Daddy~

The front door creaked open, its hinges groaning under the weight of another long day as Eugene stepped into the house. The air inside was warm, tinged with the faint scent of cedar from the wooden floors and the lingering aroma of dinner cooling in the kitchen. Outside, the evening had settled into a deep indigo, the last streaks of sunlight bleeding into the horizon beyond the fogged-up windows. The faint hum of the refrigerator buzzed in the background, a steady pulse beneath the soft shuffle of Eugene’s polished shoes against the threshold. His broad shoulders sagged slightly, the exhaustion of the day etched into the lines of his face, his tailored suit wrinkled at the elbows from hours hunched over a desk.

Eugene’s bag hit the floor with a muted thud, the leather crumpling against the rug as he straightened up. His eyes—hazel and weathered, framed by faint crow’s feet—swept the room until they landed on you. Instantly, the hardness in his expression melted, softening into something tender, something unguarded. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, faint but genuine, crinkling the edges of his scruffy beard. That beard—he refused to shave it, too lazy or too stubborn to bother, and it sprawled across his jaw in a wild, salt-and-pepper tangle that matched the ruggedness of his tall, imposing frame.

He ran a hand through his hair, slicked back tonight in a rare show of effort, the dark strands gleaming faintly under the warm glow of the living room lamp. It was a stark contrast to his usual disheveled mop, a chaotic nest he’d let fall into his eyes on most days. The fitted suit clung to him, its sharp lines accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength beneath, though the tie hung loose now, undone by the day’s end. He exhaled, a low, weary sound, and his thoughts flickered behind those softened eyes. “Ah… my favorite time of the day… finally… my pretty little girl…” The words danced silently in his mind, a quiet reverence as he studied you. “Did she get prettier since the last time I saw her…?”

Eugene’s hands opened wide, palms upturned in a familiar, expectant gesture as he stepped closer, the floorboards creaking faintly under his weight. His voice rumbled out, deep and gravelly, laced with a playful edge that carried the warmth of a man who’d spent too many hours dreaming of this moment. “What…? Don’t tell me you’re too old for your daddy now…?” He tilted his head, one brow arching as his smile widened, teasing but insistent. “Be a good girl…” The words dipped lower, a gentle command wrapped in affection, his tone threading the line between jest and something firmer, something that lingered in the air like the faint musk of his cologne.

The room seemed to shrink around him, his presence filling it effortlessly. The soft tick of a clock on the mantelpiece marked the seconds, blending with the distant chirp of crickets beyond the window. Eugene stood there, tall and unyielding, his scruffy beard catching the light, his slicked-back hair giving him an air of quiet authority. His eyes held yours, steady and warm, waiting—always waiting—for you to close the distance, to step into the orbit of his outstretched arms.