#reader x race higgins

[youaintnothinbuta]

racetrack x reader where the reader is jack’s or crutchie’s sister (bio or adopted, whatever you want) and they’re disgusted by seeing race and the reader? love ur work! ❤️

We ain’t doing nothing wrong - racetrack higgins x reader

Summary: see request

Pairing: racetrack higgins x fem!reader

Word count: 300

Warnings: fluff. One line insinuating a sexual relationship. Probably typos you know meee <3

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You were sat in Race’s lap, with the all the rest of the boys hanging around in the alley, everyone bantering as usual. You squealed as Race peppered your cheek and neck with kisses.

“Ain’t you two embarrassed?” Jack groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. “This is a public space, you know.”

Race looked unapologetic as he continued to lavish you with affection. “What of?” He asked.

Jack wrinkled his nose, unable to contain his disapproval. “You guys don't have to make out every time you're within ten feet of each other.”

Your smile faltered as you turned to your brother. “Jack, you know we're just playing. Stop being such an asshole.”

Race couldn't help but chuckle. “Yeah, Jack, you gotta lighten up.”

Jack sighed, clearly irritated. “Well, it's just not proper, that's all.”

Race rolled his eyes, exchanging a look with you. “Not proper? We're Newsies, Jack. We ain't exactly nobility.”

Before Jack could retort, you spoke up, your voice stern. “Jack, you're my brother, and I love you, but you gotta get over this. We ain’t doing nothing wrong.”

Jack's expression softened as he met your gaze. He loved you, and was just worried about you, and honestly, didn’t like the idea of you growing up and being an adult. And also was slightly disgusted at the idea that one of his best mates and you were doing god knows what behind closed doors.

Jack sighed once more, but this time it was one of resignation. “Alright, alright. I'll try to be less 'ew' about it.”

You smiled, “thank you, Jacky.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He replied.

Race leant into you, resting his chin on your shoulder as the conversations between everyone else picked up again.

[amoreva]

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

HOPELESSLY IN LOVE

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pairing: racetrack higgins x fem!reader

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

warnings: n/a

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spot is going to be worried.”

“Ritz—”

“I think we have medicine somewhere.”

“Ritz, hang on—“

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

“I don’t have—”

“Spot ain’t letting you sell tomorrow.”

“Ritz!”

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

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

“A boy.” Hotshot spoke up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Race? Race!” Ritz confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

Stray decided to do something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” You croaked.

“I—uh…got word, ya like me.”

“Mhm.”

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

“Now?” You asked incredulously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart skipped a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We don’t gotta kiss.” Race assured.

“But I want too.”

“…”

“…”

“Can I kiss ya then?”

“Please.”

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

“Was that…okay?” Race pulled away.

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

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

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

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

“A date then.” Race smirked.

“A date.” You confirmed.

“Great.”

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[heliads]

All in the Words

Based on this request: "race and some of the newsies are hanging out with yn and yn is acting all tough. They keep trying to make her drop that attitude by making jokes, and race flirts with her as a joke. Yn gets all nervous and blushy so he just keeps going thinking its adorable until yn fires back and he kinda dies"

me when i flirt with someone and they instantly perish

masterlist

Dawn comes and goes, and you are not there to see it. Normally, this would fill you with more than a small amount of fear– miss your morning schedule, and you’ll be hours behind when it comes to selling newspapers. Newsies live in the daylight hours, shouting slogans and catchy headlines as long as there are still people out on the street who can see enough to hand you coins. It does make it difficult to get up so early each morning, but it’s not like you have a ton of options otherwise.

Yet when you open your eyes this morning and see not sunrise but a well established day, you feel not a bit displeased with yourself. After all, why should you? Today, as it turns out, all newsies across the city will have a day off. The newspapers don’t like printing on holidays, so you can get off scot free for the whole set of twenty-four hours. Nothing says special like that.

For newsies, days off are a bit of a mixed bag. There is, of course, the immediate response to hearing that you won’t have to get up at dawn and spend too many hours out on the streets hawking papes. That would explain the shrieks and calls of glee from some of the younger newsies. Older ones, too. The second Jack Kelly heard about the holiday, he muttered something about having to talk to someone and hurried off in the direction of the New York Sun. You have a feeling he’s tracking down a particularly pretty journalist.

It’s great to think that you won’t have to work. However, you aren’t a newsie for the thrill of it. Not working means you don’t get paid, and that’s far less fun than one would care to imagine. That’s why you’ve been carefully saving your pennies for weeks now, just trying to make sure you’ll have enough to cover today’s costs before your job comes back the next day. It’s a life spread thin, to be sure, but it’s what you’ve got, and you don’t intend to waste it.

Still, sleeping in is pretty nice indeed. You allow yourself one last moment of leisure before dragging yourself out of bed. Most kids in the Manhattan Lodging House have partaken in the same delights– more than half of them are still sleeping peacefully in their bunks. You do your best to get ready as quietly as you can, and shut the door silently behind you.

By the time noon rolls around, the rest of your friends are up and at ‘em. Most of you are choosing to either kick back and relax in the Lodging House or go look for trouble somewhere else in the city. You heard Spot popped in once to check on a deal with Jack, but other than that, there are no threats in sight.

None to your physical health, at least. Threats to your peace and quiet still exist. You’ve barely sat down on your favorite threadbare armchair in a corner of the main room (the title being won by a good few rounds of fisticuffs, all solidly settled in your favor) before your name is being tossed around by some of the newsies nearby. You have a feeling that they’re trying to be discreet, but their whispers sound more like shouts when you’re indoors instead of yelling to be heard in the streets of Manhattan.

Four boys are causing trouble today, as it appears. Race, Jojo, Albert, and Romeo. All of the newsies are good friends– you have to be, at any rate, or you’ll lose your head with the godawful conditions of being outside all day– but these four are no exception. They’re the closest of anyone here, exceptions being Jack and Crutchie.

Today it seems they’ll be proving their camaraderie by trying to get a rise out of you. This isn’t anything special. You have a bit of a reputation for being stone cold, but can they blame you? Girls have to fight twice as hard to stay alive in this city, so what if you’re more here to keep yourself afloat than make friends? You’re nice when you have to be, but you keep your distance when you want it. Just because you’re not flirting all the time doesn’t mean you hate the rest of them.

The ‘Hattan boys know you don’t hate them, but that doesn’t stop the four newsies nearest you from trying to win you over anyway in the only method they know best:  being annoying and turning everything into a joke. Romeo tries his luck first, shooting his shot with a tip of his cap and a wink. You arch one derisive brow, which is all it takes for him to give up and head back to his friends.

Albert is next. He starts off strong with a story about a dream he’d had last night about pretty girls going out with him, but you cut him off thoughtfully with a recollection of a dream you’d had recently where all boys left you alone under pain of death. Struck out, he gestures for Jojo to take over.

Jojo’s attempts at flattery are so awful that you give up on trying to entertain yourself by watching them fail. You reach over for a paperback Katherine had left behind on her last visit to the Manhattan Lodging House. The book serves the dual purpose of letting you ignore the laughter of the boys and also hiding your face for the last of their attempts.

See, you can ignore Albert or Romeo any day. They’re just friends, just coworkers. You’ll never see them in any sort of romantic light. The problem comes with Race. Race is charming. Race is cute. Race is the only one who has ever been able to get through the strongest of your walls. It doesn’t matter if he’s just doing it as a joke, if Race flirts with you in the slightest, you will be affected by it.

Best to make sure he can’t tell, then, so you prop up the book in front of your face and pray he can’t see the slight smile that makes its way across your lips when Race tries his hand at flirting. It wasn’t even a good pickup line. Still, it worked, and that is absolutely devastating to your reputation.

The worst part is that he knows it, too. Even though you do your best to act as if you’re absolutely fine, you can tell by the triumphant tilt of his head that he knows it. Y/N’s got a weakness at last, and it’s Race. Of course it is.

The other boys don’t seem to have caught on, though, they’re just laughing raucously amongst themselves about the usual. Albert calls something out to Race about wanting to go take a tour of the shop next door, but Race doesn’t even look back, gesturing for them to go on without him without turning even once.

“You should go with them,” you say as indifferently as you can.

“Why?” Race asks, cocking his head to the side, “I’ve got a far prettier sight in front of me right now.”

You roll your eyes, but even you can feel the slight heat pricking your cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”

“Apparently not,” Race muses, “or you wouldn’t be smiling at me.”

You do your best to hide the offensive expression away, but your best attempts at staying serious just make your smile more stubborn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” he says happily, “it’s not just because of me, is it? I bet Y/N L/N would never be susceptible to something like a boy.”

“Not even to a cute boy?” You ask, eyes wide with pretend surprise.

This, of all things, makes Race stutter over his words. You didn’t think it would be possible for Race to get nervous over someone flirting with him, but apparently you were wrong, because he’s all but shaking in his boots right now.

“That’s sweet of you,” he manages to eke out.

You grin. The tables have turned. “Funny,” you say, “I didn’t think Race Higgins would ever be susceptible to something like a girl.”

“I love it when you pay attention to me,” Race retorts, but it carries far less of the easy confidence he’d had earlier. In fact, Race looks like he can’t believe his eyes.

“I’m sure you do,” you muse, “Shame it doesn’t happen more often. If I knew you were going to react like this, maybe I would have started flirting back earlier.”

“I think you should keep doing it anyway,” Race whispers.

You laugh. “Only if you flirt back.”

“Oh, always, sweetheart, you know that,” Race says.

It’s easy to smile after that. Maybe Race has been flirting with you for a while, but maybe he’s meant what he said all along, too. It’s good that you’ll have plenty of time to figure him out, then. Yes, plenty of time indeed.

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

[sl-newsie]

Teach Me To Love Hate You (Race x Fem Jet OC, enemies to lovers)

Here I am to request again! (*insert evil laugh*) So Race is doing so bad in school that he has to get a tutor. The problem is he gets stuck with this posh Jet girl and they absolutely hate each other. Tutoring is a mess. But one night when Race goes out to play cards against the Jets he’s playing against her, but she’s all dressed up! Turns out she’s a card shark, and wins by flirting with her opponent to get in their head. Her strategy works, and by the end of the night they're practically dating.

Davey’s POV

“Another F, Mr. Higgins.”

Our math teacher, Mr. Johnson, hands the man sitting in front of me his test. No surprise that Race failed considering he spends all his time goofing off. I’ll admit since I’ve met Jack and his gang I myself have relaxed a bit but not too much to have my perfect grades drop.

“Very impressive, Mr. Jacobs.”

I’m handed my own test, which I passed with flying colors. The bell rings and signals for us to head home.

“Go ahead, Davey,” Race groans. “Rub your perfect score in my face. I hate school!”

I gather my things and sling my bag over my shoulder. “I know book smarts aren’t your thing. Um, have you maybe considered being tutored?”

Race huffs and pulls out his cigar to stick in his mouth. “No way! I’ll keep my own perfect score of failing before I team up with one-a those bookworms-”

“Well that’s too bad, Mr. Higgins.” Mr Johnson approaches us. “Your failing grades have led the school to force me to assign you a tutor. You are to stay after school every weekday until 5. You will continue this until your grades improve.” The teacher gestures to the door. “Your tutor is waiting for you in room 215.”

I can’t believe it. Neither can Race.

“Are you serious? God, outta all things…”

The flustered student gets up and struts out of the room, causing me to rush after him.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad? It’s only-”

“Dave, of course it’s gonna be bad! I’ll barely miss the card tournaments at 6!” We reach the end of the hall where room 215 is. “I’m gonna be locked up with some ugly stiff trying to teach the unteachable-!”

“You must be Anthony Higgins,” a woman’s voice speaks as the classroom door opens.

Race rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s- Holy Jesus!”

Amanda’s POV

This is what I get? This is what I get for keeping good grades? Being forced to tutor someone? Mrs. Smith informed me this morning that I’ve been assigned to tutor someone all because I’m one of the top students. I don’t even go to Manhattan High! I’m only here for the math class! Sadly West Side High doesn’t have any higher up math classes, so I have to commute to ‘Hattan. 

I take a deep breath as I wait in the empty classroom. Just get through it one day at a time. The sooner you help him improve the sooner this headache will be over. The sound of approaching chatter alerts me to the door. Putting on a perky face, I walk over and open it. Outside I recognize Davey from math club, and the other must be the student I’m supposed to meet.

“You must be Anthony Higgins.” 

The man in question rolls his eyes and turns to me. “Yeah, that’s- Holy Jesus!” His jaw drops and I swear he’s having a stroke.

Davey waves a hand in front of him. “Um, Race? You ok?”

The blonde boy nods slowly, still gaping at me. I feel my patience slipping. Ugh. I am not staying after school to be ogled!

I grip the man’s shirt and drag him inside. “Thanks for dropping him off, David. I’ve got my work cut out. See you tomorrow!”

“Bye, Amanda!” The kind Jacobs man waves and shuts the door.

Race is still quiet. I steer him to a chair and push him down to sit. “Listen up, Higgins. We both don’t wanna be here. So let me make this perfectly clear: pay attention and smarten up!”

Higgins shakes himself awake and gets a lopsided grin. “Well hello, doll. Y’know friends call me Race-”

“I’m not your friend. I’m your tutor.”

My firm tone turns Race’s grin to a scowl. “Don’t remind me. I don’t think I’ve met you. I’dve remembered your lovely attitude.”

I stiffly take out some worksheets and slap them on the desk. “You’ve got some nerve, Higgins. I’m from West Side High.”

He snickers. “Ah, one-a Lorton’s gals. That’s where the attitude comes from!”

I roll my eyes. “Riff’s just a good friend. That also means that you shouldn’t try anything, understand? Just do these worksheets and we can be done for today. My whole life doesn’t revolve around school, and unlike you I actually have plans that don’t involve goofing off.”

“Well,” Race says cockily. “Since neither of us wanna suffer through this, whaddya say you lets me go early?”

That little-! That’s it. No more playing nice. I stiffly walk over to the door and lock it. It’s against school policy but I don’t care at this point. This cheeky moron is not gonna pin me for some softie!

“Hey! Why’d you-?”

I steer Race back into his seat with a firm hold. “Worksheets. Now! Before I really give you something to stress over!”

He’s shaken but still tries to keep confident. “Like what? The heartthrob you’s give’n me?”

“Like a black eye, dumbass! Now get to work!”

Race’s POV

God must have a sense-a humor ‘cause that tutor session felt like it took fifty years! It don’t help that my tutor is a stuck-up goody-goody. Jeez, for a moment I thought she was cute. I didn’t even get her name.

“Ey, Racer. Ya with us?” Jack asks.

“Um- Yeah. Just think’n,” I mudda as we enter the Jets’ hideout. 

“You? Thinking?” Albert laughs. “Never thought I’d see the day! What’s got you so worked up?”

“He has to be tutored now,” Davey explains from behind.

I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks Davey! Why not announce my failure to the whole woild, why dontcha?”

“Don’t feel too bad, Race,” Crutchy tries to comfort me. “It took me a while to understand math too.”

“What I don’t get is how are ya so bad at math when ya count cards like a madman?” Spot grunts. “You’s bedda not get us kicked out.”

This week’s card tournament is be’n held in the West Side. I ain’t too noivous ‘cause Riff’s always too busy boast’n ‘bout his new construction job to play the game. That and Baby John’s poker face ain’t worth dirt. I can see through him like glass. So far the turn up looks pretty bland. Maybe folks is get’n tired-a losing? Where’s the competition?

“Evening gents,” Riff greets us as we gather ‘round the table. “We’s just wait’n on a few more players, then we’ll start.”

“Is Bernardo coming?” Davey asks.

The Jet leader smirks. “Wouldn't you wanna know, Mouth? Expecting Liliana to show?”

David blushes and looks away. Sure, he gets a pretty goil tonight. Of all people I expected Davey Jacobs to be the last guy to find a date.

“What about Mouthpiece?” I ask. “Can’t a guy see his own brodda?”

Riff shakes his head. “Bernardo called to say he can’t make it either. Only Baby John and Amanda are left to show.”

“Besides, one Higgins is enough to handle,” Jack groans. “We don’t need the matching pair.”

I’d hoid of Baby John before but the odda name ain’t familiar. With my luck it’ll be some ditzy dame who don’t know a spade from a shovel-

“Well well, hello again, mister Higgins.”

Amanda’s POV

“Are you kidding me?” I gape as I peer through the window. 

“What’s wrong?” Baby John asks from behind.

“Race is here, that’s what! That ding-dong plays cards here?”

“Actually he ain’t no ding-dong,” Baby John points out. “Race is one-a the best players in New York.”

I snort. “If he’s so smart, why do I gotta be forced to teach him basic algebra?” Perhaps that’s a question no one can answer. “Don’t matter. He’ll bend either way.”

“Gonna lay on the shark charm?” John questions with an arched brow.

“Ya bet.” I don’t always play by the rules. My secret is that after school I play tournaments as a card shark by flirting with players. Some frown at it but I’m proud of my acting skills. Plus any little money I can make goes towards helping my parents.

Baby John goes ahead and sits next to Riff at the table while I stand behind Race. 

“Well well, hello again, mister Higgins.”

The man’s head jerks up and he spins around to look at me with surprised eyes. It’s as if he can’t decide that I’m real. He looks between me and Riff with a stunned expression.

“Amanda, I see you know Race,” the Jet assumes.

My lips press into a firm line. “Yeah. Through tutoring. Now since we’s not at school can we actually have fun and play some cards?”

The oddas just shrug and begin to assemble the deck, while Race looks at me like he just won the lottery.

“Amanda, is it? Golly, I’ve never pinned you for a card gal!”

“There’s many things you’d be surprised by,” I say in a sultry voice. My suave charm automatically draws Race in and I see him starting to lose his senses. 

“Th- That’s some getup you’ve got on, sweetheart,” he mumbles.

His compliment is refreshing. Usually guys just eat my appearance right up with no thought-a be’n nice. Tonight’s outfit is a polka dot cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline paired with simple red heels. I may be a card shark but I still got my dignity.

“Thank you,” I say whole-heartedly, but then regain my attitude. “I was starting to think ya couldn’t use that mouth for anything odda than back-sassing. Ready to lose?”

Race stares for a second then turns back to start gathering his delt hand. I decide to sit next to him for a better shot of distracting him. If I can get the oh-so-great Racetrack Higgins to falter at cards then I’ll have really set a record. Tonight’s game is Hearts and fortunately my hand is halfway decent. Lotta high cards plus the queen-a spades. Just enough to turn the tables and give everyone 26 points.

“You’ve been taking a lotta hearts,” Race says after a while, then says in a lower tone: “Wanna bet that you’d steal mine as well?”

Ha! He’s trying to play a card shark at her own game! This is too funny.

I pull on my best flirting smile and bat my eyelashes. “You tell me, handsome.”

That did it. Race’s face goes beet red and he goes back to staring at his cards. A few more hands go by and I continue to keep the lead. Luckily the oddas are too consumed by conversation to notice, all except Race. But for good measure to keep him distracted I slide my leg over to brush against his. This gets him shaking and all but hot and bothered. It’s working, but then why does a part-a me feel guilty? It ain’t a question that Race is a jerk sometimes but he’s still kinda handsome- No. I have a job to do. There's no holding back.

“Last hand. Who’s got the queen?” Davey asks as we all turn in our final card.

My smirk outshines all their oblivious faces. “I do!”

Jack chuckles. “You lose, Amanda.”

“Actually…” I fan out all the hearts I’ve collected. “I win!”

Everyone takes a double-take and groans. Another victory!

“Alright, you know the rules,” Riff grunts. “Pay up.”

The guys grudgingly take out their contribution and toss it onto the table. Maybe now I can afford to buy mom some good kitchen knives.

“Good job, Amanda.” Leave it to Crutchy to be the pro at sportsmanship. “You’re almost better than Race!”

“He’s right,” Spot agrees. “Hear that, Higgins? Ya got competition!”

The man in question has a stern look on his face. Instead-a answering he abruptly gets up and sulks down the hall to the bathroom. Sore loser. Can’t he take one defeat without holding a grudge? 

“We’s gonna head back,” Jack calls. “Send Race over once he’s done.”

The ‘Hattan fellas make their way out, leaving me with Spot ‘nd the Jets. Soon enough they too walk out and leave me alone to count up my winnings. After a few moments I hear footsteps and turn to see Race fuming with what looks like anger.

“You got spunk, sweetheart,” he remarks slyly. “Not many dames can get into my head the way you do.” All of a sudden he struts forward and leans me back to lay against the table. “Almost makes me wanna soak ya for that, but then that’d be wasting that pretty face-a yours.”

How is he so strong? Also why are his eyes suddenly quite catching-? Ugh! Get a grip, Amanda! Just take the money and go.

“You’re lucky Riff ain’t here right now,” I growl. “Oddawise you’d be talking through a mouth with no teeth for saying that.”

Race scoffs. “You batted your eyes at me, sweetheart. What’s your angle?”

“It’s part of the game! Jeez Higgins, you’re so used to card tournaments I thought you’d already know what a card shark is!”

“So instead of being one-a Bernardo’s sharks, you’re an actual shark?” Race dramatically clutches his chest. “That hurts. That hurts deep, sweetheart.”

I hiss in frustration. “Stop calling me that!”

“Why? ‘Cause every odda bum ya flirt with calls you that? Just how many guys have ya swindled to give you cash?”

In a fleeting moment of anger I slap Race across the face. “I ain’t your usual lady of the night, Higgins! For your information, every cent I earn through card games goes to my folks! Unlike you I use my skills to help people instead of boasting ‘bout it like a spoiled brat!”

Race blanks for a second but is still angry. “Boasting? I ain’t the one boasting, sweetheart. I’ll admit my skills is good but it’s Jack ‘nd the oddas that boast ‘bout it!”

“Then why do you suck at math?” I jab. 

“Maybe it’s the same reason why a clean-cut goil like you is a card shark,” Race replies. “I gots bedda things to do.”

“That don’t mean ya should throw your education in the trash!” I argue.

“I ain’t as smart as you, sweetheart. I know when to admit I’m no good.” 

Race suddenly gets a saddened look and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel bad. It ain’t his fault he’s not book smart but that don’t mean he’s useless.

“You still don’t get it, Higgins. Life’s more than just academics. But you still gotta put up with the tough stuff.” I loosen up a little and put a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re willing to cooperate, I could still tutor ya.”

Race laughs. “Ha! That’s a good one, sweetheart. Going soft on me?”

That son of a-! “Alright, fine! Go and fail math for all I care!” I lean forward and shove him against the wall. “To think I actually felt sorry for you, you snarky, hot, cocky-!”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Race’s face lights up. “Lay that on me again?”

“I was an idiot to think you’re a decent human being-! Ah!”

The blue-eyed man tilts over and plants a kiss on my lips. In my shocked state I don’t know whether to pound him or kiss him back. The gesture melts away my anger in pure ecstasy. God, what’s this guy doing to me?!

“You think I’m hot, sweetheart?” Race gets a cheeky smile. “Can’t say I ain’t flattered. You’s a scrumptious catch too.”

My face twitches as I try to form a rebuttal. “I- I… I-!”

“Well, whaddya know! I got the card shark speechless!” Race softly places his own hand on my shoulder. “I say we’d make a great pair, hm? Before we kill each odda, whaddya say to a milkshake at Doc’s?”

He’s got me hook, line, and sinker. As a card shark I’m not supposed to fall for anyone I play- where did I go wrong? Race is a pain! Yet still kinda cute… Ugh! Why does luv gotta be so complicated?!

“I- I ain’t good with luv, Race,” I mutter. “The only hearts I’ve been dealt with are cards. I ain’t a normal date.”

No matter how hard I wanna look away, Race’s eyes still capture me in a helpless trance. I’ve been disassembled from a cunning card shark into a pathetic mess. All I can do is stare as the man runs a hand softly across my cheek and looks down at me with kind eyes; a completely opposite demeanor than 10 minutes ago.

“I don’t want a normal date, Amanda. A normal date picks at my habits and says I gots a gambling problem.” Race bumps his nose on mine. “You wouldn’t say that, wouldya?”

My breath hitches. “No, you- you’re amazing at cards. Anybody who says oddawise is a joker.”

Now Race’s face is mere inches from mine. “Still up for a date?”

A sassy grin spreads on my lips. “Think ya can handle me, Higgins? I am still your tutor, after all.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just lemme kiss you, ya mouthy tutor.”

And I do. Over and over and over, Race kisses up and down. All talk-a math and school drips away and I give in to this new-found feeling. 

“Never thought I’d fall for a bookworm,” Race mumbles between kisses.

I lightly smack his shoulder. “Remember this ‘bookworm’ just schooled you in Hearts, Higgins. You lost, remember?”

Race chuckles. “Yeah. Lost my own heart to you too, sweetheart.”

Tonight really was a successful game after all.

[lovingmusicalmen]

Racetrack Higgins with "You look adorable when you smile" ?

Guys... I love Race - I also lowkey wanna turn this into a full one shot... lmk if you guys would wanna read that!

Still accepting blurb requests!

Fluff 15 - "You look adorable when you smile"

Mouse was... an enigma, to say the least.

When she had first arrived at the lodging house, bruises decorating her skin, she hadn't said a word to anyone for several weeks.

Hence the nickname.

Despite this, many of the newsies had taken a shine to her. Specs had immediately adopted her as a selling partner, Albert would drag her to the edge of the lodging house and she would listen to him ramble about who-knows-what when his brain was going to quick, Crutchie would ask her to help him on days where his leg acted up and Jack would invite her to join him at Meddas for company as he painted.

She was a newsie. There was no doubt about it.

But Race had never heard her laugh. Even in the more recent days where she had begun to talk to him, quiet, shy words, bashful jokes and whispered reassurances that made Race's heart ache, he had ever seen her so much as crack a smile.

There was a sadness in her eyes that Race recognised from the mirror. From the faces of the other newsies, his other friends. Only, for Mouse, it never left her.

Lately, though, Race had been making it his personal mission to change that. He would go out of his way to spend time with her - he forgone his pack of cigars to instead pay for some extra food to give to her, he lent her his newsboy cap and had been spending days trying to convince her to leave Specs to join him in Sheepshead selling for a day.

And at nights, when he would hear quiet sniffles from her bunk, which was situated beside his, he would join her. He'd wrap his arms as tightly around her as he could and rock her gently, whispering quiet stories of the antics he and his friends had gotten up to before she had joined the lodging house.

And Mouse would cling onto him, as though he was the only thing anchoring her in that moment. And Race's chest would burn with the need to tell her he loved her.

"You're staring," Mouse said in a low, quiet voice. Race just grinned at her, tugging off his hat and placing it onto her head, and readjusting his grip on his bag of newspapers.

Mouse rolled her eyes, but Race saw the gleam of amusement in them.

"Can hardly blame me for that, pretty girl," Race teased, and he placed a hand on her elbow to steer her carefully out of the way of the oncoming crowds. He was used to the rush of people on his walk over to Brooklyn, but the same could not be said for his selling partner for the day.

"Y/N," Mouse said after a moment. Her voice barely audible.

"What?" Race asked, frowning a little, dropping his hand down to link their fingers together. He told himself it was to stop them from getting separated in the swarms of businessmen, but the flutter in his chest when she squeezed his hand in response begged to differ.

"My name - it's Y/N," she clarified, her voice no louder than before. Race stopped, pulling her over to the edge of the street, raising his eyebrows at her. "You told me yours," she whispered, looking suddenly shy at the mention of the previous night, where they had been up late, and Race had whispered his own given name to her.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl," Race said. He paused before adding: "Y/N."

For the first time, Race saw the girl's lips turn up a little at the corners. Her eyes crinkled at the edges and she bit her lip, reaching up to readjust Race's cap so it no longer covered her eyes.

"You look adorable when you smile," Race told her, not really thinking through his words before he said them. But then Y/N was meeting his eyes again, and he knew it was worth the mild embarrassment of his slip of the tongue to see her smile break properly across her face.

"Thank you," she whispered. Race ducked down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Come on, Mouse - we've got papes to sell."

[chaotic-starlight24]

It'd be a little slice of life thing, no main plot really, maybe, we'll see

Edit: Sorry, meant delancey

[auspicious-manner]

hi! i love your stories, can you write a race x fem!reader where race and a couple of other newsies run from angry customers, hiding in a theater, and the performer completely entrances racetrack, dudes lovestruck?

i delayed posting this until today because IT’S BEN COOK’S BIRTHDAY YAY!!!

i love that boy with all my heart. he’ll forever be my racetrack. enjoy this race story in honor of ben’s 25th bday :))

female reader x race

warnings: none

Natural Talent

•

it was just an average day of paper selling for the group of newsies. the temperature was right, the sun was shining, and the air smelled like money. jack, race, albert, jojo, and finch could all feel it that day.

oddly enough, they all kind of liked days where the headline was boring. they could make up their own exciting headline to sell to the masses, and they could create their own storylines. race liked to contribute to the creativity of making a storyline, not necessarily coming up with his own dramatic headline. as a desperate newsie, that was a skill that he should have been born with.

as the day was coming to a close, it was time to amp up the selling tactics even more in order to get through every paper.

“papers, get ya papes here!” race yelled to the roaming citizens of new york city. not a single new yorker batted an eye or looked in his direction. race’s shoulders fell, his eyes turning into a sad puppy dog look. why couldn’t he make up a good headline?

jack rolled his eyes and scoffed, snatching the paper from race’s hand. “sing ‘em to sleep why don’t ya. this is how you do it, racer.”

jack stepped forward, and coughed to clear his throat. “homeless shelter set ablaze by angry city goers, biggest story of the year! you heard it here first, folks, get ‘em while they’re hot!” he yelled. a small line formed in front of him, and he took the coins graciously and handed them to race.

“how’re you so good at doing that, jack?” race asked, dumbfounded by jack’s natural ability to sell.

“he’s jack kelly, that’s how,” jojo said next to race.

“well i know that, i can see him.”

“it takes years of practice,” jack started after getting through the line of paper customers. “you’ll get better sooner or later. but for your sake, you better hope its sooner.”

albert stood next to the boys. “i’ve sold all my papes for today, i’m gonna head back to the lodging house. see you all soon,” he said, beginning to walk away.

“hey, this newspaper says nothin’ about a fire! what are you boys on about?” an old man yelled, waving his paper in the air furiously.

“he’s right! is this how you steal money from innocent women like me?” a lady said, coming up behind the man. they had rallied together a small crowd of angry newspaper customer, and the newsboys froze.

jack turned to albert, who had began walking away. the rest of the boys carefully shifted their glances towards jack for guidance.

the angry mob began approaching them, and the newsies slowly backed away.

“newsies… make a run for it!” jack screamed, taking off in the other direction. the boys all followed, and the angry mob took off in their direction.

jack took hold of albert’s arm as he was running, taking him along with the boys.

“man, i’se just wanted to get back to the lodgin’ house! why do i have to be apart of this?” albert whined to jack as his legs continued to run.

they ran far, hoping to lose the crowd of men behind them. jack led the boys through the alleys and back streets of new york, but it was no use.

jack turned to race, who was closest to him. “we need to split up. racer, take the boys to medda’s theater. the crowd wants me, so i’ll lead them away and meet you there. okay?” he whispered, barely out of breath and not breaking a sweat. race looked at him in awe.

“yeah… no problem,” race heaved, picking up his pace to lead the boys as jack swerved around another corner.

why’d he have to leave this up to me? race thought. do i look like leader material?

he whipped around to see the boys behind him, and that was it. the crowd had followed jack, and all race could hope for was that they didn’t catch up to jack.

the group approached the back door of medda’s theater, and they quickly ran inside and shut the door behind them. they had found themselves in the wings of the bright stage.

“where’d jack go?” finch asked in between breaths. the group leaned against the door, looking out into the theater ahead of them. it looked like a show was just about to start.

race lowered his voice. “jack was going to lead the crowd away. he wanted me to take you all here.”

jojo frowned. “jack put you in charge? for what reason?”

race shrugged, unsure of the answer himself. “beats me.”

“you boys gettin’ into trouble again?” a lady’s voice called out, causing the boys to snap their heads around. it was medda with a knowing smile on her face.

“hi miss medda,” albert said, still regaining his breath.

“where’s jack?” she asked, suddenly getting worried.

“he’ll be back here soon, he was leadin’ away the angry mob followin’ us,” race said maybe a bit too nonchalantly.

medda rolled her eyes. “i don’t even want to know what mob was following you kids this time. while you’re here, you better stick around for the show. i think it outta be something you boys would like,” she said with a grin. she winked before heading onstage as the curtain rolled up, revealing the audience.

the boys took a seat backstage mere inches away from being visible to the audience. race’s eye caught a girl on the other side of the wings, who glanced shyly away when she noticed he was staring. he wondered who it was.

“now, folks, prepare to be wowed by this next act. at only sixteen years of age, her talent is beyond what anyone would expect out of her tiny frame. she’s new to my theater, but i hope you all will give her a warm welcome. introducing the fabulous Y/N L/N!”

the crowd cheered, and the lights went down as medda ran off stage and the girl in the wings slowly walked out to the microphone. she had a certain poise and way of carrying herself that kept race entranced.

the lights lit the room up again, and race carefully watched the girl onstage. he came to the conclusion that this was the girl he had made eye contact with just moments before.

the music began, and it was a song he didn’t recognize. he watched as the girl gently swung side to side, her long velvet dress and her long, straight hair swaying with her. Y/N settled herself back to the center of the microphone, and she began to sing.

race noticed that her voice wasn’t very operatic, which he enjoyed. it was warmer, and had different nuances and layers that was new and refreshing to his ears. Y/N carried herself elegantly, and race could tell that she trusted her instincts while singing. she was very beautiful to look at, and even more beautiful to listen to.

to race, it looked like she wasn’t even nervous, and she didn’t have to think too hard about what she was doing. she was a natural.

race was so focused on this mysterious girl that he didn’t even notice jack had arrived and was sitting behind him. he placed a hand on race’s shoulder, and he turned his head around.

“i think i lost ‘em,” jack started. “who’s that?” he asked, pointing to the stage.

“her name is Y/N. she’s a new performer at medda’s, and she’s absolutely stunning.”

jack laughed at race’s comment, but he was cut off by medda.

“will you boys just relax and watch the show?”

“sorry miss medda,” jack whispered, scooting away from race.

race’s eyes fixated on the girl singing once again. if he were in a cartoon, he’d have hearts in his eyes. the world around him seemed to fade, and it felt like the only ones in the room were him and Y/N. is this what love at first sight feels like?

race made sure to soak in every word she sang, for he didn’t know the next time he’d be able to see her perform.

when her last note rang out, the noise happily lingered in race’s ear. the room went silent before an eruption of applause began. he slowly clapped, still coming down from his high.

Y/N walked off stage towards the boys, and race’s heart rate quickened. she immediately went to medda’s side without giving the boys a glance.

“she was somethin’, wasn’t she?” jojo asked rhetorically.

“her voice was beautiful,” albert started. he looked over at race, who was still lost in his own world. a smirk appeared on his face. “how ‘bout you, race? what’d you think of the show?”

race didn’t reply.

“racer!” jack yelled as loud as he could without being disruptive. race blinked and sat up before turning around.

“what? what did you say?” race asked quickly.

finch laughed. “did you like the show? seems like you grew a little attached to that girl.”

race looked over to the girl who was still speaking with medda.

“yeah, i liked it. i liked it a lot,” he replied back sheepishly, still staring at Y/N.

the boys looked between themselves, all thinking the same thing.

“race, i can’t keep watchin’ you admire this girl from a distance. go on and talk to her,” jack said, standing up and reaching his hand down for race to take.

race looked up, wide eyed. he took it and reluctantly stood up. “i don’t know if i can.”

jack smiled. “sure you can!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arm around race’s shoulder and guiding him to medda and Y/N. race was mortified.

the pair stood by the girls, and Y/N turned her head to look at them. she gave them a small smile, before medda began to introduce the boys to her.

“Y/N, this is jack and racetrack,” medda said, pointing to them. jack waved, and race kept his eyes focused on the girl.

“i’ll leave you kids be, i need to greet the audience. my work never stops,” medda said while laughing, walking out of the wings to go walk around the theater.

jack and race looked back at Y/N, who was beginning to look a little awkward.

“you sounded great out there, kid. i’ll leave you and racer by yourselves, he’s the one that wanted to talk to you. see ya later!” jack exclaimed before patting race’s back and walking away.

race stood in front of the girl of his dreams appalled at jack for leaving him alone. he’s never had experience with girls, how was he supposed to handle a conversation with one as gorgeous and as talented as her?

her waiting and compelling eyes stayed locked on race, and he turned his head to meet her gaze.

“i-i’m race,” he asked nervously.

she playfully smiled. race took note of the way her nose crinkled a bit when she grinned.

“i’ve heard,” she started. “i’m Y/N. i’ve never heard a name quite like racetrack.”

he sighed. “it’s just a nickname.”

there was an awkward silence.

“you were amazing out there. i’ve never heard a voice so beautiful in my life,” he said, filling the void.

she turned red. “gosh, you’re too kind,” she said shyly, looking down. “before i went on, i believe you were the one i saw from across the stage, right?”

race was shocked that she even remembered a small detail like that. “yes, that was me. i didn’t think you’d ever take notice of me.”

she shrugged and stepped a bit closer. “why not?”

race’s heart rate picked up, and he looked down at the girl. “you quickly looked away when i saw you. but not only that, i’m a newsboy, you’re a talented singer, i didn’t think it’d ever work.”

“i’m sorry about that, i was just nervous,” Y/N began. “maybe you need to rethink us working, race,” she whispered. the backstage lights caught her eyes just right, and they sparkled with a newfound feeling of intrigue.

race stared down at her, unsure of what to do next. “you’re really pretty,” he said, breathless.

she blushed again. “you’re cute.”

now it was race’s turn to get all red. his moment of bliss was interrupted by the guys coming up behind him.

“excuse us, miss,” albert said behind race. “we need to take our boy away for a few minutes. it’s newsboy stuff.”

the boys dragged him away, and he looked behind him to see Y/N confused. race closed his eyes, feeling defeated.

“what was that for? i was getting somewhere with Y/N!” race exclaimed.

“we just wanted to ask you how things were goin’ over there,” jack asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“it’s none of your business. i’m gonna go back over there, and you guys aren’t going to interrupt me ‘till i’m done. you hear?”

“…so it is goin’ good?” jojo said. race rolled his eyes and left the group of boys.

“sorry about that, they’re a little distractin’ sometimes,” race said, coming back to the girl.

“it’s quite alright. where were we?”

race thought about it for a few moments. “i’m not sure.”

Y/N laughed. “that’s okay, i forgot too.”

“how’d you get into singin’? you could be makin’ it big with a voice like that,” race said, sparking up conversation. he liked flattering Y/N, because every time he did she would smile like she didn’t already know she was amazing.

“as a little girl, i would sing whenever i felt any kind of emotion. my mother loved it. then, when my parents died, i was living on the streets. i used singing as an escape.”

Y/N looked down. race’s expression softened at the sight of her.

“i sang to make money. then, miss medda discovered me and took me in. she gave me lessons, and a place to earn money. and thats how this all started.”

race raised his eyebrows. “i’m sorry to hear about your parents. i lost mine a while ago too.”

Y/N sighed. “it’s alright, i-”

she was interrupted by medda telling her there were important people in the audience that wanted to meet her.

race felt his stomach drop. “i don’t want this to be the last time i see you,” race said sadly.

Y/N bit her lip. “it won’t be. stop by tomorrow night for another show. we can talk some more then.”

race nodded. “i will. i sell papes a few blocks down, you can stop by there durin’ the day if you want.”

she nodded. “i just might have to.” she stepped closer and stood on her toes to place a gentle kiss on race’s cheek. “goodbye race.”

race felt like melting right then and there. his heart felt like it grew. “goodbye Y/N.”

[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.

[lunarfleur]

Nice Nap, Sweets? ~ Racetrack Higgins

Tagging: @ilovejoekeeryy @sluggmuffin @whyareyouhere66 @juneberrie

Warnings: mention of smoking

Summary: there was never too much to do after you sell all your papes, but napping is always an option. If you’re lucky, you’ll get the best thing to possibly wake up to.

Prompt: “sorry for waking you, baby. Go back to sleep.” “We could…take a nap together?”

This is x gender neutral reader!

The sun poured in from behind the curtains. For once, the lodging house was quiet. Everyone was gone, it was just you.

You woke to a shift in weight at the end of your bed. You peeked out from behind your arm, a soft hum leaving your lips at you sat up. Racetrack chuckled quietly, the safe smell of cigars filling the area around you.

“Sorry,” he snorted, “I’s didn’t mean to wake you, baby. Go back to sleep.”

You shook your head sleepily, your arms stretching above your head. The comfortable pull at your lips and the satisfying pop of your tendons made you groan.

“Have a nice nap, sweets?” He asked gently.

“Yeah,” you replied, crawling over to him. Almost without thinking, he pulled you in close, pressing his lips against your temples.

“Did ya sell all your papes?” You asked. Race hummed excitedly.

“Yeah, we all was runnin’ through ‘em like crazy today.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, enjoying the way his arm wrapped around you. His fingers found a loose lock of hair and he tugged at it gently. You leaned into him even more.

“Why was you sleepin, anyway?” He asked quietly. You shrugged.

“I was just bored.” He hummed knowingly at this. Not having much money really limited the amount of things there were to do during your free time. It wasn’t uncommon for Newsies to come back to the Lodging House after selling to take a cat nap.

“Well, what’s you wanna do?” He mumbled, resting his chin on top of your head.

“We could…take a nap together?”

You waited for Race to answer, seeing the way he stared at you. His lips pursed and his eyes lowered. You earned a shrug.

“Eh, I could use a nap.”

It didn’t take long for you two to get comfortable. Race laid down and pulled you with him. You ended up almost entirely on top of him, your head resting on his chest. He preferred it this way.

Cuddling with Race was always a delightful experience. He kissed your head, nimble fingers tracing patters across your skin. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell with every breath. You could hear his heart beating steady in his chest. Once you closed your eyes, all you could feel, hear, and smell was him. It was nice that way.

“I love you,” you mumble into him. He let out a cocky, breathy laugh.

“I love ya too, sweetness.”

[sluggmuffin]

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 - maybe a little finch x reader or race x reader with when the other holds onto their waist briefly as they're passing by and it just send chills down their spine or one leaning their head onto the other's shoulder suddenly and they just freeze.

yoooo happy birthday btw from your newsie requester ❤️❤️

Horses Ain't the Only Things Racing ~ Race Higgins

Summary: It's been a long day for the both of you, but a simple gesture can fix that

Contains: fluff, x gn!reader

A/N: lmao it's late and this is so bad I'm sorry

"one leaning their head onto the other's shoulder suddenly and they just freeze."

~~~

It was already 7pm. The sun was setting and you still have around half of your papers left, and there was hardly anyone at the racetracks.

You plop down on a bench, placing your bag next to you and wiping the sweat off your forehead. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 , 11... 11 more papers.

You accepted defeat, putting your hat back on getting ready to leave as your selling partner, Race, sits next to you.

"Tough day too, huh?" He observes, motioning to your bag. "Only sold 13, still got 7 left."

"7 ain't bad, I still got 11." You reply, wishing you had sold more.

"Don't blame ya' self, headline was bad anyway." He says with a huff. "Which horse you think is gonna win?"

"Probably the Appaloosa, it ain't the fastest but it'll catch up, it's got good stamina from what I've noticed."

"The brown thoroughbred looks fast. I'd say it'll be close." You give a small hum, acknowledging that you're still listening, but close your eyes as you lay your head on his shoulder.

He tenses up, not sure what to do, and his breathing hitches, realizing his heart is racing, he rests his head on top of yours, bringing his arm around you.

"Tired?" He asks, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Very" you whisper.

"Alright well get some rest I'll wake you when it's time to go." He replies, drawing shapes on your arm. "And don't worry about the papers, 'm sure Jack 'll buy em off us to draw on."

'Man,' he thinks to himself, 'I guess horses ain't the only things racing.'

[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

[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

[amoreva]

SPIDERS AND THREAD

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

pairing: racetrack higgins x reader

summary: race has been flaking on dates more and more. you think he’s cheating until he shows up bloody, bruises and in a hero costume, one evening.

warnings: blood, cursing, description of stitching

a/n: ending is a little meh and i couldn’t think of a title. i’ll try to revise it later.

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

Race is rushing to your table from the restaurant, tugging on his jacket in a hurry. Your head titled in slight confusion.

“Race…?”

Race snapped his head towards you. The apology written all over his face masking the urgency. “My uh…mom called.” Race explained hurriedly. “She—fell down the stairs and I gotta go to—”

He’s been doing this often, but you shouldn’t throw out accusations. Just be a supportive girlfriend. “Hey, hey—I get it. Make sure she’s okay.” You spoke sympathetically. Your hand on his arm rubbing it comfortingly.

Race gave you a weary smile. He hates leaving you early on dates especially when you look so pretty in your outfit. He felt terribly guilty. You got dolled up for him and he had to go…

“I love you.” Race kissed you quickly and ran out of the restaurant.

Does he though?

You’re sitting at your desk, mindlessly moving the swivel chair side to side. Thoughts running through your head. The events of the day replaying itself out. You were supposed to be studying for your test, but…you can’t help but think about the date.

It’s not the first time Race ended a date early because something important came up. The first time it happened was because Albert was throwing up a lot. Then it was Jack needed him ASAP for a project and so on.

You’ve seen this happen to one of your friends; literally watched the events unfold before you. Your friend’s girlfriend kept canceling dates or leaving earlier because of something that came up. Turns out the girl was hooking up with some other guy behind your friend’s back.

Race wouldn’t do that, right? The sweet, charming guy that brings you little trinkets that remind him of you? No way in hell would Race cheat.

You scoffed just thinking about Race hooking up with another person. So, you rationalized these thoughts, it was late and you were thinking about this too much, overthinking it. Your mind is just making up stuff to keep you awake to study for your exam next week. That’s right.

Suddenly, a quiet creaking from your window grabbed your attention. Your curtains had been closed since you’ve got home from the spoiled date. You grab the nearest blunt object to throw. The dark figure on the other side of the window, slid it open.

A soft groan escaped the figure. It never occurred to you it could be your roommate. Your sleep-deprived, adrenaline filled brain screamed at you, “Robber, thief, murderer, stranger danger—!”

So, you threw your blunt object as soon as you caught sight of a head. A small yelp escaped your lips. You prayed to whoever you wouldn’t die tonight. You haven’t even finished re-watching Superstore yet.

The figure tumbled into your apartment, catching the object without even looking. “Get out, get out, get out!” You shouted and threw one of your textbooks at the person like they were a bug on the walls.

The figure caught it again and quickly put their free hand up. “Hey, hey! I’m not going to hurt ya’!” The figure stated quickly as they saw you holding a second book. “Please, stop throwing things.” You shrunk behind the book you held like a scared child.

“Who—?” You asked nervously. Intricate details of webs on the costume. Red and blue colors. A spider sewn onto the chest. It is a dead give-away. One of their hands was pressed against his abdomen. Blood oozing out, soiling their costume. Holy fuck. Why was Spiderman in your room? How did he even get here? Did he just stumble upon your apartment? Oh god, and he is hurt.

“What—?” Before you can even ask a question, Spiderman tugged off his mask. Soft blonde curls damp with sweat. Blue eyes filled with exhaustion and affliction. A sheepish smile on his lips.

“Suprise.” Race said dryly.

He thought it’d be better for you to know now instead of later and…he doesn’t think he can catch another book.

“Oh my god—Race!” You launch out of your desk chair to the blonde. Panic running through your veins, your hands cupping his face like he’s fragile. Then it clicks, you realize it isn’t anyone’s blood and wounds, it is Race’s. Race is hurt—how can he just…how?

Your boyfriend. The man who can’t stand spiders, especially daddy long legs, is Spiderman. Spiderman. The fucking vigilante swinging around New York. Is this why he ends dates early? Because he is Spiderman?

You don’t want to believe it, but Race is right here in front of you. Your blue-eyed lover subconsciously leaned into your warm touch. “M’okay.” Race mumbled and kissed the palm of your hand. The comfort of your touch distracting him from the pain. “Just…need your help patching up.”

You went into overdrive. The information you learned was overwhelming. How long has he been doing this? How bad are his injuries? Will he be okay? There are so many risks to this. Spiderman? How can he do what he does?

Your hands were too afraid to touch his upper body as you looked over him. “God…oh—how did..? You’re bleeding a lot…and you look so tired and….how bad is—? I don’t know what to do—! Fuck…you’re bleeding a lot. That wound is huge and—”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Race grabbed your attention from your stupor with the nickname. “Calm down. I’ll walk you through everything. Can you help me to the bathroom?”

Your eyes soften, but his words don’t reassure you. “Mhm.” You pressed your lips together, the worry evident in your eyes as you helped Race to the bathroom. He leaned against the counter.

The first aid kit is under the sink. Race is peeling off the top half of his suit. A wince escaped him as the spandex stuck to his large gash. He ripped it away like a bandaid causing you to cringe. There is dried blood, sweat and dust all over his toned body—which you will not admit you stared at a little too long.

“I would’ve done this myself, but—it hurt to swing any more. I mean, it felt like my body was being torn apart.” He softly said, trying to decrease the situation on why he was here in this getup. A soft blush on his face. It is clear he still felt bad about earlier that evening.

Only a man like Race would blush when he has a gaping wound in his side. “I don’t need your excuses—I just need to help patch you up.” Your eyes hardening after you take a shaky exhale.

Questions and thoughts racing (hah.) your mind. Was this convenient or was this pity for earlier? This is kind of ridiculous—you were dating Spiderman. Race is Spiderman. He could’ve told you—said something so you wouldn’t think the worst of the worst. So you could help him from hurting himself further.

“Okay.” Race nodded slowly. He noticed your snappy comments. He masked the worry and guilt. “Douse a rag in rubbing alcohol and—gently clean my wound, please.”

Race walked you through the steps of how to clean a wound. Your boyfriend had bit into a rolled up hand towel to muffle his agony. Tears brimming his eyes at the stinging. Luckily, the bleeding stopped. It looked slightly less gross than it did before, and it was done quickly.

Your annoyance, anger dissipates for a moment. You look at your boyfriend who removed the hand towel from his mouth. “I—I don’t know how to stitch.”

Race nodded, his head glistening with sweat from the enduring the pain. “You know how to sew though. Just—sew.” He mumbled.

“Race…that—that’s not the same, I can’t just—why don’t we go to an actual hospital? They know better than you or I.” You tried to rationalize.

“Can’t.” Race shook his head, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. “I can’t—my blood work and genetics are fucked—please, sweetheart.”

Race begged softly. It seem the blood loss got to him. “I need you to do it. Please. I trust you. Please.”

You grabbed his hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. “Okay…” You say almost inaudibly. Race brings your hand to his lips, a silent thank you. Just like before, Race has a rag in his mouth. Hand gripping your shoulder. His eyes closed shut as your dominant hand delicately holding a needle. The other was on his side. Race shivered at your touch. “Don’t move to much, okay?”

Race hummed in agreement. You pressed the needle to one end of the wound and punctuate the flesh. Race’s hand gripped your shoulder tightly, muffled sounds of pain escape him. You try to get this done quickly. In and out, through and through.

And pull.

You watch the wound close up together seamlessly. It sealed like a piece of cloth and look up at your tired boyfriend. His head immediately falls on your shoulder. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He whispered and kissed your neck once or twice.

Your eyes soften. You take Race’s face in your hands and bring his head in front of you. Lip quivering now that you finished stitching up your boyfriend. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—”

“Race, you’re Spiderman—and I didn’t know! You made me think—think that…” Your voice is shaky, overwhelmed with a number of emotions. Race is Spiderman—he could die at any point.“you were cheating—what if you didn’t come back from fighting a villain? I don’t want to go to a funeral. I can’t—not when it’s the love of my life.”

“Oh, Y/N…” Race hugged you tightly despite the pain blooming in his side. “I’m not going anywhere, or dying—god, I wouldn’t even think of cheating on you, y’know that?”

A few moments of silence.

“Help me.” He mumbled and put his arm over your shoulder. The two of you exit the bathroom. Race was doing a little bit better than before, but you still had to support his weight. You both sit on the bed, Race taking your hands.

“I wanted to tell you, more than anything in the world, but—” He paused. “But…I couldn’t let you get hurt or worse for knowing about me.”

His voice cracked slightly. “If—if you got killed because of me…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I just—and what if you thought I was a freak. I—I can climb of walls for fucks sake and have a sixth sense—” All of the thoughts that kept him up at night spilling out.

“Race—you’re a superhero, shut up.” You stated bluntly. Sometimes Race just needed to hear things as is. You grabbed some joggers he left here and gave it to him. You were no longer anger or afraid, just tired. So tired.

A soft sight escaped you. “You’re tired, I’m tried—this conversation should be for tomorrow.”

Race’s lips parted slightly to retaliate, but a wave of exhaustion hits him. He changed into the grey joggers and got into your bed. You gravitate towards his body heat and bury your head into the crook of his neck. “My boyfriend is a goddamn superhero.” It sounded more in awe. You leaned up to kiss his lips. Race kissed back with a little more passion than intended. Race and you fall asleep in each others arms, knowing—

—at least for tonight, that everything will be okay.

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

[heliads]

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

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sl-newsie]

Cryophobia (Racetrack Higgins x OC) *Winter Special* ❄️

Summary: Racetrack tries to ask a girl on a date, but seems to regret it when she coaxes him into ice skating. Will a small accident possibly dilate their new love?

“Extra! Extra! Coal inventory down 20 percent!”

“Colder weather expected throughout the week! Get your paper right here!”

I do my best to ignore the huddled newsies, who are currently in my way. It doesn’t help when the younger one looks up at me with wide, pleading eyes, and all but begs for me to buy a paper.

“I’m so sorry! I’d luv to, but I don’t have much spare change.” To make up for what I cannot provide, I give the sad child one of my apples. “It’s not much. I do hope you get better customers.”

I turn to continue on my way, but have now caught the attention of the odda newsie.

“Hey Les, who’s your friend?” He asks. 

The child called Les shakes his head and holds up the apple. “I donno. I tried to sell her a pape but instead she gave me this.”

The questionnaire steps forward, one hand clutching a newsbag and the odda holding a cigar… but it’s not lit. 

“Well hello there, miss.” He removes his hat in a gentlemanly fashion. “And what might a young lady such as yourself be do’n on this crisp evening?”

“Returning from the market. May I inquire who’s asking?”

The man lets out a laugh. “‘Inquire?’ That’s a big word! Ya read much?” He lifts up a newspaper and wiggles his eyebrows. “I could deliver one to you straight away tomorrow.”

His teasing tugs at my heart and I can’t help but smile. “Possibly. But why should I tell you where I live, hm? I don’t even know your name.”

He nods respectfully and tips his hat. “Racetrack Higgins at your service, miss. Friends call me Race.”

I smile politely. “Good to meet you, Race. I’m assuming that’s a nickname?”

“Sure is,” he states proudly. “I’s one-a the best gamblers in ‘Hattan. Now may I ask who you are, beautiful?”

Normally, my parents’ lessons have taught me not to speak so much with strangers. This Race character may be new to me, but he is certainly much better than other men I’ve had to converse with. 

“It’s Emily, Emily Shelby.”

Race’s eyes go wild. “Shelby? As in Father Shelby, the minister? God… Whaddya do’n out this late? Your fadda won’t like that!”

I laugh at his sudden caution. “Believe me, I’m not as uptight as my family. They think I’m supposed to be a simple girl who stays home and will become a housewife, but for now I’ve been enjoying what freedom I have outside.”

This seems to spark an idea in Race, because he suddenly gets very excited.

“Well, if you’s so keen on do’n something fun, how ‘bout I take ya out?”

I must admit, his boldness is intriguing. Already he’s proven to be polite and chivalrous, both redeeming qualities that I respect very much. Besides, I’ve already grown up 20 years and am still being pushed to find a suitor. It’s time I stop putting it off and start courting.

I snicker and give him a nod. “Alright. You claim the date, I name the activity on said date.”

Race’s smug look shows a quick flicker in surprise to my response. “Well alrighty, then! What’d ya have in mind, beautiful?”

I smirk. “Ice skating.”

The man’s eager face falters darkly in a split second to almost reflect a look of pure terror, almost too fast to notice. But he quickly regains himself and shows a confident smile.

“Very well. I assume you know the best spot?”

“Indeed I do, Higgins. There’s a pond not too far outta town.”

“What about me?”

We both turn back to the smaller newsie, who’s starting to shiver. I kneel down and offer him my gloves.

“It’s get’n dark, Les. You should head back and warm up. Tell Davey I’ll be late.” Race looks over at me with a cheesy grin. “Tell him I’ve got a date.”

Les nods eagerly and scurries off.

“So where to?”

I stand up and point to the trail leading north. Race offers an arm, which I take graciously, and we both start walking through the crisp air. Thankfully we’re on the edge of town and the pond is close by, because the air’s already starting to get colder. Race must notice, because he begins to take off his jacket.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs. “It’s cold, figured you’s could warm up more.”

I hold up a hand to stop him and gesture for him to put his coat back on. “That’s really sweet, thank you. But I don’t get cold too easily. You need your coat more than I, Race. I promise this won’t be too long- oh! Here we are!”

For now there’s no falling snow, but that won’t last long. I lead Race to the edge and notice that the ice is untouched, which is strange since I thought more people would’ve been here by now.

“Don’t we need skates?” Race asks as he gives the pond a skeptical look.

“Not necessarily. I’ve never been able to afford skates, so I just slide with my boots on.” I grab a nearby stick and give the ice a stiff poke, discovering that it’s smooth enough. “Good conditions for skating. Very smooth, very sturdy. Just one thing-” I turn to Race and change to a serious tone: “Be careful by the edge and the center. That’s where the ice is the weakest.”

He nods in understanding and still seems cautious of the ice, so I decide to show him by stepping out foist. Race eventually seems convinced and carefully steps out too, already slipping all over the ice.

“Hang on!” I help steady him before he can fall. “One step at a time, Higgins- ah!”

Race lets out a yelp when he slips again, causing him to cling to my chest. The closeness sends my heart beating like a crazed metronome, as well as bringing Race to get a mischievous look on his face.

“Gee, Emily. If you’s was so desperate to get close, all ya gotta do is ask!”

I roll my eyes and help him regain his balance. “Careful, Higgins. Remember I’m the minister’s daughter, and boundaries are very important.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

He tests out the ice again and soon begins gliding around as well, each of us leaving trails all over the snow. By now it’s starting to snow, making it harder to see. Eventually Race gets the hang of it and, before I can comprehend what’s going on, he slides up behind me and spins me around.

“Whoa! Wait- aah!” I giggle and laugh as the brown-eyed newsie twirls me through the billowing snow. No one has ever made me feel this full-hearted, so free-spirited… As if we’re skating in a magic snow globe apart from reality itself.

Race must notice my dazed state because he slows down to try to look at me more carefully through the white, blinding blizzard. He has a strange look too, as if he’s thinking about something serious.

“Emily, I just wanna say that- Oh God!”

We both hear it before we know what’s going on. I feel Race shove me away just as the crack forms, ripping open the ice and swallowing Race into the frigid water. My heart stops, as well as all the happiness I’d just felt, as I scramble over to see what’s become of my new friend.

“Race? Race! Oh my God! Where are you?!” I shriek as I feel around the cold water, hoping to catch him. It appears that God has heard me, because I feel a hand grasp mine and Race resurfaces. He’s coughing and shaking as if he has personally met Death, leading me to react with panic.

“Here, here! Up, up, quick!” I help him crawl up outta the water and carefully lead him back off the pond and onto solid ground, where I immediately start to tear his waterlogged clothes off.

But Race sees this differently.

“Wait- What-? Emily, whaddya doing?” He asks in a confused manner.

“You’s soaked to the bone, and these icy clothes is just gonna make hypothermia even worse!” I explain as I strip him down to his knickers and undershirt, then remove my own cloak to wrap it around him. “Quick! We need to get you someplace warm. Do you have a place to stay?”

“Th- Th- The lodging h-house,” he tries to answer through shiver fits. “‘S- ‘S not t-too far.”

My mind forms out a plan and I sling an arm around him. “Alright, let’s go. Hurry! We’ve gotta be quick if you don’t wanna catch cold.”

“Too late,” Race tries to joke, but this is no laughing matter. He’s pale as snow and his lips are turning blue.

Time drags on, apparently wanting to torment me with worry as we rush back to town. When I ask Race for directions he points to a street leading further into ‘Hattan, and thankfully I am quick to spot a sign that says Newsboys Lodging House. I don’t even bother knocking.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask Race.

“Up-upstairs.”

After I help drag him up what seems like an infinite number of stairs I finally get him to the bathroom and have him sit in a tub, but leave his clothes on to give him privacy.

“We can’t heat you up too fast, so just bear with me.” I start the water with a steady temperature, meanwhile Race is grasping my cloak around him for dear life. After a while he finally starts to get some color back on his face.

“Are you still numb?” I ask hesitantly.

He gets a funny grin on his face and shakes his head. “I can feel my feet again!”

I nod again and again, trying to remember if there’s any treatment I forgot. There doesn’t seem to be, so all I can do now is kneel down next to Race and look at him with guilt and apology. 

“Race, I am so sorry! This is all my fault, and I will replace your clothes. And… I understand if you wanna forget about this-”

“Are ya kidding?” The short newsie finds sensation in his hand to grasp mine and he starts laughing. “Doll, that’s gotta be one-a the most terrifying moments of my life, and I luved it! I mean, all my life I’s been too scared to skate, and here you are look’n all innocent and gorgeous ask’n me to skate with ya! God, Mush is gonna laugh when he hears this!”

But I don’t laugh. All I can do is gawk and stare at his laid-back response.

“Emily? You ok?”

Jaw still on the floor, shake my head. “I just- You… You almost caught hypothermia and you’re just- just laughing about it? How are you so calm?”

Race shrugs. “Gotta laugh sometimes. If you don’t, life gets too sad.” He sits up straighter and his smile grows softer. “I’d never wanna forget you, Emily. Not if it means never having adventures like this again. Besides,” He gives me a teasing wink. “Was really sweet to see how you’s really care ‘bout me.”

I let out a heavy groan and hold my head in my hands. “It’s called adrenaline. Makes people do crazy things.”

“I disagree.” I feel Race trail his thumb across my cheek. “I think it highlights who a person really is, how they really feel. And if I’s right…” I feel him shift in the water and look up to see his face only inches from mine. “Now that I can feel my face again-” He pauses to cup my face in his hands and leans in impossibly closer. “I can feel your soft lips.”

And then he kisses me. Full-out and deep-hearted. He ironically makes me go numb, and sends a million emotions coursing through me. I don’t even hesitate when he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into the tub with him, both of us lost in thought.

Race pulls away foist because I’s too dazed to think, and he looks up at me as if I hung the stars.

“I think I luv you…” he thinks out loud in a dreamy voice.

“My my, whadda we got here?” Anodda voice taunts.

I nearly leap outta my skin and jerk my head around to find anodda newsie standing in the doorway, one with an eyepatch. God, how’s this gonna look? The minister’s daughter caught with a half-naked newsie in a bathtub.

Race don’t seem as fazed by it. Instead he just sighs and gives the intruder a warning glare.

“Blink, you so much as utter a word-a this, and I’ll bust your odda eye.” He says this so lightly, as if simply asking for a glass of water, rather than how harsh it’s supposed to sound. Though the message is just as dominating, because ‘Blink’ holds up his hands in surrender and starts walking back. 

“Enjoy, c'est la vie, have fun. Forget I was even here.”

Race nods. “That’s what I thought. Now, where were we?” He trails kisses down my still-shocked face. “Don’t mind him, he won’t tell.”

I stir myself outta my trance and get a grasp at what’s happening. “Race… My father won’t like this. You gotta keep it secret, please!”

“So there’s no objection from you?” His face light up and he pulls me closer.

I shake my head and rest it on Race’s chest, giving him a playful smirk. “None at all. I kinda like this.”

[lovingmusicalmen]

Awwwww your Race blurb is so cute! Could you do one for Race with the "Do you want me to carry you?" prompt?

I'm gonna be honest... Race is the current loml I actually fucking love writing for him

Still accepting blurb requests!

Fluff 17 - "Do you want me to carry you?"

Race's eyebrows lifted a little at the loud groan Y/N let out as she fell into the seat beside his at Jacobi's. The girl dropped her forehead onto the table, complete with another long-suffering sigh.

Race looked over to the other Newsies who were sat around them, all of them with expressions of equal amusement painted across their features. Race met Blink's eyes and gestured at his girlfriend with a questioning look, only to be met with a shrug from Y/N's selling partner.

"You alright, Doll?"

"No," she huffed dramatically. She rolled her head over so that she was facing him and Race's heart stuttered in his chest upon seeing her little pout.

Even after months of dating, she still had that effect on him. How or why, Race didn't know. But he wasn't going to complain.

He reached out and removed Y/N's hat from her head, and gently took out some of the pins she had been using to keep her hair from her face. Y/N let out a contented sigh when Race's fingers began to brush through the strands.

"Rough selling day?" He asked, lowering his voice slightly. He had a feeling it was just general exhaustion that had his girlfriend feeling low, which all of the Newsies would understand and sympathise with. But on the off chance it was something slightly more serious, Race didn't want to share her private business with their crowd of friends.

"My shoes are breaking," Y/N lamented, sighing again. Race couldn't help but smile a little and Y/N scowled up at him, though Race saw the gleam of amusement in her eyes. "Don't laugh at me!" She whined.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Race said, feeling anything but. "I thought you'd been saving for a new pair of boots anyway?"

"Well, yeah" Y/N admitted grudgingly. "I just didn't want to actually have to buy them, you know? Figured if I asked the nuns to pray for my shoes, they'd just... last forever."

"Immortal boots?"

"Immortal boots," Y/N confirmed sagely, at last cracking a smile.

"Want me to come with you to get some new ones tomorrow after circulation?" Race offered. Y/N's expression softened and she at last moved off of the table to curl into Race's side instead.

"Stop thinking so laterally - I just want to complain about my shitty, breaking boots," Y/N huffed, though there was no malice behind the words, judging by the soft kiss she pressed to the column of his neck.

Race wound his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, chuckling.

"I'm sorry for your loss, doll - I'm sure Al would be up for hosting a funeral for them, if you want? Toss them off the Brooklyn Bridge? You can make a speech about how much they meant to you?"

Y/N snorted a laugh, moving away just enough so that she could tilt his face gently down and press a kiss to his lips.

"Spot'll be thrilled we invaded his turf for my stinky boots."

"Nah - think he'll be as thrilled as any of us to see them go. I can smell your shoes all the way in Sheepshead."

Race was rewarded for his joke with a sharp elbow in the side and an outraged cry from his girlfriend as she pulled away glare playfully at him.

"I hate you, Racetrack," Y/N huffed, emphasising the second part of his nickname in the way she only ever did to tease him. Race shot her a cheeky grin, tugging her back towards her to give her another kiss.

"Come on - I'm tired, let's go take a nap."

"That sounds so good right now," Y/N agreed, all pretence of being upset with him being given up as she melted back into his embrace. Race dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

"And to spare your dying boots any further disrespect, you want me to carry you back to the lodging house?" He offered.

Though, he didn't wait for her response as he just scooped her up into his arms. Y/N let out a shriek, garnering the attention and amusement of their friends again as she wound her arms around Race's neck. The laughs of the Newsie's erupted through the diner and Y/N rolled her eyes, seeming unable to muster up her usual teasing glare as she instead beamed at her boyfriend.

"You're so annoying."

Race shot her a cheesy grin.

"You love me."