Fruit of his Loins (RiotMoose x Myren)

[RiotMoose]

“Fuck you Mason!! You don’t deserve me. Im a fucking blessing!” His sweet girlfriend had a white upper-lip, her lazy eye was lazier, her teeth bared like a guard dog, and she was facing the wrong way.

“I’m over here Lisa...” He mumbles softly as he packs his bag full of his clothes, and slings it over his shoulder. “Let me know how it goes, I’ll keep you on MySpace.” He calls out as he walks out the bedroom, and then the front door and into his piece of shit truck. Taking one last look at his small apartment before he drives off, leaving his girlfriend behind.

—-

The driver door of his F250 creaks as he shuts it, he had to get more WD-40. He still had the raggedy POS truck, over a decade later, nearly two...He grabs his backpack from the back of the truck and heads into his house, shutting the door behind himself and huffs softly. The older man heads up the steps, and into his bedroom where his bathroom was on the other side. Stripping down and letting his muscular body and beefy member set free, before he heads into the shower.

Half an hour later, he was downstairs in just a tight pair of boxer briefs, his shaft bulging in the designer underwear, his wifes out late, maybe even staying over at her sisters depending on how long their girls night went. Mason’s grading was all done, so he had the night to himself. He pours himself a cup of tea, before hearing an odd noise outside. He walks to the front door, opening it wide and calling out. “Hello!?”

 

[Myren]

The house stank of vomit, sex, and the rotting food her mom had yet to replace. It had always smelled that way as long as she remembered, and only the showers at the laundromat down the street had ever gotten it off her. But that's what happened when you were raised by an addict. You also wound up with the name Crystal like some stripper. Thankfully her middle name was Anne. Not a great name, but not one that felt sleazy either. Unless her first name was absolutely necessary, it was what she used.

She checked again that her mom was still asleep on the couch. The rise and fall of her chest was barely noticeable, and the needle she'd just used was next to her on the floor. This would be her best chance to leave. It had taken weeks and weeks of searching, but Anne had finally found her father. All she knew was a name, and a picture her mom kept to scream at when she was high and angry, but it had been enough to get an address. And with an address she'd begun planning her escape. The past couple of nights she'd kept some clothes packed along with what little money she'd earned and not lost to her mom. It wasn't much, but it would get her a bus ticket.

All she'd needed was a night where her mom was all but dead to the world.

Anne didn't dare breathe as she slipped towards the front door and out of the hovel they called home. After shutting the door quietly, she hefted her backpack higher on her shoulder and fled towards the bus stop that would take her far from here.
****
It took a moment to gather the courage to knock. Her phone was off so she had no idea how many angry calls and texts she had waiting for her. Quite frankly she didn't care. If this worked, then she wouldn't have to worry about the consequences of leaving because she would never go back.

Then again, what if it didn't?

That question caused her to take a half step back in hesitation, knocking over some decorative flower pot in the process. The clatter it made stole her choice away as the door opened, and there he was.

Her Father.

Anne's fingers twisted nervously at the hem of the oversized and well worn t-shirt she'd chosen. It was one of a few clothes that she'd brought, and it's loose fit hid the young curves underneath. He however had nothing hidden, and it made the moment all the more nerve-wracking.

"H-hi. Um, we haven't met and really you probably never heard about me but I'm your daughter, Anne. You dated my mom, Sharon, sixteen years ago?"

 

[RiotMoose]

Mason’s eyes shift over the thick brown locks the young girl had, her beautiful soft face and eyes, and short frame (hiding were some curves he may recognize as well!)...and he felt a familiarity to her. He chuckles softly as she blurts out something so insa- did she say Sharon? “I...” he mumbles slowly. No, she must’ve been from Brad, Sharons other boyfriend at the time, and drug dealer.

But Brad was black. And she didnt have a hint of African in her, clearly. She looked like a spitting image of her mother, but had his thick brown locks, or what he used to have. Now they were gray and cut short, like a stereotypical high school history teacher, which he was. His hand grips the door so hard as he processes, that his knuckles grow pale white. “She would never name a girl Anne, that was my favorite name and she hated it. She always wanted to name her daughter Crystal.” He says, but in some fucked up way it made sense she’d name their daughter his name after he left her. Right?

“Um...Come in. Do you...I’ll grab you some clothes, if I remember Sharon your probably from a shit-hole...Sorry, is that rude? I’m big on germs.” He stumbles out the words as he opens the door wide. “Come on in, let me head upstairs. Ill just have you change right there and I’ll make some tea for you. Do you like tea?”

A daughter...His daughter. He looked her over before he pulls her into a hug, pressing her head against his chest. “Anne...Fuck the clothes, you probably need a shower. God how long was the bus ride here?” He asks as he finally breaks his surprised/anxious state, kissing the top of her head and rubbing the back of her head gently.