yipee!!! i’ll get on my knees and beg for any newsie you wanna write about (but im partial to albert + race) x reader where the reader is a working girl (but not a newsie) and he starts flirting with her when he sells her papers, and the reader believes it/thinks he likes her but then finds him doing the same with a richer girl, maybe one the reader has always been jealous of !!! and she starts avoiding him until he grovels for forgiveness or something idk but like angsty hurt/comfort
MANHATTAN'S FLIRT
pairing: racetrack higgins x seamstress!reader
summary: in which you find yourself falling for manhattan's flirt
warnings: fluff, slight angst, jealousy, comparison
author’s note: oh how I miss writing for Race, happy holidays gift from me to the fandom
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You've been at this for hours.
Hunched over your desk, mending, hemming, and sewing anything and everything that is put down in front of you. You're certain your posture has been horrific this entire shift. Your hands cramp from running fabric under the sewing machine. You're pretty sure that if you have to use a sewing needle again, you are going to drive it through your finger. Overall, today had not been a good shift.
Thank the heavens it is over.
Oranges, pinks, and purples paint the Manhattan Sky. The walk back home is simple, quiet. It's enough to make you forget your fingers are raw and irritated from sewing and pinning. It's almost enough to make you forget to buy a newspaper for your father. Usually, your father would get it in the morning before his shift at the docks, but he was currently ill with a fever.
Reprimanding yourself, you swivel your head to find a newsie. You could only pray they hadn't left yet.
Turning the corner and speed walking down one block, you thankfully find a newsie who was still shouting headlines.
"Extra! Extra! Double Face Man Anomaly!" The boy shouted, waving a newspaper clipping in the air. Tuffs of blonde hair poked out of his cap. There was a cigar tucked in his shirt pocket.
"Excuse me?
He whipped his head around. A smile spread across his face. "Evening, doll. Need something?" His New York accent was thick.
"Just one paper, please." You responded politely and fished out some change in your bag.
"Oh! No need, doll. Your beautiful face is enough payment." The newsie smirked, tipping his cap and handing you the newspaper.
Your cheeks grew red-hot, and suddenly you were sputtering. Never in your life have you met someone so bold. The newsie noticed your reaction. He swapped the coin in your hand with a newspaper. He tossed the coin back into your bag. "Why--why...thank you!" You mustered.
"I should be thanking you!" The newsie grinned. "Blessing me with a view of you. I could die happy."
You were practically a tomato. Now, sure, you had men compliment you at the shop, but you were too focused on stitching and such. Here, where you couldn't hide behind your fabric and patchwork. You were a doozy. It didn't help that he was sorta cute.
"Name's Race. Racetrack Higgins." What an odd name.
You sputtered out yours. "Well, doll. I hope to see you again. I'll be here tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that--business is good here. And if I get to see you everyday, even better"
With that, Race picked up his few remaining newspapers and left. You let out a meek "Okay. " This is how you end up seeing Race for a little bit every day. Sometimes, during your lunch break, before your shift, or after your shift (sometimes multiple times a day, which was the best). You practically volunteer to buy the daily newspaper for your father, despite his preference to read the news in the morning.
This was just any other day. You left your stuffy workplace to enjoy your lunch break, and lo and behold, a certain blonde newsie was sitting on your bench. His hand ruffled his curls as if trying to make them look decent when he spotted you walking over.
"Hiya, doll!" He grinned cheekily
"How are you?" You asked politely and sat down. Though you were freaking out (in a good way) on the inside.
"Abso-tootin wonderful. I sold most of my papers before lunch. The sun is beaming, and you could knock me out for just talking with that sweet voice." Race explained. "Ain't nothing better."
"Well, of course, but I beg to differ." You spoke steadily. "I think your company is better."
Race raised his eyebrows in surprise. He tugged off his hat and held his chest as if he had been shot. Dramatizing the gesture, he fell on the sidewalk. "Ah, I've been shot! The girl of my dreams flirted back!" Race wailed jokingly. "Cupid spare me!"
You matched his expression before bursting out in fits of laughter. Your cheeks are growing warmer. Race didn't smirk. He smiled with something softer. He's proud of making you laugh. This had been the routine for the past week. You'd come out, enjoy your lunch, and the much-wanted company. He flirted, and you tried to flirt back. Well, this time you came out triumphant.
"Here." You tossed him an apple. You began packing a little extra for these little lunch rendezvous.
"An angel, dare I say." Race spoke. "Feeding the poor."
He bit into the apple, grateful to have something in his stomach, when he noticed your fingers. They were red and tender, probably from sewing all day and night. He wasn't an idiot. Concern laced his eyebrows. He knows what it's like. Working to the bone for a little cash. You enjoy your lunch, oblivious to his concern. You'v learn to just suck it up and keep going.
"Trade ya', doll." Race set a small tin container. Your face asked what was inside as you swallowed your sandwich. "Ointment, or--uh...salve of some kind. I don't know. I use it or paper cuts and some scraps, thought it might help you."
He's avoiding your eyes. The tips of his ears are red. "Oh..." You sputtered, taking the tin. He noticed your hands. "Thank you. I usually just ignore it, but really...I appreciate it."
There is an awkward, but not too awkward, silence as you put the salve on. Neither of you knows what to say from there. Going back to flirting seems wrong, so you enjoy each other's company in this quiet. The salve magically works, like a protectant for your hands. A thought makes you worry about it damaging fabrics or making it harder to sew, but another thought is screaming at you the kiss Race. Thank him properly for his kindness.
"You can keep it." Race stood up, tossing the core of the apple over his shoulder. "I got plenty back at the Lodging."
He doesn't, but he doesn't care.
Once again, you're speechless. The tin of salve is clasped tightly in your hands. Oh, this boy might be the death of you.
You mustered up the courage to listen to the forefront thought. A meek "thank you" escaped your lips as you kissed his cheek. You quickly dahs back into your workplace before you could see his reaction.
And man, you had him speechless for the first time, sputtering like a fish aching for water.
Oh, you might be the death of him.
You get back to your desk, riding the high of your adrenaline. That's when you realize. You forgot to buy a paper for your father. Reprimanding yourself silently, you hoped Race was still selling by the time you got off your shift.
After the rest of your agonizing shift (thank god you didn't get any salve on the fabrics), you rush out of the building to find Race. Your body is relieved from not being in such a hunched position at your desk any longer. Turning a corner and running down a block, you see the familiar newsie talking to a girl. You slow down.
The girl is laughing, tucking her hair behind her ear. She's beaming, smiling, and Race had that stupid, charming smile. The one he always had after flirting with you. The girl is pretty. She's rich, too. You can tell from the clothes she wears.
Suddenly, you find yourself not needing a paper anymore. An envy of hurt brewing in your heart. You felt like a fool. Of course, he flirts. It's how he can make money to survive. The tin of salve felt heavier in your pocket. It's stupid to be upset, but it was blissful ignorance. It was nice knowing he might've actually enjoyed your company. You turn on your heels and head home.
Race caught a glimpse of your coat, but he shook it off, handing the rich girl a paper. It was probably his imagination.
From that day forward, your father began getting his daily newspaper in the morning. He was a little peeved that he didn't get his daily news that night. You take your lunch on the box in the back alley rather than the bench. It's stupid to be upset, but you don't know if you can face him after seeing him flirt with another girl. And Race? He's wondering where you are.
This goes on for a week. You thought he might've given up and gone about his life. It would've been easier on your heart, but there he was: waiting outside your workplace when you got off.
You tried to leave, but it was too late. He spotted you. "Hey, doll!" He greeted, catching up next to you.
"I have to go."
"Go?" Race stopped, before matching your pace. "Go where? You need your paper for your father, right?"
"No. Now leave me alone." The memories from that day are bubbling up jealousy and anger in your heart.
The newsie furrowed his eyebrows as you continued walking, leaving him in the dust. Suddenly, you were pulled back and spun around to face Race. His eyes were full of a mix of sadness and confusion.
"Did I--did I do something? I mean...I haven't seen ya' in a week, darling." Race asked. The vulnerability in his tone made you wanna quit this foolishness. "Kinda hurting my heart over here."
"No." You croaked out. "It's nothing. My father doesn't need me to get the paper anymore.
You began walking away, knowing you'd cave if you stayed any longer. But, Race, the stubborn bastard, chased you. It'd been keeping him up for days. It affected his selling because every minute he was thinking of what he could've done to drive you away.
"Darling--" Race caught your arm again. He boldly intertwined his hand with yours. "Please...I miss your company. I'm sorry if I did anything to offend ya' or if I said the wrong thing or if I overstepped boundaries--"
"Am I just another game to you?" The outburst came to a surprise to him and you.
"What? No, no--never!"
"Well, it sure felt like it when I saw you flirting with someone else." You huffed, crossing your arms. You did it to hug yourself rather than seem intimidating. "I felt like an idiot when I saw you and that rich girl."
Race's face fell into realization. Oh. He did see you that day. He wasn't dreaming. "Darling..." He paused, not sure what to say. Race wiped his hand on his pants to get rid of the dirt and grime. He wasn't good with words, but he was a man of action.
You looked up at him with glassy eyes when his lips suddenly met yours. His lips were chapped, but it didn't matter. The butterflies in your stomach made your head dizzy. When he pulled back, you were at a loss for words. Race seemed to realize and figured he overstepped.
Apologies tumbled out of his mouth, then he began rambling in a panic. "Oh--shit. I'm so sorry. That might not have been the right decision, but god, doll, I really like ya'. Cupid shot me with that damn arrow, and I just. I really like ya. That rich girl was just so I could eat and--I'm sorry that I made you feel like that. But, I don't want to lose the only good thing that makes me get up in the morning to do my job."
You registered his words after a moment. Your face is heating up so quickly that a strawberry could be your sister. The boy you developed a crush on kissed you? Oh god, when did you die and go to heaven? To save yourself from embarrassment, you bury your head into his shoulder. His panic ceased. Race hesitantly wrapped his arms around you.
"I swear on everything good, I don't like that girl, and I wasn't using you." Race mumbled as the sunset began to fade. "Please, believe me."
You two stay like that until the street lights blink on. Race is left wondering, and you are focused on making your face less red. "I believe you." Race pulled back and looked at you, but you were avoiding his eyes.
"Do you like--"
"Yes. I do."
More silence.
"Can I walk ya' home?"
"Yes, you can."
He began dragging you in some direction. A guess at where your home might be, and when you look at him weirdly, he lets you do the leading. You finally look over at Race, who is already staring at you. A wide grin on his face, like he just won the lottery. You quickly look away and hear him laugh.
And from that moment forward, Race would never let you think he was into another girl again.
