Pairing: Namjoon x reader (fluff)
Warnings: Pregnancy, Birth, and all the icky bodily fluids that come along with it.
Summary: Your due date has come and gone. Namjoon’s excited and you’re uncomfortable, but you’re both equally as impatient to meet your little girl.
This will be a series of drabbles I intend to post over the next few days, detailing the labour, birth, and early postnatal period. Expect a lot of fluff ♡♡
Part One / Part Two / Part Three
“Ok, so.” Namjoon’s head pops around the bathroom door, long fingers curled around the door frame as he watches you change your sanitary pad, disgust written all over your face. As soon as you hear his voice your head snaps up, hands stilling.
“JOON! Get out!” He rolls his eyes but at your continued glare he dutifully covers them with a hand, hiding you from his sight so you can carry on cleaning yourself up.
“You do realise I’m gonna be seeing much grosser stuff than this over the next 24 hours, right?”
“Yeah well, let’s try not to peak too soon,” you mutter, throwing the sopping wet pad into the bin, “Anyway, what did they say?” Another twinge of pain gnaws at your lower abdominals as you move around, putting on a new pair of underwear and some soft, stretchy sweats. Is it supposed to just keep coming out like this? It’s never-ending.
“They said to make sure she keeps moving, make sure the water stays clear, and call them back when your contractions start,” Namjoon recites verbatim, and you can see him peeping at your through his fingers before he lowers his hand back down to his side once you’re decent. “Or else in 24 hours, whichever comes first.”
“Great, ok.” You give a short sharp nod as he approaches you across the tile, arms already stretched out wide. You’re starting to feel slightly nauseous, and something tells you it’s more to do with nerves than general pregnancy-induced queasiness this time around.
Namjoon wraps his arms around you from the side, placing a kiss against your temple as he rubs reassuringly at your stomach. He’s always been able to read you like a book; easily identifying your anxiety from the way you’re chewing at the inside of your cheek, frowning hard.
“They also said to avoid anything that’d risk introducing infection,” he says into your hair, rocking the two of you gently side to side.
“Like what?” you query, placing your hands onto the arm that’s wrapped around you and tilting your head to look up at him.
“Like… using those funky strawberry scented bath bombs you like.” You ‘hmm’ in agreement, rubbing your thumbs over his arm as you look at your reflections in the bathroom mirror. Namjoon looks gorgeous, as always, his white t-shirt setting off his tan skin just so, cheeks dimpling as he catches you look and gazes back, leaning his head on yours. “Sex is off the table too, apparently,” he adds, smile turning cheeky whilst yours completely disappears.
“Seriously?” you choke, horrified at the mere prospect, “Are you really telling me that there’s people out there that’d think sex was a good idea right now?” Namjoon just laughs, leaning in to kiss your cheek and then releasing you from his grasp as you try to forget it was ever mentioned.
“C’mon.” He walks out of the bathroom, beckoning you after him, and when you finally get back into the living - you’d had to stop along the way because of that damn cramping in your stomach - you find that Namjoon had apparently been very productive during the time he’d spent on the phone.
He’s switched off the television and turned all the lights down soft and low, your favourite chill out tunes playing quietly from the mp3 player stand. The whole room is swathed in the glow of lamplight, a little bottle of massage oil waiting on the coffee table. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Namjoon was trying to seduce you.
“I thought you said sex was off the table?” you ask with a smirk, one eyebrow raised. He chuckles softly, grabbing your luminous purple birthing ball from where it’d been gathering dust in the corner and placing it in front of the sofa. He sits himself behind it, a leg either side, and then pats it in invitation.
“It’s all oxytocin, baby,” Namjoon tells you as he helps you ease yourself onto the ball and get your balance, “Making a baby, having a baby... it’s all the same hormones that are involved, and they all work better with the lights down low.”
“I knew it was a mistake for you to read all those birthing books,” you say right before letting a groan inadvertently slip as Namjoon starts to massage your lower back right where it aches the most, the scent of mandarin filling the air.
From the moment you’d discovered you were pregnant Namjoon had started digesting every single titbit of knowledge he could find about pregnancy, labour, birth and babies. There’s not a single question you’ve asked along the way that he couldn’t answer, and whilst it can sometimes be mildly irritating - anyone would think it was him having to give birth - it’s also been very reassuring to have your own pocket encyclopedia on hand. Especially when that encyclopedia happens to be very skilled with his hands.
Another bout of cramping comes and goes, but bouncing gently on your ball while Namjoon rubs your back really seems to help. If this is what labour’s like, then this will be a breeze!
“Hmm,” you sigh happily, letting your head tilt to the side and your eyes closed, “I could get used to this.”
Oh you were so tragically mistaken.
What had started out as a bit of general discomfort - a mild tightening of your stomach every ten minutes or so that was pretty manageable with Namjoon’s encouragement - has all too quickly ramped up into something infinitely more intense. It’s coming every three minutes now, taking away your ability to speak for almost a full minute as your bump turns rock hard. Every contraction is like a wave, rising to a peak and then receding again just as quickly as it came, leaving you slightly breathless in their wake.
You wish you could go back in time and smack past-you in the face for being so blasé about this whole thing. In fact, if time travel were an option you might just go back and never get pregnant in the first place.
Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.
“Do you want to get back in the bath?” Namjoon offers, trailing around after you as you pace the living room restlessly. You know he’s starting to feel out of his depth - you can tell by the way he’s wringing his hands when he thinks you’re not looking - and honestly you can’t blame him. Neither of you anticipated just how intense this might be, and all the book knowledge in the world hasn’t helped him prepare for raw reality of it.
“No, Namjoon, I don’t want to get back in the fucking bath,” you snap, stopping at the back of the sofa and bracing yourself on it as you feel another contraction brewing. You shouldn’t snap at him really - Namjoon’s trying his best and you know you’re being a bitch. A nice warm bath might have helped a couple of hours ago but you’re a bit beyond that now.
Despite having had his head bitten off Namjoon is right there with you through it, rubbing your back firmly as you try your best to breathe steadily, eyes closed, fingertips digging into the sofa cushions. Once it’s faded you’re suddenly aware of tears leaking down your cheeks, and as soon as you can straighten yourself again you’re turning around to face your husband and wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face in his chest.
“Can you call the hospital again, please Joonie?” you ask quietly, rubbing your tears on his t-shirt and then peeking up at him, anger and upset fading almost as rapidly as your contractions. God, you really are all over the place right now, aren’t you? “I don’t think I can manage anymore.” It’s been a good few hours since your last phone call, so you feel as though you’ve given it your best shot. If it’s too early the midwives can always send you home, anyway; though you think you might cry again if they do.
Namjoon nods almost instantly, looking a little relieved as you slip out of his arms to begin pacing once more. It feels better to keep moving; sitting is unbearable - lying down a fate worse than death. You listen to Namjoon explaining everything over the phone, calmly and thoroughly answering each question the person on the other end might have, and though you’re in pain you still feel a little swell of pride right in the centre of your chest as he speaks.
You couldn’t have hoped to ever have a better husband than him. Sure, he might burn the dinner and break almost everything he touches - he’s also late a lot of the time, and his fashion sense is questionable at the best - but no one could ever be more supportive, more loving than Namjoon. You’re fairly certain he’d tear off his own arm and give it to you if he thought it would make you happy.
“Ok,” he says as he disconnects the call, stuffing his phone in his back pocket and then running his hand briefly through his hair, “I’ll grab the bags and then we’ll head out.”
Oh god, does he really intend to be the one who drives?
“Call Yoongi.” He stops halfway across the room, turning back to you with his mouth slightly agape.
“I don’t really give a shit, Joon,” you interrupt through gritted teeth, another contraction brewing, “He volunteered his services, day or night, he knew the risks.”
“Namjoon you’ve had your license for two months. You bunny hop at the best of times, especially when you’re nervous, and me yelling at you from the passenger seat isn’t going to help anything. And I will yell, we both know it.” You say this in one big rush, leaning over the back of the sofa with one hand on your stomach, trying to get all the words out before you’re rendered speechless again. “Call. Yoongi.”
You see Namjoon hesitate for just a second, eyes fleeting back and forth between your own before he succumbs and reaches back into his pocket for his phone with a sigh, relenting. He might not be on the receiving end of any harsh words from you, but you’ve no doubt he’ll be getting some from Yoongi once he realises what time it is, and Namjoon doesn’t look too enthusiastic about it.
Still, poor timing on your behalf or not, Yoongi manages to turn up outside your apartment not twenty minutes later. He honks the horn to alert you to his arrival and leaves the engine running - unconcerned with what the neighbours might say - and once Namjoon has helped you hobble down to the car with bags in hand, Yoongi is waiting in the driver’s seat with a smirk on his face and bags under his eyes.
“You’re not gonna go leaking all over the seats are you?” he asks, voice croaking as he turns to look at you over his shoulder, one hand still on the steering wheel, “I just had this cleaned.” You give him a withering glare whilst Namjoon helps you in, one that Yoongi just grins at in reply. With much grumbling you allow your husband to put on your seatbelt, already horrifically uncomfortable from just having to sit down and grimacing as Namjoon takes his place next to you, slamming the car door behind him with a thud.
Yoongi pulls away from the curb almost immediately, making you groan in pain as the car lurches.
“Can you go a bit faster, hyung?” Namjoon asks his friend, mistaking your general groaning for another contraction.
“No, don’t!” you disagree quickly, Namjoon’s head snapping round to face you with a frown, “Just… smoothly, please.” Yoongi gives you a little nod in the rearview mirror and you smile back at him weakly, leaning into Namjoon when he puts his arm around your waist and kisses the top of your head.
“Are you ok?” he asks, peering down at your tenderly. He places one hand on top of yours atop of your bump and rubs circles with his thumb as you slowly nod, giving him the same feeble smile you did Yoongi.
“And what about our little passenger?” Namjoon glances at your bump and again you nod, touched by his concern.
“Still kicking away,” you assure quietly, leaning your head on his chest. It’s as that moment that Yoongi’s tyres meet a speed-bump, jolting you up and down with a shout of pain, despite him having taken it slowly.
“Sorry, sorry,” Yoongi sheepishly mutters from the front seat, hands flexing around the wheel, and Namjoon tells him not to worry because you’re too busy trying to collect yourself and not unintentionally lose your shit for something purely accidently.
Everything feels so low, like her head is sitting right in your ass, and it’s so uncomfortable, especially when you’re jostled around. You try to focus on your husband’s comforting presence and the gentle way his fingers are trailing up and down your side, watching the streetlights speeding past the windows in the blink of an eye, but then another contraction starts and all those good intentions are abruptly cast aside.
“Ow, ow, fuck this one hurts,” you huff, grabbing onto Namjoon’s hand and squeezing it tightly, screwing your eyes closed and tensing your jaw to try and bare it as best you can. How can they still be getting stronger? This one feels even more intense, even longer lasting than they did just ten minutes ago, and to make it all the more unpleasant you seem to be draining more water each and every time. Yoongi really might need his car cleaning again after this…
“Try to keep breathing baby, it’s gonna hurt more if you tense up,” Namjoon whispers into your ear, earning him a sharp smack on the leg.
“Easy for you to say!” you grit out, but you try your best to take his suggestion anyway, knowing that he’s probably right.
“They really hurt that bad, huh?” Yoongi asks, turning to look at you whilst you’re sat at a red light. You give him the finger mid-pant and with that he turns back around, turning on the radio to drown out your groans. Charming.
You have at least another five contractions that you practically hyperventilate through before you arrive at the hospital’s maternity department, and with each one that’s gone by you’ve noticed Yoongi’s becoming more and more worried. Well… simultaneously worried and amused by Namjoon’s seeming inability to get anything right. And it’s not concern for your welfare that has Yoongi frowning; you know that. He’s probably just freaking out that you’re going to have the baby right there in his precious back seat, placenta and all.
He calls ‘good luck’ as Namjoon hauls you out of the car, earning another scalding for pulling on you too hard, and you can’t help but wonder to which of you it’s directed as he takes off, hurrying home, back to his bed.
Either way, you have a feeling that both of you will need it.
I hope you like this guys. I know it might not be everyone’s cup of tea and it might actually be little boring for some - but this is my passion so I enjoy writing about it, so bare with me ^^ <3 <3
