Hello my Famsies!

Because Race is my favorite flirty baby, I have decided this oneshot will be a Race X Reader. Yippee!

If you enjoy the story, please consider leaving a star and some comments. I love reading your feedback/reactions! Ideas for future stories are also welcome.

I love and appreciate you all. Thanks for reading!

-:-:-:-

Manhattan, September, 1899

You stared at your distorted reflection in the grimy mirror of the Lodge bathroom, tossing your bangs out of your face. It was just hair. Of course you knew it was just hair. But by Jove it was the one thing that kept the boys from knowing you were not of their species!

It had been growing out for some time, almost six months at that point, and it was now reaching dangerous lengths.

You had choppily hacked it off into a messy pixie before you had first gone out to become a newsie. Both the hair, as well as clothes that hid your more... voluptuous figure, contributed to the boyish image you had worked so hard to establish and maintain. It wasn't entirely honest, but it protected you from the dangers of being a girl out on the street. Sure, you may get soaked every once in a while, but that was sure better than some other things that could happen.

A sudden and harsh knocking jolted you from your thoughts.

"You's plottin' your get rich quick scheme in there? Cause if so, I wants in." You heard a familiar voice on the other side of the thin wood.

"No, Race. And even if I was, I wouldn't let you in on it. You'd lose all my earnin's to poorly placed bets!" You heard a thump and a rustle of fabric on the other side of the door. You quickly smoothed your chin-length hair into a small nub of a pony tail on the top of your head and slapped your cap on before opening the bathroom door to see what had happened. You found a very dead-looking Race on the floor.

"Look at what's you've done now, Locks! You's killed Race!" Though you got your nickname from your uncanny ability to get into locked things (namely Davey's hilariously cute diary), the connection to hair made you wince a bit.

Locks of hair. Lots of hair. FRICKIN HAIR. Dang, where were the scissors when you needed them?! You needed to vent, so obviously you kicked Race.

Why?

Well, he was there.

And he's too cocky for his own good and needs to be taken down a few notches every once in a while.

And because he rushed you out of the bathroom.

And because he won't notice yo- Wait oops no he thinks you're a boy Ha ha. Also, whaaaaaaaat??

Well... whatever. You kicked him. So there.

"OWWWWW."

"Serves you right for just lying right in the middle of the walkway." You snapped back, stepping over the boy in pain.

"Oof, that's a just adding insult to injury."

"Locks kicked 'im where the sun don't shine."

"Harsh... you'd think he'd empathize at lest a little."

You heard from various boys throughout the Lodge. Oh. Oops. You couldn't decide if your aim was horrible or terrific.

"Looooooooocks... you hurt meeeee." Race called out to you.

"Yeah yeah, suck it up, buttacup. I didn't even kicks ya that hard."

"C'mon man, you knows how much that hurts. Give 'im a break." Albert advised from across the room where he was tying the mismatched laces on his boots.

"Fine... I's sorry Race." You grudgingly mumbled to Race's still-trembling form. He gave you a thumbs up.

"Ahright. Nows that's settled. It's time ta go, boys, let's go sell some papes!" Jack called as he came down from the rooftop, rolling up his sleeve to match the length of the other one.

You sighed. You really just wanted to look for some scissors, but you had to pay for food somehow, right?

Papes it is.

-:-:-:-

"Sweet mother of Pulitzer, I coulda sold at least twenty more papes with the way those suckas was beggin' for 'em!" Ike or Mike whooped. Mike or Ike agreed with his brother.

Though it had been an excellent day for all the newsies, with the papes almost flying out of your bags, you were so distracted by your stupid hair that you couldn't enjoy the success.

"Hey, does any of yous gots any scissors?" You called to the crowded room. They all looked up at you with confused faces before searching around their meager possessions.

"Naw, sorry, Locks. No one's got no scissors."

"Well shet."

"Watch your mouth, Locks. Les is here." Davey chastised as he walked past you.

"Sorry Davey. It just slips out sometimes."

"Yeah, well, stop it."

"That's like telling Race to stop goin' to the Sheepshead races or to gives up 'is cigar. It ain't nevah gonna happen."

Davey scowled, but didn't press the point any further. For a moment, there was a dark look in his eye that reminded you of death. Your eyes widened. You made a mental note to never get on Davey's bad side. Ever.

"Didja need scissors to snips off that rats nest on your head there, Locks?" Race smirked, leaning on the wall in front of where you were walking.

You glared daggers at him, but didn't say anything.

"Hey, I's was just pokin-"

"If ya wants a repeat of this mornin' by all means, keep runnin' your mouth." You said quietly. Quiet and deadly, like a snake. Like poison. Like a silent fart.

Race backed down pretty quick after that, fear apparent in his eyes, though there was a hint of something else as well...

Finally, he ran away. Boom boi, get out da way.

You headed up to the rooftop, trying to clear your head a bit. It always worked for Jack, so why not you?

You leaned over the railing and looked out over the dirty, smokey, beautiful city you lived in. You calmly breathed in the cleaner air from high above the smoggy streets and looked to the horizon like you imagined Jack would do.

...

Nope. Not working.

"DOES ANYONE IN THIS DANG CITY GOTS A PAIR A SCISSORS?!" You yelled out into the crisp air.

"I do!" Called a sassy voice from far below. You looked down to see a weirdly, and extremely scantily, dressed woman with a pair of scissors in her hand. She held them up to you, though it was obvious you couldn't grab them. Oof. No way were you taking a pair of scissors from a... Yeah, just... no.

"Erm... no thanks, miss..?" It came out as more of a question

"Merri, but you can call me whatever you want, stud muffin." She assumed you were asking for her name and she gladly gave it to you. Even though she was quite far away from you, you shivered with disgust. You didn't know how to respond, so you stayed silent. Apparently, she got bored, because she flipped her long, silky hair and strutted away.

Well... that was awkward...

But also a great reminder of what you were trying to protect yourself from by pretending to be a boy. You didn't want to end up like Merri, seducing young boys to earn a quick buck. You took off your cap and let your hair down, savoring the feeling of the strands tickling your cheeks. If you were being honest, you really missed having long hair. You wanted to be able to choose what hairstyle you had, not be forced to wear it one way or another...

You shook away the thought and quickly turned away from the view of the city. Pulling your cap back on, you began making your way back down to the main area of the lodge. Just before you were about to hop through the window, however, a foot connected with your... *ahem* nether regions.

More surprised than in pain, you yelped and turned to face your attacker.

"Haha! I gotchu back, Locks!!" Race joyfully whooped, jumping around and pumping his fist in the air. When he noticed that you were still standing, however, the blithe melted from his face.

"Hey, hows you still standin'? I kicked yous pretty hard and I know I ain't missed." He asked, perplexed.

"No boy could still be standin' after that shot. Wait..."

Oh. OH.

"OWWWWWWWW!!!" You cried, falling to the ground and crumpling in on yourself, as Race had done earlier.

"What the heck, Locks?"

Oh no oh no oh no

"I's been caught!"

"What?!"

Shoot, didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Nothin'!"

"Locks..." you stopped rolling around when you heard the change in his voice and looked up at him. His face was red and he was awkwardly scratching his neck.

"Is... is you a... goil?" He asked quietly.

There was a long pause with the two of you just staring at each other. Finally, you sighed and flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Well... it ain't like I can hides it now."

"Soz... that's a yes?"

"Yeh, Race. I's a goil. A female. A strong, independent woman. Deal wit it."

"Oh thank goodness; I thoughts I was gay!" Race cried out, pulling you up off the floor and into a hug.

Race what the heck.

"I- I mean... I thoughts you was gay. Heheh."

Dude, that makes no sense.

Wait.

HOL UP.

"Race, what does that mean?" His pink cheeks darkened to a shade that could be compared to a tomato.

Oh. OH.

OMIGOD YOU GUYS.

Ok. Calm down, (Y/n). You can do this. Just... ask.

"Do..." he winced at the sound of your voice. You winced because he winced. Great. There goes all the courage you'd built up.

Ok. Ok. You've got this. It's just a question. Ok. Here goes...

"Do you have feelings for me, Race?" You asked. It came out much weaker and quieter than you would have liked. It showed just how nervous you were. Dang it, (Y/n)! Show no weakness!!! Wait... how did Race react? Focus! You looked at him. He looked away.

There was a pause.

A long pause.

"Race?" You breathed, inaudibly, desperately.

"Locks, I- I's pretty sure I love you." He said, face still redder and chin tucked into his chest. He looked so cute that your heart burst and you couldn't help but laugh.

Race sank lower into himself, misinterpreting your amusement as rejection.

"Oh my goodness, Racetrack you are the most adorable thing." You giggled, pulling him into a tight hug and tucking your face into his neck.

"I love you too, you stupid, crazy boy." You whispered, placing a little kiss on his neck.

The change in Race was immediate. He froze up first, then jolted back out of the hug. He moved so quickly that he dropped his beloved cigar off the roof. At first you were confused and a little bit upset at his reaction, but then you saw his eyes. Those beautiful eyes. They were filled with tears.

"Locks..." he looked at you in amazement, lifting his hand as if he wanted to touch you, but afraid you might disappear with the slightest contact.

"Call me (Y/n). It's my real name, after all."

"(Y/n)..." he whispered, gently placing his hand on your cheek.

As though a spell had been broken, Race pulled you in and gave you the most emotion-filled kiss you had ever experienced. When the two of you finally pulled away, you were in a daze. You. Had just kissed. Racetrack Higgins.

"Call me Anthony. It's my real name, after all." He said with a smirk, using your phrasing from a moment before.

"Naw, Race fits ya better, I thinks. It's a good reminder of why you can't affords no cigars." You teased, pulling off his cap and switching it with yours. He looked good in your cap.

What are you saying? He looks good in everything.

"Eh, I's not that bad at gamblin'. And speakin' of cigars, you owes me a new one to replace the one I just dropped." He winked at you and leaned in closer, making your stomach full with butterflies. You leaned in still more to snap back at the flirt.

"Ah... there's the cocky little son of a-" Race closed the small distance left and cut you off with another dizzying kiss.

Whoa Nellie. You could get used to that.

"You can call me whatevah ya want sweetheart. As long as I gets to hear your voice sayin' it." He said, his gaze memorizing every detail of your face.

This boy...

You were absolutely head over heels for him.

Who cared about hair when the epitome of sexy was holding you in his arms? Hey, maybe you'd even grow your luscious locks out.

No, the streets weren't any safer for you than before, but now you had Race. And that was far better than a silly haircut could ever be.