[bonus points for Hannibal (2013).]

the Invitation: So won't the real Reddit Daddies please stand up (please stand up, please stand up)? My friends--I have been playing this roleplay game for a while now. I'm a clever, cute flirt (a DDLG who plays over the age of eighteen, and never plays a nugget, thank you.) who likes to be spoiled with content and compliments. But despite my best efforts in witty banter and creative content, the Reddit daddies have been lettin' me down. They don't take pride in the content they publish: they ghost, they send tiny bits, things like that. We can casually chat and roleplay in character where you ask me about my day and chronic illness, or we can unwrap the full incestuous experience... This is all up for discussion depending on how well we click. Send a message, pretty please, Reddit notifications are fickle friends.

the Proposition: I'm a storyteller. That doesn't mean I can't play a DD/LG-esque character in chats and interactions, and if you just wanna do that, that's cool! I'd prefer telling the below story, though. I'm still mostly a character, though, so if you're up for being my Reddit Daddy, this is also a point of discussion.

Ask about my chronic pain, and take care of me. Chronically ill girlies need snuggles. * I like getting dolled up for Daddy, and love when my efforts are appreciated! * Literacy is a kink. (spelling, grammar, content, the whole shebang) * I don't have many kinks or limits: I love praise, pet names, care, and cute outfits, and I don't do intentional harm or degradation, or toilet play. * I think that pregnancy would be a fun kink to explore here.

the Beginning: Crucible Moray closed the textbook she was referencing for her Criminology final with a bit of an obnoxious thud. She was finished writing about criminal procedures, the art of catching serial killers, and the psychological strategy she would use to solve problems for her final. As she handed it to her professor, Special Agent Graham, a profiler for the FBI, she smiled politely at him and thanked him for the class. "Thank you, Miss Moray, for your contributions," he said kindly. "I know it must not have been easy," he said, referencing vaguely what all of her professors did with uncomfortable looks on their faces--her mother had died mid-semester after a grueling, years' long battle with ovarian cancer, and Crucible had spent many days, nights, and missed classes huddled over her books and tablet while listening to her mother's vital monitors, and watching her light slowly fade. "Miss Moray," her professor stopped her, as she slung her little leather backpack over her shoulder. "Excellent work this semester. I look forward to reading your final," he smiled at her. Crucible nodded gratefully, but there was somewhere she needed to be. She rushed back to her dorm, which was mostly packed, and sat and waited.

She was waiting for a knock, while she finished folding laundry and putting it into boxes. Waiting for a knock while she absentmindedly scrolled social media and listened to music. Waiting for a knock as she flitted around her dorm making sure that it was empty and everything was in order. Waiting for a knock as she put her calloused middle finger in her mouth--sore from taking so many notes and writing her examinations.

And there it was. Faint and subtle. If you weren't looking forward to it through every midnight study session, every early morning lecture, and endless hours at the library. Crucible unlatched the locks and threw open the door to her dormitory, revealing her packed up bedding and belongings. She threw her arms around her guest before he even made it out of the hallway, which buzzed with chatter of girls saying goodbye for the summer and packing everything up. Crucible held on tight, squeezing her eyes shut as if to focus solely on this moment, taking a large inhale, sweet vanilla, spicy amber, and a masculine musk, all warmed by his body heat, complemented by the smells of laundry detergent and the lingering of the cigarette he'd smoked last, a habit that he hadn't quite kicked.

"Hi, Daddy..." Crucible whispered.

The pair were very close, each nearly worshipped the other. They were probably closer than a parent should be with a child, honestly. But now, the two were almost inseparable, following the death of beloved wife, mother, and family matriarch, bonds forged in the fire of sterile hospital rooms, the trio bravely soldiering, the youngest member usually studying, keeping her keen mind busy, as the raven-haired girl was a bit of a Type A perfectionist. Now, the similarly driven two only had each other.

Crucible was the spitting image of her mother, but she was more like her father in most ways, which meant that along with inheriting his snappy intelligence, she also was plagued with his anxiety, and the two had spent their nights apart in constant fits of worry--trauma, separation anxiety, grief, and the stone cold fear that they'd lose the only precious human they had left--as times of great loss like these, often invite fears that seep into bones in the middle of the night when sleep refuses to come.

Crucible relished the hug from her father. It wasn't as if she hadn't gotten one just over two weeks ago at Easter, but Crucible didn't care. Crucible's father wasn't a big man, not by any standard of measurement, but he certainly felt like it to her. Not only because she barely reached five-feet tall, but because she simply adored her father--he was on quite the pedestal--with his kind eyes, gentle intelligence, and dry wit, all while making her feel like she was the most cherished creature. She continued to cling onto him until she finally pulled back to stretch up on her white, polished tiptoes to kiss his stubbled cheek. "I missed you..." she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

He returned his daughter's embrace with a tenderness that spoke volumes of his affection for her. He held her close, feeling the fragility of her small frame against his own, and the familiar scent of her hair brought a sense of comfort amidst the whirlwind of change that had engulfed their lives.

"Hello, my darling," he said softly, his voice tinged with the same emotion that filled his heart. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes – those bright, intelligent eyes that reminded him so much of her mother. "You look tired, darling. Have you been sleeping?" he asked, concern etched across his features as he gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

As they stepped into her dorm room, he took note of the boxes and the sense of transition that hung in the air. It was a reminder that life moved forward, even when part of you wished it wouldn't. He watched as Crucible busied herself with the last few items, his gaze never straying far from her.

"Your exams must have been demanding," he ventured, knowing full well the rigorous schedule she kept. "I'm proud of you for managing everything so well."

"Well..." Crucible began, a guilty flush blooming across her cherubic cheeks--a sight that her father found adorable, though he tried his best to look stoic--"I did manage, Daddy," she said, struggling with the word, because it was only partially the truth: "There were some flares, I forgot to take my medicine a few times, I've been getting mostly takeaway boxes from the cafeteria, and there have been a lot of late nights," she confessed. "I try, Daddy..." she said earnestly. "I try, but it--it's hard..."

"Oh, my dear girl," he said, his heart aching at her confession. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and took her hands in his. "It's okay to find things difficult. You're dealing with so much, and I wish I could take some of that burden from you." His thumbs caressed the backs of her hands reassuringly.

"Listen, Crucible," he continued, his tone serious yet gentle. "Your health and well-being are the most important things. Without them, nothing else matters. You must remember to take care of yourself, especially during stressful times."

He paused, searching her face for a moment before adding, "And I want you to know that it's okay to ask for help. Whether it's from me, your doctors, or your friends. You don't have to carry this all on your own."

His gaze softened as he released one of her hands to lift her chin gently, ensuring she met his eyes. "You are not alone, my love. Remember that."

With a small smile, he changed the subject slightly, aiming to lighten the mood. "Now, tell me about your finals love. How did they go? Stellar as usual, I'm sure," he grinned at her.

As if on cue, Crucible's iPhone sounded an alert. It was from the university's student portal. "My grades have just been finalized," Crucible announced, tapping away at her phone screen until she got to the one she wanted. She handed the phone to her father: revealing a perfect 4.00 grade point average, straight 'A's on all of her exams, and a smattering of compliments from her professors throughout about the pleasure she was to have in their seminars.

Crucible beamed, but her father could see it in her eyes--what the portal did not show--this semester had been hard. "I honestly don't know how I did it Daddy," she said, shaking her midnight curls. Then a spark of mischief lit up her eye. "Maybe I didn't, and all of my professors gave me sympathy 'A's," she chuckled wryly.

"I have," Crucible confessed seriously. "Felt overwhelmed and alone," she admitted. "It--it feels like I've been underwater this whole time, and just now finally come up for air," Crucible explained. "And none of my friends feel this way, leave dinner early to take their pain medicine, drink only half a beer at a party, or take naps in the middle of the day, things like that..." she sighed.

With a combination of pride and concern, he read through the accolades on Crucible's phone screen. His chest swelled with pride at her academic achievements, yet he couldn't ignore the underlying struggle she faced. He understood the weight of her words and the depth of her feelings. Setting the phone aside, he drew her into another warm embrace.

"I'm incredibly proud of you, Crucible," he said sincerely. "But grades aren't everything, my love. Your health and happiness are far more important to me."

He pulled back slightly, holding her at arm's length so he could look directly into her eyes. "It's okay to be different, to have needs that others may not understand. Your experiences are valid, and there's no shame in taking care of yourself."

Taking a deep breath, her father decided it was time to address something that had been weighing on his mind. "Crucible, love, you're growing into a beautiful young woman," he began carefully, "and as your father, it's my responsibility to make sure you're prepared for all aspects of life. This includes relationships and intimacy."

"Don't worry, Daddy," Crucible said in a soft, but rather pointed voice, the subject clearly upsetting her. "I get what you're trying to do and everything, but it's--it's okay. I'm okay. I didn't exactly have the time for that this semester," she snapped a little too harshly, thinking of all of her drives back and forth from the hospital and days spent missing class in bereavement.

"I can see something's on your mind, love," he told her gently, tugging her shoulder over to the unmade bed. "And letting it fester won't do you any good," he added. "I'm prepared to sit as long as it takes, but I would like you to tell me what's bothering you, Crucible," he said, his voice soft.

"Okay..." Crucible said, slightly defeated, but also acknowledging that her father was right. "So..." she started, clearly embarrassed. "So, my sorority sisters were talking. Like, late at night, in the hall, when we were, like, supposed to be taking a study break," she said, focusing intently on the cardboard box she'd just placed in the car--anything to meet his gaze. "Like, talking about the fraternities, and the guys, and positions, and their experiences, and body counts, and stuff..." she explained. "And then," Crucible gestured to herself as if to refer to her own lifestyle which was atypical for most college students. "There's me. With my sleep schedule, and my doctor's appointments, and my medicine, and...I--I'm gonna die a virgin, Daddy," Crucible moaned melodramatically, throwing her face against the cardboard box she'd just finished packing.

Her father had to quickly school his smile. Such a dramatic, nineteen-year-old worry as she hid in a cardboard box. But he could see that his daughter was taking this very seriously, despite her theatrical flair, so he followed suit.

He fought back the urge to laugh, understanding that beneath her dramatics lay genuine concerns and insecurities. Instead, he offered her a gentle smile and a reassuring touch, reaching out to stroke her hair. "Oh, my sweet girl," he said softly, "life isn't a race, and there's no deadline for experiencing love and intimacy. These things will happen in due time, and when they do, it will be with someone who respects and cherishes you for the incredible person you are."

He shifted closer to her, lowering his voice as if sharing a profound secret. "Virginity is not a measure of your worth, Crucible. What truly matters is finding someone who understands and appreciates you—your strengths, your challenges, and everything in between." Leaning in, he whispered conspiratorially, "And remember, love, it's perfectly fine to wait for someone special, someone who sees the stars in your eyes and the poetry in your soul."

Feeling the need to shift the conversation to lighter grounds, he clapped his hands together lightly. "Now, how about we celebrate your fantastic results with a nice meal? Your favorite Italian place, perhaps? We can catch up properly, just the two of us."

His gaze was tender as he looked at his daughter, hoping to see her brighten at the suggestion. He knew that food, especially at a restaurant she loved, could do wonders for lifting her spirits. "What do you say, Crucible? A celebratory dinner at Al Dente?"

"Aw, Daddy," Crucible smiled up at him. The expression didn't radiate to her whole face, but it was still sweet. "I love Al Dente," she agreed, looking up at him with her dark, expressive eyes. "But, I'm really not that hungry," she said in a small, glum voice as the two finished loading her life into the back of the car.

Her father knew full well what Crucible was getting at. 'I'm not hungry,' was usually just a polite little way of hers to say, 'I'm hurting and not feeling well,' and so he responded to her accordingly. Seeing past her words to the discomfort she was trying to hide, his protective instincts flared. "Crucible, love," he said softly, his hand gently cupping her cheek, "you need to eat to keep your strength up, especially when you're not feeling well."

Concern laced his voice as he continued, "You mentioned earlier that you've been forgetting to take your medication, and that's worrying me. Proper nutrition is crucial for managing your symptoms, even if you're not particularly hungry."

Offering her a reassuring smile, he suggested, "How about we compromise? We'll go to Al Dente, and if you don't feel like a full meal, we can take the rest home," he offered. With a gentle squeeze of her hand, he added, "Besides, I'd appreciate the chance to spend some quality time with my favorite girl."

"Okay, Daddy, sure," Crucible agreed. He gave her room a final once-over while holding the door open for his daughter to exit, and the two made their way to the warm, cozy atmosphere of Al Dente. Crucible managed to eat a few bites of her favorite, Penne Sardi, but her father could see that she was exhausted, and really not feeling her best, barely managing to hang on through the meal and keep up their light conversation. Concern was evident in his eyes as he observed Crucible's struggle to finish her meal. He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. "Darling, why don't we head home? You look absolutely worn out."

Seeing her nod in agreement, he signaled for the check, paid promptly while the waiter packed up their leftovers, and he helped her to Crucible to the car. "Let's get you home where you can rest."

As they drove, he kept a hand on his daughter's forehead, worried she might have a fever, leaving one hand for the steering wheel, but he let his mind drift back to their conversation from earlier about her sorority sisters.

Crucible was absolutely stunning--it hadn't gone unnoticed by him how his precious daughter was a blossoming woman--how her sundress was perfectly cut to tease the swells of her breasts and the curves of her thighs--he was still a man, after all. Even leaning her head against the window, all the color drained from her pretty face, tear stains marring her perfect makeup, dark mascara and eyeliner stains pooling under her enchanting espresso eyes, she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen. And he knew he wasn't alone in this fact. She was much too beautiful for some frat boy: a horny bastard in an old college dorm that smelled of mildew, cheap beer, and body odor--that was unacceptable for his princess. She deserved someone to treat her like the treasure that she was. She was his precious gem. His prized possession. His priceless treasure.

Suddenly, her dark eyes flashed open in a panic, snapping him out of his reverie: "Daddy, I think I'm going to be sick," she managed feebly. as in times of severe flares, she might get a gastric migraine, or the pain proved to be too much, making her nauseous.

Immediately, he pulled the car over to the side of the road. He turned to Crucible with a mix of concern and gentleness. "Here, let me help you," he said softly, undoing his seatbelt and moving swiftly to assist her. He opened the passenger door and supported her as she leaned out, holding her hair back and rubbing her back soothingly until she was done.

Once he was sure she had emptied her stomach, he retrieved a bottle of water and wet a napkin from the car. He dampened her forehead and offered her the water. "Drink a little, it will help you feel better," he urged gently.

After making sure she was as comfortable as possible, he carefully buckled her back into her seat and closed the door. Back behind the wheel, he glanced over at her, worry creasing his brow. "We're almost home, my love. Just hang in there a little longer."

Upon arriving home, he guided Crucible into the bathroom and helped her freshen up and wash her face, helping her change into her pajamas. The first set he could find was a little ruffled silk matching set with a deep v-neckline and shorts whose ruffle barely covered her ass, he noticed, as she emerged, pale as a ghost from her recent episode. "I'll get your medication," he said, forcing himself to focus.

After she had taken her medicine, he scooped her up, strong forearms under her armpits and knees, carrying her up the stairs: He didn't know what compelled him to do it: But instead of taking her to her childhood bedroom, he took her to the master bedroom, where the side opposite his sat cold and covered in folded laundry. Even before the cancer, it'd been ages since he'd touched his wife--experienced the kind of intimacy he was promising Crucible about. He slid the clothes piles aside and flipped back the covers, placing his precious gem on the pillows, tucking her in gently. He steeled himself stoically, just watching her rest, until her fever broke, and she woke covered in salty tears and sweat.

"Oh, my sweet girl, you must be miserable." He peeled off the revealing pajama set, and quite the opposite, instead, chose an oversized old college t-shirt from his drawer to cover her in. She looked so fragile, so innocent, so weak. And he was in between sleep and wakefulness. And her brown, almond eyes were begging.

Hold me.

He stripped out of his socks and dress shirt, unbuckled his belt, and stepped out of his slacks, and held her warm body against him, feeling her pert little breasts, his hand wandering down to where her ass peeked out of his old t-shirt.

the Author: Hi! I'm Cru. I'm 30 F, from Ohio, USA, and I'm a literate to novella writing-style girlie whose preference is other platforms to writhe stories with friends. I live with chronic pain, so differing time zones aren't a thing for me--they just don't exist. The only thing stopping me is my medicine schedule, which orders me to nap throughout the day and night. I'm a flirt and a chat--if you're witty enough, and am available day or night! Send a message soon! Reddit notifications are kind of bitchy.

** I have Faceclaims for the family all ready to go, but I'm not allowed to share them and name drop their references.