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seiwas · 2 years ago

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₊˚⊹｡ 5:55 p.m. | oikawa tooru

wc: 709 summary: oikawa comes home missing a step in the ‘oikawa family routine’. contains: f!reader, papa!oikawa, baby girl oikawa, use of term ‘baby’, baby/child/kid, being parents, food descriptions, oikawa coming home to his lil family of three!, oikawa aged up to pro. a/n: thought of this lil blurb today and had to get it down !! i love papa oikawa my heart is bursting !!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

Oikawa comes home in the late afternoon.

He takes his shoes off by the genkan, and keeps a hop in his step despite a full day of volleyball; being a setter might be what he does best, but bursting into his house, shouting his usual 'baby, i'm home!' might just be what he loves the most.

And he's about to do it, as he steps into the hallway, gym bag on his shoulder and mouth open pre-yell, but he stops, because—

—there peering up at him is his little girl, greeting him with an index finger to her lips as if to say: 'shhh, papa, be quiet ...'.

When he looks further behind her, to the couch, he sees you, fast asleep with your right arm folded to cushion your head, and the other hanging over the edge.

"Mama sleep," she whispers, almost giggling, and he thinks the saying could never be more true; her laugh is infectious (or maybe just to her papa)—he'd never be immune.

Oikawa's eyes widen and he mouths an 'oh' as he lets down his gym bag quietly. He crouches low, coming eye-to-eye with his mini-me, the splitting image of him except for her smile—which is yours, undoubtedly.

He stretches his arms out, welcoming her in, and she rushes to him, giggling, her brown curls bouncing with each step closer to him.

This is the Oikawa family routine: when papa arrives home, he gets 3 kisses, one on each cheek and the last one on his nose. Then, he lifts his little girl up, supports her with one arm while he kisses you and pulls you close.

This time, the routine isn't quite as complete but he still has his little girl on his arm, perched by his hip kissing his cheek. Her little hands grab on to his face to place the final kiss to his nose and he scrunches it, joking with her, a remix of his favorite tune as she giggles some more.

"Did my baby sleep too?" he whispers, feet light as he makes his way to the kitchen, past you.

His little girl nods, "Small only." and he thinks it's so cute, that she's the smartest girl in the world for knowing what to say—even though he knows 'small' isn't exactly the right word to describe it.

He lets her down on the kitchen counter before opening the fridge to check what's available: chicken and a few vegetables. Then, he gathers what he needs and places them on the table.

"Should we make dinner for mama?" he asks, a glint in his eyes that can only mean one thing.

His little girl perks up, brown eyes widening and gleaming just the same, a perfect reflection of his as she nods and says, "Egg!"

He laughs, volume restrained, but he kisses her forehead and replies, "Okay, egg for mama it is."

By the end of it, there's an empty carton (or two) of eggs he's used (failed attempts to make Omurice until its decent, but still half as good as what you always do). His little girl sprinkles the last few bits of green onion before you round the corner just in time, eyes slightly puffed and his love right there, laced in your sleepy smile.

"Mama!" his (your) little girl shouts, making grabby hands at her papa to let her down.

You shake your head and laugh, smiling just like your little girl as you drag your feet nearer. The food is resting on the counter as Oikawa picks her up, keeping her perched on his hip as he walks towards you.

It’s a warm, fuzzy feeling sitting in his stomach that's been there for a while, even before you two became three, that's reminding him of how good his life is, coming home to you, sleep lines and all running across your cheek.

When you meet in the middle of your kitchen, you don't forget the Oikawa family routine, tiptoeing up to kiss him as he pulls you closer, your little girl squished in-between.

"I'm home, baby." he whispers, nose-to-nose, just as you let his lips go, and you laugh, his favorite tune, the original, before your baby girl made it her own.

"Welcome home."

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

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dailydelulu · 6 days ago

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"Code Coffee" Bucky x Reader

Pairing- Bucky x fem! reader

Fluff with angst

CW: Panic attack and mentions of former abuse

(Bucky attempting, and failing, to use GenZ slang)

Context: Reader is a former HYDRA experiment adjusting to life in the Avengers Tower, unused to this life without orders, until their newfound companion Bucky comes along to help them out

Part of my fic "In Your Eyes" but can work as a oneshot

Note: Set pre- FATWS which explains Sam and Bucky's behavior and is NOT the Sam x Bucky divorce after Thunderbolts

link to fic: In Your Eyes - Chapter 1 - daily_delulu - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

Code words, only a few small phrases, made up every fraction of your life for the past few years. Letters strung together made your every step, syllables your every action, and a sequence your every choice.

Funny how a few words could burrow into the grooves of your brain, sink claws into the mind, and scar your memory for the rest of your life. Honestly, it terrified you how any day someone could waltz right in, say a few words, and you would fall right back into the hands of HYDRA. Those words made the world feel blank, as if a darkness shrouded everything with one singular focal point on the target ahead. Everything and anyone would be blurred out with whatever orders are given, the only clear thing. Nobody knew what it was like to have your body out of your control, to feel so far away as if a ghost looking at their own corpse while being in synch with every single twitch of a muscle, to feel even the slightest stroke against a hair to know an opponent was behind, ready to strike. As if one were with everything all at once.

Early mornings were a habit by now, especially with your nightmares. Sleeping late had no point when only more nightmares would come. Besides, by getting up earlier, you could avoid running into anyone.

The bitter smell of coffee filled the air, waking you up further before stopping in your tracks. Who would be up at this hour? It was 5:30 in the morning, and you hadn’t run into anyone before.

Standing in front of the break room’s coffee pot was Bucky in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white tee shirt, hair messy from bed, gripping a cup of coffee in his metal hand.

Carefully, you walked up behind him, trying to act as normal as possible, hoping to avoid any awkward interactions. After your conversation the day before, you had no reason to distrust Bucky. He shared a similar past, holding no fearful looks or judging stares.

“Getting coffee, too?” you asked quietly, causing him to jump, nearly spilling coffee onto the counter. Great, you’d forgotten about assassin steps, being able to walk without a noise behind anyone. For once, it didn’t come in handy.

“Wow, you scared me,” Bucky muttered, turning to look at you, “I forgot how quiet we can get.”

Stepping up beside him, you set some coffee grounds inside. “Sorry about that.” Bucky reminded himself that none of this was your fault.

“No, don’t worry,” his gaze softened only a fraction, “I literally had to retrain myself to remember to walk more loudly here at the tower after I kept sneaking up on everyone.”

“Tony used to yell that I was trying to assassinate him every time I snuck up on him,” he added with a laugh, although it was a bitter one.

“So you get up early like this, too?” you asked, glancing in his direction.

“Most days, yeah,” he took a sip of coffee, “You get used to it, but you would know that, right?” Bucky wasn’t sure whether or not his early rising came from his time as a soldier in the military or from his decades spent at HYDRA. Memories from those days with the troops were somehow nostalgic and haunting all at once. Things hadn’t been easy, but at least they were easier than before he’d been kidnapped. When he had first returned, his sense of time had been so messed up he would find himself trying to talk to Steve at 3 in the morning, feeling as if he were in the afternoon, or sleeping until noon on the rare occasion he didn’t have nightmares.

All you could manage was a small nod, appreciating the small talk rather than the usual avoidance from the rest of the team. “I haven’t been sleeping much,” you said as steam rolled off the coffee as it poured into your waiting Styrofoam cup below. For such a rich guy, Tony was really cheap when it came to his coffee pot. You’d considered bringing up the nightmares to Bucky, knowing he likely had experienced similar, asking if they ever went away. No, talking about your nightmares with someone was too much openness for now.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” he shrugged, leaning his back against the counter, “I used to be in the military, so it could be that.”

“Really?” you asked in surprise. He had been a soldier before becoming an assassin?

“For how long?”

“A while,” is all he would say, giving you the idea the subject was still too hard to talk about, so you quickly dropped it.

“So you like coffee?” he asked, hoping to change the subject to something a little more normal. He shifted on his feet, usually rigid like a statue from years of training as an assassin. Small talk never came easily for him, always feeling so forced and out of place, pretty much like everything else in Bucky’s life. Giving you a sense of normalcy was the only thing he could offer for now, which, from his experience, was more than anyone could give. As much as he appreciated the same sense Steve and the rest of the team had given him after wiping clean his past, there was always that distance between them. None of them understood the past could never quite be wiped clean; those who did knew blood could be washed off, but the stains forever remained. Sin of the past lingered in the shadows, hovering above like a ghost. Seeing you up and about sent the warm feeling in his chest again, one he still couldn’t quite grasp. The air was stagnant, still, with a startling lack of tension as if the air was open with so many unspoken words and unanswered questions. Where would he even begin to ask?

He watched as your eyes darted to and through, from his metal arm, to the coffee pot, to the door as if expecting a threat to walk in any second. Analyzing and watching seemed to be the only way you could see the world.

“I don’t know,” you admitted truthfully. After so many years of being unable to make a single choice of your own, a life defined by codes, simple acts such as making coffee felt free. Could you even make choices without feeling the sting against your skin from every punishment received from disobeying?

Anger rose in Bucky, remembering how HYDRA took everything- your name, choices, and preferences. Pouring a cup of coffee became a struggle against orders. One thing separated the two of you. Bucky had Steve, an anchor to his past, while you had nothing, severed from any connections. Both your minds had been made blank, nothing except a vessel for HYDRA to fill up with lies, except he had someone there to fill in the blanks. Bucky felt out of place enough, so he could only imagine how much you did. A person without a name or a past, stuck with all these strange people. Lost.

He had asked Tony last night if anything had turned up in the search for family from your life before. Still no answers.

“Maybe I could find out,” you suggested, snapping him out of his thoughts, calling back to his words the day prior with a slight upturn of your lips- a not quite smile. He loosened the grip on his own, taking the last sip.

Reaching for the cup, a slight brush of your arm against his caused a tremble to run down your body, not unnoticed by Bucky.

“It’s okay, doll,” he assured, voice still a bit groggy from the morning, “Nobody’s going to hurt you, I promise.”

Bucky remembered the feeling, the feeling of how your skin would crawl at the slightest contact, anticipating pain. Even Steve’s pats on the back would nearly set him off, taking everything in him not to lash out. He was surprised you hadn’t tried to jab him in the gut for touching you, even by accident. Browns and whites blended together as you stirred cream into the mug, watching as a memory came back in bursts.

Mud against snow, your face pressed into the dirt as a faceless figure held you down.

“Think about running away again, птица, and I’ll cut your wings right off!”

A knife slid down your back, along the curve of your spine, aiming to clip the nonexistent wings after daring to try and fly.

Struggling, you’d tried to get up only to get a boot to the side, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Big mistake,” the figure had gripped your hair, making you look him in the face- a face nothing but a cruel outline made of shadow in the blurry memory, “Stay in your cage, little bird, and this time I’ll make sure you never run away from me again.”

Gripping the counter, you caught your breath, trying to focus as the air came in gulps as if you’d been kicked all over again. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Bucky’s hand hovered over your back, too afraid to touch. “Do I need to get Dr. Lee?”

“No,” you gasped, feeling the dizzying edge of falling into a black out, “I’m fine.”

Asking for the doctor was useless; Bucky knew exactly what was happening. Recognizing a memory was as easy to him as knowing his left from his right.

“Breath, just take deep breaths.” He urged softly, lowering himself a bit to meet you at eye level, “Deep ones.”

Breathe. Breath. Breath. All of this was real, not the past anymore. One, two, three…

“Good, that’s it,” he nodded, not looking away for a second, “Keep breathing.” You kept staring back at him, focusing solely on the man in front of you, noticing how his words were gentle. Not harsh, or angry, or judging…just true understanding.

“I’m alive,” you whispered, making Bucky’s heart nearly shatter again.

How many times had you felt as if you weren’t going to make it to the next day? For some odd reason, you began to calm in his presence, which he could never begin to understand. Bucky was the image of terror, stone still and broad, with a scar that still remained carved into the edge of his brow. Slowly, you reached out, pulling his hand to your chest as he felt the rise and fall of your chest. Bucky nearly backed up from shock, not expecting you to willingly touch him, let alone get him to touch you. If it were possible to be any more shocked, you had grabbed his metal arm. The one most people shied away from or found disgusting. Your fingers had it in a death grip, making him thankful you had subjected the metal to your unnatural strength instead of breaking his fingers. A steady thump of a heart rattled against the cool metal, as his own pace began to quicken for reasons he didn’t understand altogether. Hard and steady vibranium, soft is how the hand felt against your steadily slowing chest, more humane than anything in HYDRA, all while being the least human part of him.

“Tell me to breathe,” you gave him a pleading look, “I need to breathe.”

Worry knitted his brow as he stared back at the desperation written across your face. Did you think you needed permission to breathe? The thought almost made his own breath go away, to think HYDRA had put you through who knows what to make you think that way.

“No more orders,” he reassured, pressing his hand firmly against you. No more orders.

Suddenly, a gap was between the two of you, making the metal feel strangely colder than usual, leaving him confused at the change until the person he wanted to see the least.

Idiot always has the best timing.

“Those morning runs really help your time, not like it matters when you’re trying to keep up with Cap.” Sam sprinted into the room with a box of a dozen donuts, with a smile, completely oblivious to Bucky’s obviously annoyed glare. “I had to grab myself something sweet, so I grabbed some for everyone.”

A mask had slid into place, one worn so many times before, as a perfectly calm look settled on your face. Bucky found the change almost startling, but understood that hiding those scars running so deep was easier than exposing them to others.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, taking a bite of a sprinkled donut with a near-teasing smirk.

“No,” Bucky gave him a near warning look, daring him to suggest anything from the proximity the two of them shared moments ago while he tried to think of an excuse. Anything, think of anything, Buck. “We were…uh, spilling tea.”

“What?” you and Sam said simultaneously as you stared at him. “Do you even know what that means?” you asked now in too much shock from seeing a man from the literal 1940s saying “tea.” At least the panic attack was forgotten for now. After browsing some online records while you were recovering, you had discovered Bucky had been kept alive by HYDRA for decades, explaining how Steve and he were so close. You were aware he was technically from a completely different time than you, yet it still left you in disbelief at times. Steve was easy to see, since he stuck out with his inability to turn on a computer. Bucky had adapted, probably due to HYDRA preparing him for assassinations. Something that had stopped you from looking into his life any further, unlike the rest of the team. Those stories you wanted to hear from Bucky’s mouth himself.

“I do, it means sharing gossip or something,” Bucky crossed his arms defensively. “Shuri taught me a few words and phrases while I was being treated in Wakanda. When young people want to talk about stuff, they say tea, and when they think someone is charming, they have rizz.”

“ I don’t think rizz and charming should be used in the same sentence,” you said as Sam burst into a fit of laughter.

“No way!” Sam nudged Bucky, causing him to shove him back lightly, “Explains why you can text so well for someone older than my grandpa, although your use of emojis could use some work.”

“Touch me again, and I’ll shove that donut somewhere you’ll never find it,” Bucky huffed, giving Sam another steely glare. You looked between the two as Sam left, giving Bucky a mock salute before going with another donut in hand. Why did these two get along so horribly?

“Sam wants you to like him, you know,” you said.

“What?” Bucky looked at you as if you were insane. “Sam hates me, has since day one. He’d probably jump off a building without his wings before he admits he even tolerates me.”

“Don’t you see how he tries to get your attention? Or yesterday when he tried sharing those playlists with you?”

“So?” Bucky sounded unconvinced. “He’s just tired of me playing nothing but 40s music. Where’d you get this idea anyway?” Connecting with others wasn’t his strong suit, so attempting anything with a guy like Sam seemed impossible. The whole idea was a lost cause.

“I’m an assassin.” Something akin to a smirk tugged at your lips. “Observant, remember?” He shook his head, pouring another cup,

“How could I forget? Always watching, aren’t you?”

Glancing over at his coffee, you teased, hoping to lighten the mood from the earlier panic, “Black? No sugar at all?”

“No, I just prefer it this way,” he said, setting the cup aside. “Always have, always will.”

“I knew it,” you pointed at his arm, “You really are a robot, no human could like plain coffee.”

“I am not a robot, technically the Wakandans called me a cyborg in a sense,” Bucky took another sip. “Plenty of people drink black coffee.”

“No, they don’t,” you argued before taking a long sip of your own and choking on it. The coffee was bitter and rancid, with a strange, lingering aftertaste that reminded you of dirty water.

“This is awful!” you sputtered, “Why do people drink this?” So this is what people stayed in line for so long at Starbucks?

“Have you never drunk coffee before?” Bucky asked, suppressing a laugh at the way your nose scrunched up at the taste.

Conversation was difficult for him, and small talk was even worse. After so many years stuck in HYDRA, unable to speak unless ordered, social skills weren’t exactly top priority. Talking to you came easily in a way he couldn’t understand, maybe because you both felt just out of place. No matter the explanation, having someone to talk to, someone who understood, was a nice change of pace.

“Guess not,” you said, pouring the unholy caffeinated mix into the sink, “I just assumed I had before I was, well, taken.”

A darkness settled over the conversation again at the stark reminder, making the room heavy compared to the lightness of banter only moments before.

“I should go,” you turned to the door before he spoke up, “If you ever want coffee again, let me know.”

Although you knew the “coffee” he was referring to wasn’t actual coffee, instead, what he had done for you, pulling you out of a waking nightmare.

“I will,” you agreed before turning out the door, feeling as if a small weight had been lifted, falling away.

“By the way, sugar helps with the taste,” he called down the hall as you went back towards your quarters. “I’ll keep that in mind!”

Coffee. A new code word. One that felt a lot like a new beginning.

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