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violettduchess · 10 months

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A/N: Better late than never! Not a request, just my imagining what these lovely suitors would be like with an infant that wakes up crying 💜

CW: babies, breastfeeding

Suitors x female reader

WC: 2045

A cry rings out through a peaceful summer night at the palace.

It is small, but powerful.

And very, very insistent.

Leon

A light sleeper by nature, he gets up, murmuring for you to try and keep sleeping when he notices you stirring too. "I'll see what I can do for the little peanut." He crosses the room to the white bassinet with its pale pink ruffles, a gift from Uncle Yves. Inside his infant daughter is fussing. Tiny fists are clenching and unclenching as her small head turns fitfully left and right.

“Ah, c’mere sweetheart,” he says, voice still rough with sleep as he lifts her gently, laying her against his bare shoulder. One large hand rubs her back as he walks the length of the room, her tiny cheek warm as a spot of sunshine against his shoulder.

“I can take her–” you start to say as you push yourself upright in the bed, but he shakes his head, holding up a finger.

“I think we’ve got this handled, love. Take a look.” He walks over to your side of the bed, his hand still gently stroking the baby’s back. Her tiny head with its halo of black hair rests against him and is still. Not able to see her face, he turns sideways, giving you the sweetest view of your handsome, bare-chested husband holding your daughter close, her small face now relaxed again in sleep. Her father’s warmth was enough to solve whatever problem had woken her and she's drifted back off to the soft, hazy world of baby dreams.

You smile, feeling the way your heart expands, a paradox: never has it been so full of love and yet so very, very light.

Clavis

He wakes up immediately at his son’s first cry and is out of bed before the sound can even penetrate your deep sleep. He knows how often you get up, how often you are the only one who can satisfy your son’s voracious demands for food but Clavis has told himself that the little tyrant's demands that don't require milk, he will take care of himself. You, his dearest of dears, need as much sleep as you can get.

He bends down over the baby’s cradle, brushing back the boy’s angel-soft hair, the same twilight shade as his. “So noisy at such a late hour. My my. This won’t do.” Carefully he scoops up his son, adjusting his pajamas and then his hand freezes.

“Oh dear. I think I see why you’re so upset, little Lelouch.” The baby continues to whimper, little cries that, although Clavis knows they are harmless, still feel like they are stabbing right into the center of his tender heart. He never wants to hear his child in distress.

Reaching up, he turns the small knob on the lamp above the dresser where you have all of the baby’s changing things neatly laid out. His son squeaks out little sounds of agitation. “I’ve got you, don't worry. Papa's got you, always and--my goodness, how does such a tiny body produce this much liquid?” He talks, his words soft and almost sing-song as he changes his son’s pajamas and diaper with practiced hands. The baby, now removed of his damp clothing, stops whimpering, instead blinking up at his father with wide golden eyes.

“There has got to be a better solution to this than soaking all those linen diapers,” he mutters as he carefully slides chubby legs into fresh little stockings. “I bet I could invent something that might absorb all your perfectly healthy but still oh so stinky messes much better.” The baby kicks his legs and waves his arms, as if cheering in agreement and Clavis laughs softly, lifting his son back into his arms. “You agree with Papa? You think I can do that? Of course you do.”

He walks back to the cradle, turning his head to place a gentle kiss to the apple of his son’s plump cheek. He could hold him in his arms forever, never tiring of that infant smell, that the feel of his warm little body so trusting and sweet against him.

He pauses in front of the cradle. “Hmm….I know. Let’s go on a little nocturnal journey down the hall while talking through some chemicals and their rates of absorption. I bet you’ll be a perfectly delightful assistant.”

Jin

Both you and Jin yawn, sleepily rubbing at your eyes as your daughter’s cries fill the bedroom. One glance at the time and he sighs, reaching over to tenderly touch your cheek with the back of his hand. “She’s on time, our little one,” he murmurs in his deep voice even as you are pushing yourself up with one hand and already unbuttoning your nightgown with the other.

He gets up, walking over to the crib where the infant is crying, her shock of brownish hair standing up in every direction. “Mommy’s already getting ready for you, princess,” he says as he reaches down and lifts her. She’s so small in his large hands. He walks back to bed, murmuring soft little shushing noises, and then carefully hands her over to you. You help her find the right position and then sigh when she begins to nurse, her cries immediately quieted. Glancing up, you find Jin sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you both with a curiously thoughtful expression.

“What is it?”

He watches you a moment, then shakes his head, a sheepish grin on his handsome face. “It’s just….I’ve always liked that particular body part.” You snort, running your fingers over your baby’s fine chestnut hair. “That’s an understatement.” He chuckles, shrugging before continuing his thought. “Yeah well…it’s just…I think….now that I see ‘em being used to feed our little girl….I think….I think I actually like them MORE now.”

You can’t help it. You start giggling, a burst of yellow happiness that colors the gray exhaustion of new parenthood. “God, I love you.” You crook a finger at him and he matches your smile as he climbs back into bed and leans close to you. You place a kiss on his chiseled cheekbone, warm and affectionate. A sigh born of tender happiness is his answer, along with the words, “I love you too.”

Silvio

“Stay in bed. I’ll go.” He’s up, striding across the bedroom to the bassinet before you can even finish rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Aye, piccolino, sono qui.” He reaches down, running a hand over the restless infant's back. But no soothing words or pets seem to be enough. He lifts the baby carefully, still in that new stage of fatherhood where a baby feels like the most fragile thing in the world.

You watch your two pale-haired men, frowning slightly as the littlest one continues to fuss. "He can't be hungry again, can he?" You have just finished feeding him until he fell into a milk-drunk state of blissful sleep, his body heavy and warm, not thirty minutes ago. He had been sleeping so soundly that hope for more than an hour of sleep at one time had risen in your heart.

Silvio lays the baby against his shoulder. His hands are bare, with only his simple gold wedding band left on his elegant fingers. Every other piece of jewelry has been removed for the sake of his child. Necklaces would get in the way of his son sleeping on his bare chest. Earrings might hinder his ability to press his cheek against his fine, moonlight-spun hair.

"Ain't no baby in the world that could eat again after all that milk." He inclines his head towards his son. "Listen to you, cucciolo. All that growling." He rubs his small back in soothing circles. And then the most extraordinary thing happens: the tiny prince lets out the most raucous of burps. The kind that sends a quake through his little body.

"Dio mio," his father mutters, blue eyes wide as he looks down at his son. You grin through your sleepiness. "Here I thought only his grumbling was like his father."

Gilbert

His daughter's cry shatters the night's peace in an instant. Both you and Gilbert wake up immediately, but he's quicker than you, throwing back the covers and crossing the room to the cradle carved from darkest walnut.

He spots the problem immediately. At some point during the night she had kicked her blanket to the end of her cradle where it lies bunched up and useless. Her socks are nowhere to be seen, a display of her magician-like talent for making them disappear. He reaches down and sure enough, her tiny feet are like ice blocks.

"Always the same thing with you, oder Mäuschen? What have socks ever done to you?” He lifts her from her cradle, tucking her securely into the crook of his arm as he makes his way over to the dresser that has been designated hers. You reach across the bed, turning on the lamp that sits on his nightstand and he glances at you over his shoulder, eyes bright with appreciation. “Thank you, Häschen.” Now he can see better, his fingers trailing over the tiny rolled up socks and tights. When the baby makes a small cooing sound, he stops. “These?” He pulls out a pair of soft black tights embroidered with mini red roses. “Ahh a good choice.”

He hums as he walks over to the changing table, the sound soft and soothing, the gentle rush of a river through the night. As he carefully changes her diaper and then works her plump little legs into the tights, humming gives way to him singing. "Der Mond ist aufgegangen…"

She is curious, all thoughts of crying gone, watchful crimson eyes blinking as she keeps her gaze on the source of the calming sound. “Fertig,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the soles of her now covered feet. "All done." Then he lifts her, carrying her not to her cradle but back to the bed. He slides in, leaning back against the support of the many bed pillows, settling in. Her eyes are already closing as she snuggles in close against his chest.

You watch them both with a smile as tender as the moon’s joy in the stars.

Chevalier

The man who took an army to wake up is on his feet in an instant. He is silent as he crosses the room, leaning down to check on his crying daughter, her pale head of blond hair gleaming silver in the moonlight. He carefully lifts her from the bassinet, marveling in the back of his mind at how very small she is.

He glances back to the bed where you are still deeply asleep. “Your mother is exhausted from all your demands.” He wouldn’t usually condone speaking to a baby as they are incapable of understanding but he’s found that she calms down when she hears his voice. Even now her whimpering stops, her tiny cheek resting on the soft linen of his shirt. She’s gone very still, as if truly listening to his words. “You’ve eaten twenty minutes ago. We can eliminate hunger. Your bottom is….” He pats it gently, checking. “...perfectly dry. The room is neither too hot nor too cold.” He wraps his hands around her feet. She’s still wearing her white socks trimmed with yellow lace. “Your feet are adequately covered.” He tips his head back to look down at her. Her perfect, tiny fingers are curled into his shirt and her body feels heavy, drowsy with sleep.

She attempts to turn her head, burying her face in his shoulder and he reaches up, helping her, running his strong fingers over her downy hair when she has found a position that is comfortable. Chevalier walks over to the white wooden rocking chair you have positioned by the window and lowers himself into it.

“You simply wanted to be held, didn’t you?” A heavy, stuttering sigh leaves her small body, almost as if in answer to her father’s line of questioning. He cups her head with his hand, tilting his face down to place a soft kiss on her hair. “I’ll comply, little one.” He settles into the chair and begins rocking gently back and forth, father and daughter, bathed in loving, silvery moonlight.

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