Dreams From My Father Novels & Stories

I was filled with so many thoughts and worries that I had no time to do anything else—not eating, not going out of the room, not even getting off the bed until I knew Killian would return soon. I had disturbing dreams of my father this time. They slowly dissolved Malthus’s horrible memory from the forefront of my mind and took its place. I thought I would have preferred any other type of dream over Malthus’s, but I was horribly wrong. I despise seeing my father stabbing Killian in the back every night, as it pollutes the mood of my entire day.

I had to force myself to ignore you, so I could protect you. I thought about you every night. It was so hard to go to sleep because I wanted to go to you so bad. Every time I close my eyes I dream of you. And every time I opened my eyes each morning I almost cried when I realized you weren't in my arms, and it was just a dream. My father's working on something. Something to put an end to the elders, and get rid of them once and for all. We're so close, we're just tracking down the last of the evidence so we can bring them to Justice.

My father's voice rang loud from outside my room. "Bye!" I screamed back at him, groaning hard as I rubbed on my temples. I heard his footsteps receded and the sound of a dragging suitcase. Another day, another torture of what it's like being in love and lust with my father's best friend. Today's dream about him would've been perfect as usual if my dad hadn't interrupted. He just had to drop a knock just when I was about to cum. Ugh! At least he's gone. It's finally me alone with my doom.

“Xander. Enzo. You heard what my father said. Maybe what you feel isn’t real. Maybe it’s the curse. So I’m asking you—leave. Put distance between us. Maybe time and space will make it all clearer.” Xander’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me the truth, Will. Is this about dreams? The nightmares we’ve been having?” My father stiffened. “Nightmares?” Xander nodded once. “Could it be?” he murmured, more to himself than to us.

I could hear the strain in his voice, and I rolled my eyes. “Yes, that’s the one.” “Well, tell him I said hello,” my father said. “I’m glad he’s back in the States. I’d love to get together for dinner sometime if he’s going to be here for a while. Also, may I remind you, son, that not everyone will be like Natasha. You don’t need to hold yourself back.” My father continued talking about the importance of moving on from the past and giving love a second chance. I listened politely. We caught up on a few other things before I hung up the phone.

I stared at the photograph blankly while memories from my childhood came rushing back all at once, because growing up I had heard my father mention that name countless times, always with hatred burning beneath his voice. Drey Vladimir. The man responsible for one of the bloodiest underground wars in Europe, the man my father blamed for destroying part of his empire years ago, the man who supposedly died violently before I was old enough to fully understand what had happened. My breathing became uneven instantly as my gaze slowly dropped toward the line written beneath the photograph. SON: ADRIAN VLADIMIR. The paper nearly slipped from my fingers completely. “No…” I whispered brokenly while m

I drifted off into a sleep that felt more like falling down a well than resting. The dream started in our old house. It wasn't the mansion I lived in now. It was the small, cramped apartment from my childhood where the walls always smelled like stale coffee and old paper. I saw my father sitting at the kitchen table. He looked much older than I remembered. His shoulders were slumped, and his hands were shaking as he tried to organize a stack of legal documents. "They're coming for everything, Leo," he whispered without looking up at me. "They don't just take your money. They take your shadow. They take the air out of your lungs."

“I'm leaving… you know, what I've been saying since.” “You can't leave when we're not done talking.” “Yes, I can. You know what your problem is? You like to dictate me—my actions, my decisions. You were in New York and never even bothered to check if I was living properly. You didn't care because you weren't focused on me. I have never been your focus, even though I am your daughter. What is it now that you want to say to me, Dad? Or should I call you father? I don't even fucking know what to call you because you are not significant to me. So save your ‘fatherly’ discussion because I do not need it.”

Distant. “Amber.” Sharper, Insistent. I jerked upright, My sheets clung to my skin, damp with sweat. My pulse is thundering in my ears. If it was a dream, it wasn’t just a dream. I could feel it in my bones, I could smell the strange air. It felt too real to dismiss. My eyes pried open. My father was at the door.. “Dad,” I whispered, rubbing the sleep off my face. “It’s getting cold,” he said flatly. “Your meal.”

"I know, Drake. I can feel your devotion with every fiber of my being now. I don't know what changed, but I know it's the truth." "Then why are so worried, Doll!" His fingers brushed the side of my face." "I had a dream. My father and mom. They weren't who I thought they were." "You think it was a real memory?" "I know it was. I felt them hold me, I felt their love for me. It was amazing, Drake. I was only four years old but I feared nothing in the world and I needed nothing but their love they so easily gave me."