Race Higgins - Blog Posts

albert doesn't really KNOW how to express affection. he steals race's cigar every once in a while, but he doesn't think race really appreciates that. what he knows (or thinks) race likes is when albert hugs him, when albert compresses race as tightly as possible for as long as possible. usually albert isn't a hugger, but something about the way race melts in his arms is addicting. the faint smell of smoke on his vest, the soot on his cheeks wiping onto albert's neck, where albert wouldn't want to clean, to keep that faint reminder of race on him for a little longer.

some mornings albert 'accidentally' puts on race's vest instead of his own, to smell his scent of smoke and sweat and warmth in winter. sometimes he climbs into race's bed with him just to Be with him. to feel race's warmth and smell his smoke.

being with race is the only thing he really wants, he thinks.

youre telling me racetrack Higgins WOULDNT be into y2k fashion?????????????? he's a DANCER he's a MODERN MAN he's GAY of COURSE he loves y2k!!!!! the wraparound sunglasses, the tight crop tops, the big jeans, the headphones???? that man was MADE for y2k!!

Romeo is nearly asleep when he feels Albert rapidly gain weight on the other side of his bed.

He hears a whisper; 'Al, you awake?'

A returning whisper; 'Yeah.'

A quiet chu.

'Race, we can't do this here,' this whisper was barely louder than a breath. 'Romeo's right there.'

'He's asleep, we'll be fine.' Chu.

The bed sags even more.

'What if Romeo gets up early and finds you sleeping next to me?'

'That's a problem for the morning. Stow the seriousity.'

after the strike, the older manhattan newsies are *ruined*. like, comatose, barely awake, exhausted to the CORE. and the younger newsies are SO full of energy like 'YAYY WE DID IT' and the older newsies can only respond with 'ough' before they collapse onto a table at jacobi's. some of the older newsies have taken to sleeping in the same beds at the lodge because it helps them sleep easier. after jack moves to be with davey working in pulitzer's office, race and albert take over the manhattan newsies, trying to keep the morale up while barely keeping it together themselves. when albert suddenly breaks down in tears trying to get the younger newsies to just please listen to him, the only thing race really knows to do is hug him as tight as he can and try to kiss his cheek as inconspicuously as possible.

of course, it doesn't go unnoticed. it creates tradition and openness within the younger newsies; they feel comfortable crying in front of each other for the first time, and often kiss each other on the cheek or forehead to cheer each other up. when jack comes to visit and he finds such a supportive environment, led by race and albert holding hands and wearing steel promise rings, he's spellbound.

he can't believe that race and albert brought this about.

he's so proud of them because now they can finally be themselves.

crotcheting my cat a phat doobie because I am an enabler but it's racetrack higgins. thank you for coming to my Ted talk

man I get sprace I need sprace too I think we all need sprace ... but no javey??????????? understandable ig ig but man I love javey ... no hard feelings also writing sprace rn bc of this post ... expect it soon ...

does anyone have any sprace fic recommendations ? i need more sprace content in my life

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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MY BONNIE

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pairing: racetrack higgins x fem!reader

summary: after a year without seeing her, race is able to see her beauty in the moonlight. he’s able to see her, once again.

warnings: small mention of death

a/n: an idea popped up and i couldn’t stop writing. i don’t think “my bonnie” was an actual sea shanty, so we’ll pretend like it is.

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The Seven Seas are dangerous to navigate with the vicious weather and the creatures haunting the depths of the ocean. From krakens the size of two pirate ships to mythic Scylla to serpents that feed on the mutineers to the dangerously beautiful sirens.

The sirens are most common within the Seven Seas. Pirates are wary every time they voyage across the seas. Race even more cautious. He had been a survivor of a few siren attacks. His crewmates don’t believe him. They laugh and mock because all pirates know…once you hear a siren’s song— you are dead.

The moonlight and stars twinkle in the night sky. The crew mates of the Crooked Star laughing drunkenly. Albert or Romeo had found the alcohol stashed below the deck. It caused for a mass party among the crew.

What were they celebrating? They don’t even know themselves, but everyone loves a good drink of alcohol after being on the seas for so long.

Race was leaning against a barrel. A wooden cup of alcohol in hand with a cigar between his fingers. The lanterns on the ship illuminating the wooden deck orange and yellow. A wide tipsy grin on his face as he watched his crew sing sea shanties and dance.

“My Bonnie lies over the ocean!”

“My Bonnie lies over the sea!”

“Well, my Bonnie lies over the ocean!”

“Yeah, bring back my Bonnie to me” “Yeah, bring back. Ah, bring back”

“Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me. To me!”

Yet, something combated the pirates’ singing. Something magical, enchanting to the ears. Something luring. Race could recognize it within seconds. He could always recognize their songs.

It sobered him up real quickly.

“Sirens!” Race’s voice boomed over the singing. The word sobered everyone on the deck real quick. Wooden cups, empty or not, were discarded. Hands covering their ears. Alcohol staining the deck, but they could get the stains out—if the crew survived.

“Beeswax!”

Again, Race’s voice boomed. He’s learned well enough beeswax can muffle the songs of sirens. If that didn’t work, you better tie yourself to the mast of the ship.

Race was able to shove the beeswax into his ears when he saw his friend, Mush, mindlessly walking towards the edge of the ship. The pirate gritted his teeth and launched himself at his entranced friend.

“Mush, you idiot!” Race shouted with intensity. He would not lose his friends to these creatures. Albert helped Race tie Mush to the mast of the ship.

Once you hear the sirens’ song, you couldn’t get out until they stopped. Race rushed to the railing of the ship. He could see the heads of the sirens, peeking out of the dark waters. For a second, he thought he recognized one. A siren from the last attack he went through. That was impossible though.

Jack stormed to the edge of the ship. His face stern as he held his flintlock pistol. A shot rang out. The heads of the sirens submerged in the water quickly.

Race’s heart was beating against his chest. Adrenaline pumping through his veins. All is calm, but you could never be too sure. Mush’s head lolled to the side as he regain his senses. The other crewmates of the Crooked Star wearily glance around at each other.

They look at Jack for orders. Jack looked at Race. At least none of his friends will mock him for “surviving” sirens now. Davey crouched and put beeswax in Mush’s ears. Thankfully, he was the only one who was entranced.

“Retire to your bunks, keep the beeswax in until the morning!” Jack barked the command and glanced at Race. A silent thank you passing his eyes.

Lanterns were blown out as the pirates dragged their bodies below deck to their hammocks. The hangovers tomorrow would be a lot to deal with. Race decided to stay out on the deck. An exhausted look in his eyes. He picked up one of the wooden cups and filled it with alcohol, well—half way. There was barely any left.

The moon was the only light source he had as he leaned against the railing of the deck. A cool breeze blowing through his hair. Race was with his own thoughts for a moment or two when there was a thump and a splash.

Faintly, he can hear a hum. He can’t hear the tune, so against his survival instincts—he takes out the beeswax. He hopes, he prays.

He can hear, clearly, someone humming “My Bonnie”. The shanty his crew was singing earlier. His heart beats against his chest, for a different reason, not fear, but love.

“You humans put words together that don’t make sense and call them songs.” That only confirmed his suspicions.

He turned around and there, right there, was the dangerously beautiful creature he warns others of. She had the face and the upper body of a mortal woman, but that doesn’t dismiss the tail hanging off the deck. The scales that captured moonlight.

Right there, sitting on the edge of the deck was his Bonnie.

“Bonnie can’t lie over the ocean. It’s impossible.” The siren stated. She’s leaning back on her hands. Her hair slicked back against her head due to the sea.

“Y/N…” Race let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It had been so long since he heard her voice, seen her face, her tail, her beauty. It was his Bonnie.

“Hello, my love.” Y/N smiled.

Race tackled the siren in a hug. His knees slammed against the deck. His shirt getting soaked with the water running off her body. He didn’t care— he was just so happy to see her.

Y/N hugged the pirate back. She can feel the weight of emotions through one single hug.

The siren and pirate first met during Race’s first siren survival. He had been the only one to survive out of a crew of 20. This intrigued Y/N. Pirates hadn’t figured out how to survive siren attacks back then, so she was curious.

Fortunately enough for her, curiosity did not kill the cat. Though Race was weary and young, he wasn’t naive. He knew he should’ve killed the siren, yet he held a conversation with them. Maybe it was the despair realizing he was the only one left or possibly, his teenage hormones that couldn’t resist a beautiful creature. Y/N’s company made his sailing a little more bearable.

They talked, laugh, spoke to each other about their dreams every night. Every night, until Race reached land. Y/N returned to the ocean, but not without leaving Race a gift. One of her scales. It was one of the smaller ones, but it held memories. Memories that Race interpreted they both enjoyed each other.

Race confessed his love the second time he saw her. She accepted. He was still young, early 20s, but now…now that he’s a little older and matured — he knows, he knows his love isn’t some infatuation, but true, pure love.

“I see you found yourself a more suitable, stronger crew.” Y/N stated her observations for earlier. Her and her sisters were close to getting one to feed on, but Race got in the way of that. Not that she could be mad.

“I’ve missed you so much.” Race pulled back from the hug to cupped her face. A million of words being spoken with his eyes. “A year away and I still recognized you.”

“A year away and somehow, I’m still dreaming of when I could see you again.” Y/N admitted softly. She glanced at a soft colored silver chain around his neck. She reached out to remove it from under his shirt.

It was her scale on a necklace.

Race kissed her forehead. “Had to keep you close, somehow.”

The pirate sat down next to her. Legs hanging off the deck next to the scaled tail of his love. It still feels unreal that she’s here. He’s praying he isn’t hallucinating from the alcohol and cigar from earlier. “May I?”

Y/N doesn’t respond back. It was something they both needed after being apart for a year. Their lips meet, a contrast in temperature. His warm lips against her cold lips. The smell of the sea on her skin makes him feel dizzy. If the sea and moonlight were a person, it’d be her.

Her hand cupped the back of his neck, deepening the reunion kiss. They kept kissing and kissing until Y/N was warm. They pulled away, but Race hugged the siren once more.

“I missed you so much.” He reiterated.

“I missed you too, my love.” Y/N said it back.

“I didn’t know you were on this ship until I saw someone tackle their crew mate.” Y/N giggled quietly, remembering the scene from her perspective in ocean. “I hate you for being able to prevent our attacks.”

“Well, I survived two others. I would be stupid to not use this knowledge to my advantage, sweetheart.” Race snickered and wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders.

It was silent for a moment. The couple enjoying each other’s presence. The moonlight reflecting off of Y/N’s scales softly. Race’s body heat keeping Y/N comfortable in his arms. The ship aimlessly sailing north.

“Does the song really mean a woman is lying on the ocean water?” Y/N asked softly. Her curiosity was one of the things he admired about her.

“No, sweetheart.” Race kissed her forehead. “The song is about someone they love caring about the other’s return.”

He paused letting her process. “In this case, us pirates, sing the song in hopes we return to our loved one. Like my captain, Jack, is waiting to return home to his wife, Katherine or my buddy, Romeo, hoping someone is waiting for him at the dock for his return.”

“Or me, waiting to be reunited with you.” Race muttered softly. Y/N glanced up at Race. A small, loving smile on her face as she leaned up to peck his lips.

“You should be singing my Bonnie lies in the ocean. My Bonnie lies in the sea.” Y/N joked with a giggle.

Race matched her smile. “Well, my Bonnie lies in the ocean. Yeah, bring back my Bonnie to me. Bring back, bring back. Bring back my Bonnie to me. To me.”

Y/N leaned her head against Race’s shoulder as he sung the modified words to “My Bonnie”. It was special to them. Only they would know the true meaning.

And when they parted ways, they had a new song to hum when they missed each other. Not a siren song or a sea shanty, just their love song.

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SPIDERS AND THREAD

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pairing: racetrack higgins x reader

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

warnings: blood, cursing, description of stitching

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

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

“Race…?”

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

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

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

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

Does he though?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Suprise.” Race said dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And pull.

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

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

“I—”

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

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

A few moments of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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FLICKERING LIGHTS

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pairing: racetrack higgins x reader

summary: racetrack finds y/n on jack’s rooftop, silent, peaceful, looking at those big beautiful flicking lights in the night sky.

warnings: n/a

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The faint chatter of the Manhattan Newsies faded away as Y/N climbs up the fire escape. Escaping life, noise, smiles, chatter, work, hunger, exhaustion—escaping it all for just a moment.

A cool breeze hits their face once they step foot on the metal stairs, climbing and climbing until they reach “Jack’s Penthouse”.

There is a couple of blankets, pillows and clothes sprawled out over the roof. Jack and Crutchie’s things. The two newsboys usually retire here during the summer and autumn seasons.

Stepping over the belongings, carefully, Y/N reaches the railing of “Jack’s Penthouse”. All is quiet, all is peaceful. It is as if the city that never sleeps was actually asleep, save for the murmurs of a passerby. They lean against the railing, looking up at the millions and millions of glimmering stars in the evening sky. Beautiful flickering lights. Celestial balls of gas.

Their thoughts cease on when their next meal is or if they’ll sell all their papers tomorrow or when they’ll age out of being a newsie.

No.

Y/N focused on the stars and it brings them peace. A newfound solidarity blooming within. “The stars are so beautiful.” Y/N thought. A soft smile playing on their lips.

The constellations are mapped out amongst the millions of stars. Y/N wished they could remember what constellation is what, but they can see the pictures they make.

Y/N makes out one to be a ladle for soup or a pan with an odd handle. There is a small one just besides it. There also seemed to be one that looked likes a stick figure of a dog. Y/N liked to think that was an actually constellation.

Time passes by, Y/N underestimated how long they’ve been up there when Racetrack comes looking for them. His head popped up from the fire escape. His hat and cigar missing from his usual newsies getup. “Hey, Y/N!” Race called out.

Upon realizing the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the night, Race lowered his voice. “Hey.” Race almost whispered as he made his way to the newsie. He leaned against the railing just like Y/N, looking at them with a softened gaze.

“Hey, ‘was wondering where you went.” Race spoke and followed their gaze. The stars capturing his eyes. “S’pretty.”

“Mhm.” Y/N hummed.

It’s silent again, the occasionally cricket chirping (wherever it was on the roof). Now, Y/N had a star-gazing partner, for now. Y/N deducted that Race would get bored and go back inside the Lodging House.

But, Race stayed. He appreciated the peaceful beauty of the evening sky as much as they did.

Which compelled Y/N to say, “D’you know constellations?”

“Constell—what?”

“Constellations.”

Race thought for a moment, his attention on the newsie beside him. “I’ve heard of the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper…” Race uttered softly. He didn’t want to disrupt the atmosphere and mood.

Y/N looked at him curiously. Race smiled and took their hand, fumbling with their fingers, so the pointer finger stuck out. He guided their hand to point at the Big Dipper. “There.”

It took a moment for Y/N’s eyes to figure out what they were looking at—oh…

The big ladle for soup.

Race guided their hand a little bit down. “The small ladle for soup.” Y/N mumbled the thought.

“Yeah, those two are the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.” Race grinned at the newfound information Y/N learned. He let go of their hand.

In return, Y/N mimicked Race’s actions with his own hand. “Right…there. Do you see the stick figure dog?” Y/N asked. They could see it loud and clear.

“No…” Race squinted his eyes as if he would be able to see the image better. He did. Somehow. “Oh! Yeah…I see the guy.”

“Named him Oliver.” Y/N grinned and let go of Race’s hand.

The two newsies take turns spotting our different images they can see amongst the stars. Sometimes the other lied about seeing a certain thing just to make the other happy. Laughs and comments traded amongst them.

By the end of the evening when Jack and Crutchie made their way up to the “penthouse”, they found Race and Y/N on the floor. Race’s arm was being used as a pillow for Y/N. Their eyes slowly shutting but re-opening quickly to find new constellations of their own.

“Alright, you two.” Jack clapped his hands to wake them from their droopy states. “Get back to the bunks, you’ll be stiff if you sleep up here.”

Crutchie shook his head with a playful grin. Race grumbled something incoherent as Y/N and him move their bodies down the fire escape.

When they reached the window to lead them back into the Lodging House, Y/N stopped Race. They found the courage to press a kiss to his cheek. “Star-watch with me tomorrow.” Y/N mumbled and headed inside.

Race stood on the fire escape and touched his cheek. Specifically, the spot where Y/N’s lips touched. His cheek and ears turned a rosy pink. “Yeah.” He whispered almost inaudibly.

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Race likes Panic at the Disco.