Cárcel is well aware of the gruesome nature of childbirth. By now, he’s witnessed you bear three of his children and seen the sheer amounts of blood, sweat, and tears poured into it. To add insult to injury, your last son came out looking like a perfect copy of him with not a single feature nor trait of yours. He knows how rough delivery was on you, and yet...

“One more?” he asks, his arms wrapping around you from behind as you both lounge in the tub. Cárcel’s ears are uncharacteristically pink, but only because he knows what a large ask this is. He glosses his fingers across the stretch marks decorating your stomach. “If we have one more, you’ll have another half a year for me to obsessively dote on you.” He kisses your temple. “There are more pros than cons, my love.”