Morning Duties
- Oikawa Tooru| Dad!Oikawa| Slice of life
Midnight? Maybe. Three AM? Definitely.
You stumble in, dizzy and exhausted… and Oikawa is already there, patient, gentle, ready to take care of you.
Fast forward to early morning: chaos, tiny feet, and a household that never sleeps.
Can one tired parent survive the madness with coffee and love?
✦ Mini Fic |~900 words
✦ Crossposted on AO3
⚠️ Warnings / Content Notes: Mild alcohol consumption / hangover
By the time you finally open the apartment door, it’s long past midnight.
At least, you think it is. Midnight was the last time you remember checking the time— somewhere between one drink too many and someone insisting you stay just a little longer. One glance at your phone—far too bright, far too close— confirms it’s already three in the morning.
You exhale slowly.
The door clicks shut behind you. The quiet seems unreal. Your ears ring. The humming of the refrigerator seems unrealistically loud. Bag down.
You crouch to unlace your shoes.
Halfway down, the room tilts.
Your stomach lurches, your vision swims, and you barely have the time to brace yourself before you lose your balance and land on all fours, palms splayed against the cool floor.
“…Okay.“
You close your eyes.
Count your breaths.
Wait.
The spinning eases, but the nausea clings, stubborn and heavy. When you open your eyes again, you’re staring at the back of your hands, trying to calculate the safest way to stand up without redecorating the hallway.
“…Everything okay?“
You jolt at the sound of your husband’s voice. A second later, the hallway light flicks on— and pain blooms sharp and sudden behind your eyes.
“Ugh—sorry.“
Your forehead drops to the floor.
“Did I wake you?“
Your voice comes out rough, words dragging behind your thoughts. Footsteps approach, soft and familiar. Oikawa drops down beside you without hesitation, one hand immediately threading into your hair, fingers gentle against your scalp.
“No. I was up anyway.“
His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Just finished feeding the monster.“
There’s a tired smile in his voice. He helps you sit up, steadying you. Still half bent over, he slips your shoes off, fingers practiced unhurried.
The rest comes in fragments.
A full glass of water pressed into your hands. You had to drink it all. No arguing allowed.
You hissing when your skin catches in the zipper as he helps you out of your dress. Him murmuring apologies into your shoulder.
Your weak protests while he wipes makeup from your face, the cloth warm, patient, like he has all the time in the world.
You staring at your toothbrush for far too long.
You don’t remember lying down.
You’re gone before your head ever hits the pillow.
Just in case, Oikawa places a bucket beside the bed. He tucks the blanket around you, pauses long enough to make sure your breathing has evened out, the finally allows himself to relax as he slips in beside you.
—
Oikawa´s morning starts at five thirty.
His son begins to cry—not because he’s hungry, or needs a diaper change. No. He just decided that he needs an audience while he mourns his own existence.
“…Yeah.“
Oikawa rolls out of bed with a heavy sigh.
“I feel that.“
He shuffles into the nursery and scoops his son up with a practiced motion. The crying dissolves into a small, offended whimper the moment the baby recognizes him.
Oikawa starts rubbing slow circles on his back.
“Why are we awake so early, buddy?“
The baby blinks, still pouting.
Oikawa sighs.
Couch it is.
—
Around six thirty, he hears the soft patter of bare feet.
His son is snoring lightly against his chest, bottle empty and discarded somewhere nearby. Oikawa himself has drifted off between one half-remembered match replay and the next. He blinks awake just as a small figure appears in the doorway.
Wild curls.
A stuffed doll dragging along the floor behind her.
“Papa.“
Her voice is thick from sleep.
“I…wake up.“
Oikawa sits up carefully and looks her over.
“…Where are your pants?“
She blinks. Looks down at herself. Sleep shirt. Pull-up.
“Oh.“
She rubs her face harshly.
“Gone.“
She shrugs, entirely unbothered, and toddles closer—then freezes when she sees her brother.
“Mama…Mama not with baby?“
Oikawa nods, pulling her close with his free arm.
“Mama is still sleeping. She feels yucky.“
His daughter considers this with great seriousness. Then she nods.
Silence settles.
“No pee.“
Oikawa smiles, pulls her closer to kiss her hair.
“That’s very good. I‘m proud of you.“
“…But now pee. Papa. Come. Hurry. Toilet.“
Yeah. Sure.
—
An hour later, cartoons hum softly in the background. His daughter hops across the living room, full of boundless energy. Oikawa scrolls through his phone with one hand while his son clings to his bottle like he’s narrowly escaped starvation. Again.
The jam sandwich has two tiny bites taken out of it. The cocoa remains almost untouched.
“Papa. Hold this.“
His daughters stuffed doll is deposited into his lap with great authority. His son pulls away from the bottle, brows knitting as he stares at it with all the intensity he can muster.
She doesn’t even notice him.
“Papa watch baby.“
She declares, hands on her hips.
“I clean.“
Oikawa blinks. His son resumes drinking, though his eyes never leave his sister.
“…Okay. The Papa is on baby-watching duty today.“
He lifts the doll carefully, to position her upright.
„Papa!“
His daughter snaps, stomping her tiny foot—still barefoot, because slippers are optional— while pointing a finger at him.
“Careful! Baby is sleeping!“
She disappears into her room and returns moments later wielding her toy vacuum cleaner. Immediately, she gets to work, carefully covering every inch of the rug while humming to herself.
Oikawa watches her for a moment.
“Hey. Miss Clean. Your vacuum cleaner is not plugged in.“
She stops dead.
Looks down.
Then up at him.
Her face fills with pure, scandalized disbelief— like he’s just embarrassed her in public.
“Papa.“
Her voice is deep, like she’s about to say something really important.
“Is just play.“
“Oh…“
She returns to her task, shaking her head, like she can’t believe she had to explain that to him.
“…Right.“
