𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕦𝕣𝕖 || Jack Grayson & echo

[echo]

​

 

[Jack Grayson]

HENRY ADAMS xHusband// Father // Genetic Anomalyx "A daughter never really outgrows her daddy's lap"​ ​ The sound of her screaming orgasm was echoing through his mind as he continued to come down from his high, as his manhood continued to twitch inside of his little girl. But would she be embarrassed by the pleasure she experienced? Disgusted once she started thinking clearer now that it was all over? It felt like an eternity had passed after he expressed his love to her, but in reality it only took a moment for her to say it back, and he was filled with an immense amount of relief that prompted tears to well up in his eyes. She explained that she didn't know it could feel the way it had, and he nodded against her as he said, "Neither did I…" And that was the truth. He didn't think he'd have been able to lose himself in his daughter the way he had. He'd lost control in the most delightful way, experienced pleasure he hadn't felt in so very long… all from his little girl. Where did they go from here? How would they act around each other from here on out? She expressed her gratitude for him saving her, which suddenly brought the reality of the situation back into the focus. He'd almost forgotten what this was all about. This wasn't just about the sex even though that's what it felt like in the heat of the moment. This was about curing his little girl. She kissed him tenderly, a kiss filled with love and affection. But as sweet as her lips tasted, it left a bitter taste in mouth because he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the cure actually took this time. The doctor had prescribed three more "doses" over the next three weeks, but what would happen after that? Were they just supposed to forget the obvious and intense chemistry they had? Could they forget it? How was he supposed to ever make love to his wife again knowing he had Lily just down the hall? His little girl who adored him and whom he adored in return? He'd never experienced the type of pleasure he'd experienced just now with Mia. He'd never felt such an intense, emotional, and raw connection. And he was just supposed to let that go? He could feel a sense of possessiveness growing for his daughters, which was probably why he held her a bit closer and refused to leave her body just yet. But part of him knew he would have to let her go if that was her choice. He was her father. That was his job. He couldn't hold onto her forever, could he? Much to his delight, Lily's body relaxed into his embrace, invited it. "You're welcome," he whispered back, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth. They laid there, silently holding each other for some time, savoring the warm hum of each other's bodies, but Henry knew that they needed to move. "We should probably get cleaned up," he said. "Maybe grab some dinner if you're up for it? Or we can get something delivered?" It was strange to try and return to a semblance of normalcy after everything that had happened, but what else were they supposed to do? As delicately as he could, he slowly removed himself from his daughter's body, feeling shivers when his manhood suffered through the temperature difference between Lily's molten core and his air conditioned house. And as he did that, he couldn't help but steal a glance at the mess he'd made between his daughter's legs. Her poor little pussy was red and raw and swollen, leaking a deluge of his thick, white seed that gushed out of her to create a puddle on the wet spot that had already stained the couch cushion beneath her. He took a look at his deflating manhood, covered in a glaze of their combined fluids and dripping down onto other parts of the couch cushion. Shit… he'd need to clean that up too. He only hoped it would easily come out of the fabric. Otherwise, he was setting himself up for a big and awkward fight with Mia in the very near future. Quickly pulling up his pants and boxers and shoving his manhood back inside of them so as not to make an even bigger mess, he said, "I'll draw you a warm bath. It should help with some of the uh…" He nervously cleared his throat, "soreness… but let me get you something to help clean up first…" He walked upstairs to his master bathroom where the large bath tub was located, and started the water. Then, he grabbed a towel and walked back downstairs. He hesitated for a moment. Should he clean her up? Did she want to do it on her own? Eventually, he handed her the towel as he said, "You should drink some water too… I'll get you some…" She most certainly needed some water after the drinks she'd had, but it was also clearly a way to avoid the awkwardness between them. So, after handing her the towel, he went to the kitchen and got her a cup of ice water. He waited until he heard her walk upstairs, and then he made his way up too, hoping that she'd already be submerged in the bath water, so he could deliver it to her without her being so exposed. What were the rules and etiquette here? How was he supposed to treat his daughter after fucking her and inseminating her? He had no idea. He was trying his best to be casual, to act normally, but the truth of the matter was that this was far from normal. They were both in uncharted territory. ​ ​ ​

​

 

[echo]

LILLIAN ❝Lily❞ ADAMS xdaughter // pianist // his little girlx ❝My music is my passion, but my Daddy is my greatest song.❞ — Lillian Adams​ ​ ​ The room was eerily quiet as they lay there, still entwined, their breaths finally slowing. All the tension she had accumulated since this ordeal began seemed to dissipate in the moments they had just shared. Rough and raw as it had been, it was what they both needed, even if she hadn't realized it at the time. She felt a strange mix of relaxation and tenderness, her muscles loose and her mind hazy. The reality of what had happened began to seep in, but it felt distant, as if it were happening to someone else. She could feel herself drifting, the exhaustion from the ordeal and the alcohol catching up with her, when he shifted, gently withdrawing from her. With her eyes closed, he carefully moved away, and she couldn't help but wince slightly at the sensation. She was sore, her body unaccustomed to such intensity. She watched through half-lidded eyes as he pulled up his pants, his movements quick and efficient. "I'll draw you a warm bath... It should help with some of the... soreness. But let me get you something to clean up with first." The thought of sinking into warm, soothing water was incredibly appealing, and she felt a surge of gratitude for the kind gesture. Knowing that their recent encounter had left her a bit worse for wear, she took the offered towel and stood on trembling legs. Wrapping it around herself, she felt a belated sense of modesty, though it seemed like the logical thing to do, rather than standing naked before him, even after what they had just done. He was still her father... She looked at the mess they had made, and her face began to burn with embarrassment. She knew her cheeks were flushed red, and the thought of him having to clean up made her feel even worse. Each step was a monumental effort as she made her way upstairs, her body still reeling from the intense sensations she had experienced. Gripping the bannister tightly, she pulled herself up, her movements slow and deliberate. Once the door to the bathroom closed, she let the towel slip from her body and slipped into the warm depths of the bathwater. It enveloped her like a gentle hug, soothing her aching muscles and tender skin. Leaning back against the porcelain, she closed her eyes and let the heat seep into her bones. For one moment, she forgot about everything else and took a breath. For a moment... The knock came, soft and swift, before the turning of the doorknob sounded. He placed a glass of water down and moved to slip out, but before he could pull the door to, Lily sat up. "Dad," she said quietly, breaking the strange silence that hung between them. "Um, about dinner... maybe delivery? Considering... things." The door closed softly, and she leaned back once more. The breath she had just allowed herself felt like it was sucked right back out of her lungs as the door clicked shut. The awkwardness was thick— when just a few moments ago, it had been fueled by lust, frustration, fear, and whiskey. She sat up again, this time with less exhaustion and more anger towards herself. If it hadn't been for her, the illness would never have happened. If it hadn't been for her, her mother wouldn't have started drinking so heavily. Sure, a glass of wine here or there was fine, and she had witnessed on several occasions where her parents shared a drink with their meal or when she had gone off to practice her next recital piece. The piano... She lifted her hand to check the tremor that had become a part of her, and she had hoped in that moment it would be gone. She watched as the tremor still persisted, though who wouldn't be trembling still after what she had just done? "Jesus," she spat out as she grabbed her loofah and started scrubbing her skin. Her outburst was quiet, but she growled the words through gritted teeth. "He's your fucking father!" She could feel her eyes sting as those words began their relentless loop in her mind. One sentence, travelling at breakneck speeds, slamming into the walls of her skull. How were they supposed to act around each other now? After this... No, this wasn't something she could tiptoe around. Better to rip the band-aid off, like the first time. The first time... Sweet Jesus... The memories flooded back, though they seemed different in some way. The latest chapter in her "treatment plan" overshadowed all but a few key aspects of that particular encounter. She sat there for a long moment, closing her eyes not only to keep the tears from falling but to block out her surroundings. Focusing only on her breathing. Thoughts still raced, but at least they were quieter than they had been. Pulling the plug to let the tub drain, she stepped out and wrapped herself in the towel she had shed. She quietly made her way to her room with the glass of water in a trembling hand. Dressing in a pair of soft heather-grey sweatpants and a loose, faded Grateful Dead t-shirt she had swiped from her father's closet ages ago and never put back, then she took a seat at her keyboard. It had felt like forever since she had played, even though it had just been a few hours. Knowing that it would take her body a little while to recover from what her father had placed within her, and as her fingers began to caress the acrylic keys, she prayed. She prayed to whichever deity would be listening in that moment. For things to go back to the way they were... Or to help her understand why she wasn't more upset about what she had just done...​ ​ ​

​