Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
I can't believe I read this first thing as I opened this app đ This was cute and funny, though (this just validated my fear of pregnancyâstill hell no to this and hell yeah to being single and nonâpregnant Âż đ). Super love u, Daichi đđ¤
You were officially forty-one weeks pregnant.
Forty-one weeks. Not thirty-nine. Not even the neat, ominous weight of forty. No, you had blown straight past your due date like a train with no brakes and were now living in the swollen purgatory of maternity hellâbloated, achy, short-tempered, and so fed up with your body that you wouldâve gladly traded it in for a paper bag and a nap.
Your body ached in places you didnât know could ache. Your back felt like it had been used as a trampoline in the night. Your hips were stiff. Your feet looked like they belonged to someone whoâd spent ten hours standing in a swamp. And your belly? Your belly felt like it had become its own planet, stretching your skin so taut you were convinced you could drum a beat on it.
Nothing fit anymore. Not your clothes. Not your shoes. Not even your own skin, if you were honest. Your maternity leggings had officially waved the white flag. Your bras were lost causes. Your wedding rings had been stashed in a drawer weeks ago, too tight to slide over even a knuckle. And the seatbelt? Daichi had to adjust it for you now, like you were precious cargoâthough to be fair, at this point, you basically were. He was careful and considerate and just a little too cheerful about it all, which made it even more infuriating.
âGot everything?â he asked softly, adjusting the strap of your maternity bag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
You didnât look at him. You didnât smile. You didnât even grunt. You groanedâa long, low, theatrical sound of suffering as you slowly lowered yourself into the passenger seat like an elephant easing into a beanbag chair.
He took it in stride. Heâd stopped taking anything personally around week thirty-seven.
Still, he reached across and placed his warm palm on your thigh once you were settled, rubbing his thumb in slow, steady circles. You didnât push it away. You rested your hand on top of his and gave him a tired look that said, If I have to live in this body one more day, I will cry.
The car ride to the clinic was mostly quiet. You sighed a lot. Adjusted the air vents. Rolled down the window. Rolled it back up. Turned the A/C colder. Then warmer. Daichi drove patiently, sneaking occasional glances at you like he wanted to say something encouraging but also very much wanted to survive the day.
The clinicâs waiting room was somehow worse than usual. The chairs were uncomfortable, the light was too bright, and the cheerful wall artâbaby elephants, pastel hearts, encouraging quotes in cursiveâmade you want to scream. You stared at the pamphlet beside you titled âSmiling Through the Third Trimesterâ with a level of disdain typically reserved for war crimes.
Daichi sat beside you flipping through a magazine that he absolutely wasnât reading, occasionally peeking at you with quiet concern while trying not to make eye contact with the receptionist, who kept looking at you like you were a ticking time bomb.
When the nurse finally called your name, you heaved yourself up with a groan and waddled toward the hallway like a warrior going into battle. Daichi followed at a polite distance, like a man who knew better than to walk too close to a woman this pregnant and this pissed.
The exam room felt like a refrigerator. You plopped down on the crinkly paper with another long sigh, then glared at the stirrups like theyâd personally wronged you. Daichi sat in the chair next to the table and gently rubbed your back, his thumb tracing light circles over your spine.
âAlmost there,â he murmured, ever the optimist. âJust hang in a little longer.â
You turned your head to him, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and fury. âI swear to god, Daichi. If one more person tells me Iâm almost there, I will throw something. Possibly this table. Possibly you.â
He only smiled through it, squeezing your hand like he hadnât just been threatened with airborne furniture.
When the doctor entered, she was all serene smiles and clinical calm, her tone chipper and maddeningly upbeat.
âWell,â she said after a quick check, âgood news is youâre making progress. The babyâs definitely settling into position. But youâre still not quite there yet. Iâd give it another few days.â
You stared at her like sheâd just told you the world had been cancelled.
âMore days?â you repeated, your voice a cracked whisper. âAs in, plural? Like⌠multiple?â
The doctor gave a warm little chuckle. âItâs different for everyone, but yes, could be a few more. Youâre doing great, though.â
Your jaw dropped. You made a noise that was somewhere between a sob and a scream, your hands clenching the edge of the table like it might steady you.
The doctor handed Daichi a brightly colored handout titled âNatural Ways to Encourage Labor.â It had illustrations of smiling pregnant women doing yoga and eating pineapple.
âTry some of these at home,â she said kindly. âSpicy food, gentle movement, maybe a warm bath. Youâre almost there.â
Daichi nodded like the polite, helpful husband he was, tucking the paper into your maternity bag as you stood slowly, moving with the weary determination of someone who had carried life for too damn long.
The walk back to the car was slow and tense. You didnât speak. You didnât look at anyone. The receptionist offered a cheery âGood luck!â as you left and you very nearly flipped her off.
When Daichi helped you into the car again and got you buckled in, you exhaled long and hard, the sound more like a groan of existential dread than a sigh.
âIâm going to die pregnant,â you said flatly, head tipping back against the seat as your eyes glazed over. âThis is it. This is how it ends for me. Swollen and sweaty in the passenger seat of a Toyota.â
âNo, youâre not,â he said gently, lips twitching as he reached over to adjust your seatbelt one last time. âYouâre going to give birth soon, and then this will all feel like a weird dream.â
You turned your head just enough to shoot him a dry look. âA weird dream where my hips feel like theyâre being sawed in half and I havenât seen my own feet in two months?â
He chuckled under his breath, brushing your hair out of your face. âIâm just saying, youâre doing amazing.â
âDonât lie to me,â you snapped, though your voice lacked real venom. âI look like a pufferfish and I cry every time I drop something on the floor because I canât pick it up anymore.â
âI pick it up for you,â he said, unbothered.
âYeah, and I still cry!â You groaned louder, tossing your head back again. âIâm like a feral raccoon in maternity leggings. I canât keep living like this.â
âYouâre not a raccoon,â he said with a straight face. âYouâre majestic. Fearsome. A hormonal goddess.â
You snorted so hard it startled a hiccup out of you. âOh my god.â
âAnd soon,â he added, leaning closer to kiss your temple, âyouâll be holding the baby and none of this will matter.â
You didnât move. You just stared up at the ceiling.
âWatch me die pregnant,â you said again. âTheyâll write it on my tombstone.â
--
By the time you made it home, your mood had not improved. You kicked your shoes off at the door, grumbling as you peeled off your coat and waddled into the kitchen, leaving Daichi to trail behind you, pamphlet in hand and hope still stubbornly etched into his expression.
âOkay,â he said as you slumped down at the kitchen table, head in your hands. âLetâs try some of these. Worst case, they donât work. Best case? Maybe weâll get things moving.â
You didnât respond right away. Just groaned into your palms.
He set the paper down gently in front of you. âIt says spicy food might help. We could start there?â
You looked up with bloodshot eyes. âI want something violent. Like pepper-spray levels of spice.â
Daichi raised his eyebrows. âIâve got extra hot chili ramen packets. You could probably weaponize them.â
âPerfect,â you growled. âBoil âem.â
Ten minutes later, you were perched on the couch with a bowl of nuclear noodles while Daichi sat beside you with his own, bravely taking a bite. He lasted all of three seconds before coughing into his fist, eyes watering.
âOh my godâthis hurts,â he rasped.
You, completely unaffected, slurped up another bite. âNothing. Not even a twinge.â
He blinked at you, face red. âIâm going to need milk. And possibly CPR.â
You sighed and set the bowl aside. âNext idea.â
And so began the ridiculous journey.
You drank herbal teas that smelled like dirt and despair. You choked down thick slices of pineapple while muttering curses under your breath. You did the hip-opening stretches the pamphlet suggested, groaning with effort and telling Daichi that if this didnât work you were going to shove a yoga ball down the stairs. He helped you do slow laps around the living room, hand on your lower back while you walked in increasingly impatient circles.
You even tried the dreaded castor oil. One teaspoon. Two. Mixed into orange juice so it wouldnât taste like paint thinner. You gagged, glared, and gagged again. Daichi looked horrified but held the glass steady like he was assisting with a medical emergency.
Hours passed. The sun dipped lower in the sky. You had tried every single item on the pamphlet short of hiring a witch to chant over your uterus. And yetânothing. No contractions. No discomfort. No sign the baby had any plans of evacuating. Just the same heavy weight in your belly and the constant ache of your ribs.
You threw yourself back onto the couch with a long, miserable sigh, your belly rising and falling like a dramatic mountain of defeat.
âThis baby,â you declared, voice scratchy with exhaustion, âis never coming out. This is it. Theyâve made a permanent home. Theyâre going to graduate college still inside me.â
Daichi, kneeling next to the couch, chuckled softly and leaned over to press a kiss to your forehead.
âCan you blame them?â he murmured. âYouâve made them a pretty amazing home.â
You blinked at him, half-touched and half-annoyed. âThatâs not helpful.â
He grinned and sat back on his heels, picking the pamphlet up again with exaggerated patience. âWell, if theyâre not leaving on their own, weâre gonna have to evict them.â
You groaned dramatically. âWeâve tried everything. Iâve eaten enough pineapple to singlehandedly wipe out Hawaiiâs exports. I drank that weird tea that tastes like boiled weeds. I took castor oil, Daichi. Castor. Oil. Nothing works.â
He hummed, eyes skimming down the page.
Then he paused.
You watched as his brow arched just slightly.
ââŚWhat?â you said slowly.
He cleared his throat. âWell, technically⌠we havenât tried everything.â
You narrowed your eyes. âWhat do you mean?â
He turned the pamphlet toward you and pointed at a single line with a very straight face.
âIntercourse may help induce labor.â
You stared. Then looked at him. Then back at the pamphlet.
Your eyes narrowed, your lips pressing into a line as the wheels in your head began to turn. For a long moment, you didnât say a word. But something changedâvisibly, unmistakably. Your posture shifted. Your breath stilled. Your entire demeanor settled into something focused, determined, just a little bit unhinged.
Daichi saw it immediately. He watched the transformation like someone witnessing a weather shift, like a man whoâd seen the sky turn before a storm. His back straightened. His eyes went wide. He held up one hand as if you were a wild animal and he needed to de-escalate the situation.
âBabeâletâs just think this throughââ
You sat up slowly. Deliberately. Every movement a signal.
Your voice dropped, calm but commanding, your eyes locked on his.
ââŚGet upstairs.â
Daichi followed you up the stairs like a man walking toward something both holy and terrifying.
You didnât speak. Just kept your back straight, your breath steady, your feet deliberate on the steps. Every part of you radiated heatârage, desperation, need. By the time you reached the bedroom, you were already tugging off your shirt, grumbling under your breath as it got stuck around your chest. You were a force of nature, belly full and breasts heavy, skin flushed with exertion and irritation.
âHelp me,â you snapped, voice breathless.
Daichi was at your side in a second, pulling the fabric over your head, his hands lingering for just a second too long on the bare curve of your shoulder. It had been a while since the two of you had made loveâbetween the fatigue, the constant discomfort, and the way your body had become less your own and more a vessel of life, intimacy had taken a quiet backseat. You missed it. Missed him. And he missed youâhis touch tentative and reverent, like he was savoring the moment as much as you were. You turned to him, eyes burning.
âThis baby is coming out tonight,â you said, voice low and deadly serious. âSo get on the bed.â
He hesitatedânot because he didnât want to. He wanted to. God, did he want to. But his eyes kept flicking to your belly, the way it rounded out so full and taut, the faint sheen of sweat already glistening along your collarbone.
âAre you sure?â he asked, hand resting against your waist, careful and reverent. âI donât want to hurt you.â
âYou wonât,â you said, grabbing him by the wrist and guiding him toward the mattress. âAnd if you do, I wonât care. I need this.â
He let out a shaky breath as you pushed him down onto the bed and climbed over him. The tension between you was thick, every inch of skin electric. Months of abstaining made everything heightenedâyour nerves tingled where his fingers grazed your hips, and his breathing hitched every time you shifted above him. His hands went instinctively to your thighs as you straddled him, palms warm and wide and trembling just slightly.
You leaned down to kiss him, hard and fast, teeth scraping his bottom lip as you ground your hips against his crotch. He gasped, his body already responding beneath you.
âFuck,â he groaned, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. âYouâre gonna kill me.â
âGood,â you muttered, dragging your fingers down his chest. âThen weâll die together.â
He chuckled breathlessly, then hooked his fingers in your waistband, easing your underwear off your hips with slow, reverent care. When he touched you, his fingertips sliding through the wet heat between your thighs, he exhaled like he was in awe.
âYouâre soaked,â he whispered, voice tight, eyes dark with restraint.
âIâm ready,â you breathed, rolling your hips into his touch.
He didnât argue. He pushed his boxers down and kicked them off, his cock thick and flushed against his stomach. He gripped it at the base, ready to guide himself in, but you brushed his hand aside and positioned yourself with shaking thighs.
âLet me,â you murmured.
And then you sank down, slow and deep, the stretch sharp enough to make you gasp. Your hands clutched his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin as you took him all the way in, inch by aching inch.
Daichi groaned, low and guttural, his head tipping back against the pillows. âJesus, youâre so tightâfuckââ
You paused, hips resting flush against his, just breathing. The fullness was overwhelming, perfect, exactly what you needed.
When you started to move, it was unhurried. The sensitivity of not having touched like this in weeks made every motion feel magnifiedâevery grind, every squeeze, every brush of skin set fire to your nerves. You both gasped more than once, surprised by how much you'd missed this, missed each other. Deep, rolling thrusts that had you grinding down with every motion, drawing small sounds from your throat as your body adjusted to the rhythm.
Daichiâs hands moved to your waist, holding you steady, thumbs stroking gentle circles along your skin.
âYouâre incredible,â he murmured, his voice shaky. âYouâre carrying our baby, and you still want me like this?â
âI donât want you,â you corrected breathlessly. âI need you.â
Your pace picked up, just slightly, each roll of your hips drawing gasps from both of you. The bed creaked under the rhythm, your swollen belly brushing against his chest every time you leaned in to kiss him, desperate and messy and aching.
He slid one hand up to cup your breast, thumbing over your nipple until you arched into him. Your moan was sharp, needy, your body clenching tight around him.
âFuck, sweetheart,â he groaned, fingers tightening on your hip. âYouâre soâgod, you feel so good.â
You chased the friction, riding him harder, faster, the pressure building between your legs in thick, pulsing waves. He met your thrusts now, his hips lifting off the bed, his face buried against your neck as he groaned into your skin.
When your orgasm hit, it slammed through you like a tidal wave, your body locking up around him as you gasped his name, trembling all over. He held you through it, rocking you gently, murmuring praise into your shoulder until your shudders turned to aftershocks.
Then he flipped you gently onto your back, careful with your belly, bracing himself above you as he drove into you with long, deep strokes, chasing his own edge.
You watched him through hooded eyes, heart racing, mouth parted in a soft, dazed smile. He looked wreckedâsweat-damp hair, flushed cheeks, jaw clenched with restraint as he fucked you slow and deep.
âIâm close,â he warned, voice fraying.Â
You cupped his face, nodding, heart still thudding from your own climax. âItâs okay. Come inside me. I want to feel you.â
With a broken sound, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name as he came, thick pulses filling you, his body trembling with release. You wrapped your arms around him as he collapsed slowly beside you, one arm still curled protectively across your middle, his breath hot against your shoulder.
Neither of you said anything for a long while. The room was warm and quiet, filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing. His hand smoothed over your belly, the rise and fall of it still unsteady. You were both flushed, glistening with sweat, chests heaving.
You turned your head toward him slightly, letting out a huff of a laugh. âWell⌠at least I feel better.â
Daichi huffed a laugh, his voice still rough. âHonestly? Same. Not sure if we jumpstarted labor or just obliterated our spines, though.â
You both lay there for a beat longer, catching your breath, limbs tangled, and the faint hum of calm settling over you.
Eventually, you shifted, groaning softly as you sat up on your elbows. âOkay,â you said, voice still breathy, âI should probably clean upââ
And then it happened.
A sudden, warm rush.
You blinked. Froze. Looked down.
ââŚOh my god,â you whispered. âDaichi.â
He sat up slowly, still half-lost in the afterglow. âHmm?â
You stared at the sheets beneath you, soaked through in a way that was definitely not from sex.
âMy water broke,â you said, blinking again. The shock in your voice cut through the air.
Daichiâs head snapped toward you.
âMy water broke,â you repeated, louder this time, voice rising in panic. âDaichi, my fucking water broke.â
The adrenaline that had left your limbs warm and loose now twisted into pure, electric panic.
He was moving before you could spiral further, sitting up and cupping your face with both hands.
âHey, heyâlook at me,â he said quickly, steadying your breathing with his voice. âItâs okay. Weâre okay.â
You nodded, dazed, still processing the rush of adrenaline and disbelief. Just moments ago, you had been begging for something to happenâfor anything to finally signal the end. And now that it had, now that it was really happening, your heart felt like it might explode with the sheer weight of it. You had wanted this so badly. You had cursed the waiting. And yet now, the second it arrived, you were caught somewhere between terror and awe.
âI wanted this,â you whispered, almost to yourself. âI wanted this to happen.â
Daichi brushed a strand of damp hair away from your face, smiling warmly. âYou did. And now itâs happening.â
You exhaled a shaky laugh, voice cracking. âIâm terrified.â
âI know,â he said, cupping your cheek with a hand as steady as his voice. âMe too. But weâre ready. Youâre ready.â
You nodded again, tears welling in your eyes, this time from joyânot just from fear or exhaustion. You were going to meet your baby. Tonight. Maybe in just a few hours.
Daichi pressed a kiss to your forehead before swinging his legs off the bed, already grabbing the overnight bag he had packed and repacked a dozen times.
âLetâs go meet our baby,â he said, voice warm and certain.
And this time, you smiled through the chaos. Because it was finally happeningâand you werenât doing it alone.
You were officially forty-one weeks pregnant.
Forty-one weeks. Not thirty-nine. Not even the neat, ominous weight of forty. No, you had blown straight past your due date like a train with no brakes and were now living in the swollen purgatory of maternity hellâbloated, achy, short-tempered, and so fed up with your body that you wouldâve gladly traded it in for a paper bag and a nap.
Your body ached in places you didnât know could ache. Your back felt like it had been used as a trampoline in the night. Your hips were stiff. Your feet looked like they belonged to someone whoâd spent ten hours standing in a swamp. And your belly? Your belly felt like it had become its own planet, stretching your skin so taut you were convinced you could drum a beat on it.
Nothing fit anymore. Not your clothes. Not your shoes. Not even your own skin, if you were honest. Your maternity leggings had officially waved the white flag. Your bras were lost causes. Your wedding rings had been stashed in a drawer weeks ago, too tight to slide over even a knuckle. And the seatbelt? Daichi had to adjust it for you now, like you were precious cargoâthough to be fair, at this point, you basically were. He was careful and considerate and just a little too cheerful about it all, which made it even more infuriating.
âGot everything?â he asked softly, adjusting the strap of your maternity bag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
You didnât look at him. You didnât smile. You didnât even grunt. You groanedâa long, low, theatrical sound of suffering as you slowly lowered yourself into the passenger seat like an elephant easing into a beanbag chair.
He took it in stride. Heâd stopped taking anything personally around week thirty-seven.
Still, he reached across and placed his warm palm on your thigh once you were settled, rubbing his thumb in slow, steady circles. You didnât push it away. You rested your hand on top of his and gave him a tired look that said, If I have to live in this body one more day, I will cry.
The car ride to the clinic was mostly quiet. You sighed a lot. Adjusted the air vents. Rolled down the window. Rolled it back up. Turned the A/C colder. Then warmer. Daichi drove patiently, sneaking occasional glances at you like he wanted to say something encouraging but also very much wanted to survive the day.
The clinicâs waiting room was somehow worse than usual. The chairs were uncomfortable, the light was too bright, and the cheerful wall artâbaby elephants, pastel hearts, encouraging quotes in cursiveâmade you want to scream. You stared at the pamphlet beside you titled âSmiling Through the Third Trimesterâ with a level of disdain typically reserved for war crimes.
Daichi sat beside you flipping through a magazine that he absolutely wasnât reading, occasionally peeking at you with quiet concern while trying not to make eye contact with the receptionist, who kept looking at you like you were a ticking time bomb.
When the nurse finally called your name, you heaved yourself up with a groan and waddled toward the hallway like a warrior going into battle. Daichi followed at a polite distance, like a man who knew better than to walk too close to a woman this pregnant and this pissed.
The exam room felt like a refrigerator. You plopped down on the crinkly paper with another long sigh, then glared at the stirrups like theyâd personally wronged you. Daichi sat in the chair next to the table and gently rubbed your back, his thumb tracing light circles over your spine.
âAlmost there,â he murmured, ever the optimist. âJust hang in a little longer.â
You turned your head to him, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and fury. âI swear to god, Daichi. If one more person tells me Iâm almost there, I will throw something. Possibly this table. Possibly you.â
He only smiled through it, squeezing your hand like he hadnât just been threatened with airborne furniture.
When the doctor entered, she was all serene smiles and clinical calm, her tone chipper and maddeningly upbeat.
âWell,â she said after a quick check, âgood news is youâre making progress. The babyâs definitely settling into position. But youâre still not quite there yet. Iâd give it another few days.â
You stared at her like sheâd just told you the world had been cancelled.
âMore days?â you repeated, your voice a cracked whisper. âAs in, plural? Like⌠multiple?â
The doctor gave a warm little chuckle. âItâs different for everyone, but yes, could be a few more. Youâre doing great, though.â
Your jaw dropped. You made a noise that was somewhere between a sob and a scream, your hands clenching the edge of the table like it might steady you.
The doctor handed Daichi a brightly colored handout titled âNatural Ways to Encourage Labor.â It had illustrations of smiling pregnant women doing yoga and eating pineapple.
âTry some of these at home,â she said kindly. âSpicy food, gentle movement, maybe a warm bath. Youâre almost there.â
Daichi nodded like the polite, helpful husband he was, tucking the paper into your maternity bag as you stood slowly, moving with the weary determination of someone who had carried life for too damn long.
The walk back to the car was slow and tense. You didnât speak. You didnât look at anyone. The receptionist offered a cheery âGood luck!â as you left and you very nearly flipped her off.
When Daichi helped you into the car again and got you buckled in, you exhaled long and hard, the sound more like a groan of existential dread than a sigh.
âIâm going to die pregnant,â you said flatly, head tipping back against the seat as your eyes glazed over. âThis is it. This is how it ends for me. Swollen and sweaty in the passenger seat of a Toyota.â
âNo, youâre not,â he said gently, lips twitching as he reached over to adjust your seatbelt one last time. âYouâre going to give birth soon, and then this will all feel like a weird dream.â
You turned your head just enough to shoot him a dry look. âA weird dream where my hips feel like theyâre being sawed in half and I havenât seen my own feet in two months?â
He chuckled under his breath, brushing your hair out of your face. âIâm just saying, youâre doing amazing.â
âDonât lie to me,â you snapped, though your voice lacked real venom. âI look like a pufferfish and I cry every time I drop something on the floor because I canât pick it up anymore.â
âI pick it up for you,â he said, unbothered.
âYeah, and I still cry!â You groaned louder, tossing your head back again. âIâm like a feral raccoon in maternity leggings. I canât keep living like this.â
âYouâre not a raccoon,â he said with a straight face. âYouâre majestic. Fearsome. A hormonal goddess.â
You snorted so hard it startled a hiccup out of you. âOh my god.â
âAnd soon,â he added, leaning closer to kiss your temple, âyouâll be holding the baby and none of this will matter.â
You didnât move. You just stared up at the ceiling.
âWatch me die pregnant,â you said again. âTheyâll write it on my tombstone.â
--
By the time you made it home, your mood had not improved. You kicked your shoes off at the door, grumbling as you peeled off your coat and waddled into the kitchen, leaving Daichi to trail behind you, pamphlet in hand and hope still stubbornly etched into his expression.
âOkay,â he said as you slumped down at the kitchen table, head in your hands. âLetâs try some of these. Worst case, they donât work. Best case? Maybe weâll get things moving.â
You didnât respond right away. Just groaned into your palms.
He set the paper down gently in front of you. âIt says spicy food might help. We could start there?â
You looked up with bloodshot eyes. âI want something violent. Like pepper-spray levels of spice.â
Daichi raised his eyebrows. âIâve got extra hot chili ramen packets. You could probably weaponize them.â
âPerfect,â you growled. âBoil âem.â
Ten minutes later, you were perched on the couch with a bowl of nuclear noodles while Daichi sat beside you with his own, bravely taking a bite. He lasted all of three seconds before coughing into his fist, eyes watering.
âOh my godâthis hurts,â he rasped.
You, completely unaffected, slurped up another bite. âNothing. Not even a twinge.â
He blinked at you, face red. âIâm going to need milk. And possibly CPR.â
You sighed and set the bowl aside. âNext idea.â
And so began the ridiculous journey.
You drank herbal teas that smelled like dirt and despair. You choked down thick slices of pineapple while muttering curses under your breath. You did the hip-opening stretches the pamphlet suggested, groaning with effort and telling Daichi that if this didnât work you were going to shove a yoga ball down the stairs. He helped you do slow laps around the living room, hand on your lower back while you walked in increasingly impatient circles.
You even tried the dreaded castor oil. One teaspoon. Two. Mixed into orange juice so it wouldnât taste like paint thinner. You gagged, glared, and gagged again. Daichi looked horrified but held the glass steady like he was assisting with a medical emergency.
Hours passed. The sun dipped lower in the sky. You had tried every single item on the pamphlet short of hiring a witch to chant over your uterus. And yetânothing. No contractions. No discomfort. No sign the baby had any plans of evacuating. Just the same heavy weight in your belly and the constant ache of your ribs.
You threw yourself back onto the couch with a long, miserable sigh, your belly rising and falling like a dramatic mountain of defeat.
âThis baby,â you declared, voice scratchy with exhaustion, âis never coming out. This is it. Theyâve made a permanent home. Theyâre going to graduate college still inside me.â
Daichi, kneeling next to the couch, chuckled softly and leaned over to press a kiss to your forehead.
âCan you blame them?â he murmured. âYouâve made them a pretty amazing home.â
You blinked at him, half-touched and half-annoyed. âThatâs not helpful.â
He grinned and sat back on his heels, picking the pamphlet up again with exaggerated patience. âWell, if theyâre not leaving on their own, weâre gonna have to evict them.â
You groaned dramatically. âWeâve tried everything. Iâve eaten enough pineapple to singlehandedly wipe out Hawaiiâs exports. I drank that weird tea that tastes like boiled weeds. I took castor oil, Daichi. Castor. Oil. Nothing works.â
He hummed, eyes skimming down the page.
Then he paused.
You watched as his brow arched just slightly.
ââŚWhat?â you said slowly.
He cleared his throat. âWell, technically⌠we havenât tried everything.â
You narrowed your eyes. âWhat do you mean?â
He turned the pamphlet toward you and pointed at a single line with a very straight face.
âIntercourse may help induce labor.â
You stared. Then looked at him. Then back at the pamphlet.
Your eyes narrowed, your lips pressing into a line as the wheels in your head began to turn. For a long moment, you didnât say a word. But something changedâvisibly, unmistakably. Your posture shifted. Your breath stilled. Your entire demeanor settled into something focused, determined, just a little bit unhinged.
Daichi saw it immediately. He watched the transformation like someone witnessing a weather shift, like a man whoâd seen the sky turn before a storm. His back straightened. His eyes went wide. He held up one hand as if you were a wild animal and he needed to de-escalate the situation.
âBabeâletâs just think this throughââ
You sat up slowly. Deliberately. Every movement a signal.
Your voice dropped, calm but commanding, your eyes locked on his.
ââŚGet upstairs.â
Daichi followed you up the stairs like a man walking toward something both holy and terrifying.
You didnât speak. Just kept your back straight, your breath steady, your feet deliberate on the steps. Every part of you radiated heatârage, desperation, need. By the time you reached the bedroom, you were already tugging off your shirt, grumbling under your breath as it got stuck around your chest. You were a force of nature, belly full and breasts heavy, skin flushed with exertion and irritation.
âHelp me,â you snapped, voice breathless.
Daichi was at your side in a second, pulling the fabric over your head, his hands lingering for just a second too long on the bare curve of your shoulder. It had been a while since the two of you had made loveâbetween the fatigue, the constant discomfort, and the way your body had become less your own and more a vessel of life, intimacy had taken a quiet backseat. You missed it. Missed him. And he missed youâhis touch tentative and reverent, like he was savoring the moment as much as you were. You turned to him, eyes burning.
âThis baby is coming out tonight,â you said, voice low and deadly serious. âSo get on the bed.â
He hesitatedânot because he didnât want to. He wanted to. God, did he want to. But his eyes kept flicking to your belly, the way it rounded out so full and taut, the faint sheen of sweat already glistening along your collarbone.
âAre you sure?â he asked, hand resting against your waist, careful and reverent. âI donât want to hurt you.â
âYou wonât,â you said, grabbing him by the wrist and guiding him toward the mattress. âAnd if you do, I wonât care. I need this.â
He let out a shaky breath as you pushed him down onto the bed and climbed over him. The tension between you was thick, every inch of skin electric. Months of abstaining made everything heightenedâyour nerves tingled where his fingers grazed your hips, and his breathing hitched every time you shifted above him. His hands went instinctively to your thighs as you straddled him, palms warm and wide and trembling just slightly.
You leaned down to kiss him, hard and fast, teeth scraping his bottom lip as you ground your hips against his crotch. He gasped, his body already responding beneath you.
âFuck,â he groaned, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. âYouâre gonna kill me.â
âGood,â you muttered, dragging your fingers down his chest. âThen weâll die together.â
He chuckled breathlessly, then hooked his fingers in your waistband, easing your underwear off your hips with slow, reverent care. When he touched you, his fingertips sliding through the wet heat between your thighs, he exhaled like he was in awe.
âYouâre soaked,â he whispered, voice tight, eyes dark with restraint.
âIâm ready,â you breathed, rolling your hips into his touch.
He didnât argue. He pushed his boxers down and kicked them off, his cock thick and flushed against his stomach. He gripped it at the base, ready to guide himself in, but you brushed his hand aside and positioned yourself with shaking thighs.
âLet me,â you murmured.
And then you sank down, slow and deep, the stretch sharp enough to make you gasp. Your hands clutched his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin as you took him all the way in, inch by aching inch.
Daichi groaned, low and guttural, his head tipping back against the pillows. âJesus, youâre so tightâfuckââ
You paused, hips resting flush against his, just breathing. The fullness was overwhelming, perfect, exactly what you needed.
When you started to move, it was unhurried. The sensitivity of not having touched like this in weeks made every motion feel magnifiedâevery grind, every squeeze, every brush of skin set fire to your nerves. You both gasped more than once, surprised by how much you'd missed this, missed each other. Deep, rolling thrusts that had you grinding down with every motion, drawing small sounds from your throat as your body adjusted to the rhythm.
Daichiâs hands moved to your waist, holding you steady, thumbs stroking gentle circles along your skin.
âYouâre incredible,â he murmured, his voice shaky. âYouâre carrying our baby, and you still want me like this?â
âI donât want you,â you corrected breathlessly. âI need you.â
Your pace picked up, just slightly, each roll of your hips drawing gasps from both of you. The bed creaked under the rhythm, your swollen belly brushing against his chest every time you leaned in to kiss him, desperate and messy and aching.
He slid one hand up to cup your breast, thumbing over your nipple until you arched into him. Your moan was sharp, needy, your body clenching tight around him.
âFuck, sweetheart,â he groaned, fingers tightening on your hip. âYouâre soâgod, you feel so good.â
You chased the friction, riding him harder, faster, the pressure building between your legs in thick, pulsing waves. He met your thrusts now, his hips lifting off the bed, his face buried against your neck as he groaned into your skin.
When your orgasm hit, it slammed through you like a tidal wave, your body locking up around him as you gasped his name, trembling all over. He held you through it, rocking you gently, murmuring praise into your shoulder until your shudders turned to aftershocks.
Then he flipped you gently onto your back, careful with your belly, bracing himself above you as he drove into you with long, deep strokes, chasing his own edge.
You watched him through hooded eyes, heart racing, mouth parted in a soft, dazed smile. He looked wreckedâsweat-damp hair, flushed cheeks, jaw clenched with restraint as he fucked you slow and deep.
âIâm close,â he warned, voice fraying.Â
You cupped his face, nodding, heart still thudding from your own climax. âItâs okay. Come inside me. I want to feel you.â
With a broken sound, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name as he came, thick pulses filling you, his body trembling with release. You wrapped your arms around him as he collapsed slowly beside you, one arm still curled protectively across your middle, his breath hot against your shoulder.
Neither of you said anything for a long while. The room was warm and quiet, filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing. His hand smoothed over your belly, the rise and fall of it still unsteady. You were both flushed, glistening with sweat, chests heaving.
You turned your head toward him slightly, letting out a huff of a laugh. âWell⌠at least I feel better.â
Daichi huffed a laugh, his voice still rough. âHonestly? Same. Not sure if we jumpstarted labor or just obliterated our spines, though.â
You both lay there for a beat longer, catching your breath, limbs tangled, and the faint hum of calm settling over you.
Eventually, you shifted, groaning softly as you sat up on your elbows. âOkay,â you said, voice still breathy, âI should probably clean upââ
And then it happened.
A sudden, warm rush.
You blinked. Froze. Looked down.
ââŚOh my god,â you whispered. âDaichi.â
He sat up slowly, still half-lost in the afterglow. âHmm?â
You stared at the sheets beneath you, soaked through in a way that was definitely not from sex.
âMy water broke,â you said, blinking again. The shock in your voice cut through the air.
Daichiâs head snapped toward you.
âMy water broke,â you repeated, louder this time, voice rising in panic. âDaichi, my fucking water broke.â
The adrenaline that had left your limbs warm and loose now twisted into pure, electric panic.
He was moving before you could spiral further, sitting up and cupping your face with both hands.
âHey, heyâlook at me,â he said quickly, steadying your breathing with his voice. âItâs okay. Weâre okay.â
You nodded, dazed, still processing the rush of adrenaline and disbelief. Just moments ago, you had been begging for something to happenâfor anything to finally signal the end. And now that it had, now that it was really happening, your heart felt like it might explode with the sheer weight of it. You had wanted this so badly. You had cursed the waiting. And yet now, the second it arrived, you were caught somewhere between terror and awe.
âI wanted this,â you whispered, almost to yourself. âI wanted this to happen.â
Daichi brushed a strand of damp hair away from your face, smiling warmly. âYou did. And now itâs happening.â
You exhaled a shaky laugh, voice cracking. âIâm terrified.â
âI know,â he said, cupping your cheek with a hand as steady as his voice. âMe too. But weâre ready. Youâre ready.â
You nodded again, tears welling in your eyes, this time from joyânot just from fear or exhaustion. You were going to meet your baby. Tonight. Maybe in just a few hours.
Daichi pressed a kiss to your forehead before swinging his legs off the bed, already grabbing the overnight bag he had packed and repacked a dozen times.
âLetâs go meet our baby,â he said, voice warm and certain.
And this time, you smiled through the chaos. Because it was finally happeningâand you werenât doing it alone.
The rain comes down in steady sheets, tapping against the windows in a soothing rhythm. The streets outside glisten under the glow of streetlights, the occasional car passing by leaving behind a faint hum of noise. Itâs the perfect kind of eveningâthe kind meant for staying in, wrapped up in warmth, with nowhere to be and nothing urgent pressing on your mind.
Daichi is already settled on the couch, a soft throw blanket draped over his legs, the remote lazily balanced on his stomach. The TV is on, playing some crime drama, but his attention isnât fully on it. Instead, he glances over at you, a slow, easy smile tugging at his lips as you walk into the living room carrying two mugs of tea.
âYouâre the best,â he says as you hand him one, fingers brushing against yours in the exchange. His hands are warm, even against the ceramic.
âI know,â you reply, sinking onto the couch beside him. The heat from the tea seeps into your fingers as you take a slow sip, savoring the way the warmth spreads down your throat.
Daichi shifts, draping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you close, his body solid and reassuring against yours. You relax into him easily, letting your head rest against his shoulder. His thumb moves absentmindedly over your arm, slow and steady, and you exhale, feeling the tension of the day melt away.
On the screen, the detective is interrogating a suspect, voice low and serious. Daichi lets out a quiet scoff. âThatâs not how real interrogations work.â
You smile against his shoulder. âOh? Care to enlighten me, Officer Sawamura?â
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. âItâs just unrealistic. No one confesses that easily. And look at how heâs holding that reportâlike heâs never actually read one in his life.â
You chuckle, shifting so you can look up at him. âYou say this every time we watch crime shows.â
âBecause itâs true every time,â he argues, but his voice is light, teasing. âItâs a shame, really. They should just hire me as a consultant.â
âOh yeah, Iâm sure the Tokyo police force would love for you to moonlight as a TV consultant.â
He grins, taking a sip of his tea. âIâd be good at it.â
âYouâd be insufferable.â
âAnd yet, youâd still watch with me.â
âYouâre lucky I love you,â you say, laughing softly.
Daichi shakes his head, eyes narrowing at the screen as the detective makes a sweeping accusation that somehow miraculously leads to a confession. He scoffs, growing more animated now. âThatâs not even how questioning works. Thereâs a whole process! Thereâs procedure, and paperwork, andâwhy does this guy always get away with breaking protocol?â
You watch him, amused, as he continues to rant, his brows furrowed, hands gesturing as he lists every inaccuracy he can spot. His passion is endearingâadorable, even. And before he can go on any further, you reach up, cupping his jaw and pressing your lips to his mid-sentence.
Daichi stills for a moment, surprised, before he leans into the kiss, his earlier frustration forgotten. When you pull back, his brown eyes flicker with something softer, more intrigued, but you donât stop there. You press another kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, then lower, trailing down the side of his neck.
His breath hitches slightly, but he doesnât say anything. He just watches you, waiting.
You smile against his skin before slowly pulling away. Rising from the couch, you peel off your shirt, letting it drop to the floor as you make your way toward the bedroom. Just before disappearing through the doorway, you glance back at him.
âStill pissed at the show?â you ask, voice teasing.
Daichi exhales sharply, setting his mug down without even looking. âYouâre good.â
You giggle, knowing full well heâs already getting up to follow you.