sylus is a picture of stillness when he feels your breath on his skin.
feeling the tip of your nose drawing a line up the column of his neck. feeling your forehead bumping into his jaw. feeling, feeling your lips ghosting each living pore over on his flesh.
he tries not to squirm as the kitten that brought him to its home nuzzles against him, claims him with caresses, marks him— mine, mine, mine.
“no more long trips.” you murmur, lips wrapping around each word like fluttering butterfly wings. small and powerful; stern and pleading all at once. “not without me.”
this was too much. details too gruesome to track as each bleeding wound stained his favorite shirt. droplets of blood seeping through each thread and stitch, and he had the audacity to explain before he let you touch him.
you’d pushed against his placating palms, an angry snarl twisting your features as you press both hands to his heart and resonate with him. stubbornly sticking, planting yourself in place as he tries to push you away.
“stop—” he winced, fingers wrapping around your jaw, tilting your head up. begging you to look into the depths of his eyes. “i have nothing to give—,”
your head shook; a rabid animal hearing an insufferable pitch. “quiet.”
“beloved,” he gritted. bones aching, muscle fibers and skin stitching themselves together bit by bit. on your command. only yours— with nothing from him for you to resonate with.
in what is supposed to be his power enhanced by you, he is helpless. leaving only you to do all the work.
and if for a fact it is incredibly taxing on your soul, on your heart, it does not show on your face. in its place: anguish, anger, recklessness. all in efforts for him to be healed.
“my love,” he whimpered as a wounded hound would, holding onto your wrists. an effort to help, give though frustration stems from having nothing to offer.
he feels phantom horns on his head, an itch on his back and the sharpest of teeth in his mouth grow as an unearthly voice growls through his chest, “stop it.”
but you, oh, beautiful measure of his soul, have grown your own horns, have earned your wings, have sharpened your own teeth, rebuke. “no.”
choice abandons him with only the strength to hold you tighter.
as you stitch his wounds, as you mend his bones, as you share your life force with his. filling his empty cup with not half but all of you.
your collapse is the bane of his existence. he will never forgive himself for the feeling of your deadweight on his now healed body.
he catches you, naturally, crowding you close to his chest. checking your heart for stutters, your pulse for hiccups.
thinks how foolish you are, thinks how much he loves you.
he takes you to bed. you, a prisoner of his embrace until you gain consciousness, return to him. meanwhile, he ponders how he’d scold you, and how much more he can give his entire self to you just as you so selflessly give yourself to him.
and when you finally wake after the most agonizing of minutes to him whispering your name, kissing your brow and asking you to return, instinct drives you to kiss him back.
and so he does not move when you trail tired brushes to his neck. and he does not fight against what you ask.
in fact, he agrees. for fear of what extent you might sacrifice of yourself if things had been worse.
“no more.” is a whispered, painful promise he intends to keep.
Talking about wedding banner, could u imagine how the lil twins found out their parent wedding photo and sulking cause their papa and mama didn't invite them. I wanna know how they woud react cause I think it will be cute😭 thx uuu have a nice day
ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: oh NOOOO they would be devastated ｡°(°¯᷄◠¯᷅°)°｡ this got away from me again lmaoo, i hope u enjoy!!
sylus & his family | sylus x reader | light hurt/comfort (littles have big feelings!), fluff fluff, dad!sylus, mom!reader, bigbrother!kieran&luke, itty bitty twins werent invited to the wedding! (•́ ᴖ •̀)
you asked lucian nicely not to climb too high when seeking his sensory need for heights and balancing.
"just the second shelf, and maybe the third if papa is around," you begged, squishing chubby little cheeks in your palms. the request honeyed with a kiss on his nose and a chocolate schmeetie (sweetie).
the primary concern is his safety, of course. so he doesn't get hurt—no matter how badly he believes his little belly is going to help him bounce off the floor like a bubble blobbu pal. "I softy, I bounce, mama!"
you laugh whenever he says it. a laugh that morphs into a sob as you press your nose to his hair and say hopelessly, "that's not how it works, my angel."
and motherhood has always been daunting. the magazines and articles, your friends and relatives always said that the instinct the wisdom will come to you, eventually, and the blessing of always being right and knowing best will develop in time. you didn't know it would develop in the most mysterious of ways.
wailing. there is a wailing in the distance as you haul yourself from the trenches of a dream. body moving before your mind catches up. you rise from the couch in a haze, a headache pinching at your nerves behind your eyes, a strange taste in your post-nap mouth. and through the bleariness, you cannot find your children. "Lucian? Kyros?!"
your feet move, carry you to the sound of crying—whoever's it was, you needed to get to them fast. now.
in your husband's study, there sits a tall bookcase. five columns, endless rows. heaven for a little boy with vestibular needs. the middle column is sparse in material and literature, giving way to sylus's favorite mementos. jewels and small artifacts, weapons, things that looked far too archaic for your liking. fire-hazards, choking-hazards, literal death traps.
it's only natural, the scream you let out, as you find the glass that protects the items from environmental harm, wide open. and not one but both your sons in a circle of trinkets and treasures on the floor, sobbing hysterically.
you call each of their names, falling to your knees as you take them in your embrace. kyros clings to your neck, lucian uses your sweater as a tissue to wipe his nose. "are you hurt? did you fall?"
"mama, mad! mad, mad!" lucian harrumphs loudly, pushing away from your embrace and stomping his feet. your brows knit together. you reach for him despite his protests and examine his arms and legs for any cuts or bruises. while he still tries to pull away, "mad!"
"no yell to mama." kyros pitches in, turning slightly from his embrace and swiping a hand that doesn't quite reach his brother. "no mean!"
"who is yelling at mama?" sylus enters then, walking into the room with quick, long strides at the sight of you all on the floor. he takes in your confusion, how lost you look, the toddler in your arms mediating.
then he zeros in on the fiery twin with puffed cheeks and arms crossed clumsily over his chest. "lucian?"
"mad papa too!" lucian whines, stomping his feet like an angry rabbit.
"woosian, 'top it!" kyros scolds.
"angel, what happened?" you ask, finally having come to your senses. there is no broken glass, the casing was just open. the trinkets on the floor— the veil, a small sampling of stained glass, dried flowers, a tiara, a bow tie, a set of ceremonial rings and—
"where me—woosian?" your son demands, using all his strength to drag the big wedding album out from under sylus's desk and into the light. for you to see, to realize, to know the absolute sin you committed against him. "and kee-ro? you leave!"
sylus snorts. you shoot him an angry glare at how drastic the whole thing truly is. a small problem to you, a monumental betrayal to your little ones.
tak-tak-tak lucian points to his father's face in the blown-up photo. the two-page spread of you and sylus in your ceremonial silks, reminding you of the very day in the cathedral a few years back.
kyros, just as hurt, murmurs. "no ee-bite us? we sleepin'?"
you melt. oh, your sweet boys. wondering why they were left out of such an important looking ceremony. they'd seen it in their storybooks—weddings of royals and knights and creatures, then the happily ever afters. they've raved on and on about wanting to see a white-puffy-cake dress with their own eyes.
and here you all are, standing around a photo of you and their father in the attire. and them having no memory of being there, of being invited. thinking you'd snuck out on a date as they slept and crept back into the house by morning.
oh, your sweet boys.
when lucian is effectively distracted with sylus's playful raspberries and kisses on his face (him personally acting on his cuteness aggression to the bunny-stomps), only then do you gather both of your children out of the study with the wedding album. you settle back on the couch with them, the pictures between you, and explain.
"we haven't met just yet in this picture," you tell them, placing each of their hands on the page. their eyes watch as you trace the outlines of their hands on your wedding photo with a silver marker. "you were both still sleeping somewhere, but we didn't know where. so we couldn't wake you up."
"ah!" kyros giggles as your get a bit of ink on his finger. lucian gasps and forces his hand to stay still. sylus helps him keep his hand sturdy.
"did you and papa find us?" lucian asks. he looks up at you with such hopeful eyes it's impossible not to fall more in love with his wonder. you brush silver-mist hair out of his eyes and nod, "of course we did, angel."
"we'd never stop until we find you," sylus assures him, curling an arm around his middle and nuzzling his temple.
"but—but the 'appy endin'?" kyros pouts. "we missing..."
sylus reaches out to him and squeezes his ink stained hand. his own heart swelling. "we can always have another one, kyros."
"we can?" lucian perks up, turning his head to look at his father.
you laugh, sharing a quick glance with sylus who has already made up his mind. and you wholeheartedly agree. "of course. that one wasn't as happy as it will be now that you're here."
"we ee-biting?" kyros jumps, hands clasped together as if to contain his excitement. sylus's laugh shakes mountains as he tugs onto his sons' cheeks. "yes, you're invited."
the pair cheers, clapping and whooping like they'd won the lottery. in much higher spirits than they were earlier. you continue to flip through the pages of the album. the littles enthusiastically pointing to your face and swooning over how pretty you looked. and then asking papa 'why he smiling 'ike that?'
sylus asking 'like what?" in borderline offense.
kyros laughs. "'ike a tiger." then screams when sylus lunges at him to show him his tiger teeth affectionately.
you watch lucian, whose eyes are soft and fond as he flips through your wedding photos like it's his favorite storybook, trumping any fairytale of oswald octopus in his collection.
and then it comes—the feeling of right, and what's best in that moment. and it's not about proving a point, but recognizing what feels right for your kids, and making decisions with them to arrive at the best possible outcome.
seeing the joy on their faces, you conclude—having them find the album was just right, and having a second wedding just for them is what's best.
you watch as his face brightens at the sillier photos, grins at blurry ones and upside-down ones (thanks, mephisto). but then the light vanishes, dark clouds loom once more on his then sunny face.
you don't get to ask before he's angrily tak-tak-taking on the page. his twin and father's attention turns to him as they halt their little game of chase. you groan at the photo he points at.
luke and kieran, unmasked and grinning from ear to ear in their nice tuxes. arm in arm, photobombing a perfectly romantic photo of you and sylus. but lucian doesn't care about the photo being ruined. It's the fact that—"biggies there too?!"
you wince. you hope brotherhood wisdom has developed in time too as you watch your toddlers drag the heavy album out of the living room to hunt down the convicts in the photo. angry-bunny stomps and all, the big twins are in for it.
✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡
— as much as the children take on his more fire-molten qualities, sylus is still very much a dragon in a family of cats
“lucian.” sylus’s groans are a drowsy grinding of granite. his fingers move to gently remove the too-warm little hand pressed to his cheek.
sylus hears an annoyed sleepy whine back. and then nothing, so he allows himself to be pulled back into the tide of slumber
until he’s plucked from the water by the fingers over his lips.
“‘fian…” he murmurs, gathering the little grabbers in his palm and placing it over his heart instead.
until the other hand is up and pressed to his eye. “stop, please.”
lucian whines again, bapping his father’s comfortable cheek lightly in a half-conscious tantrum. sylus scrunches his face up until he feels the warmth of the pillowy palm slide over to his earlobe and take hold. he sighs, he supposes he doesn’t mind that one. he leaves it, and lucian falls asleep.
maybe now—
bap.
finally sylus peels his lids open in tired surrender. to his right, he finds mochi-ball cheeks smushed against his pillow, kyros’s arm outstretched entirely to reach his chin. his sleepy eyes drooping as his fingers rub against the prickly stubble that grows there.
relief floods him when he sees your silhouette against the little light through the heavy curtain come towards him. to help, he assumes— help him out of the pile. “sweeti— oof!”
your head knocks the breath out of him as you come to rest it on his belly. he watches as you turn to your side to meet his eyes, and bend your arm to place over his chest. you sigh, content. “30 minutes, Sy.”
he hums, low and resonant in your ear on his body. sure, he scoffs. you’ve never had a 30 minute nap in your entire life. but he relents, sinks back into his daze and registers the weight of his family on his body.
30 minutes, he considers. his boys on either side of his head, his face a sensory mat for their fingers, and his beloved rubbing soothing circles over his chest.
he can’t help but chuckle at the thought that your feline qualities have begun to manifest in your children too. three loves of his life, making biscuits over his skin.
30 minutes, he agrees, although he truly doesn’t mind forever.
✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡
might be the only thing you hear above the ringing in the back of your head. sylus’s hand grasps yours tightly.
“hm?” you murmur. too distracted by… well, everything. the people rushing in and out of gates, an announcement overhead, the twins arguing, lucian balancing himself on the metal chairs.
all moving and melding into the same molten amalgamation of a distant feeling. a creeping nausea. a twitching headache.
the overcast sky looms in the distance. as if sensing your growing discomfort, kyros’s sleeping form cuddles closer to you. his arms fold delicately between his chest and he sinks deeper into the baby carrier.
featherlike caresses smooth against the skin by the corner of your mouth, a lulling rhythm to ground you in the chaos of the airport.
“i can call the jet.” sylus offers with a nudge. “just say the word.”
you swallow. how ever tempting that prospect was, you’d already committed yourself to this. and as much as you liked showering your kids in riches and glamour, a part of you wants them to experience what you did before you met sylus and his privileges—
airports.
“no, i’m okay.” you reassure him, leaning into his touch. he hums, a mildly suppressed ‘if you say so’ and leans back on his seat. his forearms sting at the cold metal of the armrests.
if you’d wanted a trip to the beach, you could have just said so. you knew that. it’s not an impossible feat given sylus is and always ready and willing to deliver.
but as luck would have it, your twin boys would stick their little arms in a box at the Linkon City Mall (a perk of having spent a minimum amount of money from shopping). and emerge victorious. squeezed between their sausage fingers was a stress ball that read: JACKPOT.
and so, a free trip for four (and two additional tickets bought) later— you now sit at the boarding gate amongst the sea of people with two toddlers, two bigger toddlers and your grumpy husband.
“papa, i waitin’.” lucian announces, climbing onto the seat opposite him. he wiggles his hips, making himself comfortable on the metal. “i waitin’, papa.”
sylus nods and tugs at the little boy’s shoe. “good job, cian.”
“mama,” croaks kyros. “is hot.”
his hair now sticks to his forehead, his neck coated in a glistening sheen of sweat. he pouts up at you from his carrier and blinks a sleepy eye. “hoot.”
“i got him.” sylus chirps, unbuckling the straps. after consecutive clicks, kyros is freed and lifted into sturdy arms.
it offers you relief of your own, allowing you to stretch a little. until lucian decides to climb your legs and ask for his turn to snuggle. you don’t mind, not when his cheek presses to your sternum and his tiny fingers find the greatest amusement fiddling with your manicured nails. like a cat to a ball of yarn.
“papa, i’sser tarks in da beach?” kyros is unable to fall back asleep, so he’s assumed the role of being inquisitor of the day. asking the hard questions. the ones that matter. “do eats babies?”
sylus’s heart is helpless to his musings. “just small sharks, angel. i don’t think they’re big enough to eat babies.”
“but, grr— tarp teef.”
“they won’t bite you unless you disturb them.”
determined, kyros’s brows draw together. “i be quiet.”
“sharks aren’t a big deal, little boss.” kieran chimes in. in his hand, he’s dismantled the wheel of his carry-on for heaven knows what purpose.
“it’s the jellies you gotta watch out for.” continues luke. flipping his screen, he presents a picture of a shore of jellyfishes in shallow water. “they sting.”
lucian perks up, hearing a familiar word associated to a sweet snack. “jelly?”
kyros frowns. “ting?”
“mhm, this one makes your leg itchy.” says luke, swiping the photo and showing a clear domed gel creature. he swipes again. this time, the jelly is blue. “and this one kills—“
“that’s enough.” the screen clacks shut as the phone is folded in half. luke snickers an apology, more likely unmeant.
the twins are sharper than they give them credit for. having caught the last bit, kyros now clings to his father’s clothes and whimpers. “kiww?”
“mama, is bad jelly gon’hurt us? or only naughty boys?” lucian frowns. he plays with your fingers again, but this time with urgency.
“like papa said, if you don’t disturb them, they won’t disturb you.” you say. your tone sure enough that it calms the two effectively.
but then you eye your troublesome big twins with a narrowed gaze. “and yes, naughty boys better watch out.”
kieran winces and averts his gaze, focusing on his wheel. luke rolls his eyes with a playful shrug, and palms raised claiming innocence.
an announcement rings overhead— garbled and unintelligible through the buzz of chatter and the garbage speakers. but sylus picks out your flight number, and the first boarding group is called.
“hold on i have to pee.”
your eyes widen. skin prickling at the threat of a less than smooth boarding.
“no— kier—!”
too late. kieran is rising from his seat and dashing away before you can even react.
“i go!” lucian cries, wanting to imitate. wriggling out of your grasp.
“no, lucian!” you cry. bags and accessories jingle and wobble on your arms as you try to keep yourself together.
sylus catches lucian with a gentle vine of his evol.
“come on.” you say, urging your family to get up and get to the line.
and standing makes it all the more worse.
lucian floats back to sylus’s person and he holds both kids to his chest. lucian complains. kyros slaps his angry baps away to protect papa.
you gather the bags. four— a purse, a baby bag, and two little backpacks of toys. you gasp as something clatters. two open bags of toys. now empty bags of toys. on the floor, scattered and rolling away.
amongst them, a fluttering, and an annoyed squawk. “caw!”
“mephie!” the twins cheer.
no time to groan about it, you drop to your knees and start packing up. the littles climb down to help— but are distracted with oohs and aahs at each plaything they pick up.
luke is swearing from above. only now just realizing that it was his bag that lost its wheels not kieran’s. now it is reduced to immobile, carpet scratching heap.
sylus pinches the bridge of his nose at the sight. something— a cocktail of irritation, stress and odd endearment swirls his insides at the chaos of his family. now unleashed for the world to witness.
and pride. such strange, loving pride that he gets to call it his.
“sylus!” you hiss, yanking on his pant leg. “help me!”
his evol cleans up the toys in mere seconds. then he grabs the heaviest bag from your shoulder and takes the rowdiest twin—lucian—under his wing in a secure football hold.
the line moves quickly. you hand over your boarding passes, kieran returns at the last minute, receiving a solid smack from his other half. they’ll have to fight it out on the plane.
the waddle between columns of the aircraft was hell with everything youre carrying but somehow you make it. and when all is settled and you take your first breath.
sylus is there to hold your hand once again. “this will be good.”
he says it so surely you might mistake it for condescension. and yet there is no malice in his tone. no lingering “i told you so”. just a certainty even you do not have.
because for sylus, any time with you is good. any time with his family will be the best time of his life.
and right now, that is all the reassurance you need.
you breathe a sigh, finally squeezing his fingers back. “this will be good.”
HIIIII! I really love ur writting n i have been wanting to ask how old luke & kieran in most of the stories are🧐 cuz in the game they somewhat 16 and i gues fast forward to Mc n Sylus having family they some what 20-21? Like still in colleges👀? (If they do go to one, but honnestly, I think Sylus care for the twins enough that he incentivize them to get a degree)
If so i just cant shake off the image of little twins barging in Luke & Kieran’s room and demand to be cuddle n play with while their big bros are doing an assigment that worth 30% of their credit💀
hehehe thank you for sending this in!!
i actually havent thought of their ages, just that they're young adults in their 20s, super excited to have baby siblings for the first time HAHAHA
but what a cute thought! i agree, sylus wouldn't hold back on resources for these two (like they're his own children fr). any physiological, psychological, academic, extracurricular needs to enhance their quality of life (sylus masks it as "to enhance your skillset" but really its just him spoiling his kids) is covered!
luke says to you he kinda wanna try acting/stunt-doubling? sylus scoffs. by chance, the next day there's an actor-stunt-coordinator mentor at the gym. kieran mentions having been interested in engineering? sylus blinks, likely bored, and walks away. three days later, there's an enrollment slip and a syllabus on kier's desk.
sylus is just really passionate about supporting his sons.
HUHU THE LITTLES HANGING AROUND IN THE BIG TWINS' RESPECTIVE BEDROOMS IS SO CUTE
(edit: 2hrs later... this got carried away again. i hope this vision aligns with your lovely prompt ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕)
kyros & kieran | luke & lucian
literally just sy's kids messing around. luke's a theatre/acting major & kieran's an engineering major
I'm seeing kyros & kieran:
"Keewi, a buddle." kyros says, pressing a clay lump into kieran's one hand. startling him (kyros is very quiet) from his focus on the soldering iron.
"Ro, what are you doing here?" his voice pitches higher as kyros starts to climb his pant leg, with every intention to wrench himself between his brother and the work table—because this is important.
kyros coos gently. "es-coos me."
kieran scrambles to push the tools away from the ledge of the table, far from kyros's back. his arm waves frantically to rid the air of smoke and the fumes of melting metal.
"lookit da buddle," kyros demands, little brows forming a v together on his forehead when kieran still hasn't looked into his palm.
meanwhile, the menacing screwdrivers are rolling down. small nails and screwa slide and zigzag their way closer to the kid's body and kieran is stressing out. "Ro, we can play outside."
"pease lookit da buddle!" kyros squeaks in frustration. he has things to do, after all.
kieran sighs, opening his hand. there, on his palm, rests exactly what he expected— a lump of blue clay, impressed with tiny finger dents and the ridges of his own hand prints.
he doesn't know what he's looking at, really. but the pride on kyros's face is enough to make him crack a smile. "it's nice, buddy."
"lookit." says kyros again, a plastic giraffe now in his fingers. which he tilts forward, making its nose hit the thing of clay. "schlooop."
"oh." kieran nods, finally getting it. his heart melts like metal under a hundred degrees. "a puddle."
then, kyros's little nose scrunches. "keewi, stinky."
kieran panics as it clicks in his mind. And he's running kyros out of his room, away from the smoke—
Later, when it hardens, kyros's giraffe gets to drink from the melted plate. Now dubbed, "shiny buddle."
luke & lucian:
this is his third take. one didn't go well—dumb camera—, two was somewhat fine besides the sound of the door opening behind the camera.
now, take three would have a moody, ghost haired little boy clinging to his chest.
"wook." lucian murmurs sleepily, playing with the lock of his brother's hair he can reach on the nape of his neck.
"yeah, stink?" luke hisses as his camera glitches out again. picture in the preview flickering, presets disappearing. video frozen on his half-blinking, startled face. he groans.
meanwhile, lucian's nose has scrunched up. "m'not 'tink."
with one hand reselecting presets, luke kisses his brother's silly little head, "no, you're not. i just wanted to call you that."
"why?"
"cause it's fun."
"no it not," lucian frowns. "mama take me a bath."
luke snorts. a dimple of a smirk on his mischievous features. "okay, okay. you smell like purple flowers."
lucian settles and snuggles up to him again. "tank yoo.''
giving up on his self-tape for now, he flicks the camera with his fingers like he would kieran's forehead and walks back to his bed, finally propping lucian up properly. "okay, smelly, there's a party in my room because...?"
lucian baps his chin. "i no 'melly!"
"yeah you do," luke grins, nuzzling his cheek. overexaggerated sniffing as he tickles. "you smelly good."
lucian giggles, pushing his face away as he begins to nip on his cheeks.
"did you lose your way to kier's room?"
"no." lucian grins, gradients of a giggle still in his voice. "kee-wan still sweepin'. and keero. and papa too. no friends to play."
luke's brows knit together. he's taken by the lonely glaze of sadness over lucian's face. how something so simple as waking alone can be shattering to a little heart. a frown tugs on the corners of his mouth. "oh, i see."
lucian blinks at him. "wanna to play, poopie?"
luke's sadness morphs to a deadpan annoyance. "that's... not how you do it."
"poo-poo!" lucian laughs, because he thinks he's the funniest one in this family. he screams when luke tosses him up and catches him.
"alright, smelly, you win. I'll do my self-tape later." luke rolls his eyes. seemingly conceding against his will, but really he'll take any excuse to procrastinate. his camera light blinks from the distance.
"huh," he checks the footage it had recorded. his possessed camera having a mind of its own paying off for once. for it had zoomed in and caught every microexpression on his face during his conversation with lucian.
"ooo, hamsum." lucian coos, watching the playback too. half referring to luke, and half referring to just the top of his head and his eyes peeking in the frame.
luke nods, satisfied. and greatly in shock, but he won't question why the powers that be sent him a miracle in the form of a tiny booger baby in the shape of his boss-father.
luke shuts his camera off and flips lucian to hold him by the ankles. suddenly, he's a theatrical villain. laughing maniacally like the cartoons and swinging the little boy around like a hammer throw. "alright, smelly, in the toilet you go."
"noo!" lucian's laughter bounces off the walls as he squirms. finally having someone to play with.
this was SO FUN to do omg i love the biggies & the littles. thanks for sending in that ask! they would probably be really good students & use their skills and majors & totally crush sy's missions. easy peasy.
ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: hi there! im going to take this ask as an opportunity to info dump a little bit on the little twins' name origins, i hope you dont mind!
from an author's perspective, i really was just playing around with names that started with /k/ and /l/ for the luke and kieran tribute aspect of it all! i don't quite recall how i ended up with lucian and kyros, but i do remember wanting their names to sound almost mythic & ancient.
like sylus & mama had named them once in a lifetime ago, in another language neither of them can properly recall now.
"kyros" means lord or master
"lucian" means light
in the story, i'd like to think that either you as a princess/sorceress or sylus as a monstrous presence, a fiend, would have had some sort of following. a minority of people who are in awe of your power and influence, and who have hence addressed either of you as Kyros in your past life. bowing at your feet, imploring you for blessing, mercy.
another fact i’ve made up is your team name in the arena as child-warriors. your sponsors, the one who bet on you both as a unit would call you kyros. rulers of the lion’s den.
after suffering, it has become a name for victory for both of you together. that you are no longer the oppressed but the strong. the powerful.
in this life, you wake to yourself murmuring it until the edges of the dream come to fade. sylus has his hand on your swollen belly, caressing tenderly, holding his own little hushed conversation with the heartbeats, when he turns to meet your sleepy gaze.
"kyros," he repeats, a step ahead of you as always. having caught your sleepy musings.
you prop yourself up the headboard. hand reaching out already to cradle his face. "what does it mean?"
"lord, ruler." he lists. his mind travels back to when he’d heard it. cogs turn behind his eyes, gaze never leaving the soul beneath your skin.
he hums in amusement when a kick rivals his gentle touches. "sun-fire."
you raise a brow. his endless intelligence never ceases to amaze you, especially now that he seems to have pulled this fact right out of thin air. "how did you know that?"
he thinks you wouldn't believe him when his lips curl into a mischievous grin. drawn curtains allow the golden light of morning to bathe you in its flames. the irony isn't lost on him, in fact he revels in it. pupils shrinking to excited slits as he watches you squint back in mock contention.
"it was once your title, sweetie." his hand paves a path from your belly to your chin. his calloused forefinger nudges your jaw as it threatens to fall off its hinge. "ours for a while, too, in the arena."
"kyros." you swallow, testing it on your tongue. familiarity is found in each syllable, each corner of your mouth. but the buried memory in your mind feels impossible to unearth.
an emptiness swirls your insides, as these gaps always tend to do. sharp, twisted shame yanks at the corners of your mouth and pushes your shoulders to a hunch.
again, an ache fills your heart— sylus might forgive you, but you don't think you'll forgive yourself for ever forgetting him. then, now, again; you can't bear it.
quick to silence your fears, sylus has already moved up the bed. closed the distance between his lips and your forehead. a field of flowers bloom at the healing kiss, each petal drowning out any thought else that doesn't place you in this life with him.
the sun streams through the window. you worry for his eyes. he only shuts them and plants kisses to your wrist, your fingers, your lips. showing you what matters and what doesn’t.
"it meant little then, but it can mean more now." he says. slow, endearing. "do you like it?"
you don't answer at first. instead, you listen. the whirring of the air, the careful breaths of your husband, the heartbeat that isn’t yours pounding in your ears— strong, steady and sure.
then you feel. a kick against where your palm rests on your womb. from the one awake. from the one who listens too.
and when sylus calls you, "beloved?"
you answer, "I do."
because he's right. what worth does a memory have when it cannot be recalled? and when worth is lost, it must be remade. reclaimed. renamed.
"kyros is a beautiful name for our boy."
and fire does not only bring heat, but light as well. so much of sylus's life has been shrouded in isolation, aloofness, darkness. always, he strives to feel less alone—teaming up with you, adopting luke and kieran, creating mephisto.
he fears it, in the back of his mind. to return to the dark cave, empty and alone. nothing but the sound of his thoughts that ricochet off the jagged stone. he never wishes that upon anyone he loves.
and so the poetry comes in his own sons—born only minutes apart. together in the space you so beautifully provided for them since their conception. his curse broken. his fears vanquished.
kyros was a title he'd received only when he was by your side. whether your were pillaging unjust kingdoms or partnered against hoards of beasts in an arena for people's sick entertainment. he was never alone.
and so, kyros couldn’t be alone. the sun needed to burn bright— and brightness cones from light.
"i can walk downstairs!" you laugh, fluttering your feet as sylus hooks an arm under your thighs and hoists you up. your arms cling to his neck to keep yourself steady.
"and i can carry you." he counters, a cheeky grin on his lips, you cannot help but kiss.
after you complained of the twins being extra active these past few days, stirring you almost mad at the discomfort, he's not about to let up.
he'd been away for three days. three days too long with you so close to your due date. it was agonizing for him as much as it was for you. so he made sure to cut as many meetings short, deeming almost half of them unimportant, and bought everything in the auction just to be able to rush home.
and now, he sits you before the gems and jewels he'd collected while he was away. glittering and sparkling on the counter, waiting for you to marvel at them so he can marvel at you.
you twist in your seat, finding that comfortable spot where neither baby is sitting on your bladder.
you are used to this habit of his at this point—obscure gifting, from refined jewelry to antiques or raw elements. no different is he from the bird he'd created (as much as he likes to deny it).
and so as you pick the stones up to inspect them one by one, you ready your own critiques he loves hearing, no matter how silly they get.
"this one looks like cave water." you comment, right after complimenting the cut and grade so expertly (things you've picked up from him). he chuckles, chin resting on his palm. eyes only focused on how your lips move when you talk.
"oh, i like this. feels like the pavement. why is it warm?"
he hums through a half-lidded gaze. "it reacts to your body heat."
"oh. got a lot of that." he laughs at your joke. recalling all your whining about rooms being too hot with two little dragons in your belly.
"this one is glowing." you remark, cupping a blood-red gem in your palms. cut jagged and haphazardly, you are careful not to accidentally cut yourself and send sylus into a spiral.
your hands form a dome, and through the gap between your thumbs, you stare at the self-luminescent element in your hold.
beautiful, you think, mesmerized to the point of silence.
body humming. mind quiet. shoulders at ease.
"lucianite." he breathes solemnly. he'd gotten so close, now trying to look into your little cave as well. he barely notices your face pinch. cheek pressed against yours to see what has gotten you so captivated. "it's very rare."
"where does it come from?"
"a dead planet's core." he recalls the price tag, the description written in small text. it's gravitational pull towards his own aether core. it wanted it most out of all the exhibits there. "it was consumed in sunlight. it had gone extinct millions of years ago."
something well-known tugs at his heart; the weight of an everlasting promise in form of a token. your ring finger twitches ever so slightly as if stirred by a similar memory.
"it's beating," you murmur. feeling your insides melt like magma. hearing the other life in your ears follow the beat of this drum. "like a heart."
there is genuine interest on his face as he tilts his head down towards it, drawn to it too. you, him, both planets to the inevitable sun.
you nod and hand it to him. he takes it as if it were truly a heart, careful and light. then he feels it. the faint pulse of energy within, the minuscule back and forth as it rocks from its consequential movement, and the light that dims and brightens like tidal breath.
living, breathing.
he's roused from his intrigue by your timely 'oof!' when one of the twins tumble a little too roughly in their home.
instincts urge him to put the rock away. he winces, berating himself for the oversight that it might be radioactive.
"ow! hey!" you chuckle, rubbing the spot where your baby kicks. soothing circles just beside your belly button, as if to catch tiny fists that make contact. "mama's here."
but he kicks again. uneasy. unsatisfied. you frown.
only then do you realize that before that moment, he'd finally found peace. until now— when it was borrowed. taken away. kept from him in his father’s pocket.
you test your luck, snapping your fingers and presenting your palm. "sylus, give me the-the lucian thing."
"lucianite." he has the gall to correct.
the baby kicks your bladder. you groan and grow impatient. "lucian—!"
two things happen at your little outburst: one, your husband goes still. two, so does your baby.
sylus figures it out just as you do. and can't help the joy that creeps onto his face. he keeps the gem nearby, but rests both hands over top yours on the active spot and rubs soothing circles onto it.
you watch him. reverent kisses are placed on the bump as he whispers something ancient, something known into your skin. and as if he was heard, he receives a happy tap in response.
although you have an inkling, you ask anyway. "what did you say?"
bending as much as you can and only managing to ruffle the bangs over your husband's eyes.
he smiles, never more delighted to give you an answer. "his name."
thank you so much for reading abt the sun sons booger babies ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚
✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡
