Newsies oneshots! Headcanons! Imagines! Modern and Original | Broadway or 1992

Spot x Reader | Hearst-ache

Hi! I just wanna give a big thanks to @Bookg1rl for requesting this! Sorry for not updating as of late, I've been busy working on my other stories, that I forgot to update this one. But anyways, enjoy!

Also it's 92sies Spot.

.•♫•♬• 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒫𝒪𝒱 •♬•♫•.

As the daughter of the William Randolph Hearst, I'd say that I live a pretty privileged life. Hundreds of dollars to my name, and I'm not even seventeen yet.

But of course, living in such a wealthy family leaves me wanting more than money could ever buy. I always wanted a home. Not a simple house, but a place where I could feel safe, and like I could be myself.

Back at my home, there's many rules to follow: 

1. I must be polite to everyone, at all times. Unless if I'm interacting with any working class citizen.

2. I must refrain from speaking to the lower class, unlike on of my best friends, Kathrine Pulitzer, who's now dating the former leader of the newsboys strike. My brother, Bill, is already in big trouble for assisting in the strike.

(Okay so I know that it's 92sies Spot, but I do not ship Sarah and Jack)

3. I cannot talk flirt with any boys. No acceptations.

4. I shockingly can leave the house by myself, but I must be accompanied by a male friend if I take a walk.

And 5. I'm not allowed to cross over the Brooklyn bridge. Ever.

Needless to say, I've broken rule 2, 4, and 5. That leads to right now, actually, where I'm seated in a booth at a diner in Brooklyn.

"Miss Hearst, may I take your order?" A waitress asks, flashing me a friendly smile. I look up at her and smile at her in a similar sense.

"Hi! Yeah, I'd like an omelet, with mashed potatoes, and one black coffee," I say sweetly. She gives me a weird look at first, and blinks a couple of times.

"My apologies, miss, but are you sure that you want a black coffee? They're very strong, especially for a young woman such as yourself," the waitress says. I feel a spark of anger ignite within me, especially since I don't have my coffee to cheer me up.

You see, even though I'm sixteen, I'm as tall as a child. I'm 5'3", and I'm relatively skinny, which tends to give people the impression that I'm around thirteen years old. Instead of yelling at the waitress, I shoot her a dirty glare.

"Just bring me my stuff," I say in a tone that shows I am done talking. She looks a bit nervous as she nods.

"Right away, miss."

I wait a couple of minutes before my food finally arrives. Once my food, and coffee is placed in front of me, I dig in, eating my mashed potatoes and omelet as fast as I can, in order to leave.

But as soon as I bring my coffee up to my lips, and taste the sweet bitterness touch the tip of my tongue, the loud sound of the yelling boys that have entered the shop makes me put my drink back down.

I don't even have to turn around to know who's just entered. The Brooklyn newsies. I've eaten at plenty of diners here in Brooklyn, and almost every time, they end up ruining my day.

"Hey, if it ain't little miss Y/n Hearst! C'mon ovah here!" I hear the all too annoying voice call out from behind me. Well, I say he's annoying, but honestly, he's actually really cool. I just can't let him know that, because it will tarnish our family's reputation.