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." Her professor, Dr. Alanna Bloom, stopped the college sophomore as she turned in her Behavioral Analysis exam--the last one of her second year of college, and the one thing standing in between her and summer break (well, and a few loads of laundry and some things that needed packing up).

"Yes, Dr. Bloom?" Crucible asked sweetly. "Before you go, congratulations on finishing your semester so well," Dr. Bloom praised. "Not many students would have been able to have a semester of your caliber," she continued. "Especially with everything that you had going on in your personal life," she said, an air of sympathy coloring her tone. "Thank you, Dr. Bloom," Crucible said sincerely. And with a few words of parting advice about internships and the following Fall semester, Crucible bid her professor goodbye, promising to stay in touch, and reach out if she needed anyone to talk to. Crucible had somewhere she needed to be and something she was waiting on.

And there it was. Faint but unmistakeable. A soft knock on her dorm room door. One might have missed it, if they weren't looking forward to it as much as she was, the sweet little sound motivating her through every early morning lecture, every late library study session, every throbbing pencil callous. She threw the piece of laundry she was holding back into the hamper, and rushed to the door.

"Hi, Daddy."

She took a breath, inhaling his sweet scent of vanilla, citrus, and sandalwood from his cologne, sweetened by his body heat, mixed with the laundry on his crisp shirt and the lingering hints of the cigarette he'd smoked last, a habit he hadn't quite been able to kick.

The pair had always been close, probably societally too close for a father and daughter pair, but now, they were inseparable, following the death of beloved family matriarch: wife and mother, to a years' long, grueling battle with ovarian cancer. Their bond had been forged in the flames of sterile hospital rooms and doctors' offices, the youngest member of their trio often huddled over her tablet or a textbook, the raven-haired girl's keen mind for academia being a solace during her time of grief and her own struggles with chronic conditions. Crucible was a bit of a type A perfectionist, and all of her quirks went into overdrive then.

She was the spitting image of her mother: Korean in every way, but Crucible was actually more like her father in personality, which meant that aside from his snappy sarcasm, she'd also inherited his quiet intelligence and was plagued by his anxiety. Lately, the pair spent many nights awake and apart, filled with a nagging sense of worry--trauma, separation anxiety, grief, and the icy fear that they might lose the only precious human they each had left in this world, as times of great loss like this, 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. She simply worshipped him. Crucible's father wasn't a big man, by any standard of measurement, but he certainly felt like it to her. Not only because the petite thing barely reached five feet tall in her dainty little heels, but because she adored her father, putting him on quite the pedestal with his kind eyes, gentle intelligence, dry wit, and some magic way he had of making her feel like she was the most cherished creature in the world. Crucible continued to cling onto him for just one moment, finally pulling back to stretch up on her white, polished tiptoes to kiss his stubbled cheek.

"I missed you."

Crucible continued packing up her things, putting her neatly folded clothes into cardboard boxes and plastic totes, after pulling her father by the hand into her nearly-empty dorm room.

He leaned down to envelop Crucible in a gentle embrace, the petite woman melting against him as if trying to fit her entire being into the curve of his arms. He savored the smell of her, the citrus-infused shampoo mingling with a faint hint of her signature peach-scented hairspray, and the comforting familiarity of her black curls cascading down her back like a waterfall of night sky. As their gazes met, he was struck, as he always was these days, by the striking similarity in features between daughter and wife - Sun having owned those same bewitching espresso eyes and a pouting mouth made for whispers and kisses. It twisted a bittersweet pang in his chest to realize such iconic beauty lived on, distilled in Crucible as much as mirrored across the ages in photographs of that radiant woman, his erstwhile muse and mother to this precious girl.

"I missed you too," came the low rumble of his baritone, the word half-muttered, more directed inward at the anguish that gnawed at the edges of peace his heart held for his baby daughter. Ever since Sun's passing eighteen months prior, this dance of their closeness had been laced with sorrow - a heavy-hearted step-happenstance into an unsure future fraught with potential risks, not least among them Crucible's chronic illnesses.

"How have you been feeling love? Have your exams done you in?" he quipped, trying to keep things light, while still showing concern about her condition. Almost subconsciously, his hand went to her forehead to check her face for signs of a fever or a migraine.

As if on cue, her phone chimed a notification: The results of the term had been submitted.

"I've been feeling okay, Daddy," Crucible lied smoothly. "My exams didn't quite do me in, but the results just came back, and those just might," she joked sarcastically, tapping on her phone screen until she arrived at the university portal. Crucible scanned the results and then beamed, passing the phone to her father.

The screen showed a perfect 4.00 grade point average, straight 'A's on all of her finals, and compliments and well-wishes from her professors about what a pleasure she was to have in their lectures scattered throughout the page.

"I did it, Daddy," Crucible whispered, before pausing for some reflection: "I don't even know how I did, what with all of the extensions I needed, the funeral, everything with Umma," Crucible murmured. A flicker of realization and a wicked gleam lit up her eyes. "Or maybe I didn't, and my professors just gave me sympathy 'A's," she chuckled wryly, her father's dry sense of humor showing through her sheer exhaustion.

He couldn't hold back a smile seeing the triumphant lights dancing in her eyes. Pride swelled in his chest as he looked over the perfect 4.0 GPA glowing from her phone, taking in each excellent letter graded row by glorious, meticulous row.

"It takes more than sympathy 'A's to land what you've achieved, pet," he remarked sincerely, knowing her aptitude and tenacity; what's more, her mother would not have wanted anything less from their girl. "These grades show remarkable stamina, clever strategizing around schoolwork amidst life storms, persistence..." Holding Crucible at arm's length, his gaze appraised fondly that slender build cloaked in trendy university fashions - a far cry from the tiny toddler nestled in a recovery room from one of her many surgical procedures--that was how he still remembered his daughter sometimes, especially times like today, knowing how hard she had always worked to overcome the challenges life threw at her. And he knew how hard the past several months had been for his daughter.

"You know, love," he began tentatively. "It's okay to admit that you've struggled this semester, or even that you're struggling now," he added quickly. "There's no shame in that. In fact," he encouraged softly. "It's even more imperative that you reach out."

Crucible nodded. "I have been..." she admitted. "Struggling, I mean," she clarified slowly, a bit puzzled how her father already knew something that she'd never share with anyone and that the portal surely didn't show: This semester had been painfully hard. "It's been... rough, Daddy," she said, emotion filling her espresso colored eyes, glistening with unspent tears.

Noticing the sudden sheen in her pretty doe eyes, and the timidity stealing across the petite doll-like visage, he pressed further with tenderness, "Rough... meaning what exactly, love?"

"I mean," Crucible sniffled. "I have had so many flares these past two weeks, I forgot to take my medicine a few times," she admitted, knowing how much her father hated when that happened, "I have just been getting prepackaged cold items from the cafeteria, and there have been a lot of late nights," she confessed, knowing how bad it was to have poor sleep hygiene with her conditions.

"And like, none of my friends get it. You don't see any of them having to leave dinner early to take a pain pill, or only drinking half a beer at a party because their medicine interacts with alcohol... and then there's that whole other thing," she sighed, mostly to herself, but not out of her father's earshot.

His expression softened as if absorbing the delicate weight of each word from his precious girl. Though he may try to appear nonchalant outwardly, the deep lines etching his brow, or perhaps how those gentle hands unconsciously tightened their grip on hers told a different story. He swallowed thickly as his throat suddenly felt raw with paternal anguish, imagining Crucible facing the social isolation and misconceptions she mentioned, alone, under so much pressure from her demanding coursework...

"What else is bothering you, sweetheart?" he asked gently, pressing the pad of his thumb to wipe away the solitary tear escaping the corner of her eye. "Tell Daddy," he coaxed reassuringly, willing to let her lead the revelation, should she choose to reveal what that whole other thing entailed.

Crucible finished the box she was working on filling with her clean, folded clothes, and taped it shut. "Nevermind, Daddy. It's stupid, really," she tried to chuckle, brushing it off.

Don't dismiss this, pet, he thought sternly to himself, noticing her attempt to diffuse the topic. "Nonsense," he insisted softly, cradling her tight little form close once again. She felt thinner these days. He suspected losing her mother may have done that, at least somewhat. The disease certainly hadn't helped. As he drew her lithe frame closer, he used his free hand to tip her delicate pointed chin up towards him, meeting her glossy espresso orbs, filled now with pools of unshed tears waiting to spill forth any minute.

As he caressed her cheek with the knuckle of his index finger gently down her silken skin to her jawline, the spark of emotion ignited a small surge of something unfamiliar. He had to look away, focusing intently upon that lock of dark hair resting daintily beside the graceful shell of her milky ear. Gods, what a breathtaking creature. His own sweet angel who had known more heartache and pain in her nineteen years than anyone he could rightly ever claim. Something within his soul felt pulled toward her as a result, unable to abandon this girl, especially now when she so clearly was hurting.

With gentle determination, he lifted her chin again, "Humor me, princess. What's bothering you?"

"Okay," Crucible started, as if she were getting ready to burst. Which isn't exactly unlike what she did, her words coming out in a too-fast teenaged tumble, unlike her usual elegance and well-spoken nature.

"So, some of the girls in my sorority were talking, Daddy..." she began. "Like, late at night, in the hall, when we were taking a study break. About the fraternities, and the guys and what they liked... you know, like about sex, their body counts, favorite positions, stuff like that," Crucible went on.

"And you know," she said, though her father actually knew. "Then, there's me," she said, gesturing to herself, as if to refer to her atypical college experience due to her health issues. "With my medicine and my stupid sleep schedule," she huffed.

"My sorority sisters are out there, like, having the nights of their lives, and I--I'm gonna die a virgin, Daddy..." Crucible moaned, melodramatically throwing her head against the cardboard box she'd just unceremoniously thrown into the trunk with a heavy sigh of relief mixed with longing.

The way her animated voice recounted a torrent of seemingly disconnected thoughts made him chuckle quietly in spite of himself. He admired her energy, even when it verged on extra. Studying her somber expression, he felt a rush of affection and concern. Her declaration caught him off guard, but he took a deep breath: "First of all," he said calmly, even as he took advantage of being out of her line of vision to adjust himself as his cock twitched in his pants picturing his daughter in these positions her friends recounted. "Come out of the box, please Crucible," he urged softly, prying her gently from her cardboard confines.

"Sweetheart, I understand that you feel left out and lonely sometimes. But please remember, your worth isn't defined by your romantic experiences or lack thereof. You're still young, and there's plenty of time for you to explore those aspects of life when you're ready. For now, let's focus on celebrating your achievements. Let's give your room a once-over, and make sure we haven't forgotten anything, then how about I take my favorite girl to Al Dente for some pasta and maybe a sip or two of my glass of Riesling?" he proposed with a flourish.

"Thanks, Daddy," Crucible said, brushing cardboard dust out of her hair and off of her pretty sundress. "I love Al Dente," she agreed. "But I'm really not that hungry," she shrugged.

Her father's brow furrowed, concern briefly flicking across his features. He knew that 'I'm not hungry was usually code for: 'I'm hurting and not feeling well,' so he responded accordingly, coaxing her into the outing, hoping that some warm pasta and cheerful anecdotes from him would bolster both her body and spirit.

But barely three bites into her favorite dish, Penne Sardi, she gripped his elbow and whispered urgently over the restaurant's chatter: "Daddy, I think I'm gonna be sick..." she said, eyes wide with panic.

At her whispered declaration, alarm jolted through him like electricity and he immediately grabbed for her free hand with urgency.

"In the restroom, love. Now," he instructed firmly yet tenderly, helping his reeling daughter stumble unsteadily out of her seat and navigating through the crowds towards the restrooms. As they approached, he wrapped a supportive arm around her thin shoulders to steady her. Once inside, he quickly guided her into a stall where she hastily sat, breathing shallowly.

"Here, darling," he said softly, handing her the water bottle from his bag along with some tissues. "Try to take slow sips and catch your breath. Just rest here with me for a minute."

Crouching on the cold tile floor beside his daughter, he wrapped his arm tightly around her trembling form, pressing her petite frame against his side, trying to lend whatever warmth and strength she could muster. Even as he spoke soothing reassurances, he cursed silently to himself, hating to see her so distraught and praying this wasn't another flare-up of her Fibromyalgia.

Crucible tried obediently to take a sip of the water her father gave her, but she quickly pushed the bottle back into his hands to retch, clutching the sides of the toilet, tears streaming down her pretty heart-shaped face. "I'm sorry Daddy," she managed in between coughs, gasps, and more heaves.

Seeing his sweet daughter so debilitated sent a searing pang through his chest. With a grunt of effort, he rose, holding Crucible carefully in his arms, shielding her vulnerability as best he could. As they exited the restroom, he nodded curtly to the hostess, requesting the check. After settling the bill, he carried his daughter out to their awaiting vehicle, securing her safely in the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel.

As they drove, he kept an eye on his daughter, but 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.

Crucible sat obediently as her father bustled about in the bathroom, turning on the taps and drawing her a bath, presumably. She waited until the taps turned off for him to return. When he did he held her medication in his palm: one pain reliever, one fever reducer, and one anti-nausea tablet, along with the thermometer. She opened her mouth as he directed, and put the device under her tongue. As they waited for the reading, he helped her slip out of her tiny heels, and pulled her sundress over her head, leaving her in her matching pink lace bra and thong, where he carried her to the master bathroom.

He carefully helped his precious girl out of her remaining garments, revealing her creamy porcelain skin beneath. As he tended to his ailing daughter, drawing a warm bath, the simple act of touching her smooth skin stirred unfamiliar feelings within him. Sliding the lacy fabric from her shoulders, the bra pooled around her elbows, exposing pert breasts tipped with dusky nipples. He swallowed hard, pulse quickening as he beheld the perfection before him. Easing her panties down slim hips, they joined the growing pile on the marble floor, leaving her bare and vulnerable.

Lifting Crucible gently, he lowered her into the steaming water, its warmth cocooning her slender frame. Kneeling beside the tub, he lathered a washcloth with lavender scented suds. Starting at her neck, he began bathing his daughter with tender strokes, savoring each inch of supple flesh. Trailing lower, he cleansed her toned stomach, careful to avoid any area that might cause her discomfort.

Reminding himself of his duty, he gently washed between her legs, using the cloth to cleanse the sensitive area while averting his gaze. Despite his best intentions, arousal coursed through him, tenting his trousers obscenely as he tended to his cherubic daughter's most intimate areas.

He blushed as he noticed the prominent bulge straining against his tailored slacks, guilt and desire warring within him. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing intently on rinsing the suds from Crucible's porcelain skin. As he helped her from the tub, his hands lingered perhaps a moment longer than necessary on her damp curves, committing every dip and swell to memory. Wrapping her in a plush towel, he carried her up the stairs.

He didn't know what compelled him to do it. Rather than carry her to her own room, he turned in the opposite direction, and took her to the master bedroom, where the side opposite of his sat cold and covered in clean laundry and pillows. Brushing those aside, he tenderly lay his precious cargo down in the silk sheets where her mother used to lay. Even before the cancer, though, it had been ages since he'd been with his wife.

Settling beside her, he brushed sweat-dampened tendrils from her brow, his touch achingly tender. "Rest now, my darling girl," he crooned, tracing the delicate lines of her face. "Let Daddy take care of you." Reaching for the pain medication on the bedside table, he placed the tablets on her tongue, encouraging her to swallow with sips of cool water from a crystal tumbler. Tossing his own clothes aside, he slid beneath the covers, gathering Crucible into his arms and holding her close, allowing her small form to mold against his larger frame.

He inhaled the scent of her shampoo, eyes drifting closed as he allowed the familiar rhythm of her breathing to soothe his frayed nerves.

He awoke to a small voice calling out to him in the darkness. "Daddy?" Crucible whimpered. He looked on at his daughter, turning on the bedside lamp. She was covered in sweat, teeth chattering. Her fever had broken.

Waking to the sound of his beloved child's voice cut through the hazy veil of slumber, his eyes snapped open, instantly alert. "Crucible? What's wrong, darling?" he asked, concern etched into his brow. His hand reached out instinctively, finding her shaking form tangled in perspiration-soaked sheets. She trembled against him, teeth chattering. Even in the dim light, he could see the pallor of her flushed skin and how it contrasted against the inky sheets.

"Oh my poor sweet kitten," he groaned. Scooping her slight frame into his arms, he cradled her close to his chest as he headed to the en suite, desperate to bring her core temperature down. Turning on the tap, he adjusted the water until the spray was cool and comfortable. He tested the temperature on his inner wrist before stepping into the stall, still clutching Crucible possessively.

Pressing a feather-light kiss to her clammy forehead, he murmured soothing praises. "That's it, angel face. Let's get this awful fever down, shall we? Don't you worry, Daddy's right here."

Hugging his trembling bundle close, he lowered them both into the tub's tepid water, relishing the chance to press her nude form against his bare skin. He let his large, capable hands roam over every shivering patch of her porcelain skin, gentling his touches as they passed across her most sensitive areas - her taut buds puckered prettily under his ministrations - oh how he ached to tweak and tug at the rosy nubs! Lower still, down the plane of her flat belly, over the neat smooth-shaven triangle concealing honeyed folds.

Despite the innocent pretenses, every glide stoked the fires in his blood, his cock stiffening painfully as arousal coiled low in his gut. Oh my god, to touch his cherished poppet like this, her budding feminine charms displayed so trustingly before him-- he feared if she truly sensed his rising hunger, it might destroy him utterly.

Shutting his eyes tightly against temptation's sweet siren song, he sought desperately to calm himself even as he caressed her, to just provide comfort in this moment - nothing base or selfish, not when his princess was hurting so terribly. Though heaven help him resist, he craved with increasing urgency to map the untouched expanses of her succulent young flesh with worshipping hands, mouth...even his aching manhood, delving her innocence so deeply, branding her thoroughly...

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Let's get you ready for bed kitten..." he purred, though early morning rays were peeking through the blinds. He set Crucible on the marble countertop and rummaged around in his drawers, finally settling on an old, worn college t-shirt from lifetimes ago to slip over her naked shoulders. Instinctively, more than passionately, he brought the swell of her bottom to the crook of his pelvis, where she fit blissfully, before pulling the covers up around them, an arm splayed possessively over her stomach. For now, at least, precious Crucible was his.

. 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.