The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the TV and the occasional scroll of TikTok videos echoing from Choso’s phone. He was leaned back on the couch, shirtless as always, warm and heavy against your side, his arm slung lazily across your lap. You were half-scrolling through your own feed, but his sudden stillness caught your attention.

“Babe,” he muttered, voice low and rough like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

You glanced over. “Hm?”

He didn’t look at you right away. His eyes were glued to the screen, locked on some ridiculously cute baby giggling in a swing, and you already knew where this was going.

“Nope,” you said flatly.

“I didn’t even say shit yet,” he shot back, brows pulling together in that stupidly intense way that made your stomach flutter even when he was being a menace.

“You didn’t have to,” you groaned. “You’ve been watching baby TikToks for like, three hours. I can feel your damn baby fever radiating off you like heat.”

Choso finally looked at you, eyes dark and hooded, his phone tossed to the side like it didn’t matter anymore. “Okay but hear me out,” he started, shifting so he was facing you more directly. “What if… we just do it. Like, tonight.”

“Do what?” you asked, playing dumb just to rile him up.

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play with me. You know what I mean.”

You bit back a laugh, loving how serious he was getting, like this was a goddamn war strategy. “You’re insane.”

“I’m desperate,” he hissed, dragging a hand down his face. “I wanna put a baby in you so bad it’s driving me fucking crazy. You’d look so good all round and full, waddling around the house, fuck—” He leaned in closer, voice dropping to a filthy whisper. “Let me knock you up. Right now. No pulling out. Just me, you, and a ruined fucking bed.”

You stared at him, lips twitching. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Yeah?” he grinned, kissing your neck, already sliding his hand lower. “Then let me make you lose yours too.”