((There’s only a suggestion of blood and stuff in this because, y’know, 2P!Italy… ))
“Having fun there?”
Luciano looks up from sharpening his favourite throwing knives with a little smile playing on his lips. “Si. They were getting kind of blunt, so…” he shrugs, “I thought I’d sharpen them.” He continues to do so, but then looks back up, “…What? What are you staring at?”
“Luciano, you promised,” you say, frowning at him as you gesture to the baby name book on the table. “You said you’d look through it with me when you got back…”
Just before he had gone out on a little killing spree with Lutz and Kuro he had promised to spend some time with you when he got back to help you look for names. He also promised not to put blood in his pasta sauce, but you’re not sure he’s going through with that promise. No pasta sauce for you right now.
“We have lots of time, ________,” he says, sighing as he just goes back to what he was doing.
“Three months isn’t really that long if you think about it. We haven’t even bothered to make up the baby’s room at all. You’re always out with Lutz and Kuro.” You cross your arms over your rounding belly for a moment, “Are you going to help at all?”
“Not if you don’t stop whining,” he says, not looking up at you.
Sighing in irritation, you get to your feet, “For gods’ sake, Luciano, this isn’t fair! You’re always out and it’s as if you really don’t give a damn about me or this baby!” Heading into the kitchen, you hear him sigh too and then stab the knife he was holding into the coffee table, which already has a bunch of stab marks in it from Luciano’s previous knife-sharpening sessions or whenever he gotten a little frustrated.
“________, bella, I do care. …Just because you’re annoyed I won’t let you come with us any more doesn’t mean you need to get angry at me.” He follows you into the kitchen and leans against the counter as you start to chop vegetables for your dinner.
“Don’t turn this around on me, Luciano,” you mutter, cutting up a pepper as angrily as he probably stabbed the table.
Then, you feel your husband’s arms wrap around your waist, hands spread across your belly as he presses a kiss to your neck, “I do care. And I miss you coming with me. You know I just don’t want either of you to get hurt.
You pull his arms off of you gently to turn around to face him, a little smile on your face, “If you care so much, then will you please help me out like you said you would?”
He rolls his eyes but nods, “Si, si, fine, I’ll go and get the damn book…” He kisses you quickly before he heads back into the lounge to grab the book as you smile to yourself triumphantly.
Yes, you do miss going with him and the others when they go out but he’s right. He’d never forgive himself if anything were to happen, and you’ve started to ache from just standing anyway, so you doubt you’d be able to do things like you used to, anyway.
“Okay, how about (name you dislike)?” he says, coming back into the kitchen to sit at the table with the book in front of him.
As you continue to chop vegetables, you shake your head, “No. That’s… just no.”
“Fine. How about (name)?”
“Mmm… it’s alright, I guess. Maybe,” you glance at him, “You don’t have to use the book, you know. Is there anything you can think of?”
“…Look, I don’t know, bella, can’t you just-- what are you doing? Don’t cut them like that, that’s too small-- here, let me do it.” He gets to his feet and walks over to you, taking the knife from your hand and beginning to cut the food instead. You switch places with him, taking a seat at the table and flicking through the pages.
“(Name you like)?” you say, but he scowls.
“That’s not a proper name. Come on, just choose something sensible,” he says.
“That is sensible! If you have a better suggestion then, please, enlighten me,” you tell him.
“I did, but you just said no! Dio mio, you’re being so difficult…”
“I’m being difficult?! Are you kidding me?!”
Then, he suddenly slams the knife down on the counter, sighing, “Yes, you’re being difficult! Dio mio, I swear, I just… you’re annoying me. I need to stab someone in the neck.” He marches from the kitchen, snatching up his throwing knives from the table, pulling it out of the wood, and walking towards the front door.
“I’m gonna stab you in the neck!” you yell after him, following him to the lounge. He’s out the door before you can get to him, though. Sighing once more, you walk to the window to see him getting into his car, so you quickly open the window, “Hey!”
He looks up as he closes the door and opens his window, “Si?”
“…Ti amo,” you tell him, a smile on your face.
He smirks and chuckles softly, “Ti amo, tanto.” And with that he leaves the driveway, clearly heading to, like he said, stab someone in the neck.
He’s an annoying Italian, but he’s your annoying Italian, and that’s all that matters, even if this baby is going to turn out to be a little psychopath like its father.
“When you’re older,” you say to your belly quietly, running a hand across it, “I won’t blame you for stabbing him in the neck…”