#to quote an anon in my inbox: “Successfully coparenting a child but unable to discuss their feelings for each other the pecco/luca thesis��

[lagunaseca2013]

🌈 for teen pregnancy au? need something sweet after today 😭

hiiii anon! thanks so much for playing! i was originally just gonna include the first scene but I realized it ends on kind of a melancholy note, so i included the next scene too for a little sweetness :))

—

The apartment is quiet, the dim orange glow of the streetlights outside casting soft shadows over the sheets Stefania had gifted them when they moved in. It’s past midnight, but Pecco has reached the point of pregnancy where his body has given up on letting him get any proper rest. His back aches in every position, his legs can’t sit still, and, worst of all, he’s fucking starving.

He shifts again, uncomfortable, taking a sharp, labored breath—ever since he hit the second trimester, breathing is a chore in itself. He really, really doesn’t want to get up, the idea of struggling out of bed and then, inevitably, immediately needing to pee is nearly enough to derail his plans entirely. Except—he can’t stop thinking about gelato.

He must have sighed too loudly, or his gigantic stomach moved the bed enough to disturb the other side because a moment later, Luca stirs from his sleep. A warm, sleepy hand slides over his waist, right over the roundest swell of his stomach.

“What’s wrong, tesoro?” Luca’s voice is low and raspy with sleep, barely more than a murmur against Pecco’s shoulder. He hopes it’s too dark for Luca to see him flush at the pet name. Ever since they started having sex again Luca has been so much freer with affection—but Pecco is sure it’s just a symptom of the baby fever. 

Pecco huffs, turning his head just enough to meet Luca’s bleary gaze. “Nothing,” he grumbles, stubborn. Luca hums patiently, continuing to rub soothing little circles under his shirt. After a moment, Pecco relents, turning away so he doesn’t have to see Luca’s expression when he admits that he can’t sleep because he has a ridiculous, childish craving. “I want gelato.”

Luca blinks at him, slow and heavy-lidded, barely awake, then sighs through his nose, “Of course you do.” But there’s no bite to it, just sleepy fondness. He presses a quick kiss to Pecco’s shoulder before rolling out of bed, stretching in the dim light. “Alright, let’s go.”  

Pecco blinks. “But, it’s past midnight?”  

Luca tosses him a look over his shoulder as he pulls on a hoodie. The neon 46 plastered on the back turns an ugly shade of mustard in the street lighting. “You think I’d let you and cucciola go hungry? It’s my job to make sure you’re both taken care of.”  

Pecco doesn’t bother arguing, suddenly a little choked up. He does a lot of things these days—crying when he can’t get his pants on, throwing up after getting the one craving he’d been begging for, contemplating his entire life’s trajectory—but Luca takes it all in stride, despite the demands of his own life, the life Pecco turned upside down with his stupid, selfish decisions. 

He lets Luca gently maneuver him to his feet, stealing a second to lean into his warmth before they shuffle out the door together.  

The gelato shop is closed, obviously, but Luca knows a guy—or maybe is throwing around the weight of being Valentino Rossi’s little brother, of growing up getting anything he wants within the city limits of Tavullia. Fifteen minutes later, they’re sitting on the bench outside, legs stretched out, passing a tub of stracciatella back and forth.

The city sleeps around them, distant and quiet, like they’re the only people alive right now. It’s a welcome change from the usual small-town nosiness that being associated with Vale subjects them to. Pecco had stopped going outside in the daytime after he started showing, old ladies kept ambushing him at the pharmacy and the grocery store, touching his belly without asking and predicting the baby’s gender based on how big his tits had gotten.  

Pecco sighs, licking the spoon clean, and lets himself lean into Luca’s side. It’s chilly outside, the night air crisp against his flushed skin, but Luca is always warm, like a furnace, solid and steady beside him.  

Luca hums, pressing the flat of his palm to Pecco’s belly like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Think her sweet tooth will be as bad as yours?” He teases, voice soft, the way it always is when he talks about the future, these days.  

“Of course,” Pecco snorts. “This is the only thing she’s wanted to eat for the last two months.”  

Luca laughs, bright and easy, and the sound settles something deep in Pecco’s chest.  

They sit there for a long time, Luca feeding him spoonfuls of gelato, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against Pecco’s stomach. Pecco’s exhausted, and his body still aches, but for the first time in a while, he doesn’t feel like the world is ending.