Are you Sylus?

• ENTP. | she/her I write sometimes I don’t even know what I’m going to write (generally the characters or people who I obsessed with). •multifandom Sylus and Valko lover

[yvainillapie]

Hello!!🪽

> It’s yvainillapie💗

Resident evil. One piece. Formula one.

This blog is multi fandom such as resident evil, one piece, lads, formula one etc.

Ty for being here kisses!!

[yvainillapie]

The château shook beneath another deafening scream.

“WEDDING CAAAAKE!”

The cry echoed across the island as panic spread through the halls. Servants fled, guests pushed past one another, and even seasoned pirates looked pale.

Katakuri stood unmoving.

His eyes followed the chaos with practiced calm.

“You’ll stay with the ministers,” he said.

You frowned. “And you?”

“I’ll help contain the damage.”

“I can help.”

“I know.”

His gaze settled on you for a moment.

“But not this time.”

You knew that look. It wasn’t doubt. It was concern.

“I’ll make this quick.”

“Stay here,” he’d said.

“I’ll find you once this is over.”

You intended to do exactly that. Until the corridor ahead filled with unfamiliar faces.

Fire Tank Pirates. One of them stopped short.

“…Well, look what we found.” His eyes widened in recognition.

“That’s Katakuri’s wife.”

Another pirate let out a low whistle.

“No way…”

A grin slowly spread across his face.

“The boss is gonna love this.”

You reached for your weapon.

“I wouldn’t.”

Before you could draw it completely, gunfire erupted.

You ducked behind a pillar as bullets tore into the stone.

The hallway became a storm of smoke and debris.

You managed to disarm one pirate-

Only for another to grab your wrist from behind.

Your elbow slammed into his ribs. He cursed. A third seized the opportunity.

Strong hands pinned your arms before you could break free.

“Got her!”

You struggled, twisting violently.

“Let go!”

A rifle pressed against your side.

“Easy now.”

The pirate laughed.

“We don’t wanna hurt you.”

“…Yet.”

Your breathing steadied. Panicking wouldn’t help.

You searched for an opening…Nothing.

Too many of them.

“…Take her.”

The pirates quickly backed away, keeping you between themselves like a shield.

One of them smirked.

“Let’s see how calm Sweet Commander Katakuri stays now.”

—

Elsewhere-

Katakuri stopped walking.

Without warning. One of his siblings frowned.

“Katakuri onisan?”

He didn’t answer. His Observation Haki had just reached into a future that hadn’t existed a moment ago.

You.

Surrounded.

A blade at your throat. His eyes narrowed.

“…”

Without another word, he turned.

“Where are you going?” another minister called.

“My wife.”

That was all he said.

Then he disappeared down the corridor in a blur.

“Think he’ll come?” one pirate asked.

“He’d better.”

You remained silent. Your wrists were restrained, but your expression never changed.

“He’ll kill you guys.”

The pirates laughed.

“Not if we bargain first.”

Footsteps echoed through the hallway.

Slow.

Measured.

Every pirate turned.Katakuri emerged from the dust.

Alone.

He stopped several meters away.

His face revealed nothing.Only those who knew him well would notice it…The slight tightening around his eyes. The dangerous stillness. One pirate shoved the blade closer to your neck.

“One more step and she gets it!”

Silence.

Katakuri’s gaze met yours.You knew that look.He wasn’t asking if you were afraid.

He was asking if you trusted him.

You gave the smallest nod.

Always.

His eyes closed for the briefest instant.When they opened-

The future had already been decided.

[feastofdesires]

Sylus hates seeing you distraught.

The big bad boss-man of Onychinus has watched you listlessly mope around the base for far too long. The twins and Mephisto can’t get you to play. You’re too sad to even submit to his clingy cuddles.

That simply won’t do. At least this new shipment of state of the art weaponry needs a test run.

He strides past your view all dressed up in his riding leathers and packing heat. It makes you sit up from your sad moping in a fluffy blanket with a little wolf plush.

You watch him stretch out his neck and tug leather gloves on like a little cat peering over the back of the couch.

“Sy… where you going?”

A swirl of his evol has his helmet settling in hand to tuck it under his arm while he puts on his sunglasses. He glances at you. It takes step strides for him to be in your space and pressing a kiss to your crown. Then he’s walking out the door, hand lazily waving.

“I’m getting your wolf back.”

You barely register his words before you’re scrambling around the base to get dressed too.

“WAIT FOR ME-! IM COMING WITH YOU-!”

[yvainillapie]

The château shook beneath another deafening scream.

“WEDDING CAAAAKE!”

The cry echoed across the island as panic spread through the halls. Servants fled, guests pushed past one another, and even seasoned pirates looked pale.

Katakuri stood unmoving.

His eyes followed the chaos with practiced calm.

“You’ll stay with the ministers,” he said.

You frowned. “And you?”

“I’ll help contain the damage.”

“I can help.”

“I know.”

His gaze settled on you for a moment.

“But not this time.”

You knew that look. It wasn’t doubt. It was concern.

“I’ll make this quick.”

“Stay here,” he’d said.

“I’ll find you once this is over.”

You intended to do exactly that. Until the corridor ahead filled with unfamiliar faces.

Fire Tank Pirates. One of them stopped short.

“…Well, look what we found.” His eyes widened in recognition.

“That’s Katakuri’s wife.”

Another pirate let out a low whistle.

“No way…”

A grin slowly spread across his face.

“The boss is gonna love this.”

You reached for your weapon.

“I wouldn’t.”

Before you could draw it completely, gunfire erupted.

You ducked behind a pillar as bullets tore into the stone.

The hallway became a storm of smoke and debris.

You managed to disarm one pirate-

Only for another to grab your wrist from behind.

Your elbow slammed into his ribs. He cursed. A third seized the opportunity.

Strong hands pinned your arms before you could break free.

“Got her!”

You struggled, twisting violently.

“Let go!”

A rifle pressed against your side.

“Easy now.”

The pirate laughed.

“We don’t wanna hurt you.”

“…Yet.”

Your breathing steadied. Panicking wouldn’t help.

You searched for an opening…Nothing.

Too many of them.

“…Take her.”

The pirates quickly backed away, keeping you between themselves like a shield.

One of them smirked.

“Let’s see how calm Sweet Commander Katakuri stays now.”

—

Elsewhere-

Katakuri stopped walking.

Without warning. One of his siblings frowned.

“Katakuri onisan?”

He didn’t answer. His Observation Haki had just reached into a future that hadn’t existed a moment ago.

You.

Surrounded.

A blade at your throat. His eyes narrowed.

“…”

Without another word, he turned.

“Where are you going?” another minister called.

“My wife.”

That was all he said.

Then he disappeared down the corridor in a blur.

“Think he’ll come?” one pirate asked.

“He’d better.”

You remained silent. Your wrists were restrained, but your expression never changed.

“He’ll kill you guys.”

The pirates laughed.

“Not if we bargain first.”

Footsteps echoed through the hallway.

Slow.

Measured.

Every pirate turned.Katakuri emerged from the dust.

Alone.

He stopped several meters away.

His face revealed nothing.Only those who knew him well would notice it…The slight tightening around his eyes. The dangerous stillness. One pirate shoved the blade closer to your neck.

“One more step and she gets it!”

Silence.

Katakuri’s gaze met yours.You knew that look.He wasn’t asking if you were afraid.

He was asking if you trusted him.

You gave the smallest nod.

Always.

His eyes closed for the briefest instant.When they opened-

The future had already been decided.

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

For the Valko requests, I would love to see some cute family fluff between MC, Valko, his cousins, grandma, and his sister (I think he had a sister in his lore, correct me if I am wrong), because I want to see how MC would get along with Valko's family. 🐺

𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄

synopsis: when valko brings you home for the first time, he warns you about everything: his grandmother’s food, his sister’s stare, his cousin’s stories, the family jokes that always cut too close. he forgets to warn you that love in his house is not gentle or quiet, but loud, practical, mercilessly observant, and served warm at the kitchen table. cw/tw: valko x reader. very soft domestic fluff. light family teasing. read here: ao3 ⋅ tumblr

Valko lost his nerve three steps from the door.

It was a small death, but you saw it happen; the brave lift of his chin, the twitch in his jaw, the small, tragic collapse of his entire face when a crash came from inside the house.

His hand tightened around yours.

“Dobro,” he said.

Another crash.

From inside, and older woman called, “If that's my good plate, I will put someone in the ground before supper.”

Valko closed his eyes. You turned toward him.

He opened one eyes. “She loves plates.”

“More than people?”

“Depends on the people.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, and relief moved through him all at once, softening his shoulders, loosening the frightened line of his mouth. He'd been nervous all morning. Badly nervous. Valko, who could grin with blood on his teeth and make danger look like a door he'd simply forgotten to knock on, had spent the whole walk here giving you warnings no sane person could have prepared for.

Do not let Mika read your palm. He makes things up and then believes them.

Do not compliment Baba's curtains unless you want curtains.

Do not say you're full.

And, most importantly, if anyone mentions the soup incident, Valko had said, grave as a condemned man, they're lying.

You had asked what the soup incident was.

He had started to walk faster.

Now he stood before the old wooden door with your fingers caught in his, trying to look calm and producing, somehow, the exact expression of a wolf about to be bathed.

“Valko,” you said softly.

“Yes?”

“You're shaking.”

“I'm not shaking.”

“You are.”

“I’m containing myself.”

“From what?”

“Hereditary embarrassment.”

The door flew open.

A girl about his age stood on the other side, dark-eyed and grinning, with flour on her cheek and murder in her posture. She took one look at Valko’s hand around yours, then lifted her gaze to his face with the slow delight of someone finding a knife exactly where she had hoped one would be.

A slow smile cut across her face.

“Oh,” she smirked. “So this is why you changed your shirt twice.”

Valko made a sound. Small, wounded, entirely unlike a wolf.

“I changed once.”

“You changed twice. The first shirt was the blue one. The second was the one that made you look like you were going to court. This...This is the third.”

His ears went red.

The woman held out her hand to you. “Milena. His sister.”

“Unfortunately,” Valko added.

“Fortunately. Without me, you'd still think soap is optional in winter.”

“It isn't optional.”

“Because of me.”

You took Milena's hand. Her grip was warm, firm, and full of judgement she hadn't yet decided to use.

Behind her, the house breathed out heat. Bread, onions, some in old wood, something sweet cooling on a counter. There were voices everywhere, layered and crossing. One person laughing while another complained, a child humming under a table, chairs scraping, a kettle whistling like a bird losing patience.

Milena stepped aside. “Come in before Baba starts saying we were raised by wolves.”

Valko muttered, “We were.”

She looked at him. “And still, some of us learned manners.”

You crossed the threshold. The house was smaller than the noise made it seem, or maybe the noise had simply learned to fill every corner. Framed photographs climbed the walls in crooked rows. Herbs hung drying above the kitchen window. Nothing matched, and yet everything looked touched, mended, argued over... kept.

Valko leaned close as he helped you out of your coat.

“Last chance,” he whispered. “We can run.”

You looked past him to where an old woman stood near the stove, hands folded over her apron, watching you with bright, wolfish eyes.

“Too late,” you whispered back. “I think she heard you.”

“I hear everything,” the old woman said.

Valko went still.

Milena smiled into her shoulder.

The old woman crossed the kitchen with the slow authority of someone who had ruled this house before any of them had teeth. She was small, broad in the shoulders, silver-haired, with flour on her wrist and no softness wasted in her face. The softness, you realised, was elsewhere. In the bread covered by a towel, in the chair pulled out before you reached it, in the way Valko lowered his head without being asked when she came close.

“Baba,” he said, and for the first time that day, his voice lost its jokes.

She, of course, ignored him.

Instead, she took your face between both hands.

Her palms smelled of rosemary, yeast, and soap. Her thumbs rested beneath your cheekbones, and for one strange second the whole house seemed to lean closer. The cousins, the kettle, the old boards, even Valko, holding his breath beside you.

“So,” Baba Vesna said. “You are the reason he forgets to eat.”

“I eat,” Valko protested.

Teta Marika appeared by the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “You came here last week, opened the pantry, stared at a sack of potatoes for six minutes, then said, ‘I wonder what she’s doing.’”

“That was taken out of context.”

“What was the context?” you asked, because love had made you brave and terrible.

Valko looked betrayed. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

A boy leaning backwards on his chair nearly lost balance from laughing, another cousin caught the chair by its back without looking up from peeling an apple.

Baba Vesna patted your cheek once and released you. “Sit, dušo. Eat something before my family embarrass me properly.”

Valko gave a strangled laugh. “Before?”

No one listened to him.

You were placed at the long wooden table as if the decision had been made before you arrived. A bowl appeared, then bread, then butter, then a small plate of pickled vegetables. Teta Marika, Valko's aunt, kissed the air beside your cheeks and took the small gift you had brought. Mika announced that he already knew your favourite colour from Valko’s face. Luka told him that was the stupidest sentence ever spoken in the kitchen, which Mika accepted as praise. The little one beneath the table emerged, solemn and bread-dusted, and introduced himself as Niko.

“Are you going to marry him?” Niko asked.

Valko walked directly into the side of a chair.

The whole kitchen paused. You pressed your lips together.

Milena leaned against the doorway, radiant with cruelty. “Careful, Niko. Val only has two knees.”

“Niko,” Teta Marika turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “We ask guests if they want juice first.”

Niko nodded, absorbing this etiquette with grave importance. “Do you want juice before you marry him?”

Valko covered his face with both hands. You bit down on your smile so hard it almost hurt. This wasn't what you had expected.

Some foolish, frightened part of you had imagined a den in the old sense. Teeth, watchful eyes, a family arranged around blood and law, waiting to decide whether your bones could be allowed near theirs. Valko had never spoken of them casually. Whenever he said home, something tender and embarrassed moved through him, as though the word itself had fingers and knew exactly where to touch.

Now you sat beneath a crooked lamp while his grandmother tore bread with her hands and put the first piece on your plate.

“Eat,” Baba Vesna said.

You obeyed.

The bread was warm enough to steam between your fingers. The crust cracked softly, butter melted into it in golden lines. Across the table, Valko watched you take the first bite as if your mouth held judgment from heaven.

You chewed. Swallowed.

“It’s delicious.”

Baba Vesna clicked her tongue. “Of course it is wonderful. I made it.”

Mika leaned towards you. “He talked about you after the market yesterday.”

Valko’s hand hit the table. “No.”

“Yes, you did” Luka said sticking his tongue out.

“No.”

“You said, and I quote, 'she chooses fruit with such care'.”

The table went quiet for half a breath, your hand stilled around the bread. Valko looked at Luka as if betrayal had entered the room wearing his cousin’s face.

“That was private.”

“You said it in the kitchen.”

“That makes it private.”

Milena sat across from you and rested her chin in her hand. “He also said you have kind hands.”

Valko’s mouth opened, nothing came out. Your heart did something foolish inside your chest.

The teasing had worked him bright and flustered, but beneath it, something softer trembled. He was embarrassed, yes. Horribly, so. Beautifully, so. Yet the thing underneath was more dangerous than shame. This was exposure. A curtain pulled open in a room he had spent so long keeping dim.

He had spoken of you here.

At this table. In this warm, loud house. To these people who teased him because they knew what he looked like with no armour on. He had brought you home long before he ever brought your body through the door.

Baba Vesna filled your bowl with soup.

“He was always like this,” she said.

“Baba, please.”

“He was a strange child,” she said.

Valko groaned. “Please.”

“A sweet child,” Teta Marika corrected.

“A dramatic child,” Luka said.

“A biting child,” Milena added.

Valko pointed at her. “You bit first.”

“You looked biteable.”

“You see what I mean?” Valko turned to you with helpless outrage. “This is what I survived.”

There was love in it, the kind that had been cooked too long and reduced into something strong enough to stain. They spoke to him as if they had known every version of him and chosen, again and again, to keep putting food in front of whichever one came home.

You looked at him while he argued with Mika about whether a stolen spoon counted as a childhood trauma.

He caught you looking. For a moment, the noise thinned.

There he was.

Valko with his hair refusing every law of decency. Valko trying so hard to survive his own family and failing beautifully. His eyes met yours with a nervous brightness that made you want to reach across the table and be cruel to every fear that had ever found him.

Then Niko pointed his spoon at you.

“Are you keeping him?”

The kitchen stopped.

Valko made a tiny sound into his bowl.

Milena closed her eyes as if praying for patience and finding none. “Niko.”

“What? Mika said maybe she is keeping him.”

His gaze dropped to the table, to the bread by his hand, to the small old cuts in the wood. The blush still clung to him, but it had changed into something quieter now. Hope, perhaps. Or terror wearing hope’s coat.

You could have laughed. Everyone would have let you. It would have been easy to throw the question back into the room like a toy and watch them tear it apart.

Instead, beneath the table, you found Valko’s hand.

His fingers closed around yours at once.

“I’d like to,” you said.

The house held itself still for half a breath.

Then Baba Vesna nodded, once, as if some old contract had been signed in soup and honey.

“Good,” she said. “He is difficult, but warm.”

Valko bowed his head.

His shoulders shook.

At first you thought he was upset. Then you realised he was laughing, quietly, helplessly, with one hand over his mouth and the other holding yours under the table like he meant to keep it there until winter.

Mika groaned. “Ah, look at him. Finished. Completely finished.”

Milena reached for the pickles. “Good. He needed finishing.”

Teta Marika smiled into her tea. “Eat more, zlato. You will need strength.”

“For Valko?” you asked.

“For all of us.”

Dinner became less a meal than a storm with chairs.

Bowls moved, hands reached, stories climbed over one another and died unfinished because someone remembered a better accusation. Luka asked you practical questions in a calm voice: where you liked to walk, whether Valko had shown you the old river path, whether he still pretended not to like sweet things. Mika tried to read your palm and declared that you were fated to own a troublesome dog.

“That's just Valko,” Milena said.

“I am not a dog.”

“True,” Luka said. “Dogs listen.”

Valko began quietly placing the best pieces of food on your plate.

A soft carrot, the inside of the bread, a dumpling he pretended to move away from himself and somehow abandoned beside your spoon. He was not subtle. He had never been subtle. He was a wolf trying to hide a whole deer behind a napkin.

You noticed on the fourth offering.

His family noticed on the first.

Baba Vesna said nothing until Valko tried to give you the last honey cake. Then she leaned back in her chair and looked at him over her tea.

“Ah,” she said.

Valko froze.

It was one syllable. It landed like a bell.

“What?” he said.

“No, no.” She waved him off. “Continue. Starve for romance. Very noble.”

Mika threw his head back.

You picked up the honey cake before Valko could die at the table and broke it in two, placing half on his plate. “There,” you said. “No starving.”

He looked at the cake.

Then he looked at you.

His expression opened in a way that made the room, somehow, feel too small for your heart. It opened with that unguarded, bewildered softness he sometimes gave you when kindness arrived before he had prepared himself to receive it.

Milena saw it.

Her teasing quieted.

For a moment, she only watched him with something old and protective in her face.

Then she stood. “Come help me with plates.”

Valko blinked. “Me?”

“Her.” Milena pointed at you.

Valko frowned. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That's not a reason.”

“It has worked on you for years.”

You rose before he could protest again. Milena took two plates from the table and handed you none of them, which told you at once that this had nothing to do with helping.

She led you down a narrow hallway lined with photographs.

Behind you, Valko’s voice rose. “Do not interrogate her.”

The hallway smelled faintly of beeswax and dried herbs. The noise of the kitchen softened behind you, still there, still golden, but now wrapped in walls. Milena stopped by a window overlooking the yard and leaned her hip against the sill.

For the first time all evening, she let the smile leave her face.

“He likes you,” she said.

You smiled gently. “I got that impression.”

“No.” Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen. “He likes people easily. He likes old men who tell bad stories, stray cats that scratch him, children who throw rocks at windows because they want attention. Valko is built stupid that way.”

A laugh escaped you.

Milena folded her arms.

“He brings things home,” she continued. “Broken things, angry things. Things he thinks no one else will be gentle with.” Her gaze moved towards the kitchen, where Valko’s voice lifted in protest. “He does not bring people home.”

Your throat tightened.

From the kitchen, Valko shouted, “It wasn't soup. It was stew.”

Mika shouted back, “Stew cannot make a grown man cry.”

“I was overwhelmed by flavour.”

Milena closed her eyes for one second. “Bože, give me strength.”

You laughed softly.

She looked at you again, sharper now.

“He was nervous all week,” she said. “Changed his shirt three times. Asked me if the house smelled too much like onions. Asked Luka if his laugh was strange. Asked Baba if she could please not tell the story about the goat.”

“The goat?”

“Later.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “Maybe never.”

You glanced back towards the kitchen.

He had asked if his laugh was strange.

Something in you ached with such tenderness that it almost felt like anger.

You looked down.

“He didn’t need to worry,”

“He is clumsy with precious things,” she said. “Because he thinks his hands are only good for breaking them, even when he is careful. Especially then.”

“So be kind,” she said. “Or be cruel quickly. He will survive either, but I prefer to know which one I’m dealing with.”

There it was.

The knife under the table. The love with its teeth intact. You didn't resent her for it, you thought, strangely, that you liked her more for it.

“I’m not here to hurt him,”

“Most people aren’t, at first.”

“Milena.”

Milena’s gaze narrowed.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with him,” you admitted.

“With any of this,” you continued. “He makes everything feel…” You searched for the word and hated every pretty one that came. Fated. Wild. Tender. All too polished for the mess he made of your heart. “He makes everything feel like I’ve been walking past a door my whole life, and he is the idiot who opened it with his shoulder.”

Milena stared at you.

Then she laughed once, sharp and startled.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re gone too.”

You looked down, caught.

She seemed satisfied. “Good.”

“Is that approval?”

“That is me deciding not to be difficult.”

“You were being difficult?”

“Dušo,” she said, and now her smile had teeth in it, “I was being polite.”

When you returned to the kitchen, Valko was waiting near the doorway as if he had tried to remain seated and failed.

His eyes moved from you to Milena. “What did you say to her?”

Milena walked past him. “That you were adopted.”

“I’m not.”

“Emotionally, you're a wet dog we found in the rain.”

He watched her go, wounded on principle, then turned to you with genuine concern. “What did she actually say?”

You reached up and brushed flour from his sleeve. “That you’re warm.”

“That was Baba.”

“Family consensus.”

His mouth twitched. “You are enjoying this.”

“I am.”

“You were supposed to be intimidated.”

“By Mika?”

“By the bloodline. The history. The general atmosphere of teeth.”

“Mika told me my palm says I’ll own a dog.”

Valko sighed.

You reached up and plucked the dish towel from his shoulder. “You have flour on your sleeve.”

He looked down, surprised, as if his own body had been making decisions without him. Then he looked back at you, and the kitchen noise faded once more, though this time it was only the two of you making the world small.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

The question was casual enough for anyone else to miss the tremor underneath. You heard it. The naked, waiting part. You thought of his hand shaking outside the door. Baba Vesna taking your face between her palms, of bread steaming in your fingers, of honey cake divided in two, of Milena saying he doesn't bring people home.

“I’m all right,” you said. “Are you?”

Valko smiled too quickly. “I’m alive.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

His smile softened.

For once, he did not joke immediately. It cost him something. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed at his side, reaching for mischief and finding courage instead.

“I wanted them to like you,” he said. “I wanted you to like them.”

“I do”

“I wanted…” He stopped, then laughed under his breath. “I don’t know. Something stupid.”

He looked towards the kitchen, where his family had resumed their noise without mercy. Mika was accusing Luka of stealing the larger piece of cake. Baba Vesna had taken down a tin from the highest shelf, probably containing either biscuits or secrets.

“Valko, stop hiding her. I have photographs.”

Horror returned to his face with magnificent speed.

“No.”

“Yes,”

“No photographs.”

“Naked baby photos,” Mika added.

Valko went pale. “You do not have those.”

Teta Marika’s voice drifted after him, serene and deadly. “We have everything.”

He grabbed your hand. “We’re leaving.”

You let him pull you three steps before Baba Vesna appeared in the doorway holding a small album to her chest.

“Sit,” she said.

Valko sat.

It was remarkable how quickly a wolf could become a grandson.

For the next hour, they showed you the evidence of his life.

Valko missing two front teeth and glaring at the camera as though betrayed by dentistry. Valko asleep under the table with one hand buried in a dog’s fur. Valko at thirteen, all elbows and outrage, holding a fish half his size while crying because he had to put it back.

There was Valko covered in mud, Valko wearing a paper crown, Valko with Milena’s arm hooked around his neck while he pretended to hate her and leaned into her anyway. Valko standing beside Baba Vesna in the garden, holding a basket of tomatoes like he had been entrusted with the fate of nations.

Each photograph was another small door.

You had known him in pieces: the grin, the hunger, the awkward tenderness, the jokes he threw like branches over deep water. Here was the rest of him. Here was the child who had survived becoming himself because these hands had fed him, scolded him, dragged him upright, and remembered his softness when he tried to outgrow it.

At some point, while everyone argued over whether the goat incident happened before or after the soup incident, Valko bent close to you.

“You don’t have to keep looking,” he murmured.

You turned a page.

A tiny Valko stared up from the album, holding a wooden spoon like a sword.

“Yes,” you said. “I do.”

He stared at you.

Then, very briefly, he rested his forehead against your shoulder.

It lasted only a second. A shy, exhausted surrender. No one commented on it, though you knew every person in the room saw. That seemed to be another house rule. They would mock the wound, yes, but they protected the pulse.

Later, when the cups were cleared and the album returned to its shelf of holy embarrassments, you stepped outside for air.

The yard was cold, dark and soft around the edges. Herbs grew beneath the window, yhe old trees leaned towards the house as if listening. Behind you, the kitchen glowed gold, laughter pressing against the glass.

Valko followed after a moment, closing the door carefully behind him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You looked at him. “For what?”'

“The interrogation. The photographs. Mika. The marriage question. The soup litigation.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Milena.”

“I like Milena.”

“That means she behaved.”

“She said she was being polite.”

He winced. “Then she liked you.”

You leaned back against the porch railing, and he stood in front of you with his hands in his pockets, rocking once on his heels like he wanted to come closer and had forgotten the law of his own body.

Through the window, you could see Baba Vesna pretending to wipe the table while watching you both with shameless interest. You lifted a hand and waved.

She waved back.

Valko turned, saw her, and groaned. “For the love of...Baba.”

“She loves you.”

“That's her usual excuse for crimes.”

“It’s a good one.”

He looked back at you, and the teasing left him slowly, piece by piece. Out here, with the house at his back, he seemed caught between the wild thing and the loved thing. The wolf and the boy in the paper crown. The man who had brought you to the threshold with shaking hands and still tried to joke like fear could be made harmless if he gave it a funny name.

“Did you mean it?” he asked.

“Which part?”

“When Niko asked if you were keeping me.”

The question came lightly, too lightly. A feather laid over a blade.

You reached for him.

This time, Valko did not hesitate. He came into your space at once, as if pulled by a string tied somewhere behind his ribs. His hands settled at your waist, careful at first, then warmer when you didn't move away.

“I meant it,”

His eyes searched yours.

“For tonight?”

“For longer than that.”

He didn't kiss you immediately. Somehow, that made it worse. He stood there and let the answer enter him, slowly, like someone opening the door to a room he had been told was empty and finding it lit.

Inside, Mika yelled, “Are they kissing?”

Valko dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

“Leave them. He is finally being normal.”

You laughed.

He looked at you then, and the last of his embarrassment broke open into something bright, something almost boyish

“Welcome home,” he said, very softly.

You touched his cheek.

Behind him, the old house breathed and creaked and held its golden noise. Inside, his family waited with tea, teeth, stories, and a place at the table already made yours.

“Welcome home, Valko.”

© 2026, xxsyluslittlecrowxx. dividers by @uzmacchiato

[yvainillapie]

Read this masterpiece <333

[sylus-rizzer]

You telling me lilies of the valley were supposed to be his flowers?!

Infold when I get you, when I get you Infold...

[syrooo]

Valko cancelled? I won’t allow it.

Infold didn’t run it past me so the case is dismissed 🤺

Also my babyyyyy

I miss him already fuck

[yvainillapie]

“Valko when is you birthday coming?”

“I don’t celebrate birthdays” he says.

“Why not,baby?”

“I…don’t know…”

A.N:Aghhh we even don’t know his birthday

[cherry-burst]

Is this how the LIs felt when MC died in their arms?

[yvainillapie]

Hello again after some break.

“Shanks” you whined.

“Sweetheart?”he answered without looking up from the book in his hand.

You were already lying in bed, bundled beneath the blankets, your face buried in his pillow.

“I don’t feel good.”

The page stopped turning.

Shanks closed the book and set it on the nightstand before making his way over to you.

“Talk to me.”

You peeked at him over the blanket.

“My cramps are killing me.”

His expression softened immediately.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

You reached both arms toward him without saying a word.A silent request…

He smiled to himself before slipping into bed beside you.

The moment he settled, you shuffled closer until your face was tucked against his chest.

“There she is.”

“I need cuddles.”

“You’ve got them.”

His arm wrapped around your waist while his fingers lazily stroked your back. For a while, neither of you spoke.The cabin rocked gently with the waves, the only sounds the creaking of the ship and your quiet breathing.Then another cramp hit.

You let out the most pitiful groan imaginable.

“I hate this so much, I’m dying.”

Shanks laughed under his breath.

“I had a feeling you might say that.”

“It’s not funny.”

“No,” he admitted, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “It’s just… every month you declare war on your own body.”

“My body started it.”

“I believe you.”

You looked up at him suspiciously.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I would never.”

“You smiled.”

“I smiled because you’re cute.”

“I’m suffering.”

“My very adorable, very dramatic sweetheart is suffering.”

You lightly pinched his side.

“Ouch.”

“Liar.”

“Guilty.”

You couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips.

“There it is,” he murmured.

“What?”

“The smile I’ve been trying to get out of you.”

You rolled your eyes, but stayed exactly where you were.

Shanks gently rubbed slow circles over your lower back, having learned months ago that it helped.

“You remembered.”

“Course I did.”

“You always do.”

He shrugged like it was obvious.

“I remember everything about you.”

The words came so naturally that they caught you off guard.

“What helps. What doesn’t. Which snacks you crave. That you steal my shirts because they’re ‘more comfortable.’”

“They are.”

“They’re also mine.”

“They’re ours.”

He laughed.“I walked right into that one.”

You sighed contentedly, your eyes beginning to close as his hand continued its slow, soothing motions.

“Feeling any better, sweetheart?”

“A little.”

“Good.”

“And if I say I still need attention?”

He smiled, pressing another gentle kiss to your temple.

“Then I’ll stay right here until you don’t.”

[yvainillapie]

Hello again after some break.

“Shanks” you whined.

“Sweetheart?”he answered without looking up from the book in his hand.

You were already lying in bed, bundled beneath the blankets, your face buried in his pillow.

“I don’t feel good.”

The page stopped turning.

Shanks closed the book and set it on the nightstand before making his way over to you.

“Talk to me.”

You peeked at him over the blanket.

“My cramps are killing me.”

His expression softened immediately.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

You reached both arms toward him without saying a word.A silent request…

He smiled to himself before slipping into bed beside you.

The moment he settled, you shuffled closer until your face was tucked against his chest.

“There she is.”

“I need cuddles.”

“You’ve got them.”

His arm wrapped around your waist while his fingers lazily stroked your back. For a while, neither of you spoke.The cabin rocked gently with the waves, the only sounds the creaking of the ship and your quiet breathing.Then another cramp hit.

You let out the most pitiful groan imaginable.

“I hate this so much, I’m dying.”

Shanks laughed under his breath.

“I had a feeling you might say that.”

“It’s not funny.”

“No,” he admitted, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “It’s just… every month you declare war on your own body.”

“My body started it.”

“I believe you.”

You looked up at him suspiciously.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I would never.”

“You smiled.”

“I smiled because you’re cute.”

“I’m suffering.”

“My very adorable, very dramatic sweetheart is suffering.”

You lightly pinched his side.

“Ouch.”

“Liar.”

“Guilty.”

You couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips.

“There it is,” he murmured.

“What?”

“The smile I’ve been trying to get out of you.”

You rolled your eyes, but stayed exactly where you were.

Shanks gently rubbed slow circles over your lower back, having learned months ago that it helped.

“You remembered.”

“Course I did.”

“You always do.”

He shrugged like it was obvious.

“I remember everything about you.”

The words came so naturally that they caught you off guard.

“What helps. What doesn’t. Which snacks you crave. That you steal my shirts because they’re ‘more comfortable.’”

“They are.”

“They’re also mine.”

“They’re ours.”

He laughed.“I walked right into that one.”

You sighed contentedly, your eyes beginning to close as his hand continued its slow, soothing motions.

“Feeling any better, sweetheart?”

“A little.”

“Good.”

“And if I say I still need attention?”

He smiled, pressing another gentle kiss to your temple.

“Then I’ll stay right here until you don’t.”

[yvainillapie]

Theme changed!!!

[tralawre]

🧸ྀི donquixote doflamingo x f!reader.

⋆𐙚 ̊ disappointment day really got me thinking so I wrote this little drabble! I know corazon is in the bg of the fanart but he has nothing to do with this story plot, he’s still silencing the screams of hell with his devil fruit (love you rosi ur definitely in heaven bbyg) warning: dead fathers, deadbeat fathers, just fathers in general should be a TW, overworking, etc… see pinned post for fan art and banner information!

“Do you think about him often?”

Your back was to the headboard, and your husband’s hand was on your thigh as he looked over some reports. His glasses were on, but you could tell he was aching to take them off. He was in the mood to sleep, but the deadline to hand these reports in to Kaido was tomorrow.

“Who?”

His voice was rough. Your lip quirks.

“Your father.”

The motion on your thigh momentarily ceased. He didn’t spare you a glance.

“Don’t mention his name before me.”

You drag out a sigh. “Mingo.”

“Shut up,” Doflamingo snapped, fed up. “I have reports to—”

You snatch them out of his hands and thwack him with them. He didn’t even flinch.

“Watch who you’re speaking to,” You snap back. “It’s not my fault you don’t do your work on time with your drinking and partying and such. Stupid pink-shit, talking to me like I’m one of your workers. Go to therapy instead of snapping at me.”

You look over his reports with a grumble.

He looked at you.

You snatch the pen out of his grip and do the reports for him. He was always a pissy miserable shit when he had paperwork to fill. Besides, you couldn’t sleep anyway, thinking about your own father issues.

Today was Father’s Day, after all.

His chuckle filled the air and the sound of his glasses hitting the table could be heard.

“So dramatic.” He hummed, forcefully pulling you towards him, and burying his face in your stomach. Instinctively, you bring your hand to his head and scratch at his head; he purred like a cat. When you tighten your grip, he grins. “Is that supposed to hurt me, woman?”

“Behave.”

“Weak grip.” His fingers trace circles on your stomach. He then hummed. “I don’t think about the dirt on my shoes.”

Your lip quirks. “And you say I’m dramatic?”

“He killed my mother.”

You look at him.

“Why should I think about the man that killed my mother?”

You hum softly.

“Think him and Rosi are chilling up there?”

His father he didn’t care about. Rosinante on the other hand…

It was funny seeing your 10ft tall, hot hunk of a husband acting like a grumbling idiot. You run your fingers down his back.

“Probably are after betraying me.” He then tsks. “Those reports aren’t going to finish themselves.”

“Oi, don’t forget these are your reports.” You scold him.

“Shut up. You offered.” He closed his eyes.

You use his back as a table to work on the reports. An hour had passed and you noticed he still wasn’t sleeping.

“Mingo?” You frown. “What’s the matter?”

He didn’t respond. He looked agitated. His fingers were itching to kill. You roll your eyes and use your free hand to massage the bridge of his nose. His body melts against yours, his rough hands softening. He let out a low hum, opening his eyes and blinking.

Thirty minutes had passed and finally, you were done.

“If you can’t sleep, I can read what I wrote for you?”

“Do that.” He says, voice husky.

You list off what you had written and he corrected certain parts. Two hours had passed and finally, the reports were done. You put them to the side and take a sip of water.

You play with his hair, feeling quite sleepy yourself.

“Thinking about your own failure?” He asked and you chuckled.

“I wouldn’t call him a failure, I’d call him something else. Failure is too strong of a word; I’d say… an empty shell of himself. Who he wished to be is long gone and because of that, he failed at knowing what it was like to be a father. He can boast about the title, but he cannot boast about the bond. The bond isn’t there. I believe if my father learned more about life and lived outside of the expectations set out for him, he would’ve been a good father. But in this world, you cannot cling onto what ifs; you have to accept the past that was laid out in front of you. Acceptance isn’t forgiveness and not forgiving a person for their wrongdoings does not mean you have tainted your healing trajectory.” You scratch your chin, letting out a yawn. “I wish him well but at the same time I don’t. He can do as he pleases, I guess, so long as he doesn’t trouble me further.”

“And he won’t.” Doflamingo scoffed, and given who he was, you knew to trust him on that. “Now stop giving big speeches and go to sleep.”

You laugh at that. “You’re so rude.”

“You knew that when you married me.”

“Should’ve left you at the aisle then.”

“Women.” Doflamingo hissed.

You let out another laugh and lower your body. You tangle your legs with his, and his face was now on your chest. You hold him tightly, and press a kiss to his forehead. You caress his cheek with your knuckles, and he closed his eyes.

“Leave me and I’ll kill you.” Doflamingo sighs.

“Guess I’m dying then.”

“I won’t entertain this.” Doflamingo says. It was silent for almost a minute. “If you leave me—”

“Doflamingo,” You chuckle. “You know that isn’t happening, my love.”

He relaxed. “Good.”

[yvainillapie]

Love it!!

[yvainillapie]

I’ve just noticed that none of my fic’s have title.(just in masterlist)

And there won’t be any fics because my exams are coming up this week.

[elliesmoth]

I know it's AI but this gives me CHILLS

[yvainillapie]

I don’t want to be dramatic but just have fun (I don’t know if you can)

Fem!reader, past trauma (no big deal but just incase), RE4(remake) Leon

“Baby…” you say hesitantly. Leon is laying on the bed, you are fresh out of bath.

“Yes?” He stops what he is doing and looks at you, he sees your hesitation.

“What is wrong? Something happened?” He says with a worried voice.

“Uhm.. I..I mean don’t get mad..” you still hesitate.

“Sweetheart, look at me It’s okay whatever you say I am on your side. I’m here so tell me what is bothering your beautiful head?” He says with his sweet voice again to reassure you.

“Okay…You know this morning you drop me off to my work and I was brushing my hair on the car because I was a bit late…”

“Mhm yea I remember” he nods at the same time.

“I forgot my brush at the car and even if it’s nearby, I am scared to go get it myself and…I didn’t want to bother you at the same time but It’s really dark and I’m really scared to go to the car.” You let out your feelings.

“Back then this happened to me once My family they did get upset with me about this and that made me feel really bad you know not cared not that I imply you don’t care about me however I had to look at outside dark for minutes to get myself courage to go out then… I couldn’t and in the end my mom had to get it for me and…I was so careful till today. I’m sorry.” You are sobbing after all of the emotional bomb.

“Ah sweetheart shhh It’s okay. Of course I can get it for you I am your boyfriend after all. And I am sorry that you had to experience that” he says looking at your eyes like they are his life lines.

“That is not your fault” you sniff.

He pulls you in an hug and kisses your head on top. “I am gonna go get it wait here,okay?”

“Okay” you mumble.

After he came back with the hairbrush.

“Thank you so much baby really that means lot to me”

“Of course angel. How about I dry your hair after you brush it hmhm? How is that sound?”

“Yeah that sounds good.”

You know he always stood by you. You are grateful for that.

[yvainillapie]

—> So you guys know that luffy really doesn’t like people touching or holding his strawhat except you. I was searching for a fic like that but couldn’t find any; therefore, I decided to write one.

Established relationship, fem!reader (she/her), use of (name)

“Sanjiiiii! I’m hungry!” Luffy whined.

“Be patient!” Sanji yelled from the kitchen.

“I don’t wanna…” he groaned.

The heat was unbearable. After sitting with Nami and Robin for a while, you got up to grab some water. Your head was spinning. Without thinking, you grabbed the straw hat beside your boyfriend and placed it on your head. Almost instantly, relief washed over you.

“Oh, hi, (name)!” Luffy smiled. “You okay? You’re all red.”

“Yeah… the heat’s getting to me, baby.”

“I told Sanji to make cold drinks! We just gotta—”

He paused. His eyes locked onto the straw hat.

“Huh?”Everyone nearby froze.

“Luffy…” Usopp whispered nervously. But Luffy simply blinked.

“Oh! You took my hat!”

He walked over and touched your forehead.

“You’re really hot!” Before anyone could say anything, he grinned.

“Shishishi! Keep it on then! Don’t get sick, okay?”

Nami nearly dropped her drink.

“That’s it?!” Usopp shouted.

“What? She is my girlfriend!” Luffy said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“And besides…” he laughed, wrapping an arm around you, “my hat likes you too!”

[yvainillapie]

Omg tysm!! I have never thought It would attract this much interest.💗💗