Father And Son Authors Novels & Stories

And me turning away. I flop onto the desk chair, pulling my laptop in front of me. If journaling fails, maybe writing my blog can help. “The Fathers of My Child?”—the story I’ve been pouring my life into, trying to wrestle some sense out of all the shit. I open the draft and scroll down to the ending, the part I never could finish because… how could I? But today I force myself to. I try to write the ending. Four times. Each one a different path.

~Elena~ I fucked a father and son. Yes, you read that right. I didn’t stutter. I took them both. One after the other. Sometimes at the same time. And no, I don’t regret a damn thing. They were both my mates. Not one. Not either. Both. You could say the Moon Goddess smiled at me… or maybe she just wanted to watch me break. And before you sit there with your mouth hanging open like you’ve never done anything wild, let me stop you right there.

I spent the next few months chasing Jeremy around, training Hulk and writing Steve. I haven’t been there to visit him in a while and I was beginning to miss him a lot, the ice was beginning to be too weak to drive the snow machine on, so my dad hasn’t been visiting. I haven’t received any letters from Steve in about a month now, I was praying everything was ok for him. Today my father was supposed to try getting the boat across to pick me up and get out a bit, I was beginning to get cabin fever here, I felt relief when I saw him coming near the dock.

I cannot let her go through this before she embarrassed herself. Then I turned to the front page of the scientific journal before I read the names; J. W. Dyer, A. T. Diaz, R. O. Johnson, and T. G. Windell. I blinked a few times before I was looking at the names. There was a Windell. I don’t think anyone else would have another surname like that on this side of the world. But I might be exaggerating. My father never told me in his journal that he has published any papers. And that Jayson's name did not have any surname. So I don’t think this has anything to do with my father’s work.

Junior said while he drew out a book from the shelf titled 'ROAD TO ONE written by Andrew Wright. "Your dad was an excellent writer and Editor." "I know that." Junior admitted quietly. "Do you know that your dad was the only one who edited my book? I still miss how he scolded me for every little errors I made." Mr. Cosgrove said as his mind rambled off. "Yet I wonder why you left." Junior voiced before returning to his seat. "I did so because he wanted me to change my pattern of writing. Your father knew how my books affected lives and he will never ask me to change that unless someone close to him told him so."

or maybe he’s just thinking too much. A few hours later, the father and son duo had their dinner and talked a lot about Enoch’s training and about his father, Henry’s new book. His father is a well-known romanticist, author, and Literary professor. He has written 8 books in total, 4 about European literature, 3 romantic novels, and a book that no one has ever seen except his mother, Beetha. Enoch’s mother, Beetha asked Henry, Enoch’s father, if she can read that book as her death wish. Whatever is written on it, no one knows.

He'd avoid books like the plague, he didn't even know what they were. It was the same with his dad, as long as he didn't mention homework, they were father and son; the moment he mentioned homework, they became enemies. Mark frowned, "We exercise and strengthen our bodies by running in the morning, that's how we relax." Tod: "The other kids outside are too childish, they're not on our level. When talk about literature, would they understand?" Gilbert blinked. What kind of sons did his sister have? Each one was more amazing than the last.

Alpha Bambam “Don’t tell me you finally decided to choose a mate,” I snapped at my son, Lucian. He had proved so stubborn over the years, knowing fully well that he couldn’t take over from me unless he found his mate and marked her according to tradition. I was worried at first that he hadn’t found her yet, but then he proved me wrong when he started sleeping with every woman in sight. I associated his silly attitude with the loss of his mum and the ache her absence brought. But when he finally told me he had found his mate, I was thrilled, finally, he was going to get over his reckless lifestyle.

I pulled on the robe with shaking hands and made my way down the long hallway toward his office, the folder clutched tight against my chest like evidence in a trial I wasn’t ready for. The office door stood open. Damian was already there, standing behind his desk in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked up the instant I stepped inside, gray eyes fixed on me. I didn’t sit. I didn’t greet him. I just held up the folder and said the only thing burning in my throat. “You and Cassian… you’re father and son.” Damian didn’t flinch. He simply closed the laptop in front of him and met my gaze head-on.

He had known these people would speak up for him. These useless, petty bootlickers in Weiss Group had long harbored resentment toward me. They would love to see me leave Weiss Group so they could continue working there. Upon hearing those words, Jacob gripped the hem of my shirt with unease. I comforted him and then looked at Greg, snickering. "Did you think I couldn't tell my child from another just because I was in great pain? Jacob is my son. He will never call another woman his mother." I didn't raise my voice, but I sounded unusually firm and unyielding.