#doja cat has been my no one for three years in a row

[jazzmasternot]

I want y’all to know I listen to an insane amount of rap and jazz but I’ve also been listening to hazbin hotel ost on repeat which has re awakened my musical phase. So let’s just say my Spotify wrapped is going to be very interesting.

I stg if hazbin hotel is what breaks my 5+ year streak of Mac miller being my number one artist it might be to late for me guys.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hanma Shuji as reader’s sugar daddy lmao

STOP I--

I CAN'T STOP WRITING FOR THIS MAN I--

The Arrangement: Shuji Hanma X Fem!Reader

wc: 1.4k

tw: a lil' NSFW at the end

masterlist

song recommendation: Pu$$y Talk - City Girls (Feat. Doja Cat)

Fluttering your lashes seems to do the trick every time for the men who come to the ritzy bar.

"A cognac?" Flutter them for emphasis when you ask a question. Purse your lips a little. Lean forward so they can see your cleavage.

It works every single time. Even on married men who are 100% dedicated to their wives... or mistresses. They're already half-drunk when you pull out your tricks, and their over-confidence leads to fatter tips in your pockets in hopes of scoring an hour with you. But even after all of the cajoling, the pursuing, the lusting... you turn them down and head back to your shared apartment, stuffing the money into your rent jar before taking a shower and heading to bed.

And the cycle begins anew the next day.

You don your slinky black dress, spray a tap of perfume on your wrists, and twirl your curls around your finger before leaving the apartment and driving to the place that hogs your evenings. And it's Friday evening, which means the work crowd and the wealthy crowd would come together in the glamorous bar.

"Y/n," Okina, your manager, calls out. "Big client in the VIP room upstairs. Think you can handle it?"

Big client? VIP room? Serving drinks at the private bar? "Fuck yeah," you answer, saluting the woman who just rolls her eyes, laughing.

"Don't drain them of all of their money, y/n," she replies and you nod, giving her a wink. You climb the stairs up to the private room and watch as servers make the wooden table nice and shiny for the guests coming. The VIP room has only been used four times in your entire seven years here, but every single time it was used for a big client who left amazing tips.

"Maybe I could use tonight's money to save up for a dog," you muse out loud, wiping down the bar and preparing your workstation carefully. The image of the Maltipoo you'd desired since childhood pops into your head, and you smile to yourself, coming up with a list of names as you work.

You're so lost in thought that you don't realize a good portion of the clientele has already come in, each one of them dressed to the nines and taking their seats.

Two snaps call you back to reality, and you look up at the man waiting for your assistance as you clean a bar glass.

"How can I help you, sir?"

The black and yellow-haired man looks at you with a bored expression, orange eyes roving over your appearance slowly. He adjusts his glasses, then states,

"Whiskey. Neat." You fulfill the request and place the drink in front of him with a napkin.

"Anything else, sir?"

"I'll be back shortly." He downs the drink all in one go, and you watch him walk off warily. The tattoos on his hands are enough to warn you that maybe this guy is bad news, but you shrug, taking the glass and putting it in the small sink against the wall. A few others come up to the bar for drinks, but the presentation and following discussion claims most of the men's attention.

Which is fine... sort of. It's really eating into your tips, to be honest.

"Another whiskey." You immediately offer it to the man in front of you, and he downs it, just like the one before.

"Anything else?" you murmur, and he crooks his finger at you. You lean a little closer, tilting your head just so and tucking your lip underneath your top row of teeth.

"You work here part-time? Full-time?"

"Full-time," you reply, fluttering your lashes. The earring in the man's ear shakes a little as he tilts his head a little, mimicking your stance.

"Do you enjoy it here? Make a lot of money?"

"Money is okay; I like working here," you answer, leaning forward to show off your cleavage as you grab his abandoned drink. He grabs your wrist, giving you a small smile before caressing your fingers.

"You know who I am, don't you, y/n?"

"No." The truth rolls off of your tongue with ease, but the man's face falls slightly as if he's disappointed that you don't know about his wealth and fame. "Should I?"

"Only if you want to." He raises a brow, blinking slowly. Did you want to? "Shuji Hanma." The man flips you a card, covered in gold foil and black, shiny cardstock. "If you're looking for some fun outside of work, you should give me a call."

_____________________________________________________________

If you're looking for some fun, you should give me a call.

You flip the card around in your hands, noting the numbers in gold foil and the lack of a name, a business, or anything else identifying. Yeah, Shuji Hanma is clearly someone who needed to be paid attention to. You consider dialing the number that night, but then you remember the lack of significant tips. Why bother with a man who wouldn't pay you for excellent service?

Even Onika thought it was odd that you hadn't received a cash flow...

You sigh, tossing the card aside and laying back on the bed, the dream of owning a Maltipoo slipping even further from your grasp.

"Curiosity killed the cat," your roommate warns day after day after day. But on the fifth day of having the card lay on your desk, you finally pick up your phone and call the number.

"And satisfaction brought it back," you muse, waiting for the line to pick up. It picks up on the second ring. "H-hello? Shuji Hanma?"

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the beautiful hostess from the bar. Thought about my offer?"

"Yes," you breathe, and Shuji hums softly.

"Meet me at Ocean Prime for dinner tonight. Say, at eight?"

"Eight is good."

"Do you want me to send a car for you?"

"No," you reply. "I'll drive."

_____________________________________________________________

You're sitting across from Shuji, who is dressed in a pinstripe suit and wearing the same glasses as before.

He is handsome, you think to yourself, but it doesn't stop the way you nervously interact with him as he peruses the menu, cuts his fish, or asks you about your life.

"Y/n, have you ever thought about... quitting your job?" You shake your head immediately, thinking about all of the bills that would need to be paid and how much debt you'd rack up on credit cards. "You see, I'm looking for someone who is willing to be... somewhat of a comfort to me. You know, in the mundane things, like being there when I come home after work and allowing me to take them out on dates, or being my plus one to events where I'll be forced to interact with others."

"A girlfriend?"

"No," Shuji shakes his fork at you. "That's a level of commitment I cannot allow for myself. More like a younger, prettier beneficiary. It would come with perks, like bills being taken care of, a new wardrobe, a work-free lifestyle, travel, et cetera."

"Wait." You swallow your water with a hard gulp. "Like..." You scan the room for people who may be tuning into your conversation nervously. "Like a sugar baby?"

"Sure," Shuji answers, shrugging. "I mean, it's a lot of work - attending to my needs, that is. But I'll make sure you're well compensated."

"I..."

"Take some time to think about it. Oh, and by the way," The man slides you a thick envelope. "For tonight, as well as the tips I had to extort from the others. Go ahead and count it." You look through the money and realize that the hundred dollar bills add up to about three thousand dollars.

"Shuji, this is..."

"Fifteen hundred for your time, and fifteen hundred for your tips." You can't say anything else as you hold the envelope in your hand. However, Shuji continues to eat his meal, sipping at his water carefully. "What're you thinking?"

"Even if I say no, this money is mine?"

"Of course," he smiles. "Though it would be nice to take you home tonight."

It's only as Shuji is eating you out that you realize that you can officially quit your job. Not even with a two-week notice. You could call today and quit.

"Give me two weeks," you whisper, and Shuji hums, looking up at you and ceasing his movements.

"Two weeks for what?"

"My job."

"Oh," he chirps, smiling. "I expect nothing less from you, pretty girl." He hoists your legs up around his shoulders and dives back into your cunt, removing his glasses and slurping up your juices eagerly. You tangle your hands into his hair and moan loudly as he sends you right into your first orgasm of this little arrangement.