Hey everyone!
I plan to risk a bit with this intimate and kinda strange one. We'll have a lot of daddy moments, lots of tease and a VERY slow burn with a lots of ups and downs down south.
Enjoy and let me know what you think!
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Credits to the following (discord) role-player’s I met to create this: Jayfan
Copyright disclaimer: I don't own any picture. I link every source if possible. Please contact me or a moderator in case of demanded removal.
Content notes: Reader discretion is advised! I am not sure about trigger warnings.(BUT FOR SURE: MENTIONED DEATH, HINTED ADOPTION, GROSS MENTIONINGS, EMOTIONAL STUFF!) I beg to inform me if there is something to note!
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Prologue:Loss bonds together(Emotional, skip for porn)
I have always admired and simultaneously hated my father. But not for typical reasons. My father tried everything to make me big, confident and strong. He was patiently pushing me every day, raising me like an instructor—his voice always steady, his eyes sharp as if he could see every flaw before it formed. Even when he laughed, it boomed, swallowing the space around him, while I shrank into corners, hoping I wouldn’t be noticed because of the error I made. My dad basically was a god at showing how things should be done and was an unfailing beast in doing so EVERY FUCKING TIME. People were always looking up at him in awful inspiration and admired him just like I did. But I…
I just have always failed at that absolute studly man – one kind of a man I could not get anyhow. I have always felt so ashamed by not sharing ANY traits he ever had - him always being so energetic, so loud when laughing, so loving, so strong and SO HUGE – a being which wants me to be perfect like him. Every time I stood in his shadow, I felt my chest tighten, my hands balling into fists inside my pockets. I wanted to disappear, to shrink down into the floor where no one could see the ways I fell short. And he never seemed to notice …
You know, failing fathers usually haven’t learned on how to take responsibility from their own fathers and therefor usually fail to raise their own children. Just being there when needed sometimes seems like too much to be asked. Admittedly, some might have critical life-situations, usually decaying by overuse of alcohol or other drugs - harming their family AND themselves. And then there are kinds of failing fathers who project their wishes on their child, pushing it so hard to get the kid how they wanted themselves to be at a young age. Things do sound decreasingly worse, right? But… what if the child could not adapt enough or just did not want to be the way how it was supposed to be?
Well, I was such a kid. I was a total failure in the physical department. I was always frail and always the shy and small kind of guy – who never hit the growth spurt or was the smartest dude either. I often broke my lids and probably wasn’t interesting in any way as I was just busy holding myself together. Unsurprisingly, my parents were barely satisfied after I came home and got an F again and again. It took a lot of effort to just have them accept I wasn’t good at anything. Just making me learn for school, having good enough grades and find my place under a row of nothings was a huge chunk of work. Maybe I look a bit better than most, but that was it. 1000% effort for 1% rewarding result was nothing I was proud to show. So, I always preferred to hide myself – like an invisible shadow…
Due to that, I had not many friends and rather daily saw people who did not care about who and how I am. Except for two hopelessly loving people who truly believe they have a duty – raising me to the best possible being I could get. From a very early age I already knew about their feelings about me. I eavesdropped my parents for many times and knew about their frustration and disappointment about me. They loved me so much they even worried about my far future - like me wasn’t being able to push myself as hard enough – even if I wanted with someone watching over me. I just failed every time on getting it done. And that made me very uncomfortable over the course of my teen years…
To put it short, in my times of “puberty”, things went dramatically. “Daniela” and “Jad”, how I called them instead of “mom” and “dad” from a certain point, had put sheer “senseless work” into me. I still did not understand why they loved me that much. After all, so many people already saw me as a total loser and put me to shame on how I did not deserve any of their love. It was mean… but I … I actually believed it too.
And since my anemic short boringly normal looking being was about to not being a minor anymore, I craved for moving out as fast as I could. I just wanted to leave that shitty city which hated me as much as I hated it. I could not wait to leave them behind and would finally not be such a burden anymore. I just had one problem: I didn’t know where I should go and how. I saw myself rightfully to run away in the hope they would finally give up on me. To put it short again: I ended up camping incognito in the woods for halve a week…
After the police finally found me, my parents were in pure shock and really believed I died. I never saw them dramatizing so much about me before and soon felt a shit load of shame. So, I apologized for my runaway and almost wanted to apologize for my whole being too. Clearly, they demanded to know the reason. I yelled in frustration, cried a river of emotions and opened my heart. I told everything I thought and knew I disappointed them again. I felt so worthless and blameworthy. But they wanted to know the reason why I just wasn’t able to either embrace or love them like they loved me, so I told them…
But then a washing wave of truth was dumped onto me: Yeah, I then finally heard the shocking truth that I was secretly adopted. I stared at them, not blinking, as if I could rewind the words. Adopted? My body felt numb, like I wasn’t even standing in that room anymore, like the world had tilted on its axis. Every harsh word, every disappointed look—none of it made sense, and yet, it all did. I wasn’t theirs. I never was. And the why of the adoption was just as stunning.
My parents weren’t fertile as I learned through the then following harsh argument. To them, I was a gift of God and was priceless to them whatsoever. And, oh man, it took me 18 years to really understand, why they loved me so much. It was their most inner wish to have ME, their oh so stupidly ungrateful son. I finally understood that it was not my fault that I could not be like my dad – my adoptive father. That was also the reason why they never had been REALLY mad at me. That’s why both of my parents still weren’t hating me. Tears flowed in masses after they held me and finally made me accept myself as well as their love.
And to my surprise, they even turned out to be proud for multiple reasons: I proofed I could survive on my own. After all these years it was a wonder. Or rather not, considering that I once was given away and wasn’t loved enough before them. I had to grow up early and my body just failed at keeping up with me. I then was so utterly thankful that I wanted to celebrate this as my zeroth birthday – this time without any hard feelings. We never could have been happier that day. Finally, we were the perfect family. Well, at least for a week…
Too bad things always can get worse – and they did. Yes, they fucking DID when my mother died from cancer. You know, imagine a woman, who is an absolute beast of a beauty and even more loving – maybe not as muscular but still a fit, tall, athletic and very successful mother. I revised our very intense relationship as she probably was the one, who put the most lifeforce into me. And suddenly, she, all of her, was gone! Just seeing her peacefully lying there on the dying bed that day in the hospital made my heart break.
Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the hospital lights, and her breath barely made a sound in the suffocating quiet of the room. The sterile smell of antiseptic stung my nose as I stood frozen by her bedside, unable to believe this was the same woman who once filled every space with her warmth and strength. My throat tightened, my breath hitched, and all I could think was: “How can she be gone … NOW!? This isn’t fair!”
After her funeral, we sat in the living room, the silence between us heavy with all the things we couldn’t say. My father, the man who had never once faltered, had tears running silently down his cheeks. He reached out, hesitated, then rested his hand on my shoulder. No words. But for the first time, I felt his strength in a way I hadn’t before—it was in his fragility, in his willingness to let me see him break.
THEN I felt SO utterly and thoroughly ashamed I wished that I could turn back time. I couldn’t bear to even imagine that all the distress caused by me might have even accelerated her decease. I felt my fathers’ and my heart just breaking even more just thinking about it. We both cried a lot that time by just thinking about her. All the things she did for us. All those things we had been through. All those moments I love-hated my mother. All those things were not fair…
It wasn’t fair that we ended up as a happy family for only one week. But there was one good thing at least, which happened after all: My dad and I could not grow closer from then on. All “just” because we lost someone… someone we truly loved by heart if we return to our most honest core…
Dad and I then really needed time for ourselves after our both loss. On the one hand, it was so clear that dad needed some time for himself as he really suffered it all. On the other hand, I wanted to get out of the city to leave everything behind and made that plan become real. I felt bad for just fleeing away but stood up for it and put my head through quite a life of a young adult. But scratch that sidenote as the pandemic took all my progress away. I then almost begged for returning back home. Over the phone, dad then warmheartedly accepted my request and even asked for it. To be honest: I was very surprised and am extra thankful now…
After we haven’t seen us in years, I wasn’t sure how Jad would react. No surprise, as my father’s and my personal story resulted in quite a difficult relationship. There were many feelings of failure due to the perfect but sadly mostly fruitless guidance by my once perfect seeming father. Meeting him after years, I clearly stated that things changed after I learned about my adoption. Things could have been worse as I barely could cope with the premature cancerous death of my mother. But since the loss of my mother, I know we had found some solace in a closer relationship - despite the hardships – and at least would listen to each other…
Five days passed since a truck brought all my stuff from my town back to my true home. I literally spent days to move back in and cramped all my stuff into one room. Dad offered me to get mom’s space too - which was a bitter pill to swallow for the both of us. I cried with him once again and then showed some brave strength by basically taking all the space. I swore I’d put good use to it.…
But anyway, this shall be the past.
Chapter 1:The secret
Moving to the present and back into my old home, there is a secret feeling about my dad I hid for a long time. I have it in the final package and therefor with me today, whilst I am returning from my ex, which no one knows about because I utterly hate him by now. He basically didn’t want to give my stuff back at first because he actually believed I’d return to him soon. I made that error in thought REALLY clear. No more details!
Anyways, I am happy – very happy. My most inner secrets are saved and along with me once again. What it is? Well, my adolescence was necessary to realize that “the struggle” is still real – more than ever since I came out of the closet. “Oh boy, if he knew that I have a crush on him… He clearly IS my fucking bare-naked fantasy – alive and fleshed out…”, I thought when we saw us again. I heard through family-visits he would love to keep someone safe again. At the end, it almost seemed like he actually wanted to protect me and thus agreed on me moving back in. So, with all wishes fulfilled, I was perfectly happy to be his son and even happier to keep him company again.
Getting through our house’s door and to my room, I hear Jad, my buff dad, greeting me. He probably saw me coming back home by my car. I happily answer: “Hey dad! How was your work trip?“ "Today was GREAT. People really seem like they don’t wanna mess with your big dad. Just had to laugh after a customer wanted to speak the manager about some hypocritical shit. But your Jad of a Dad Chad really just had to flex his pecs to make them re-consider the importance of their problem.", he rumbles with a deep humorous tone.
"How was your day? Are you done moving in? Has been half a decade since you lived here with your old lonely dad!", he asks in curiosity and reminisces back with full nostalgia. “Yeah … Again, MANY thanks for helping me out, dad!”, I say as I carry stuff into my second and new room. He waves it off and grants it for his own pleasure. One and half heads taller than me, he stands at the door to my room. His glance at me is warm when he winks at me while I come back to get the last box – which is REALLY heavy.
I decided to focus on those books later and I intend to put them up my cupboard for now – the storage for my most personal stuff. But there, he obviously still must have been glancing at my cute ass and sees me struggle with the lifting. He asks: “Need some help, cub?” Having a ton of books inside the box and over my head, I ask for it, pantingly with a red face: “Uh… yeah, please help me!” "Sure, where do you want it to go?", he offers his help. I point to said position and feel the weight suddenly vanishing. He just effortlessly lifts it up. But there something happens. Clearly grabbing the box too strong at one side, he sees a golden book dropping out. He gasps off his mistake: “I am sorry, son. Your box is... broken and…” He focusses his eyes for a second. “‘My journal, don’t read!’?", he mutters himboly as he suddenly reads out loud the title.
"My son has a diary?", he almost laughs. “What are you laughing at?”, I say as he wonders jokingly what’s inside. He slowly bends down with his massive glutes pushing out and reaches down. There, I am quick enough to give him no chance to grab it. He smiles and grins: "Cute. I wonder what you write about, hehe...“ “It’s nothing, dad!”, I say nervously. As I hide it under my arm, I go into my bedroom and put it away to where I hope he won’t put his nose in – my sextoys.
I suddenly notice he followed me like a puppy and still looks WAY too curious, so I throw a pillow to distract him. “That’s personal stuff, dad!”, I shout annoyed, secretly loving this though. “Recovered from the attack” and laughing DEEPLY, he then towers there, grins widely and asks: “Huh, that important?” I blush even harder and yell childishly while trying to push him out of my room. The heavy bull doesn’t even move a centimetre and laughs. “Dad, come on!”, I growl. "You surely wonder how heavy I am, hehe.", he brags and grins for moments. “Dad, stop it!”, I yell as he finally lets me slowly push him out. He glances at the position of my book at the other end of the room until he is out…
Then he is still curious, so I obscure his viewangle into my room with my body. I just somehow have to get his thoughts off the book, so I joke: “It’s easier to get a job that pays the bills than make you not look at it, huh?! I almost had thanked you for the help, dad!” "Bahahaha, you are welcome, buddy. Missed you a lot all these years, my cheeky boy...", he says. There, he suddenly bearhugs me, clearly physically starved for hugs. He even holds me up into the air for a few seconds. Blushing by all that love, I act like it’s too much (without making me hard, that is). He apologizes with his own blushing face, still being too fucking charming. I just have to turn away but then see him tower above me with his hulking pecs and wide shoulders. Standing in front of me, a tease-full moment of flexing passes by. I daringly glance up at him…
"Well... OK.", he soundly clears his throat. "Gonna prepare dinner then.", he announces. “Uhh… Yeah… Ok dad…”, I mutter exhaustedly…