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
if i ever turn into one of those people who cannot string together a single coherent sentence without using AI, I give you complete permission to never let me pick up my pen ever again
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 4: Negotiations
Notes: New OC introduced!
Modeus belongs to @thecrimsonacademic
Notes: I am assuming One Piece Beri/Berri = Japanese Yen.
60k beri = roughly 400 USD
44k beri = roughly 300 USD
40 million beri = roughly 270k USD
I 100% interchange berri/beri a lot, but I mean the same with either.
Vivi opens the door for you and you step inside a room that’s equal parts functional and intimidating.
Rich leather couches sit on either side of a coffee table, a third one at the head of it. The detail work on the table itself is intricate and understated. Skillful, but not ostentatious. There’s a thick rug beneath it, giving relief from the hardwood floor currently beneath your feet.
The room was well-lit, though the deep reds and brown of the furniture kept the light from being too much, as though the pieces themselves were devouring the excess light and leaving the room warmer for it.
There was a round desk at the back of the room, with three chairs set around it. A shared desk space, each section a reflection of the word done there.
But the desk wasn’t your concern, or your focus right now.
Thanks to Vivi, you know it’s Rayleigh sitting at the head of the coffee table. He’s dressed in a dark suit with a silky crimson dress shirt, and a black tie. A white pocket square breaks the dark colors, accenting nicely with his own long, snow-white hair. One leg crossed over the other, he looks relaxed and inviting.
Shakky is sitting on the arm of the chair he’s sitting in, leaning back just enough to be settled against his shoulder. She looks effortless. As though the room exists for her, and no matter where she deigned to sit, she would belong there. She looks wholly disinterested, but the facade falls away when your gaze lines up with hers for a second.
Sitting to their right is Sir Crocodile.
Dressed as richly as Rayleigh, there’s an ascot and vest adding more layers than would have looked proper on Rayleigh, but they suit Crocodile well. The golden hook on his left hand almost seems too opulent, if not for the obvious threat it carries. The golden threat moves your eyes up to his face, a deep scar across it seeming to grin at you until his gaze held you in place.
It was difficult to say who the most dangerous person in the room was, but there was no doubt who was happy to be considered the most dangerous person in the room. Crocodile was the threat that sent a cold chill down your spine and kept your attention while the shadows that moved around him slit your throat with ease.
He was the distraction that a magician relied on. He was no mere illusion himself, a threat you didn’t want to dismiss, but he wasn’t attempting to be neutral or welcoming like his companions.
“I hope you slept well,” Shakky prompts, turning toward you. Something in her action causes you to finally step forward further into the room.
“Yeah - er, yes, and, uh, the breakfast was delicious.” You answer, turning back toward the door as though motioning to the kitchen would help clarify your meaning.
“We don’t have much time before Arlong arrives,” Shakky explains, and nods toward Crocodile. “Please, have a seat, he won’t bite you unless you ask nicely.”
Crocodile grunts, lighting a cigar. You barely catch a whiff of the strong smoke before it’s pulled up into the ceiling. You doubt it’ll smell any stronger even while you’re seated right by him. The only thing that makes you hesitate is that you feel painfully under-dressed compared to everyone else.
But your clothes are new, and clean, and the socks don’t have holes in them, so you’re doing better than you would’ve been.
Sitting down next to Sir Crocodile, you try not to sit too close, or too far away from him. It’s not like you think he’s actually going to bite you, but you also feel like the man appreciates his personal space. You aren’t inclined to crowd him and see how crocodilian he actually is.
“You won’t need to say much,” Shakky begins.
“It’s best you say nothing.” Crocodile interjects, not even looking over at you. “You’re here because you have a right to know what’s being said, but if you pipe up at the wrong time it could make things unnecessarily difficult.”
“He’s being gruff,” Rayleigh offers with a warm smile. “Think of us as your lawyers, young lady. It’ll go faster if you let us do the talking for you.”
“Once things are settled between us and Arlong, we’ll settle things between us and you.” Shakky hums, the soft tone of her voice helps you stay relaxed despite the situation. “For now, don’t worry about things, and try not to let Arlong goad you into something.”
“Alright.” You agree. “Last night was the first time I barked back. I’m pretty good at staying quiet.”
Shakky’s eyes go a little wide before she smiles. “First time ever?”
You nod.
“What prompted you?” She questions, stubbing a cigarette out in an ashtray offered wordlessly by Rayleigh. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
You shrug. “I realized I wasn’t ever going to break even with him and lost my cool.” It’s embarrassing to admit, having spent years dealing with him only to lose your composure at this point. But last night, pushed up against the wall, so certain he was going to just cut his losses and kill you, you really just didn’t care.
In a way you had been ready to die, but you didn’t want to say as much right now. It still felt too raw, and you didn’t want to concern these people with your feelings. This was just going to be a matter of going from one employer to another.
Whether it was from a bad one, to a good one, would be something only time could assure you of, but things were starting off better thus far.
There was a soft knock at the door and Rayleigh called out.
“Enter,” he says simply, the door opening with the command, and you see Arlong stride into the room, past Vivi as she opens the door for him.
The look on her face is clear to you, but Arlong isn’t paying her any mind right now. You aren’t sure if the animosity in her eyes is because of you alone, or if she knows something directly herself.
Arlong is dressed well. He didn’t often get all done up for day to day operations, but when he was meeting with people he either wanted to intimidate, or impress, he would break out the expensive suits. Compared to the other people in the room, the only one he was outdoing was you.
The shoes Crocodile was wearing were worth more than Arlong’s entire outfit, you were sure of it.
But he didn’t look bad. The suit was tailored to him, and it was neat and pressed. There might be a chasm between his success and the Owners’ success, but he wasn’t playing at being a businessman. He wasn’t awkward, or feigning, he was simply working within the parameters available to him.
Arlong gave you a single look, one you managed to return for whatever it was worth, before seating himself across from you and Crocodile. He’s not pleased to be here, but he doesn’t seem to be posturing or even trying to dismiss the situation.
Pulling a manila envelope from inside his jacket he sets it on the table. It’s thick.
“This is all the paperwork relating to the debt.” He says in lieu of a greeting. “The current balance is on the first page, but I brought all the historic information.”
“Thank you.” Shakky says in a tone that’s so business-like it almost feels like an insult despite the smile on her face.
Sir Crocodile barely moves, something like sand moving around him, and bringing the packet of information to his hand without moving much himself. You’d heard of devil fruits before, there was a deep underground market for them. Arlong had moved maybe four or five that you knew of over the years. If you had ever had the luck to find one, you could’ve cleared your debt and then some easily.
Not even Arlong would’ve kept hold of you after a windfall like that.
But in a world with several billion people there were maybe a thousand fruits. The odds were something incomprehensible, like a .0000003% chance. You were more likely to be struck by lightning and survive it.
Most people guarded the fact that they had a devil fruit so close to the vest that you could go your whole life never knowing someone had one. It was a mix of self-preservation and fear. The government didn’t look on users with any kindness, even if some of their own marine forces were famous for having powers. If you weren’t strong enough to defend yourself, it was a good way to get murdered.
All users had the same two weaknesses too, and no matter how powerful someone was, seastone or sea water could become a real big problem, real fast.
If Crocodile was using his powers so casually, he probably didn’t fear much of anything. Either by his own strength, or by the strength of the business he was in the middle of. Somehow, despite the fact that you were certain the Club afforded him extra protection, you felt like it wasn’t something he necessarily needed.
Woe unto the fool who thought they could use such knowledge against him easily.
He pulls the pages from the envelope and his eyes narrow for a split second.
“Forty million beri?” He questions, his eyes still reading through the information in front of him. “Are you charging 400% interest?”
“Twenty points,” Arlong answers. “Monthly.” He leans back into the couch he has to himself. “All the expenses and fees are listed.”
Forty million beri. The amount rolls around in your head, but you’re careful not to say anything. You’re sure you flinched when Crocodile brought it up, but that could be written off to simply flinching because he had spoken in the first place.
Forty MILLION.
You had no idea that the debt Arlong had listed for you was that much. He hadn’t ever given you a clear amount before. All he did was mark down when you cost him money and toss out some worthless estimate to what it was going to mean for your loan.
Not even your loan, your parents’ loan, and you had no idea how much that had been either. It could’ve been even more than what he was asking for here, but you doubted that much. Loaning out so much money to people as poor as Arlong said your parents were, would’ve been bad business practice.
Even a loan shark like Arlong wasn’t going to try and get blood from a stone.
“What was the initial loan?” Shakky questions.
“What does it matter?” Arlong scoffs.
“It doesn’t, I’m just curious. I believe it was written to her parents?”
“Yeah, her dad was a repeat customer. Did pretty good the first couple of years.” Arlong says the words easily, but there’s something in his tone that rankles you. You’d spent enough time beside the man to know when he was lying and when he wasn’t.
“After that his luck took a turn, I guess.” He shrugs. “The last loan was ten million. Five extensions, and I even paused the interest when the cost hit twenty million.”
Arlong drapes his arms along the back of the couch. “I was ready to let the both of them work for me, but they skipped town before that could happen.”
“Leaving their only child behind?”
“Yeah, sure.” Arlong scoffs, waving a hand. “Look, maybe they had someone else they pissed off that I don’t know about. I’m sure the brat’s thought the same thing. I ain’t been able to find ‘em, and while I’m not going to boast about having some massive extensive network or whatever, I ain’t blind beyond this island.”
“You were with Tiger.” Rayleigh says, earning a glare from Arlong. He’s smiling, hands folded lazily in front of him. “I believe you.”
“There’s nothing in here that’s unexpected.” Crocodile says, about halfway through the papers. “Almost none of it is reasonable,” he adds, causing Arlong’s glare to turn into a grimace. “I doubt it would hold up in a court of law, unless someone bought the lawyers involved.”
“This isn’t the court.” Arlong grumbles through grit teeth.
“No, it’s not.” Crocodile agrees, looking over at Shakky. “I could tear this apart and make it a legal battle, and by the end of it, we would make a decent return.”
“You-!”
“Or?” Shakky prompts, cutting off Arlong’s outburst with a glance.
“Or we could pay him what he’s begging for,” Crocodile says, looking pointedly at Arlong. “And be done with it. The impact to the end of the year numbers would be negligible.”
“Pay it then.” Shakky declares, lighting a new cigarette. “As long as you agree to our terms.” She adds, looking over at Arlong.
The smile is back on Arlong’s face. “And what would those terms be?”
“Simply put, neither you, nor those affiliated with you, are permitted within The Club.” Rayleigh explains. “Nor would you be allowed within any venue being officially utilized by us.”
“That’s easy enough.” Arlong agrees. “I wasn’t exactly waltzing in your front doors in the first place.”
“Modeus.” Crocodile says the word, and easily braces you when you leap back from the side of the couch where something not quite human seemingly materialized out of thin air. You would’ve screamed, honestly, but the suddenness of it was too much. “Escort Arlong to Vivi. She has the contract, he can review it and sign it there, we have further things to discuss.”
Modeus appeared to be a mostly snake, marginally human, creature of some indeterminate, but probably masculine, gender. You weren’t sure if the classifications of humans, minks, or fishmen really applied here. While he wasn’t even giving you a mote of his attention, bowing at Crocodile’s command and turning toward the door once Arlong stood up, there was something clawing against the back of your brain, adamant about how dangerous it was.
“If I have any questions about the contract-.” Arlong begins.
“Miss Vivi will explain them.” Crocodile answers flatly, helping you sit properly on the couch with his sand. “If you reach an impasse she can send Modeus back and I’ll join you.”
Crocodile’s eyes shift from Arlong to Modeus. “Mr. Arlong is our guest, Modeus.”
“Certainly.” Modeus replies, a soft hiss at the beginning of the singular word.
Idly, as the two leave the room, you wonder if Modeus eats guests.
Crocodile glances at you for a second before shifting into sand, and reforming on the couch across from you, where Arlong had been sitting. Shakky moves, sitting between him and Rayleigh, all three of them across from you comfortably.
You expected to feel like a pauper kneeling before kings, but instead it feels like they’re almost deferring to you. You’re not in trouble in the principal’s office. You aren’t sure exactly what it is, but it feels like you’re being rewarded for some reason.
“Now, we need to begin to decide what to do with you.” Shakky prompts, stubbing out the cigarette she’d lit earlier. Crocodile’s cigar disintegrates into sand, but he’s already reading the rest of the documents that Arlong had brought.
“I didn’t know it was so much.” You blurt out. “I don’t know how I’m going to repay that.”
“So much?” Crocodile’s brows furrow, and he practically glares at you from behind the papers. “That’s pocket change.”
“You must have bigger pockets than me.” You retort and Rayleigh laughs.
“It’s perhaps not quite so little,” he asserts, leaning forward. “But it’s not enough for us to hold you accountable. Just as Shakky thought, it wasn’t going to be enough to matter in the end.”
“Wha- well, I mean…” You stammer, pausing to collect your thoughts. “I would still like to do something in return. I don’t want to just go acceptin’ charity without doing anything.”
“Perfect,” Shakky smiles. “The Club has a lot of moving parts, and despite having a robust staff, we’re always in need of extra hands. Lighter work makes happier workers, and the happier the staff is, the easier it is for them to be hosts and escorts.”
“What kind of work did you do for Arlong?” Crocodile questions.
“Running errands mostly. Dropping off packages, picking stuff up from drop locations. I played pretend as security a few times.” You answer honestly. “I’m pretty good at counting cards, exits and people.”
“Cooking?” Shakky prompts.
“I haven’t burned my own apartment down yet.” You admit with a shrug.
“Cleaning?” Crocodile prompts and your nose crinkles before you can stop yourself.
“I’ve been volunteered for it before, so I’m not bad at it.”
“What do you think about getting paid for sex?” Rayleigh questions. Your eyes shift from him to the other two, but no one seems to think he’s asked something unreasonable.
Well, you knew The Club was that kind of place, so you guess you aren’t surprised.
“I don’t know. I’ve never done it with someone else before, so I can’t say if I’d be good at it. Arlong wanted me to do it, and I only avoided it cause I knew he’d take most of what I made.” You shrug. “I don’t see anything wrong with it though, if that’s what matters.”
“Mm, what matters is that you’re doing something you’re comfortable with.” Shakky answers. “The skills can be taught, but forcing someone doesn’t do any good.
“This, however, is enough. I’d like to offer you employment at The Club.” She continues. “It’s officially called By Any Other Name, but everyone simply refers to it as The Club. We’ll start you as an internal runner of sorts, a go-between for the bar, the kitchen, and the front. You’ll get trained in all the areas, and get a chance to get settled in.
“After that we can start training you how to be a host, if you have an interest in it, and then work our way from there. It’s better to learn how to be a host first, even if you decide you want to be an escort, because it’s a lot of the same processes. Hosts just tend to keep their clothes on.”
“Where do you live right now?” Crocodile questions as you’re still processing everything that Shakky laid out for you.
“Oh… uh… Tech-technically about twenty minutes or so from here.” You answer nervously.
“Technically?”
You shrug. “No one’s chased me off, but I don’t exactly got a lease or anything.”
“Ah. Well, there’s plenty of open rooms here. We won’t force you to reside here, but the upstairs cells have been converted to proper apartments.” Crocodile explains flatly. You feel like his tone’s softer than it was a moment ago, but you might be imagining it. “We can defer your rent for three months as part of your signing bonus. It’s 40 thousand beris a month after that just to cover utilities and insurance.”
“... That little?”
Crocodile grunts. “I know what that bastard was charging you for a room. For back of the house work it’s 60k a week. We’ll provide your uniforms.”
“But the debt,” you murmur, pressing your lips together when Crocodile glares at you.
“Fine.” He says tersely after a moment. “I’ll garner your wages at a rate of my choosing. There will be no interest, and if you wish to make additional payments you’ll provide your current budget to me for review.”
“You can take your meals from the kitchen at any time,” Shakky adds. “But you’ll likely be at the whims, and capacity, of the cooks available.”
“’M not picky.” You’re still trying to process all this. “I… have my own room here then?”
Crocodile’s brows furrow again, and Rayleigh tilts his head a little before answering you.
“You’ll have your own apartment, young lady.” Leaning forward, he holds your gaze. “They’re not large, but they all have a kitchen, two bedrooms, two baths, and a living space.”
“My own - wait, two? I’ll have a roommate then?”
“If you want one, but that will be for you to decide.” Shakky assures you.
“Huh.” Sinking back into the couch you look up at the ceiling. It’s barely two hours past breakfast and you’re pretty sure you’ve reached your limit for everything. This has to be a prank, or a joke, or a trap.
A really elaborate trap that makes no sense but is totally going to end up with you holding all the shit at the end while everyone else is okay. You can’t help but look back toward the doors, as though Arlong was going to step through them and simply shoot you where you sat.
Not that he would waste time trying to get other people to come in on something like this with him. Arlong was too straightforward for that. He would’ve just broke your neck in that alley and tossed you in the nearest dumpster.
“I’m going to check on the house,” Shakky says, standing up, putting a hand on Crocodile’s shoulder. “Could you check with Vivi that everything went well? Ray can stay here and finalize things with…”
Shakky pauses, putting her hand to her lips as she takes a moment to think. A smile slips along her lips, and when she looks at you, she looks genuinely delighted.
“May we call you Rose?” She questions.
“Huh? I… yeah?” You can feel heat rising into your cheeks. No one on Arlong’s crew even gave you a nickname, just called you Girl or yelled in your general direction. “Like the flower?”
“Indeed.” Shakky smiles. “A fitting name, and if you prefer to go by any other name, you only need to let us know.”
Crocodile snorts, but it doesn’t seem derisive. “It’ll be easy to remember, at least.”
“Miss Rose, then,” Rayleigh says, bringing your attention back to him as the others leave. “Let’s talk about the finer details, and then get you settled into your new apartment.”
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 3: Introductions
Notes: There are several OCs who work at the club.
River belongs to @silkendandelion
Jocasta belongs to @leftsidebonfire
Mentions: Av Starling belongs to @shaanks // Unaek belongs to LeftSideBonFire
There are more OCs who work at the club - they will be tagged as they appear in chapters ^_^
It took some fiddling to sort out how the shower and bath tub worked. Fortunately, even though it was all fancy, blue still meant cold, and red still meant hot. The water pressure was nice, harsh enough to feel nice while being soft enough you didn’t think you were getting power washed. The soaps, shampoos and conditioners were all pretty subtly scented, and you just went with what you thought was supposed to go together.
Everything looked like it was more expensive than the last thing you touched, but you were trying not to be nervous about it. The tub’s big enough you almost wonder if you can’t just sleep in it, but even in a fancy place like this water will lose its heat. Floating in the middle of the tub you imagine that waking up in cold water would be bad, but for now the heat feels amazing.
“This is insane.” You murmur to yourself. You’re floating in a bathtub. You just finished taking a shower in a bathroom that has gold and silver veining in marble walls. The floor is sealed stone and you could press a few buttons and make your little mini-jacuzzi-pool thing into a hot tub.
A few hours earlier you’d been pressed against rough bricks, mostly certain you were going to die in an alley. Now, at least, you knew you’d make it to another sunrise.
Beyond that though?
The water starts to cool and you get out, letting the tub drain. You dry off, and even use the provided hair dryer to at least get most of the water out of your hair. Pulling on the terrycloth robe that was hanging in the bathroom, even the smallest one was almost too big, you tie it up and head to bed. There’s a little tray with a cup on it and you’re reminded about the grumpy doctor’s orders, pouring yourself a glass of water and drinking it.
Maybe a little faster than he wanted you to, but you didn’t chug it.
Crawling into the bed was a little painful. You were lucky to have a mattress on the floor, so the idea of a box spring felt like luxury already. By the time you scrambled into the middle of the massive bed and sprawled out on top of the covers you were deeply tired. You didn’t make it under the covers when you fell asleep, but the robe kept you plenty warm while you slept.
It’s a soft knock at the door that wakes you up. You didn’t jolt awake like you usually do and you think that maybe comfy beds are a little more dangerous than you like. Pushing yourself up against the stiffness that settled into your injuries since you didn’t even twitch in your sleep, you get sat up in time for the door to open just a crack.
“You awake, kid?” Alvida’s voice asks through the opening.
“Yeah,” you peel the word from your mouth and hope it makes it to the door.
“Can I come in?”
Looking down you tug the robe closed a little more properly and then look back at the door. “Yeah.”
Alvida steps in, carrying a few overstuffed bags. “It’s not a lot, but you should be able to make an outfit from it.” She starts explaining. “Gave me an excuse to clean out my attic. The bras and underwear are new though - I got you a few different sizes in case you were wearing a binder or something.”
“New?” The word escapes you before you can stop it and you shake your head while getting off the bed. “Ah, sorry, thanks. I mean it. I wasn’t looking forward to putting last night’s clothes back on.” You admit walking over to her.
“We can go shopping together properly after you get settled in a little better.” Alvida offers. “Nami, Av, and Unaek can come too. Koala too maybe, she’s a little touch and go with shopping.”
“Why-.” Be so kind to you? Why say it so nonchalantly? Why, why, why, “… so many people?”
“Eh, it can be more fun that way. With other people around it makes it easier to accept gifts vs picking stuff out for yourself.” She doesn’t look at you as she says it, but you feel like you’re getting called out. “Besides, Nami needs a crowd, and you want her with you if you go shopping by default. She gets such good deals you’d think she really had just up and stolen it.”
“I didn’t think anyone who worked here would be poor.” You say, looking through the first bag nearest you.
“Oh she’s not poor,” Alvida laughs. “She just goes hard for the good bargains. Relentlessly. It’s almost like a kind of therapy for her.”
“Huh. Alright then.” You mutter absently, pulling out different pieces of clothes and starting to put together something to wear. You were used to cobbling something decent from almost nothing, whenever Arlong didn’t just hand you a full outfit or uniform, and were pretty good at it. Enough to blend in at least.
“I can bring breakfast up here for you, or you can come down and eat at the bar. We’re not open yet, so it’s just the openers and some of the cell mates.”
“Cell mates?” You question, looking over at her.
Alvida smiles. “Joint used to be a prison.” She points up. “Ten floors total. The first three floors were remodeled entirely, that’s the club proper. The ceiling in the main area seems stupidly high because three prison levels are almost four residential stories. But that allowed for all the needed customizations, and then this floor is the VIP guest floor.
“It’s also where the main offices are, but the owners aren’t going to pop out of the walls like daisies, so don’t get nervous going from where ever to here.” She clarifies and you scoff.
“Floors six to ten had the least amount of remodeling. Clusters of cells were combined and they were turned into apartments. They’re pretty swank, if not a little kinky if you think about it for too long. Lots of the workers live there, rent’s cheap, and there’s a certain level of security staying above The Club.”
“And y’all call those people cell mates?”
“Lovingly,” Alvida says with a grin. “Lots of people here were either pirates or are related to ‘em, so there’s a certain kind of vibe when it comes to the humor.”
You snort, unsure if you really know what normal is in any capacity. You should fit right in with the average worker in The Club, if nothing else.
“I’ll… come down for breakfast. I’m going to be meeting people one way or another.” You admit. The idea doesn’t have you leaping for joy, but so far no one you’ve met is unreasonable, so you’re not worried. You don’t think Shakky would put up with anyone like that in the first place.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to it then,” Alvida says, stepping away. “Just come down to the bar and Katakuri’ll get you sorted.”
You don’t ask who Katakuri is, and Alvida doesn’t hang around to answer you. You figure it’ll either be painfully obvious, or it’ll be just as easy to ask someone when you get downstairs. It takes a couple tries to find a bra that fits, but you’re not surprised that one of them does. So far it seems like this place is full of competent people, and that gnaws at you a little, but you shove it away for now. There’s nothing to be done except go with the flow at this point.
The jeans are baggy, but not too long or heavy. You liked the feel of a long-sleeved shirt the most, but the neckline cut across your shoulders it was so low, so you put a t-shirt with a graphic on it that caught your eye over top of it.
Sitting down to put on socks your breath catches in your throat. They’re new. Thick and soft and there’s no holes or stains. The clothes felt weird too, like they were just as new, even though Alvida said they were from her attic. It was possible she just took real good care of her things, she struck you as the type to be good at sewing just so she could fix something to her own standards.
You couldn’t remember the last time you and your clothes were clean at the same time. Last Christmas maybe.
“Some kind of emotional warfare or something.” You grumble to yourself, pulling the socks on and getting your shoes on before you head downstairs.
The Club at eight something in the morning is very different from how it looked last night. There’s the soft scent of cleaning solutions and freshly vacuumed carpets in the air when you first get off the elevator. The interior lights are a little brighter, a gentle pale blue instead of the pinkish red vibe last night. The music’s more chill too, but it might be just because it’s not open yet.
Nothing else really looked any different. It was amazing what changes lighting and music could do to a place.
Only one person was behind the bar when you made it downstairs. He was tall. Tallest person you think you’d ever seen in your life and it was actually impressive he could move around behind the bar and not take out rows of empty glasses.
A white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a few buttons tastefully undone with a vest pulling it all together. Dress slacks, half-gloves and it looked like he was wearing a custom silk face mask that covered his nose and mouth, leaving just his eyes and cropped magenta hair exposed.
“Uh… Katakuri?” You question and he nods.
“You must be the guest.” His voice is even, smooth, and a little deep. He’s probably just as good at selling drinks as he is getting people to stop when they’ve had too much.
“Yeah, uh, Alvi said to come here for breakfast?” The question barely leaves your lips and he nods toward the bar, indicating for you to sit, so you do.
“Coffee?” Katakuri prompts and you nod.
“Please.”
You start to ask what they have for breakfast when a red head in sharp sunglasses comes out of the kitchen. He walks straight toward you like you already knew one another, and gives you a big, sharp, toothy smile.
Part fishman? You feel your hackles raise and immediately shove them back down. You decided some years ago that Arlong and his crew weren’t going to make you into some kind of racist asshole.
He sets a plate down in front of you as Katakuri puts a cup of coffee, and a glass of water, nearby.
“Omurice!” The red head declares. “It’s all I’m allowed to make, but Thatch says it’s good enough to be served. Oh! if you’re allergic to eggs or rice or something I can get someone else in the kitchen to make ya something different, no hard feelings or anything.”
“Ah, no this… should be fine.” You manage. It’s a bit too much for first thing in the morning, but whoever Thatch is, maybe getting his approval is a big deal. “Thanks, uh…”
“Shachi.” Katakuri says, the smallest hint of irritation in his voice.
“Oh! Right, sorry sorry.” The young man lifts his glasses up, flashing a pair of deep green eyes at you to go with his broad smile before bowing. “Shachi, at your service, honored guest.” He straightens back up, putting the glasses back in place. “Seriously, if you want something else, don’t hesitate to ask for it.”
Shachi gives you and Katakuri a short nod before heading back into the kitchen.
You look up at the big guy behind the bar. “Honored guest?”
“First time Shakky’s declared someone her guest since I’ve been here.” He answers evenly as you dig into your breakfast.
“Wow, this is delicious.” You mutter the words, but you’re honestly shocked by how good it is. “Thatch must be a real bastard if that guy can cook this good and it’s all he’s allowed to make.”
Katakuri makes a noise like a grunt and when you look up you’re almost positive he’s smiling from behind the mask.
“He’d cry if you told him that.”
You laugh at the remark. “Which he?”
“Both.” Katakuri answers and you almost choke trying not to laugh.
A beautiful young man with dark skin and long wavy black hair walks up to the bar, him and his companion regarding you with polite, and curious smiles. She’s a little shorter than him, athletic, with short cropped hair, a section of it is blonde while the rest is brown. From your perspective they’ve both walked out of a photo-shoot even if their uniform are just slate grey tops and black pants.
“You must be the guest. I’m River,” he says, introducing himself as he extends a hand to you. You’re still eating so you just kind of look at it and then back up to him. The awkward look on his face speaks for itself and you give him a wary smile.
“Pleasure.”
“Jocasta,” the lady with him says. She doesn’t extend her hand, patting River comfortingly as she lowers his hand for him. “Are you better with faces or names?”
“…Faces.” You admit after a moment.
“Good, we wear name tags during shift so you’ll learn people’s names eventually. If you tell Kata the basic appearance of who you’re looking for he’ll steer you right, so don’t let the flood of introductions worry you.” She offers up.
“You’re… hosts then?” You question, figuring it’s way too early for any escorts to be around.
River pales, which is impressive for someone who looked more Alabastan than local, but his chestnut skin seems to loose some of it’s saturation. Maybe it’s just the semi-horrified look on his face.
“Heavens no.” He answers. “I’m a stagehand mostly. I do some dances, but I couldn’t host.”
“I help backstage and in the front of the house getting people checked in.” Jocasta explains, a big grin on her face. At the least she seems to have taken your confusion as a compliment.
“You’re both so pretty, though. Him especially.” You remark bluntly, pointing to River with your fork.
“Oh.” Jocasta’s fair features flush and River preens a little, the color coming back into his face.
“Leave her alone so she can eat, you two.” A gruff voice says and you turn to see two very tall, broad shouldered guys dressed in black coming over to your little gathering.
One’s a little taller than the other and looks incredibly bored, with dark eyes and dark cropped hair. The one with him has barbed wire tattoos everywhere as far as you can see, pale blue hair in dreads that he’s already pulling back and tying into place.
“Heat,” he says simply and then nods his head toward the other. “Wire. Bouncers by day, kitchen staff by night.”
“Other way around.” Wire grumbles, rolling his eyes. It’s probably all the effort he can muster.
You incline your head. “The guest.” You offer up, unsure how bringing up your lack of name would go this early. You hear Wire grunt and see the ghost of a smile on his lips. The dry humor is appreciated, it seems.
“C’mon Jo, help me get some omelets going.” Heat says to Jocasta and the two head off to the kitchen. River stands there awkwardly for a moment longer before Wire practically lifts him up and walks off with him.
A yawn pulls your attention down the other side of the bar and you see a sleepy young blonde man looking back at you. There’s an impressive scar on his face, but it’s seemed to have spared his eye, as two eyes take you in. Katakuri sets a cup of coffee nearby even though you didn’t hear anything but a yawn come from him and the young man gives you a smile.
Straightening up he takes a few heavy chugs of the coffee and sighs. It would be dramatic under any other circumstances, but he seems genuinely relieved to have the coffee. If there was anything about him that was dramatic currently, it was the ascot, three-layer suit and leather gloves that he was wearing.
He looked like he was getting ready to go work at a hedge fund or lawyer’s office.
“Sabo,” he offers, inclining his head. “You’re Girl.” He manages to say the designation like an actual name so smoothly you’re not sure how to react.
“Uh… yeah.”
“I,” he begins, emphasizing the word. “Actually am a host… and escort.” Covering his face with a gloved hand he yawns, drinking more of the coffee before continuing. “And I provide legal services when needed. Even if that means staying up all night. Ah, Kata, is there a spare room down here?”
“Four’s unbooked.” Katakuri replies. “I’ll come get you in a couple hours.”
“Divine,” Sabo hums, draining the rest of the coffee. He walks by you, stopping and leaning in just a little. “Don’t stare, dear guest.”
“I… wasn’t?” You tilt your head in confusion as Sabo walks away and see him jerk his thumb toward the front. You don’t even have to turn and look, because someone shouts at Katakuri.
“Oi! Is Marco in?” The voice is rough and angry, like the person speaking is looking to beat Marco within an inch of his life, whoever that is.
You turn and look as Katakuri answers him and if it wasn’t for Sabo’s warning your eyes might’ve fallen out of your head.
Half as wide as he is tall, and fuck he’s tall, is a pale skinned, red-headed behemoth of a man stalking toward the bar like he has half a mind to pick it up. He was shorter than Katakuri, but you were pretty sure the red-head could pick him up too while he was at it, just out of spite.
Aside from looking like a hoodlum he was gorgeous. His skin was flawless, and the deep blood-red lipstick suited him well. He was mostly topless, a few seemingly random necklaces on, all made of leather and metal, with the same style of bracelets on his arms. Tight jeans and matte black boots finished the look - it was hard not to stare.
“He’s in.” Katakuri answers, and the large angry man’s expression shifts from aggravation to a big grin. His bright eyes move away from the barkeep to you, and you look back.
“Wanna take a picture, darlin’?” He offers and you grin.
“Rather have enough time to commit those abs to memory,” you retort, turning back to your breakfast.
He laughs. “Fuck yeah, that’s the kind of shit I like to hear.” Sitting down next to you, everything about his body language says you have his attention. “I’d wonder if you could afford me, sweetheart, but hells for a set of lips like that I’d be willing to negotiate.”
“Eustass,” Katakuri’s voice has an edge to it, and your new friend turns to look at him. “She’s Shakky’s guest.”
“Ah. Well, you probably could afford me then.” He says with a grin. “Eustass Kid, at your service, honored guest.” Kid says the words with decorum and a wink, but his expression is far from proper.
You let your eyes slide down his abs and back up. Getting a closer look you realize he’s covered in hickies and scratches. You wonder idly if Marco gave them to him, but decide not to ask. Kid seems perfectly content to let you look.
“I’d love to stay and play,” He says as your eyes make it back up to his. The salacious grin on his face seems to want to just eat you alive. “Maybe another time, honored guest.”
“Mm,” you hum, giving him a smile as he gets up and leaves while you return to your breakfast.
“Is it always this busy in the morning?” You ask idly, not even really sure Katakuri’s still hanging around where you are.
“Usually worse.” The answer comes from a new voice and you look over to see someone a couple seats down. He’s got a newsboy cap on that’s pulled down almost to his nose.
“Thought you were off today, Penguin.” Katakuri says.
Penguin smiles and stretches. “Yeah. Shakky asked me to come in and cover Sabo’s first slot so he could get a little more sleep. No one needs him speaking in tongues to a guest again.”
Again?
Katakuri grunts and inclines his head to the side. “He’s in number four, if you want to wake him up once you’re done.”
“Perfect.” Penguin hums before coming over a little closer. “It was a pleasure, miss.” He gives you an easy crooked grin, looking up at you from under the brim of his hat. Despite the darkness around his eyes from the cap the deep blue irises are clear.
The act and the words - you didn’t even say anything to him directly, but somehow the farewell is smooth and not at all akward - has the heat rising in your face.
“Yeah,” you agree quietly. The crooked grin turns into an almost shy smile and he steps away, heading toward the kitchen. Resolved to finish eating your breakfast, you were convinced the club’s entire staff was decidedly too gods-be-damned good looking.
It made sense, probably, given the whole concept of hosts and escorts and such. Shakky was beautiful in a way that seemed both completely otherworldly, and also totally effortless. Maybe she had like some kind of devil fruit power that gave her an aura or something that made everyone around her beautiful.
Maybe it was black magic.
Maybe people just looked better in general if they weren’t threatening to throw you off a building every other week.
After you finish up your breakfast, Jocasta returns with two other girls. One’s about her height with a mass of curly hair and a disposition that’s so cheerful you half expect her to burst into actual sunlight. The other has cropped orange hair and a more tempered smile, but they both look nice enough. All three are in similar styled clothing, and Jo introduces them.
“This is Ikkaku and this is Koala,” she says, motioning to each in turn. “We thought we could give you the sixty-four beri tour if you wanted.”
“Not yet.” Katakuri says from behind the bar, looking at you when you turn back toward him. “Shakky says to come up to the office when you’re done eating. Vi should be down- ah, there she is.”
You follow his gaze to a tall young lady approaching the rest of you. She’s tan like River, with powder blue hair and bright eyes. Where as everyone else was in some kind of uniform, she seemed to be dressed a step above, though the running theme was still there, and along with her pencil skirt and button up blouse, she wore a vest.
You notice a pin on the vest and look back over to Katakuri to see a similar, but slightly different one. You thought you might have seen something like it on Penguin too, but weren’t sure. Sabo wasn’t in uniform and Kid was shirtless. Everyone else said they were working behind the scenes, so maybe it had to do with something else.
Vivi nods at the others before smiling at you. “It would be my honor to escort you to the office, Miss Girl.” She states, saying your “name” as easily as Sabo had.
“Uh, sure.” Looking over at Jocasta you aren’t sure what to say. “Later?”
Jo smiles. “Sure, and hey, you might get the sixty-four million beri tour from the Owners, so don’t feel bad if that happens.”
“We can still give you the cheap tour later,” Ikkaku grins. “Seeing The Club in different ways is good for you.”
“Sure,” you manage something of a smile as you follow along with Vivi. The hardest part, if you ended up staying, was going to be getting used to genuinely friendly people.
“I hope breakfast was satisfactory.” Vivi questions as you head back to the elevator you used to get to your room.
“Oh yeah, that was the best breakfast I think I’ve ever had.” You answer. “I think I met like a dozen people too. Nice buncha folks you got here.”
“That’s good to hear. I think Shakky was worried you’d get overwhelmed.”
“Huh? What, oh no, crowds ain’t nothing. I didn’t exactly play beri-poker with anyone, but they didn’t like, toss me in a box or something and only let me out when they needed me.”
“That’s… quite specific.” Vivi says sheepishly.
“Eh, Arlong threatened it a couple times, I guess it stuck.” You shrug.
Vivi stops at the beginning of a long hall that was on the other side of the elevator from the direction of your room. She points to a painting that has three people on it. You recognize Shakky, so you imagine the other two must be the other owners. It looks very much like it was commissioned specifically for the reason Vivi was about to demonstrate.
“You’ve met Shakky, but she’s technically the primary owner. The other two don’t make club-wide decisions without her say. Next is Sir Crocodile,” she indicates a severe looking man with a gnarly scar across his face. You did not need to ask why that was his name. “He handles the finances and balances Shakky and Rayleigh.” She points to the old man in the painting. Despite being older than the other two, there’s a youthful vibe about him. You imagine he gets into all sorts of trouble.
“Rayleigh is the buffer between them and the clients. Usually people will meet with Rayleigh. They’ve got to win him over first to have any hope with the other two.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate the rundown, but why tell me all this?”
“Two reasons: I don’t know why you’re going in there, and this could be useful. But I know that Arlong is coming to join the meeting, and he knows everyone in there. It’s only fair you know as much as I can tell you in the next few minutes.” Vivi answers.
“I’m going in there because Arlong almost killed me at the back of your club last night.” You answer flatly, watching her eyes go wide for a moment. “Shakky said she’d buy my debt, and made Arlong leave.”
Vivi goes quiet for a moment and then smiles, turning down the hall toward the large doors awaiting you. “If there’s a seat next to Sir Crocodile, I recommend you sit there, honored guest.”
“Sure… uh, why?” You question, following her down the hall.
“Of the three he has the least patience. If Arlong approaches you, he’ll have to get closer to Crocodile, and the boss might kill him just for that.” She answers with a bright smile on her face.
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 2: Pretty Little Liar
Shakky held the door open as Hongo carried you inside the club. The quiet of the alleyway was replaced by the soft thumping bass from whatever music was being played. You were carried through two more doors before you came into the club proper, and the music, which was by no means soft, wasn’t so loud that you needed to shout to be heard.
The rhythmic thump of the bass was just strong enough to lure your muscles into movement, the music just loud enough to shroud each conversation into something private. Sheer curtains separated certain areas, deep wood booths, with walls that went from floor to ceiling separated other areas with more force. Doors lined one wall, a series of private rooms maybe, an ultimate offer of privacy in an otherwise open space.
Hongo made his way past the booths, walking by a bar and heading back down the other side of the row of booths. There were less people on this side, and the few you noticed were enjoying the tail end of evening meals. The thump of the music was a little more forceful on this side, but not by much.
Hongo set you down in a booth and then pointed toward a heavy curtain.
“On the other side of that is the reception desk and the main entrance.” He explains, taking a step back once he’s sure you’re not going to tip over.
“Are you telling me to get lost?”
“Nope. Just making sure you know how to leave if you want to.” The smile on his face is genuine. “My preference would be for you to stay put though, I’ll be back with Law in a moment.”
You nod, a little numbly. You’re not sure what to make of things yet, but bolting now isn’t going to solve any of your problems. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”
Hongo leaves you in the booth and you take a better look around. You knew of The Club as it was often referred to, and how it had Hosts during the daytime and Escorts at night, but you’d never bothered to take a look inside. Aside from the fact that it was called By Any Other Name, which was hilarious to you that people called it by another name on the regular, you knew little else about it.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. It was above board and had a solid reputation.
No one ever seemed to speak ill of the place, unless they’d been barred from it. And at that point, what worth was their opinion on it anyway.
Classy was certainly the word for it. The booth you were in was leather, and while you weren’t sure what the wood of the table was, it was beautifully stained and sealed. Even in the dim light you could see the care put into the place.
There was a stage across from where you were sitting, with a small collection of large couches and luxury seats. The way they were placed allowed people to focus on one another in small groups, and the stage itself. It was surprisingly private for something without dividers. There was a pop card on the stage stating what the show for the night was, but it was too far away for you to make it out right now. It must just be the start of the evening, if all the events weren’t in full swing.
It was certainly much larger than you had expected. Something about the dimensions felt off, but you weren’t going to go looking for false walls or secret passages right now, so you didn’t let it needle your thoughts.
True to his word, Hongo returned with someone else in tow. The younger man behind him looked pissed off, but his movements were relaxed otherwise, so it might just be a case of resting bitch face.
Boots, low-waisted ripped skinny jeans, and a sleeveless turtlenecked crop top. The outfit showed off an impressive number of tattoos and an equally impressive physique. Silver rings on his fingers drew your attention enough you could see letters inked into his skin, but it was impossible to know what they said in the club’s dim light.
“Law, this is our guest, miss… uh… my apologies, I seem to be doing my best to forget my manners tonight.”
“Girl.” You answer.
Hongo looks stunned, but Law looks pissed. “Your name is Girl?”
You shrug. “It’s all Arlong’s called me. I don’t remember another name.”
Both of them flinch, but don’t say anything more on the matter.
“Hongo says you’re okay with being scanned,” Law says after a moment. You nod and when he puts a hand out toward you, you feel the world shift a little. Everything looks a little bluer than it had a moment ago.
Grumpy pants looks even grumpier while he’s concentrating, but Hongo hadn’t lied. This scanning, whatever it was doing, you couldn’t feel it. There was a sense like someone was looking at your insides, but you felt like maybe it was more your imagination than anything else.
“Trouble breathing?” Law asks after a moment.
“Not really.”
“You’re a really good liar.” He grumbles, leveling a glare at you. “Two bruised ribs, and you’re lucky that knot on the back of your head isn’t a concussion.”
“Bruised -,” Hongo interjects looking over at you. “It had to hurt while I carried you, my apologies.”
Shaking your head you wave it off. “Nah, it wasn’t so bad. I wasn’t making it in here on my own two feet anyway.”
The blueish aura disappears and Law sighs. “You’re malnourished, dehydrated, and obviously exhausted. A glass of water with your meal, and another before you go to bed.” He leans down, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t. Chug.” He snarls. “Eat slow, and drink slow.”
You put your hand up in a mock salute. “Aye aye, cap’n.” He looks like he’s going to yell something at you for a split second, but thinks better of it and backs off. “I thought he was the doctor though.” You say, pointing at Hongo.
“There’s three that work here.” Hongo explains. “Thanks Law, I’ll watch over her for now.”
Law grunts and walks off as Hongo sits down across from you in the booth.
“Charming.”
“When he wants to be.” Hongo says with a smile. “Marco’s the third doc, but he’s not scheduled tonight. You might meet him tomorrow though.”
“Mm.” You look around and see a blonde man in a chef’s uniform heading toward the table. When he sees you his face lights up and he gives you a wide smile.
“Lady Shakky said we had an honored guest,” he says, setting a small stand by the table and putting the tray on it. “Blackleg Sanji,” he says with a deep bow. “At your service, mademoiselle.”
“Uh… thanks.” You barely manage the words, your brows raised and mouth slack. You’ve never seen someone so over the top still manage to land as being genuine.
“Keep a lid on it, Sanji.” Hongo warns lightly. “She’s been through a lot tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah, I was already warned.” Sanji clicks his tongue, the smile returning before he turns his attention back to you. “My best was requested, but since I don’t know your preferences, I hope you’ll find something here to your liking, Miss.”
He starts setting plates on the table with all manner of food. Hamburgers, onigiri, fried rice, steak, leek soup, and a collection of small plates with even more variety on them. Then he sets down a glass of water, a cup of hot tea, and what you assume is apple juice and not beer or liquor.
“I… I can’t eat all of this.” You stammer. You wish you could though, it all looks so delicious you do want to eat all of it.
“Of course not, sweet lady.” He reassures you. “Just eat what you want, much as you like. I promise the rest won’t go to waste.” His smile is wide, and again, genuine.
Happy people.
Something twists in your stomach, but it’s not enough to put you off the idea of food. You’d been hungry when Arlong found you, and you were even hungrier now. The food in front of you looked flawless, and smelled just as divine.
Taking a bite of the fried rice, it tastes even better than it looks. It takes everything you have to slow yourself down as you start to eat a little bit from almost every plate. It’s warm, and it even feels like it’s warming you up inside. It was silly to imagine it soaking into your bones when it was barely in your stomach, but it really felt that satisfying.
“You alright?” Hongo’s voice is just loud enough to make it over the music, and when you look up to ask him what he means, you realize you’ve been crying.
“I…” Realization makes the tears hit harder, and Sanji hands you a napkin. Nodding, you wipe away the tears. “Yeah,” you murmur, the word is assumed more than heard, lost in the din of the music.
“Yeah,” you say it again after the tears settle, nodding again and doing your best to smile. You look up at Sanji to compliment him, but the soft expression on his face stops the words in your throat. There’s something there that’s more than just compassion or empathy. There’s an understanding there you didn’t expect to see.
“It’s delicious.” You say after a moment and the soft expression brightens.
“Tomorrow we can get your preferences and any allergies,” Sanji says, tucking the serving tray under his arm and folding the little stand back up and tucking it away between the booths. “I’m going to check in on the Front, you all good?” His question is directed at Hongo, but you nod along with the doctor who waves him off.
Sanji bows toward you one last time, giving you a big smile again. “It’s been my pleasure, lady.” With that he leaves you and Hongo be.
“He seems nice.” You manage between bites. You’re trying really hard to eat slowly, but the food is so delicious you’re pretty sure you’re going to over eat.
“He’s holding back really well. Shakky must’ve really given it to him.”
“Huh?”
Hongo chuckles. “Sanji’s heart is wrapped around one girl, but he tends to really go over the top for all girls. It can be a lot if you’re not used to it. Shakky probably made sure he knew to keep it to a minimum.”
“That was the minimum?” Surprise causes the question to come out of your mouth while its still got food in it, but the doc isn’t looking at you.
Hongo nearly chokes trying to stifle his laugh, and nods. “He’s a good soul though, even if he can be a real bastard when he wants.”
“What’s your take on this place?” You question, not wanting to have someone just sit there and watch you eat.
He tilts his head and considers for a moment. “It’s a bit like… a ship. A really big one with three captains at the helm and half a dozen or so divisions keeping it running. It’s not perfect, but I can’t imagine it being capsized either.”
The analogy slows you down. “Sounds like Pirate Era talk.”
The smile on his face looks mischievous. “I suppose it does. The Owners were pirates.” He says and you nod.
“Yeah, Arlong was too. Wouldn’t ever shut up about it.” You wipe your mouth with a napkin. “He’s not like Roger though.”
“Few could compare.” Hongo says and you shrug.
“No one else changed the world like he did.”
“He didn’t do it alone.”
Rolling your eyes you scoff. “No shit, doc.”
Hongo grins. “Hey, look at you, finally relaxing a little.”
Flinching, you frown. “A comfy seat and good food work wonders, I guess.” You mumble, turning your attention back to the food, poking slowly at a few more bits of food.
A familiar form walks toward your booth. Shakky is giving professional smiles and small waves to people as she walks through the main area. The actions are a very firm, and polite action that clearly states she’s not available currently, and Hongo scoots over to give her room as she joins the two of you at the booth.
“I’m glad to see the food is to your liking.” The smile on her face now is subtly more sincere, but she’s intimidating and you almost feel like you need to be kneeling on the floor, instead of daring to sit across from her like this.
“I’ve - yeah, it was, that’s-.” You press your lips together to stop yourself from rambling more. Shakky gives you a moment and you try again. “It was delicious.”
“Feeling better?” She prompts and you nod.
“What happens now?” You ask the question, your eyes downcast from nerves.
“We have a guest room set up for you to use. You can shower and sleep, and tomorrow the morning chef will make you breakfast.” Shakky explains, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it before blowing smoke up to the ceiling. Your eyes follow the action and you’re amused to see it get sucked up into what must be an impressive air filtration system.
“Arlong will arrive and negotiate the final payout for your debt. Once that’s settled me and the other two owners will discuss what options we have for you.” She lets another lazy stream of smoke go up to the ceiling. “Then we go from there.”
You grunt, trying not to let your pessimism show too much. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, you were sure. Or maybe more like out of the frying pan and into a slow cooker. You were certain that Shakky and her associates were at least going to be gentler than Arlong.
But your goose was cooked either way, so there was no real escape.
Shakky waved to someone you couldn’t see and eventually a tall woman with long black hair came into view pushing a wheelchair. Her wavy hair cascaded nicely, and while her clothes were snug and a bit revealing, she looked comfortable.
“Alvida, if you could bring her to the guest room, I would appreciate it.” Shakky says.
“I’m pretty sure I can walk.” You say, looking from the chair to Shakky and then Hongo. “I feel a lot better.”
“There’s not many free rides in the club, sugar.” Alvida says, an amused grin on her face. “Certainly not from me, so you should accept it.”
“Your bruised ribs will thank you.” Hongo adds.
“We won’t force you.” Shakky interjects. “But you aren’t being charged for any of this. By Any Other Name doesn’t have hidden fees or expenses.”
You snort a laugh, recognizing the dig at Arlong for what it was. “Sure. Why not.” You shrug, sliding over to the wheel chair and seating yourself. “Thanks, Miss Alvida.”
“Just call me Alvi, kid,” she says, unlocking the wheels and pushing you away from the booth. “Look, this guest room is gonna look fancy as shit,” she forewarns, after getting you through the main part of the club and into an elevator. “Don’t let it freak you out.”
“The whole club’s fancy as shit,” you point out. “Why would I freak out over the guest room?”
“I guess we’ll see soon enough.” The door dings softly and Alvida pushes you out onto marble flooring. You almost pull your legs up into the chair for fear of stepping on it.
The walls are no less elegant, art and gold accenting them. This hall alone had to have enough money hanging on its walls to set you for life.
Not that you’d even consider trying to steal it.
Something about the club left you feeling like you’d have an easier time stealing from the world government and getting away with it. Your punishment would probably be far less severe from them as well, compared to The Owners.
“H-hey, aside from Shakky, who else owns this place?”
“I told you not to freak out, kid.”
“We’re not at the room yet, and I’m not freakin’ out yet.” You say it a little louder than you mean to, but when you twist to look at Alvida the pain in your body zings up your spine. You face forward with a grunt as she stops in front of a solid oak door with delicate vine details carved into it.
“Yet.” Alvida repeats and you grumble under your breath. She puts a laser cut key into the lock and you hear the mechanism turn without her moving anything. Turning the knob, she opens the door and removes the key, handing it to you while she blocks the view with her body and the door.
“Silvers Rayleigh and Sir Crocodile are the other co-owners.” She says, and you realize that neither name is familiar to you. Which isn’t surprising. Arlong seemed to know Shakky pretty directly, but you’d never seen her or heard her name before tonight. “Given the look on your face, neither of those names ring a bell. That tracks. They stopped being pirates over 20 years ago, not a lot of folks still remember ‘em.”
Alvida opens the door the rest of the way and steps inside, giving you a view of the guest room.
Spacious was barely the word for it. Thick rugs laid over a hardwood floor that had two shades of stain, or two types of wood, creating patterns with the planks. The whole room looked like someone had pulled it from some sort of 17th century royal suite.
You could barely bring yourself to get out of the wheelchair, stepping into the room like a skittish feral animal unsure if it was actually allowed to come inside. Alvida was so still you forgot she was there for a moment, leaving you to take in more and more of the room.
The the wood-framed couch was velvet, you think. There’s one door off the main room, which seems to be like a living room, or common area. There’s just enough of a kitchen to make coffee and maybe reheat leftovers, but you imagine most of the food comes from the main kitchen on the first floor.
“It would be rude to let it go to waste.” Alvida says, and you nearly leap out of your skin at the sound of her voice. “Enjoy the shower, the tub, and the bed.”
“I - yeah, I… I’ll try?”
Alvida snorts a half-hearted laugh, patting your shoulder as she walks out of the room. “Hang in there, kid.”
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
