[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: Nineteen-year-old finished college sophomore Crucible sat amidst boxes and totes, waiting in her college dorm, sitting in her little blue sundress with the French buttons, practically bouncing with anticipation. She was waiting for a quiet knock on her dorm room door, folding laundry, listening to music, finishing packing, taking breaks to absentmindedly scroll social media as the rest of her dorm echoed with chatter--the buzz of everyone getting ready to leave and saying their goodbyes for the summer, while she was waiting for that knock.

And there it was. Faint, but unmistakeable. You could almost miss it, if you weren't counting on that knock through every all-nighter, early morning lecture, and throbbing pencil callous. Crucible sprang up to greet her guest, arms around his neck before he'd even made it to her doorway.

She inhaled deeply, taking in sweet citrus, warm amber, and spice, all mixing with his masculine musk and warmed by his body heat, melding with the scent of fresh laundry and lingering hints of the cigarette he'd smoked last, in a habit he hadn't quite kicked.

"Hi, Daddy," she whispered, her voice wet and shaky with emotion.

The nineteen-year-old college student and her father had always been close--closer than average for a father-daughter pair, if you asked anyone--but now the two were nearly inseparable, after the loss of the family's matriarch: death of beloved wife and mother in a grueling battle with ovarian ancer that had spanned years. The small family had spent much of their recent lives in sterile hospital rooms and doctor's offices, the youngest member usually huddled down over her tablet with her textbooks open, biting her lip to drown out the beeping of her mother's vital monitors. But now, classes were finished, and the midnight-haired girl was both elated and exhausted, passing her exams successfully, thanks to her keen mind and driven personality.

Crucible looked the image of her mother, but she was really more of a carbon copy of her father--she had his personality. So along with his intelligence and sharp wit, she'd also inherited his anxiety, which meant that the two had spent the previous weeks' nights apart and awake, minds churning with a heady cocktail of grief, separation anxiety, trauma, and freezing fear that they might lose the only precious human they each had left in this world. Because times of great loss, like these, often incite clinging terror that seeps into bones after midnight when sleep refuses to come.

Her father wasn't a big man, but he certainly felt like it to Crucible--not only because she barely reached five feet tall, but for how she admired him--it made him all the more heroic in her eyes. She simply adored her father, with his kind eyes, gentle nature, and handsome features. Crucible relished the hug and his warmth, allowing herself to be held. It had only been a little more than two weeks since she'd last hugged him, but Crucible didn't care.

"I missed you," she whispered into his shirt sleeve as she clung onto him, finally pulling back, stretching up on her white polished tiptoes, to kiss his stubbled cheek.

He wrapped his arms tightly around his daughter, returning the embrace with a tenderness that spoke volumes of his affection for her. He let out a soft sigh, feeling the weight of the world lift slightly with her in his arms. "Oh, my darling girl," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and sorrow, "I've missed you too."

As Crucible pulled back, he took a moment to study her face, noting the way her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, the slight quiver of her lower lip. He reached out to gently brush a stray curl from her face, his touch feather-light against her skin. "You look so grown up, Cru," he said softly, using the nickname he'd given her as a child.

His heart swelled with pride at the sight of his daughter, now a young woman, navigating life with such grace despite the hardships she faced. Yet, there was a part of him that yearned to keep her safe, to shield her from the harsh realities of the world. "How have you been managing? Are your medications helping with the pain?" he asked, concern etched into his features.

The thought of Crucible experiencing the complexities of romantic relationships at university both thrilled and terrified him.

"Ummm... I've been managing, Daddy..." Crucible said, struggling with the word, because it wasn't exactly the truth. "Well..." she finally admitted, a guilty flush blooming across her cherubic cheeks, which her father secretly thought was adorable, but he schooled his features to continue to look stern and serious.

"There have been some flares, I forgot to take my medicine a few times in the past couple weeks, I've just been grabbing a takeaway box from the cafeteria, and there have been a lot of late nights studying," she confessed as the two continued to finish packing up her small dorm.

A flicker of worry crossed his face as he listened to Crucible's admission. He knew all too well the consequences of missing doses of her medication, having seen firsthand the toll it took on her body. "Crucible, you must remember to take your medicine regularly," he reminded her gently but firmly. "It's crucial for managing your symptoms and keeping you healthy."

Seeing the guilt on her face, he stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We all forget things sometimes, darling. What's important is that we learn from our mistakes and do better next time."

With a small smile, he added, "Promise me you'll try harder, alright? Your health is paramount." He watched her intently, looking for the reassurance he needed to ease his own anxieties.

He then shifted the conversation to something lighter, wanting to distract her from any feelings of shame. "Now, tell me about your studies. How did your exams go?" He busied himself with helping her pack, careful to give her space to share her achievements without overwhelming her with his concerns.

As if on cue, her phone chimed, with a notification from the university's portal. "My grades were just finalized," Crucible announced, putting away the clothes in her hand and reaching for her phone. With a few swift taps, she landed on the page she needed, and handed the phone to her father.

It revealed a perfect 4.00 grade point average, straight 'A's on her final exams, and a smattering of compliments from her professors sprinkled throughout about what an engaging joy Crucible was to have in their lectures. Crucible beamed.

Seeing the glowing report on Crucible's phone screen filled him with immense pride. His eyes scanned the page, taking in the confirmation of his daughter's brilliance and dedication. "Crucible, this is absolutely fantastic!" he exclaimed, his voice brimming with genuine admiration. "Your mother would be so proud of you, my dear. I know I am."

He handed the phone back to her, still wearing a broad grin. "These grades are a testament to your hard work and resilience, especially considering everything you've been juggling. You're remarkable, truly."

His expression softened further, a tender gaze settling upon her. "I hope you realize how extraordinary you are, inside and out," he said sincerely.

"But," he added, when she finally met his eyes. "You don't have to be perfect all the time, love. It's okay to admit when you're feeling overwhelmed or you need extra help, which is perfectly understandable given everything that's been going on," he said, vaguely referring to her mother's illness and subsequent passing.

"Thank you, Daddy," Crucible told him, hugging his neck again. "And... and I have," she admitted slowly. "Felt overwhelmed, I mean," Crucible clarified. "It--it feels like this whole time, I've been underwater, and I've just now finally come up for air," she sighed. "I don't know how I remembered anything for my finals."

A sparkle of realization flickered in her almond eyes. "Or maybe I didn't, and my professors just gave me sympathy 'A's," she chuckled wryly.

"It was so much, with all of the extensions and office hours I had to ask for, the hospital stays, the funeral, and everything with Umma," Crucible said softly, trailing off, absentmindedly continuing to put things into boxes. Her father could read between the lines: This semester had been hard.

A heavy silence fell between them as Crucible opened up about her struggles, the reality of her experience hitting home for him. He pulled her into another tight embrace, letting her know without words that he understood, that he shared in her pain and exhaustion. "Oh, Crucible," he breathed out, his voice thick with emotion. "You've been carrying so much on those tiny shoulders of yours."

He allowed himself a moment to hold her, offering silent comfort before stepping back to look into her eyes. "I wish I could take away all the pain and stress you've endured," he said earnestly. "But all I can do is be here for you, to support you in any way I can."

His hand came up to cup her cheek, a gesture of deep affection. "Please remember, you're never alone in this. We're in it together, always."

Taking a deep breath, he broached a subject that had been weighing on his mind. "Crucible, have you had any time to think about yourself, outside of your studies and responsibilities? Have you met anyone at university who makes you happy, who treats you with the kindness and respect you deserve?"

He asked the question tentatively, aware of the delicate balance between being a protective father and acknowledging that his baby girl was growing up.

"I didn't really have much time for that, Daddy," Crucible said, a tiny edge to her voice, clearly wanting to avoid the topic, as it seemed to upset her. She focused on taping up a box perfectly, and turned toward the door to start loading boxes into the car.

Observing the shift in Crucible's demeanor, he recognized her discomfort. Following her toward the door, he stopped just before the outside one. "Do you want to tell me what's bothering you, love?" he asked gently probing, using the gentle English term of endearment to coax just enough to get his daughter to open up about something that was clearly upsetting her.

"Not really..." Crucible confessed, but she did anyway, her words coming out in a disorganized teenage tumble: "Okay, so:" she began: "Some girls in my sorority were talking. Late at night, in the hall, when we were, like, supposed to be taking a study break. About guys, and the frats, and their body counts, positions and experiences, and everything..." she explained. "And then," she said, gesturing to herself, as if to refer to her atypical lifestyle: "With my meds and my sleep schedule, and... I--I'm gonna die a virgin, Daddy," Crucible moaned, throwing her head dramatically into the cardboard box she'd just tossed unceremoniously into the back of the trunk.

Her father had to struggle to keep his laughter in check. It was such a nineteen-year-old worry. But Crucible was earnestly serious, so he had to follow suit.

Stifling a chuckle, he approached his melodramatic daughter and lightly tapped her on the shoulder. "Crucible, please come out of the box, love," he said with an attempt to maintain a somber tone. Once she emerged, he brushed off the cardboard dust from her hair and clothing, his actions radiating patience and understanding.

Meeting her gaze, he offered a sympathetic smile. "Darling, I assure you that you will not die a virgin. There's no rush, and when the right person comes along, things will naturally fall into place," he counseled, hoping to ease her fears, while having an ulterior motive, as he thought about protecting his daughter from the fraternity boys of the world.

"Darling," he started. "How about we focus on celebrating your success today instead, shall we? How does dinner at Al Dente sound?"

Crucible managed a small smile at the idea of Al Dente, her favorite Italian restaurant, but she met her father's eyes with a small, glum smile. "Thanks, Daddy. But I'm really not that hungry," she said softly.

He knew full well that 'I'm not hungry,' was code for 'I'm hurting and not feeling well,' so her father responded accordingly.

His brow furrowed with concern, recognizing the signal immediately. "Crucible, I understand that you're hurting, and I hate seeing you like this," he said softly, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. "But I think it would do you good to get out of this dorm and enjoy a nice meal. You haven't eaten a proper meal in days, and I won't see you again until you're settled back at home."

He gave her hand a reassuring pat, hoping to provide some comfort through physical contact. "Let's just go and have a quiet dinner, just the two of us. If you find that you're not enjoying it, we can always leave, alright? No pressure."

His voice was firm yet gentle, leaving no room for argument but also making sure that she knew her feelings were valid and heard. He wanted nothing more than to ensure his daughter's happiness and well-being, even if it meant convincing her to step out of her comfort zone when necessary.

Crucible nodded, and soon they were in the cozy, warm atmosphere of Al Dente. But she only managed to eat barely three bites of her favorite Penne Sardi, when she gripped her father's forearm. "Daddy..." she called weakly, the color draining from her face. "I think I'm going to be sick..."

Upon hearing her distress, he immediately stood up, concern etched across his face. "Come on, let's get you out of here," he said, swiftly moving around the table to assist her. He helped Crucible to her feet, wrapping a supportive arm around her waist as they made their way out of the restaurant.

Once outside, he guided her to a nearby bench, away from the noise and bustle of the dining area. He knelt beside her, holding her hair back and rubbing her back in soothing circles as she leaned over, retching helplessly.

When the episode passed, he offered her a bottle of water he always carried in his bag, along with a cool, damp cloth he kept for emergencies. "Take slow sips, darling," he instructed gently, ensuring she was comfortable and stable.

His mind raced with worry. He knew all too well that nausea and vomiting could be side effects of her medication, but they could also indicate something more serious, especially considering her history with fibromyalgia and cerebral palsy. "Crucible, we need to make an appointment with Dr. Bennett as soon as we get back home," he said firmly, brushing away a strand of sweat-soaked hair from her forehead. "This isn't the first time you've felt unwell like this."

Crucible nodded weakly, before starting to retch and dry heave, emptying the contents of her stomach.

With a gentle hand on her back, he supported Crucible as she dry heaved, whispering words of encouragement. "It's alright, love. Let it all out," he said softly, knowing that the process, however unpleasant, was sometimes necessary to feel better.

After several agonizing moments, the episode subsided. He carefully lifted her into his arms, ignoring the curious glances from passersby. "Let's get you home, where you can rest," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. He quickly arranged for their meals to be packed up and sent a message to their driver, asking him to bring the car around to the front of the restaurant.

Throughout the journey home, he remained attentive, checking on Crucible's comfort and monitoring her temperature with a hand to her forehead. His mind drifted back to their previous conversation. He knew that people noticed that his Crucible was beautiful. And secretly, his stomach twisted with an icy dread at the thought of her losing her sweet innocence to some frat boy: a horny bastard in an old college dorm that smelled of mildew, cheap beer, and body odor. No--that simply wouldn't do for his Crucible, regardless of if that was the college experience. Because even after violently vomiting and sobbing, mascara and eyeliner pooling in dark blotches under her espresso eyes, marring her perfect makeup, she was still the most breathtaking thing he had ever laid his eyes on, in her pretty blue sundress that was cut perfectly to accentuate the little shape of her breasts and the curves of her thighs.

When they arrived home, he rummaged through Crucible's neat dresser drawers finding some pajamas--the first he found were a light ruffled, silk set that boasted a deep v neck and shorts whose ruffle barely covered her ass. He tried not to think about that, as she emerged from the bathroom in the pajamas, holding onto the wall for support.

He scooped her up in his arms, like he'd done countless times throughout her childhood, and took her upstairs. But instead of taking her to her childhood room, he turned in the opposite direction. He didn't know what exactly compelled him to do it as he stared at the king sized bed, the side opposite his cold, and covered in pillows and clean, folded laundry. He swiped those aside and placed her there.

Even before the cancer, it had been ages since he'd touched his wife, experienced the intimacy he'd tried to tell Crucible about. And Crucible was warm, her pert little assets cute, and hotly inviting in the tiny pajama set. And before he even registered what he was doing, he was out of his dress shirt and slacks, and his hardened, toned form was curved up next to her soft youthful one.

As he slipped beneath the covers, his mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He was her father, her protector, and here he was, sharing a bed with his ill daughter, naked save for his boxer briefs. Every instinct screamed at him to guard her innocence, to shield her from harm, but another part of him—one he had fought tooth and nail to suppress—was captivated by her burgeoning beauty, her vulnerability, and the profound connection they shared.

He lay on his side facing her, propping himself up on one elbow to study her face. Her breathing was shallow, her brow creased with discomfort. Gently, he reached out to smooth the hair away from her face, revealing her porcelain complexion, marred only by the faint trails of dried tears.

In that moment, the weight of his responsibility towards her hit him like a ton of bricks. He was determined to protect her, not just from physical pain, but from the emotional turmoil that accompanied young love and the perils of navigating sexual relationships for the first time.

"Rest now, Crucible," he whispered, leaning down to plant a soft, chaste kiss on her forehead. "I'm here with you." He moved to switch off the bedside lamp, casting the room into darkness, broken only by the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

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.