₍^. .^₎⟆mc

Sylus told himself he wouldn't cry. While you endure unimaginable pain, he acts as your rock. The immovable object keeping you grounded.

For his part, he doesn't cry when the first child is born, or the second. He watches the doctors warily as they weigh, measure and make sure the babies are healthy, but he spends that time kissing sweat from your forehead and assuring you it's over now, reminding you to breathe.

The nurse hands you over the first child, a little girl wrapped in pink swaddling. He accepts the second, a baby boy wrapped in blue.

That is when he cries.

As soon as everyone else is outside, he feels the shudder in his chest. The burn behind his eyes as he looks down at the plump, sweet little face of his son. He sniffles. Clears his throat to try fighting it back. But the first tears fall regardless.

"Oh, Sy…" He meets your eye. The understanding within them, the knowledge of how difficult it is for him to experience such strong emotion like this that moves him to tears. The last time you saw him cry was at your wedding; a brief moment, gone as soon as he brushed the water from his eyes. "C'mere."

Baby in one arm each, both of you work together to shift you over on the bed. It's larger than the average hospital bed, but it doesn't mean there's plenty of room for you both. Still, you scoot over to one side, and he climbs up beside you.

After all the energy you expended holding his hand so tight you think you heard bones crack, having your babies in your arms and your husband at your side, the exhaustion washes over you suddenly. Your arms weaken, but Sylus is there to wrap his arm around you and support his daughter.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple.

You nod, stubbornly fighting off sleep to linger in this moment. Trusting him to keep supporting the arm cradling your baby, you reach over to pull back some of the blanket around your son's face. They look identical; the same nose, the same chubby little cheeks, the same pouty lips, same little tufts of white hair on their head. You huff a tired laugh. "They're gonna look exactly like you."

He hums, smiling softly against your skin. "Damn," he whispers back. "I was hoping for a little-you."

Another wave crashes over you. Your vision blurs, eyes flutter as you drift away for less than a second. He pulls you tighter against his side. "Go to sleep, sweetie. I've got them."

You whine an incoherent complaint, but you don't fight when he gently takes your daughter into his care. You let your body be weighed down, let your eyes shut again, let the desire for rest overtake you. "Need'ta… name 'em…" you mutter out.

He hums. "I know. We'll name them when you wake up."

You snort weakly. "Luke 'n' Kieran are gonna be… disappointed…"

Your words trail off into a soft snore. He nudges you carefully so your head falls against his neck, tucking you in safely. His son rests in the crook of one elbow, his daughter along his forearm where it wraps around you. He rubs his cheek against your head, still damp with sweat. Time seems to come to a still, condensed down to stretch seconds into hours, as he appreciates the sleeping faces of his children and the steady breaths of his lover.

And in the stillness, he lets himself cry.

-

"Shh! No, put your hood-!"

Sylus smirks to himself, lingering for a moment longer than necessary outside of the door. He pretends he wasn't listening in, stepping into the doorway with a nonchalant air. You hear him and turn with a hop. "Surprise!"

Kieran holds Ofelia while Luke tries to keep her from pulling her hood off. You hold Arlo, who chews on his fist with intense focus. All five of you are dressed up in dragon onesies of various colors - yours is your favorite color as he expects, Luke and Kieran wear ones with inverted color schemes from each other, Ofelia wears yellow, and Arlo wears green. Floppy wings hang off the back, bouncing with every little movement like a fledgling who hasn't yet learned to fly.

He smiles wide, looking at his little family. "What's the occasion?" he asks, stepping forward to plant a kiss on your forehead and gently pry the hand from his son's mouth. Arlo seems to notice him then with wide eyes. He stoops down to nibble at plush cheeks, his little baby squealing with delight.

You laugh along with him. "You don't know? It's Father's Day!"

"I had no idea," he admits, rising back to his full height. When he turns to look, Ofelia and Luke seem to be having some sort of battle. She keeps pulling her hood off while Luke keeps pulling it on, both of them stubbornly trying to win over the other. She babbles angry complaints, smacking at his hands and squirming in Kieran's arms. He huffs. "You're losing."

"Aughh!" Luke groans, pulling the hood with finality over her eyes and stepping away with a pout, arms crossed and glaring at the toddler. "She's got your attitude, Boss."

He raises a brow. "Excuse me?"

Standing up straight, he quickly corrects himself. "I mean, she's really cute, Boss!"

"Mhm." Still wiggling, struggling now to pull the hood over her head with her uncoordinated hands, Sylus takes her from Kieran, holding her up on his chest and pulling her hood off. She grabs his cheeks with an excited sound. "Better?"

She tilts forward to bump her mouth against his face. He chuckles as he gives her a kiss in return.

He looks back over his family. His chest feels warm and light. A grand appreciation for all the hardships and pain it took to get him here, surrounded by his kids (yes, Luke and Kieran, too) and his love, all dressed up just for his sake.

He reaches out and ruffles the hood over Kieran's head. And knocks the hood fondly off of Luke's. Then he kisses you properly. "Thank you, sweetie."

You grin mischievously against him. "We got you one, too."

He huffs. "Of course you did."

"And you gotta put it on."

A relenting hum. "Of course I do."

-

"Sylus?" you call through the house. You didn't really expect him to wait up for you, but he always did, claiming he couldn't sleep easily without you around. But now it seems like the entire building is empty and quiet. He must be home, so where is he?

You kick off your shoes, drop your keys into a dish, and begin wandering around.

He's not in the living room, but he's left signs of playtime with the babies in his wake from sometime earlier. Not in the kitchen, but he left a plate in the microwave for you, with a note about replacing your ice cream stash after he finished it off last time. Not in your bedroom either, which is odd considering the late hour, night owl that he may be.

You wander down the hall, glance into the nursery, take two steps past the door, and pause. You step back, peering inside again. Sticking out of a crib are two feet. Adult ones, at that.

Biting your cheek to stifle a giggle, you step quietly inside. Sure enough, settled uncomfortably in the bottom of a crib is Sylus. He cradles two babies to his chest, eyes closed and lips parted slightly around slow breaths. You can't resist taking a picture or two. This is definitely your new lock screen.

Photos taken, you step closer and reach down to brush his bangs from his eyes. He hums groggily, breathing in deep and turning his head to squint his eyes up at you. He turns into your touch once he recognizes it's just you. "When'd you get back?" he murmurs in a low rasp.

"Just a bit ago," you tell him. "Was your Alaskan King not big enough for you?"

He grins lopsidedly. "They couldn't sleep."

"Ah. So this was your solution?"

"Hm."

With a big yawn and a long sigh, he slowly realizes how stuck he is. With his legs being as long as they are, he doesn't have any way of actually sitting up so he can get out. Not to mention, with both arms occupied and his broad shoulders, he's very limited in mobility.

You watch awareness cross his face; lifting his head up, he looks around at the netting and shifts experimentally to gauge maneuverability. Only to drop back down and look up at you with a helplessness you've grown familiar with after dealing with two very demanding babies. "Help me?"

-

"We've gotta wait for mommy now," Sylus croons as he pulls into the parking lot. Your plane just landed. And even though he would rather you use his private jet, you'd insisted on going along with the rest of your teammates on a regular commercial airline. That doesn't mean he didn't buy you First Class tickets, of course. (And upgrades for all your colleagues when you got onto him.) You can never avoid him spoiling you.

Arlo leans forward in his baby seat, reaching toward his papa before grabbing his feet. "A-mama," he babbles excitedly.

Sylus smiles. "That's right, baby."

His son reaches again, straining against his seatbelt to try climbing on the middle console. "Ahhh-maaaamaaaaa."

"You wanna come up here?" He watches through the rearview mirror as his Evol unbuckles the eager baby boy and lifts him up safely to the front. He catches him in his arms, reaching down momentarily to move his seat back so his son has room on his lap. He tries standing on Sylus's thighs, turning to look out the big window.

Sylus cranes his neck to peer into the backseat at his daughter. She's furiously trying to figure out how to unbuckle herself. She's seen himself and you do it several times before, but she unfortunately lacks the fine motor skills or reasoning to manage it by herself. He chuckles as his Evol undoes it for her and she makes what can only be considered a cheer for her success.

"You can come up here, too," he reassures her as his Evol picks her up and deposits her on his other leg. She attempts to climb up the steering wheel, bumping the horn.

"Wahh!" they both startle, falling back into his chest. Defensively, Ofelia lifts a little sneaker and kicks at the wheel, hitting the horn again.

He's laughing as he grabs her legs, tucking her into the crook of his elbow to tame her outburst. "It's alright, babies. Nothing's going to hurt you so long as I'm here."

Their attentions all turn outside of the windshield again, twins' fear forgotten as they both begin scrambling to reach the figure half-jogging toward the car. "A-mama!" Arlo cries, while Ofelia shouts, "A-wa-ma!"

Of course, with two eager babies climbing  over the steering wheel, it's no surprise when three honks sound out in quick succession. Two babies make startled cries, but are too excited to see you again to even think of backing away.

You laugh with Sylus through the windshield, rushing to reach your family before even more people turn confused to see what the hell this parked car is honking so furiously at.

-

Sylus glances to the side just in time to watch Ofelia slap a soaked sponge against the car door. Soap suds splatter her shirt, drip to the floor, and even catch him on the nose. Her little brow is scrunched up in focus as she scoots it up and down, up and down, determined to help.

"You got it, sweetheart?"

"Ya-huh!" she chirps. She gets up on her tiptoes, tongue poking out, to reach as high up along the car as she can.

From his position crouched by the car, he pivots on his shoes to find his son. He thinks perhaps he'll be along the back, or even on the opposite side. But the clink of plastic behind him tells another story.

Lo and behold, when he turns, he finds an array of Arlo's car toys all ready and waiting for baths. The sponge is big and unruly in his hands, smacking the toys around the cement floor as he tries to clean them with the same vigor as his sister. He lands on his knees trying to reach for the next one, positioning it in front of him and giving it the same treatment.

"Do your toys need to be washed, too, baby?" he calls to the boy.

Arlo nods. "Yeah! Dey dirty! Yuck-yuck!"

Sylus chuckles softly. He stands to clean the top of the car and the windows where his babies can't reach, his own shirt getting soaked and sweaty from the work. At some point, Arlo decides he's finished cleaning his toys and tugs on Sy's pants until Sylus picks him up so he can re-clean the windows. And Ofelia decides she needs to do more to help, climbing up the bumper to sit atop suds as she scrubs away at the windshield and hood of the car, while his Evol ensures she doesn't slip and fall.

When all is said and done, he could have finished cleaning it much faster by himself, and been more thorough. But when he looks at the shine and sheen, driving back to base from the carwash with two toddlers fast asleep in the back, he hopes he'll have their help cleaning his cars for several more years to come. 

---

Tag List:

"Open." He murmurs, blowing on a spoon and holding it up to your mouth. You drink the soup, humming at the really good taste.

"Did you make this?" You ask after swallowing, somehow already feeling better. He nods, and just now do you notice the dark circles under his eyes.

"It's a family recipe. I called my mother for it." He feeds you another spoonful, and you see the small squares of orange in it, raising a brow at him. He huffs and, as if demonstrating, scoops a portion of soup without any of the carrots.

When the bowl is drained, he helps you drink some water, then runs a cool damp cloth over your forehead.

"You take such good care of me." You mumble, already starting to feel drowsiness settle into you. He hums, pressing a kiss to your burning forehead as he tucks you in.

"I'll always take care of you. I promise."

Sylus

"It doesn't hurt that bad."

You say it for what's probably the fourth time, but the knit in Sylus's brows doesn't budge. He studies the cut on your cheek carefully, checking it's depth and frowning when you wince.

"You're lucky you don't need stitches." He pulls away to set up some supplies and you find yourself immediately missing the warmth of his hands on your face.

"Do you think it'll leave a cool scar?" You try to catch his gaze, but he stays focused on what he's doing, returning to gently clean the wound.

"Hopefully not." He murmurs quietly, whispering an apology when you wince from the sting.

"It's just a small cut, Sylus. I'll be fine." The soft tone of voice is necessary given the worry on his face, the slight fear in his eyes at the sight of your spilled blood. A reminder that you could be taken from him far too soon.

"I know. Perhaps you should be more careful next time, sweetie." He finishes bandaging it, kissing you gently as a sign he's done.

"I will be. Plus, I have my own personal nurse to take care of me if I do, so I'll be fine!" Your teasing smile makes him shake his head, pulling you into his lap with a grin.

"I don't believe a nurse would treat you the way I do." As if to prove his point, he bites your bare shoulder, making you help.

"Ow! What are you doing, trying to suck my blood or something?" You smack his arm, making him grin for the first time tonight.

"I should be allowed a taste as payment, don't you agree?"

Valko

"Are you cold?"

Valko holds you closer, though you have no idea why he could be asking that, since he'd already bundled you in your hoodie, then his hoodie, and then a heavy blanket from his car.

"Not at all. Are you sure you aren't?" You gesture to his bare arms, courtesy of the sleeveless shirt he'd donned for tonight. He shoots you a toothy grin, leaning in to kiss your nose.

"Of course not. I run hot. Plus, we're in my natural habitat. I'm used to it."

Indeed, when Valko had suggested camping, you'd been excited for a multitude of reasons. One of which was seeing him so relaxed out in nature, something you rarely get to see.

"Do you want a smore?" He's already getting it ready, roasting the marshmallow to perfection and carefully assembling. Of course, the square of chocolate is massive, but you can't complain when he presents it to you with a proud grin.

You move to unwrap your arm from all the layers so you can take it from him, but he doesn't let you, instead holding it up to your mouth so he can feed it to you.

"Mmm! It's good!" You mumble around warm marshmallow and chocolate. He shoots you a toothy grin, one that still makes your heart stutter.

He makes a few more, mostly feeding them to you and eating them when you protest that you've had too many.

The warmth of the fire and fullness of your stomach has your eyelids feeling heavy. Despite the dark forest, you feel perfectly safe with Valko. When you rest against his solid form, you know he isn't going anywhere.

You blink. That’s not exactly the reaction you’d been expecting. People usually were quick to judge when topics like weight were involved, and it felt a little strange not to get a dismissive reply. “I… don’t know.”

Valko sets the spatula down and lowers the heat before walking over to you. His hands find your hips, his touch warm even through the fabric of your shirt, as he stands between your knees and looks at you. His expression is soft, yet alert. “I don’t think I understand the problem here, sweetheart.”

You sigh again. “Of course you don’t.”

“Then try to explain it to me, hm?”

“Sometimes…” You shrug, a little helpless because you don’t really know how to put it into words without sounding like an insecure mess. “Sometimes, people just don’t feel particularly pretty.”

Valko’s gaze remains on your face as his hands start rubbing your hips in small, soothing motions. “So,” he replies, “you don’t feel pretty because you put on a little weight? Am I understanding this correctly?”

“Mhm.”

He nods, considering what you said with a seriousness as if you’d just given him fundamental business advice. Then, after a few moments of silence, he raises his hand and gently cradles your cheek in his warm palm. “That’s rough.”

He’s not dismissing how you feel, not showering you with meaningless, shallow compliments or trying to convince you that you’re being ridiculous. Instead, he just holds you and acknowledges your pain. 

You blink up at him through your lashes. “So?”

“So?”

“You’re not going to say anything else?”

Valko pauses for a moment as he tries to figure out your expectations. You look at him like a part of you already knows that he’s going to agree with you any second now – that a little weight gain makes you less attractive. But he just shakes his head, a smile lighting up his features as he reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “I think you’re trying to convince me that you’re an entirely different person now.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“You imply that you’re less pretty than yesterday,” he replies. “But all I see is the same woman who fell asleep on me yesterday because she insisted on finishing the movie.”

“The movie was boring,” you try to defend yourself. 

Valko grins. “Yeah. It was. But your snoring was quite endearing.”

You gasp. “I don’t snore!”

“You do. Just a little bit, though.”

“I don’t,” you protest again but this time, you can’t suppress a laugh. Valko’s grin softens into a smile again. “Your laugh is still the same as yesterday.”

“Valko…”

“And you still look adorable with bedhead.”

“Stop-“

Valko leans in and lightly presses his forehead against yours, and your protests die down almost immediately. He nudges your nose with his. “But most importantly, you’re still the woman I want to spend my life with. Why would I suddenly stop finding you pretty?”

You try to turn your head away to avoid his gaze but he gently stops you. “Even if I gained twenty pounds?”

Valko nuzzles your cheek. “Then I’d have twenty more pounds of girlfriend to cuddle.”

At that, you giggle. “That was the worst answer ever.”

“Aww, really? I think it was quite good.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Mhm,” Valko hums in response. “And yet, you were very insisting of snuggling me this morning.”

He wraps his arms around your waist and gently pulls you forward until your forehead rests against your shoulder and he can hug you properly. “You’re my person, sweetheart,” he mumbles into your hair. “That’s not going to chance because of a number on a scale, okay?”

You breathe in his familiar scent, the last bit of tension finally draining from your shoulders. His arms around you feel like home. A soft sigh escapes you, this time out of pure relief, as you bury your face a little deeper into the crook of his neck. “Thank you,” you murmur against his skin. 

“Always,” he replies softly, then presses a tender kiss to the crown of your head. For a few quiet heartbeats, the two of you stay like this, wrapped up in each other’s arms as the nagging voices in the back of your mind finally quieten down and eventually shut up entirely.

Just as the world starts to feel entirely still and perfect, a sweet, familiar scent hits your nose, followed by a telltale wisp of smoke rising from the stove. 

You lift your head, blinking over his shoulder. “Valko?”

“Mhm?”

“I think your extra portion of girlfriend cuddles just sacrificed a pancake.”

Valko freezes. He glances over his shoulder at the pan, lets out a quiet curse that immediately makes you giggle, and spins around. With a quick motion, he grabs the spatula and rescues the slightly-too-dark pancake from the heat. He inspects the charred chocolate pancake, winces, and then turns back to you with a sheepish grin. “Well. Extra flavor, I guess. Now get off the counter, sweetheart, before the rest of them get cold.”

You shake your head with a smile as you slide down from the countertop to grab forks. The day has barely begun, but the heavy weight in your chest is entirely gone, replaced by the warm, quiet certainty that you are exactly where you belong.