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
To trade, please give your favorite scene out of context
Thank you so much for the bracelet and the ask!! ❤️
I will pop the title drop scene from The Softness of Flames under a cut - without context as requested!
@elucienweekofficial
He twisted his fingers over her palm, and a bright flame appeared in her hand. She gasped as she realized it was completely without heat. The flame licked and tickled at her skin, and she ran her other hand over it to find it was smooth. Delicate.
“How does it feel?”
“It feels… well, soft…”
“Only Fae with Autumn Court powers know this, because for most people fire burns… but – flames are soft.”
She stroked the heatless fire again, feeling the flames slip through her fingers like silk.
“Without the scorching heat, they are mostly just vapor, mixed with a little magic," he said. "But… flames provide the light and heat that sustain life. There are flames in the sun, in every star in the sky. A single flame on the smallest candle can chase the darkness from a room. And under the right conditions, flames spread so rapidly they can engulf the world around them. They can burn and destroy things that others think strong – forests, grand structures, even High Lords. Nobody can deny that fire is powerful.”
He put his hand underneath hers, and blew at her palm gently. Her skin shivered at the sensation. The flame went out.
“Softness and power can go hand in hand, Elain. Only a real fool would believe that being soft makes you weak.”
In that moment, with Lucien facing her like that – his eyes sparkling with kindness, holding her hand in his – she felt completely seen. Others might think she was feeble, but… perhaps what she actually had was the softness of flames.
In the Night Court, it sometimes seemed that to be powerful, you had to be battle-ready and tough. The Illyrians, and now her sisters, prized physical strength, brute force, skill with weapons, as though those were the only things that could make you strong.
But… her power didn’t lie there. Her power had always been in her optimism. Her open-mindedness and resilience. Her ability to see the good in others. Her power lay in her heart.
And with her mate sat opposite her, handsome features glowing by the light of the fire, she felt more determined than ever to get it back.
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