i wrote more baby promptis
So apart from the whole ‘saving the world from eternal darkness’ thing, Noctis is pretty sure he’s not a good king. He kinda wishes he’d paid more attention to his dad’s advice, or to Ignis’s lecturing, years back, when they were trying to prepare him for the role. He’d been more interested in playing video games at the arcade with Prompto, though. And things have come full circle, yeah, in the sense that now he’s more interested in lounging around in bed with Prompto all day. But he’s the king, and there’s meetings to attend. There are diplomats to meet with, treaties to forge with the remnants of other nations. Altissia held out surprisingly well, and their government remained intact through the ten years, and they’re still kinda holding a bit of a grudge about the time Noctis let a god wreak havoc on their city, imagine that.
Noctis is pretty sure that the fact that he saved the world from eternal darkness is the only thing that’s making people overlook the fact that he’s an incompetent fool. Prompto is always quick to point out that Noct’s not doing a half-bad job. Ignis is quick to point out that as dumb as Noctis might be, he is more than capable of covering up the king’s messes.
Noctis, King of Lucis, is currently trying to take an afternoon nap. Trying, being the key word. He’s got a miraculous break in his schedule. He’d spent all morning hashing out a trade agreement with Altissia. The one good thing about a city being in ruins and inhabited by a mad immortal king and a boatload of daemons is that the royal coffers are still full. The downside is that money is less important than commodity goods. It’s giving him a headache.
He has three hours until he has to be back to work, and he shows up to royal quarters in a mess, toys strewn across the living room, Prompto’s breakfast half-eaten on the coffee table, the television droning in the background, and a panicked husband pacing back and forth with a screaming baby.
“He won’t stop crying,” Prompto says, in a voice that suggests he’s thirty seconds from an emotional breakdown, “all morning, Noctis, I’ve tried everything…”
Noctis is not getting his nap.
“Give him here,” he sighs, and Prompto passes their screaming son over. Usually, the magical connection is soothing. Right now, though, it does nothing. The baby is still screeching his lungs out. His soft black curls are matted against his forehead. His little freckled cheeks are splotchy and wet with tears. His face is scrunched up into a pathetic wail.
“Ignis says he’s probably teething,” Prompto runs a hand through his hair, and he collapses onto the couch the moment he’s not holding the screaming baby anymore. “He said to give him something cold to chew on but it’s not helping, Noct, I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but I didn’t sleep last night and I’m so goddamn tired and he’s hurting and—“
“Calm down,” Noct sighs. He’s good at the king voice. He knows it cuts through the panic and the fear that still grips Prompto at times, when he’s feeling particularly helpless or useless or upset, and right now, it’s sorely needed.
Prompto falls silent. The baby’s still crying, though the sobs have died down a little, are at least no longer shattering their eardrums. His little fists are clenched into his shirt, and Noct’s pretty sure he’s got snot stains all over the fine, satiny fabric. Fantastic.
“I’ve got a thing later,” Noctis says, his voice softening a touch. “But I’m free till then. I’ll take him, you should sleep.”
“I can’t sleep while he’s in pain,” Prompto whines, and as if in response to that, the baby breaks into another wail, loud and miserable. Noctis groans, and Prompto buries his face under a pillow.
“Hate to break it to you, but I don’t think we can do much,” Noctis understands, though. His heart’s breaking in a way he hadn’t quite expected, seeing those tear-filled, bright blue eyes – Prompto’s eyes – staring at him. Pathetically. Asking him to make it better, in the only way he can. Fuck.
“Just gotta grin and bear it, little guy,” Noctis says softly, cradling the baby up against his chest, chin propped against his shoulder, one hand gently smoothing over the back of the baby’s sweat-covered tonberry onesie.
“Parenting sucks sometimes,” Prompto grumbles. “Why did nobody tell us it was gonna be hard?”
“You expect anything in our lives to be easy?” Noctis laughs a little, and the baby wails again, in response. “Hey, it’s okay, shh, I know, I’m talking in a big scary voice, huh…?”
Prompto slowly lifts his head, and sits up. His eyes are red with exhaustion, maybe a few tears of his own shining wet across freckled cheeks. “You’re way better with him than I am,” he admits, frowning, chewing his lip. “Totally not fair, Noct.”
“I’m not better,” Noctis says – though he’s mindful of his voice now, keeping his tone gentle, low – pacing slow circles around the room. “You’re just as important. You’re just tired, you’ve been dealing with him all morning.”
“He’s not crying as much with you,” Prompto points out, “… not that it’s a bad thing. Just. Hard, y’know?”
Noctis frowns. He paces his way back around, to the couch, and crouches down, back aching, to pass the baby back over. “Luck, more than anything,” he says, and it’s still amazing, still goddamn perfect, the way Prompto’s eyes light up as he reaches out and cradles their son close to his chest.
The baby’s still crying, but his sobs die down a little more, hitching, and he offers up something close to a smile as Prompto settles him in his lap, a hand gently ruffling through the boy’s dark hair.
“See? Think he just cried himself out,” Noctis mumbles, exhausted, and he settles down on the floor, right on his knees, leaning his head to rest on Prompto’s thigh, eyes drifting shut. Prompto’s foot nudges into his side, and they share a moment, quiet, exhausted, happy despite it all.
“You’re always right, y’know that?” Prompto’s voice is drifting, and they’ll only have a couple of moments of blissful dozing before the baby starts screaming again, but it’s enough. “Stupid chosen king.”
Stupid chosen king, indeed.