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luveline · 10 months

Note

Could I request something from the kisses before dinner universe (if you’re taking requests that is!) just es to see the girls trying to do something nice for their parents. Or reader has the girls help her do something nice for Steve since he does so much for them (or vice versa bc mom does so much for them too)

thank you for your request! hope this is okay!! dad!steve x mom!reader, 4.5k

Avery pulls her hat over her ears and grits her teeth, eyes scrunching closed. All the new baby does is cry, cry, and cry.

"She's loud," Bethie says.

"So loud," Avery say.

Seconds after, Dove starts to cry, like a bomb being dropped, or a siren call. She wails and wails. The sounds are endless. Avery's hat won't block them out. She throws it across the room, agitated.

"Stevie," Avery hears you say softly, super tired, "sorry, honey, you don't know where Dove's buppy is?"

"No idea."

Avery looks toward her socked feet at the end of the bed, where Dove's baby bottle lays dirty against the rumpled blankets. She grabs it quickly and slides out of bed, careful not to bash into Bethie where they'd been lying down together. Avery just got a brand new TV in her bedroom for her birthday, which means they can be 'lazy excuses for girls' if her dad is to be believed. Avery knows lazy is a bad word, but Steve says it like it's funny. She always laughs.

"Mom," Avery says, running into Dove's room.

"What, baby?" you ask absentmindedly, a crying Dove on your hip, hands yanking aside her blankets in search.

"I have her buppy."

You turn, smiling, grateful and bubbly as you accept the bottle and ruffle her hair. "My life saver! Thank you. Did your movie finish? I'll come and change the tape."

"Not yet."

"Okay. Tell me when it does, angel, I’ll come and do it straight away." You lean down. "Don't bother daddy, okay? Just come and ask me if you need something."

"Can I have some juice?" she asks.

"Yes, you can have some juice. Can you be patient? I have to make Dove a bottle. Five minutes?" you ask.

Avery nods without a frown. She really wants juice, but she wants Dove to stop crying more. You give Avery's cheek a little squeeze and leave for downstairs, taking the steps very, very slowly. "It's okay, Dovey," you mumble. "It's okay. I know, you're tired, I'm tired too."

Avery doesn't want to see the baby —she loves the baby, you and Steve love the baby, everyone loves the baby— 'cos she's ridiculously loud, and Avery needs her ears to work or she'll never be a famous violinist, and then what will she do with her life? She only just started music classes. But Avery misses her dad desperately, having seen him for a ten minute period when he picked her up from school and not a second longer.

She creeps into the big bedroom. It's a disaster. Steve is sitting in bed with the baby in his arms, rocking her back and forth, hand patting her butt and lower spine steadily. He's shushing with every pat, eyes closed. He looks like he has an unhappy tummy.

"Daddy?" she whispers.

His hand flies to his mouth, finger over his lips in the universal sign for Please, be quiet.

"Are you okay?" she whispers.

He nods vehemently, finger still over his lip. Avery remembers your recent ask too late —Don't bother daddy. Her eyes flare wide and she tiptoes back to her room, flopping onto the sheets next to Bethie with a defeated sigh.

"It's hopeless," she dramatises.

"It's not hopeless, it's just bedtime," Bethie says, much more talkative when it's her and Avery alone. Her pronunciation isn't the best, she's nearly two years younger than Avery, but it's more than passable. "Don't worry, Ave."

Avery drags her face up from the sheets and pouts at her younger sister. "Mom and dad are both busy and we'll never get ants on a log."

Bethie tips her head to one side. "Baby's sleeping now."

"But dad wouldn't speak to me!"

"Heather's sensi‐stive."

Heather isn't the baby's name, officially, but it's the one Bethie likes most. Avery liked Tiffany, but no one else liked Tiffany, which was dumb. Tiffany is the best name ever. Way better than Heather.

"Tiffany," she says pointedly, "isn't sensitive, she's just new." Or, that's what Steve says. "We didn't vacuum enough when she came home so now she's not used to big sounds."

"I'm not used to big sounds," Bethie sighs, curling in on herself. Avery does as she's seen Steve do when Bethie sulks, draping herself over Bethie and hugging her gently. She kisses Bethie's hair. Bethie grumbles, "Avery."

"What?" Avery asks, rolling off of her.

Bethie doesn't answer. Avery sits there thinking, and after a while it's clear you're too busy to bring the juice upstairs.

"Maybe we should try helping."

Bethie lifts her head off of the pillow. She looks much more like you than the rest of her sisters, same hair, same eyes, same pretty smile. Avery looks the spitting image of her dad in comparison, pretty and in a different way. "What can we do?" Bethie asks. "We're only little."

"No, dad says we're only little, but mommy says I'm a big girl, like, all of the time. And so does Grandpa."

"Grandpa says we're too loud."

"Dad says grandpa's… uhm, senior. It means crazy," Avery says.

"So we should be little?" Bethie asks.

"No!" Avery says, annoyed.

She jumps off of the bed and grabs Bethie's hands, encouraging her sister onto her feet. Together, they cross the landing to peer into the master bedroom, where Steve is still swaying the baby in his arms, his rumpled t-shirt stained with spit up and milk. They're practised at sneaking and Steve is too distracted to see them, whispering soft things into the top of the baby's head.

Avery is a bit jealous, but she has a plan.

"I don't think we should do that," Bethie says.

Avery's dragged her into the bathroom. It's hard to get inside because of the child lock, but luckily Avery is more than adept. Her dad says she can't ever, never show Bethie or Dove how to do them, the same way she can't show Dove how to unlock the gates at the top and bottom of the stairs yet. She made Bethie close her eyes on the way in.

"Don't worry, Beth, I've seen daddy do it millions of times already," Avery says confidently.

They've opened the washing machine and shoved all of Steve's dirty clothes inside. He won't have to do them before bed tonight, and that means more time for snuggles. Avery climbed up onto the side of the machine using a precariously stacked contraption of potties and an upside down laundry basket, and now she's eyeballing how much detergent needs to go in.

"This is heavy," Bethie complains, her arms shaking from the weight of the Tide liquid.

Avery really wasn't supposed to show her how to open that cabinet, but she felt it necessary. Bethie won't eat the detergent, anyways, Bethie barely likes eating normal food. Avery pulls the detergent up, having finally decided that they need more. She lets a thick splash of green drizzle down onto the clothes, nodding approvingly, and screws the lid back on.

She drops the detergent down and a rogue towel muffles the thump, sliding off of the machine and closing the lid.

You appear looking urgent in the doorway.

"Hey, what have I said about the bathroom? You can't use this one when no one is with you, okay? Do you know what I'm saying?"

"Sorry, mommy," Bethie says tearfully.

You soften. "It's for you to be safe, baby." Your softness doesn't quite extend to Avery, though it doesn't fully disappear either. She's most in trouble. "Ave, you know the rules. You can come in here, but you're not supposed to bring the girls with you. I'm not happy with you."

"Mom, I'm sorry," Avery says, not taking it quite as hard as Beth, "but Bethie needed to pee super badly, we couldn't make it downstairs."

You buy her lie. "Okay. Okay, but not again. Promise? I just don't want you girls getting into something you shouldn't."

"Promise," Avery says.

You smile down at them both before looking over their heads. "Daddy must've forgot to turn on the machine. Press start for me, Ave. Big green button."

Avery clicks the big green button on the washing machine smugly. They already helped.

You lead them out of the bathroom and back into Avery's room, where cups of juice and an exorbitant amount of snacks wait on the nightstand. They sit on the floor while you make Avery's bed, a plate of ants on logs between their knees.

"Dove's sleeping downstairs on the beanbag," you say. The baby monitor in your pyjama pocket doesn't make a peep. "So if you do need to pee, please be quiet. And up here, too, I think daddy finally got the baby to sleep as well."

"Is it bedtime?" Bethie asks.

You fold back the corner of Avery's comforter. With a sigh, you sit at the top of her freshly made bed and hold out your arms. "No, it's snuggle time. Come and keep me company."

Bethie rockets into your arms. Avery doesn't rush, focused on eating as many logs as she can, washing it down with a huge swig of strawberry and raspberry juice. You hoist Bethie over one thigh and hold her to your stomach, groaning, "Oh, there she is, there's my girl. Daddy said you didn't eat any of your dinner when you got home, do you wanna tell me why? I won't tell anyone else."

"I just wasn't hungry."

"Really? Did you have a big lunch?"

"No…" Bethie rubs her face against your neck. "Daddy wasn't happy because I didn't eat any lunch."

"Oh, sweetheart," you say, "daddy worries about you. You don't have an appetite."

"A what?"

"You don't get hungry enough," you explain.

"That's not like me, I eat lots and lots," Avery says proudly, smiling at you through Bethie's hair in your face.

"You do! You eat lots and it makes you smart and strong. That's why I want you to eat lots, too," you say, moving your focus to Bethie again, finger poking her chest gently, "You're just as strong and smart as your sister, but you need to keep eating. Maybe I can make you something else, if you don't want the ants on logs, how does that sound? I can make you anything you want, Beth."

"Can I have something too?" Avery asks, licking peanut butter off of her finger.

"Of course you can. Maybe something not too big for you, though. I don't want you to feel sick."

Avery considers that a win. You keep prodding at Bethie, wondering why she isn't hungry. You offer her soups and sandwiches and when that doesn't work you suggest ice cream and candied orange slices. Avery can't understand why her sister would say no to all of these things, but she doesn't have time to ask. Steve wanders into the room looking like he's been trampled by an elephant, hair sticking up and eyes sallow. There's a new baby monitor in his hand.

"Hey," he says, yawning wide. His teeth snap together and he smacks his lips. "Holy macaroni, she's a toughie. Every time I tried to put her down she'd wake up again."

Avery has been waiting for this moment all day. She abandons her ants, wiping sticky fingers in her nightie as she crowds Steve's legs. She wants to be picked up, but she's a little too long and Steve's too tired. He bends down to put his arms under her armpits and hug her to his chest, grabbing her up half-hearted and depositing her on the end of her bed. He sits down next to her, and he pats his lap.

She squeals happily and complies.

"Hello," he says fondly.

"What have you even been doing all day?" she asks him.

He sighs. "I really don't know, Ave. I don't. What have you been doing? Besides half a jar of peanut butter."

She giggles as he wipes the peanut butter off of her cheeks and the corners of her mouth with the bottom of his t-shirt. "I've been with Beth."

"We watched FernGully," Bethie supplies helpfully.

Steve melts as you have, the two of you slouched against the walls bordering Avery's bed. You have matching dark circles. Avery thumbs at Steve's uselessly, wondering if he needs a good wash or a good sleep. He smells nice, she decides, if a bit milky, pressing her face into his neck as her arms lie flat to his shoulders.

"Is your monitor working now?" you ask him.

"It's really loud," he assures you.

"Okay. I'm worried I'm gonna fall asleep while Dove's downstairs on the beanbag."

"Did you lock the baby gate?"

"Yeah."

"Then don't worry. All our furniture is anchored properly. The worst she can do is murder the pot pourri again."

"I don't want to fall asleep yet, I missed my girls so much," you say, kissing Bethie's cheek. "So, so much. Maybe I can call in sick tomorrow."

"Honey."

"It won't hurt anyone," you say.

"Later," Steve says, talking to you but smiling at Avery, chasing her gaze with his. "We'll talk about it later."

"So mean to me," you joke in a murmur, sliding flat onto your back, Bethie against your chest.

Avery can hear you whispering to Bethie, tiny snapshots of a conversation. Are you sure there's nothing wrong, bubby? and If dinner was yucky, it doesn't matter, you can tell me.

Steve starts to brush Avery's hair out of her face, big fingers exceedingly gentle as he tucks silken strands behind her ears. She had it cut to her chin like Aunt Robin a few weeks ago, and the shorn locks fall to her shoulders now. Steve brushes through them slowly, methodically, tucking it all back with a familiar calmness in his warm brown eyes.

Avery turns enough to watch TV, content to be held by the very best dad in the world, her hand screwed in the neckline of his shirt so he can't run away.

Having finished her hair, Steve moves on to Avery's face. He draws lines against her small eyebrows, flattening sticky up hair with care. He frets at the tiny mole taking form on her ear, the one he made her go see the doctor for. Just a beauty mark, the doctor said.

"Well, she's beautiful everywhere," Steve had said. "How was I supposed to know the difference?"

"Dad," she whispers.

"What?" Steve whisper back.

"Am I pretty?"

Steve pushes her hair out of her face and frames it in two hands. "You're the prettiest girl in the world, Ave."

She blushes and his face does this thing where he looks like he's going to cry, but Steve doesn't cry around them much. He cried when the baby came home, and again the next day with the baby in his arms. Avery was freaked out the first time, but Aunt Robin said he always does it. He cried way worse than that when you came home, Avey girl. He was like a waterfall, they had to put you in a new babygrow. Avery tried to picture it, her dad crying with a tiny baby Avery in his arms, there are enough pictures of them together, but Steve always looks happy.

"You think that?" she asks.

"I more than think it," he says. "Isn't my girl pretty?"

You and Bethie crane your heads. "She's gorgeous," you say with a smile. Bethie nods her agreement.

"Oh," Avery says. She'd wanted them to say that, it was why she asked, but now all the attention is on her she's not sure how to handle it.

Steve chuckles and drags her forward. "You're soooo pretty," he says into her hair, sandwiching her in the tightest hug ever. "You're beautiful. B-E-A-U-tiful."

His niceness makes her really happy to have been nice back; he's being so gentle that Avery decides she's going to tell him about the laundry they put on for him, but he rubs her back some more and she starts to forget. It's not so far from bedtime…

She falls asleep against his chest.

"Can you hear that?" you ask.

Steve looks up from Avery's dozing face to you. "What?"

You pull the baby monitor from your pocket and hold it to your ear. "I thought it was making a weird noise."

Steve listens intently. Now that you mention it, he can hear something. "D'you put the laundry in?"

"You forgot to put it on," you say.

"I was getting around to it. You wanted whites, right, for work?"

"You didn't turn it on."

"Honey, I haven't touched the machine today, not even to fill the drum. What is that noise?" he asks.

You ease Bethie off of your lap and stand with a groan. "It's gonna break," you say decisively, "that sounds like a death rattle. Which is exactly what we need right now, more bills."

Steve lays Avery down. She can't have been sleeping for ten minutes but she's a heavy sleeper and doesn't rouse, only curls inward with her hand on her chin. Bethie holds out her hand and Steve takes it, the two of them joining you in the doorway of Avery's bedroom.

"It won't break, don't worry," Steve placates.

"What are we gonna do if it breaks?" you mumble, rubbing your tired face.

"We'll have to wear dirty clothes," Steve says.

"That's not funny."

Steve frowns. "It so is, you're just tired. And anyway, the washing machine isn't gonna break–" His eyebrows rise.

"Steve–"

"Holy fuck," Steve says, squeezing Bethie's hand. "Well, that's bad."

A line of foamy bubbles are pushing out from under the bathroom door and darkening the carpeting. You rush to open the bathroom door, unleashing a wave of suds that cover your toes. "What the fuck," you say, "what the fuck? Steve, what the fuck."

Bethie puts her hands over her ears before Steve can do it for her.

He joins you in the bubbly bathroom, the two of you horrified and baffled at once. "What the fuck," you say again, this time sounding tearful. You click the off button on the washing machine, and while the sloshing, thick sound it was making ceases, bubbles continue to flood out. Together, you and Steve flattens your towels on top of the floor to smother the soap. You're most panicked about the carpet because it'll get damp and the wood underneath it might rot, and Steve's most concerned about the washing machine, because despite his reassurances, he's worried it really might be broken.

Bethie, quiet, sweet Bethie, stands on a wet towel, her socks soaked, and bursts into guilty tears. "I'm sorry," she cries.

"Why are you sorry?" Steve asks.

You may be confused and irritated, but nothing ever stops you from scooping up your baby and comforting her within and inch of her life. "Beth," you say softly, "don't panic."

She's crying pretty hard compared to her usual tears. Steve hasn't seen her this wound up since that washable pen burst in her mouth over a year ago, maybe even two.

"Me and Ave tried to do the laundry," she admits, shaking, each word said through a staggering sob. "We wanted daddy to have less to do so we could have bedtime cu-cu-cuddles."

"Oh, no," you say gently.

Bethie sobs. You rub her little back. Steve doesn't like seeing Bethie cry, but he can't help smiling in the moment. It's sweet, and it's a tad silly, but the damage done wasn't nearly as bad as Bethie seems to think it is. You and Steve are worriers, is all.

"It's okay," you say, laughing yourself as Bethie wraps her arms around your neck and nearly strangles you in an attempt to soak in your love. "Beth, nobody's mad at you, okay? It was just an accident, it didn't hurt anyone. That's really nice, trying to do things for daddy, but the washing machine is for grown ups, baby. It's hard."

"Mommy?" Dove calls from the baby monitor.

You let out a tired groan. "No," you whine.

"Want me to get her?" Steve asks.

You look like you really want to say yes. "No, that's okay. It's fine." You kiss Bethie's cheek. "Daddy has to take over, my love. I'm not mad, okay? Don't feel sad."

Bethie nods sadly. You hand her over, hovering, and press a loving kiss to her cheek as Dove begins to cry.

Steve watches you take your socks off as you leave, throwing the wet bundle of them back haphazardly into the bathroom. Bethie smushes her face to Steve's chest and cries. He shifts her weight in his arms. They're burning from exertion, but he doesn't complain.

"What did you and Avery do?" he asks. "You're not supposed to come in here without me or mom, you know that."

"We just put the laundry in the washing machine," she says.

"How did you even lift the lid?" Steve asks.

"Avery climbed up," she says, words stringing together into one amorphous blob of sound.

"Beth, why are you crying?" he asks, giving her back a quick pat.

"I didn't mean to make the bathroom explode," she says tearily.

"Ugh," Steve says. He puts the toilet seat down and sits, Bethie in his lap, his chin propped on her forehead. "Who cares? I don't even like this bathroom."

"You're not mad?" she whispers.

"Do I look mad?"

Bethie leans backward to take in Steve's face. He smiles at her, brown eyes light in the glaring bathroom fluorescent, his usually even complexion pale. Bethie raises a hand to feel his dark shadow, cringing at the scratch of stubble against her fingers.

"You don't like my beard, do you?" he asks.

"What beard?"

"Oh, ouch. I'll shave tonight, bub, don't worry. I know you don't like it. Mommy doesn't like it either, she says it makes kisses too annoying."

Bethie giggles quietly. "Not too annoying," she says.

"No?" Steve asks. He leans down to kiss her cheek and her nose and her eyebrows. "How were they? Scratchy?"

"Really scratchy."

"Annoying?"

"No," she says happily. Steve preens.

Bethie actually helps him tidy up the huge mess of the bathroom. Steve opens the washing machine and grabs all the soapy clothes from the drum, dumping them among the sodden towels in the bath tub. He and Beth wash as much soap out of them as they can, until she's practically falling asleep standing up in soaked pyjamas.

He gets her some new ones, helps her change, and tucks her into bed. She's asleep before he's said goodnight.

Exhausted, Steve has no choice but to persevere. He squeezes the excess water out of the newly unsoaped clothes and puts them and the towels in the washing machine, too tired to bother with separating anything properly. He doesn't add detergent.

When that's going, he mops and dries the bathroom floor so everyone's feet can stop making sticky sounds when they walk. He puts the last dry towel on the wet patch of carpet and steps on it. He should rub it, soak up all the excess moisture, but he does not have enough energy.

You ascend the stairs with Dove, your arms shaking from the strain. She's sleeping, so at least there's that. You take her into her room and leave her baby monitor on the side. Dove definitely doesn't need a monitor anymore, it's only for when she's napping downstairs and everyone else is upstairs. Blanket over her legs, you tuck her in and kiss her smooth forehead.

"You need to shower," you say to Steve as you close Dove's door.

"All the towels are wet."

You frown as you pass him by, rubbing his forearm with your finger briefly. "What about a robe? I know it's not ideal, but you're gonna catch a cold, your clothes are wet."

"I'll get changed."

"You deserve a warm shower," you insist.

"Honey," Steve says softly. Your shoulders relax at that one simple word. "I'm fine. We both need to change, and then we need to sleep." If he showered now he'd pass out against the glass like a saran wrapped turkey.

You and Steve change into fresh pyjamas in silence, worried about waking the baby who sleeps in her cot in the corner of the room.

"I'm gonna go get Avery," Steve says.

You're not surprised. "Softie."

"You're a softie," he says, pinching your hip.

Avery's where Steve left her, sideways across her sheets. He knows Bethie wouldn't have masterminded the laundry plan by herself. He frowns at the thought that Avery might be missing him so much that before bedtime cuddles were on her mind.

"Avery, honey," he says, stroking her cheek and her shoulder with either hand.

She murmurs and wiggles away from his touch.

"Ave, come and get in with me and mom. Does that sound okay?" He really doesn't like the idea of his oldest feeling lonely. Sleeping with kids in the bed sucks most of the time due to their flailing and lack of blanket related etiquette, but Steve can deal with it tonight. Just like Bethie, he has a guilty conscious. "Ave?"

Avery blinks sluggishly. "I can sleep in your bed?" she asks.

"Please, would you? I want a cuddle. Does that sound cool?"

Avery finally opens her eyes, her long lashes riddled with sleepies. "That sounds so cool," she says croakily.

He can't carry her, he'd drop her at this point. They hold hands on the way to your room, finding you an inch from sleep on top of the blankets. He and Avery laugh as quietly as they can as they pull them from under you, and when they climb in together, you steal Avery from his side, awake enough to know one of your girls is close by.

"Dad," Avery whines, reaching out her arms until he does what she wants.

Steve throws his arms over you and Avery, snuggling in closely. She relaxes into your chest, her hand clinging to the front of Steve's shirt.

Steve closes his eyes.

"We didn't brush our teeth," Avery whispers.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart," you plead, also whispering.

"We'll get cavities."

"We'll brush double in the morning," Steve promises. "Please, Ave. Sleep now."

Averys easily convinced by Steve's hand in her hair. "Okay," she says through a yawn. "Love you love you."

"Love you, honey."

"...Dad?"

Steve sighs. "What?"

"Did you see? Me and Bethie did laundry."

"I saw. Thanks, babe."

"We–"

"Sleep, Ave. Please go to sleep."

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