#racetrack higgins imagine

[possoms-are-cool123]

Happy birthday to this glorious man right here

:)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEN COOK!!!!!!!!!!

[newsiesimagines]

Newsies Imagines #50

[thefandomchaos]

Whatever you do; don’t imagine your favorite ship in a Hadestown AU; you’ll end up crying in your bathroom like I’m currently doing

[thegreatbuttoneer]

NEWSIES INCORRECT QUOTES

Davey Jacobs: How should I break this dime..

Racetrack Higgins: Snap it in half?

Davey Jacobs: I- no?

—————————————

source: me & my friend trying to break a 50$ bill, but no newsie would ever own 50$

[youaintnothinbuta]

— race higgins nickname hcs —

ೃ⁀➷ summary: hcs about the nicknames / pet names race would call you (with examples) !

pairing: race x fem!reader

warnings: none, a few are smutty but are not at all elaborated on

A/N: please feel free to request a specific trope of hcs (or anything else)

He’d call you:

• Sweetheart ; a common nickname, especially in New York, he’d use this one often and in most contexts

— Hey, sweetheart, how are you?

— “Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t have to do that for me!”

• Princess ; this one wouldn’t be used so broadly, he’d mainly use it in situations of affection, for example when you’re first waking up.

— “Good morning, princess, did you sleep okay?”

• Mama ; he would use this in a more flirty way, to suggest that you looked particularly sexy or were doing something to turn him on. Similar to daddy for men.

— “Woah, mama, you look good.”

— “Damn, mama, blue is your colour.”

• Darling ; he uses darling often, particularly in softer situations, so perhaps if something is wrong, or if he’s doing something for you.

— “I know, darling, you’re not feeling very well at the moment.”

— “Darling, let me do it. I got it.”

• Boss ; he’d use this occasionally and playfully when doing things for you, or whenever you were in charge of something like cooking or taking care of another person’s injury.

— “Race, can you get me the sugar please.” “On it, boss.”

— “Race, get your hands out of that.” “Sorry, boss.”

• Trouble ; this was a playful nickname that he’d call you as a joke, because it was so unlike you do to anything that could get you into trouble, but it sort of stuck.

— “Uh oh, careful, trouble’s here.” He’d tease as you arrived.

— “Hey, trouble, what are you up to.” He’d grab you and hold you close if you were walking around with that cheeky grin of yours.

• Cara mia ; this he’d use when he was feeling particularly romantic, when you looked particularly nice, or even sometimes in more intimate moments.

— “Cara mia, I love you.” He’d say as he held you by the waist before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

— “Oh, cara mia, you feel so good riding me like that.”

• Beautiful ; he’d use this often, simply because you are beautiful.

— “Come, beautiful, come sit down.”

— “There she is! My beautiful girl.”

• Doll ; doll he wouldn’t use a lot, but occasionally when you looked really nice or just as a replacement for ‘babe’

— “Hey, doll, you look nice.”

• Gorgeous ; again he’d use this simply because it is what he thinks you are- gorgeous.

— “Goodnight, gorgeous, I love you, sweet dreams.”

— “Shh, gorgeous, you’re okay, I’m here.”

Some nicknames you’d have for him (without examples):

• Racer

• Racey

• Blue

• Handsome

• Lover boy

• Babe

• Love

[loving-jack-kelly]

personally. and this might just be me. but personally. i think that Jack and Race could both have saved enough to move on if they wanted. i think you see it in the things they have: how Jack always has art supplies just a little bit nicer than he'd be able to steal with worrying about being caught. how Race lets himself take pride in his appearance, his vest matching his pants and his pocket square always net and clean.

i think the real thing that stops them from going anywhere is loyalty and trust and the bond that comes with growing up like this. there are always older kids who can spare a nickel for dinner when a little kid has a bad day selling. there are always older kids around to patch up a skinned knee and the torn pants that come with it. there are always older kids around to promise that things will getter better, get easier, turn into something they can handle. Jack and Race both relied on those older kids when they were little, and they know there are little kids who are relying on them. and it's barely even a question, you know?

sure, they could save that quarter for themselves, or they could quietly pay Kloppmann with it to make sure everyone gets inside when it's supposed to snow. they could put those last few pennies away, or they could buy enough food to split with the kids who had a bad day. they could be saving to chase their dreams, or they could go to the doctor and get something for the ten-year-old who hasn't been able to stop coughing for two months and still needs to be out in the cold selling if he wants to survive.

and i think. personally. both Jack and Race talk a big game about it all, love to be blowhards and braggarts and act like one day, just you see, we'll leave all of you behind and find something better. but really. honestly. they and everyone know that there's something to these relationships that makes leaving a lot harder than saving money. so instead they show it in their little ways. Race is a smooth-talking gambler who could win a hand of poker against a politician and talk somebody into spending their last penny on yesterday's news, but he's also been one of these kids since he was young and scrawny and fighting to survive. how could he abandon them when they never abandoned him? and Jack is a charmer who knows just how to push the right buttons, just how to flirt and just how to make up a convincing headline, but he's been one of these kids since he lost everything and didn't know how to keep his head above water. how could he let them down when they're the only people who have never, ever let him down?

and that's why, personally. I think Jack and Race are still here because they care, not because they have to be.

[clevereverest]

@newsiesficchallenges An incorrect quotes post for Day 4 of the current event week!!

I’ve done it for Finch and Redfinch, so I wanted to post for my other favorite ship today! I know it’s not inspirational, but I do think it’s cute and fits Sprace quite well :)

Race: Do you like me?

Spot: Yes.

Race: Really? (*pouts*)

Spot: You really think I would keep up with all of your bullshit if I didn’t love you?

Race, blushing: Oh my god, you just said you loved me.

Spot: We’ve been dating for three years.

[meteor-moon]

k so we've heard of jesse tuck as crutchie but what about jesse tuck as racetrack?

i know why we did the whole jesse/crutchie thing, so here there's no connection but i think they're very similar. they look similar (in my mind at least), they have very similar personalities, they're in the same age range, and jesse doesn't have to fake a limp (unless you go with one of my favourite routes where the water wears off). don't get me wrong, i love the crutchie is jesse au, but i also think this one's kinda neat

[collecting-stories]

November 29 - Racetrack Higgins

Request: can I request a little racetrack or finch x fem!reader where she has press night for a broadway show they’re in (your choice!) and he is just admiring her, maybe with a little 62 and 80 from prompt list?

A/N: I decided to set this in 1899 instead of doing an AU so I changed the zipper line because zippers weren't used on clothing until 1925. The play is Ben Hur, which premiered on Broadway on November 29 1899 and was a massive success at the time.

Broadway Masterlist

✰✰✰✰

You didn’t want to admit it but you were terribly nervous. Katharine was there in the bustle of people and press who had the privilege of attending the show that evenings, a rather exclusive who’s who of New York City elite, and you felt out of place, even in your new dress. It was nicer than anything you’d ever worn before, the sort of thing meant to impress wealth and prestige and yet, it felt like it was suffocating you. 

As your co-star answered questions about the play you stood beside him, listening but hardly able to pay attention. While Katherine’s presence was reassuring, it didn’t quite provide the calm feeling that you were looking for. What you really wanted, as silly as it may have sounded to these people, was to be back at the boarding house with everyone. With nobody to impress, or at least with people who didn’t need you all dolled up in fancy clothes that felt like they were suffocating you, flashy red shoes and rogue on your cheeks. You just wanted to be back sitting on the rooftop with Racetrack, trying to stay cool in the summer and listening to all the sounds that threatened to keep you awake. 

Katherine called your name softly as she came up beside you, offering the sort of well-mannered greeting (a polite kiss to your left cheek and a reassuring hand on your wrist) that belonged in upper society circles. “Seems you have an admirer.” She teased and you finally looked away from all the stuffy jackets and skirts in the room. 

“What?”

“Look,” she instructed, nodding her head back so that you looked just beyond her shoulder. Standing there near the exit, in nicer clothes than you knew him to own, was Racetrack. Jack was standing with him, grinning at all the people hobnobbing their way about the lobby. Racetrack was looking right at you though, nothing seemed able to distract him as he stood there, grin on his face, watching you receiving praise from all the wealthy theatre goers of New York City. 

When he realized that Katherine had told you he was there, he waved and mouthed a silent ‘hello’ to him. You held your hand up just enough that he could tell you were waving back and then you pointed off to the side, nodding your head in the same direction just in case Racetrack didn’t get the message to meet you at the side door. He nodded. 

“You think anyone would mind if I sneak off?” You chanced asking Katherine, “just for a moment?” 

“I’ll cover for you, promise.” She replied. 

You snuck off as quietly as possible, weaving through the crowd and then slipping through the double doors into the theatre. You walked the empty aisle down to the stage, through the back and to the side door where Racetrack stood, already inside.

“You were supposed to wait for me to let you in.”

“Picked the lock,” he shrugged, smiling at you. There was a deep blush across his freckled cheeks as he stared at you, “you look beautiful, prettier than those Gibson girls.”

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face as you moved closer to him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. You and Racetrack had been friends for as long as you had been living on the street and you had liked him just as long. You’d wasted money on dances before, gone along with friends who were looking for a more secure future than a newsie had the means to offer, but nothing had ever stuck. You loved Race and you knew you did and whether it was the way he was looking at you or the fact that all your nerves had been calmed at the sight of him or even just the knowledge that it was your name on the marquee outside tonight, you wanted to make sure that he knew how much you loved him. 

“Wow,” Racetrack looked a little dumbstruck when you pulled away, a dopey smile on his face, “thanks.”

“Thanks?” You nearly laughed, “...your welcome?”

“No I didn’t mean...I just meant...aw hell,” he shook his head before leaning forward initiating another kiss. 

You had a marquee with your name on it and hundreds of guests crowding into the theatre to see you but all that felt like second best to the feeling of kissing Racetrack. You felt like there were butterflies in your stomach as you leaned back against the dressing table that had been set up in the tiny closet of a room you’d been given backstage. Outside the closed door you could hear footsteps and voices, people bustling around now that the preshow cocktail hour was over. Soon you’d be expected, ready and in costume, to go onstage. 

“Racetrack,” you pushed gently at his chest, “Racetrack, I have to get ready.” 

He nodded his head in understanding, though he didn't look ready to let go of you just yet, "I know," he lamented. And then, leaning in again, "I know I've kissed you like ten times but just another ten please?"

Before you could protest, a knock on your door let you know that you were expected out on the side stage, ready for your entrance. "I have to go," you insisted, pulling away. This time he let you though you didn't get too far, turning your back to him and looking over your shoulder, "can you help me do up this dress? Since you've somehow managed to undo it." 

Racetrack smiled, holding up his hands and wiggling his fingers, "nimble fingers," he replied. He did up your dress though, the brightest smile on his face the entire time. "Beautiful."

You could feel your face warm at his compliment. Racetrack always knew how to give your butterflies in your stomach. "Wait until I'm gone," you asked, checking your makeup in the mirror behind him, "I don't need anyone thinking I'm a charity girl."

"That'll be comical...after tonight you'll be the one giving me gifts for favors." Race teased, laughing when you swatted at him, "you think they got a name for that? A bloke who gets gifts from his girl, instead a the other way 'round?"

"I'll see you after the show," you promised, opening the door just enough that you could sneak out of your dressing room and blowing him a kiss that he caught and pressed to his heart.      

[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.

[possoms-are-cool123]

I would just like to say

That is def canon

:)

Look at Ben [Race] and Sky's [Albert], the little handshake and that whole ordeal :)

[I got this from a video about Newsies Live]

[newsiesimagines]

Newsies Imagines #48

[sl-newsie]

Mwahaha! Spooky season is upon us! Be prepared for some spooky Halloween specials! This is my 1st year writing Halloween fics so any requests are appreciated!

🎃👻💀🕸️🕷️😈🔮🍂🍁

I can write for:

Newsies

Descendants

Avengers and Spider-Man

Criminal Minds (Dr. Reid)

West Side Story

Message me for any other fandoms you might want fics for. Happy hauntings everyone! 🎃

[emmedoesntdomath]

Okay so I’ve seen the Delanceys

What about

My fave redhead hothead

Albert DaSilva🥰

albertttttttttt

so in uksies and livesies (maybeeee 92sies? I don’t know, I don’t really remember any specific moment), albert can be identified as the guy who’s just as loud as race, but who’s not race (yes, this was how I first picked him out while watching livesies a couple years ago, you can yell at me). and this makes sense, right? they’re best friends, both have a lot of swagger and cockiness to go around. but, as I’ve said previously, I’m a big fan of the one-sided ralbert and redfinch. so here’s my theory:

race and albert are best friends, for sure, but it’s very clear that race can and will be best friends with everyone who wants to be. and albert? well, albert is a jealous, hotheaded little shit (affectionate), and has never been the biggest fan of this. his solution? be as loud as possible so that race’s attention never leaves him. and- in his kind-of defense- it works sometimes.

but eventually, after a couple years, race moves on from just being friends with everyone to having his heart set on a specific someone (hint: it’s not albert). enter stage left, spot conlon, king of brooklyn. suddenly, race doesn’t care about how loud albert is, or his jokes, or his muscles. no, he wants to go to sheepshead more and more to maybe see the one person who could literally destroy him (and, subsequently, manhattan). and this? this? this destroys albert.

this leads into redfinch (after a lot of work on finch’s part, because albert fell in love with his best friend who didn’t love him back, and that shit hurt), and- don’t get me wrong- albert LOVES finch, and would never, ever want to leave him. their love is a lot more mature, a lot healthier than previous. but race was his first love, and well. habits are as habits always have been. so if you ever see a small, half-sad smile on his face after he throws an arm around race’s shoulders, or yells something back just as loud, there’s your reason why.

[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.

[toecheesitz]

ok — i’m looking for another fanfic.

I’m looking for a specific fic but if you have any Racetrack x reader Newsies fics from 2018-2019 pls share them and i’ll love you forever.

Ok — so the fic was y/n was having a panic attack or smthing and Jack comes in to help them but it’s not working. So he’s like “someone get Race” and Race drops what he’s doing and runs in to help the reader.

Please and thank you <3