Page 11 of Daddy’s Muse (Bloody Desires #12)

Bodin

I watched him through the feed on my phone—silent, grainy, infrared-filtered in the low dorm light, but perfect enough to see him curled up in bed with a stuffed raccoon pressed to his chest and the coat I’d given him months ago draped over him like a blanket.

His pacifier bobbed slightly as he sucked on it in his sleep.

Even now, even after watching for hours, I didn’t fully understand.

The first time I saw him like that—clad in soft, childish pajamas, eyes wide with innocent delight as he clutched crayons in one hand and colored a page of cartoon animals—I had thought he was… broken, honestly.

But that theory didn’t sit right the longer I watched.

It wasn’t something that needed fixing. It seemed more like a coping mechanism—a way to relax.

He did his homework like a perfectionist, tutored other students with quiet competence, and managed his work schedule like clockwork.

But when he was alone—when he thought the world had turned its back—something shifted.

He chose this.

At first, I was confused. Then curious. Now, I was obsessed.

I didn’t get it fully yet, but I needed to.

If I was going to take care of him the way he was showing me he needed, then I had to understand every piece of him. He needed more than just my protection. He needed comfort, routine, space to play—to be himself.

The idea of it unsettled me—not because it was wrong, but because I didn’t know how to navigate it. I’d studied people and animals my whole life, learned their habits, their lies, their patterns, their needs. But Colby didn’t follow any of the rules I was used to.

He didn’t fight for dominance like the others. He didn’t try to manipulate or threaten. He existed on an entirely different frequency, as though he’d been wired for something softer. Something purer.

And I—

I wasn’t soft.

And that was what was worrying me. I’d always known that he’d need a gentle touch, but this was much more.

Still, I was determined to have him as mine.

I’d been going to the diner more, watching the way he fidgeted with his apron strings, and the way his cheeks went pink when I said his name.

He was nervous, yes, but not repulsed or scared.

He didn’t pull away when I spoke to him.

He stopped flinching when I complimented his service or left a tip.

He looked at me when he thought I wasn’t looking back.

He was adjusting to me, just like I wanted.

It would take time, and I had already waited longer for less. I didn’t need to rush him. Let the shadows and silence do the work for me. Let him continue to feel safe, and eventually—eventually, he would seek me out, aching for more of the warm attention I gave him.

He’d start to need that feeling.

To need me.

I closed the monitoring app on my phone and tucked it away, standing up from the park bench where I’d been seated beneath the soft orange wash of a campus streetlight.

The night was crisp, the smell of frost and dead leaves sharp in the air.

I could see his window from where I stood.

His ceiling light was off, but I could tell by the dim yellow glow that his desk lamp had stayed on.

I wanted to know if he was afraid of the dark or afraid of being alone in the dark.

He’d never slept with the lamp on when his roommate was with him, and I had to wonder if that meant he had been hiding his fear from him, enduring his discomfort in order to appease his bully.

I suppose it didn’t matter anymore. Bryan wasn’t going to be bothering him anytime soon. Never again, if I got what I wanted.

I strode casually to the propped-open side door of the dorm, passing one or two students on my walk up the stairs to Colby’s floor. No one looked twice at me.

The room was dark when I slipped in, the door catching softly on its frame before it sealed behind me.

Colby’s breathing was slow and even, his face relaxed in sleep.

He looked impossibly small like this.

My throat tightened with something I didn’t have a word for as I observed the rise and fall of his chest. I stood at the foot of his bed for a moment longer than necessary, soaking it in—the softness, the vulnerability, the complete and total trust he didn’t even know he was giving me.

I wanted to touch him. To press my palm against his cheek, to run my fingers through his hair, to lift the blanket and coat off of him and pull his pajama pants down from his hips and his shirt up to his shoulders.

I wanted to lick every inch of his ivory skin and kiss each and every freckle.

I wanted to rut between his soft thighs and soak his underwear with my cum.

Faen. I wanted to watch as his eyes fluttered open, confused and sleepy, the innocence in his gaze begging me to take the lead.

But I didn’t.

Not tonight.

I turned to his desk and lifted his phone from where it rested, hooked up to its charger. Unplugging it, I picked it up and angled it carefully toward his face. The screen lit up with a quiet chime and unlocked instantly.

I pulled out the desk chair, lowering myself into it. The glow from the phone cast just enough light for me to work.

Messages. Photos. I’d already seen all of those.

Tonight, I wanted to see more.

I opened his browser.

The history was… illuminating, to say the least.

At first, it was harmless. Google results for resources related to his courses and Quizlet links.

Also, what appeared to be a YouTube rabbit hole on raccoons: baby raccoons, a raccoon mom dropping off her kids for daycare on a woman’s balcony, an old man feeding raccoons hot dogs and grapes, raccoons being rescued, a compilation of raccoons using their hands…

And then, a treasure trove. Just what I needed.

“cgl, ddlb clothes”

“adult pacifiers”

“how to find a daddy dom”

“being little without a caregiver”

Some of the pages were from blogs. Personal ones that looked to have been written by boys and girls, just like Colby. There were a lot of gentle, bubbly fonts and pastel colors, cute pictures, and soft, friendly words.

One post was titled: “What I wish my Daddy understood about being little.”

I clicked it open, my heart thumping nervously beneath my ribcage.

The paragraphs blurred together at first, but the more I read, the more I began to understand. There was talk of rules and routines and bubble baths and lullabies. It explained the different types of age play and the different types of caregivers. I found myself clicking on page after page.

It was… overwhelming. Strange. Delicate.

I didn’t know what to make of it.

Some words seemed to always have capital letters, like Dom—Dominant—Daddy, Mommy, Daddy Dom, Master, Sir. And then it seemed like their counterparts were usually written in lowercase: little, boy, girl, brat, pet, slave, prey.

There was a difference between a boy and a little boy.

And some littles liked something called ABDL.

Some of them were little all the time, some were little just when they had free time, or sometimes it was purely a sex thing.

Then, on the other hand, some littles strictly didn’t want anything sexual to happen when they were in littlespace .

I felt like I was learning a third language. There were so many intricacies.

But if Colby needed this, needed someone to take care of him, comfort him, protect him, play with him, then it needed to be me .

Even if I didn’t understand it fully yet, I could learn. I’d already learned everything else about him—his schedule, his habits, his fears. I knew which socks he wore on test days. I knew how he liked his tea. I knew the exact way he breathed when he was dreaming.

This was just one more part of him. One more puzzle piece I would slide into place.

So, I kept scrolling, kept going through his history.

“Why do people move from Norway to America?”

“Norway facts”

I sat back in the chair, stunned for a moment, the phone warming in my palm.

He was curious about me.

I looked at him again—peaceful, asleep with his knees tucked in like a child, and the gentle, rhythmic sucking of his pacifier.

He was mine.

Not in some cheap, possessive way. Not in a way that made him a conquest.

He was mine in the way the moon belonged to the night sky.

And I would become whatever I needed to be for him. I would earn this space beside him, not just the one beside him in bed, but the one inside his walls, his heart, his little world.

No one else had ever tried to understand him, but I would.

Even if I had to tear myself apart and remake every bone of who I was, I would become the man he needed.

Daddy.

Hmm… no.

I would be his Pappa.

I carefully closed all the open apps, cleared the screen, and returned the phone to its place before taking one last long look at him.

I could do this.

That thought rang in my head again and again as I stood from the chair. The shadows swallowed my presence easily now—this room was familiar to me in a way no other space had ever been. It breathed with his rhythm, pulsed with his scent.

He had no idea I was here.

And yet… I felt as if he’d been waiting for me.

I crouched near the head of the bed, just enough to see his face clearly. His lashes fluttered faintly against his cheeks, and a small line of drool had started to form at the corner of his mouth.

I couldn’t help but smile. His lips looked so soft, so precious when they weren’t trembling with anxiety.

I reached into my coat pocket and withdrew a small rune I’d carved earlier that evening. Ansuz. For wisdom, communication, and clarity. I hadn’t planned to leave it yet—not until I was sure he was ready—but something inside me had shifted as I watched him.

He was ready.

I slid it under the edge of his pillow, careful not to disturb him. I rose to my feet again and stared at him in the low light. I wondered what he’d say if he woke up right now. If he saw me here, hovering over him in the dark.

Would he scream?

Cry?

Or would he reach out his hands to draw me nearer?

I exhaled slowly through my nose and forced myself to leave.

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