#racetrack higgins fluff

[youaintnothinbuta]

Fuck it out - racetrack higgins x reader

Summary: you and Race cannot get along. You fight and fight and fight— finally you get on Jacks last nerve and he shoves the pair of you into a room and won’t let you leave until your issues are solved. You and Race end up fucking the frustration out.

Pairing: fem!reader x Racetrack Higgins

Word count: 2000 (it’s worth the read though ladies, I promise)

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex, coarse language, angst, arguing

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Race loathed you more than anyone in the world, and the feeling was entirely mutual. It was a deep-seated animosity that festered between you two.

He hated the way he could hear your laugh over anyone else’s. He hated the way you walk into a room and suddenly everyone’s eyes are glued to you. He hated how your arguments left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Most of all, he hated the way you teased him.

From the moment the pair of you laid eyes on each other, you just utterly despised each other. All the Newsies knew it. At first, they tried to mediate the situation, to convince you both that the other wasn't as unbearable as you thought. It didn’t help though. Now, plan A was keep you two separated, and if that plan failed, plan B was to not leave you alone together, and plans C through Z were to simply ignore your arguments and let you two yell at each other.

You did feel guilty, of course, for putting your friends through that. The arguments- that is. You just couldn’t help it— you couldn’t see how no one else was this bothered by him.

This day, you and the newsies -including Race- were hanging outside the lodge. It was a nice day, late afternoon, sunny but not too hot, everyone was laughing and messing around like they always did. Everyone was enjoying themselves, except you and Race, who were predictably at each other's throats, bickering, it was a constant competition to see who could say the most hurtful thing to the other. Jack, who was sitting next to you, sighed heavily.

“I’m getting desperate. Please, just stop fighting for once.” Jack’s hand reached for your wrist.

“Tell him that to him then, not me!” You pointed accusingly at Race, who found it quite amusing that Jack’s telling-off seemed directed more towards you.

“Hah! See! Told you you’re the problem!” Race snickered.

“Enough!” Jack shouted, standing up. His one hand gripped onto your wrist again, the other found a handle on the back of Race’s shirt collar. He pulled you both off of your asses and dragged you up the steps and into the housing lodge, yelling at everyone to get out of one of the rooms as he shoved the pair of you in there.

“I am sick and TIRED of this. I’m done! Grow up and figure your shit out, there is no reason why you need to be fightin’ all the time. I don’t care what you need to do, yell it out, fuck it out, fuckin’ beat it out of each other- Just make it stop!” He slammed the door behind him as he exited, leaving you and Race to stare at each other like embarrassed little kids that had just been told off in front of their classmates.

You immediately went for the door knob, but to no avail. Jack must have taken one of the door stops and kicked it underneath, locking you in. Didn’t matter. You knew Jack, if you got out he’d just drag you back in again until everything was resolved. And what was that he said?

You just stood, back leant against the door, watching Race peek out the window to see Jack back down with the Newsies. It did sort of hurt him to see how much happier everyone looked the second you two weren’t around. You stood for a while, without moving, so did he, neither of you knowing what to say or do.

“I ha— I hate that we bother them so much.” He muttered, breaking the silence, still looking out.

You paused, momentarily taken aback. Race had just said something you actually agreed with? Unheard of.

“Me too,” You spoke quietly, peeling your back off the door, making your way over to Race. As you joined him at the window, your intent was to see what the boys were doing outside. He occupied most of the space in front of the window, leaving you at his side, your shoulders lightly brushing against each other. Your focus shifted from the view through the glass to the view beside you. You found yourself watching Race’s face with a newfound intensity, your gaze tracing the lines of his features as if you were seeing them for the first time.

You took note of the subtle curve of his lips, the way they naturally sat in a slight smile. Your eyes moved lower, and you couldn't help but appreciate the defined edge of his jawline.

Race could feel your stare. His gaze shifted to meet yours. His eyes locked onto your face as he too began to study your features. It was a silent exchange, a dance of mutual observation that sent a shiver down your spine.

You watched his eyes move down your face, tracing the contours of your neck, before returning to meet your gaze. The intensity in his stare was palpable, yet still so gentle, and you couldn't deny the way it made your heart rate increase.

The two of you lingered in front of each other, locked in an unspoken exchange, carefully observing each other's features as the space between your bodies continued to dwindle.

His eyes drifted shut, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of anticipation. Was Racetrack Higgins about to kiss you? And more importantly, why weren't you doing anything to stop it? Your heart raced as your own eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the magnetic pull that seemed to draw you closer, until your lips met his, bridging the gap between you. His hand instinctively sought out the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him. Your fingers wove into his hair as the kiss deepened, and Race couldn't help but release a soft, involuntary moan. The sound made you laugh against his lips.

He gripped your hips in response, pressing them into his, letting you feel his growing bulge, dragging you over him. You let out a needy cry, it was his turn to laugh at your desperation.

With a sense of urgency, your fingers began to undo the buttons on his shirt. Race responded to the rising passion between you by swiftly pushing you against the wall, his desire growing more intense. Sensing your hesitation with the buttons, he decided to take matters into his own hands, pulling his shirt over his head. His undershirt came along with it, dropping to the floor beside his feet.

Your gaze lingered on the enticing sight before you—the defined contours of his chest, the sculpted muscles inviting exploration. He watched you with a smile as you studied him, thinking it adorable the way you unconsciously bit your bottom lip. You couldn't resist the temptation to trace your fingers along the lines of his torso, feeling the warmth and strength that lay beneath his skin.

As his fingers traced a fiery trail up your legs, your hands reciprocated his movements, gliding over his back and savoring the warmth of his skin. The intimacy of the moment deepened as you kissed and gently sucked on the tender skin of his shoulders, his fingers tugged at the seam of your panties, wanting a feel of the fabric that had been rubbing against you.

“All because of me?” He looked up at you, grinning as the pad of his fingers glided across the slick that had coated your underwear.

“You’re not one to talk.” Your hand reached between his thighs, cupping the bulge in his pants, his mouth fell agape at the feeling of your hand against him.

He scoffed, laughing, before attacking your neck softly with his lips, his tongue dragging over the curve of your jaw. He nipped lightly at the skin of your neck, moving a little each time, searching for the spot that would—

“Oh.” You sighed.

Found it.

You dropped your face to reconnect your lips to his, the pad of his thumb pressed into where your clit was located below your underwear. He felt you nip at his lip at the action, tugging at it as another moan slipped from your mouth.

“You here to fuck me or tease me?” You mumbled between kissing him.

“I dunno, teasing you is kinda fun.” He smiled.

“Don’t think I’ll beg for you. I won’t.” You snarked as you nipped at his ear, kissing his jaw. He let you continue to place hot kisses all over his neck and jaw, taking the opportunity to get his pants off from around his waist, dropping his underwear with them. You felt the warm, soft skin of his cock against your thigh, a small gasp escaping your lips as you looked down at what your body was about to take in. He dipped a finger inside of you, then another, preparing you for him.

“Race.” You sighed his name, asking him to hurry up. Race’s fingers were soaked as he pulled them from your core. The tip of his cock slid between your folds, being coated by your juices as he pushed inside of you. Race didn’t care to hold back the volume of his groan as he felt your body stretch around him. Your eyes squeezed shut as you breathed out, god, any more of him and you’d be torn in half.

Race took a thumb to his mouth and collected a string of saliva on the tip of it before bringing it to your clit, drawing small circles, trying to replace your discomfort with pleasure.

He struggled to pull out of you, your walls so tight they practically sucked him back in, slowly he pushed back inside of you, picking up the pace slightly with every thrust. Both of your eyes were fixed on the sight of his body pushing into yours, until he looked up at your face, making your cheeks burn red as the realisation of what you were doing set in.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare, hm?” He cupped your face. Your mind was racing, never in a million years would you have considered Race to be gentle. The tip of his cock slammed against your cervix, releasing a series of angelic moans from you. His fingertips curled around either side of your hips, gripping you as he continued thrusting into you to hit that exact spot again and again, and he felt your legs begin to shake against his own.

What the hell? How was someone like him bringing you to orgasm this quickly? It took you longer on your own.

Race had barely even begun to feel his orgasm build, and already he had you on the verge of release. He seemed just as perplexed as he felt your walls begin to contract and spasm around him. The cry of his name and the way your body became limp as he held you against the wall, he knew just as you did- it took only minutes to get you off. The way your pussy gripped his cock during your release made it almost impossible for him to move, not that he wanted to, it felt far too good. He watched your face as pleasure rolled through your body, jolting you forward periodically.

His lips brushed over your flushed chest, your pussy loosened its grip on him, and he left you no time to breathe before going back to thrusting himself in and out of you. You caught him off guard when grinding against him, pushing his cock deeper inside of you for him. You took in every detail of his face. The swear that started to bead around his hairline, the way his jaw hung slightly open with focus, the blush that was creeping up his ears, the way his eyes seemed an even brighter blue when they were so full of lust. Even through all your hatred for him, you couldn’t deny how he beautiful he looked while railing you.

He couldn’t hold on much longer but he’d be damned to give you the satisfaction of knowing how quick you could make him cum if he wasn’t trying to keep his composure. Your legs were threatening to give out on you. If it wasn’t for his grip on your waist holding you flush against the wall you might have collapsed into a heap of convulsing pleasure at his feet. Your now not-so-swallowed moans increased, there wasn’t any hope for trying to choke them back. Race had ruined every moral you had that day. His moans began to mix with yours.

“Look at me.” He mumbled, you didn’t even realise your eyes had closed. His hazed filled eyes bore into yours, the pleasured smirk that painted his face was only ruined by his own groans. It was too much. Too much pleasure. Too much hatred. Too much desire. Race shoved a few more erratic thrusts into you before pinning the skirt of your dress around your waist and spurting his cum out onto your thighs, a string of satisfied moans coming with it. He watched as his hot come dribbled down your thighs, taking a thumb to rub some of it against you, feeling his seed coat your soft skin.

The room that was just engrossed by moans and whines and sex was now left with the quiet sound of heavy breathing.

Your body trembled with residual pleasure as you tried to comprehend what the hell just happened. You hated Race; yet he was the one who left you so full of pleasure and indulgence you couldn’t even think straight. He took a step away from you, giving you some space as he caught his breath. You breathed out, your legs unsteady as tried to take a step forward.

Race chuckled, re-approaching you, wrapping an arm around your head, pulling you into his chest and placing a kiss on the top of your head.

You, too, let out a shy laugh, he tried to hide a grin as he pulled his pants back up.

He raised an eyebrow at you, “You look like you live in a bawdy house.” He quipped, tossing a shirt off the floor to you to wipe yourself clean.

“Should I remind you who just came all over me?” You argued.

“Should I remind you how quickly you came?” He retorted, laying on his bed, an arm extended inviting you to lay with him. What the hell was happening? Race Higgins had just fucked the daylight out of you, went immediately back to arguing with you, and now was holding you as you laid on his chest.

You didn’t say anything as you laid together. You felt gross. Not internally. Physically. Like your underwear felt soaked against you- and not in a sexy way.

“You alright?” Race asked, feeling your sigh sink into his chest.

Why did he care?

“My own bodily fluids are squelching against me. What do you think?”

He chuckled, “Someone’s grumpy. Was one orgasm not enough?” He teased, reaching his hands down to push your underwear off of you. You sat up in shock, thinking for a moment he was going for round two.

“Relax, just getting these off so you’re a bit more comfortable.” He pulled them off your ankles and dropped them on the floor, his hands finding your back, guiding you back down to lay on him again.

He reached for his comforter, pulling it up to cover your back. “You just relax, sweetheart. I know you’re probably tired.”

Why was he caring for you? Why was he looking after you? God, you hated him. You hated how this was the safest you’d ever felt. Your expression on your face loosened as your mind drifted further and further from consciousness, your eyes slowly closing as the rhythm of his breathing underneath you lulled you into a nap. He too, with the comfort of your weight on his body, was able to drift off into a nap, forgetting entirely about the fact that Jack and the rest of the newsies were just downstairs.

[more-sonorous]

safer than you thought (vaguely javey)

recent discussions about trans canon era davey have put my fingers to the keys, so have this little hurt/comfort piece of what might potentially be a larger work

tw/ accidental outing (handled very well), and also davey's inner monologue isn't the kindest to himself

.....

Full sprinting across the Brooklyn bridge was not on David’s bucket list when he’d gotten dressed that morning, and he mentally cursed himself for that as his anxious feet stumbled along behind Racetrack. David felt like a horse that’d just learned how to gallop, bolting along behind a stallion in its prime. Racer was fast and graceful as he ran, one hand wrapped around David’s wrist in a vice grip that was almost bruising. Each footfall was more certain than the last and Racer's long legs were a blur of motion, his trousers (an old pair of Jack’s) hanging well above his ankles, patchwork socks still slightly on display. The scuffed heels of his boots were all David could focus on as he prayed for the strength to continue this sprint without stumbling, hearing the pounding footsteps of the menacing boys fast on their tail.

Soon David could feel his own blood pumping through his face, hot and heavy, incessantly noisy whooshing coursing through his ears. He didn’t know up from down or left from right as he devolved into helpless anxiety, letting Racer tug him along and praying they’d lost their pursuers at some point.

The moment they crossed the bridge into Manhattan territory, Race stopped dead in his tracks and David stumbled forward, hands on his knees. This was decidedly not good. His bindings were practically digging into his skin, the tightly wound bandages constricting his chest from properly expanding. Sweat beaded on his brow as he gasped feebly for air, clutching the fabric of his trousers in a wild panic.

“Yeah, fuck you!” Racer shouted incoherently, waving his fists despite the lingering pubescent cracks in his voice and the fact that they’d lost their pursuers a quarter of a mile ago. “Fuck alla you! When I tell Spot about this, she’s gonna kill your sorry asses! She’s gonna skin you and turn you into goddamn leather wallets! You better turn around and run! Go fuck yourselves!”

Maybe David would have laughed if he had the breath to do so, but the August sun was beating down hard on his back and the extreme heat in his face and ears wasn’t doing him any favors when it came to the breathing department. His clothes seemed to cling to him with sweat and every time he tried to breathe, he felt like he only got halfway before his lungs stopped expanding, trapped in the vice grip of his bandages. 

“That’ll fuckin’ teach them to try an’ mug me at my own sellin’ spot.” Race griped, sharply turning his head to spit at the bridge disdainfully. Relaxed and easy as if he hadn’t just ran a mile at full speed, he turned on his heel and sauntered over to David with a bark of a laugh. “Geez, Jacobs, I didn’t figure you was so shitty at runnin’. C’mon, pick yourself up ‘n we’ll go back to the lodgings and getcha a nice glass of lukewarm water.”

David really did want to pick himself up, but the trouble was that he couldn’t exactly breathe. Black spots were starting to dot his vision. Distantly, he knew that panicking wouldn’t do him any good, but he could easily recognize his own hyperventilation. Short, shallow breaths weren’t drawing any air in and suddenly his clothes were suffocating, and a very loud part of his brain was convincing him that he was going to die. Maybe he was, because he surely couldn’t round a corner and take his binder off in front of Race. Then all of the newsboys would find out he'd been lying to them and he’d lose all of his friends only months after making them, and he’d be lonely and strange and outcast all over again, and his life would be miserable all because he couldn’t catch his goddamn breath after running over the Brooklyn bridge. Now he was really and truly spiraling, clutching at his chest and gagging around his own useless gasping.

Immediately, his blonde companion’s demeanor changed. “Shit. Oh, shit. Shit, something’s wrong, huh? Davey, buddy, you okay?”

Race’s concerned expression swam into view as he crouched in front of David, cupping his sweaty face in both rough hands. Racetrack didn’t cringe away even as he felt the searing heat and saw how red David surely was. Instead he only looked even more concerned, his street-smart brain noticing the signs of asphyxiation with remarkable ease.

“Yeah, you need’ta sit.” He grumbled, and David was flickering in and out of sensibility as Race gripped him by the arm and tugged him into a slim alleyway between two buildings, somehow both forcible and gentle as he pushed David to sit. It was only getting worse. David’s mind was starting to swim and begging him to breathe, but a childish part of him was screaming with panic and sending hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Distantly, he knew that his bandages weren’t really that tight. All of this was mental, but he’d started panicking and now he couldn’t stop. The slight inconvenience of tight binding had transformed into a murder weapon in his delirious mind. He was going to die. He was going to suffocate right here in an alleyway and it was all because he’d tied his bandages too tight this morning. Seventeen years ending in such a stupid way made him cry harder, which expelled more of his dwindling air and sent all attempts at rational thought spiraling out of his brain.

Black spots grew darker and the image of Racetrack warbled like bathwater being kicked by an overeager child. “Let’s getcha out of this tie, yeah? Can’t be doin’ you any favors.”

David scarcely registered the lithe fingers tugging at the tie done loosely round his neck, and he was barely an inch away from unconsciousness as nimble hands undid the buttons of his waistcoat with remarkable speed. Maybe, if David had been alert, he would’ve seen the slight panic on his friend’s face as he pushed open David’s shirt. He could’ve seen the tremble in Racetrack’s fingers as he laid a hand over David’s rapidly rising and falling chest, wondering why his efforts weren’t doing any good. He could’ve seen terror building in big blue eyes as Race stripped David from his shirt and then his undershirt, and maybe he could’ve seen the gentle, sweet understanding flash across his friend’s face in a split second if he’d been looking— but he wasn’t. 

“Alright,“ Racetrack murmured, intelligent eyes flicking over the tightly wrapped bandages concealing his friend’s freckled chest. “Alright, Dave, ‘m not gonna look. But I gotta get these off, I think they’re makin’ it hard for you to breathe.”

He carefully looped his arms around David and undid the tight knots holding the binding of bandages together, eyes resolutely focused on the brick wall behind them. With two short, calculated movements, Race tugged the bandages off entirely and draped David’s discarded shirt over his chest. He then carefully turned his back to the other boy, making sure no curious passersby decided to peek into the alleyway.

It was wonderful to draw in a thick breath of the hot summer air. David’s chest swelled with the intake and a soft wheeze escaped his lips, oxygen finally filling his deprived lungs. He drank up gasps of the stuff as the spots began to fade and he finally spiraled back into consciousness, deep breaths evening out to a normal pace after about five minutes. He was too sapped of energy to do anything but sit there and let tears leak down his cheeks, because yes he was alive, but Racetrack knew and he was probably going to tell everyone. David let out a pathetic sniffle at the thought.

This caught Race’s attention and he turned around, concern etched into his face. “Aw, shit, Dave, don’t cry. Don’t cry, man. C’mon, put your shirt on and we’ll head back to lodgings so you can lay down somewhere comfortable.”

Man. David only hiccuped harder, reaching for his discarded bandage. He was in far too deep.

Immediately, Race snatched the bandage up and stuffed it in his pocket. “No way I’m letting you put this back on. We got at least a mile before we get back and I don’t want you suffocating again.”

“Race, please.” He begged, despising the weak vulnerability of his watery voice. This was a new low point– letting a boy two years younger than him tell him what to do. “Race, come on, I– I can’t go back without it on! Please– everyone’s gonna know! I can’t Racer, I–”

“No, Dave. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best. You’ll be okay. I promise.. Most of the guys are prolly out scrounging up dinner, anyways.” Grim and stern all at once, Race climbed to his feet with one catlike movement and stalked over to the end of the alleyway, standing with his back turned as if keeping guard. 

David sobbed. He sobbed as he tugged his undershirt on and sobbed harder as he buttoned his shirt and shrugged his waistcoat over his shoulders. Everyone was going to find out when they saw the swell of his chest beneath his shirt. They were all going to recoil in disgust. He could envision it already. Sure, there were girl newsies, but there were no girl newsies that pretended to be men and lied about their gender and name for months on end just because it made them feel sickeningly good. To think he’d actually started feeling comfortable and happy– of course that was ripped away from him. Too exhausted to be mortified, he was near the point of wailing when Race’s rough hands tugged him to his feet. David really longed for Jack’s gentle touches and then mentally slapped himself for that thought.

“Davey. Davey, c’mon. You’re gonna suffocate yourself again if you cry like that.” Race patted his cheek like he was trying to be gentle but didn’t quite know how. He only thought of Jack, who knew exactly how David liked to be touched without being told. He wanted to scream. David only noticed that Race was unbuttoning his own light blue flannel once the blonde was already shrugging it off, draping it around David’s shoulders. The extra drapery essentially covered his chest area, and nothing looked amiss with the additional layer distracting the eyes. Race slung an arm around his shoulder. “Let’s go, bud. I’m thirsty as hell. Y’know– Spot’s a great kisser but she sure as hell ain’t a great hostess. You know what I hafta do to get a cuppa water ‘round those parts? Actually, you don’t want to know. Spotty’s a sick bastard. ‘S why I love her. Though, people say I’m a sick bastard too, so I guess we’re a match made in hell. Wait, do Jews believe in hell?”

David barely managed to shake his head ‘no’, unable to understand why Race wasn’t addressing the elephant in the room. 

“Hah, weird. Where are evil people s’posed to go? Eternal Jewish jail? Shit, ain’t that a concept…” And he continued to yammer on, keeping David securely under his arm as they walked. Race didn’t seem to care that David wasn’t looking or really listening as they trudged through the ridiculously hot streets. David sweated his ass off and simultaneously tugged Race’s flannel down against his shoulders, despite the fact it was making him sweat harder. He probably stunk. It was the most miserable he’d been since Jack screwed everyone over at the rally. 

Somehow Race didn’t ask one question about David’s secret. He didn’t inquire about his old name or why he’d been lying. There wasn’t even a subtle accusation or anything. Instead they just walked and Race talked on and on about other things, his voice loud and commanding and normal in the summer heat. When they reached the lodging house, David wasn’t quite crying anymore, but he was confused and tired and a step beyond upset.

Rave shepherded him into the bunk room, where Les instantly barreled towards them. “Crutchie and I sold two hundred papes today! Can you believe it, David, can you—“

“Christ, what happened to you, Dave?” Crutchie asked with palpable concern, crossing the room in a few short strides. He pressed the back of his hand to David’s forehead and winced— David was sure his face was red as a rose with a sheen of sweat to match. “You’re gonna catch a heat death, Davey— what’s the deal, Race? Gotta look after other fellas when you take ‘em to Brooklyn— Les, can you go fix your brother a glass of water?”

“Sure.” Les frowned up at David, his eyebrows furrowed in the adorable way they always did when he had a particularly puzzling problem to solve. 

Crutchie led David over to one of the bunks and David collapsed onto his stomach, gratefully burying his face in whomever’s pillow this was. Crutchie gently patted his back before he straightened to stand tall. “On second thought, I’m gonna go wet a rag. Gotta cool you down somehow.”

His crutch plunked against the ground, quieter and quieter until David couldn’t hear him anymore. The mattress sank near his feet as Race sat, quiet for a moment. Then he awkwardly patted the back of David’s calf. “I ain’t a snitch. Don’t let that keep you up at night.” 

David didn’t have the energy to react, but relief crashed into him. What had he done to deserve people like Race in his life? The newsies made him feel more whole than he’d ever felt. Being with them made the ever-present pit in his chest seem to lesson. Something within him was happy and crooning around these brash, loud, sort of disgusting boys. He wanted to cry all over again but couldn’t manage any tears, so he just breathed deeply and gratefully. Racetrack wasn’t going to tell. His secret was safe. 

Their careful calm shattered as a flurry of footsteps entered the room, alongside an unmistakable voice, laced with passionate fury. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Racetrack stood to meet Jack, who barreled straight past him and dropped to a crouch at David’s bedside. Crutchie and Les trailed in behind Jack, each respectively carrying a bowl of water and a rag or a cup of cool water. David didn’t think he could handle the full force of Jack’s attention in his current state. He gulped down the water, focusing on the soothing temperature of the liquid. Race scoffed loudly. “I didn’t do shit. Some Brooklyn boys tried to mug us while we was heading home and I think the heat and the panic made Dave sick. You gotta calm down, Jack, I kept your boy safe.”

Your boy. David resisted a self-deprecating laugh. David wasn’t Jack’s anything. Maybe a very close friend, but he wasn’t Jack’s boy. Katherine was Jack’s girl. Katherine and Jack were each other’s in general. David had resigned himself to a life of awkward spectating, watching them love each other with nothing but a deep longing for Jack and pure need in his chest.

He thought about how much he wanted Jack very frequently. At first he’d assumed he was jealous. Maybe he wanted to be like Jack– gorgeous, confident, brazen, so obviously settled in his own skin. Then as time passed and they grew closer, David realized that no he wasn’t jealous. He didn’t want to be as harsh as the other boy and he didn’t need that charisma. They were different people. Different boys. David wanted to be with Jack. He wanted to kiss him and admire him openly and cling to him like Katherine did in private spaces. Jack, with his expressive brown eyes and his gorgeous smile. Jack, who deserved someone better than David. Someone like Katherine, who was gorgeous and intelligent and normal. David was broken and strange. Jack, stunning and wonderful as he was, would never return David’s affections— even in a hypothetical world where he knew who David was at home, behind closed doors, forced into skirts and called a name that didn’t really feel like his. Jack still wouldn’t want that person.

Still, David often found himself wondering… if he’d met Jack before he cut his hair and changed his clothes, would he have had a chance? 

Such thoughts made him feel ill. He wanted Jack to want him as he was, with his cropped curls and his comfortable clothes and as David, not as anyone else. Though, that was entirely impossible. He buried his face in the fabric beneath him as his stomach clenched in tight misery. 

“I can keep myself safe. I’m not some child that needs looking after.” He grumbled into the fabric of the pillow, earning a little laugh of agreement from Racer. 

“Yeah, I know, but that don’t mean I don’t worry about you.” Jack murmured, quiet and gentle as he threaded his fingers through David’s hair and tilted his head back. David didn’t often like meeting people’s eyes but he met Jack’s and his breath seemed to slip away. ”Mierda, Dave. Look at you… rough day, huh?”

Crutchie wordlessly handed Jack the ratty old washcloth, Les trailing anxiously behind him, but it honestly felt like David and Jack were the only people in the room. David, trapped helplessly in Jack’s orbit, drawn in by his beauty and his impossible charisma.

He let out a huff of a laugh. “You could say so.”

“Well, that’s what happens when I’m not around.” Jack crooned jokingly, but David could hear the subtle notes of guilt in his voice. Of course Jack was blaming himself– he’d been working at The World three days a week, which was the whole reason why David went to sell at the Sheepshead tracks with Racer in the first place. 

Normally when Jack was out, David and Les sold by themselves just fine. However, some days Crutchie and Les liked to combine their powers of ‘crippled orphan boy’ and ‘tiny orphan boy’ to sell massive amounts of papers. David would’ve preferred selling alone, but then Race extended an invitation, and people didn’t tend to invite David anywhere before he met the newsies, so he took the offer with little consideration of doing otherwise. He could tell, just by the furrow in Jack’s perfect brow, that Jack was blaming himself.

David wasn’t having any of that and reached out to carefully run his fingers through Jack’s hair, brave enough to cup his cheek. “It’s not your fault. I can see you thinking it’s your fault, Jack. Stop it. Okay? Nothing bad happened. Race was smart and he made the smart decision to run, and I’m just… well, I’m not as fit as you all, so I got winded and overheated. Everything’s alright. You can calm that protective head of yours.”

Delusional as he was, David could’ve sworn Jack angled his head further into the touch, and a guilty little smile tilted his full lips. “Read me like one of your books didn’t you?”

“Yeah, well…” David stared at the dripping washcloth in Jack’s hand, and the little puddle on the floor beneath it. “You’ll want me on my back, I suppose?”

“I’ll have you any way, Davey-mine.” Jack winked, and David felt like his whole head was resetting.

It just wasn’t fair. Jack had no right to flirt with him like that, like it was nothing, like it wasn’t ripping David apart piece by piece and forcing him to rethink how he wanted to put himself together. He wanted Jack so, so badly. It was almost ridiculous. 

Race and Crutchie cackled and David took Jack’s cap off his head to whack him with it as he rolled over, making sure Race’s shirt sat baggy over his chest. Jack only winked again and caught David’s hand in his own, threading their fingers together. “Jack Kelly, you are ridiculous.” 

“What are you laughing at?” Les whined, big brown eyes darting between all of the older boys. “Come on, guys, what does that mean? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, Lessy.” He sighed deeply and motioned his little brother over just as Jack carefully dropped David’s hand. He threaded his tanned fingers through dark curls to push David’s hair away from his forehead, replacing it with the damp cloth. David hummed thankfully at the cool touch and let his eyes flutter shut, wrapping his free arm around Les.

“You’re sweaty. And red.” Les remarked, carefully re-adjusting Race’s shirt to cover a bit more of his older brother’s chest. David’s heart swelled. 

David cracked an eye open and glared at his sibling, who was smiling an innocent grin, freckled cheeks turning his eyes into crescent moons. “Thank you for telling me, Les-kah.” 

The younger boy positively beamed. “You’re welcome. Hey- are you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” David soothed, giving his little hand a squeeze. Les squeezed right back. “Just need to cool down, then we can go home. Ima will save us some dinner.”

“Okay.” Les glanced at the door. “So… I can go play marbles?”

He couldn’t stop his own laugh. “Yes, go play marbles.”

“Your brother’s in good hands.” Jack remarked simply, resting one of his warm hands on David’s shoulder. Normally David would absolutely melt at the touch, but all he felt was a spike of panic because Jack’s thumb was so close to something it shouldn’t be close to. David’s heart ran a mile a minute against his chest as Les pressed a kiss to his cheek and bolted off. Crutchie took his seat at the end of the bed as Jack dragged a thumb over the collar of the blue flannel draped over David. “Maybe we oughta get you out of these shirts–”

“No!”

“Wh– you’re gonna sweat to death. You got like, four layers on.” Jack argued, hand darting towards David’s buttons. David deftly slapped his hand away and Jack recoiled in shock, eyebrows shooting up because David never got rough with him like that. He was already feeling guilty. “Alright, I’m confused.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a modest man, I always say.” Race responded easily, patting David’s ankle. “If he don’t wanna get naked for you, Kelly, y’can’t make him. You got Katherine for that, remember?”

Crutchie grinned. “Yeah, you at least gotta end things nice and easy with her before you ask Davey to go nude for you.”

Jack’s cheeks seemed to darken beneath his tan and the great, charismatic strike leader floundered for a fleeting moment before he stepped back into his easy personality and rolled his eyes. “That ain’t what I mean and you know it. Dave–”

“I’ll be fine with my clothes on. Really, Jack.” He tried to make himself sound relaxed and easy, but he was a notoriously terrible liar and Jack almost definitely heard the nerves twinging his tone. Thankfully he didn’t press– just sighed and flipped the washcloth over. 

David tried to ignore his sudden guilt for keeping such a secret from these people. Part of him was curling up in shame, telling him that none of his friends knew who he was. But this was who he really was, wasn’t it? When he was selling papers, dressed in trousers with short hair, that was the most comfortable he’d ever felt. They knew the real him. They just… well, they didn’t know the version of him that society said he was supposed to be, and that was still something that caused David a wild amount of guilt.

Jack began carefully dabbing the rag over his cheeks and David felt his own eyes fluttering shut, one hand coming up to loosely wrap around Jack’s wrist. Race carefully patted David’s ankle and got to his feet, just as Crutchie spoke. “We’ll leave you two to it. Let us know if you need anything, Jack.”

“Sure, Crutch.” He murmured distractedly, and David could feel Jack’s eyes on him like a searing brand. He wanted to disappear into the fabric of the uncomfortably stiff bunk beneath him, and that discomfort didn’t go away until he felt Jack’s gaze fall away.

He’d probably have to tell Jack what Race found out eventually, though the idea of doing so made him sick to his stomach. Thankfully Jack wasn’t speaking or trying to start some pointless conversation. He just occasionally passed the rag over David’s cooling cheeks, maybe re-situating it over his forehead. After what felt like eternity but could’ve been only fifteen minutes, David felt himself starting to give in to his own exhaustion as the rag grew warmer and warmer. Jack removed it entirely to re-dip it in the water, and as David was finally falling asleep, he could’ve sworn he felt a pair of lips ghost against his forehead. Maybe. 

But that would be ridiculous. Jack wouldn’t. Or at least David assumed as much. 

[mxbirdman]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Newsies - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins & David Jacobs, Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly, Oscar Delancey & David Jacobs, Albert DaSilva & Racetrack Higgins Characters: David Jacobs, Jack Kelly (Newsies), Racetrack Higgins, Albert DaSilva (Newsies), Oscar Delancey Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fighting, Fist Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, this sounds angstier than it is, Kissing, Comfort, No Period Typical Homophobia, I Wrote This While Listening to Mitski's Music, but it's not angsty, davey rages and jack can help Summary:

David doesn't get angry. But this?

---- idk where this came from, once again. I wrote this in a few hours this afternoon on a whim instead of doing homework.

[sl-newsie]

2024 Christmas Specials 🎄

Merry Christmas and have a happy New Year!

[bow-of-aros]

Day Fourteen: Lose

Summary: Race REALLY shouldn't have messed with Jack, because he gives back twice as good as he gets.

Totally worth it.

-

Hey folks! Part two of my Newsies fic for the Win and Lose prompts and I'm pretty darn proud of this. Hope that y'all enjoy <33

-

“Jack! Jack wait!” Race cried as he weaved between the bunks in the lodging house.

Look, Jack might be stronger, but Race is faster, so as long as he keeps out of reach, he’ll be safe. If he’s caught, he’d better say his prayers and hope for a swift and merciful death.

“I ain’t waitin’ Racer!” Race felt fingers catch on the hem of his sleeve and he twisted away, swinging around a corner faster than he probably should’ve, “You brought this on yourself!”

He caught sight of the door. That door meant freedom, it meant he’d gotten away with full bragging rights and most of his dignity.

Race had taken about two steps towards that door before Albert stepped through.

“Albert! Get outta the way—”

“Albert! Don’t let him escape!”

Their voices overlapped and Albert froze in a moment of confusion and indecision.

Apparently, that moment was all that Jack had needed as he finally grabbed ahold of Race, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Now, Race has managed to squirm his way out of a lot of fights. He’s skinny and he’s slippery, so not a lot of people are able to keep ahold of him.

That doesn’t apply to Jack Kelly.

After a couple of near escapes, Jack manages to roll himself on top of Race, leveraging his greater body weight and effectively trapping him.

Other newsies had been filtering in during their little scuffle and Race thanked whatever god was out there that this was commonplace enough that most of them just laughed and moved on, leaving Jack to exact whatever punishment that he deemed fit for the unknown crime Race had committed.

Of course, some of the newsies just had to stick their noses in.

“Hey, Jack!” Henry called out, “What did he do?”

“He scared me half to death is what he did! Jeez kid—” Jack broke off, finally managing to catch one of Race’s flailing arms and hold it off to the side, “And then he attacked me! I mean, the disrespect! Can you guys believe it?”

Race almost managed to slip out, but was caught at the last second and pulled back. A hand darted down to squeeze his side and he knew that he didn’t have much time left.

“Yeah! I did what you lot have been trying to do for ages! I spooked Jack Kelly! I wihihihin! Wahahahahait! Jack nonono shihihihihit!”

Jack had given up on getting control of his other arm, deciding to launch his counterstrike on Race’s vulnerable side, trusting that he’d be more concerned with defending himself than trying to escape.

Race hated that he was right.

“Racetrack Higgins! What are you thinking using that kind of language in front of the littles?” Jack was grinning, darting from his sides to poking at his ribs to skittering across his stomach, all the while Race tried fruitlessly to curl up in defense.

“Oh fuhuhuhuck yohohou!” He barely got through his sentence before Jack reached behind him to squeeze at his knees, drawing an unholy screech that faded back to frantic cackling.

This is how Race was going to die. He’d wanted Jack’s attention and now he was going to die.

“PLEASE! Jack plehehehehease! I’m sohohohorry!”

Yeah, he’s stooped to begging. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

“I dunno, Race,” Jack said, moving his fingers up to Race’s neck to let him catch his breath between childlike giggles, “I ain’t never lost anything before, and I definitely don’t plan on starting now.”

“So,” He continued, deftly tracing whatever side of Race’s neck wasn’t scrunched up “Ise thinkin’ that, if you admit that I win and you lose, I’ll have mercy on you. Whaddaya think?”

Race didn’t even think before shooting back, “No way! I won and—NO! JAHAHAHACK WAITWAITWAHAHAIT!”

Jack had let go of his arm, reaching one hand back to his knees again and letting the other one knead at his side. It was evil. It was evil and it was unfair.

And it was totally going to work.

“OKAY! Okahahahay you wihihihin! Jack plehehehease!” All dignity was being thrown out the window, Race was tugging at one of Jack’s hands with both of his own and nothing.

He really was at Jack’s mercy.

“What was that? Don’t think I caught it through all your screamin’.”

Oh, Race is goona wipe that teasing smirk right offa Jack’s face as soon as he’s out of this.

“You win! I lohohohose!” Jack hummed thoughtfully, slowing but not quite stopping, “I sahahahaid it now let me gohohohoho!”

“Alright alright. Don’t go getting your panties in a twist, I’m done.”

Jack heaved himself up, letting Race curl into a ball and ride out the last of his giggles, sucking in greedy, slightly exaggerated breaths.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and Race turned to see Jack reaching down a hand to help him up. A peace offering that Race accepted as he let Jack pull him to his feet.

“You, Jack Kelly, are an evil man!”

There was no heat in his voice, and any that might’ve been there was undermined by the way Race leaned into Jack when he slung his arm across his shoulders.

Jack just laughed at him, “Whatever, kid. You know, next time you miss me and want some attention, all you hafta do is say so.”

His tone dipped into something a little more genuine, “I know I’m not here as much, but I still care about all of youse,” He ruffled Race’s hair pointedly, “Even the ones who like to cause trouble.”

They sat down on one of the couches, and when Race half-heartedly tried to pull away, Jack just held firm until Race slumped down against him. It was nice, maybe Race had missed this more than he’d cared to admit.

“Yeah, sure.” Then, a little quieter, “I care about you too.”

“Atta boy.”

Race knew that Jack would be gone again tomorrow, but he was here tonight, chatting with the other newsies while his arm remained a comforting weight that warmed Race from the inside out.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to lose sometimes.

[clevereverest]

“Now or Never” - 13/13 Multichapter (Complete)

Chapter 1 • “Prologue”

Chapter 2 • “13 Days to Game Night”

Chapter 3 • “10 Days to Game Night”

Chapter 4 • “9 Days to Game Night”

Chapter 5 • “8 Days to Game Night (Part 1)”

Chapter 6 • “8 Days to Game Night (Part 2)”

Chapter 7 • “7 Days to Game Night (Part 1)”

Chapter 8 • “7 Days to Game Night (Part 2)

Chapter 9 • “5 Days to Game Night”

Chapter 10 • “3 Days to Game Night”

Chapter 11 • “1 Day to Game Night”

Chapter 12 • “Spot’s Game Night”

Chapter 13 • “Epilogue”

{—————————————}

Summary and tags below!

[mrshottie]

Hi guys! This is a little get to know me/my blog!

I’m 19 (no weirdos)

I love hot men and women if you ask me i’m straight though

My top 5 favorite shows are

Criminal Minds

Greys Anatomy

The Summer I Turned Pretty

Brooklyn 99

Outer Banks

My top 5 favorite movies are

Top Gun Maverick

Twisters

Newsies Broadway Version (i’m a theatre kid)

Perks of Being a Wallflower

Percy Jackson ATO (i know it’s not book accurate)

I write for

Most OBX Characters

Most TGM Characters

Tyler Owens

Spencer Reid

Racetrack Higgins (Broadway)

Conrad Fisher

Anyone else, just request!

I will write smut, but only when I deem it appropriate.

I will give warnings for any sensitive topics in any writing!

I hope you enjoy!

[spracemodernau]

what are some stupidly domestic things you do with each other ? :))

"Spot washes my hair for me! I dunno if that counts as domestic.... uhhhh...whenever I'm tired I lie my head on his chest as he does.... Spot things...his pecs are better than all our pillows."

"Race tries to teach me how to slow dance when he's waiting for food to cook :)"

[the-real-spot-conlon]

Race, sitting on the floor in front of the fridge at 3 am:

Spot, barely awake: babe, kindly, what the hell are you doing?

Race: *turns to Spot holding a jar of pickles* pickles.

Spot: oh. Can I join?

*proceeds to eat pickles together at 3 am*

[amelia-friend]

unveiling constellations

Race and Albert keep stealing Race's cigar back and forth while they're hiding from the rest of the newsies (because the Littles are having a meltdown over something and they don't want to be forced into actually being the responsible ones and deal with it). Then they figure out a far more enjoyable way to spend their time.

1,200 words of Fluff happens. (Or you can read on AO3: here)

It was not, by any means, the first time they had found themselves in this particular alleyway. Not that it was anything special – narrow enough to touch the building on either side even with their elbows bent, with a crook in the middle that made it a perfect haven from prying eyes, and close enough to the lodging house to hear the screaming, and return in a hurry if it reached the necessary levels. It was a nice enough place, somewhere to be themselves, relax in companionable silence alongside some who understands, without the pressures of the day weighing too heavily. Tonight felt different though, the air was charged with an unusual tension, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

Race leaned against the cool brick wall, twisting the unlit cigar idly in between his fingers. He didn’t actually smoke them, they were far too expensive for that, but it was an easy habit, something to do with his fingers that didn’t betray his anxieties as easily as other habits he could have picked up. Albert stood a few steps away, gazing up at the night sky without seeing. He remembered a time when he was young, back when he had a ma and a pa and brothers that weren’t cold and dead in the grave, they’d gone far out of the city once, far enough for the lights and the noise and the bustle to disappear into nothingness. Albert had stared at the night sky then too, except it was the star he was staring at. Countless stars stretching on into eternity – even as a kid it had been the most beautiful thing Albert had ever seen. You don’t get stars like that in the city. He took a step away, hoping the physical action would help shake the thoughts, the memories from his body, but only succeeding in catching the toe of his boot in a small crack in the pavement, stumbling without warning. The hand he reached out was nothing short of instinctual, landing square on Race’s chest.

Their eyes met, and for a moment nothing happened, a shared expression of surprise and uncertainty passing between them. “I, uh… Sorry Race,” Albert stammered after far too long a pause, his cheeks colouring to match the faint red of his hair, as he carefully pried his hand away, as if it had been stuck with a remarkably tacky glue. Race’s lips only curved into a faint smile, bemused more so than any other emotion. “No harm done, Al. Accidents happen.” He spun the cigar between his fingers in much the same manner as Albert had once watched a fire-breather dance with the flames the time he snuck into the circus. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Albert adjusted his standing subtly, his fingers darting out and snatching Race’s cigar in one deft movement, the tips of his fingers brushing against Race’s as he took hold of the cigar’s paper, almost spinning as he moved just out of reach of Race instinctual first grab to take it back. There was a moment where time seemed to stand still, Albert holding his unfairly earned bounty aloft, a smirk dancing in the his eyes more so than the edges of his lips, as he looked at Race expecting a playful protest in response. But instead of the carefree banter he had anticipated, the tension between them only seemed to intensify. Albert's fingers tightened around the cigar, and his heart skipped a beat as Race's gaze bore into his own.

In an instant, the tables turned. Race's hand darted forward, moving with a speed hard-earned from years working on the streets, reclaiming his cigar from Albert’s grasp. Their eyes lock, and … … nothing.

Albert looks away. "You always have to make it look so easy, don't you?" Albert mused, more to himself than to Race, but still there was that hint of admiration in his voice. Race shrugged, an easy gesture that seemed to imply so much more. His gaze softening as he caught Albert's eyes and refused to look away. "Just do what feels right, Al. Ain't no use complicatin' things."

As he spoke, their proximity seemed to magnify, the space between them diminishing until their breaths mingled in the chilly air. The moment hung suspended, their heartbeats echoing the same rhythm. Time seemed to slow, the words twisting through Albert’s brain, and his gaze dropped to Race's lips, a subtle hesitation flickering in his eyes. There wasn’t a conscious thought, not one intentional decision, as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against Race's for the briefest of moments.

The touch was electric, a jolt of recognition that left him speechless. He barely had a moment to process what was happening before Albert jerked back, his own expression a mix of surprise and uncertainty, as if even he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

A heartbeat passed. And another.

The alleyway felt like the universe and the universe felt like the alleyway, all folding in on itself and each other until there was nothing else, no one else. Just them, and the moment, and the silence.

Race's fingers brushed against his own lips, his mind racing to catch up with his heart. Albert's breath came in shallow, uneven waves, his gaze locked onto Race's, hopeful terror burned into his eyes.

The silence stretched. A heartbeat passed. And another.

There wasn’t a conscious thought, not one intentional decision. Race closed the gap between them.

His fingers tangled in the fabric of Albert's coat, the cigar dropped to the floor, lonely and forgotten, as their lips met again, this time with a deliberate tenderness that sent shivers down the spines of both boys. The kiss deepened, a emotions that had been long suppressed, long ignored bursting to the surface and making themselves very intentionally known. There was no world outside the alley. There was only the moment and the alley and each other.

Eventually they had to breath, but that didn’t mean they had to separate – foreheads touching to replace their lips, breath intermingling.

There was no world outside the alley. There was no world outside them.

Albert’s voice returned to him first, laden with emotions. “Race…” Race’s eyes couldn’t not meet Albert’s, an identical mixture of vulnerability and longing swirling within them. The unspoken words hung in the air between them, shared desire and uncertainty, weighing the air between them. “Al…” he breathed back, the rest of his vocabulary stolen from him.

Albert's fingers brushed against Race's cheek, his touch a gentle caress that held a world of tenderness, eyes fluttering shut. It was a gesture that spoke volumes. It was a silent affirmation of what they could no longer turn away from. It was a confirmation of their connection in a world that would seek only to tear them apart. It was the flicker of that possibility, a brand new path suddenly illuminated where before had only been darkness.

It may not have been their first time hiding in the alleyway, narrow and crooked and close to the lodging house. But as they closed the gap between themselves for the third time, they were sure it would definitely not be their last. Albert let himself fall into eternity. Who needed stars anyway?

[orcaofmyheart99]

Am I Gay?

Jack always felt a little different, even though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. After Jack met Davey though, his whole world changed. Something just clicked. 

“This is my brother Davey” Les introduced his older brother. 

Jack stared at the taller boy, with kind, brown eyes who was dressed impeccably. There was something about the pressed shirt, clean shoes and tie tucked into the boy’s vest.

“Nice to meet you Davey” Jack greeted him with his usual careless bravado, trying not to let the butterflies in his stomach take over. No one had ever made him feel this way. Not even Kathrine. Jack was both afraid and excited about this new feeling. The best way he would describe it was like seeing snow on Christmas Eve. After selling papers with Davey and Les, Jack was even more certain about his emotions towards Davey. 

After getting back to the newsie’s group house, Jack logged onto the internet to try and find out what was going on with him. He always had assumed he was straight but Davey was making him question everything. This was the first time he had ever considered another boy cute. This was the first time another person had thrown him off his usual confidence The very first thing Jack searched for was “am I gay quiz?” He took the quiz, unsure what the outcome would be. The quiz said he was more likely gay than straight. The next quiz Jack took was “Am I bisexual?” The answer was most definitely yes to this one. After the two quizzes, Jack read some articles about queer identity. If he was gay or bi he thought he should know more about those identities. As Jack was closing the tabs on the laptop, Race suddenly came bursting into the room. Before Jack could slam the computer shut, Race caught a glimpse of what Jack had been looking at. Jack was flustered but tried to remain composed.

“Is there something you need Race?”

Race just stood there, not knowing what to say. 

“Umm, well I did. But now I forget. Why were you looking at that stuff?” Race asked with an inquisitive face.

“No reason. Just bored is all. Anyways I should head to bed. Early morning. Papes won’t sell themselves.”

“Yea I’m sure the papes need all the help they can get. Especially from Davey.”

Jack almost dropped his computer that he was putting away.

Race smirked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jack said, trying to hide his blushing.

“Yeah, you do. I mean you were making total heart eyes at Davey today. You could barely muster anything to say to him.”

Jack looked up at Race.

“Was it really that obvious?” He asked, concerned.

“Well, I noticed. And some of the other’s probably. And maybe Davey. But it is good that you are trying to find out your identity.”

Jack nodded

“Just don’t say anything to the others or Davey?”

“Of course not Jack! If you need to talk about anything I am here. Oh and what I was going to tell you was that Spot has been catfishing the Delancy brothers.”

Jack laughed at this.

The next day, the headline was once again about the writers and actors strike. It seemed like it had been going on for far too long. There seemed to be no end in sight. The producers and studio exec seemed happy to just wait out their workers. Which was something not even a certain demon would think of or approve of. 

As everyone was pairing up, Race casually told Les that he could tag along with him and Spot. Les was excited about this opportunity. 

Race winked at Jack, causing Jack to blush.

“Ok, well it looks like Davey and Jack have to team up then. Don’t worry us and Les won’t get into too much trouble.” Race said, smiling at Davey.

Davey seemed alright with this and he and Jack went off to sell some papes. Jack was quiet which was very strange for him. Somehow just being in Davey’s presence was enough to cause him to go completely silent. Davey, who was himself pretty introverted, didn't start any conversation. It was nice just sharing a peaceful walk. Upon reaching their corner, Jack began talking to the strangers on the street, hustling them. Davey watched him work, taking mental notes on how Jack approached everyone differently. Jack was flirting with an older woman, attempting to get her to purchase a pape. Davey felt a little bit of jealousy rise in him. He quickly shook it off. Telling himself that Jack was not interested in men. The other boys had made it pretty clear that Jack was very much a ladies man. The woman bought the newspaper and walked away grinning. After about half an hour, Jack and Davey headed back to meet up with the others. Everyone went out for dinner to Jacobi’s deli. Race made sure Davey and Jack sat across from each other. Jack was feeling worn out. Trying to keep his composure around Davey was exhausting. He hungrily dug into his sandwich and chips. Trying not to make eye contact with Davey. Les and Davey started to head back home to see their folks. Before they could make it too far Race said out loud to Jack 

“So how was selling papes with him? It was better than those stupid quizzes, right?” 

“What quizzes?” Davey asked.

Race started stumbling on his words. He said something to the effect “spot needs me” and ran off leaving Jack completely humiliated. 

Jack could either lie to Davey or come clean. He decided to do the second, knowing that it was a matter of time before the others would hear of his crush on Davey and he didn’t want Davey to hear it from anyone but himself. 

“I have been feeling kinda off my game. I just took some quizzes last night and Race kinda walked in on me.” Jack said, looking at the ground. 

Davey raised his eyebrows. 

“Nothing super weird or anything” Jack added hurriedly. 

“I just ummm. Here is the thing Davey. I thought I was straight but after meeting you yesterday. I know we have only known each other for two days and it seems strange that after just meeting someone you question your whole identity, but that is what you made me do. Fact is, no girl has made me feel the way you do. I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s like this warm strange feeling. Like when I am around you, everything is going to be ok. I don’t know if you feel the same way or nothing…” Jack said trailing off, wishing he could just disappear into the setting sun.

Davey walked closer to Jack.

“Of course I feel the same way. I was really worried that you might not like me. I felt some immediate pull towards you. I can’t quite put my fingers on it, but there is something about you Jack Kelly that I loved the moment I met you” Davey replied.

There was a mutual sigh between them. Both felt immense relief.

Davey gently took Jack’s hands.

“How about we go on a proper date tomorrow? After selling papes? There is a nice deli near my house we can go. Maybe go have a picnic in the park?”

“That sounds great Davey” Jack said grinning.

They parted ways, happy to know that they had found the one person who truly made everything alright.

[youaintnothinbuta]

racetrack higgins x reader, where it is morning and the reader doesn’t want to let him out of bed. they’re clingy.

“Just five more minutes, Race, please.” - Racetrack Higgins x Reader

Summary: race always caves when you beg him for 5 minutes more in bed

Pairing: Racetrack Higgins x reader

Word count: 302

Warnings: none! fluff, Drabble, maybe some typos

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Race stirred awake, the morning sunlight landing directly on his eyes, making it hard for him to ignore. After sitting up and stretching, he turned to glance at you, still peacefully asleep beside him.

With a quiet sigh, he decided it was time to get up and begin the day. He carefully untangled himself from the sheets, trying to be as gentle as possible to avoid waking you, placing his feet on the ground.

But just as he was about to make his escape from the comfortable cocoon of the bed, your drowsy fingers found their way to his wrist, grasping it with a gentle yet determined hold. You stirred awake, the slight rustling of the comforter alerting you to his movements. A small smile played on Race’s lips; he’d been here before.

“Morning, honey.” He cooed, leaning affectionately in your direction.

“Stay, Race.” You mumbled, face still pressed against the pillow, not letting him free from your grip.

He didn’t say anything, trying to find the words to convince you to let him go.

“Please,” you muttered, your eyes fluttering open, knowing he has a hard time saying no to how adorable you looked all cozied up.

“Sweetheart, I gotta get up.” He brushed your hair back with the hand you weren’t latched on to as he spoke.

“Just 5 more minutes, Race, please.” you begged, pulling him closer to you, your determination evident in the firmness of your hold.

He sighed. He never won this battle, it seemed. But he didn’t mind. He crawled back under the covers and only once you were sure he was not going to make a run for it you let go of his wrist, letting him wrap himself around you.

“Thank you.” You mumbled softly into his chest.

“It’s okay.” He kissed your forehead.

[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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spot is going to be worried.”

“Ritz—”

“I think we have medicine somewhere.”

“Ritz, hang on—“

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

“I don’t have—”

“Spot ain’t letting you sell tomorrow.”

“Ritz!”

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

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

“A boy.” Hotshot spoke up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Race? Race!” Ritz confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

Stray decided to do something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” You croaked.

“I—uh…got word, ya like me.”

“Mhm.”

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

“Now?” You asked incredulously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart skipped a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We don’t gotta kiss.” Race assured.

“But I want too.”

“…”

“…”

“Can I kiss ya then?”

“Please.”

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

“Was that…okay?” Race pulled away.

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

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

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

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

“A date then.” Race smirked.

“A date.” You confirmed.

“Great.”

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[ao3feed-newsies]

(I Know) We'll Be Fine

by, Nyx_thedragon by Nyx_thedragon Jack drops Morris’s hat at some point, and continues running, bringing himself through newsies square, right past the Horace Greeley statue. He can’t hear the Delanceys behind him anymore, and turns to check how far behind they are. He can’t see them past the crowd of newsboys watching him. As he’s turning back around to look where he’s going, Jack slams into someone -- a boy, looking to be around his age, maybe a year younger. The boy is wearing a blue striped button-up shirt under a brown vest, brown pants, and a matching brown newsboy cap. His hair sticks out from underneath just enough that Jack can see that it’s curly, and his eyes, when Jack finally looks at them, are strikingly blue. The boy Jack’d run into stares at him, rightfully annoyed. “What do you think you’re doing?” There’s some shouting of Jack’s name behind the boy, and when Jack looks, he sees the Delanceys trying to push through the crowd of newsies, who’re trying to keep them back. He looks back at the boy, and smiles easily. “Runnin’!” ~~~~~~~~~~ My attempt at a 1992 Newsies rewrite. The main plot is the same. (Title from the song "We'll Be Fine" by Jorge Rivera-Herrans) Words: 4520, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Newsies (1992) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M, Multi Characters: David Jacobs, Jack Kelly (Newsies), Sarah Jacobs (Newsies), Les Jacobs, Spot Conlon, Racetrack Higgins, Bryan Denton, The Newsies (Newsies) Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, David Jacobs & Jack Kelly, Jack Kelly & The Newsies, David Jacobs & The Newsies, Crutchie & Jack Kelly (Newsies), Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly, David Jacobs & Mush Meyers, Spot Conlon & Jack Kelly Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, mostly - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Background Relationships, Minor Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins, Minor Kid Blink/Mush Meyers, they're not the focus but they're implied, Rated T for swearing, Jewish Jacobs Family (Newsies), it's mentioned once and doesn't affect the plot but it's important to me that you know, references to the Hard Promises script, just one detail tbh, Based on Newsies (1992), Rewrite, Canon Rewrite, no beta we die like snyder should have read : https://ift.tt/coz1gZb - December 19, 2024 at 10:21PM

[thewritersofdeceased]

𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄

𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 ;; 3 hours(7:11 to 11:00) ;

𝗍𝗒𝗉𝖾 ;; hurt/angst + comfort/fluff

𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 ;; albert dasilva ; racetrack higgins

𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 ;; n/a ;

extra ;; little bit of angst, french!albert, italian!race

song lyrics ;; stay awake - mary poppins

[ci]memories of the refuge flashed in the mind of a boy. antonio higgins, better yet known as racetrack to some of the other boys in the lodgehouse, was stirred awake. sitting up rather quickly, looking around back and forth, the boy covered his mouth when waking up. he didn’t want to wake anyone else up. no. he couldn’t. let alone waking up any of the other boys, like jack. though the only one he’d really wish albert desilva. that was his best friend. The one who had begged jack to do anything in his power to get his best friend out of that terrible place.

[ci]but everyone could see that albert had a deep feeling for race. Everyone knew. If you asked romeo, he’d say it was like the ginger was in love with the blonde loudmouthed boy. But everytime one of the boys, for example, romeo himself or even if specs or henry asked the ginger haired boy, the only answer they ever got was a quick witted sentence.

[bci]”i’s ain’ in love with race! i’s just care about ‘im alot.”

[ci]back to the moment at hand.

[ci]race took shaky breaths in and out at a fast pace, looking around the room full of sleeping boys. he had to get out of here. pushing the covers he wore off and just slipping on the boots he seemed to always wear, race began to sneak out. he couldn’t go to the rooftop. jack was up there alongside crutchie. so, where did race go? He went to the only place where he thought he couldn’t be bothered. sneaking about the lodgehouse and into the colder streets of new york city, race sat himself down on one of the steps just outside. just outside for a breath of fresh air.

[ci]he wasn’t in the refuge, he tried to tell himself. was he? he prayed not. the thoughts began to run wild in his head. his blue eyes were wide as his breathing went even for a couple seconds, then shaky right after. in his eyes, they had tears. tears the color of silver and pale blue fell down his cheeks. race wasn’t one to cry. no, this boy always had an upgoing personality. either he was a firecracker, loud, annoying, everything of the sort, or he was tired. tired because of the sirens that blared throughout the night.

[ci]it had felt strange with none of the sirens being heard while in the refuge. though when they were, of course he’d stay awake all night. someone had to stay awake and make sure those kids were okay. but when he was released, race wasn’t the same energetic boy. when race had returned, it was a whole different thing. race wasn’t off trying to steal cigars, he wasn’t as loud as he had been before. the refuge messed with his head. it messed with him physically and mentally.

[ci]now as race thought and thought, even as the tears fell, footsteps had made his head snap up almost instantly, looking around and back towards the inside of the lodge house. the voice that caught his attention was one who sounded like they just woke up. the voice was grogly, tired sounding.

[ci]”race?”

[ci]the voice spoke, only then did race realize who’s voice it was. albert. The voice caught race’s attention as the boy quickly lowered his head. but the way his shoulders were slumped and his body was trembling. the sight made albert’s heart clench as he slowly went to sit beside the other. he had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, not placing his hands on race at all during it all.

[ci]”’ey. ‘Ey… you’s okay, race..”

[ci]the voice was soft. soft and comforting. race tried his best to listen to it. it took a couple seconds for albert to speak again, but his soft and comforting voice never faltered. “can i’s come closer? i won’t touch ya. not unless you’s need physical touch.” albert attempted to explain, all his attention being on the shaken up blonde right in front of him.

[ci]race remained quiet, his shoulders continuing to rise and fall as he slowly seemed to have nodded, making a small smile form on the redhead's face as he slowly and cautiously moved over to race. He was asking permission for these things, not wanting to bring back any terrible memories of the refuge to his best friend. to the boy he’d do anything for.

[ci]albert was the first one race actually told his name to. at first, nobody had known race’s true name was antonio. everyone only knew him as racetrack. racetrack or race. “ant, am i allowed to hold ya?” he then would ask, seeing how race would process the question in his head before earning a nod of response.

[ci]albert, at this response, would wrap his arms around race and pull him into his lap. he wished he could help. he let out a soft sigh, carefully beginning to run his hand through race’s hair, whilst the other held him close. race was hiding his face in the ginger’s shoulder and crook of his neck. they just sat there in pure silence for a little bit.

[ci]but after a while, the soft voice of albert, who seemed to be singing, rang through race’s ears. his sniffling had stopped, his tears no longer falling.

[ci]”Rester éveillé,” (stay awake)

[ci]”ne repose pas ta tête..”(don’t rest your head)

[ci]”Ne t'allonge pas…”(Don’t lie down)

[ci]”sur ton lit..”(upon your bed)

[ci]the boy was singing in french. race had heard albert speaking french before, mainly when albert thought nobody was listening. but race had. hell, when he was in the refuge, the blonde curled boy would speak italian, beyond terrified of everything there. speaking his native language, at least the language he had learnt from his mother before being abandoned and put in an orphanage at a young age. that was something race was proud to remember. his mother.

[ci]at the moment, albert was almost like that figure he needed. not a parental figure, but someone who cared. as race closed his eyes, albert continued to sing the soft tune, his eyes closed as his arms were wrapped around race in a loving embrace.

[ci]”Pendant que la lune dérive dans le ciel..”(While the moon drifts in the skies)

[ci]”Reste éveillé, ne ferme pas les yeux..”(Stay awake, don't close your eyes..)

[ci]”Même si le monde dort profondément..”(Though the world is fast asleep…)

[ci]”Bien que ton oreiller soit doux et profond..”(Though your pillow soft and deep)

[ci]as albert continued with the soft melody, he had noticed the soft breathing of the boy in his lap. race had fallen asleep, it appeared. the ginger had no issue with that. so long as race was asleep, albert wouldn’t move a single muscle. slowly, his own eyes closed, his song slowly coming to an end…

[ci]”Vous n'avez pas sommeil comme vous en avez l'air…”(You're not sleepy as you seem…)

[ci]”Reste éveillé, ne hoche pas la tête et ne rêve pas....”(Stay awake, don't nod and dream…)

[ci]”Reste éveillé, ne hoche pas la tête et ne rêve pas....”(Stay awake, don't nod and dream…)

[ci]and so, as the song came to an end, the stars above twinkled with that lovely shine. of course, race and albert got teased by the other boys as morning came, but what mattered is they had each other. even through thick and thin.

[bow-of-aros]

Day Thirteen: Win

Summary: Race has been feeling antsy lately, and he's presented with the perfect opportunity to defeat the notoriously un-shockable Jack Kelly.

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Hey folks! The relationship these two have is so important to me I love them so muchhhhh. Race just misses his older brother and is physically incapable of NOT starting shit. The second part to this fic will be up tomorrow, hope y'all enjoy <33

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Race will be the first one to admit that life had been pretty good after the strike ended. Thanks to Jack’s new deal with Pulitzer, Race had been able to pick up a couple of extra papes on good selling days. He’s been able to eat three square meals a day and even have a bit of savings left over.

Jeez, a few days ago people had been buyin’ up papes faster than he could get them out of his bag! Race had stopped by the pastry place on his way back to the lodge and picked up a couple of cookies to split with the other newsies.

The look of joy on the littles faces had had him flying so high that he still hadn’t quite come back down.

Look, the point was, everything’s been great. Better than great, he’s been living the dream!

So why does he feel so restless?

Sure, Race has a bit of a reputation among the newsies as a troublemaker, but that’s his role! He drags people into his shenanigans when it looks like they need a bit of a pick-me-up. Sometimes people need a reminder that they can still be kids, even if they’re stuck fending for themselves on the street.

Usually Jack would catch his eye on these days with a grateful smile and a mouthed Thank you.

They were brothers, and Race acted as a sort of unofficial third-in-command, if that was a real thing.

It’s just that he hasn’t been around as often, and Race is starting to feel it. He’s off at work during the day and sometimes he’ll come back to help with the evening paper, but sometimes he’s out doing stuff with Katherine.

Look, Jack’s a great leader! He can rally a crowd and wrangle the newsies like nobody else, and having Crutchie as his second-in-command helps when they need a more level-headed and empathetic outlook on things.

But Crutchie’s well… He’s Crutchie. He can’t chase down the littles when they get a little too rowdy.

So that responsibility has fallen to Race.

He hasn’t had to do it too often since everyone wants to be on their best behaviour for Crutchie, but he can’t help but feel the itch to cause a bit of trouble and have some fun.

And if that happens to remind Jack that Race still actually exists, all’s the better.

Today was a good selling day and Race had sold all his papes in near-record time. Jack had promised that he’d spend time at the lodge that night, which meant that Race had a rare chance to mess with him.

He considered sneaking up to the penthouse, maybe stealing a couple of Jack’s art supplies and hiding them around the lodging house, but he didn’t want to accidentally break something and have Jack get genuinely upset with him.

No, it had to be something short and snappy. Something that would ignite that playful spark in Jack for the rest of the night.

The answer was almost too obvious.

The fellas had a sort of competition going: Jack was notoriously hard to startle, and each one of them was determined to be the one to actually scare him. They would hide behind doorways, jump out of alleys, even slide down fire escapes in an attempt to catch him off guard.

Each time, Jack either greeted the effort with a laugh or a raised eyebrow, loudly taking pride in the fact that none of the newsies could scare him.

This was their game, and Race was going to win.

The lodging house was still empty, the rest of the guys would be selling the last of their papes and Jack always managed to show up just before them, which meant he was probably on his way. He had to act now.

Race practically skipped over to the center of the room before lying down on the floor, sprawling his limbs out to make it look like he’d fallen. Then, he closed his eyes for good measure and waited.

Not even a minute later, the door swung open and familiar whistling came to an abrupt halt.

“Race?”

Showtime.

Footsteps rushed to his side and Race heard the sound of Jack dropping down to his knees. He made sure to keep his breathing slow and steady, and didn’t want to give up the game too soon.

“Racer? C’mon kid, this isn’t funny, wake up!”

Jack sounded genuinely concerned, and maybe Race felt a little bad, but it would all be worth it in a few short moments.

“Racetrack Higgins I swear to fucking God,” Jack reached down and gave his shoulder a little shake, and that was his cue.

Race’s eyes flew open, hands reaching up to clutch at Jack’s as he let out his best bloodcurdling scream.

And oh, the fruits of his labour were glorious.

Jack screeched, launching himself backward and falling flat on his ass. While Race contented himself with cackling at his success, Jack was breathing hard and clutching at his chest.

“Ha!” Race crowed, scrambling to his feet to loom over Jack, “I win!”

“Win? Yeah, win at giving me a damn heart attack! Jeez Racer I thought youse was dead!” Jack didn’t even bother getting up, still clutching at his chest in a way that even Race was starting to consider over dramatic.

Ah, what’s the harm in kicking a man while he’s down?

Race leaned down, dancing his fingers across Jack’s sides until he was clutching his torso for an entirely different reason. “Admit it, Jack! Admit that I won!”

He was too caught up in his own goading and the fact that the great Jack Kelly was giggling under his fingers to notice the leg flying at him until he was already tumbling to the ground.

“Oho yeah? Yohou think you’ve won?” Jack’s grin was nothing short of downright evil, somehow managing to still sound threatening even through the lingering giggles.

“You’ve started a battle you can’t finish, Racer. Let’s see you win this!”

And Jack lunged. And Race bolted.