a quick drabble i made which was meant to be an attempt at coping with my raging daddy issues and somehow turned into an attempt at angst instead 😭 TOTALLY not projecting on reader nope not at all
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You knew it was wrong.
You both did.
But it just felt so, so right.
The way his large, thick hands clasped on the curve of your waist like they were made to hold you that way, the way his slightly chapped lips melded into your much softer ones, the way your bodies felt like they made for each other; like two puzzle pieces, the way he fits like a glove. The way he calls you 'babygirl' or 'doll' and the fuzzy feeling it gives you, the way 'daddy' rolls off your tongue like it's a natural part of your everyday vocabulary.
You find yourself attached to him, the most detached man you could find in your vicinity. You found comfort in his scent of bourbon, sweat and laundry detergent. You found yourself aching for his touch, for his attention. You wonder if he likes to leave you like this, yearning for his stubble to scratch your skin until it becomes itchy and the deep grumble of his voice to vibrate against you until you can feel it in your bones.
It feels deliberate, the way he leaves you and comes back when he needs something from you. The way he never calls, the way your presence is only of convenience for him, no matter how many sweet nothings he whispers so sultrily in your ear. It's not like it matters, no, you're happy he even makes enough time for you.
You're young, only nineteen. Young and wanting for something to fill that gaping void known as loneliness in your chest—and groin.
Leon is older, nearly in his forties. Older which much more experience with the horrors of the shitty world you live in—in more ways than one. You don't know what he does, but judging from the scars on his skin and the weapons you've found hidden in his home when your curiosity got the better of you, it's something dangerous that you don't need to know. He fills that void for you when he can, but you find that the time he spends away from you is greater than the time he spends with you. Maybe it's because of his job, you don't know. But you do know it always leaves you lonelier than you were before.
And you won't ask. He doesn't see you so you can ask questions he doesn't want to answer.
"There's a new bruise here." You mutter to yourself more than to him, the soft pads of your fingers gently grazing over the ugly yellow and purple spots staining his skin like mold.
Leon turns his head to face where you're sitting, beside him but not right next to him. He's at your place tonight, the both of you are sitting naked on your bed, sweat sheening your skin and hair dishevelled. Semen sticks to your stomach, you're not bothered to clean it because you want to keep it there. He's not bothered because he doesn't want to get up yet.
"Don't worry about it, babygirl. It's nothing." He whispers back, stroking the back of your head in a way that has you leaning against his touch. The worry visibly leaves your body and he smiles for a second.
A silence falls upon you both. Neither of you look at each other, you shuffle through the sheets to wrap your arms around his much larger frame and press your bare front to his, you can rest your eyes. You feel safe, even though he isn't holding you how you want him to. His hands rest on the sides of your exposed thighs, you want them on your waist, curling around your back, on your shoulders. Somewhere to keep you caged within the safe confines of him.
You also like how small he makes you feel. You want to tell him how you feel, how you love the way he makes you feel, in bed and out. The tenderness of this moment, even if you're just imagining it, threatens to loosen the knot you keep your tongue in when you're around him.
Yet sometimes, you can't control yourself.
"You were gone for two weeks." Your lips brush against the column of his throat, and a slight shudder passes through his spine at the contact.
His sigh makes your hair ruffle ever so gently. "I know."
"You didn't call. I got scared." Your voice sounds like thin glass, threatening to break if not handled properly. And you know he never does, but you say it before you could stop yourself.
He slumps slightly, his Adam's apple bobbing near where the bridge of your nose rested against his neck. "I know, babygirl, I'm sorry." His apology sounds as empty as the hollow of his eyes.
Another silence falls upon you both, as thick as fog on a winter morning, as suffocating as smoke.
Curse your traitorous tongue for unravelling when you feel the most vulnerable, your lips move before you can catch yourself, before you can hurt yourself.
"Stay? Please?"
Another sigh. A much heavier one.
"You know I can't, doll."
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i think this is the shortest thing i've ever written. and i normally hate writing things so short but for once i actually somewhat like this one. as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated!
