From Fandom Fantasy to Family Reality,An East Asian Girl's Journey with Daddy Kink

01 “Taboos”

I used to be totally obsessed with those Western fandom ships that were dripping with taboo and sexual tension.

In my heart, the ultimate crush had to be the father-son pairing of Thranduil and Legolas (from The Hobbit & The Lord of the Rings). This ship comes from the Silvan elves, who are mostly plain-looking with deep hair and eyes—except for this father-son duo. They inherited the Sindar bloodline, making both of them the most beautiful and powerful blond elves in Middle-earth. That same bloodline gave them nearly identical looks, personalities, and elite genes—basically, they were destined to see only each other. And elves live forever, with super long adolescence, so their father-son flirtations could stretch on forever. Legolas basically got nearly a thousand years to grow up, enjoying the blissful life of a little prince being adored and occasionally disciplined by “Ada” (aka Daddy in LOTR-speak). I can’t even imagine how happy that must’ve been. I don’t know if it was just an East Asian kid thing, but by 15, I was completely sucked in and couldn’t escape. Because of that ship, when I first stumbled into BDSM literature, I genuinely fantasized about how amazing it would be to have a Daddy who’s S-level insane in real life!

02 “Daddy”

So, what’s a Daddy, really? A Daddy isn’t about blood—it’s a fantasy. It’s about an older man who’s done carrying all responsibilities, but still carries a quiet, slightly weary dignity. A Daddy is a fantasy. A Daddy is a mental trick for top-tier players, feeding off a girl’s dependence and trust. I was obsessed with that fantasy, but I never dared try anything IRL. My Daddy fantasies were my stand-in for a real S. So every night, I’d go full-on in my little toy sessions, sometimes even blowing an entire month’s allowance on tiny subscription sites back when I was younger. And yet, my mind kept riding wave after wave of brain-highs from my imagined Daddy kink. My dream Daddy would be like a character in a nurturing game—patient, gentle, full of wisdom and experience, teaching everything (even the stuff you probably shouldn’t teach 🤭), and then, when the kid grows up, standing side by side, seeing the world with that unspoken, blood-deep understanding—one look or subtle expression, and they just get each other. That emotional connection? You won’t find it in any random ship, no matter how spicy.

03 Biological Father

Years later, out of nowhere, I stumbled upon something called “Chinese-style father-son literature.” Excited, I clicked in, expecting something fun to fangirl over. Big mistake. I read it too fast, and by the time I finished, my brain was like… there’s no going back. “Chinese father-son relationships aren’t just father and son—they can be ruler and subject 👑, enemies 🔥, rivals 🌹, brothers 👯‍♂, friends 🧑‍🤝‍🧑.” “It’s like this: if you love a dish, Mom will keep giving it to you. But Dad? He’ll never touch it.” “A family can only have one man 🚹. Even father and son can’t coexist in that space.” Reading that, my heart sank. Adding “Chinese-style” to Daddy ripped me out of my fantasy and shoved me straight into the harsh, heartbreaking reality. Because I wasn’t a happy little girl. My real father was the most ordinary—or even harsh—typical Chinese dad. No epic mythology vibes of fighting alongside me, teaching me hero skills, or dying to protect me. Nope, none of that. A traditionally strict East Asian family somehow, by accident, imposed a twisted, almost pathological form of “gender reversal” on me:

I’m a girl, but my dad raised me like I was his son—constantly comparing me, pushing me to outshine every boy he knew in school, work, or talents.

My mom raised me like I was her husband—constantly measuring me against her own partner, expecting me to one day surpass him, to provide love, protection, and be dependable.

Yeah… I fit that perfectly. Every word of the “ruler and subject” stuff hit me, even though my gender didn’t match the text—it all pointed straight at me. Even though my dad was just an ordinary middle-aged man, giving me one chromosome somehow made him a “ruler” in my mind. Years of conditioning had me tiptoeing around him like I was tending to an emperor. After reflecting, I realized—everyone else was joking, and I was the only actual clown 🤡.

04 Chinese-style Father-Son Literature

“I, an only child, never had the courage to sit down and have a drink with my father. I feared his deep, penetrating eyes—terrifying to a man, yet his praise is the most coveted thing a man can get.” This overly dramatic, abstract stuff? That’s basically my life. At dinner, if he was happy, Mom and I had to be happy. If I spoke too quietly, he’d slam his chopsticks on the table and yell that I had “no EQ” or was “a loser.” If he wasn’t happy, nobody could be happy. If anyone smiled at their phone or TV, he’d freak out, finger-pointing and screaming that “everyone is mocking him.” Twenty years of this. One sip of alcohol from him, and every woman in the house had to walk on eggshells. In my Chinese-style father-son world, Dad gave me just a little tuition, and either silent approval or endless abuse depending on his mood. After realizing this, every time I read Daddy literature, I literally see my dad’s weathered, disapproving face. He used to be handsome—I’ve seen old photos of him and my mom as a couple—but the contrast between that magnetic past and the lifeless dinner table in real life makes me feel completely disconnected from the origin of my life. I had to tell myself: Mom gave birth to me, and maybe I’m just a victim of a beauty scam. The Daddy characters in novels offer love, indulgence, and pleasure—they lift an M up and set them down gently. The Daddies I’ve imagined? Big, tender, kind. The ones in real life—even my own father—carry that top-dog arrogance, even if they aren’t literal rulers. After a few tries, my love for Daddy literature completely vanished. Full-on electronic impotence—you know, zero reaction.

05

But maybe the more my conscious mind repressed desire, the crazier my subconscious got. I’ve loved dreaming since I was a kid. Almost every night, I’d fly through all kinds of imaginary worlds—usually influenced by whatever book I’d read that day. Because my imagination is vivid, the dreams feel insanely real. And sometimes… I’d dream about making me. With my real parents. Yeah. Awful, taboo, right? But here’s the thing—truth about origin is the ultimate forbidden, shameful, even dirty thing for East Asian kids. Dirtier than a trash can. And somehow, the lie you’re fed? Trash-can level too. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t handle the fantasy. I couldn’t handle that dream-me was actually happy, enjoying it, while waking up felt like swallowing a nest of cockroaches. Why was I disgusted? In the dream, sunlight filters through a white, hazy mosquito net, filled with that familiar faint floral scent. Beneath me, my childhood bed—the coziest, safest place ever. The creaky frame makes that natural white noise that soothes the soul. In the dream, my closest Daddy holds me like I’m precious. They whisper “I love you” in tones so gentle they’re overwhelming. I start confused, then cling to them tightly, crying happy tears. They kiss me, leaving silly, loving marks—no blame, no scolding. They accept me completely. I finally feel affirmed. Everyone’s happy. Everything in the dream is so kind and forgiving. And maybe because of that love, waking up fills me with guilt.

06

“I’m as quick-tempered as my father, but more useless.” “One word of approval from my father outweighs a hundred praises from my mother.” “I smoke more expensive cigarettes than him, but I can’t hold up the sky he holds.” In Chinese father-son literature, these declarations sound childish, even silly—but I never imagined it could reflect my real life. Humans naturally crave power. This dramatic, pseudo-scholarly narrative style is basically fanfic about patriarchy—lost sons in a patriarchal world whining with fancy words. If you don’t get why Daddy literature is sexy… I get it. Real-life dads already have that vibe. East Asian culture doesn’t really leave room for “East Asian culture” fantasies. Add Chinese elements to Daddy lit? Instant X-power overload. Yet here’s the weird part—Daddy dreams make me sick, but Mommy dreams? Adrenaline spikes. In real life, my mother wasn’t much better at “treating kids well” than my father. And I know she stayed silent under his oppression. But I can’t despise female-centered fantasies. I don’t know why the difference exists. Maybe deep down, I want to be the master of the house in a patriarchal world. Maybe there are other dark reasons I refuse to explore. It’s my deepest, darkest secret. At least after a few of these dreams, my Daddy kink addiction? Completely broken.

Ending

My origin, my birth, my family, my fate, my XP—all these half-real, half-fantasy, half-good, half-evil thoughts tie up this East Asian girl tight. Like Baoyu in Dream of the Red Chamber, who has a scandalous dream in Qin Keqing’s room—the peak of taboo in the novel. So, what’s the “taboo” fantasy anyway? Old-school Cao Xueqin didn’t think it was a big deal.