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dcwhorecorner · 22 days ago

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Get Even - Chapter 1

word count: 1.8 K

cw: frat prez!katsuki x fem art sudent!reader, college AU, frat culture, alcohol consumption, suggestive dialogue, reader panic response, katsuki being petty, foreshadowed angst, strong language/frat boy profanity, Mentions of drink spiking awareness (reader expresses fear of being drugged, no actual drugging occurs), this fic will have multiple chapters!

You didn’t wake up this morning planning to go to a frat party.

You woke up planning to cry over your art history paper and maybe eat a bowl of cereal straight from the box. But fate—or more specifically, your extroverted menace of a best friend—had other plans.

“YOU’RE COMING WITH ME,” she said, barging into your dorm room like the Kool-Aid Man with lashes. “No, I’m not,” you said, barely looking up from your sketchpad. “Yes, you are. Sigma Vex is throwing the party of the semester tonight and I scored us an invite.”“I don’t even know what that means,” you replied. “Is that a frat or a metal band?”

That’s when she hit you with the kicker: “Sigma Vex. As in, the frat. The one run by Katsuki Bakugou.”

You blinked. “The scary blond guy from the engineering major?”

“The hot scary blond guy. Yeah.”

She dangled the invite in front of your face like it was a golden ticket to Wonka’s chocolate factory. Only in this case, the factory was filled with alcohol, sweat, questionable decision-making, and people with abs.

So naturally, you said no. Then she hit you with the guilt trip combo pack: —You never go out. —You’re gonna die single in a cardigan. —You owe her for the time she covered for you when you ghosted class. —And “just come for an hour. You don’t even have to talk to anyone. You can wear black and stand in a corner like a sexy funeral ghost.”

And so now—it’s 8:27PM.

You’re standing in front of your mirror, wearing a bodycon dress that you already regret. Ribbed modal fabric. Soft as sin. Hugs your body like it has a vendetta. Not scandalous—nothing’s spilling out—but you’re not exactly blending in with the wallpaper either.

You pull at the hem. Tug at the neckline. Rethink every decision that led to this moment.

Your stomach is a war zone. You feel like you’re about to be thrown into an arena where hot, drunk gladiators flex for sport and girls get called “shawty” without warning.

Your friend, meanwhile, is in your room with her hair in curlers and a glitter highlighter in one hand. “It’s gonna be fine,” she says. “Sigma Vex isn’t like the creepy frats. They don’t even allow hard drugs. The president’s a total control freak. It’s practically a regulated orgy.”

You nearly drop your eyeliner. “I beg your what?”

She grins. “He has rules. The party ends exactly at 2AM. Pledges clean after. I swear he probably makes them mop in rows. But the house is hot, the guys are hotter, and the drinks are strong.”

You don’t trust this. Or her. But you go.

Because you’re tired of saying no. Tired of playing safe. Tired of wondering what it’s like to be the main character in someone’s story instead of the silent background artist in your own.

So you step into the Uber. Adjust your dress for the tenth time. Take a deep breath.

You’ll just hide in a corner. You’ll sip something fake and sugary. Watch your friend flirt. Go home in an hour. No one’s even going to notice you. At 10:32PM, you walk into the Sigma Vex house, and the party has just begun

The Sigma Vex house doesn’t smell like weed and piss like the other frats.

It smells like cedarwood, expensive cologne, and testosterone. The hallway lights are warm and moody, the alcohol’s not watered down, and the bass is so clean it feels like it’s massaging your organs. Everything is too coordinated. Too put together.

The house hums like a hive. Controlled chaos. All neon lighting, heavy bass, and clean floors that should absolutely not be this clean for a frat house. No drugs, no vomit-stained rugs, no weird stains on the couch (well… not until later). Pledges clean with military precision, and the house parties? Legendary.

This is a party run by a man with a schedule. A mission. A code of conduct.

You’re not supposed to be here. You're very sure of that.

Now, standing here in the corner of the living room clutching a soda in a death grip, you’re watching chaos unfold with terrifying precision. Shirtless guys shouting over pong. Music blasting. People dancing in the dark like they’re in a music video. And not a single illegal substance in sight.

You hug the red Solo cup tighter in your hands—not because you plan to drink it, but because it gives you something to hold. Something to do while you stand awkwardly in the corner of the Sigma Vex living room.

The music is loud. You can feel the bass in your chest like your ribs are its personal drum set. The lights are dim and tinted gold-red, bouncing off bottles and glitter eyeshadow. It smells like sweat, spilt vodka, and expensive cologne that’s fighting for its life.

People are dancing in the middle of the room—no, grinding. Writhing. Some are already pressed so close you wonder if their zippers are about to declare war. There’s a girl literally straddling a guy’s thigh to the beat of a Drake remix. Someone in the kitchen yells “CHUG!” followed by a violent round of coughing and cheering.

You see a game of beer pong in the back. Someone’s making out on the damn couch. Like heavy. His hand’s already under her top and nobody around them cares.

You feel… Like a deer in a frat-lit headlights. Like you accidentally walked into the wrong simulation.

Just you, standing awkwardly in a dress that hugs a little too tightly in all the right places, abandoned by your friend who disappeared somewhere upstairs to swap spit with a tall dude in a backwards cap who looks like he says “bro” unironically, who called her “shortcake” three minutes into meeting her.

You're alone, and you're ready to leave. And then—you feel it.

That static prickle across your skin like the air shifted. Like someone just flipped the tension dial in the atmosphere to oh no.

You glance up—and that’s when you see him.

Blond. Piercing, scarlet eyes. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a black fitted Sigma Vex shirt like it was custom-sewn to worship his muscles. He’s walking through the crowd like a lion who knows the other animals will move.

Katsuki Bakugou.

The legend. Sigma Vexes frat president. The reason half the campus has a gym membership they don’t use.

You’ve seen him before—at a distance, walking out of the engineering building like he owned the sidewalk—but you’ve never been this close. And now he’s looking at you. Like really looking. Your brain short circuits.

He steps up, casual like he wasn’t just stomping through the house like a general five seconds ago. Hands in his pockets. Piercing eyes trailing over your dress like a scan. Not lewd—calculating. Intrigued.

And then, that voice—low, scratchy, voice smooth like gravel and whiskey, way-too-good-for-this-world voice—slips out of his mouth like it’s got intentions:

“Didn’t think I’d see a pretty little thing like you at one of our parties.”

You swear your soda fizzes louder.

“Um,” you say. Your voice is already doing The Thing—that high-pitched, I-don’t-know-how-to-talk-to-hot-people thing. “Thanks?”

He smirks. “First time here?”

You nod, then stop, then try to explain. “Y-yeah. My friend dragged me. I wasn’t… planning to stay.”

His eyes flick toward the dance floor, like he’s clocking the friend you clearly came with. “Lemme guess. Ditched you?”

You blink. “How’d you—”

“You’ve been standin’ here for fifteen minutes,” he says. “Lookin’ like you’re tryin’ to mentally disassociate from the dubstep remix of ‘Seven Nation Army.’”

You let out a panicked laugh, because—he’s right. You are.

And now Katsuki Bakugou is standing way too close. Not crowding, but definitely not respecting standard “hot stranger” protocol. He leans just a bit toward you, glancing at your sad soda. His grin goes sideways. Ferally amused.

“Lemme get you a real drink,” he offers. “Don’t worry—I’ll pour it myself.”

Your heartbeat jumps. Not because it’s romantic. But because alarm bells go off. Every girl-in-college instinct yells: Stranger! Danger! Drink! Frat house! BAD!

You freeze. “Oh—no, thank you. I’m… good. This is fine.”

You gesture awkwardly to your soda like it’s an award-winning vintage instead of whatever off-brand cola someone handed you when you arrived.

He raises a brow. Just one. “You think I’m tryin’ to drug you?”

You panic. “N-NO! Not like that—I just—I mean I don’t know you and—uh—I’m sorry—”

He chuckles. It’s a low, rough sound, like gravel being dragged across velvet.

“You’re cute when you stammer.”

You squeak. Then—his tone dips, smooth and syrupy, casual but too sharp to be an accident. “Wanna go somewhere quieter? You look like you’re gonna combust if the bass drops again. We can go upstairs.”

Your eyes widen. He doesn’t touch you. Just watches. Calm. Patient. Too patient. Like he knows what he’s doing.

You swallow. The walls are closing in. The lights are too hot. His face is too much. “I-I actually… have a thing tomorrow. Early. So. I’m just—gonna go. Sorry.”

And then. You bolt. Turn and walk away.

Like a coward.

Like you just rejected Katsuki Bakugou.

You don’t look back. But Katsuki stands there, still. Jaw tight. Pledges laughing too close to his ear like they’ve just seen their invincible warlord get pantsed by a kitten.

“Yo—did you see that?” “She rejected him?” “Bro, the Prez got ghosted in real time!” “I didn’t know that could happen?!”

A few of them start clapping. The disrespect is palpable.

Katsuki takes a slow sip of his drink. Doesn’t react. Just locks eyes on your retreating form like he’s uploading your soul into a kill list. His silence only makes it worse.

That’s when Yamada—one of the newer pledges, all cocky smirk and zero brain cells—decides to grow a pair.

“Dude,” he calls out, grinning like an idiot, “if you can’t get in her pants and fuck her in the next three months, you’re officially stepping down from your heartthrob throne.”

Silence. Everyone freezes. You could hear a pong ball drop.

“And we get to take your precious baby for a spin,” he adds. “Two weeks. Full keys. No chaperone.”

A hush falls over the room like someone just mentioned Voldemort.

Sero drops his beer. “Bro. You did not just bring up the Porsche.”

Kirishima looks physically pained. “Yo, that’s—dude, that’s kinda too far.”

“Yeah, man,” Kaminari adds, eyes wide. “You tryna die or something? That car's his literal child.”

They’re talking about the car. The black 911 GT3 Porsche. Custom specs. His dad helped him import it from Germany for his 21st birthday. That thing growls like a beast and costs more than all of Sigma Vex’s pledges combined. Katsuki doesn’t even park it near other cars. He parks it under a cover and wipes down the tires like it's a deity.

Kirishima steps forward. “Kats, bro—come on. Don’t—don’t entertain this. She’s just a girl.”

“She’s just a girl,” Katsuki echoes quietly.

He downs the rest of his drink in one go.

Then he turns toward Yamada with the slow, sharp grin of a predator who was just handed a valid reason to destroy someone—emotionally, spiritually, academically.

“You’re on.”

Kirishima groans. “Bro—”

“She wants to play shy?” Katsuki says, voice cold now. “Fine. I’ll play too. But three months?”

He scoffs, already calculating.

“I’ll have her begging in two.”

And just like that, the game begins.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Part 2 is in the making! will be finished and posted in 2 days!

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST

TAG LIST: @d4wnyjlk @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @greeeaaattt @oogieboogiesbugs0724 @dienamiight @urmom2bitch @kalulakunundrum @pastelbakugou @missdynamighttt @lotusstarr @bakug0uzb1thc @fr6giledoll @urfavangelss @witchy-karma @kelisewrites @gamblersdoll @cathnospam @wonubby @writeriguess @proburfavblonde @mrsbakuqo

some of the people i tagged here are the writers i've been following for quite a while and i love so many of their works. and they have inspired me to write and start my own blog here. im hoping we can all be friends <3

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dcwhorecorner · 1 month ago

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Hey Princess pt.2

zoro x fem!reader

part 1 - part 3

you find freedom, love, and a true family among pirates—only to risk everything, even your life, to protect them from the chains of your past.

words count: 3.6k

tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, banter, mystery backstory, angst and fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“I’m a real princess.”

Your voice is quiet but everyone hears it.

You hear Luffy suck in a soft breath, like that part still surprises him even after the poster. But no one interrupts.

You keep going.

“But I never felt like one. Not really.”

You swallow.

“They dressed me up like one. Taught me how to walk, how to speak, how to smile. I was perfect, outside. Always so perfect.”

You laugh. It’s bitter.

“I was whatever they wanted me to be. Sweet. Smart. Silent. A trophy. A ghost.”

You glance at Franky “No offense… but I started to feel like a robot.”

He raises both hands, eyes gentle “None taken, sweetheart.”

You smile, just for a second.

“Every day, I played the role. And every night, when I was alone again, I’d stare at the mirror and see a stranger looking back. A doll. A puppet with gold strings.”

Zoro’s hand tightens around yours slightly.

You don’t look at him. Not yet.

“I’m an only child,” you continue “No siblings to take the spotlight. No one to pass the weight to. Just me and the kingdom. And their expectations.”

You glance down again.

“Whenever it hurt too much, I’d run to my room. Lock the door. Breathe in silence.”

Your lips quirk “Guess that’s why I still do it now.”

Brook leans forward “Why made you choose to officially leave?”

You go quiet for a second. Then you answer “They arranged a marriage.”

Sanji goes still, just like that. You feel his body shift across the table. Controlled tension. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

You understand each other now more than ever.

“A prince I never met. I didn’t even get his name before the engagement was official.” You laugh softly “I was gonna be queen. Or a prisoner. Same thing.”

Zoro doesn’t say anything. But you feel the subtle jerk of breath he takes.

His grip on your hand grows firm, almost possessive, and it makes something stir inside you.

“At the thought of it… I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t even know what love was supposed to feel like. But I knew it wasn’t that. I knew I didn’t want to spend my life as someone’s ornament.”

You take a shaky breath.

“So I ran.”

They’re all silent now. No gasps. No protests. Just wide eyes and quiet, raw attention.

“I ran and never looked back. And then I met Luffy.”

He grins at you from across the table, mouth full “Told you I wanted a spy princess on the crew!”

You actually laugh. A real one. Brief, but real.

Then your voice softens.

“I just want to be free now. Free to live. Free to find love on my own. Free to make my own choices. My own mistakes. Free to just… be myself.”

Silence stretches.

You finally look up. Your eyes shine. Full. Glassy.

But you smile a wide, honest smile.

The kind that reaches your eyes, even if your tears stay where they are, right on the edge, refusing to fall.

No one says anything right away. But you feel Zoro’s thumb brush once, gently, against your knuckle.

Not a question.

Not a comment.

Just a quiet I’m here.

The silence doesn’t last long.

You’re still blinking back tears when Chopper climbs into your lap, curling his little arms around your waist. You don’t even know when he got up but he’s there, warm and soft, and suddenly everything feels a little more bearable.

“I’m glad you ran away,” he says simply “You’re better here.”

Nami sets her drink down and walks over, brushing your hair gently back behind your ear “I used to hide in my room too. And I wasn’t a princess. Just… trapped.”

You reach out with your free hand, the one not still held tight in Zoro’s, and take hers.

Robin gives you a soft, knowing smile from across the table “Choosing your own life is always the hardest path. But the most important one.”

Franky wipes his eyes dramatically “That was… beautiful. You’re suuuuper brave.”

Brook nods, eyes shiny “May I write a song about your freedom, Princess?”

You laugh and nod “As long as I don’t have to sing it.”

Luffy stretches back in his seat and grins like the sun “I’m glad I asked you to join.”

“Me too” you say, and you mean it.

Usopp slams his hands on the table “You know what this means? You’ve got a backstory! That’s crew material right there.”

You snort.

Eventually, one by one, they start leaving the kitchen. Some with yawns, others with smiles. Chopper hugs you again before slipping off. Sanji is last, giving Zoro a long, slow look. But he doesn’t say anything. Just nods once and walks out.

Now it’s quiet again.

You and Zoro.

Still hand in hand.

Still sitting close, like if you let go, the moment will snap.

You finally speak, voice soft “So. ‘Princess’, huh?”

Zoro glances at you sideways, his mouth quirking slightly “Didn’t know it was true when I started calling you that.”

You hum “I figured.”

He tilts his head “You never told me why you hated it before.”

You pause, fingers brushing lightly against his.

“I used to hate it and you because of it,” you admit “Because you kept reminding me of that life with it. Of what I was supposed to be. Not what I am.”

He nods, watching you closely.

You glance down at your joined hands.

“But now…” Your voice dips “Now it doesn’t sound like a cage anymore. Now it sounds like... like love.”

Zoro stills.

But then… his brow furrows.

He looks almost confused.

“You mean that prince they picked out for you?”

Your head snaps up.

“What?”

“That guy. The one you were supposed to marry. Is that who you’re talking about?”

Your heart drops.

You yank your hand away, face flushing with heat, not from embarrassment, but frustration. Maybe a little hurt.

“Are you seriously that dense?”

Zoro blinks.

“Do you think I’d be sitting here holding your hand, telling you that, if I was talking about him?”

His eyes widen a little.

Before he can say anything, you start to push your chair back, about to stand but he grabs your hand again. Firm. Strong. Not letting go.

Then, slowly, he reaches up with his other hand and touches your chin, tilting your face toward him.

His touch is gentle. Unshaking.

You stop moving.

Your eyes meet his.

“I’m not good with… this,” he says, voice low “But I’m listening now.”

Your breath catches.

You stare at him. At the serious set of his jaw. The sharp focus in his eye. The way he’s looking at you, not like a joke, not like an opponent, not like a crewmate.

Something else.

Something closer.

Something dangerous, but not in a bad way.

He still doesn’t let go. And for the first time… you don’t want him to.

His hand is still on your chin, his fingers warm and gentle, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks too long.

You don’t move and neither does he.

The room feels like it’s holding its breath, like the Thousand Sunny itself knows something’s about to change.

And then… his gaze dips to your lips.

It’s slow. Intentional. Obvious, even. But not cocky.

There’s no smirk, no sharp comment. Just Zoro, looking at you like you’re something he didn’t realize he needed until this second.

You smile, soft and full of something you haven’t felt in years.

Peace.

Hope.

Home.

“Well,” you whisper, eyes flicking from his lips to his eyes, “Can I check off finding true love from my bucket list now?”

He lets out a small, stunned breath. Like he wasn’t expecting that from you. Like something just cracked open in his chest.

And then you lean forward.

Your lips brush his, gentle at first, barely there.

Zoro doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grip tighter.

He just kisses you back, slow and warm, like he’s finally figured out the answer to a question he didn’t know he’d been asking.

Your hand slips to his jaw, thumb tracing the scar under his eye.

He sighs softly into the kiss. And then you pull back, just a breath away.

“Okay,” you murmur, looking straight into his eye, “I’m feeling a bit too heated now.”

You dive back in.

This time, it’s not soft.

It’s hungry.

Zoro’s hands fly to your waist, gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He pulls you forward, easily, smoothly, until you’re on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, chest against his.

Your fingers thread into his green hair as your mouths move in sync, heat rising with every second.

He groans low into the kiss, one hand sliding up your back. And for a second, there’s no past, no poster, no titles. Just this.

Just you and him.

When you finally pull back, barely breathing, still close, he blinks once, like he’s trying to re-enter reality.

Then he frowns a little.

“Wait… During that game we played, you said you kissed a prince once. Who was that?”

You freeze.

Your whole face twists into offended betrayal as you push off his lap with a huff.

“Why,” you ask dramatically, “are you asking me that while we’re kissing like that?!”

Zoro blinks “I was just—”

“Way to ruin the mood, idiot…” you say, leaning down with a sigh.

Your face is inches from his.

Your nose brushes his.

Then you press a quick, teasing peck to his lips.

“Goodnight, swordsman.”

You turn, still smiling, and wave over your shoulder as you walk out of the room.

Zoro sits there alone, completely dazed, jaw slightly dropped.

And somewhere, deep down, he realizes something dangerous.

He’s already too far gone for you.

The next morning, the kitchen is full of the usual chaos.

Luffy’s already got rice stuck to his cheek. Usopp is mid-exaggerated story about “almost being crushed by a sleeping Sea King”, and Sanji’s serving eggs like he’s choreographing a dance, twirling plates from counter to table.

You sit between Robin and Zoro, still flushed from the night before. Every time your shoulder brushes his, you feel his arm tense, but he says nothing. Just keeps eating like it’s any other morning.

(Except he isn’t eating like normal. He’s glancing at you. Often.)

And for once, you’re okay with that.

You’re smiling. You’re full.

You’re home.

But then...

“I’m really sorry to ruin the mood,” Nami says suddenly, her voice serious, cutting through the buzz of conversation, “or remind you of it, Y/N… but we have to talk about it.”

Your stomach drops.

You already know what she’s about to say.

She sets her cup down slowly “That poster… it means your family is looking for you. And they want you back.”

The room goes quiet.

Jinbe nods solemnly “We should prepare ourselves. This isn’t something we can ignore. A bounty that says ‘Only Alive’ changes everything.”

Your heart slams once in your chest.

They’re right.

You were so caught in last night’s warmth, in the acceptance, in him, that for a little while, you forgot what it meant.

Forgot that the bounty poster wasn’t just a piece of paper.

It was a warning. A message. They’ve found you.

And now the whole world is going to know who you are.

The room is still silent, but the air has changed.

You feel it and they do, too.

Zoro turns his head toward you slightly, his eye focused on your face now, not his plate.

Luffy’s not eating. Even Brook isn’t singing.

You straighten a little, biting the inside of your cheek “I… I didn’t think they’d go this far” you whisper.

Robin speaks next, her voice calm “Royal families have influence. That kind of bounty means they’ve contacted the World Government directly. This isn’t about money. It’s about ownership.”

You flinch.

That word, ownership, crawls under your skin.

Sanji lights a cigarette but doesn’t say anything, his jaw tight as smoke curls slowly from his lips.

Zoro doesn’t speak either, but under the table, his hand brushes yours again. Not fully taking it. Just a touch, a reminder that you have someone now, that you’re not alone.

Luffy leans forward, grinning slightly “Hey. We’re not giving you back.”

Your head jerks toward him.

He grins wider, rice still stuck to his cheek “You’re part of my crew. That means you don’t belong to anyone else.”

Brook nods “Yohoho! We already claimed you, dear princess.”

Franky slams a hand on the table “Super claimed!”

You laugh. Or maybe choke. It’s hard to tell.

You nod, looking around at each of them, trying to take this in “Thank you. All of you.”

But there’s still a weight in your chest.

This is more than just a past catching up to you.

It’s a future that may try to pull you away from this. From them. From him.

You grip the edge of your plate tighter.

Zoro notices.

So does Nami.

But no one pushes you to say anything more. Not yet. Not until you’re ready.

And Zoro, quietly, under his breath, only for you, leans in and mutters “They can try. But they’re not taking you. I’ll cut through kingdoms if I have to.”

You don’t say anything but your hand finds his under the table, fingers curling into his like a lifeline.

Because that’s what this crew is and you’re not ready to give it up.

Not for anyone.

It’s been days since your poster was revealed. Since your story came out. And still, they treat you the same.

Luffy laughs just as loud. Nami scolds just as sharply. Zoro watches you with a kind of quiet fire, like he’s waiting for someone to try and take you again.

You haven’t left the Sunny much.

Even when they dock at a new island, a small one, peaceful-looking, filled with smiling villagers and white-sand roads, you still hesitate.

“I’ll stay on the ship,” you say again, standing near the railing “Just in case.”

“You said that last time” Nami reminds gently.

Franky grins “This island doesn’t even have a Marine base, sister!”

“They look nice...” Chopper adds, waving at a child on the dock who waves back cheerfully.

But your gut twists.

“I just…” You glance toward the village “I have a bad feeling.”

Zoro walks up next to you, arms crossed.

“You can protect yourself. I know that.” He speaks low, just to you “But I can protect you too.”

You blink, startled.

“And besides…” he adds with a smirk, “how am I supposed to flirt with you if you stay cooped up here?”

You roll your eyes “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“What, flirting? You kissing me on my lap wasn’t exactly subtle, Princess.”

You snort and shove him lightly.

He grabs your wrist with ease, pulls you close enough that your nose brushes his “Come with me.”

He’s not one who usually does that in front of other people, this means he’s really trying his best for making you feel comfortable.

You hesitate for a breath.

Then nod.

The village really does seem safe.

Warm smiles. Free bread. Laughter from a marketplace where Robin is already browsing books and Luffy is trying to trade seaweed for meat.

You and Zoro walk side by side, bickering gently.

He mocks the way you squint at fancy fruit names.

You tease him for walking straight into a barrel.

You laugh harder than you have in days, maybe even than you ever did in your whole life.

His hand brushes yours again and again, but doesn’t hold it.

Not until you stop to look at a little stand selling handmade earrings.

You turn to make a joke.

He’s gone.

At first, you’re just confused.

Maybe he walked ahead? Maybe someone called him?

You spin around “Zoro?”

No answer.

Just kind eyes. Curious smiles.

Too many.

And then pain explodes at the back of your head.

Darkness swallows you whole.

You wake up in silk.

Your old room.

The room you ran from.

You sit up too fast and your head spins. The walls are familiar and terrifying.

The windows are locked. The door is barred from the outside. The guards are right out of your door, you can hear their armor shifting with every breath.

You’re trapped.

No escape this time.

No Sunny. No Zoro. No crew.

Just this life you fought so hard to leave behind.

Meanwhile, on the Sunny

“She was right behind me,” Zoro says again, fists clenched “She was right there.”

Nami grips the map in her hands like she wants to tear it in half “Those smiling bastards... this was a setup.”

“They separated us on purpose,” Robin says quietly “They waited until she let her guard down.”

“I knew she didn’t want to leave the ship,” Sanji growls, slamming his hand on the table “We pushed her to go.”

“It’s my fault.” Zoro says suddenly, standing at the edge of the deck, eyes locked on the distant island.

Everyone falls silent.

“I told her I’d protect her,” he says, voice tight, low, barely controlled “I promised her.”

No one corrects him. Because he’s right.

He did.

“She trusted me.”

And now you're gone.

You’re not sure how much time passes after you wake up in that cursed room.

Could be minutes. Could be hours.

Everything feels surreal. Like a nightmare someone wrapped in velvet and perfume. The room is exactly how you left it, nothing out of place. Not the canopy bed. Not the chandelier. Not the golden-framed mirror you used to stare at with dead eyes.

Then you hear the heavy footsteps. The familiar rhythm.

Your parents.

The door opens. Two guards stand beside them like statues. Your father walks in first, cold, stern, commanding. Your mother follows, all grace and distance, like a statue come to life.

You don’t stand.

You don’t bow.

You don’t speak.

“So,” your father begins “You’re finally awake.”

You glare.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” your mother says flatly “You managed to embarrass us in every corner of the world.”

“Good to see you too” you mutter.

They ignore it.

Your father’s voice sharpens “You are a princess. You are not a pirate.”

“Don’t tell me what I am” you shoot back.

“This charade ends now,” he snaps “You’ve had your fun. But it’s time to return to your life. To your duty.”

“Even if I hate it?” you ask “Even if I don’t want it?”

Your mother’s gaze hardens “You don’t have a choice.”

“I made one when I ran,” you say, rising from the edge of the bed “And I’ll do it again.”

He laughs once, a bitter one “You won’t get that chance. You think running away once means you’ve won? You’re locked in now. We made sure of it.”

They turn toward the door. But before they leave, your father pauses.

“You should also consider what will happen to the pirates you’ve chosen to throw your lot in with.”

You freeze.

“What?”

He turns back, face unreadable “We found you. We can find them. And unlike with you, we won’t be so gentle.”

Your hands curl into fists.

“You can’t.” you breathe “You don’t know them. They’ve fought worse people. They’ve defeated warlords. Marines. They won’t let you take me.”

Your mother tilts her head “And yet… here you are.”

That shuts you up.

They see it. They enjoy it.

“And now,” your father continues, “you’ll do what you were always meant to. The Prince of Albourne arrives in three days. The wedding will take place before the month’s end.”

“No.”

Your voice is clear, firm, slicing through the tension.

Your mother’s eyes narrow “Don’t be childish.”

“I said no.”

Your father moves closer, towering over you “You will marry him. You will do your duty. You will save this kingdom’s future and your own reputation.”

“I don’t want to!” you snap “I can’t... because…”

You trail off.

They wait.

“Because what?” your mother presses.

You take a breath, then blurt it out.

“I have someone I like.”

The room stills.

Your father laughs, low and bitter “Like?”

“You LIKE someone?” your mother echoes with disbelief “How quaint.”

“That’s not—” you start.

“And who is this one you LIKE so much?” your father mocks “Another pirate? A brute? Or maybe the idiot who let you get taken?”

Your heart stings. But you don’t let it show.

“You’re unbelievable...” you whisper.

“You’re a child chasing fantasy,” your mother replies, cold “There is no love for girls like you. Only expectation.”

Tears threaten to rise. You shove past them.

You open the door of your room signing them to leave and they do, as you slam the door behind them.

And this time, when you hear the lock click from the outside it feels like a piece of you locks away too.

Three days.

You count them by the sunlight on your window.

Three days locked in your room. Three days of no freedom. Three days of silence, of pressure, of growing panic.

Tonight, you’re to meet the prince.

Tonight, your life will be locked away in a different kind of prison.

Unless…

Your hand tightens around the silver butter knife you’ve kept hidden beneath your pillow. Not much. But enough.

Lunchtime

Like always, the guards knock once and open the door.

“Your food—”

You strike.

It’s fast. Messy. One gets the knife to his arm, the other a tray to the head.

You tumble past them, their surprised grunts echoing in the corridor.

You don’t stop.

You run.

Blood trails down your leg, one of them caught your thigh with a dagger in the scuffle, but you barely feel it. The adrenaline burns hotter than pain.

Corridor after corridor.

Hall after hall.

You burst through the side doors into the garden, past the royal courtyard, across the outer walls and finally, out.

You’re outside the palace.

Free.

Almost.

You breathe hard, turning a corner and then freeze.

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dcwhorecorner · 1 month ago

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“But Damian is half white—“ you want me to break your neck?

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dcwhorecorner · 2 months ago

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My name is Abed.

I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔

The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war. Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚

Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty. What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️

I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍

If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support. Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨

Thank you for taking the time to listen. 🙏

Post Link

boost!

#all eyes on palestine #free palestine

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dcwhorecorner · 2 months ago

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RASPBERRY GIRL / MASTERLIST

Simon Riley masterlist

(Captain) Simon Riley/female reader 18+ mdni, explicit sexual content, blurry lines of consent. Captain Riley in his forties. Heavy daddy kink. Age gap relationship. Reader is neurodivergent. Each part to have their own individual tags and warnings.

Raspberry sweet roll Lemon meringue pie Funfetti birthday cake Rosemary focaccia Boston cream pie Brown butter chocolate chip cookies Little berry girl Hot chocolate and whipped cream Chamomile tea and berry girl's no good very bad day Not ready Guilt first meeting

Raspberry Girl's recipes Raspberry Girl art by @/rayven-dark-fire

Divider painting and credit

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dcwhorecorner · 3 months ago

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Ikigai, Part 3

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 1, Part 2

You try to keep her away from Sylus. Or rather, you try to keep away from Sylus and protect her at the same time. It’s odd. Odd in a way you hope to never experience again.

Every time you grab her hand to drag her elsewhere, you want to burn your hand. Washing it simply isn’t enough. You want to bleach it, to scrub it, to do away with the hand that touches her. Not because you hate her, but because you can’t.

She’s just so… beautiful. In every sense of the word. Beautiful eyes, beautiful hair, beautiful face, beautiful voice, beautiful laugh, beautiful personality. She has all of it. You feel disgusted whenever she gives you that weak smile after you take her to her room after yet another failed resonance Sylus tries with her behind your back. She tries to be strong despite her fear.

“I’m sorry about my foolish boss.”

“It’s fine,” that wobbly smile is still there.

She doesn’t trust me yet. Good.

Miss Hunter needs that weariness in her. She needs that caution. There’s a shine about her people will take advantage of otherwise. Sunlight in human form that makes you want to protect her from any pain. Pain that trembles against your skin on the off chance you’re close enough to her threads.

Souls of many lives are weaved within each one. Hurts and pains and fears and sorrows she doesn’t remember, but others do, shake within each cosmic fiber. She is a being of suffering and care. Of hatred and love.

Yet she carries it with such grace. With such humility and beauty you can’t help but stare. Stare with eyes of envy that thankfully no one has noticed.

“It’s not fine, Miss Hunter. You haven’t done anything to deserve this.”

An evil part of you, one that you’re so ashamed of it’s probably why you treat her so delicately, thinks she does. She deserves it for the crime of being the soulmate of the man you love. She deserves it for having so much love while you have none. That part of you blames her. Hates her for her very being.

It says that she’s the reason you’re alone. That maybe one of her various potential soulmates was meant to be yours, but she stole them. You ridicule that part of you as you carefully place down a meal on her bedside table. Miss Hunter doesn’t even give it a glance. She just rubs one of her wrists in her hand.

“I said it’s fine.”

You could almost laugh at her words. She’s trying to act tough, to seem unafraid and strong in this unknown environment. You’ve spent far too much time studying people to even be fooled for a second. But you say nothing. Instead, you push the plate closer to her.

“Eat,” you try to give her a comforting smile. “It’s probably been awhile since you’ve eaten, correct? And the drug in your system doesn’t flush out well on an empty stomach.”

She says nothing.

“Miss Hunter,” you try a different approach. “I have nothing to gain by drugging you or poisoning you or hurting you in whatever way you’ve concocted in your mind.”

“Your boss would probably say otherwise.”

That hurts a bit, hearing confirmation that she fears her own soulmate. And hearing anything negative about Sylus tends to sting your heart. But that’s neither hear nor there.

She has every right to feel that way.

You keep telling yourself that over and over again. That, and the fact that this will pass, that you’ll one day see these two happy and in love (while you break on the sidelines).

“Ah, but we’re not talking about my fool of a boss. We’re talking about you.”

“What about me?”

She fidgets in place. You relax yourself more when she does. She doesn’t need to see how she affects you. With so many unknown factors around her, and Sylus’ harsh treatment, she needs something steady. She needs you. Even if she doesn’t realize it.

“How you’re doing in all this?”

You know it’s a futile question, but you ask it anyway.

“You kidnapped me, and now you’re concerned for my wellbeing?”

“My foolish boss and the twins kidnapped you, not I. I had no say in this. My boss tends to do this when he knows I won’t agree with something.”

Her expression and body language change ever so slightly at this. Maybe because she now doesn’t associate you as much with her pain. Maybe because she sees that you’re more like her in this situation: lost and angry. Either way, it works out well for you.

Miss Hunter angles her knees to face you a bit more. Her shoulders are less tense. And the hard look in her eyes seems to soften.

Good. Good. She needs to see me as a safe space.

You pull up a chair to sit across from Miss Hunter. You make your posture as relaxed as possible and give her another kind smile.

“Just because I work with that man, doesn’t mean that I get a say in everything he does. Our introduction would’ve been much smoother otherwise.”

“You mean my kidnapping?”

“No. There wouldn’t be any kidnapping in my equation because I have no need for such disgusting methods.”

“But you work for a man who does.”

Miss Hunter seems perplexed by you: someone who clearly has a different approach to things to the harsh man that is your boss. He’s only shown cruelty to her. You almost want to revel in that, how he treats his other half terrible but treats you so gently, especially after your fight a few days ago.

He’s been borderline groveling to you since then. Cooking your favorite meals, buying more material for jewelry business, and even gave you an update that James apparently survived your shootout. He hasn’t forced you to talk to him. He’s given you space without you needing to ask for it. He’s apologized.

”I’m sorry.”

Whenever he said that, you could tell he was holding something back. Was he refraining from using his intimate nickname for you? Was he stumbling over an excuse? You didn’t know. You just knew you were grateful for it. Sylus used to struggle with apologies in the past; now he said them to you without hesitation.

The sound of Miss Hunter lifting the glass you brought her off the table brings you of the memory.

“I don’t suppose you and your bosses back at Linkon think the same on every matter regarding Wanderers, do you?” You force yourself to focus on the conversation at hand. “It’s the same here. I prefer a more civil resolution to things than my boss.”

“Then how would you have gone about my… arrival?”

“The normal way: through a conversation and a simple business deal.”

“I would’ve much preferred that.”

“You and me both, sweetie.”

“So why didn’t you? You two are clearly close.”

Not for much longer now that you’ve shown up. You keep that thought to yourself.

“Sylus wouldn’t let me,” you finally say his name, and it feels dirty on your tongue. “Demanding bosses and annoying colleagues exist even in the N109 Zone.”

Miss Hunter lets out a genuine laugh. She seems to relax further, and you mentally give yourself a pat on the back.

“Sounds like you should just quit then.”

You snort at her.

As if I could ever leave him.

Sylus had such an iron grip on your heart that it was comedic. A tragic comedy, but a comedy nonetheless.

“Does Sylus seem like the type to just let people quit?” She gives you a look and you laugh. “Besides, I’m needed here.”

Miss Hunter doesn’t interject, so you continue, “The N109 Zone may be a mess, but it’s my home. My only home.”

That was only partially the truth. The full truth was that you made this place home because the place you used to call home carried too much pain. Too many memories of happy soulmates and broke promises.

Will the N109 Zone be the same after she and Sylus get together?

You look at the girl in front of you, study her scared and sad eyes in order to shake off the thought. This girl needs someone in her corner right now. She needs an ally. And no matter how much it hurt, you would fulfill that role. Right up until she replaces your role in Sylus’ life and you bow out.

You’ve started your life over before; you can do it again.

You speak again once you’ve gathered yourself, “And no regardless of how difficult it can be to live here, I want to stay. I want to stay and improve it bit by bit.”

“You think Sylus will help you do this?”

“You sure do ask a lot of questions, sweetie,” Miss Hunter splutters, and then seems to admonish herself for showing such emotion. “Relax, I’m only teasing. But, to answer your question, yes. I do think so. He has done so. While I don’t agree with him on everything, I do believe he’s the lesser of many other evils in this place.”

She scoffs. Then she takes the plate of food you placed down earlier on the dresser table and puts it in her lap. She doesn’t touch the silverware, but you hope for that to change.

“If he’s the lesser of many evils, I wonder what they’re like.”

“Please don’t,” you keep your tone light, but exasperated. It’s the same one you give the twins when you’re done with their shit and tired; Miss Hunter smiles slightly at it, much like how the aforementioned twins and Sylus do.

“Why not? Worried I’ll make trouble for your boss? Who knows, maybe I’ll find someone who will give me the princess treatment rather than whatever this is.”

You almost say something about how truly bad of an idea that is. That those other people would’ve tortured and killed her for whatever it is these people want from her. But you hold your tongue. She has enough on her plate; she doesn’t need any extra baggage.

“Maybe you’re right,” miss Hunter is rightfully surprised to hear you agree with her, even though on the inside, you’re screaming at yourself. “Maybe you’re wrong. Are you willing to risk it?”

“Maybe I am.”

“Than I’ll take you to where you want to go.”

It’s quiet between you two for a moment. That is until Miss Hunter takes the fork on the plate you gave her and finally takes her first bite of food. You almost let out a sigh of relief, but hold it in.

No need to make a big deal. That’ll just make her more uncomfortable.

“I’ll take you anywhere in the zone, even to my enemies. I’ll make my boss understand that if and when I do.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“Because you’re innocent. And my boss knows how I feel about innocents. It’s why I started working with him.”

You get a bit wistful at remembering your first encounter with Sylus. And how it all ended with a bang.

“He turned my life upside down that day,” you say, almost more to yourself than to her.

“And as much as your sudden arrival turned my life upside down again, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to whatever plagues you.”

She gets a bit rigid at that. But you see the truth in her eyes: pain and a bit of gratefulness. She needs someone to talk to, someone to unload the hurt in her heart. But, your relationship with her isn’t there yet.

“Like I said before, I’m fine. I don’t need your concern.”

“People that are fine don’t come here, sweetie,” the pet name just slips out of your mouth again.

Nothing is said between the two of you for some time. All the pair of you do is stare: you at her plate and her at the floor.

Then she mutters, “I know. But I just had to.”

Your heart weeps for this girl again. She’s been through a lot, is carrying a lot, and is scared and alone in arguable the most dangerous place in the world. Her own soulmate is treating her like trash. And all she as to rely on is someone who wishes she would just disappear.

“I know.”

“How?”

“Because in my line of work, I see many people like you. Grieving people. I’ve seen it, and I’ve gone through it. And I know this isn’t what you need.”

Miss Hunter freezes at your words. And your heart sinks a bit more. Seems the idea of you having human emotions like grief didn’t occur to her until now. Ironic, given that she’s your biggest source of grief.

That just makes you want to laugh even more. What right do you have to grieve over a relationship you never had? A relationship you never could have?

She pushes the fork across the plate. And for a moment, you hope that she’s opening up to you. You two will be seeing each more often after all, with her being Sylus’ soulmate and you being his closest companion. So you two should get used to one another.

Then she puts the fork down. She shoves the plate further away from herself. You hope is shot to pieces.

“I’m suddenly not hungry anymore. Sorry.”

You sigh again.

“You can’t this up forever, sweetie.”

“Watch me.”

On any other day, you’d admire her stubbornness. That unwillingness to yield for even a moment despite the obstacles that lay ahead of her.

“It’s not healthy.”

“Again, why do you care? Like, what’s the actual reason and not some excuse.”

“Because like I said before, you’re an innocent. An innocent dragged into a mess of a situation I’d like to help you out of. That is the truth.”

You keep circling back to that one point: she’s innocent. Because not only does she need to hear that, but you do. This girl has done nothing to you. She hasn’t broken your heart; you did that to yourself.

Any progress is good progress.

It’s your motto in your line of work. Because even anger can be used if you know what you’re doing.

“Sweetie,” you keep your tone careful, but not patronizing; Miss Hunter is a grown woman, but you don’t want to spoke her. “Grief isn’t something you can hide with an attitude.”

“What would you know? What would you and that boss of yours know about real grief rather than the lie you’re trying to tell me?”

He knows. You both know it quite well.

Sylus knows grief all too well. The days when his memories as a dragon get the worst are also the days he teases you more often. He’ll make fun of you, make your work life a living hell, and push you around those days.

But he’ll also cling to you. Be stuck to you like a barnacle on a whale. He’ll hold you close and never let go. He’ll sometimes beg you to never leave him when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. Or he’ll wonder aloud about how he worries if you seem him as some kind of monster, a fiend.

Sylus drowns his grief in attitude. He burns it with flirting and gun fire during the night. Then he dowses it in the smoke of hushed words and spending just a little more time looking for something in the mirror.

“This isn’t about him. It’s about you. It’s about what you need. And how I can help you get it.”

A knock at the door stops her from saying anymore. You gather up the plate, school your expression, and open the door to the ever-chipper Luke.

“Bossman needs little Miss Hunter ASAP.”

Your body stiffens ever so slightly at that. It reminds of the crucial fact that you’ve been trying to drill into your skull lately: she’s his soulmate. He needs her; not you.

Shards of glass dig into your heart at Luke’s words. And maybe it somehow reflects in your face because Luke tilts his head at you.

“Lady boss?”

His tone isn’t like it normally is. The teasing is gone. The sass is gone. Instead, he looks at you the same way you used to look at him and his brother when they first came to work for Sylus. Back when they were angry little children who had only each to rely on. Back when you were slowly but surely earning the trust of two brothers who had learned from a young age no one was to be trusted.

That look makes you pat his head and force a smile onto your lips. You didn’t need to worry the twins. You didn’t need to worry anyone. You were fine. You’ve been prepared for this for years; you should be immune to anything it does to you.

“Roger. We’ll be out in a bit.”

You close the door gently. You turn to Miss Hunter who already has a bitter expression on her face as she walks towards you. You try to give her a smile to cheer her up. No matter how you felt about her, no matter how much you wanted her gone, seeing her upset made you upset. Stupid empathy.

The two of you walk to Sylus’ office in silence. But that doesn’t stop you from the occasional glance at your companion. She wears her emotions so clearly on her face that it makes you all the more curious about her. What her life is like in Linkon. What her childhood was. Who her other soulmates are.

At that thought, you stare at her threads again. They were like branches from a tree, sprouting from her heart and curling out before fading. Their appearance wasn’t anything specular; everyone’s thread looked the same before connected. You wonder how her thread to Sylus would change once their bond established. You wonder what they would have.

Shared dreams? Shared pain? Matching tattoos? Or, and this is your personal favorite, some sort of melody? It was a rare form, one of the rarest, for soulmates to connect via a song that only they knew. It couldn’t be replicated, it couldn’t even be recorded; it was just theirs.

You stomach hurts from just the thought alone. It would all be just another thing you were exempt from. Not just in the case of Sylus and Miss Hunter, but in the case of everyone. Because you don’t have a soulmate.

You keep your gaze away from her threads once that thought crosses your mind. You suppress at chuckle at her expression. Looking at Miss Hunter’s face, you’d think you were bringing her to an interrogation.

Or execution, a darker part of you whispers. You tell that part of you to fuck off.

You open the door to Sylus’ office. There was never any knocking between the two of you at times like these, when you had business to be done. And just because he was doing crazy things didn’t mean you were going to start doing that now.

You lead Miss Hunter to him with reluctance. They touch, and when nothing happens from that, Sylus steps back to leave her on the ground.

“Three days and we’re not even able to achieve a simple resonance.”

And so the show begins once again.

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