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amoreva · 7 months

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SPIDERS AND THREAD

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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.

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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.

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#newsies #uksies #racetrack higgins x reader #race x reader #racetrack x reader #racetrack newsies #race higgins #racetrack higgins #newsies x reader #newsies broadway #newsies fanfic #spiderman au #spiderman

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sl-newsie · 1 year

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

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sunno-needs-to-go-outside · 2 years

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

#not trying to dunk #i like how i said but then immediately dunked #i am how i am #but PLEASE stop doing this #for my sake #and the sake of the people who agree with me #newsies #newsies x reader #92sies #livesies #jack kelly x reader #david jacobs x reader #crutchie morris x reader #racetrack higgins x reader #spot conlon x reader #you can add more tags if you want #those are just the most popular ones i can think of #newsies oc #newsie oc

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delulu-enough-for-you · 11 months

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So I was watching Newsies, and all I could think of was:

Race: I'm the king of New York!

Diner staff: what the fuck-

#newsies #newsies 1992 #newsies broadway #racetrack higgins #mush #jack kelly #jack kelly x reader #newsies imagine

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auspicious-manner · 1 year

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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

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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.”

#ben tyler cook #newsies x reader #newsies imagine #race newsies #racetrack newsies #racetrack higgins #newsies fanfiction #newsies #race x reader

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whyareyouhere66 · 1 year

Note

Racetrack higgins hc??

Yes, of course- thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy! [and thank you for the follow bro <;3]

Racetrack Higgins Headcannons. [Gender Neutral Reader]

Includes both Romantic and Platonic- not as much platonic ones, I apologize for that.

Content Warnings: mentions of smoking

Romantic:

◘ I said this in a previous post to @mysemantics, and I’ll say it again- constant pet names. Probably 3 in one sentence.

◘ When he see’s you, he’ll grin and open his arms wide and with a cigar in his mouth, loudly say something like “hello, angel, my darling, how’re we feeling this fine evening?”

◘ Brags about you every chance he can get, to Jack, to Spot, basically anyone. It’s a common thing amongst the newsies- they like to brag.

◘ Jokes around a lot, but that’s never once stopped him from being affectionate.

◘ He especially likes when he can just pull you into his lap and hold one arm around your waist, the other catching his cigar. Doesn’t matter if you are taller, shorter- he’ll do it anyways.

◘ He’s pretty touchy in a relationship, he’s most comfortable when he can lean on you, lay on you, hug you, etc.

◘ Any alone time you two often get, is closer to night time- perhaps early morning, or just the later afternoon.

◘ You two will be strolling the streets, the sun just barely visible, talking about the most pointless of things for minutes to hours at a time.

◘ It comes to the point where you are walking loops around city blocks, weaving around the maze of buildings and paying more attention to each other and the sky than anything else.

◘ When the group goes down to Medda’s for a show, you will either be in his lap or next to him with his hand somewhere on you.

◘ Sometimes he’ll lean over and whisper, “I think you’d pull that off real nice,” or, “What’d’ya think, Angel? You wanna try that out some time?” And it’ll sound like a joke, in true Racetrack fashion- but he is not entirely kidding.

◘ When it comes to sleeping situations- basing off the earlier points, he loves to have you there to sleep with.

◘ He likes it most when he is behind you, with one arm looped over your waist. Again- doesn’t matter if you are shorter, taller, bigger, smaller- he does not care. As long as you are in his arms he’s fine.

◘ However, that can’t always play out- especially with such small beds, so if you aren’t gonna be sleeping in his bed- he has solutions.

◘ You will be the first thing he sees every morning after he wakes up, and every night before he falls asleep. Before going to bed he will stop by your bunk and say goodnight, good morning, whichever fits the occasion.

◘ I do just wanna touch one more time on what I wrote before- he does not mind if he is the shorter/ smaller or taller/bigger one in the relationship. He does not give one fuck. If he can reach your lips for a kiss, does he really have anything to complain about?

◘ The only time he’s ever really argued about it is when one of the other boys tries to use it to tease him. And even then, it won’t affect how he sees the relationship- it’s just him throwing around insults.

Platonic:

◘ You are the first person he tries to make bets with.

◘ At any given chance, he turns to you and starts there first. If you say no- then he starts taking the opinions of others.

◘ Hangs around you most, when one of you finish selling papers early- you will be spotted together. When eating, at Medda’s, any sort of gambling, you are next to each other. It happens naturally, one minute you’re standing around somewhere and the next you’re standing around somewhere with him.

◘ Really just you two fucking around a lot, joking and making sarcastic jokes. Sometimes, whenever Spot comes around, then you become a trio for the time being.

#Newsies #newsies x reader #92sies #Racetrack higgins #racetrack Higgins x reader #66 recs&replies

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lovingmusicalmen · 1 year

Note

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."

#racetrack x reader #race higgins #racetrack higgins #racetrack newsies #racetrack fanfiction #newsies #newsies fanfiction #newsies fic #newsies x reader

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collecting-stories · 11 months

Text

November 29 - Racetrack Higgins

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

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

Broadway Masterlist

✰✰✰✰

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#collecting stories imagine #racetrack x reader #racetrack imagine #racetrack higgins x reader #newsies imagine #newsies fanfiction #newsies fanfic #newsies oneshot

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miryum · 1 year

Text

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.

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inkblotsandpapertrails · 1 year

Text

Heart of Stone {R.H.} [Pt 8: Epilogue]

Warnings: None (as a little treat!)

Pairing: Racetrack Higgins x Reader

Description: You didn’t agree with your brothers much. You didn’t like how they treated people or handled emotions and etcetera. But you could all agree that the Delancey’s were a proud family. A strong family. You didn’t get close to people, you didn’t show emotion, you didn’t let anyone have power over you, no matter what, because that made you weak. Except for the pretty newsboy with the foghorn voice and smart jokes, apparently.

A/N: didja miiiiiss me!!! wait no stop throwing things wait please oh god i know its been over a year im SORRY im SORRY-

“Would you stop?” You sighed as Race paced past the gates for the seventh time. “You’re making me antsy.”

“He should be back by now.” Race muttered. “He’s been up there way too long – Spot and Davey are already down, so where’s he?”

“He’s the leader, Race.” You said matter-of-factly. “And Pulitzer’s a stubborn ass. It’s going to take some time.”

“But what if-!” Race whirled around, his face panicked and painfully young. He glanced at the other newsies and huddled closer to you, lowering his voice. “What if he leaves? What if Pulitzer offers him even more money and he just – I dunno, sneaks out the backdoor and high-tails it to Santa Fe?”

“Not possible.”

“But how do you know that?”

“Because there’s no backdoor in Pulitzer’s office.” You grinned. Race opened his mouth for a moment, as if you’d actually said something of value, and then stopped. You tried not to laugh as his face twitched, his brain going through a very obvious journey of ‘oh, that was a joke’.

“Why, you-!” Race let out a surprised laugh. “I thought Delancey’s didn’t make jokes, huh?”

You know he didn’t mean to, but the words hold some weight to them – not crushing weight, but just enough for you to notice. Like an arm around your shoulders. You wetted your lips – you knew what he expected you to say. It was your little joke, your thing, but… It just didn’t ring true anymore. You remembered what Race said, back when he kissed you for the first time – ‘I know you became a Delancey for a reason’. It was true, you had – all three of you had. Your parents were gone, you only had each other. Each other, and Delancey Street. You could’ve been washed away on that street, but the three of you held on tight – you found something to make you strong, a force to be reckoned with. You became Delancey’s, and the world became afraid of you.

“Maybe…” You murmured quietly – Race immediately notices the change, peering at you curiously. Just a few weeks ago, you’d’ve hated anyone being able to read you that well. You’d’ve been terrified that someone would see your fear, your weakness. But Race is different. He sees all of you.

You don’t want people to be afraid of you anymore. Least of all Race.

“Maybe I’m not a Delancey, then.”

Race pulled his cigar from his slack jaw.

“I…” He said quietly. “[Y/N]… Look, there ain’t nothing wrong wi’ you-“

“I know.” You smiled. “I know. I could be a Delancey if I wanted. It served me good, y’know? Kept me alive. But I…” You sighed and took his stupid hand, holding it tight between your fingers. “I wanna be more than just alive, y’know?”

Race smiled at you – not his cheeky grin, but a wide, genuine smile, melting across his face. You felt your face beginning to blush, and you had to look away. You just couldn’t take it – he looked at you like you mattered. Like you were everything.

“So…” Race said gently, squeezing your hand between his. “Whatcha gonna be?”

For one stupid second, you’re scared. Because as much as you love him, you don’t want to be a Higgins. And you don’t want him to want you to be one, either – not just yet. You want to be yourself, not for any ulterior motive, but just to be you. To be happy.

Race ran his thumb over your knuckles, and you immediately stopped panicking. This was Race. He’d never held any expectations of you – he’d never had any other goals to being with you. He’d only ever just wanted you to be happy. It scared you at first – the idea of someone just wanting you, not for any particular reason or use you might have to them, but simply for yourself. But truly, it was addicting.

“Maybe a Larkin.” You shrugged. “Maybe a Plumber, if Katherine feels like sharing. Maybe I’ll find a new street and name myself after that.” You spied a red shirt through the crowd and grinned. “Who knows, maybe a Brooklyn.”

“Not a Brooklyn!” Race said quickly, pulling you into his chest and trapping you. “Nuh-uh, absolutely not!”

“I can be a Brooklyn if I want to be!” You laughed against him. He tips his head back and groans – you can feel the vibrations through his chest.

“Fine.” He huffed. You tipped your head up and raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“Eh, I can hop the back of a wagon easy.” Race grinned. “Might take ya to Coney. Or Sheepshead. Proper li’l date.”

You could feel yourself blushing again and hid your face under his chin.

“Shut up.” You mumbled as he laughed.

“Ey, Racer!” A newsie hollered behind the two of you. “Wouldja quit bein’ gross? Where’s Jack?”

“Aw, cool it, Splasher!” Race yelled back, but his goofy smile undercut his tone. “He’ll be here any second.”

Race looked at you and ran his thumb over your knuckles again, slow and steady, as if committing every bump and scar to memory.

“Have a little faith.”

You heard someone pretend to gag, which made Race whirl around and shove someone – just a play shove – and soon enough all the newsies were bickering, until someone pointed to Pulitzer’s balcony and yelled, “It’s Jack!”

A hush fell over Newsie Square. Everyone stared up at Jack, who gazed sombrely over the crowd.

“Newsies of New York City…” He said gravely. You clung to Race’s hand, squeezing tight. You’d hold on to each other. No matter what happened, you’d hold on. Neither of you would be washed away.

“We won!”

The square erupted in cheer – you couldn’t stop the delighted gasp that shot out of you. And before you could even react, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you up high, spinning you around like couples do in moving pictures.

Race laughed like a madman, his eyes shiny with joyful tears. You knew this wouldn’t be the end. You knew there were still loose threads that needed tying. You knew your family hated you, you knew Jack wouldn’t be around forever, you knew Race would have to take up the mantle of leader sooner or later – but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. As Race settled you down on the ground, you grabbed him by his suspenders and pulled. And as he kissed you, kissed you and held you like you were something precious, something worth a damn, you felt your stone heart melt into something soft and shiny.

It'd all be okay.

Have a little faith.

oOo

“Oh, darn it!”

You poked your head out from behind the stage set. It’d been about a month since the strike, and the sweltering city summer was starting to chill into a cool, peaceful autumn. Medda wanted her stage to reflect that, and since she had an extra pair of hands now, you’d been swiftly put to work carving out wooden trees to frame her stage. Jack would be coming soon to paint them pretty autumn colours – he’d already finished the backdrop Medda had commissioned, Central Park in earthy oranges and browns, lit up against a purple sunset.

“Something the matter, Miss Medda?” You asked, setting down your sandpaper. You’d been enjoying the work, so far – all those years in the Refuge, hauling paper stacks and tussling with your brothers had given you some lean Delancey muscle, and you were more than happy to work up a sweat with it. It gave you something to do, and it was nice to make something with your own two hands. And you couldn’t lie, watching Medda fawn over your work, telling you had talent… Well, it made a vain, overachieving piece of your heart sing. It was true, Medda was spoiling you, but, well, as she said, a lifetime of misery’s worth a lifetime of spoiling. You liked that philosophy.

“Oh, it’s nothing, kiddo,” Medda sighed. “I just think I left my script in your room – keep the stage warm for me?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You smiled, shooting to your feet. “I’ll get it.”

“Well, aren’t you a peach!” Medda laughed. “Hop to it, now!”

You saluted her as you jogged out of the auditorium, jumping up the stairs two at a time to your little attic room. You did a little spin as you hit the last step – not quite as elegant as the Bowery Beauties, but you were enjoying your little dances. They were even teaching a few steps, and every time you got one right you couldn’t help but giggle. You swung open the door to your room, almost skipping over the threshold when-

“Evenin’, sweetheart!” Race grinned from where he sat lazily on your bed, propped up on his elbows with his feet crossed at the ankles, without a care in the world. “Care to- Jee-zus-!”

“You jerk!” You laughed as you launched yourself onto the bed in a full-body tackle. Race groaned exaggeratedly, clutching his ribs.

“God, man down! Man down!”

“Grow up.” You snorted. “Where have you been?!”

It’s a rhetorical question – ever since the strike ended and Jack got his new job, Race had been taking his new responsibilities with the utmost seriousness. You’d been worried at first – worried he’d burn himself out and be left a mess all over again – but it seemed like the small bump in his rank was exactly what Race had needed. It wasn’t like last time – all the responsibility hadn’t fallen on his shoulders out of the blue. He was just more active now, more involved, more leaderly. Truthfully, you were proud of him.

“Aw, tesoro, I’m so sorry!” Race crooned playfully. “I been busy!”

“Mm, jerk.” You said, punctuated with a soft punch to his shoulder. “I missed you.”

“Mm, missed you too.” Race hummed back, tilting your chin upward. You smiled, about to lean in when you jolted upright, your shoulder hitting Race in the cheek.

“Oh-!” You yelped as he cried out, clutching his face. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t laugh!” Race said back, though any threat was undercut by his massive grin. “I’m severely injured here!”

“I’m sorry!” You giggled. “I’m sorry, I am, I just – Medda needs her script, and I-“

“Oh my God,” Race groaned. “Y’know, I figured when we got together, you’d stop bein’ oblivious as all hell.”

You paused for a moment, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I – you-?”

Race grinned cheekily.

“Oh, you little-!” You snapped, swatting at his chest. “It’s your own fault you got hit, then! Don’t make me worry about my job next time, and maybe I’ll be happier to see you!”

“Aw, you’s happy to see me anyways.” Race smiled, tugging playfully at your shirt until you settled down beside him.

“Yeah, maybe.” You mumbled into his neck. “You sure Medda won’t mind?”

“Believe me, she’s grateful. ‘Parently you’ve been working yourself to the bone.”

“Have not.” You said petulantly. “I just – I dunno, I like being here. Feels good.”

You could feel Race’s smile against your hair.

“Yeah, feels real good.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart!” Race whined, rolling the two of you so that he was above you. “I’m askin’ nicely, ain’t I?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your darkening face against the pillow to no avail. Race only smiled, cupping your jaw in his hand and swiping a thumb across your cheek. You rolled your eyes and hooked your finger in his collar, tugging him down until you met each other in a gentle kiss. Race hummed delightedly, leaning down until he was pressed flush against you, chest to chest. You ran one hand down his back to his waist, carding another through his soft curls, earning you another content noise from the back of his throat, the vibrations humming through your skin. He broke away, leaving you to giggle breathlessly as he dotted kisses down your jaw to the little sweet-spot just underneath your ear. You sighed, moving your hand from his hair to his shoulder-

And with one firm push, you flipped him onto his back, rolling yourself on top of him.

“You could ask a little nicer.” You smirked as Race stared at you, face slack and eyes blown wide.

“Jee-sus, I ain’t never gonna get used to that.” He laughed, just a bit shakily, and rested his hands on your hips. You rolled your eyes and settled down next to him, tucking your head underneath his chin with a happy little sigh.

“I missed you.” You said again, because you did, and you’re allowed to say it. You can feel your stomach flipping giddily. You’re allowed to say things now. You’re allowed to just be you.

“Missed you, too, tesoro,” Race smiled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You’re gonna ruin me, y’know – I won’t be able to wrestle the fellas without thinkin’ o’ you doin’ that.”

“My heart weeps.”

“Mean.” Race pouted, and you both giggle. “How’s Medda?”

You sighed happily into his neck.

“Kind. Takes care of me. I kinda like it.” Race ran his hand down your back absently – you could feel how pleased he was to hear it. “How’re the newsies?”

“Loud.” He said matter-of-factly, making you laugh. “Li’l shits run me ragged! But, y’know, Jack’s still there, and Davey helps. Reminds me o’ my mom, honestly – looks like an angel, but if you piss ‘im off, God save ya.” He yawned, snuggling you closer to him. “But it’s worth it. I feel… I dunno. Good. Like I’ve actually done somethin’ to be proud of.”

“You have, stupid.” You said, pressing a feather-light kiss to his jaw. “You changed The World.”

Race scoffed a little, nudging his nose against your head like a cat looking for scritches. You carded a hand through his hair and try not to laugh when he melted into it – a cat, indeed.

“Hey, um.” Race said, just a bit awkwardly, catching your hand in his. “Just wanted to let you know – we don’t gotta talk about, but, um…”

You lie there quietly, waiting for him to get the words out. You’re there – he knows you’re there. And you’re not leaving. You nudge your head against his shoulder – I’m here. It’s okay.

“Weasel’s workin’ alone these days.” Race said quietly. “First time it happened, I figured they were sick or somethin’, maybe too scared to show their faces, but, um… Well, happened for the third time today, so I figured I’d ask about it.”

You blinked sleepily, trying to wake yourself up from the comfy Race-bubble you’d slipped into.

“Wait.” You said slowly. “Oscar and Morris…?”

“Quit. Well, Weasel said he fired ‘em, but ain’t no way Weasel sent away his own muscle.”

You grunted – you still didn’t like talking about him.

“Are they…” You nibbled at your lip. “Are they ok?”

Race stroked his hand up and down your back, pushing his nails down gently in the way he knew you liked.

“’Cordin’ to Spot, they’re both down at the docks. Got their own places, too. Think he sent down a group to, y’know, size ‘em up a li’l, but…” Race clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “Well, the way Spot said it, sounds like they ain’t lookin’ to fight no more. Just honest work.”

You pursed your lips. Oscar’s idea of honest work used to be taking money to beat up strikers. It felt too good to be true.

“Why’re you telling me this?”

Race frowned at you.

“Does there gotta be a reason?” He asked. “They’s your folks. Just figured you oughta know.”

You felt tension that you didn’t know was there begin to leave your shoulders. Race made things so simple.

“I don’t…” You sighed against him. “I don’t know what to do with that, Race.”

“Don’t gotta do nothin’.” Race shrugged. “You can talk to ‘em, you can never see ‘em again… You can get Spot to send a gang to roughen ‘em up, if you want. I won’t tell.”

You snickered quietly.

“I don’t think I’ll do that just yet. If they’re turning a new leaf, I will, too.”

Race smiled down at you, and tipped your chin up with his finger, placing a soft, chaste kiss onto your lips.

“What’s that for?” You smiled quizzically. Race rolled his eyes.

“What’d I just say? Don’t gotta be a reason.”

You raised an eyebrow. Race sighed, throwing his head back exaggeratedly.

“Maybe I’m a li’l proud o’ you, is all.” He said, turning his face away almost bashfully. “You… You’s different, y’know? Happier, calmer… I like it.”

You couldn’t even try to fight the wide smile spreading across your face. You tapped his cheek and, just as he turned, pressed a swift kiss to his mouth, like passing a secret.

“I like it, too.” You sighed, snuggling into his shoulder. “Love it, even.”

Race hummed quietly, brushing his fingers through your hair.

“Love you, even.”

You paused, your eyes darting up towards him. He looked nervous, a soft pink blush on his nose, worrying his lip between his teeth. You melted against him, burying your face into his neck.

“Love you, too, even.” You whispered against his skin. “Even if you are an idiot.”

Race rolled his eyes and snuggled against you. The two of you melted sleepily into the mattress, one of you breathing in as the other breathed out, moving in tandem, as if you were joined at the soul. It’d been a long, painful summer – you needed a rest. Distantly in the auditorium below, you could hear Medda’s band practicing their next number. Race grinned, tapping his finger against your back as the music began to play.

“Let me call you ‘sweetheart,’”, he sang softly, the noise rumbling between the two of you. “I'm in love with you. Let me hear you whisper, that you love me too. Keep the love-light glowing, in your eyes so true…”

Softly, you feel yourself drifting into a slow, safe slumber. Safe here, with Race holding you close. Safe and warm and loved.

“Let me call you ‘sweetheart’, I'm in love with you…”

(it's done!! i know it took a while but thank you to everyone who was patient with me while i recovered and stuck around to the end. hope it was worth the long... LONG wait. i also wanna say a little thanks to @misguidedswagger, @faded-autumn-rose and @pittbull-enthusiast - their kind comments and unending support helped me to slowly get my writing mojo back and come back to this series that i love so much :')) thanks yall)

(taglist: @annabethgranger123 @farfromjustordinary @theater-geek76 @wnygirl2012 @fayepummeluff @enbyalbert @alkaia23 @mybeautifulbeautifulmakkari)

#newsies x reader #racetrack higgins x reader #newsies #race x reader #heart of stone #racetrack higgins

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youaintnothinbuta · 7 months

Text

— 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

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amoreva · 5 months

Note

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

HOPELESSLY IN LOVE

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

pairing: racetrack higgins x fem!reader

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

warnings: n/a

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spot is going to be worried.”

“Ritz—”

“I think we have medicine somewhere.”

“Ritz, hang on—“

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

“I don’t have—”

“Spot ain’t letting you sell tomorrow.”

“Ritz!”

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

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

“A boy.” Hotshot spoke up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Race? Race!” Ritz confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

Stray decided to do something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” You croaked.

“I—uh…got word, ya like me.”

“Mhm.”

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

“Now?” You asked incredulously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart skipped a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We don’t gotta kiss.” Race assured.

“But I want too.”

“…”

“Can I kiss ya then?”

“Please.”

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

“Was that…okay?” Race pulled away.

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

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

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

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

“A date then.” Race smirked.

“A date.” You confirmed.

“Great.”

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#newsies #uksies #newsies broadway #newsies x reader #race higgins #race x reader #racetrack higgins #racetrack newsies #racetrack x reader #broadway

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