Luxury (female whitney x reader) male whitney version here ♡
warnings: degrees of lewdity (and whitney) is its own warning, but! mentions of harrassment/non con, abusive/controlling relationships, whitney being kinda nice for once
Your short little maid dress was ripped, thanks to some handsy patrons, and your feet were aching from being crammed in heels since the Cafe opened. Not to mention how cold it was, and how dreadful the walk back to the orphanage had been.
You knew that taking the bus would be faster, but you couldn’t afford to spend even a dollar on something so frivolous. You’d take all the bus trips in the world, you told yourself, but only after you paid your debt for the week, and bought everyone gifts for the holidays.
To make matters worse, you were propositioned on the walk home. The sun was only just setting in the sky, but that didn’t stop a lanky man in a red convertible from pulling over beside you as you walked. He honked his horn and yelled for you to get in, telling you he’d make it worth your while if you could show him a good time. By the time you managed to stammer out that you weren’t selling, the man was livid.
He followed you for a solid minute, his convertible moving at a crawl so he could shout abuse at you, calling you a cock-tease, screaming at you that you were asking for it, parading around in such a short little dress.
You didn’t let your tears fall until after he had peeled off, not wanting to let the bastard see how much the words hurt. If life were easier, you wouldn’t have to wear shit like this just to make enough tips to scrape by.
By the time you reached your block, you didn’t have any more tears left to cry.
As you walked closer to the orphanage, you noticed someone leaning up against the side of the building. A lit cigarette dangling from their fingers was all it took for you to realize who it was.
“Where the fuck’ve you been?”
“W-Whitney? I was working.” Whitney says nothing, blowing smoke into your face instead of responding. After a few beats, you begin to wring your hands together. “...Have you been waiting long?”
“I’ve seen you hanging ‘round that freak in the library.” She interjects, taking a few fast steps towards you.
“Sydney?” You stumble back, tottering on your heels, but you refuse to take a step away from her. She’d only see that as a sign of weakness. “She’s my friend.”
“I don’t fucking care. She wasn’t at school today. And neither were you.” Whitney stares down at you, so close that you have to stare up at her to make eye contact. For a horrifying moment, you think she might put her cigarette out on your face. She had used your arms before, singeing you through your school shirts back before you started dating.
But she doesn’t. She flicks the butt away, letting it sizzle out onto the snowy pavement.
“So you better be real sure you were at work and not fucking around with that freak.”
“Sydney's an initiate at the temple, like me. We pray together and hang out at school, but that’s all.” You avert your eyes, a sigh falling from your lips. This was the last thing you needed after the shit-storm that was today.
You hated having to miss your classes, and you hated the detention that followed even more. But some days you simply can’t afford to go to class, especially with the holidays coming up.
You had to cut costs everywhere, even if that meant cutting down the time you spent not earning money. Going to school didn’t cost you anything, but it took up precious hours you could spend working.
If you worked hard during the day, you wouldn’t have to resort to walking the streets at night. Hell, you’d drop out of school completely if it meant you wouldn’t have to start selling yourself like Bailey expected you to do.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all you do together. Look at how you’re fucking dressed.” Whitney sneers, looking you up and down. “What, is the little church mouse into roleplay? Does she like it when you dress like a pretty maid for her?”
You shake your head in defeat. “I can’t do this tonight.”
You try to walk past her, but she blocks the way. Whitney's taller than you by at least a foot and broader than you could ever even dream of being. Usually, the size difference between you two makes your heart race and your thighs clench, but right now it’s only an irritation.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Something inside you snaps, the exhaustion from the day is still there but the surge of anger you feel is enough to give you one last book of energy.
“I’m tired, Whitney!” You’ve never yelled at her before, never expected to. And judging by the way she freezes up, she hadn’t either. Pushing past your initial shock, you continue. “I’ve been working all day, getting leered and pawed at by customers and having to face it all with a smile because I need the money! Everything hurts, I’m tired, and I just want to go to bed!”
“The fuck?” Her face contorts into a snarl as she roughly grabs you by your waist. “You’re my bitch, and I don’t fucking remember giving you permission to whore yourself out.”
“I don’t have the luxury of being yours!” You yell, face red and hot despite the frosty temperature. You try to pull away from her, but she tightens her grip. “I… I’m not even making enough to scrape by as it is, and Bailey keeps raising my debt and-” Your voice cracks. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
It’s only then that your exhaustion comes back, hitting you at full force. You let out a sigh, shoulders slumping and eyes shutting. It’s taking every ounce of willpower to not melt into sobs. So much for being out of tears.
“Fucking idiot.” She grumbles, tugging you forward and making you stumble. Your arms move up to brace against her as your head bumps into her chest. She’s warm, despite the snowflakes floating around her, and you know if you let yourself relax, you’ll fall asleep right here and now. “Should’ve told me.”
“It wouldn’t change anything.” You murmur into the fabric of her shirt, fingers curling around it.
“How many times do I gotta tell you you’re mine before it sticks in that stupid head of yours.”
You don’t know how much you believe her. Sure, she didn’t let other people hurt you anymore, but you doubted her protective streak came from the kindness of her own heart. She probably just didn’t want anyone else’s sloppy seconds. But even if Whitney’s view of love was warped, she cared for you. And God knows you care for her as well.
A coldness settles over you, but you push it away by snuggling deeper into Whitney’s chest.
“I’m real tired, Whitney.” Your chest shudders as she pulls you closer to her, her grip so tight it could bruise. “I’m running out of ways to make money without…”
“Shut up.” She gives your hair a reprimanding tug, cutting you off. “No slut of mine is gonna be working the streets. Just let me take care of it, yeah?”
“Whit-”
“I didn’t ask for your permission, so keep your mouth shut. I take care of whats mine, you hear?”
You allow yourself to enjoy her comforting grip for a few moments more, before pulling back enough to meet her eyes. “Okay.” You murmur, grabbing onto her arm and leading her up the stairs to the front door. “Come take care of me, then.”
