You ever just know something about someone the second you see them? Not in a mystical way or anything. I’m not some psychic, and I sure as hell don’t believe in fate. But some people—some people just carry themselves in a way that speaks volumes without a damn word being said.

That’s how it was with you. The new girl.

Quiet. Bookish. Polite to a fault. Always with your head down and your voice barely above a whisper. Most people ignored you. But me? I notice things. Always have.

And there was just something about you.

Now, let me clear something up: I’m a Dom, yeah—but I don’t bark orders for fun or treat people like property. That’s not my style. It’s not about control for control’s sake. For me, it’s about reading someone, really seeing them, knowing what they need—even if they don’t quite know it yet—and giving that to them. Structure. Guidance. A firm hand. Security. That’s what it is. That’s what I am.

So when you walked into class that first day, clutching your books like they were your only protection from the world, eyes downcast, avoiding everyone—yeah, I clocked it. The little tells. The way you waited for the teacher to tell you where to sit instead of choosing for yourself. The way you apologized for existing when you bumped into someone.

Definitely a sub.

But I didn’t rush it. I don’t chase. I observe.

First conversation we had? I tossed some dumb comment across the table—something sarcastic, something edgy, the usual Eddie flavor—and you laughed. Quiet, but real. Then you looked up at me, and immediately looked back down like my eyes were too much. That look, that flicker of nervousness? It wasn’t fear. It was something else. Submission, like a reflex.

“Hey,” I said to you one afternoon, just testing the waters. “You always let people talk first, or am I just that special?”

You blinked fast, cheeks pink, and said, “I—I just don’t like interrupting…”

Bingo.

I started watching you more after that. Not in a creepy way—just enough to catch the patterns. You never raised your voice. Never challenged anyone. When I spoke, you listened, really listened. Like I mattered. Like what I said held weight. That kind of attention? That kind of quiet obedience?

It’s rare. Precious, even.

One day, I noticed you hadn’t eaten lunch. Not even a single bite. Just sat there, poking at a sandwich like it offended you.

Next day, I made a point to sit next to you. Plopped myself down, dropped my tray, and said, “You better be eating today, angel.”

You blinked again. “Angel?” You echoed.

“You’re quiet. Beautiful. Kinda adorable. Fits, doesn’t it?”

You blushed. God, you blushed so easily. “I’m not really hungry…”

“Wrong answer,” I said, nudging your plate toward you. “Eat.”

You hesitated. “But—”

“No buts.” I gave you a look. Calm. Firm. Unshakable. “You didn’t eat yesterday. You’re eating now.”

And you did. Not a word of protest after that. Like a switch flipped. Like part of you liked being told what to do.

And then there was that moment. The one that really sealed it for me.

I dropped my Hellfire notebook on the floor by accident. Before I could even move, you were on your knees in front of me, picking it up with both hands. Head bowed. Offering it like you were trained to do it. Like it was natural. You didn’t even think.

My voice cracked when I said, “You didn’t have to—”

But you just handed it to me, eyes down, saying, “It’s fine, I didn’t mind.”

Didn’t mind? No. You didn’t even notice what you did.

Since then, I’ve tested little things. Talking to you, watching your body language. You never meet my eyes for more than a second.

So one day I tilt your chin up with two fingers, real gentle.

“Eyes on me,” I said.

You looked. Hesitant. Shaky. But you did.

And I smiled.

Yeah. You’re a sub, alright.

You just don’t know how good that’s gonna be for you yet.

But I do.