I guess I should make a lil intro thingy for me cause I’m kinda active lol
Yo! I’m Jay! I am your local professional simp and cannot be normal about my favs
This is also a multi fandom blog so expect not just one of any fandom to be here tho i may hyperfixtate on one fandom hard for a second
My current hyperfixation is DC and I am not normal about any of them <3
I do not want minors interacting with me at all so if you are a minor, you’re getting the block, my blog has mature themes and I do like dark content so this is your warning rn
If your blog doesn’t indicate you are an adult, you shall also be blocked
Feel free to send dms about WHB or TWST or DC or anything I reblog and i do have all current character comics(WHB) and I also have all of the sprites, backgrounds, and I have 100% all character loves so feel free to ask for any of them!! :D <3
This is an x reader, multi-ending, otome style story.
fem!reader
Summary: Your life is hell, and your parents abandoned you to a literal loan shark. A near death experience has changed the trajectory of things, but is this a blessing? Or an endless fall into things far worse than you had before?
Content Warnings: The host club has an After Hours that's effectively a brothel. There are BDSM themes and the exploration of a lot of kinks. Foul language, canon levels of violence, mature audiences only.
Chapter 1: Loaned Out
Your feet hit the pavement, spurring you forward through the tangle of streets. This was your city, but it was his too, and the only hope you had at this point was to either get yourself so lost he couldn’t find you, or get yourself to the nearest Marine Station.
Frankly, you’d almost rather take your chances with the fish-man. Marines were next to useless as far as you were concerned, and the only use they had was that most people wouldn’t shoot you in front of one.
You weren’t entirely sure if Arlong was most people or not.
Leaping over some boxes in a back alley, you turned in mid-air and darted down a different alley when you landed. Running errands for that stupid shark had at least paid off in the sense that you were capable of running for a lot longer than most people.
When you were strictly forbidden from fighting, it was a life or death skill to have.
You might be trying to dodge Arlong until his temper cooled now, but more often than that you were running from his competitors, the marines, and people who knew you worked for him. They were all idiots, and not because you could slip away from them easily, but because hurting you wasn’t going to do anything.
Arlong was more likely to throw your body in the river if you got your ass beat, than he was to see you patched up after. Probably grumbling the entire time about how much money you were costing him yet again.
Fucking loan shark.
Slowing down you take a look around and realize you’re in a part of town you don’t know well. It looked like it was almost central downtown, which was well outside Arlong’s turf. It also meant that whoever was in charge of this area was probably not going to be friendly to you.
Arlong always said that downtown was more trouble than it was worth. He didn’t trade loans with people who lived or worked around here, and he didn’t offer protection for any of the businesses. You usually avoided the area too, even if a delivery would be a little faster, but only because the city’s main Marine Office was here.
Well, looking out for marines was easy enough, especially if you stayed off the main street. Alleys were alleys no matter what city or island, so it didn’t really matter to you. Slipping back into the narrower paths you meandered through the back lines of downtown.
You’d took off from Arlong’s threats just after lunch, and with the sun lower in the sky it was probably closer to seven or eight. You might be able to find a street vendor and get something greasy and filling for dinner, and then sleep somewhere out of sight. Tomorrow he’ll be calm again, or calm enough, and you can deal with him then.
The blow to your face was a surprise.
You put your arm up as you stumble backward, nearly tripping over your feet. The punch had drove your cheek into your teeth, and you could already taste copper as you lean against the far brick wall and look up to see Arlong.
“Got tired of trying to catch you when you’re bad.” He snarls, holding up his snail box and showing you the tracker app that was running on it. “Technology’s a real bitch.”
“I completed the job,” you reply, struggling to speak clearly as your cheek’s already swelling. “I don’t get why you’re pi-.” You stop yourself. “Upset. Boss.”
“The job,” he says, breathing in and giving you a terrifying grin. “Was for you to deliver the package without being seen.”
Your stomach knots. If he’s mad, and that’s why, then someone or something clocked you. Otherwise he wouldn’t waste his energy being pissy.
“… What saw me?” You question carefully.
His brows raise. “Oh? Not going to argue huh? Finally wising the fuck up.” He straightens, tapping his snail box again until he brings up a still picture of you. It’s grainy, but the sequence of images show you dropping off the box and walking away.
It was pretty obvious it was you, but only because you and Arlong knew what you looked like. There wasn’t a shot of your face, and you weren’t wearing anything to mark you as a part of anyone’s crew. It’s a struggle to keep your expression neutral, but smart mouthing back at him right now wouldn’t help you.
“… Sorry.” You settle on the simple apology over any kind of argument. It doesn’t matter how grainy it is. It doesn’t matter that your own mother wouldn’t recognize you. All that mattered was that he didn’t want anyone to see you, and you were seen. You’d been dealing with him enough years at this point to know anything more would be an excuse.
You weren’t going to grovel, however, because there was nothing useful on those stills.
“Sorry?” He prompts and grunts something akin to a laugh. “Sorry might’ve worked before you ran through downtown to avoid me, little runt.”
At nearly seven feet tall, Arlong towers over you, and his large hand gathers most of your shirt at once, as he lifts you easily and shoves you harshly against the wall. “You’re never going to pay back what you owe as a runner.” He tilts his head, leering at you in that way he does every time he tries to convince you to do more lucrative work.
“I can tack on five grand for the inconvenience, and patch job.” He indicates your swollen check with a nod of his head. “Or we can write that off as the price of on the job training and pretty you up. Much as you humans pretty up, anyway.”
“I think I’d rather be a runner.” You grunt, the soles of your shoes scratching at the brick as you struggle to find leverage.
Your father, seas take him screaming, got into debt with Arlong when you were a kid. Dear sweet dad worked for the fish-man for a couple years before he took your mom and bounced. Or Arlong killed them, you couldn’t really be completely sure one way or the other.
With mom and dad gone, and the debt still on Arlong’s books, you were hired.
Aside from barely giving you enough money to live on, while working you to the bone, Arlong hadn’t paid much attention to you. Until recently. Maybe you hit some magic number in age, or one of his clients took a liking to you, whatever the case, he was getting pushier and pushier about turning you into one of his Dolls.
The idea of getting paid to fuck didn’t bother you.
The idea of having 80% of your earnings stolen by Arlong, who only wanted you to change jobs so he could make more off you, bothered you.
Arlong falls silent for a while, and you can feel your stomach knot. The look on his face is never a good sign. He’s irritated and what little good humor he might have had a moment ago is evaporating at an alarming rate.
“Don’t be like that,” his voice is flat, save for a slight tone of disappointment. “Really think about it. You’ll never pay off your debt as a runner.”
Even with him taking most of your earnings to pay off your debt, you would have more income. You’d be able to save up, and even have a chance at freedom. Assuming you didn’t screw anything up.
Wait.
“… I’ll never pay off my debt regardless.” You reply just as flatly. Realization had long since dawned on you the nature of this game, but there was a sudden clarity this time. There were no more slaves, not even for the nobles, not since the dragons were slain over twenty years ago.
Arlong had found another way to go about it.
Sure, you could turn him and his bullshit in, but you took a risk that the marine you reported to wasn’t already in his pocket. If they weren’t, and the risk might be small so it could be worth trying, but you’d be going down with him too. No one would give a shit that the illegal things you did were because you felt trapped.
It would be your own fault for not turning him in sooner.
Frankly, it wasn’t a comforting prospect to think about ending up in prison where Arlong would have far more reach than you’d have protection. Even as a runner you made him money, more than he spent on keeping you alive at least. It was more job security than some folks had, so you didn’t want to complain.
“That’s no way to be.” He laments, patting the side of your face. “I’m sure you’ll get-.”
“Every year I manage to pay you forty thousand berries.” You interrupt him. You shouldn’t have, you shouldn’t be talking, you most certainly should not be talking like this. “My dad’s debt was two hundred and fifty thousand berries, and I’ve been working for you for well over ten years. That’s over four hundred grand even with all the additions… boss.”
Arlong lets go of you, and you barely manage to keep your feet under you. He’s mad. At this point you’re going to earn yourself a lot more than a swollen cheek, and that’s probably going to cost you some random amount tacked onto your supposed debt.
You sigh, releasing your own frustration into the air. There wasn’t enough fear in you right now, just cold sure understanding, and anger.
Now that you’ve started its like the flood gates have opened, and you can’t muster the self-preservation needed to close them.
“Every couple months or so, something always seems to come up to tack more onto the debt. It doesn’t matter what the excuse is, the point is the principle hasn’t gone down in... fuck, nearly twenty years.” You shrug, an incredulous, clipped laugh escaping you. “It’s never going to go down. Even if you put me in a sexy suit and let your shady clients sniff my pits, it’s still not going to go down. You’ll just charge me for the sleazy dress-hurk!”
Arlong’s hand is around your throat, and the force with which he grabs you bounces your head off the bricks. You can barely breathe, your head’s throbbing, and the bricks are scraping your back through your shirt as he lifts you up roughly against them. You could swear his eyes are glowing red he’s so angry, and you aren’t sure what it was you said.
You expected you were pissing him off, but this is more akin to rage.
“Little bitch grew a pair of balls when I wasn’t looking, huh?” He snarls, driving his fist into your side. The hooked swing sends a sharp pain through you and knocks what little air was left in your lungs out. “You think some weak little cumshot can talk to me like that? Gonna stand there and tell me I’m charging you unfairly, yeah?”
He loosens his grip for a second and you suck in a pained breath. You know you should be using the precious oxygen to beg for forgiveness, but maybe this was it. The limit of what you could take. You’d been running for hours, and you were hungry enough you just didn’t care.
“Gonna… really… try an’… say you… aren’t?” You manage to choke out the words, but there’s spots on the sides of your vision and your lungs are pitching a fit again. Blacking out might be the last thing you ever do, and a small part of you wanted to succumb to it. Just be done and over with it all.
What would tomorrow bring anyway?
“You fuckin-.”
“Arlong.” A woman’s voice reaches you both and you see Arlong’s eyes widen before he looks away from you. “Don’t murder someone by my club.”
The words are enough for him to release you. This time you can’t keep your feet under you and crumple onto the ground. Gasping and coughing, it takes you a moment to recover, and both the mystery voice and Arlong seem okay with giving you that time.
You get yourself set up against the wall, opting to stay down on the ground rather than try to stand, and look around enough to see the most elegant woman you’ve ever seen standing on a raised platform. It looked like the back exit to a business, a smaller man door with the words ‘Employees Only’ stenciled across it.
It was only maybe four or fives steps up from where you and Arlong were, but she looked like she was untouchable from that far up.
A puff of smoke leaves her lips and your brain catches up enough to see the long cigarette between her fingers. The edges of her bob hair cut curl up, framing her face perfectly. She’s tall, slender, and dressed casually, but you’re left with the distinct impression she could salt and burn the ground Arlong was standing on.
And he knew it.
“I’ll buy her debt.” She states, taking a slow drag on the cigarette.
“What?” Arlong almost growls the word.
She exhales. “You said so yourself. She’s got balls.” The grin on her face is comforting, but you can’t shake the strange feeling that two demons are currently haggling over who will own your soul. “I like that.”
“You don’t even know how much it is, Shakuyaku.” He grumbles.
She laughs. “You think that matters? Leave her here, Arlong. Come by tomorrow in the morning with your books, and we’ll settle the balance.”
You notice Arlong’s fist tighten, but the angel on the balcony doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. He glares down at you for a second, but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even mouth anything as far as you can tell.
Not that he’s in a position to try and force you to turn down whatever’s being offered.
From one taskmaster to another, as far as you were concerned. The angel on the balcony only had your attention for the moment because she probably saved your life.
“You can call me Shakky,” she begins, pausing to take another drag before letting the smoke out in a slow exhale. At the very least she was more relaxing to be around than Arlong. “Can you stand?”
The question catches you off guard, and you blink dumbly a couple times before you reply. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Alright. If you get dizzy, sit back down.” She commands, taking out a snail box. She’s not watching you, but at the same time she is. Using the wall you get to your feet, but your head swims and so you just let yourself sit back down.
“I’m out back, we have a patient too dizzy to walk on her own.” She speaks in the same even and relaxed tone she’s been using from the start. You didn’t think your situation was anything to get excited about, but you wondered idly if she was ever anything other than calm. “Tell Blackleg I expect his best meal.”
She hangs up, tucking the box away and returns her focus to her cigarette. There’s silence between you that doesn’t feel heavy or awkward, but you also don’t really know where you stand. With Arlong you’d simply stay there quietly until someone came along.
Honestly, with Arlong, you’d be trying to walk no matter how dizzy you felt.
“What happens now?” You hazard the question. It’s safe enough, and you need to understand how this lady operates.
Shakky lets out another slow line of smoke and offers up a warm smile. “Our head doctor’s going to tend to you. The shift’s lead chef is going to make you something to eat, and depending on the doctor’s orders you’ll probably go to bed after that in one of the guest rooms.”
She stubs the cigarette on the railing as the door behind her opens up. A tall man steps out, and looks over at you before heading down the steps. His dusty blonde hair is pulled back into the ponytail, and he’s wearing a button up dress-shirt and slacks. There’s a noticeable scar on his forehead over his eye, but it looks like it was stitched well.
He frowns once he gets a decent look at you. “Any loose teeth?” He questions, and after you probe with your tongue you shake your head. “Feel like you’re going to vomit?”
“Not right now.”
The frown twitches into more of a smile. “Injuries anywhere I can’t see?”
“Mm.. M’back, probably.” You mutter. “Hit the bricks more’n once.”
“I’m going to shine a light in your eyes,” he explains, pulling out a small pen light, and checking your pupil’s reaction to it a couple times on each eye. He hands you a thermometer. “Under your tongue, however you can without it hurting.” He says, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead briefly.
“You should be good, but that’ll give me a more accurate reading. May I have your hand? I want to check your pulse.”
After a second’s pause you hold your hand out. He gives you thanks and then presses his fingers against your wrist for a moment, going quiet as he concentrates on his counting. Once he’s done he pulls the thermometer out and checks it.
“Nothing concerning enough to warrant the hospital.” He turns toward Shakky. “I’d like Law to scan her,” he stops and turns back to you. “If you’re okay with that. It’s a devil fruit ability, but it won’t do anything to you. It’ll just let Law know if something’s wrong that I can’t see.”
“Uh… sure?”
“Alright. I’ll get him after we get you inside and settled.” He offers you a warm smile. “My manners are awful, young miss. My name’s Hongo, if you’re not against it, it would be my pleasure to carry you inside, since you’re not feeling well.”
“I, um, I…” You stop, pressing your lips together and look over at Shakky. She’s smiling, and you can’t tell if she’s giving you permission or not, but there’s no signs of irritation on her face at all. Turning back to Hongo, you consider asking him to just give you a hand walking, but he’s a good bit taller than you.
It’s probably easier for him to just carry you. It’s not what he’s offering that has thrown you, honestly, it’s the way he offered it.
“Sure.” You aren’t sure what you expect, and accept the little medical bag he hands you before he scoops you up like some damsel in distress. Being treated kindly was wild enough, but to be carried like you weren’t just a sack of potatoes was… different.
You didn’t want to get used to it. Good things were always just a veneer. Something pretty to hide all the shit underneath no one wanted you to see. If nothing else, you had to give credit to Arlong for being ugly right up front.
But if these two wanted to feed you and let you sleep somewhere nice for a couple days, you weren’t going to say no.
Description (Attire): Law’s suits are almost entirely black, with gold or yellow for the tie. The tie won’t last too long, loosening as the conversation continues. A few heavy silver rings adorn his fingers, and four golden earrings are in his ears.
With the exception of his hand tattoos, all of his ink is covered, and sometimes Law will wear gloves, but only when the mood strikes him.
Description (vibe): A little aloof and kind of intimidating in Host-mode, Law is not for beginners. He’s not cruel, in fact he’s downright sweet and attentive to his guests, but there can be some long moments of quiet. Law’s comfortable with them, and if you’re a regular of his, you are too. Sometimes it’s about slowing down a little and just enjoying the peace and quiet.
Talking about important things without filling the quiet moments with small talk about the weather or some popular piece of culture neither of you is truly interested in. Quite a few regulars have become fans of certain comic book series and even a couple have begun collecting coins, bringing their precious belongings in to share with Law during their time together.
Addons: Law will dance, and massage his guests, but he’s not a fan of anything loud or attention grabbing, and he absolutely despises writing on entrees with sweet sauces. He’s adapted Kid’s way of dealing with it, however, to great result. Law’s not quite as tall, but he puts his lanky build and long reach to good use.
Tag line: “You’re cute when you’re talking about your passions.”
Hello!!! I hope I'm not bothering or anything ^^ can I request for Rosinante?? BH or AH is okay (AH is preferred but is there's none it's not a problem 🩷)
Hoping you have a fantastic weekend!!! Thank you (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤
Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante
After Hours Role: “Brother’s Keeper” aka bodyguard
After Hours Attire: Rosinante dresses in his canon Corazon look. In this AU he stands beside his brother, but in a much different way than in the OG world. The only part of his look that he doesn’t rock is the dark red cap, and sometimes he’ll wear a suit and gloves.
After Hours Vibe: Rosi doesn’t say much, but he does talk. Very rarely he’ll make an appointment, Business Hours of After Hours, but it’s pretty rare, especially compared to his brother. Rosi did some hosting when his brother was dancing and hosting, but it was part time for him at best and he didn’t do any after hours work.
Rosi kind of scouted Law, effectively sliding in before his brother could sponsor him, and letting Law get into (or out of) the business as he wanted. The brothers aren’t openly, or even actively at odds, but Rosi’s philosophy is obviously different from his brothers. He’s not directly into whatever Doffy is doing now that he’s “retired”, but he does accompany his brother to the Club almost every time he goes.
Tag Line: “Let’s go to a private room, and you can vent about your day. I promise, no one will overhear.”
Dom/Sub/Top/Bottom: Rosi’s very flex, enough that I don’t think he even really thinks in these terms unless someone else brings them up. Detail oriented and a fast learner though, he’s easily moldable to his partner’s desires.
Kink Preferences: Pretty much the same as above. Though he does avoid being in control in situations where his clumsiness could become a real issue – like suspension bondage.
I’m cuuuurious…Bartolomeo BUT it’s business hours.
Bartolomeo the Cannibal
Role: Bouncer/Regular
Time in the “business”: 2 years
Description (Attire): Bouncer attire when he’s in Bouncer mode, and punk leather attire when he’s in the club as a client.
Description (vibe): When Barto isn’t working, he’s spending most of his earnings on the club itself. There’s a bit of an employee discount, but not enough to offset how much the barrier wielding gang leader burns through in expenses.
His hours at the club aside, he is the leader of a gang, and has enough disposable income. He really only started doing bouncer work at the Club because he was almost doing it for free whenever someone else would start to cause any problems. A huge fan of most of the hosts in the first place, Barto’s become a fan of most of the people who work at the club.
Shakky and Rayleigh both had to work to convince him to accept the offer of work, resorting to barring him from the Club if he refused. (They didn’t really mean it, but they also couldn’t get him to stop bouncing people and they needed to cover their asses legally).
Addons: N/A – Barto is not a host.
Tag line: “Oh you’re new? I can help you choose a host!”
canon is what happens in the text. e.g. merlin tries to poison morgana
a headcanon is a fact that you have personally made up as an elaboration of canon. it is your invention. e.g. i think morgana and gwen had a teenage lesbian situationship before the events of canon. or, i think modern morgana would love evanesence.
an interpretation is how one reads the existing text. it is not an invented fact nor is it a headcanon, it is a reading. e.g. i think merlin tries to poison morgana out of misplaced self-hatred. or, i think that one line was delivered with suppressed malice and shows a nuanced relationship.
fanon is the general fandom’s accepted headcanons and interpretations that elaborate or recontextualize canon. e.g. merlin is a badass waif and morgana is a bitch.
these are all different words with different meanings.
i just think the idea of a big, huge guy getting cuteness aggression over their s/o is so charming because they could truly end worlds with their strength but now all they wanna use it for is to squish your cheeks and squeeze you tight and kiss all over your face and
I am running on like 3 hours of sleep and 20 hours awake, so forgive the poor quality. I wanna doodle more like these, but I would imagine that dating a zoan can be a pain, especially when said zoan user likes being a lil shit
I love these cause I think I need to be reminded beneath that calm collected First Commander exterior, there's a silly goose of a guy who was a complete dork as a kid xD
>.>
But this does play in my own headcanon for him that his control of his transformations is a Very Fine Level of Control. /eyebrow waggle/
Also, please, I'm dying, the chomp out of the pineapple in the last one XD
[P2]
🐊 That's it for today?
Looks like he went easy with the shopping today
[P6]
🦅 Do you like donuts?
🐊 I'm okay with them (your expression is really weird...? )
I was drawing Katakuri and the scars reminded me of a certain grumpy old man, so idk this idea just hatched and kept haunting me since; it won't leave me until I draw it out. So humour me I guess
hope toby fox knows that, as an autistic person who already overly personifies my objects and cried at the thought of separating my two japanese plushies (what if none of my other plushies speak japanese and they feel lonely??) the concept of the dark world has totally ruined me. what do you mean kris' tv misses them. do my old shoes miss me?? does my laptop love that i fall asleep listening to music on it when i'm lonely? im losing my mind
Damian evolving from calling Bruce "Father" except not in a silly cute fun way where he calls him Baba but in a sad and heartbreaking way of having the only actual biological child he has start calling him "Bruce"
Damian doesn't mean it to come off in a negative way- he really and truly doesn't. It's just what the rest of his siblings call him, and he wants to be more like them and it's just so comfortable for them, so he starts doing it
Bruce pretends he doesn't mind, smiles and nods and when Damian says "Bruce please pass the peas" or "My day was fine, how was yours Bruce?" but a piece of him dies every time and he cried himself to sleep the first time it happened because fuck they all hate him
The boy stiffened, feeling as if a knife were held to his throat. But that wasn't the case; this was his mother, she'd never hurt him.
But he'd disappointed her; he could see it in his gaze, in the hard line of his shoulders, in the way he kept the distance between them.
He'd disappointed his mother, and it was worse than any punishment his grandfather had ever given him.
"Mother..."
"I don't come to Gotham often," the woman didn't let him speak. "And I'm sorry, because I'd like to see you more, and spend more time together. Now, imagine how I felt when you called me Mother, and your father by his name..."
"He's okay with that, Mother, he never punished me for..."
"Of course your father never punished you for the total disrespect! He's too soft, and he doesn't want you to hate him! But now he believes it, Damian. He's sure you hate him because you don't even give him the minimum amount of respect he deserves!"
Damian stiffened his shoulders. "I respect him..."
"You respect his other charity cases more than him."
"Those charity cases are his children, and none of them call him father."
Talia sniffed, "So you want to be like them? Like Grayson?"
"They're family, and if family..."
"If family disrespects him, then you do too?"
His mother's gaze was sharper than a hundred knives. "I raised you better than that, Damian. Your father deserves better than to suffer from your lack of strength."
"He's not suffering..."
"Then you've also gone blind, Damian. Every time you try to be like the rest of the family, you stab him in the heart. But it's more important to you to be like everyone else, isn't it? You don't care that your legitimate father feels like he did everything wrong and that he's a terrible person! You're killing him, Damian!"
The boy swallowed, and asked, hating how uncertain his voice sounded.
"How can you know?"
She gave a sad smile. "I know beloved like the back of my mind. His suffering is my suffering. His pain is my pain. We may no longer be married, and our paths may have taken us in different directions. But I know him. I know how much you're hurting him. And sadly, I know that it's a pain that isn't caused by you alone."
A long pause, then, "I'll talk to him. He must know that it's not his fault, but that Fate has punished him with unworthy children."
"Bruce has no unworthy children!" he blurted out defensively, before being filled with the same horror he now saw on his mother's face.
Bruce, not a father. He can no longer call him father or any other nonsense. Why couldn't he?
Talia seemed like she was dying as she said,"You don't know how much it kills me, Damian, to have to consider you as unworthy as them."
