, and allow the feeling to sweep you away.

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie