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thatbookworm08 · 2 years

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Over the Bridge Part 1 (Race Higgins x reader)

a/n: Hi there! Thank you so much for noticing my story! It is completed and has eight parts in total. Enjoy!

Summary: The Queen of Brooklyn never expected to fall so hard for an overly energetic blond Newsie from Manhattan during the Strike...

Over the Bridge Masterlist

It was a cloudy day in the city of Brooklyn. You rolled over in your bunk just before the sun began to rise. Your best friend, Spot Conlon strode into the room and stopped by your bed giving you a light tap on the shoulder saying, “Wake up, Ace. Time ta carry da bannah,”

‘Ace’ was the newsie nickname you acquired for being Spot’s right-hand man–or woman rather–along with ‘The Queen of Brooklyn’.

You sighed. “I’se up,”

You were the only girl newsie in all of Brooklyn, but that didn’t mean you got any less respect. The older boys knew not to mess with you, especially when you were upset, and you had even beat the King of Brooklyn himself in a fight once. As tough as you were, you always made time for the littles.

You and Spot finished selling your papes by midday and decided to hang out by the harbor before lunch. You two were in the middle of a sling-shot competition when three people approached.

“Why, if it ain’t Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,” said Spot.

Jack Kelly? In Brooklyn? Odd.

Kelly jumped into a speech: something about a strike…? In Manhattan? You stopped listening for a moment when your eyes met with the third boy… you recognized his blue eyes and messy blond curls poking out from underneath his cap. His ears turned a little pink when you smiled. He was one of Spot’s friends from Manhattan, but you just couldn’t remember his name.

One of the boys with Jack, a new guy you observed, explained to Spot why Brooklyn should join the strike.

“What is this Jackie Boy?” Spot asked sarcastically, “A walkin’ mouth?”

“A walkin’ mouth with brains,” Jack clarified, “So’s I suggest you listen to what he’s gotta say. Both of you,” he finished, motioning to you.

You listened intently to what the boy Davey had to say, nodding at Spot in agreement.

“And how do we’s know you’se won’t back out the second the bulls come for ya?”

You glanced at your friend. He made a good point.

“We won’t,” said Davey.

“Then you’ll need ta prove it,”

You excused yourself and Spot, grabbing his wrist and pulling him aside. “I think they’s is serious ‘bout this, Spot,” you said.

“I need a bit’s more convincin’ than that,” he said defiantly.

“Spot—”

He strode back over to Jack and said “When you prove it to me, Brooklyn will be right there backin’ you’se up. Now scram,”

Kelly knew better than to linger in Brooklyn when he wasn’t wanted so off he went, Davey and the other boy trailing behind. The blonde boy turned back and gave a slight wave and a shy smile.

Luckily Spot wasn’t looking.

That night you lay awake, thinking about the strike. You had to help. You wanted to help. So you slid out of bed, dressed in your clothes for the next day, and soundlessly slipped out the window and into the warm night air.

The city was finally sleeping and everything was calm. You trekked across the Brooklyn Bridge, ready to make history.

Late into the night, you arrived at the Manhattan Lodging House.

It was too late to knock on the door, it was the middle of the night, after all, so you climbed up the fire escape to the rooftop.

In the darkness, you saw a figure spin around. “Who’s there?” a male’s voice called, “I can see you,”

The voice was unfamiliar. It wasn’t Jack’s, or Davey’s, or anyone you knew.

“It’s me,” you said confidently, stepping into the light.

You had discovered who the voice belonged to: it was the blond boy with curly hair.

“Well, well, well,” he said, smirking, “What’s da Queen of Brooklyn doin’ on ‘Hattan’s toif?”

“I came to help with the strike.” you explained.

The boy raised an eyebrow. “In the middle of the night? Does Spotty know you’re here?”

“He doesn’t,” you said, keeping your composure. Everyone in New York knew to be scared of you. You weren’t about to let this kid think otherwise.

“Ooh. Goin’ against your boyfriend’s wishes yeah?”

“Spot ain’t my boyfriend,” you said. “We’s just friends and that’s all,”

For a moment, a flick of what seemed to be…hope?...sparked in the boy’s face. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “The name’s Race,”

You eyed him skeptically before shaking his hand. “Ace,”

“No, that’s not right,” Race said, shaking his head.

“Excuse me?” I questioned.

“Your name,”

“You tellin’ me I don’t know my own name?”

Race chuckled and shook his head. “It rhymes with mine!”

You studied him. The way his nose scrunched and his eyes closed when he laughed, the way his curls bounced in the cool summer breeze. He was rather attractive, in a boyish manner, and you couldn’t help but notice. “It does!” you smiled.

Race led you to the roof’s edge and leaned on the rail. “Ain’t it amazin’?” he breathed.

“What?” you wondered.

“The city,” he said, “When da woild’s finally quiet…” he inhaled deeply.

“Yeah…” you said, doing the same, “So why are you up so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Race shrugged.

You couldn’t help but ask him why.

He shrugged again. “Runnin’ thoughts,”

You decided not to ask any more. You didn’t want to push his boundaries—you had just met.

Race didn’t think he’d ever see you again. You were from two different boroughs who didn’t like it when people trespassed on their turf.

He was told you were scary, and some part of him believed that, but there he was, standing on a roof with you, and you hadn’t soaked him to the ground. That was a good sign…wasn’t it?

He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard you clear your throat. “Oh sorry,” he muttered.

Now he was done for.

Or so he thought.

Instead of soakin’ him to a pulp, the Queen of Brooklyn just stared out onto the city streets and said, “Are you nervous?…about the strike?”

“Why do it mattah what ise thinks?” He questioned.

“It mattahs what everyone thinks,”

Race thought a moment, searching for the right words. “Do’s youse wants da brave answer or da real answer?”

You stared into his sky-colored eyes and softly said, “Da real answer o’course,”

Race took a deep breath and leaned forward on the railing. “I’se terrified,” he whispered.

You and Race sat in silence for a long beat. You didn’t like touchy conversations and you certainly didn’t know what to say to ease Race’s anxiety. You looked up at the moon and guessed it was about four in the morning. It took two hours to get back to Brooklyn and you needed to be there before Spot awoke, so you said “I should gets goin’, but you tell your boys Brooklyn will be helpin’ wit da strike. Wit or without Spot,”

You turned to leave but Race grabbed your wrist. “Wait—“ you turned to face him, “when will I see youse again?” He asked.

“You…you wanna see me again?”

“Will you meet me up here tomorrow night?”

You thought. Spot wouldn’t notice if you left…he slept like a rock… “Yes,” you agreed.

Race’s face lit up and he dramatically tipped his cap to you and said “Well then my Queen, until tomorrow!”

You laughed at his antics and pretended to curtsy back, even though you were wearing Newsie trousers, before climbing back down the fire escape on your way back home.

Race felt like he won a million bucks. You might not have been as ever-stoic as Spot, but he made the Queen of Brooklyn laugh and she seemed to enjoy his company. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow night.

#racetrack higgins #race higgins #racetrack newsies #newsies #spot conlon #newsies fanfiction #newsies fandom #newsies x reader #racetrack higgins x reader #racetrack higgins/reader #race x reader #x reader #female reader #reader insert #fem reader #jack kelly #newsies broadway #92sies

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whyareyouhere66 · 1 year

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hi! could you please write a mush x fem reader when he's heading home in the evening and he see's her being followed/harassed by some drunk guys so he steps in to protect her and then walks her home after

This is late, I’m so sorry about that I’ve been slacking this past month-

I admittedly haven’t watched Newsies in a while, and forgot how to describe him and when I went to get answers from the internet I got two polar opposite ones. One described him to be a gentle giant, Jack’s “muscle”, and the other described him to be skinny, weak and small. I went with gentle giant cause I remember that one more- also I totally forgot Aaron Lohr was in this bro I fucking love him- anyways

Mush x Fem Reader - Thank You

CW: catcalling, harassment, drinking. She/her pronouns used.

It was late in the evening when Mush finally sold the last of his papers.

The sun was minutes away from setting, and the boy strolled down the street calmly flipping a few coins in his hand, admiring the feel of his hard earned money sliding across his fingers.

His lips puckered as a whistle blew from his mouth, and just a few blocks up ahead he recognized the street where the lodging house was.

A long day of pape’ selling had him all worn out, excited to turn in with the rest of his friends and lay down across his stiff, but familiar old mattress.

The boy had crossed another alley, when out of the corner of his eye he noticed 3 figures.

It wasn’t like there weren’t any other people walking the busy streets of New York, Mush was aware that he was certainly not alone. However the shadows of the figures made his head turn- he recognized one of them.

Across the street Y/n walked, her skirt swish-swashing across her legs with each hurried step she took. She looked nervous, the first thing Mush noticed as he looked at her.

The second thing was the two men behind her- more specifically, the malicious looks plastered across their faces.

They were hunched, almost, hats comfortable on their heads as their hands crept out of their pockets, as if readying to grab at something- someone. They repeatedly tripped over their own feet, stumbling on the sidewalk until catching themselves a few steps later. Each faltered step sent out the same, almost threatening message that they were intoxicated. Anyone could see it, the stumble in their walk or the gross smell reeking off their breath.

Immediately an uneasy feeling settled into Mush’s bones, and he slowly slipped the coins back into his pocket. Y/n glanced behind her shoulder every so often, her pace picking up each time she did.

They’d been behind her for quite a while now, he could tell.

He began to pick up the pace as well, eyes trained onto the men as he walked across from them. For whatever reason, he had yet to cross the street.

But that was quick to change when the first, low whistle slipped from one of the men’s mouth.

“Slow down, pretty lady, we aren’t here for a rush!” He called out, an intoxicated laugh following close behind. His buddy smirked at the back of Y/n’s head, and that was more than enough to push Mush’s feet off the curb, into the pavement of the road.

Y/n was yet to see him, eyes trained on the sidewalk ahead as she hoped, prayed the next few blocks to the lodging house would be short.

“Hmmm, silent treatment…let’s just see how long that’ll keep up-“ the second one growled, voice thick with a New York accent. His hand leaped out, and reached for the fabric of her sleeve, the skin of her arm. Mush couldn’t let his filthy hands infect her.

One last push and he had jumped onto the sidewalk, skidding to a stop between the two clearly drunk men and his girl.

His sudden appearance startled the men, quirking their eyebrows and stuttering to a stop.

Mush was sometimes called the ‘muscle’ of the ‘Hattan newsies- a quality he very much took advantage of. He had broad shoulders and a smile that always lifted his face, lifted his chin. He could be the weakest boy on Earth and still trick a man into seeing strength.

And there, in his spot on the sidewalk, he stood with his shoulders square and his chest puffed so these men too could see the quality of his strength.

The sudden halt of footsteps and whistles made Y/n freeze, throwing another glance over her shoulder- where she suddenly saw Mush’s frame in her way.

“Hate to break it up, guys, but I’m gonna take her on home now-“ he said, lifting his chin up. The men didn’t seem to register his existence for a moment, staring blankly before a low, rumbled laugh erupted from their chests. To them, it felt like a joke.

Why was there a dirty teenage boy standing between them and this beautiful looking girl? A joke, that’s what it was.

But alas, Mush never budged. He heard their ugly laughter and barely flinched, as opposed to the hunched girl behind him. His fists curled together by his side, and he whispered to himself.

“Great, time’s ta’ go.”

The boy didn’t allow himself to turn away from the men fully, instead showing them his side while his other hand moved to Y/n’s back. He led her away from the men, recognizing the street they were on. He saw the buildings around him, recognized the signs plastered on walls- from where they were, the lodging house would be just 3 blocks away.

The tumbling men looked up from their laughing fit, seeing that the ‘dirty teen boy’ had just led Y/n down the street. They’d gotten distracted, their weak and twitching muscles allowing their knees to buckle and pull them further away from the two teenagers.

“Hey- come back!” One of them shouted, finally having realized that him and his friend had fallen behind.

“Oh c’mon, we weren’t finished with ya’ pretty lady!”

The gross calls sent shivers up the h/c girls spine, wanting to crawl into the warmth of Mush’s hand and hide in it like a child would hide under their covers. He only covered a small part of her back, she felt she could only feel safe if the touch could spread and hide her.

Mush hadn’t looked at her just yet, keeping his eyes on the drunk men who were by now a block behind. They tried running to catch up, they tried calling out for Y/n to come join them willingly. But only a minute or two later, they gave up.

And as soon as they had left Mush’s sight, his head snapped to hers.

“Are you alright? Did they touch you?” He asked, changing his stride to match hers. Y/n shook her head, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“No, but-“ she looked at him, “thank you, Mush. Really- I don’t know how I was supposed to get out of there.”

The apology, the sincerity in her voice, was enough to release some of the tension built into his shoulders. He had her with him, he felt her skin under his fingertips and against he palm of his hand.

“Of course, couldn’t just let those drunks get to you.” He smiled, hand having slid down her back just an inch. The words felt almost hesitant in his mouth- he didn’t want to say them. Or, more so, he didn’t want to have to. But he had seen the darkness of their eyes, he had heard their whistles. They were some of the same whistles he sometimes heard in his own circle of friends. And, especially in that moment, they felt dirty.

Y/n ran her thumb over her pointer, pressing the skin against each other as if she was repeatedly cracking it. The need, the want to hide within Mush’s warmth grew so that it almost became and action, her feet shuffling closer to him as they walked.

The streets were scary, at times. She could be walking to the market, to work, anywhere and there would be the risk of men approaching her and eyeing the back of her skirt. Mush’s help back there on that street sent whole waves of relief through her body, and she only hoped to get lucky like that again.

As he walked her the remaining three blocks, his hand clasped hers gently, easing her shoulders to relax the same way his had. Due to their daily routine, he was afraid he couldn’t always be there the way he was then. The thought of it going past what had happened that day grossed him out, he didn’t want to imagine it.

But, there was only so much he could do. So for now, Mush pulled her closer one more time, slinging his arm around her shoulder just as the lodging house came into sight.

“Will you tell me if that kinda stuff happens again?” He asked, looking at Y/n. She hesitantly nodded, pressing further into his side. “I’ll try.” The h/c girl said. Mush nodded, and they came upon the rundown house, filled with newsies, cigars and singing.

His arm reached out to open the door. “And, would ya’ like to try an’ sleep in my bed tonight?” He asked, and a small smile found its way on to Y/n’s face.

“Of course, Mush.”

#Mush x fem reader #Mush newsies #92sies #92sies x reader #66 recs&replies

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winterrrnight · 3 months

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Wedding / honeymoon with Drew for ig au ?

thank you for this request nonnie! I hope you enjoy this 💞💞 do let me know your thoughts if you wanna xx

honeymoon

PAIRING: drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: an instagram blurb about you and drew getting married and going on your honeymoon.

FACE CLAIM: n/a

WARNINGS: n/a

EDITH SPEAKS: I wasn't able to find a good face claim for this one so I decided to use faceless pictures from pinterest. please know none of these are deciding what you look like, they are used purely for imagination purposes :)

I made up all the instagram users, so if by any chance I have your instagram user used here, I'm so sorry I promise it was a total coincidence!

please like, reblog and share your thoughts 🥺 I love to interact with you all <3

navigation || join my taglist || requests

liked by rudeth, brooke_starkey and 3,281,492 others

yourinstagram what a day it was celebrating the start of our new life ❤️ drew, I cannot wait to see what the future has in store for us 🎇

tagged: drewstarkey

drewstarkey 💘💘

drewandynschild HAPPY MARRIAGE!!!! 💗😭

rafecore oh my goddd they're so cute 🥹 wishing only the best for them <3

vogueweddings congratulations!! 🤍✨

-> yourinstagram thank you vogue 💞

madelyncline mr. and mrs. starkey 🫶🏻

-> yourinstagram 🤭

liked by user21, obx_is_life and 89,281 others

drewstarkeyupdates y/n via ig stories!

tagged: drewstarkey, yourinstagram

rafeyyy omg their honeymoon 🥹

zachmaclarensgirl can they adopt me or smth

drewsrafe oh lord he's so cute

livelaughrafe NEED TO SEE DREW'S CAMERA ROLL

-> karabaeee FR FR FR

liked by jonathandavissofficial, madisonbaileybabe and 4,421,964 others

drewstarkey wouldn't wanna do this with anyone else

tagged: yourinstagram

yourinstagram 🥺🤍

-> drewstarkey ❤️

fionapalomo how cutee 🫶🏻🥹

-> drewstarkey 💖

user82 ughh I love them smm

iluvrafe they are just my favourite people everrr

drewsify 🥹🥹

liked by hichasestokes, theregoesrafe and 4,382,281 others

yourinstagram honeymoon diaries (drew being drew edition)

lilalovesdrew everyone say thank you y/n for all the premium drew content she's been providing us 😌

-> obxfan29 thank you y/n!!!

-> rafestarkey YEAHH THANK YOU Y/N

drewandynschild can't get enough of him 😭😭

maybankluvbot HES SO CUTE

liked by drew_clouds, theotherzach and 99,291 others

drewstarkeyupdates drew with fans today!

tagged: drewstarkey

ayoitsyourgirl OH THESE ARE SO CUTE

cameronlovebot he looks like he gives the best hugs 🥺

rafe_stars I WANNA HUG HIM SOO BAD

misscarerra 🥹🥹🥹

liked by rafelovesyou, rafeyyy and 70,382 others

drewstarkeyupdates y/n via ig stories!

tagged: drewstarkey, yourinstagram

olivia_cameron if my future husband doesn't take me to a honeymoon as amazing as this one I'm not going 😤

macklovesmaddie i love them smmmm

drewfan90 they fr gave us some of the best content ever

aurora.andrews my parents frfr

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @tahliac11 @sadfury @newsies-pape-girl @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @callsignwidow

(If you want to be added, check out the 'join my taglist' post on top! + send in requests if you have any, but please read the 'requests' post first!)

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auspicious-manner · 7 months

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maybe a little morris delancey x ballet dancer!reader and him getting all soft when he sees her perform up on the stage?

oh i am ALL for this. as an ex-dancer, this was a dream to write! i tried not to include too much terminology so it wouldn’t get confusing.

so sorry this took so long, life has gotten very busy being back at university. but i’m trying to keep up as much as possible!

fem reader x morris delancey

warnings: none

mike taglist: @diorgirl444

Tough

•

“whaddya say to spendin’ the night with me, pretty girl?” your boyfriend, morris delancey, asked as you walked down the streets of new york city, hand in hand. the sun was just beginning to disappear behind the horizon, lighting the city up in an ethereal orange glow.

you leaned your body closer into his arm. “as lovely as that sounds, i got a show tonight.”

in order to make some extra cash to survive in new york, you got a job at medda’s theater performing three shows a week. when asked what special talents you had in your interview, you told medda that you had trained in ballet since you were young, but given that you barely had enough money to keep food on the table, you couldn’t afford pointe shoes despite being trained on them.

on the spot, she offered you a deal; typical performers performed one to two shows a week, but if you could handle it, she’d give you three shows a week and take the cost of the shoes out of your pay every other week. to you, that deal sounded like a dream come true.

morris never came to your shows, he always said he had “business to attend to” on the nights you performed. you weren’t really sure what that meant, but you could assume it had something to do with harassing those newsie boys that you felt a bit of sympathy for. he always claimed he was too tough to be seen watching a show in a theater.

morris threw his head back dramatically as you both walked. “you’re always at that theater. we never get to spend time together anymore.”

you smiled playfully. “you know, you could come to my show tonight since you keep avoidin’ it like the plague. what’s it gonna hurt you, morris?”

he thought about it briefly. “i could take a night off, come watch you do your little thing. how about that?” morris asked, half joking.

you immediately burst into a grin, ignoring the fact that he sounded a bit sarcastic with that proposal. all you’ve ever wanted was for your boyfriend to come watch you do what you do best. “that sounds perfect.”

unbeknownst to you, morris didn’t exactly want to see your show. sure, he loved you and would do pretty much anything you asked him to, but his idea of a fun night wasn’t going to a theater to watch a boring show with a bunch of old people. but seeing how you beamed at the idea of him finally coming to watch you made him feel like the only thing worse than going would be not going.

you stopped walking so you could stand in front of him, his tall stature standing over you. “the show starts at 7. you promise me you’ll be there?”

morris hesitated before nodding. “wouldn’t miss it for nothin’.”

you stood on your toes to reach up and give him a soft kiss. “i have to start getting ready. i’ll see you there?”

he put his hands on your hips, pulling you close. “of course.”

you whispered an okay before removing yourself from his grip, as much as you didn’t want to leave. you weren’t far from the theater, and when you got there, you found that you had approximately two hours to get fully ready and warmed up.

your dressing room was small and compact and below ground level. it was the only room medda could provide you, but you were thankful to even have a dressing room. there was one small window near the ceiling that provided a small look into the streets of new york city.

as you applied your stage makeup, you heard a light tapping coming from the window. you frowned, as hearing rhythmic noises directly against the glass was uncommon. you pulled your chair over to the wall, standing on it and further standing on your tip toes to pull the small curtains away to find a smiling morris on the other side of the glass. he was laying on his stomach so his head was level with the window.

you tried to contain laughter as you unlocked the window. “are you crazy?”

the window was far too small for him to climb in, so he just kept his head close to the opening as you looked up at him on top of the chair.

“i might be, but i’m just glad i finally found the right room. knocked on a few other windows, them ladies did not like me doin’ that.”

you giggled. “what are you even doing here? i told you to come for the show, not to my dressing room window.”

he shrugged before saying, “i wanted to wish you good luck, that’s all.”

you looked at him knowingly. you knew your boyfriend, and he didn’t go through all of this just to tell you about something you didn’t even really need.

“nice try. what’s the real reason you’re here?”

morris looked up, seemingly embarrassed. “where do i sit when the show starts?”

you paused. “i know sittin’ may be difficult for you, morris, but luckily for you there’s this new invention i think you’ll really love to try. it’s called a chair,” you said sarcastically.

he rolled his eyes playfully. “sweetheart, you know that’s not what i mean,” he said, his thick new york accent prominent. “where am i suppose’ to go? front row, back row, balcony? i don’t know how any of this stuff works.”

“as a matter of fact, i actually let miss medda know you were comin’ for the show, so she has a box reserved just for you.”

morris was reluctant to come at first, but now he was simply curious to discover what occupies so much of his girlfriend’s time. he wanted to make sure he could get the best view possible.

he put his head through the window, and you stood on your tip toes to meet him with a kiss. “i’ll see you after the show?”

he nodded. “of course. break a leg,” morris started, going to stand up but turning around to the window again. “but not actually. don’t actually break a leg, please.”

you laughed, holding his hand briefly through the window as he began to leave “i won’t!”

after he left, you finished getting your makeup on and got into your costume. every week, medda throws together a new theme for your performances, and this week she went with a forest theme. you were wearing all forest green costume that made you look like a fairy. your makeup fit the occasion too, and jack kelly’s painted props and artwork set the backdrop for your show.

about ten minutes before showtime, you stood backstage once the first act finished and your props were being moved behind the curtain that separated the stage from the audience.

your performances never lasted long; they were apart of some other, bigger show within the theater. but you drew in lots of crowds as you were becoming a household name. critics raved about your performances, and people came to medda’s theater specifically for you.

normally, you were a pro at keeping your nerves in line. the build up to the shows didn’t make you nervous anymore after weeks of doing it. but tonight, knowing morris was somewhere out there watching your every move made you immensely nervous. you weren’t just performing for a crowd tonight, that you could handle. you were performing for someone. your someone.

“miss Y/N, you’re shaking,” medda said behind you as she put her hands on your shoulders. you turned around; you were too in your mind to notice the shaking.

“sorry medda, just nervous, that’s all.”

you turned around to meet her, seeing a confused and unbelieving expression on her face. “you? nervous? i don’t believe it.”

you shrugged in response. she tilted her head, still questioning you, then you could tell her expression changed in an instant. “oh, i know why you’re nervous.”

you shook your head. “no you don’t.”

she smiled playfully, hitting your shoulder lightly. “oh yes i do. it’s because that delancey boy is out in the audience getting ready to watch you, isn’t it?”

you couldn’t hide the blush on your cheeks now. you didn’t even have to say anything; medda knew.

her tone changed, and she leaned in close. “don’t get distracted, kid. believe me, i’ve had my fair share of men in my life. but don’t let any man get in the way of you doing what you were born to do. you’re a natural at this, you have nothing to be nervous about.”

you took a deep breath. she was right. you knew exactly what you had to do. you nodded, and she backed away.

she smiled. “let’s get this show moving!”

medda walked out on stage in front of the curtain blocking the set, and that was your cue to get in your place on the props.

morris sat out in the audience, waiting anxiously for your presence on the stage. he had the perfect view from where he was at in the audience, and he held his breath waiting for the show to start. he couldn’t care less about the speech medda was planning before you went on, he just wanted to see you up there.

“i know many of you have come from far and wide to watch this next performer do what she does best. i would rave about her, but i’ll just let her dancing do the talking. up next to take my stage is the one and the only, Y/N L/N.”

medda bowed and walked off stage, and morris watched as the curtains fell away and he saw your figure in the darkness laid on a prop that was painted to look like a tree stump.

the lights came on, and the music began. morris watched as you slowly and gracefully worked around the prop, acting as a mythical creature in a forest. his eyes stayed locked on you, not entirely sure what he was watching, but enthralled nonetheless.

you stood on top of the tree stump, going up en pointe and holding your balance in an arabesque, your arms stretched out to your sides.

you glanced into the audience, still holding your balance, searching for morris. you couldn’t find him, but you ignored your heart thumping erratically in your chest as you brought your other leg down to leap off of the prop, sending your legs soaring out.

morris watched in awe in the audience. he liked to think of himself as tough as nails, and he frowned upon himself showing emotion. but, it was becoming harder and harder to uphold that facade as you continued moving around the stage. he knew you must have been talented to have your own show like this, but never in a million years would he have guessed you would be like this.

the turn sequences were your least favorite part of your shows. you were more of a jumper, you loved the feeling of soaring through the air. along with that, you were flexible, and you had tremendous balance for kicks. you were able to hold your leg impossibly high like it was nothing. but turns were a different story.

you began your prep, and as you did, you spotted morris in the audience, right in front of your vision. your heart began to race even more, and you saw as he smiled, knowing that you had just seen him.

in order to prevent yourself from getting dizzy, you used morris as your spot during your turns. you were turning fast, but as you kept your eyes locked on him, you were able to hold your balance en pointe. it felt like you and him were the only ones in that theater.

morris kept his eyes on you as you spun around and around on the very tops of your toes, a small gasp escaping his mouth. he had never seen anyone do something so quick and difficult while simultaneously having so much grace and fluidity.

after nailing the turns and flowing seamlessly out of them into the next section, you forced your eyes to pull away from his.

not only was morris awestruck by your movement, he was drawn into your storytelling. anyone in that room could see you were on an adventure through the forest, and he felt as if you were taking him along for the ride.

after what felt like hours but somehow not enough time, morris watched as you retreated to the back of the stage, hitting one last pose on the faux tree stump before the lights went dim.

the crowd immediately erupted as the curtains drew to a close, but morris stayed in place. he couldn’t quite process exactly what he just saw, but he was upset that it ended so soon. he could have watched you up there for hours.

when the curtains closed, you got off your prop and headed backstage as medda announced the last act of the night. another successful show, you thought to yourself.

as you sat backstage taking sips of water, you felt a presence behind you. before you could turn to see who it was, a voice spoke in your ear. “well if it ain’t the most talented girl i’ve ever seen.”

you stood up from your chair, seeing a smiling morris who had a singular rose in his hand. before you could jump into his arms and give him a bone crushing hug, he got to you first, wrapping his arms around your waist and picking you up off the ground.

“you were amazin’ out there, Y/N.”

you pulled away, the biggest grin you've ever had on your face. "you really think so?"

"i know so."

you rolled your eyes. "you're a big softie and you know it."

he smiled sarcastically, setting you back on the ground and lightly pinching your cheek. "any more of that and we're done, silly girl."

you giggled, and only then did you remember the single rose in his hand. morris looked down, almost as if he had forgotten about it too.

"oh, yeah, uh… this is for you. for being so beautiful up there," morris said, immediately getting shy. you bit your lip, holding back a giddy grin.

you stepped closer to him and stood en pointe to give him a kiss on the lips. "it's lovely, morris. where did you get it? you didn’t have that earlier," you asked, taking his hand in your free one.

"i took it from the bouquet that the guy sittin' next to me had."

you blinked at him before sighing. "of course you did."

#mike faist #mike faist imagine #mike faist x reader #mike faist fanfiction #newsies x reader #newsies imagine #morris delancey

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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

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

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heliads · 11 months

Note

: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

#race higgins #race higgins imagines #race higgins x reader #race higgins oneshot #newsies #newsies imagines #newsies x reader #newsies oneshot #newsies race #newsies race imagines #newsies race x reader #newsies race oneshot #newsies live #newsies live imagines #newsies live x reader #newsies live oneshot

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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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midnight-xx · 12 days

Text

𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

[Note, these will all be x reader or x OC. I do not write ships.]

Twisted Wonderland:

N/A

Record of Ragnarok:

N/A

Pokémon (All TV series):

N/A

How to Train Your Dragon:

Orphic (Hiccup x Fem!Reader)

Genshin Impact:

N/A

Newsies (Broadway musical):

N/A

The Hobbit (movie):

N/A

Harry Potter (movie):

N/A

Sonic the Hedgehog:

N/A

ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ

#newsies x reader #record of ragnarok x reader #ror x reader #harry potter x reader #the hobbit x reader #pokémon x reader #genshin x reader #httyd x reader #twst x reader #masterlist #sonic x reader

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lucamoon22 · 2 years

Text

Are Youse An Angel? (Albert DaSilva x Fem!Reader) (Newsies)

A/n: hell yes :)

Summary: You needed newspapers for an art project, so you found the nearest newsie and bought... more than one pape, to say the least

Warnings: uhhh, none i think? probably some swearing somewhere in here, otherwise just pure fluff and happiness

Reader uses she/her pronouns, and is kind of a ditz. i just wanted some pure fluff ok?

Masterlist

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~3rd POV~

The sun was shining, the headline was boring, life was as good as it could be for Albert and the rest of the Newsies.

Albert, Race, and Elmer were in line to get their papes for the day, messin’ around with eachother and what not.

“Hey, Albert I bet you that you can’t sell 100 papes before the end of the day.” Racer said while punching Albert in the shoulder.

“Ooh! Ooh! I’ll tap in too!” Elmer said, fishing out coins from his pockets since they were close to the front.

“Alright bet.” Albert was sure he could do this.

~Skip to 11:50 am~

Ok it wasn’t going as well as he thought it would go, he had only sold 20 papes so far. It wasn’t a bad start, but it could’ve been better. Albert sighed and looked around to see if there were any selling opportunities.

That’s when a girl came around the corner, looking like she was in a rush and a little confused too, as if she’s never been in the neighborhood. Once she turned and saw Albert her face lit up. And, oh my god, Albert thought he was dreaming. She must have been an angel, no one could look that radiant. She had (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes that just seemed to sparkle.

She walked up to him, and he could just melt right then and there with the smile she gave him.

“Hi, um, are you selling newspapers?”

“Well, yes I am, Gorgeous.”

She smiled shyly and looked down, “Um how many papers do you have left?”

Well that was an odd question, but he answered anyway, “About 80 papes if I counted right.”

“Ok! So c-can I buy all 80 of them?” She asked, looking up again and staring him right in the eyes, nervousness shown clearly in her eyes.

Albert was confused to say the least, what could she need 80 papes for even? How was she going to carry them back to... wherever she was going to? She definitely wasn’t a newsie trying to buy off from another newsie, her clothes were enough to show that.

“I- uh- Yeah, if you want all 80 then you should probably take the bag too, Miss.”

“Oh thank you so much! I promise I’ll return the bag back to you, what’s your name so I know who to return it to?”

“The name’s Albert.” Albert was too dazed to process much at that moment as he handed the girl his bag, this girl just bought 80 papes, fucking 80!

“Ok, here’s your money, I think that should cover all of it, thank you so much Albert.” She said before she ran back the way she came.

Albert looked down into his hand and- holy shit. There in his hand sat a $5 bill. ‘Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod’ He made a bee-line for Jacobi’s, still processing what happened as he gripped onto the bill.

~At Jacobi’s~

Everyone was sitting peacefully, talking and what not.

“Hey, where’s Albert? He’s usually here before me and Les.” Davey said and went to sit with Jack, Crutchie, Race, Elmer, and Mush, with Les walking behind him.

“Well, Elmer and I bet him that he couldn’t sell 100 papes before the day ended so-” Before Race could finish what he was going to say, the aforementioned boy came barreling through the front doors.

“Guys! Guys! You won’t believe it! I’m RICH!” Now that caught everybodies attention, it’s not every day you have a newsie exclaim their rich at lunch hours. Jack pulled out a chair for Albert, the dude looked like he had ran from Brooklyn and back in the span of two minutes.

“Hey, you alright there Al? Davey could you get some water for him?” Davey nodded at Jack and went to get some water.

“Oh I’m better than alright.” The boy took a pause to breathe for a moment, he may be fast but in his excitement he tripped a few times and had to slow a bit.

“Dude you look redder than a tomato. Also where’s your bag and papes? Race said you bought 100 this morning?” Crutchie asked, worry shown clear on his face.

Davey came back with some water and Albert drank it gratefully. Davey sat back down and eyed Albert, wondering what the idiot did now.

After Albert finished the water he immediately told everyone what happened, and at the end of his story he showed the $5 bill to the group.

“Holy shit!”

“No way.”

Several exclamations were heard around the table, but all Albert could think of was that dazzling face of hers. A face and personality that caught his heart in less than five minutes.

“Damn it, we lost the bet.” Elmer pouted, not wanting to admit defeat. Race just smirked at Elmer and said, “I think the bet is the least of our worries. He looks like a lovestruck fool right now.”

And what Race said was absolutely true, the boy had flushed cheeks and a dopey grin on his face, just staring into nothing.

“Ok, come on Lover Boy, lets get you back to the Lodge.”

“Hm? Yeah, ok.”

“Oh, brother.”

~Later That Day~

Once everything had calmed down and all the Newsies were back at the Lodge, everyone just sat and talked, some playing card games, some upstairs sleeping, and some doing god knows what.

Albert, Race, Crutchie, and Jack were all sitting with eachother, talking and what not. All of a sudden a knock came from the front door.

“I got it!” Romeo went and opened up the door, and once he did he went almost slack jawed but managed to pull him self together. “Why hello there, Beautiful. May I help you?” Everyone quieted down and listened to what was happening.

“Um, actually, I’m looking for an Albert?” Oh my god, it was the angel, the dazzling girl who caught his heart. Once he heard her voice he bolted up and went to the door, lightly knocking Romeo out of the way.

“Oh! Albert, so you do live here, I was hoping my instincts were right, anyway uh- here’s your bag.” Albert took the bag out of her hands gently and looked at the bag.

“Um, so you see some paint got splattered on it by accident so I thought I might as well try and make it look like they were supposed to be there, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have even-”

“It’s looks amazing, Gorgeous.” Albert inspected the bag and the newly painted design on it. It was of a city skyline- Manhattan’s skyline- with the sun setting in the back.

“I’m glad you like it.” She smiled and looked up into his eyes, which also looked up from the bag. Albert glanced behind and stepped out of the entrance while closing the door, trying to get some privacy with her.

“I never got to ask what your name was, or would you like me to keep calling you Gorgeous?”

She laughed and looked down, “My name is (Y/n), although Gorgeous doesn’t sound so bad either.”

“Well may I offer to take you out tomorrow? Just explore the city with me?”

“What time?”

“I could pick you up at noon?”

“So, it’s a date?”

“It’s a date.”

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i’m actually kind of proud of this one, hope you all like it, also my request box should be working? idk but it’s open for suggestions :)

#albert dasilva #albert dasilva x reader #newsies x reader #x reader #newsies

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youaintnothinbuta · 7 months

Note

racetrack higgins x reader smut—maybe they getting all dolled up to go to a fancy party with katherine and jack and race can’t take his eyes off of her (the reader)

“You’re no less desperate than me.” - racetrack higgins x reader

Summary: You, Race, Katherine and Jack go to a big party being thrown at Medda’s theatre. Race can’t keep his eyes off of you (not that he ever really can) and it all gets too much, he just has to pull you away into a seperate room and fuck the neediness out.

Pairing: Racetrack Higgins x fem!reader

Word count: 1100

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex, no foreplay, coarse language, etc. probably typos <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The evening was filled with anticipation as Race, you, Jack, and Katherine prepared for a party at Medda's theatre. It was a special night, one you’d all been looking forward to for a long time.

You and Katherine were hogging the bathroom mirror, the boys left to use the one in the room. Your laughter and hers filled the room as you traded typical girl talk, complimenting each other and joking around, talking about how excited you were for the night.

“Could you do my back, Kate?” You asked, pulling your hair out the way. She put down her brush and moved behind you, helping you do up the back of your dress.

“Turn.” She spoke, brushing your shoulders and fixing your hair.

“Perfect.” She smiled, you turned to look at yourself in the mirror.

Jack and Race on the other hand, were busy fixing their collars and hair and in the other room. As Race brushed his fingers through his hair, he couldn't help but steal glances at you through the little view of you he had from around the corner.

Finally unable to resist any longer, Race approached you with a charming grin. “Y/N, you look stunning,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.

You blushed at the compliment, a smile gracing your lips. "Thank you, Race. You're not looking too shabby yourself."

At the theatre, the party was in full swing, so many people were there, everyone dancing and mingling. Never ones to say no to a dance, the boys quickly got comfortable twirling the two of you around, earning some rather impressed looks from onlookers and of course, compliments from Medda herself.

Race, though, was struggling. The crowd of people was so big that he made sure to stay behind you as you moved around. More than once, people would so carelessly bump into you, and consequently your ass would brush against Race’s lap, he’d wince to himself every time.

He had been unable to tear his eyes away from you all night, he couldn’t wait any longer. With a sense of urgency, Race finally pulled you aside from the bustling crowd, leading you to a side room that offered a moment of seclusion from the party. As the door clicked shut behind you, the noise from the party faded into a distant hum, leaving just the two of you.

“What’s up?” You asked. Race's hands found your waist as he drew you close, his eyes never leaving yours.

“God, I’m trying so hard not to rip that thing to shreds.” He huffed, his eyes desperately wandering over your dress.

You looked down to smile, you chose this dress firstly because you liked it, secondly because you knew Race would enjoy seeing you in it too. “What, you don’t like it?” You playfully teased.

“I hate it,” he shook his head, much to your surprise, “I didn’t know I could be so jealous of a bit of fabric but god, I hate that it’s wrapped around you and I’m not.”

“Race.” You mumbled his name with a smile.

His voice was husky and filled with longing as he said, “I’ve been trying to do this all night.” Without further ado, he closed the distance between you, his lips passionately claiming yours. His lips were warm and insistent, his hands tenderly cradling your face as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste. His hands crept their way down to your thighs, his way of saying ‘jump’.

He picked you up, you wrapped your legs around his waist tightly as he walked you towards the wall. Instantly you started squirming around in his grip, trying to get any sort of friction you could from him.

“Jesus, fuck,” He breathed out with a smile, “you’re no less desperate than me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” You mumbled, placing your lips back on his, gripping his shirt as he put you down and fiddled to get his belt undone. He brought his fingers to his mouth, letting his saliva coat them, knowing this wasn’t exactly the longest he’d ever spent on foreplay. His arm tucked under the skirt of your dress, trying to find your underwear to pull to the side. To his surprise, his fingers immediately made contact with your skin, his body jolted forward into you at the feeling of his spit covered fingers being practically pulled inside of your pussy, almost sending him into oblivion. He just let out a smug chuckle as he worked his fingers inside of you, throwing his head back, not quite able to process how much he so desperately needed you.

You reached for his cock, holding your dress up around your waist, inviting him to fuck you already. He pulled his fingers from you, instead using his hand to bring the tip of his cock to your body, brushing it through your folds and into your body. You let out a sharp hiss as he immediately began to thrust, not giving you any time to adjust to his body. Messily, your hips grinded against his with every forward motion, the two of you whining and breathing down each others necks and into each others ears as he fucked you. He let out a growl as he lifted one of your legs up, giving himself better access. He brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing quick circles, while you choked back every scream and squeal that was trying so hard to surface from your throat. Your thighs trembled as he continued to rub your clit, he felt your body coat his cock in wetness as your walls contracted around him, your orgasm sending you forward into his chest.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic and even quicker, “I’m gonna come.”

You fell to your knees in front of him, giving him your mouth release into, as nothing else would have been quite appropriate, considering you weren’t at home.

“Oh, good girl.” He smiled, his hand pumping himself. His other hand reached for the side of your head, holding you still as he filled your throat with his cum. He groaned in between breaths, emptying the last of his orgasm into your mouth. With one bob of your throat, you swallowed, looking up at him as sweat beads gathered on his forehead.

“Fuck, you’re so good, sweetheart, that’s my girl.” He helped you up, kissing you as you became eye level with him again. You stood there with him, both of you needing a moment to gather both your breath and your thoughts.

“I love you.” Race was the first to speak.

“I love you too,” you smiled, “we should probably find Jack and Katherine, they’re probably wondering where we went.”

Race laughed, tucking his shirt neatly back into his pants before doing them back up, “Alright.”

A/N IM SORRY IF THIS FEELS RUSHED it feels kinda rushed to me :,)

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thatbookworm08 · 2 years

Text

Over the Bridge Part 8 *Final Part* (Race Higgins x reader)

a/n: this is it! I have another story about Race and Ace that's already completed. Comment if I should post it? Or don't that's fine too :) Thank you so much for reading!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

You ran the whole way to the Brooklyn Bridge. It felt like forever since you crossed it. You and Race made it to the harbor by dawn and decided to rest for a moment. Sitting on the dock, Race noticed how exhausted you looked and put his arm around you, beginning to play with your hair.

“I know what you’re doin’...and we’s need ta get ta da login’ house…bafore Snydah gets us…” you said, trying to keep your eyes open.

“Hey youse need sleep more than Ise do.” he said, starting to braid your hair. He somehow knew—probably from Spot—that the one way to get you to fall asleep was to play with your hair. “Snydah da Spidah ain’t gonna get us,” Race placed a kiss on the side of your head just as you dozed off.

Race was right. Snyder hadn’t gotten you. You hid in Brooklyn for a few days and only saw the men from the Refuge once—but they didn’t see you.

Race returned to Manhatten the next morning, alone, to find a distraught Spot pacing back and forth, running his hands through his un-gelled hair. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night and jumped the second Race opened the door. “Racer! Youse snuck out to da Refuge! Ise know you did! Where is she? What did theys do ta her? Is she hurt? Why didn’tcha bring me?”

“Woah! Spot! She’s in Brooklyn!” Race said, holding out his arms in surrender.

Spot stopped. “W-what? She gots out?”

“Wes got Oscar Delancey ta thanks fa dat,” he nodded. “Ise took ‘er ta Brooklyn last night—Hotshot knows she’s there—she’s okay,”

Spot sank to the nearest bed and sighed. “Okay…”

..............................................................................................................................

“Race—you’ll let the fellas in?”

In the basement of Joseph Pulitzer’s own house, the newsies of New York began to print their newspapers.

“Here they come!” Race called.

“Race!” he heard.

“Ace!” he ran and scooped you up. He hadn’t seen you in days and missed you terribly.

Newspapers were spread to every working kid in New York and Pulitzer was furious.

“In case youse hadn’t noticed Mr. Pulitzer,” Spot said sarcastically, “Wes got youse surrounded.”

“Wes got no problem woikin’ fo you, Joe,” you added, “Youse just needs ta treat us right,”

Under a glare from Governor Roosevelt himself, Pulitzer scowled and said, “Fine,”

“NEWSIES OF NEW YORK!” Jack yelled, “WE WON!”

You didn’t care who was around, you were just so happy that you pulled Race into a kiss.

The other newies around you stopped and watched. “Guys!” Les squealed.

Albert, Spot, and all of the boys cheered, hollered, and whistled.

Sure, you had won the strike, but the real win, for you and Race at least, was each other.

~The End~

#racetrack higgins #race higgins #racetrack newsies #newsies #spot conlon #newsies fanfiction #newsies fandom #newsies broadway #newsies x reader #racetrack higgins x reader #racetrack higgins/reader #race x reader #x reader #female reader #reader insert #fem reader #jack kelly #92sies #albert dasilva

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whyareyouhere66 · 1 year

Note

hey hey you should give me Spot Conlon hcs :)

I mean how could I possibly say no?

You sent this hours ago I’m so sorry-

Spot Conlon x Reader HCs

Fem or Male reader (gender neutral) - Platonic and Romantic HC’s included.

Romantic -

(Starting with the fluff, more lighthearted stuff)

◘ He just - he loves you.

◘ His love language is flirting with you, nicknames all that- and he also constantly has to have an arm around you. (So some physical touch)

◘ He didn’t really realize how truly touch starved he was until he had you, not saying he’s some lovey-dovey sappy kind of guy but just the casual arm around your shoulders, waist, etc brings him a nice hit of comfort.

◘ And for those of you who aren’t into physical touch, he finds other ways to love you. Again, flirting, always has a nickname at hand, and even just the subtle things like passing you some of his food.

◘ “Hows about some flowers, eh? Y’like those- eh I’ll get youse some flowers” // “C’mere, sweetheart, you’re too far away.”

◘ He’s so proud of you. Brags about you to Race, Davey, even Jack has heard about you enough to know any or all of your accomplishments.

◘ Race always feeds into it, of course, Jack kind of brushing him off.

◘ Let’s not forget the sleeping arrangements.

◘ He likes it best when you sleep next to him. Doesn’t matter if the bed’s small, he sleeps best when you’ve got your head on his chest, a lazy arm wrapped around your back.

◘ That cute, dopey smile we got to see at Medda’s? Y’know the one, yeah- we get to see so much more of that when you’re around and the world thanks you for it.

◘ Trying to get deeper than just the same things everytime: the river.

◘ The docs, the crates built up to make his throne, those are your spots.

◘ Sometimes at night you two will just sit out there, either propped up against the crates or with your legs dangling off the docs edge. And you’ll talk, no one else around except you both.

◘ It’s come to the point where if you can’t find him inside, he can’t find you, just go and look by the docs and you’ll find eachother, hidden behind the wood.

◘ And just like that we’re talking about more angsty stuff, here we go-

◘ The docs are where lots of the heavy, trauma dumping stuff happens. Or the inappropriate stuff- either work.

◘ It took a while to get there, but he trusts you more than he’s trusted anybody. So he tells you things, you tell him back, and the bond grows stronger and stronger every time- an understanding builds, sometimes you don’t even have to say a word and he’ll know. You’ll know.

◘ It doesn’t make you immune to fights though. Spot is outspoken, he gets stressed. And that can lead to him lashing out.

◘ He doesn’t like it, sometimes he’ll regret it instantly and other times he’s gotta take a hot second to breathe, and then it’ll hit him. Either way he’ll find a way to make it up to you.

◘ I’m not one to say how you’d react, maybe you’ll lash out too and maybe you’re more the quiet type. Either way he’ll take the time to swallow his pride and return things to the way it was before.

◘ Oh yeah and he would fight literally anyone for you. The dude’s protective, over the newsies, his reputation, and his love. He isn’t scared to defend it or himself.

Platonic-

◘ Two ways I can imagine it- one, you both are complete menaces and cause chaos through Brooklyn.

◘ Two- it’s calmer, more you both enjoying eachothers company and having that level of understanding.

◘ Either way, he’s glad to have a friend he can trust, which is hard for him.

◘ Just like the romantic hc’s, y’all hang by the river a ton. Just talking, mainly, sharing a drink and having a couple laughs. He isn’t as over the top “crazy” as Jack, closer to the sarcasm of Race.

◘ Speaking of- you, Race and Spot always have a good time when together, the three of you get along, far better than any of the others.

◘ You joke about stuff, Race tries placing bets, Spot stupidly takes him up on the offer, and you get to watch. It’s a great time, the main reason you even go to Manhattan cause you know what’s ahead.

◘ Spot isn’t as hard on you as he might be to the rest of the Brooklyn newsies, he’s admittedly a bit biased. There’s more room for understanding, he’s more comfortable in your presence. The jokes you share and the talks you have allow him to loosen up a bit, his shoulders relaxing more.

◘ You’re the first one he wakes up in the morning, doing it personally instead of letting the alarms wake you up like he does the rest. You’re the closest thing to second in command they have, it’s never been officially said but hey the other newsies have joked about it and recognized it so that’s official enough.

◘ I know there isn’t as much platonic as romantic but hey I just wanted to add this-

Ok there you go 😌 I’m actually so glad you sent this request-

I could go more into detail about some of this too idk I love him.

#Spot Conlon #newsies 1992 #Spot Conlon x reader #Spot Conlon x Male Reader #Spot Conlon x gender neutral resder #Spot Conlon x female reader #Newsies x reader #mick!#66-recs&replies

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auspicious-manner · 10 months

Note

Can i request newsies era mike trying to cheer up the reader on a bad day?

a year ago today, i uploaded my very first story on tumblr :,) i’ve written on other platforms before, but when i made this account a year ago, i was hoping for a fresh start. i didn’t know if people would like my writing, but i told myself it was worth a shot. and it’s been so worth it.

to everyone who reads my stories, interacts with it, follows me, and sends in request, i thank you. i write for you guys, and knowing that i’ve made others happy is truly such a gift. in honor of my one year anniversary, enjoy this mike story! it seems only fitting that i upload a mike story exactly a year after i uploaded my first mike story 😁

also, i recently got a request for a taglist for my stories! if any of you want to be added to my taglist for any of my stories/fandoms, pls just let me know! i never thought that would be something people would be interested in, so i never proposed it before 😅

fem reader x mike faist

warnings: sickness, accidents

mike taglist: @diorgirl444

Unlucky

•

the universe was clearly against you. there could be no other explanation. every event leading up to the show on this particular day led you one step closer to full fledged insanity.

you and mike were in newsies on broadway at the same time. he was one of the delancey brothers, an understudy for jack, and a newsie. you were a bowery beauty, nun, and an understudy for katherine. given that you and mike were so close and had the same schedule, a month prior you two had decided to move in together.

mike was your comfort person. you weren’t dating, but you weren’t friends. you were somewhere in the middle with him, but the two of you had never actually talked out your feelings. you both seemed to be happy with where you were.

on the fateful morning, you woke up and immediately sat up in your bed. your throat was scratchy. you frowned, immediately thinking of the worst. you took a sip of water and the pain was worse. not only that, but you were shivering under the weight of three blankets and a hoodie, and you felt like your head was going to split open at any second.

you had a fever.

you laid back down, groaning. you had a show tonight, and it was an important show. you had friends and family from out of town coming to support you, and they had been planning this trip for weeks.

“mike!” you called out, your voice slightly hoarse. there was no reply.

“mike!” you yelled a bit louder, your hands immediately going to hold your throat from the pain.

finally, when he didn’t reply again, you rolled over to get your phone to call him. he answered, almost annoyed. “Y/N, what do you want?”

“where are you?” you asked.

“i ran out to the store.”

you coughed gently. “are you still there?”

“no, why?”

you sighed, closing your eyes. “i’m sick and i wanted some cold medicine.”

there was silence for a few moments. “oh, are you okay?” mike asked, his tone immediately switching from one of annoyance to one of genuine concern.

“i’m fine, i just need to get better before the show starts tonight,” you replied, putting a hand on your forehead. you were burning up.

mike sighed. “you shouldn’t go on tonight if you’re sick, Y/N. it’s not worth it.”

“my family and friends from home are coming tonight. i absolutely cannot miss this.”

mike paused, like he was thinking about what to do. “okay, fine, i’ll go back to the store and bring you home some medicine.”

“thanks mike, see you soon.”

you hung up the call and laid your phone on the nightstand by your bed. after another fifteen minutes of zoning out, you came to the conclusion that there was no use in laying around being miserable all day. you figured that if you got up and made yourself useful you’d feel better.

you gently sat up, and slowly moved to put your feet on the floor. the cold hardwood beneath your feet made you even colder than you already were. you walked to the kitchen, feeling more fatigued than you ever had before. even though you weren’t hungry, you got out the ingredients to make an omelet. you were so focused on your cooking skills that the rest of the world faded into silence, but it also could have been the fact that you couldn’t hear because your sinuses were clogged.

as you were flipping the omelet in the pan, you heard a loud “boo!” in your ear and someone gently shoving you. you gasped, accidentally touching the side of the burning pan with your fingers. you yelped in pain and threw the pan back down on the stove, turning around to see mike with a grin on his face. however, the grin quickly faded when he saw not only your burnt fingers but also how sickly and pale you looked.

“mike, what the hell?” you croaked, holding your fingers as you walked to the freezer to grab some ice. it felt like the tips of your fingers had burned off.

mike put down his plastic grocery bag on the counter. “dammit, Y/N, i’m sorry. i didn’t realize you were this bad,” he said sadly.

you rolled your eyes, the coldness of the ice counteracting the burns on your fingers. “did you think i was kidding about being sick?”

“no, i just didn’t know you felt that terrible,” he paused. “are you sure you can perform tonight?”

you nodded. “i can’t miss it.”

mike gave you a look like he didn’t believe you, and that he didn’t like your stubborn decision. you both went silent before mike stepped closer to you, glancing at your burnt fingers. “now i feel bad for scaring you.”

you couldn’t help but crack a smile at mike. even though he scared you and caused you to burn three fingers, he always knew how to make you smile. “you should feel bad. my fingertips are in pain.”

you finished making your omelet and took some of the medicine mike had brought home. you planned to take some more medicine shortly before the show.

after the cold medicine kicked in and your fever was suppressed, you actually felt relatively okay. in order to convince yourself that you were better, you agreed to go to the park with mike for some fresh air.

walking around central park with mike was good for your soul. you loved the fresh air and the nature of it all, but having mike by your side made it so much better. as often as he got on your nerves, he was your best friend. he made you giddy and excited, and every time he complimented you after a show it would make you nervous and give you butterflies. he knew it did too, thats why he kept doing it; he liked making you flustered.

you layered on jackets in the brisk autumn air, as you still had a leftover chill in your body from your sickness.

“how are you feeling? better?” mike asked as you both walked.

“yeah, a lot better, but i know when that medicine wears off i’m going to feel like crap again. and wrapping my fingertips has made them feel a little bit better,” you said, glancing at your fingers that were wrapped in a thin layer of gauze and medical tape.

“is there anything i can do? you know, to help?”

you smiled to yourself. “no, mike, thank you though,” you said quietly and sweetly. “having you here is enough.”

mike blushed lightly, putting an arm lazily around your shoulders. “stop being so sappy.”

you continued like that for a while longer, with you under his arm enjoying the park around you. not long later, mike told you he was going to run to the bathroom, and you told him you’d wait by a tree for him.

as you waited, you people watched everyone around you. you thought about how everyone there had their own stories. their own lives. just as you were sick and preparing to perform in front of your closest friends and family for the first time, these other people had their own life problems to attend to, and no one would be the wiser. it was oddly peaceful knowing that there are so many stories being written around you.

suddenly, you were pulled out of your daydream by a soccer ball being kicked into the side of your head. you may have been people watching, but the kids playing with the ball seemed to come out of nowhere for you.

you held the side of your head and groaned as the sound of small footsteps approached you. “sorry, miss,” a little boy’s voice said as he grabbed the ball and ran back to his friends.

not long later, mike came back and saw you sitting against the tree, rubbing the side of your head.

“are you okay?” mike asked, reaching down to help you stand.

“some little brats kicked a soccer ball at my head,” you groaned. standing up made you feel a bit dizzy.

mike gently brushed the part of your head that was hit, and you winced. “god, Y/N, today is just not your day. that’s definitely going to bruise, let’s get you home.”

you walked back to your apartment together, and rested until it was time to head to the theater. you packed a backpack with everything you might need and you and mike headed off to the subway station.

as you boarded the subway, you tripped over a small ledge on the edge of the subway and began to fall, but luckily, mike was in front of you and you caught yourself on his back. you hoped no one noticed, but as you looked around, the people already sitting down were staring, and an old man snickered at your misfortune.

mike maneuvered himself so he was behind you, guiding you to an open spot. “what was that about?”

you were on the verge of tears. “i’m so unlucky today.”

mike hesitated before grabbing your hand and squeezing it tight. “hey, just think, tonight is going to be a great show, you have family and friends in the audience,” mike said close to your ear. “soon enough, everything that’s happened today won’t matter.”

you nodded. “i just hope the show goes well.”

you both arrived at the theater, checking yourselves in and preparing to head to your separate dressing rooms. before you parted ways, mike pulled you aside and brushed a strand of hair out of your face with his fingers. he could tell you were nervous.

“you’ll be just fine, Y/N. i’ll see you soon.”

in your dressing room, you unraveled the bandages over your fingers, and the skin was raw and tender. you weren’t exactly sure how to cover it for the show, but you dabbed some skin colored makeup onto it in hopes that it would be unnoticeable.

you looked at yourself in the mirror; you really did seem out of it. your head hurt, you fingers hurt, and your cold medicine was beginning to wear off. you reached into your backpack to find the medicine and you took it, hoping for some type of relief.

not long before the show started, you warmed up your voice as you got your costume on. there was a knock at the door and you yelled “come in!” to whoever it was. the door swung open and you found mike in his newsie/delancey costume and makeup. you always thought he looked so good in his costumes.

“how are you feeling?” mike asked, walking up to you. you were in your nun costume, so you didn’t seem as flattering as you would have liked.

“well, my fingers are sore, my head hurts, and my ego is bruised from almost falling earlier. but at least my medicine is working,” you said sarcastically. you tried to play it off as something funny, but inside you were a nervous, painful wreck. you were trying to fake it ‘til you made it, but mike saw right through you.

his blue eyes softened, and he rubbed your shoulders comfortingly. “i know you’re nervous, and i know you are having a rough day. but breathe, and stay focused. you’re the most talented person i know. you can get through this.”

you closed your eyes and breathed out. he instantly made you feel better. the cold medicine helped to an extent, but mike was your ultimate cure for all ailments.

“will i see you after the show?” you asked. a lot of times, mike was able to leave the theater earlier than you after the show, and more often than not, you liked to chat with everyone and stick around for longer. you didn’t mind that mike never seemed to hang around much after the show.

“you’ve got friends and family to see, so i’ll probably head home right after. is that okay?” he asked gently, like he didn’t want to be the next thing to set you off.

you nodded understandingly. “of course, mike. i’ll see you during the show.”

mike smiled and patted your shoulder before heading out.

the show began, and you waited in the wings for your first scene. your first scene was during carrying the banner, where the three nuns feed the newsie boys.

as you went out on stage, your mind seemed to be in a blur. you felt like you couldn’t concentrate. the goal was for muscle memory to kick in, and you didn’t have to worry about anything. sadly, it didn’t, and during your part of carrying the banner, your voice cracked due to your sickness, and it felt sharp and out of place against the angelic voices of the other nuns.

your eyes widened, and you prayed nobody heard it despite it being insanely obvious. you fought the urge to cry onstage.

at the end of that segment, you headed off the stage and had no time to think about your mistake before hurriedly getting into your bowery beauty costume. you wanted to go home. you wanted to be with mike. at this point, you didn’t even care to see your friends and family from out of town. there was only one person that mattered.

you got into costume and looked at yourself in the mirror. you tried to pull yourself together, since you had friends and family in the audience that undoubtedly saw your screw up. you had to bring it back.

as your time approached for the scene in medda’s theater, you waited in the wings, trying to calm yourself down. you tried your hardest to ignore the pain on your head and your fingers.

finally, it was time to go onstage, and everything was going just fine. you didn’t want to get too confident, however, because you had a feeling if you did it would all come crashing down again.

you got through your bowery beauty scene in one piece, with no mishaps. you were feeling better mentally and physically.

you waited in your dressing room for curtain call, and as you walked out on stage to take your bow, you raised your arm and smiled into the crowd. as you brought your arm down to bow, your arm hit the back of your wig, and it slid down over your head. you quickly and nervously attempted to cover your mistake, and you slid the wig back up before walking to the back of the stage.

that seemed to be the last straw for you. a stray tear escaped your eye and you hoped no one saw. this was the worst day possible. you had friends and family in the audience and you wanted everything to be perfect, but it was far from it. you felt like crap, your head and fingers ached, and you were embarrassed. as you watched mike take his bow on stage, you wanted nothing more than to be comforted by him. you needed him by your side.

however, nothing was ever that easy, and you still had to get out of makeup and costume and talk with the people that came to see you all while holding back the tears that were inevitably going to come out.

you took off your costume as fast as possible, avoiding conversations with your other cast mates at all costs. there was only one that you needed.

you met your friends and family by the stage door, and they congratulated you on your performance despite it being subpar. you tried to keep the conversations to the minimum. when you finally felt like you were on the verge of a full fledged breakdown, you excused yourself, telling them you were tired and needed to go home. you thanked them for coming before turning to the direction of the station and never looking back.

on your ride home, you kept your mind free of thoughts in order to keep the intrusive ones away. you knew if you kept thinking about what went wrong, you’d go crazy.

finally, at last, you arrived at your apartment and unlocked the door. mike was sitting on the couch, practically ready to doze off.

“mike, you could have gone to bed,” you said quietly.

he stared at you like that was a dumb thing to even consider. “i was waiting for you to get home.”

at that moment, you felt your heart melt. throughout everything that had happened, mike was your one constant. he was the calm within the storm of events that unfolded throughout the day.

you broke down, and began to cry. mike sat up on the couch and held out his arms. “oh, sweetheart, come here.”

you obliged, and sat down on the couch next to him. almost instinctively, you leaned into his body, resting your head on his chest. he wrapped both of his arms around you comfortingly, and he placed his hand on the side of your head. as you laid in his arms, you just cried.

“i wanted everything to be perfect today. first i got sick, then i burnt myself, then i hit my head, and then i tripped on the subway,” you swallowed, trying to talk clearly despite the tears. “a-and the one thing i could control, the one thing i could save, i fumbled. i messed up twice on stage.”

mike rubbed your head gently. “i know, Y/N, i’m sorry. i know how important this was. if it makes you feel any better, i barely noticed your mistakes.”

“i-i’m not sure how,” you said, sniffling. “they were pretty bad. i’m just…embarrassed.”

mike sat up, causing you to come with him. part of you was sad that you had to leave the comfy position you were in. mike looked into your eyes briefly before lightly placing his hands on either side of your face.

“Y/N, we’re performers. we make mistakes. trust me, there’s so many people even in our company that have made worse mistakes. take me, for example,” mike started, breaking eye contact briefly. “remember when i got my leg stuck in a chair during king of new york?”

you giggled. “y-yeah, i do. you turned so red.”

mike smiled. “there’s that signature Y/N smile again.”

you blushed, and mike used his thumbs to brush away stray tears. he removed his hands from your face and held your hands. “we all have off days. you’re the strongest person i know, and you got through today like a champ. you may not be happy with yourself, but i’m always proud of you, mistakes and all. do you understand?”

when you looked down, you noticed he was rubbing the tops of your hands with his thumbs. “yeah, mike. thank you, genuinely. if it weren’t for your help today, i probably would have exploded.”

mike grinned, and you went back to your position on the couch in his arms. to you, it felt like nothing mattered and nothing would matter ever again. all you could see in that moment was you and him.

mike laughed. “if it weren’t for me, your fingers wouldn’t be sore right now.”

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