All characters are 18+ and the story line is incest. So if you are not into that kind of thing. Then this story is not for you.
I couldn't stand it anymore, the constant arguing, the bitter words, the slammed doors. Mom and Dad at it again, their voices rising in anger as the clock ticked past midnight. I pulled the covers tighter around myself, trying to block out the sound, but it was no use. Their fights were becoming more frequent, more heated, and this one sounded particularly vicious.
"I'm done with this shit!" Mom screamed, her voice shrill with rage. "You're useless in bed and useless out of it. Maybe you should just leave, since you can't fuck your own wife!"
I hear the front door slam, the sound rattling the walls. She's gone. Stormed out into the night. I sit up, heart thudding, feeling a sadness of something heavy for Dad. He doesn't deserve that. Not really.
I slip out of bed, bare feet padding across the cool hardwood, and head downstairs. Dad's in the living room, slumped on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. His dark hair's a mess, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, stubble shadowing his jaw. He looks defeated, eyes glassy from the booze. "Hey, Dad," I say softly, leaning against the doorway. "You okay?"
He glances up, startled, then gives a weak chuckle. "Lily... didn't see you there. Yeah, I'm... I'll be fine." His voice is rough, slurring just a little. I step closer, the nightie swaying against my thighs, and sit beside him. "She didn't mean it," I lie, reaching for the bottle. "Mind if I join you? How about a nightcap daddy."
I watched as Dad took a long swig from the bottle, his Adam's apple bobbing under the stubble on his throat. The sharp scent of whiskey filled the air, mixing with the faint musk of his sweat. He handed it over to me, his fingers brushing mine, rough and warm. "Go ahead, Lily," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. "Might as well. Night's already gone to hell."
I took a sip, the burn sliding down my throat, warming my chest. It wasn't my first time sneaking a drink, but doing it with him felt different--intimate, almost forbidden. I leaned back on the couch, letting my nightie ride up just a little, the soft cotton teasing the tops of my thighs. His eyes flicked down for a split second before he looked away, jaw tightening. "She'll be back," I said, trying to sound convincing, though we both knew it wasn't true tonight. "She always is."
He snorted, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Yeah, back to yell some more. Fuck, I'm tired of it." He rubbed a hand over his face, then glanced at me, his dark eyes softer now. "You don't need to hear this crap, kiddo. Shouldn't be dealing with my mess." I shifted closer, the couch creaking under us, and rested a hand on his arm. His skin was hot, tense under my fingers.
"I want to, Daddy," I whispered, letting the word linger, sweet and heavy. "You're not alone, okay? Oh and less of the kiddo dad I am 18."
I watched as Dad took another gulp of whiskey, his hand shaky now, the bottle glinting in the dim light of the living room. The air was thick with the sharp tang of alcohol and something heavier--his exhaustion, maybe, or the weight of Mom's words still hanging between us. I scooted closer, my bare thigh brushing against his jeans, the rough fabric scratching my skin. He didn't pull away, just sighed, long and ragged, like he was letting go of something deep inside.
"Eighteen, huh?" he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced at me. "Guess you're not my little kiddo anymore, Lily." His voice was warm, gravelly, and it sent a shiver down my spine. I smiled, leaning in just a bit, the neckline of my nightie dipping low enough to catch his eye. He looked--oh, he definitely looked--before dragging his gaze back to the bottle.
"Nope," I teased, my fingers curling around the whiskey as I took it from him. "All grown up now, Daddy." I tipped it back, the burn hitting my throat again, and I let out a little gasp, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. His eyes followed the motion, lingering on my mouth, and I felt a heat bloom in my chest that had nothing to do with the drink.
An hour later, the bottle was nearly empty, and the room spun lazily around us. My head buzzed, warm and fuzzy, the whiskey loosening every tight knot in my body. Dad was slouched back on the couch, legs spread wide, his shirt half-open now, showing a glimpse of the dark hair dusting his chest. He looked wrecked, but in a good way--loose, unguarded, a little reckless. I couldn't take my eyes off him.
"Goddamn, Lily," he slurred, voice thick and rough as he tipped his head back, eyes half-closed. "You're too good to me, staying here. Shouldn't have to babysit your old man." He chuckled, low and shaky, running a hand through his messy hair. The sound sent a shiver down my spine, pooling low in my belly.
