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/elit/ - Erotic Literature
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Neon and eyeliner. IrishDevil !!plAwNkZmL5 18/02/22(Thu)07:13 No. 25393 ID: ef02bd

Alright folks, this will be coming out in parts.


=========================================

My father Eamon had been IRA, during the troubles. He had met my mother Teagan defending a town from the INLA in the late 70s. She had, at the time, been only 16, while he had been 20. Her family had fed him and a few other fighters following a firefight. Her red hair, Da had said, was the brightest thing he'd seen, and her blue eyes "bore straight through his soul". That night she'd met him in secret and they made love for the first time.
They would later marry, and had me, their bouncing baby boy Ronan in the late 80s. My hair as black as Da's and my eyes a bright green. My mother had unfortunately developed a brain tumor when I was 8 and passed away shortly after it was discovered. Da was despondent for months afterward.
As a result of all of this, I grew up with a strong respect for and knowledge of firearms and Irish culture and history, as well as some knowledge of military and political workings. I also grew up valuing every day, knowing that it could be my last. I grew up listening to all kinds of music, and found myself especially enamoured with the gothic subgenres, and later the industrial genres in my teens. I wore business casual clothing and a deathhawk, and Nora, a girl I dated in high school had begun to get me wearing eyeliner. My father simply shook his head. He didn't care so long as I kept my grades up and stayed in shape. I hung around a few local clubs in my late teens and even DJed at one, briefly.
I ended up pursuing a career with the Defense forces, owing largely to my father's training, and worked my way into the Sciathán Fiannóglaigh an Airm(Army Ranger Wing), where I quickly became an accomplished sniper and travelled around the world a bit on some peacekeeping missions and joint task forces.

It was in Afghanistan that I met one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. I'd sat down at a table at one of the many bases after an astoundingly tough night op. I was sore and exhausted, having spent hours laying stock still with my rifle in hand followed by another hour of constantly providing cover fire and dodging haphazard return fire, switching positions to keep those fuckers guessing. It had ended with an RPG hitting a half-broken floor below me and collapsing supports...and then the floor I was crouching on at the time. While I hadn't broken anything I had taken a single bullet graze to the side of my then-bald head and my uniform, as a result of the collapse, was absolutely caked in desert dust and abdobe and a little bit of blood on the shoulder. I wanted a dram and a hot meal and sleep. I had at least been able to secure a bowl of soup. A woman with Canadian uniform had walked in, sat down across from me, and pushed a flask of Jameson's in my direction.
"You look like hell." She'd told me.
"You would too if a floor collapsed under you." I responded, taking a long draught from the bottle. I took in her appearance, strawberry blonde hair cut in a short reverse bob, golden, inquisitive eyes, and high cheekbones. She smiled and her eyes smiled with her. "Ronan Darcy," I introduced myself, sticking out a dusty hand. She took it without hesitation. "I appreciate a little taste of home in that whiskey." I said, passing the flask back to her. She laughed, a sound like water trickling down a cliff in wintertime.
"Tara Flanagan. So a floor collapsed underneath you eh?" she smiled and I felt fatigue lift away.
"Certainly did. RPG." I responded.
"You Irish boys know how to party." She joked.
"Oh yeah. But damn if I ain't knackered. I want to listen to some Peter Murphy and fall asleep." I said, stretching my arms above my head and both feeling and hearing my shoulders crack.
"I was always more for Sixth June or Siouxsie and the Banshees myself, for relaxing." She said.
We talked about music for hours and told each other a bit about how we'd gotten here and some of the more interesting engagements we'd been involved in. She told me she was with SpecOps as a comms tech. We flirted shamelessly, her coyly playing with her hair and making excuses to put her hand on my knee. After a few hours my fatigue slammed into me again. I bid her goodbye and left for the barracks, practically falling into bed as soon as I'd shrugged off my fatigues.
I dreamt of her kind face, trickling laughter, and down-to-earth honesty.
We met several times over the next few months, and even went on a few "dates", as much as we could in an active warzone. We made love to the sound of gunfire.
When I returned to Ireland, she promised to visit me, having never seen the homeland of the Irish side of her family.
She visited several times.
We'd fuck like rabbits. Her breasts were a perfect handful, perfectly round with slightly upward pointing nipples. I'd hold her in the middle of the night and cuddle. I felt good about our relationship, but duty would get in the way. After a few years Tara called it quits when it became clear that for this to continue one of us would have to give up our careers, and she wasn't willing for it to be her, which led to an argument, which led to yelling, which led to her leaving. And just like that she was out of my life. Wouldn't return my calls, wouldn't return my emails.

Just over a decade later I was stationed briefly in South Africa when I received the news that my father passed away and left me the family home, a small country cottage built in the 1700s. It was not long afterwards that I handed in my resignation. I was honorably discharged and set about rejoining the civilian population.
I was now in my mid 30s, still living in my cottage, making a modest living as a security consultant, when I received a call that would change my life.
I had been just getting back home after going hunting with some of my fellow veterans, when my cell began to vibrate.
"Hello, is this Ronan Darcy?" Came the french accented voice on the other end.
"It is. What's this about then?" I responded, locking my rifle in its' case.
"We have some information for you. It may come as a surprise to you, but one Tara Flanagan was involved in a car crash last month. You seem to be listed as the biological father of her 13 year old daughter, Bree Flanagan."
I was stunned into silence. After a few minutes I became aware of their voice continuing.
"I'm sorry," I interrupted, "This is quite a shock to me. I was not aware of the existence of...ANY children of mine. Tara and I haven't spoken since...I guess shortly after she conceived."
"That is quite alright, Mr Darcy. However, with no surviving family here in Canada it has been suggested that she be released to your custody. Can this be arranged?"
"I...yes. When? I'll pay for her plane ticket."
"That will not be necessary." Came the reply. Details were worked out as I numbly wrote them down. At some point I'd sat down in my Da's old leather chair.
I had a daughter. Why did she never tell me? I would have been glad to welcome Tara and Bree both. I would have been willing to move to Canada and work there. And then it hit me. Tara was dead. The only woman I'd ever really loved. I shook slightly, and felt a loss I can't describe, both immediate and distant. All this time and she never contacted me. And now she was dead, and I'd never said goodbye. And I had a daughter. I felt guilt well up in my chest. I put my head in my hands and wept.


>>
IrishDevil !!plAwNkZmL5 18/02/22(Thu)22:51 No. 25397 ID: ef02bd

Bit more of the set-up for the story coming in at this point.

======================================

The day eventually came when I was to meet my daughter and welcome her into my home. I truly didn't know what to feel about things. It had been only a week since I recieved the news. I'd cleared my schedule for the next week in the hopes of getting to know her.
At least I had a cool car. A black Tesla Roadster I'd been given a deal on after doing some security work for them. Custom green leather interior and a crow with spread wings and ghost flames on the hood. It pays to know the right people.
It was in this car, heading towards Dublin, that I pulled up the picture they had emailed me of her. Short, black hair, huge hazel-green eyes. Heavy eyeliner. An elfin looking young teenager. Looked a lot like the kind of girls I used to hang around with in high school. She had her mother's nose and cheekbones, which made her look a little slavic.
I reached the airport, parked, and made my way to the terminal with a touchscreen tablet tucked under my arm. Certain I was in the right place, I stood across from the doors as the flight began to unload, holding the tablet up with "BREE FLANAGAN, CANADA" displayed in large bold letters.
As the flood of human bodies slowed to a trickle, she shyly and slowly emerged from the group, her hair mussed, eyes downcast, a pout on her face with a small ring peirced through her lower lip on the left. She wore a pair of low-rise black jeans and a white tshirt with "Lovely Creature" emblazoned across the front in script. I recognized it as a Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds shirt. I waved to her. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. She crossed over to me.
"Hullo, Bree. I...I guess I'm your father. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances..." I started, awkward as can be.
She wrapped her arms around my waist and started sobbing immediately. My brain froze. I've never known what to do when women cry. I simply wrapped my arms around her and tried not to cry myself!
After a moment I heard her slight maritime accented voice say in between sobs "You look just like your picture...with more hair."
I couldn't help it. I snorted and started laughing. She stared up at me for a moment and started laughing along with me, wiping the tears and smeared eyeliner from her face. I hugged her tightly and asked if she was hungry after her flight. She was. I took her suitcase from the baggage claim after she pointed it out to me, and she hugged my arm to her as if afraid I'd bolt. She pulled up a picture on her phone of her mother and I shortly after afghanistan. My hair had been just starting to grow in a little more. The scar from the battle the night before I'd met Tara was still ragged in that photo.
We sat down with a couple of coffees. She had a bowl of soup and I had a toastie. I told her a bit about her mother and I, and I did my best to keep her talking, not that it was difficult. Things just spilled out. It seemed she was a nervous talker. Bree had a sarcastic sense of humor and a quick wit. I learned she hadn't had many friends, we had similar music taste because she'd shared her mother's taste in music, she didn't like kids her age, and she was something of a tomboy, a big fan of cars and motorcycles. She'd done a lot of the work around the house. Tara had never married and hardly dated.
Suddenly Bree stopped talking and just stared at my eyes, like she was trying to read me. I felt entranced, but uncomfortable. She blinked and the spell was broken.
"So, uh, you ready to head out? I think you'll enjoy the cottage. You must be exhausted." I said, taking a final sip of coffee.
"Yeah." she responded simply.
She gushed of course over how cool my car was, and after we'd piled everything into the trunk she climbed into the back. She fell asleep minutes after we pulled onto the main road. About 40 minutes later we pulled into the drive to my home, and as we hit a small bump she woke up with a start, looking around quickly to get her bearings. I showed her to what would be her room, with a promise that we'd go out the next day to get some things to make it over however she liked. She looked around at the plastered stone and scarred wood paneled walls, and said "I like it. Thank you." I smiled at her and hugged her gently. She smiled up at me and said "I think I'm glad that you're...you."
I swear it was almost impossible to hold in tears at that point. She was a sweet kid. She was MY kid. I loved her as soon as she'd said those first words to me. I left her to put her things away and wished her goodnight.


>>
Anonymous 18/02/23(Fri)01:51 No. 25398 ID: 0cf92e

tags?


>>
IrishDevil+!!plAwNkZmL5 18/02/23(Fri)05:48 No. 25401 ID: ef02bd

>>25398
Mf, incest, goth, teen


>>
The+Bard 18/02/25(Sun)05:47 No. 25409 ID: a8081c

You have my attention.


>>
IrishDevil !!plAwNkZmL5 18/02/26(Mon)21:44 No. 25414 ID: ef02bd

I woke shortly after dawn, mostly because a shaft of sunlight came through the window and slapped me in the face. I had fallen asleep in my armchair near the fireplace. I must have been more wrecked last night than I'd thought. My shoulders ached. I was still nervous about my new daughter. Would she adjust alright? Would we get on well enough?

Standing from the chair, I rolled my shoulders, hearing them crunch softly. I walked down the hall to check on Bree. Fast asleep with the blanket wrapped around her, curled up like a wee kitten. I smiled to myself and made for the bathroom. Today would be a long day. A lot to do. A shower was in order.

I had overhauled the bathroom shortly after moving in, with a large, glassed in overhead shower, a river-rock floor, very modern LED strip lighting, a luxury toilet, and a sink I hard carved myself out of a large, flat rock, covered in carved spirals like the standing stones of ancient times. It was, honestly, my second favorite place in the house. The shower was hot and steamy, just how I like things. Stepping under the falling water, I felt the stress in my shoulders and upper back melt away, gave my semi-tumescent member a quick tug, and after a good 15 minutes I stepped out of the shower stall...to find Bree standing in the doorway. I froze like a deer caught in headlights. Her face went tomato red and she threw a hand over her eyes and yelped a "Sorry!" before I quickly wrapped a towel around myself.
"I...er...It's fine. D-Don't worry about it." I stammered.
Bree slowly lowered her hand from her eyes and explained "I...I knocked. I gotta pee." I could see her shifting her weight from foot to foot.
"Alright girl the bathroom's free. I'll go get dressed and get breakfast ready." I told her, sidling out of the bathroom. She rushed in and the door closed as soon as my heel was past the threshold.

Throwing on a simple black tshirt and a pair of black canvas pants, I set myself to making breakfast. Eggs on toast, a pile of bacon, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, and some spiced hash browns. When she emerged from the hall clad in a slashed tshirt(Grey with a spider-web patterned mesh shirt underneath) and knee-length swishy skirt(black), her eyes positively lit up. She practically leapt into her chair at the table and dove into the plate of food with the kind of reckless abandon only a hungry teenager can. We chatted a bit as we ate and discussed the plans for the day. I would take her shopping for a new bed and bedding, maybe some furniture and paint. I also wanted to look into schooling in the area so that we could sign her up for the fall. I was, thus far, amazed at how well she was dealing with the death of her mother. When she'd finished her food she stood and hugged me, saying "I miss mom, but you'll be a good dad."
You wouldn't believe how much I needed to hear that. I told her so. She teared up a little bit and then rubbed her eyes and said "Crying sucks. Fuck crying. Gotta look forward, not back."
I hugged her tightly "Never be ashamed to grieve, love." I said, looking her in the eyes, "Though I haven't been there for you until now, I loved her. I love you too, Bree, and I grieve with you. However, we best crack on, there's a good deal to do today." She smiled kissed me on the cheek and we headed out to the car to drive into town.


>>
IrishDevil+!!plAwNkZmL5 18/03/03(Sat)01:34 No. 25424 ID: ec10a0

On the drive into town, we spoke a little about her and the things she likes, and how she liked the house and what I could do to help ease her transition into living here. She was, in fact, very much like I was when I was a teen. She was bright, resilient, and very much interested in Irish culture, gothic music, and as much literature as she could get her hands on.
By the time we got into town we were laughing and joking about various authors, internet memes, and horror films. We stopped at a furniture store and she spent an hour flopping onto various beds, examining bedframes, eventually settling, after I told her money wouldn't be an issue, on a 4 post steel frame with a canopy attached. She was ecstatic and for a moment, if I didn't know better, I would have thought she hadn't lost her mother a few weeks prior in a car crash. We settled on a delivery time and went out to get paint for her room. She chose a basic stain for the wood panels, and black paint for the walls. She had only arrived with a single duffel bag with her laptop and some personal posessions therein, and a suitcase with her clothing, so I offered to take her out to a late lunch and do some clothing shopping at a few of the shops I knew of. It was in one, an "alternative" boutique called "Altar Bridge", where she found most of what we purchased. She'd ooh and ahh over various things, and when she came out of the dressing room wearing a medieval dress in crushed black velvet and green brocade I couldn't help but gawk at what my genes had produced. She was a vision of beauty. The dress displayed her shoulders through black lace cutouts, the built-in bodice emphasized her breasts with laces up the side and front of the dress, and wide sleeves gave her a mystical look, with the hem of the skirt stopping just above her ankles, making her appear almost to float. She must have seen me gawking because my eyes rose to meet hers and she had gone a little red. There was a question in her eyes I couldn't yet read when I heard myself say "I have such a lovely daughter. Just beautiful." I had pride in my heart at this time, not lust.
She smiled at me and flitted back into the dressing room. I found myself reflecting on how everything was going. I expected a great deal more awkwardness with Bree than what there actually was. It felt as if she had always been here. I was comforted by that.
Once she came out, a pile of clothing in her arms, we sorted out what she wanted and didn't want. The clerk was a gothic beauty in her own right, and as she rung us up I gabbed a bit with her, explaining, at her request and a nod from Bree that Bree was my daughter from Canada and her mother had recently passed, leaving her in my care. We left the store with Bree carrying two bags of clothes(the dress, a top with lace arms, two pairs of pants, a bodice, a belt, and some makeup), and me having the clerk's number in my phone, which Bree laughed about. We returned home, had a meal, and the new bed and frame arrived around 6. I set about putting them together while Bree put her new clothes away. An hour later I left her room with the frame fully assembled, tightened, and the mattress and box spring on the bed, and the canopy, a gauzy dark red affair, strung up around the bed. The next day we would restain the wood paneling and paint the walls, and Bree would eventually decorate it with the fairly typical goth teen fare over the coming week, plastic halloween decorations, a few paintings we would find, and some lights. We found a nice school for her, not a far drive, and the next year was her settling in and getting used to her new environment.
She had a few more episodes stemming from her missing her mother, and I held her for all of them, letting her cry it out and comforting her as best as I could. We grew very close over the next year, but I would never see her as anything other than my daughter. She made some friends at school and it would later be one of those friends who initiated a series of events that would forever change how I saw my daughter, and how she saw me.


>>
IrishDevil+!!plAwNkZmL5 18/03/07(Wed)00:07 No. 25434 ID: ec10a0

Sorry for the delay A new update will be coming down the pipes soon. I was gonna do it today, but I have a migraine from hell.


>>
The+Bard 18/03/07(Wed)02:06 No. 25435 ID: 280e55

>>25434
I feel your pain. My story has been delayed because of one. Pretty hard to write when your forehead and eyes want nothing more than to cause you more pain than a human should feel at one time.

Best wishes and I hope yours doesn't last too long.


>>
Anonymous 18/03/07(Wed)14:34 No. 25439 ID: e34ba5

>>25424
Decent story so far. Your formatting could use some work though, breaking up the walls of text would make this much easier to read. Aside from that, nice job.


>>
IrishDevil!!OyMTH0MzH5 18/03/16(Fri)04:22 No. 25448 ID: ec10a0

Fucking hell. my POS laptop died on me, so I have this one which I got from a friend who'd gotten a new one. This one just has some overheating problems. No biggie. Problem is the issue with my old laptop was a power distribution issue that somehow fucked the BIOS into acrater. that means I cant currently access the hard drive full of all the memes and music and gaming shit I've had for years. I'll post the next update as soon as I've rewritten it.


>>
IrishDevil!!OyMTH0MzH5 18/03/16(Fri)23:36 No. 25451 ID: ec10a0

Bree's first year of schooling was a little bit rougher than I had hoped. She'd made friends fast enough, but struggled adapting to a new system. Besides helping her adjust and settle, I taught her Irish, took her out shooting a bit, and helped with her maths homework. Our home quickly became a great place for her friends to hang out, due to its' remoteness and the fact that I was never bothered much by her friends. They were good enough kids, and quite a few of the older girls were quite nice to look at and a bit flirty with me.

In the early summer, her 14th birthday arrived and I set about planning a small party for her and her friends. It was at the party that a minor incident occurred.
You see, Bree's friend Maven, the daughter of record mogul Kelly Doyle in Dublin was...something else. Though 15, she could have passed for a woman in her early 20s, with large, round breasts, long, svelte legs, and a husky quality to her voice that heavily implied sexuality in every word. She had an elfin face, long purple dreadlocks, and she seemed to wear as little as possible around me. She had come to the party wearing a cut-off tshirt that stopped not far below her breasts, leaving her stomach exposed, and a nearly skintight pair of dyed-black jeans.
She had greeted me with a very sexy smile and wrapped herself around my arm in such a way that I could tell that she wasn't wearing a bra. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek, sighing "Hi, Mr Darcy" into my ear in a way that made my cock spring to attention. She was always the cocktease type, but this made my mouth go dry.
I let the kids get to doing whatever they wanted to do and decided to distract myself with a bit of a workout. It was early afternoon and unusually warm for summer, so as I made my way out to the small shed I used for a workout room, I could feel myself already starting to sweat. I clicked on the fans in the room, took off my shirt and laid back on the bench, starting to do presses. After about a half hour of alternating between chest presses and squats, I heard the girls in the backyard, sitting underneath an awning I had set up. I heard them laughing with each other and just generally being teen girls, and returned to my exercises.
As I was finishing up, I heard someone say in a low tone "I ain't codding! Thems the rules, do it!" And then a knock at the door. Toweling off, I answered the door to find, much to my surprise, a topless Maven on the other side.
I froze, of course. 15 or not, those tits were fucking fantastic. When she licked her finger and thumb and tweaked her nipple, my jaw dropped. Before my mind had a chance to think anything other than "Stonking great tits" and "what the fuck?" she ran a hand down my chest, winked at me and turned her back, slipping her shirt back on as she walked back to my daughter and the rest of the girls. My brain was desperately trying to figure out what the fuck was going on when I heard one of the girls turn to Bree and quietly say "Oh my god, your old man is so fit!" and Bree answer "Aw feck off"
I shut the door and just sat the fuck down for a minute while I tried to process.

By the time I had gotten my shit together, another 10 minutes had passed, and I put my shirt back on and made my way inside, past the girls, to relax. I heard them giggle to each other when I went by and felt myself go scarlet. The little shits were playing truth or dare! That must have been why Maven had done what she'd done, though I certainly got the impression she'd gotten a kick out of it.
I decided to sit down and focus on something that would really keep me distracted: cleaning my favorite revolver, a Chiappa Rhino 40DS. By the time it was done, the girls had come back in and it was time to order Pizza.
I slapped the barrel back in place and gave it a spin, pointing it ahead, and found Maven standing in front of me, looking a touch nervous.
"'Ello Maven, What's the craic?" I asked, pointedly keeping my gaze on her face.
"Are ya workin next weekend?" She asked.
"Not that I know of," I answered, "You gonna keep your shirt on?"
"Oh it was a silly bloody dare! We was just acting the maggot!" She protested. "Look, me Da is running a metal festival near Kilkenny, but Da just called telling me the Head of Security got some kind of summer flu. Since you've such a good reputation, and Da trusts you, would you be willing to head up security for him?"
I had no plans for pretty much the next week "I suppose I can, where is it?"
"Castle Clara" She told me.
The rest of the day went by pretty easily. Bree was as beautiful as could be. I was proud of my girl. Simple, but heavy eyeliner, a simple, conservative dress, and her hair had grown out into a sort of razored, asymmetric reverse bob. She was the most beautiful girl in the room, if not the most overtly sexual(that one went obviously to Maven). The pizza came and went, the girls chatted amongst themselves, watched horror movies, and then eventually parents came to collect them. I worked out the details with Mr. Doyle when he came to collect Maven, and decided to show up the day before to try and go over the plans.

Later that night, while I sat browsing the internet, Bree asked me "Daddy, do you like Maven?"
I looked up from the computer screen "Sweetie, she's a bit young for me."
"Yeah," she started, "But I saw the way you looked at her. That was a rude trick they pulled on you today. Truth or dare is so silly."
"Bree, I was rather shocked. I didn't really expect to get slagged around like that. Also that dosser is trouble. Her da lets her get away with murder." I explained.
"Alright. I'm sorry for askin'. Just..." She started.
"Yeah?" I looked at her.
"...Nevermind." She said. Eh. Whatever it is it can't be that important right?


>>
IrishDevil!!OyMTH0MzH5 18/03/20(Tue)23:14 No. 25466 ID: ec10a0

Having met the security team and gone over planning, we had found very little to fix. The other fellow had been quite competent. I had added an extra security checkpoint at the beginning of the grounds proper for the festival, termed Checkpoint Delta, so that cars couldn't get into the area where festivalgoers were pitching tents without being cleared by lightly armed guards, and bands and vendors had a few more personnel to deal with. Nothing terribly serious.

So, the day came when I strapped on a thigh holster, slipped my Chiappa Rhino into it, and double checked the battery on my taser baton, and hopped into the car with Bree in tow to head to the festival grounds. Seeing Bree off with a gaggle of her friends, I headed to Checkpoint Delta as it was the most centrally located, and began the check-in process with the teams. All the time with the beautiful ruins of Castle Clara in the background. Mr. Kelly Doyle had chosen a wonderful spot for the festival grounds.

6 hours into the festival and a brief check-in call from Bree later, I had dealt with very few issues, besides a few teenagers caught trying to bring booze and drugs into the festival grounds and one idiot who was drunk before he'd even arrived. We'd had to detain his dumb ass for the police. As a band I wanted to see was partway through their set, I decided to take a break and walk the grounds for a little bit, keeping my earpiece in. Nothing much of note happened, just a few drunk youths getting into fights and the smell of reefer smoke from somewhere that I never bothered to investigate. I flirted a bit with a cute tomboyish vendor with a short blonde pixie cut and a leather vest, listened to a bit of the set from that band I'd been excited for, and was making my way back to Delta when I heard it.

Screaming and shouting from the direction of Delta, and a large van barelling towards the makeshift gate with no indication of stopping or even slowing down. I sprinted towards the gate, just in time to see the makeshift guard kiosk explode as the van smashed through it, sending the guard and chunks of wood and plastic flying in all directions. Fuck. I unholstered the Rhino, clicked the safety off, and took aim at the windshield, to where I thought I saw the driver. One shot, then two, and I dove out of the way as the van reached me, clipping my leg on the way.

The door opened, and I was kneeling when the driver emerged, a middle eastern man with crazy eyes and blood all over his shoulder, one arm hanging limply. The other, however, held a hatchet. A big fucking hatchet. Those crazy eyes were fixed on my face. Another guard ran over, shouting "PUT THAT FUCKING HATCHET DOWN NOW OR I'LL SHOOT", and hit the man across the shoulders with a baton. The man screamed and swung his hatchet into the poor bastard's chest, withdrawing it in a spray of blood.
By this time I'd been able to bring my gun back up. One shot in the leg, the man went down, and another shot caught him in the chest. Center of mass. I dragged myself to my feet, shouting "GET THE FUCK BACK! CLEAR THE AREA!" to the crowd that had started to gather. I heard the dying man on the ground struggling for breath, and heard him say the words nobody wants to hear on their home soil: "Allahu Ackbar". The arm that had been hanging limply held a remote detonator. I hollered again for everyone to get back and started to back away myself when the van exploded and my world went black.

I woke in a hospital bed, searing pain roaring through my head and body. The pain was so bad that initially it took my breath away. I gasped and sat up slightly before the room spun and I had to lay back. "HE'S AWAKE" I heard someone in the doorway yelling. My skin felt tight, my face felt thick and unpleasant. "Alive. I'm alive." I thought. Bree came bursting into the room, a blubbering mess.
"Daddy I didn't know if you would ever wake up! I saw the explosion and I thought that was it! You were in surgery forever and then didn't wake up-" she was saying all in a rush.
"Sweetie I'm glad to be alive right now but my head is fucking killing me. Please for the love of God just give me a second here." I cut her off "I'm having trouble moving. Tail end of the drugs, I think. How bad?" I asked.
"They had to pull a chunk of shrapnel out of your head," she started. "And, uh," looking at the chart, "Three steel bearings out of your back, leg, and torso, some muscle tissue sewn back together in your arm and chest, facial lacerations, lacerations to your leg, left side of your torso, and your right tibia had to be reconstructed...that's the bone in your calf, right?" She asked, looking very concerned.
"Yeah. I've had worse." I said with a half grin.
"You were in surgery for 3 and a half hours." She said flatly.
"Christ," I responded, "How do I look?"
"They say you'll have some scars..." She said. "Oh my poor daddy. They're calling you a hero!" She fiddled around on her phone for a bit, pulling up an online headline. FESTIVAL BOMBING! KILDARE MAN SAVES LIVES!
"Jaysus...How many were hurt?"
"Besides you, the gate guard he hit, and the other officer he hit with that hatchet of his, only one person was seriously injured. You got the worst of it. Oh, my poor brave daddy!" She cried a little more. The doctor came in and explained that they would be needing to keep me for a few days to make sure there weren't any complications, then they'd send me home with some painkillers.
He seemed rather shocked when I asked "Can I take the metal shite you pulled out of me home? I think I'll make something out of it."
An hour later and an orderly brought in a plastic jar, containing a surprising amount of twisted shrapnel, steel bits, and 3 slightly deformed ball bearings.

A couple days later and I was hobbling out of the front doors to a waiting cab, when I was ambushed by reporters shouting questions. I told them to fuck off and let me go home. Bree helped me into the cab and started yelling at the reporters "He's just gettin' out of the hospital you vultures! Get your fucking story somewhere else! Leave daddy be!" and flipped them off when she got into the cab. I laughed and coughed and wrapped my arm around her shoulders as she cuddled into me protectively.

She gave the address and we were home soon after. She helped me out of the cab, up the steps, through the door, the parlour, and into my bedroom. I sat on the bed and she helped me out of most of my clothes(pants, shirt, the shoe on my good foot). She frowned at the bandages and stitches all over me, and the cast on my right leg and helped me into bed. She crawled onto the bed beside me, her above the covers, me below them. I looked at her quizzically.
"I don't need looking after, sweetie. I'm just gonna sleep." I half-scolded her.
"And I'm gonna keep an eye on you like the doctors told me to for a couple days. I'm not gonna lose you too." She said, kissing my forehead.
"Aw come on sweetie. Takes more than a muzzie car bomb to kill me." I smiled at her.
"I'm stayin' anyways and that's that. Love you, dad." She said, resting a hand on my stomach.
I gave up and relaxed. I fell asleep soon afterwards.


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IrishDevil!!OyMTH0MzH5 18/03/31(Sat)00:24 No. 25489 ID: ec10a0

When I woke up it was with a soft and warm feeling beside me, wrapped around my arm. Bree had crawled beneath the covers and fallen asleep beside me. What made this awkward was the fact that from where my arm was I could tell that her tshirt had ridden up and she was not wearing trousers, though I could feel her soft panties against the back of my hand, particularly my knuckle on my middle finger, which was nestled against her cleft. I tried to move my arm but found it securely held in place by her knees and arms. It was also dark in the room, besides a lamp glowing softly from the nightstand. I had slept all day.
Bree was laying on her side with one arm was draped over my chest, the other wrapped tightly around my own arm. Her tshirt had, thankfully, caught and bundled just below her breasts, and her head was nestled against my shoulder. Her even breathing told me she was very much asleep.
Looking over her face I took in the details. Her hair was mussed in a way that told me she'd been asleep for at least an hour. The remnants of eyeliner around her eyes told me she probably hadn't reapplied it since we had gotten to the hospital. Her thin, bow-shaped mouth was ever so slightly open, with her breath gently hissing out from within. And she was beautiful. Just as beautiful as her mother had been, if not moreso.
It hit me simultaneously that my daughter was no longer a little girl, but a young woman, and also that I had woken up because my painkillers were wearing off.
I looked over to the bedside table on my other side and saw that a glass of water had been placed there and that the pills I'd been given were also there. Careful not to wake Bree, I reached over and managed to grab the pillbottle, open it, and place one of the foul-tasting pills into my mouth, replace the bottle, and take a drink of water.
I was starting to fall back asleep when I felt her shift slightly. This slight shift pushed my knuckle further against her vaginal cleft, and this was impossible to ignore, especially when she made a quiet, throaty moan in her sleep. To my shock, I felt myself becoming erect. I had never viewed Bree in any sexual manner up until this point, and honestly, I still didn't, but the body reacts to stimuli, and I was very much aware of a growing warmth against my knuckle and that if I tried to pull my hand away at this point I'd only be putting a very unmistakably sexual pressure against her clitoris.
Not really knowing what to do, I willed my erection to wilt, and eventually it did. Not long afterward, Bree rolled over onto her back, freeing my hand from between her legs. I carefully moved my hand over to rest on my stomach, and, wrestling slightly with a few strange thoughts, fell back asleep.

I woke to early dawn light, smelling and hearing cooking sounds. I was alone in the bed. Sitting up slowly and carefully, I took another painkiller and began making my way out to the kitchen after gingerly sliding my arms into a bathrobe and hooking a crutch underneath my shoulder.
Bree was standing at the stove, the radio softly playing one of my old Siouxsie and the Banshees CDs. She was wearing her panties and a long tshirt, bouncing and dancing around to the music and cooking up some hash browns and sausages.
"Well, someone seems to be feeling rather grand today!" I said. She jumped in surprise.
"Whoa shit dad you scared me!" She said, a hand over her heart. "Ya, I woke up feeling...I dunno, just good."
"Mmm, someone oughta." I said, sitting carefully in my armchair.
A few minutes later she came bounding over to the couch with a plate of hash and sausages for her and another which she handed to me.
While I ate I noticed her looking at me out of the corner of my eye.
"Why are ya gawking at me?" I asked.
"She pursed her lips for a moment, seemingly thinking, before replying "I've decided that you're cute when you sleep." She smiled at me.
"Hah!" I replied, "Not half as cute as you, a leanbh!"(pronounced 'uh LAN-uv', meaning "My Child.") "I woke up at one point with you wrapped around me arm like a kitten!" I tactfully left out the part about my hand being against her crotch.
"You shivered at one point and made some weird noises so I thought I'd go under the blankets to warm you, but when I got under you were so warm!" She said "I felt so comfortable with you!"
"And then making me breakfast! A healing hero couldn't ask for a better daughter!" I said, gesturing with my fork.
"And a daughter couldn't ask for a braver or kinder daddy either!" she replied. "Over the last year...since mom died, I mean...you've done so much for me. You welcomed me with open arms, bought me stuff, you let my friends and I take over the place all the time. I feel so at home here."
"What else is a father to do for his daughter?" I asked, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek. "I loved your mother and, much as I never expected a child, I loved you too from the first word you said to me."
"See?" She said. "Such a kind daddy I have! And so haaaandsome too!" she winked at me, getting up to put the dishes in the kitchen.
A knock at the door surprised both of us.


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jellydonut 18/04/01(Sun)07:06 No. 25493 ID: b3d45b

Good stuff! like how it has some action elements too ;)


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Anonymous 18/04/15(Sun)07:37 No. 25511 ID: 7a6009

A pity this fell to the second page. It's one of the better reads.


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Anonymous 18/04/16(Mon)11:34 No. 25512 ID: 9e9c30

I'm in wholehearted agreement with these; this is one of the best stories I've read for a while and can't wait for the next installments. Good going IrishDevil and keep it up!


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IrishDevil!!OyMTH0MzH5 18/04/23(Mon)19:19 No. 25521 ID: ec10a0

hey folks, things around here have been rather busy. Between job searching and trying to get my shit together it's been a bit rough. I'll likely be getting the next update out within a few days though.


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Anonymous 18/04/25(Wed)17:24 No. 25523 ID: c282c8

Good news. Thanks for the heads up.



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