I can so see Penelope having a nightmare, and steve like has his arms open for a hug to comfort her. But she’s sobbing and completely avoids him and runs to reader for comfort:( it’s a big mom moment for sure and further instills in Steve’s subconscious that reader is the perfect mom for Pen
okay so i just had to write this 🥺 first tsof blurb! dad!steve x reader
“You’re a bad influence on me.”
You look up at Steve from the floor. Cinderella is curled up against your thigh, her chin propped on the flat of your knee. She’s picky with affection. It’s a lofty compliment to be used as her pillow. “Oh, you’ll survive. It’s just brownies.”
“Yeah, a whole pan of ‘em.”
“You aren’t gonna share?”
His shoulders shake as he huffs. “With you? Why should I? You broke my favorite pair of glasses.” He pulls the fridge open, the condiments clinking around in the door.
“I thought they were your backup pair?”
“Yeah, my favorite backup pair,” he teases.
“I said I was sorry.”
He turns around with the half-gallon of milk. His lips press into one, lashes downturned with a veneer of poorly plastered heartbreak. “I just don’t know if I can forgive you for this. I’ll probably never see again.”
Your laughter fizzles out with the slam of a door upstairs. You savor the slip of his smile, aching to stay in this bubble. But thump, thump, thump down the stairs reminds you that reality is about to barge in.
Steve sets the milk on the counter as Penelope rounds into the kitchen with a big-bellied gasp. He kneels on the tile, ready to receive an armful of his favorite girl. But to both of your surprise, she blows right past his open arms.
Cinderella narrowly escapes being crushed by the sudden weight of Penelope in your lap. Her hands link behind your neck, her cheek smushing against yours.
“Hey, hey, it's okay,” you stress. Your gaze flicks over to Steve. His face has gone all mushy, and he’s giving you two big thumbs up.
“What happened?” you ask her softly. “Bad dream?”
“Ye–ah,” she hiccups.
“Yeah?” You run your fingers through her sweaty curls. “Scary?”
“Yeah. Saw-berries.”
“Strawberries?”
“Yeah. Mean saw-berries.”
“Oh no,” you chuckle, flattening the back of her nightgown under your hand. It’s not funny, not with her poor face, but you're so nervous. You’re trying to emulate every little thing Steve would do in your shoes. “‘M sorry that scared you, babe.”
Penelope wipes her nose on your sleeve, determined to get even closer to you with her foot stamping into your thigh, and her fingers hot under your shirt. She picks her head up as Steve crouches beside you.
He brushes his knuckles down her cheek, thumb catching the last of her tears. She must recall the unique safety found only in the hugs from Dad. A fresh whine works its way up as she grabs for him.
Steve takes her easily, back sliding down the cabinets as he sits, knee bumping yours as he settles. Penelope’s tall, all arms and legs, with the coordination of a puppet. But on Steve’s chest, she shrinks into a younger, much smaller version of herself. Nothing beats a Steve hug.
“What do we have to do to make this right, huh?” he asks. “Should we throw out the rest of the strawberries?”
She shakes her head.
“Glass of milk? No? Oh, I know. Guess what Y/N brought? She brought brownies. Want one?”
Penelope finds you in the corner of her eye. “Yeah,” she sniffs.
Steve is gearing up to stand until you give his arm a nice squeeze. “I’ll get ‘em.”
He sends you a melted half-smile, but his raging fondness for you shines just the same. He’s been running this parenting gig solo for as long as Penelope’s been around. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to sharing that responsibility. He watches you spring around the kitchen, snapping tupperware lids and pulling plates from the dishwasher, and his heart feels twice as full.
You return with a tall glass of milk and a dinner plate, enough brownies on it for two or three each. Steve splits one in half with his thumb and offers it to Penelope.
He clears the one you give him— the best in the batch— in one bite. You barely understand as he says, “Mmm. I can taste the sorry tears in these.”
Penelope pauses mid-chew, big eyes aimed at you.
“No,” you promise her, picking a big chunk off her dress and throwing it onto the plate, “they’re made with love. With lots of kisses. Is it good?”
She nods, struggling to lick a stubborn bit of chocolate off her lip.
“Very good,” Steve smacks, hand across his mouth. He takes a few big sips of the milk and offers it to you. “Here. I didn’t backwash.”
You set the glass down with a snort, “I didn’t think you did until you said that.”
“I didn’t. I just licked it, isn’t that what you say?” he asks Penelope, arm tightening around her waist.
She giggles. She does say that. It’s the perfect tactic for when you don’t want to share something.
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It’s like an addiction I can’t draw the one without adding the other in someway
I know sparky doesn’t look like that but I was too lazy to actually get a reference for a dog. I never use references except when I really don’t know what to do :P
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