messy spaces
— your boys try very, very hard to keep a secret…
ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: rocket baby & shy baby's (also referred to in my head as sunlight (lucian/cian) & sun-warmth (kyros/kyro)) debut! a little self-indulgent, soft sylus family moment bc he'd be a great husband and a wonderful father of two sensory-seeking boys. i hope you enjoy! ❀ -urs
sylus x reader | fluff, domestic family stuff, twin boy dad!sylus, crafty-hobby-collector mom reader, keiran & luke are here too!
Sylus needs to get you out of the house.
He watches you flit around the room like a bird, a twin on your hip, rambling in delight about how the boys had burped loud enough they could have scared away a wanderer. And you were beautiful, a picture of comforting grace— in one of his large shirts, your hair a mess (thanks to your son chewing on it) and bright and joyful eyes shining.
But he needs you out of the house.
He hums appreciatively when you plop down beside him on the couch, his arm automatically wounding around your shoulders and pulling you to his side. The tip of his nose tickles you as it feathers from your neck to your cheek, where he presses his lips tenderly.
You flush and clear your throat, because no matter how long you’ve been together, with him every moment always feels like the first time. “Cian, was looking for you earlier, wanted to show you something.”
“Hm?” he mutters, kissing back down the trail he’d traced. “What was it?”
You shrug. “He wouldn’t show me, said it was papa’s secret.”
Sylus’s panic was undetectable if it weren’t for the stutter in his movement. The slight flex of one of his fingers in your shoulder, the soft exhale through his nose. Ever so in tune with your husband, you raise a brow. “What is it?”
The look he gives you is cool and unassuming, and then he flashes you a charming smile. “It’s harder to keep secrets from you when you’ve gotten so sharp.”
“I’ve always been sharp.” you frown.
He kisses you soundly on the lips, pleased with the little pout he coaxed out of you. “And beautiful.”
He looks at the sleeping child in your arms and bends down to kiss his forehead too. Your heart melts at the sight. Then he stands, and your frown deepens. “Where are you going?”
“To handle a whistleblower.” he says, straightening his clothes and shooting you a mischievous grin. “And to teach him how to keep secrets from mama properly.”
For every corner, every nook and cranny of the base, Sylus had a mental replica of how it should be. One of the most surprising things you realized when you’d started to live together was how clean he was. He liked keeping things in a certain order, and because of this, he was good at leaving and moving without a trace.
You’d abide to his rules when you moved in as much as you could, but you couldn’t keep up with his tidiness. It never bothered him though, instead, he delighted in it— to see some of his toiletries pushed to the side to make way for your own, how you sometimes accumulate glasses of water with lipstick stains by your bedside, your clothes at the foot of the bed when you’re rushing to get changed— knowing you are here, under the same roof, in the same space, with him.
And just as he felt with your trail of breadcrumbs, he felt it tenfold with his boys. The post-hurricane-esque damage of toys and trinkets in his spotless living room, the mess of baby food on the dining table after a meal, crayon marks on his pristine walls, a stray stuffie in his office. A shock to find, of course, but it was never unwelcome.
And so, he follows his son’s trail to the playroom (once an extra armory, flipped by you and the big twins while he was away). It wasn’t hard, it was literally a trail of animal crackers.
He pushes the already ajar door open. “Lucian—“
“—there’s too many of them, little boss—“
Three heads look up at him as he enters. One would argue three of his sons were caught red handed dealing illegally acquired animal crackers (it wasn’t snack time yet). But there they were, his loyal henchmen in party hats and his own three year old in a crown, arm very evidently elbow-deep into the cracker tin canister.
“Papa!” Lucian smiles, crumbs all over his cheeks and chubby little fingers.
“Boss.” Luke and Keiran greet as well, glancing down at the hands in their lap.
Lucian doesn’t stay idle, instead he shakes off his crown and rushes to Sylus’s leg. He is picked up and balanced in the crook of his father’s elbow. Sylus’s eyes soften with a molten glow as he brings up gentle fingers to brush away the dirt on his boy’s cheeks. “What are you doing, little boss?”
“Papa, I sharin’!” he grins proudly. Sylus raises a brow.
He peeks over the child’s shoulder to Keiran and Luke with their masks half raised, already munching on the animal crackers on their plastic plates. He gives them a pointed look that makes them slow and turn away, knowing full well they weren’t supposed to succumb to snacks-during-not-snack-time. “With Luke and Keiran?”
“Mhm!” Lucian is already trying to make his way up Sylus’s shoulders. Sylus lets him.
“Mm, that’s kind of you.”
A crumbly finger leaves an imprint just beside Sylus’s eye. “I good.”
“Yes, angel.” Sylus looks up at him. Lucian’s face, a reflection of his own with your irises and your smile, hangs upside down to meet his gaze. “Did you find my surprise?”
Lucian frowns for a moment. After the day he’s had, retrieving a memory after such a long business transaction must be a monumental feat for a clever little mind. The time today he found Luke and Keiran and was told to “shh!”. But it comes to him eventually, and when it does his face lights up like the sun. “Ah-huh!”
Lucian blinks. “I tell: no, mama! No go in!”
Ah, yes. Of course. Sylus chuckles, pinching his cheeks. “Good job, angel.”
He’ll clean the mess up later, not that he truly minds it, but he wouldn’t want ants festering in his children’s favorite room.
And that’s what it was: his need for you to have your own favorite room.
He never thought that setting up an old armory would bring this much joy to his children, having once thought the whole base was theirs to conquer, and yet seeing them return somewhere when they have no idea where to go, seeing them drift in and out of the playroom made him realize: that was their little safe space.
And just as his little adventurers were half of him, who once in a lifetime ago, could never have enough space, enough lands, enough resources and things to dominate, they were also half you. Yearning for peace, a quiet little bubble to gather your thoughts, regulate your heart and breathe.
He has his spaces. His boys have the base and the playroom. You… you need your bubble.
Lucian hangs tight on his father’s head, both arms perfectly hugging the circumference as Sylus walks to the hidden room. Papa’s secret surprise.
Down the labyrinth halls, around the priceless statue of a dragon he bought at an auction (its pedestal desecrated with Bluey stickers), there lies the auspicious grey door Lucian had thought would be a good hiding spot.
“Is book room.” Lucian says, one hand mindlessly drifting down to cover Sylus’s left eye.
Sylus doesn’t flinch, but nods. “It's mama’s room.”
“Upstairs…” Lucian answers quietly, thinking it was a question.
Sylus chuckles and pushes the door open.
The incense marinates the room in the scent of fresh linens and citrus, and the sunlight shoots through the half-drawn curtains onto the soft plush carpet— the kind of texture you and Kyros particularly enjoyed. On the wall, a large shelf with lines of books and empty spaces for you to fill. A corner with an easel and paints; old paintings you’d stored away in the spare rooms to make way for your childrens’ needs dusted and placed on your old wooden art table. Your favorite weapons encased in glass, decorated the bare walls.
A desk with a laptop for your writings. A basket of yarn and needles and the other things you bring to your shared bed to poke and weave. A circular couch, closer to a cat-bed, by the window. A hammock by the wall. A beanbag in the corner. And more, so much more.
Everything Sylus had taken note of, committed to memory. Things you’ve said, “sorry for the mess” for. Things he’d thought of and said— she’d like this. All gathered, collected and stuffed— organized in this room.
“Smell nice.” Lucian says, scrambling to get down his father’s shoulders. He does it too quickly, almost falling if it weren’t for Sylus’s foresight. He catches his toddler by the armpits with little fanfare and sets him down on his feet. Lucian, against his usual nature, walks carefully into the room, as if afraid to disrupt its peace. “Mama like books.”
“She does.” Sylus nods, inspecting the work the bigger twins have done with the lighting. Silently regarding their good work, he looks down to his son eyeing the hammock. “Wanna try?”
Lucian runs towards the hammock and grabs onto the tassels. But before he can tug the entire thing to come crashing down, Sylus lifts him up and places him in the giant seat. He pushes the swing and Lucian’s giggles bounce off the walls.
Sylus beams at your smile on his son’s face. The sun setting through the western window bathing the room in a warm glow. He can’t wait to show you. He can’t wait to give it to you. He hopes, still, despite how long and how sure he’s known you, that you like it.
And that’s why he needed to get you out of the house.
Sylus has a plan— he’s good at planning, and even better at executing those plans— and that involves gifting this to you as the big ta-da! The final pièce de résistance at the end of a good day.
There is a traveling carnival in a few days, one he’d invited you to go see days before. You’d arm yourselves with baby carriers and strollers, extra diapers and snacks, hats and hand-held fans, and bring the boys to experience it. Then, he’d take you to a nice restaurant with air conditioning to cool down. You’d order your favorite meal, he’d pick the onions off of Kyros’s plate, and Lucain would be a mess of squash and cream. And after, you’d make it in time for the fireworks to set off across the river.
He’d drive home, hold your hand as he watches you in the corner of his eye fight back sleep, while the little snores in the back lull you to unconsciousness. You’d take the kids in from the car and set them down in the nursery, and before you head back to your own bedroom, he’d ask you if you’d like to see something he’s working on. Might even bring up Lucian’s term of—
He freezes— this time, completely detectable. He has better instincts than this in other, more dire situations, like ambushes and break-ins.
You, standing by the door with a smug little smirk on your pretty face. One hand guiding an already awake other twin to toddle in towards his brother.
Lucian screams in surprise and delight, caught— because he wasn’t very good at secrets just yet. But although close, he wasn’t the one who pulled the pin on this grenade.
Kyros. The quiet little thing. All whispers and contained excitement. The one Sylus had assumed to be safe. Wrongly.
Now, happily chanting over and over, “Papa secret, papa secret…”
Sylus sighs, running his fingers through his neatly done hair out of exasperation, and then turning to look at you with a defeated upturn of his lips. “Beloved.”
You lunge. Arms embracing his shoulders and molding your lips to his. He catches you just a second later through the haze, and grins into your kiss. “You…”
He asks, “Do you like it?”
You pull back and nod. Words cannot surmise how you feel. The stars bursting in your chest, the tears burning your eyes, the love— oh, the love the spills over and takes captive your entire soul.
Sylus laughs, cupping your face in his large hands and kissing you again. “I’m glad.”
You sniff, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Is this mine?”
His thumb brushes the corner of your eye. “I don’t crochet.”
Your fist lands on his chest with no real force. He catches it, spreads out your fingers over his heart. You stare at him thoughtfully, and it knocks the breath out of him how your eyes twinkle in the light.
“I wanted to surprise you.” He says, tone almost apologetic.
You smile. It dawns on you that he probably had planned this huge reveal. You consider him and brush his hair away from his eyes. “I am surprised.”
He exhales, a scoff and an exasperated laugh. “I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions.”
And you can’t hide the little smile you try to suppress— sure, the little twins were expected to blab one way or another, but you didn’t really need them when you have the big twins acting shifty and weird around you when you asked them what the light fixtures were for when they came in the mail. “Maybe a little.”
“Please.” He taps your forehead with a teasing finger. “You’ve always been sharp.”
Just before you can kiss him senseless again, his attention is called with a tug on his pant leg. Kyros stares up at him.
“Pa, up pease?” He says, pointing to his brother on the swinging hammock.
He gives you an apologetic look which you return with a fond smile, as he pulls away from you and hauls Kyros up and places him beside his brother.
“Papa, swing fast-fast!” Lucian howls, shaking the blanket and making the new hinges groan.
Sylus secures Kyros with pillows and guides his hands to hold the corners of the blanket. “Tell me when it’s too fast, okay?”
Kyros nods. And Sylus pushes.
Quickly, the room’s once undisrupted peace is washed with a peaceful kind of chaos. Intended to be a space for you and all the things you love, now filled with the entire world.
As Sylus pulls back to let the hammock swing from its own momentum, you wrap your arms around his torso from behind, pressing your face in the space between his shoulders. You mutter a muffled, “Thank you, my love.”
Sylus takes your hands and brings them to his lips in reply. Needing you to know that your thanks is welcome but not needed. All he needs is this— you, your kids, and the wonderful mess you’ve made in his life.
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