Witters Note:
This is a slow story (also my first ,59 chapters have been written editing is going on for them),non-erotic in the beginning though there is teasing up to chapter 15 where the full on on erotica starts. Uploads for the story would be weekly ranging from 3K to 5k words each. The story is centred on romance and soon moves to soft dom territory the romance part stays. Mainly this is based on the female MC's POV all though it is written in 3rd person because I like to jump to different POV's. also I am a little sorry about the cliffhangers. I dont give permission to repost this. Hopefully you enjoy the story and i am looking forward to the criticism and feedback
(written and edited by)
MocoFF
Characters:
Vanessa : A white 18 year old petite 5ft 7"brunette female, with c cup tits, waist length brown hair, nice shapely bubble butt, longer legs than upper body, brown eyes, state level karate champion
Ethan : A white 18 year old 6ft white haired male, usually in a black hoodie and a non sleeve jacket. Also having the hood up at all time. Emerald green eyes.
Timeline:
Story starts(Aug)
***
Vanessa turned her head—and time stopped.
Standing a few houses down, frozen mid-step, was Chloe.
Chloe.
One of them.
One of the girls who had once laughed with her until their stomachs hurt, who had sat beside her in every cafeteria victory lap, crowned in the subtle power of teenage popularity. One of her ex-friends. And from the look on her face—lips parted in astonished disbelief, eyes locked on the scene unfolding in front of her—she had seen. Everything.
Vanessa's heart stuttered, her stomach dropping like a stone tossed into deep water.
Ethan—of course—didn't even flinch. His reaction was clinical, effortless. He just tugged his hood further over his head, those quiet eyes flicking away from the world. "See you."
That was it.
No hesitation. No concern.
No grasping for some excuse to make it okay.
He rode off, the sound of his wheels fading, swallowed by the silence Chloe left in her wake.
And Vanessa...
Vanessa stood there, rooted to the pavement, heart hammering in her chest like it was trying to escape.
She stared at Chloe, her expression a twisted knot of panic, guilt, and something else—something harder to name. Fear, maybe. Or shame. Or both.
She didn't know how long they locked eyes before Chloe turned and vanished.
The air around Vanessa felt suddenly heavier.
By the time she reached the school gates, the whispers had already begun, curling through the crowd like smoke—thick and impossible to avoid.
"Oh my God, did you hear?"
"Vanessa Reyes—with him?"
"But who even is that guy?"
"I heard he's loaded."
"I heard he's just some loser."
Her eye twitched.
It was wildfire. Ruthless and fast.
By the time she reached her locker, a small crowd had already gathered—hungry for gossip, high off the scent of scandal.
And then—
"Vanessa!" Chloe's voice sliced through the noise, and suddenly she was there again. Wearing a smile that gleamed like polished silver, sharp and cold. Like she'd won something.
Vanessa turned slowly, exhaustion already sinking into her bones. "What?"
Chloe's eyes sparkled. "So... are you dating Ethan William?"
The name hit her like a slap. Vanessa choked, caught entirely off guard. "No! What—no! We're just—"
She stopped.
A realization hit her like a wave.
They weren't talking about Ethan Smith.
They were talking about Ethan William.
The version of him that existed here—at this school. The quiet boy in the dark hoodie. The no-name, the mystery. The nobody.
Not the Ethan who could beat anyone in their weight class with one hand if he felt like it.
But she couldn't tell them any of that.
She couldn't.
Because saying the truth meant revealing everything—and the thought of that, of sharing him, of exposing who he really was to them—it felt wrong. Like she'd be betraying him.
Her hands curled into fists by her side.
"...We're just friends," she said finally, voice low.
Chloe arched a brow. "Uh-huh. Friends?"
"Yes, Chloe. Friends." The words were tight in her throat.
Chloe grinned wider. "So you admit it, then?"
Vanessa blinked. "Admit what?"
Chloe's voice dropped into syrupy cruelty. "That you're friends with the school's biggest nobody."
The words were like a punch straight to the chest.
Laughter erupted around them—light and cruel, like the ringing of glass shattering.
And just like that, something broke.
Vanessa felt it.
Felt the crack deep in her sense of self.
All the years she'd spent building up her image—karate champ, school royalty, the untouchable Vanessa Reyes—reduced to a whisper behind someone else's cruel joke.
For the first time in years, she felt small.
Like Ethan used to. Like Ethan probably always did.
The next two days crawled by in a blur of half-conversations and sideways glances. She walked the hallways and felt them all. Every look. Every smirk.
She could hear the words behind their silence.
There she goes.
The girl who fell.
The one who chose him.
She sat with Chloe and the others like nothing had changed, but everything had.
She didn't laugh. Didn't joke.
She barely even spoke.
She listened, though.
"Oh my God," Lisa giggled, scrolling through her phone, "Did you see what Mia posted? It's so cringe."
Chloe leaned in. "Ugh, of course she did. She's been dying for attention."
Vanessa didn't even glance.
She used to love that kind of gossip—used to ride the high of putting someone else down just to feel taller.
Now?
It tasted like ash in her mouth.
"Vanessa." Chloe turned toward her again, voice sweet and sharp. "You never told us. How did you even start hanging out with that freak?"
Something inside her snapped.
"Ethan's not a freak."
The room froze for a beat.
Lisa stared, blinking. "Okay... but like, be real. Why are you even talking to him? Did he, like, bribe you or something?"
Vanessa's fingers twitched in her lap.
A month ago, she might've laughed it off. Might've joked. Played it safe. Protected her status like it was sacred.
Now?
She couldn't do it.
Wouldn't.
Because somewhere in the middle of all this, she'd remembered what it felt like to be seen by someone who didn't care who you were on paper.
And maybe...
Maybe that was worth more than all their approval combined.
Her mouth opened—then closed again.
She looked at Chloe.
At Lisa.
At all of them.
And felt more like a stranger than ever.
"...I have to go."
The words came out sharper than she intended, slicing through the shallow rhythm of cafeteria chatter like a broken chord.
Vanessa stood, heart pounding, legs stiff like her body wasn't sure whether to run or collapse.
Chloe rolled her eyes with that trademark smirk, laced in mockery. "What, running off to your boyfriend now?"
There it was again—that tone. That venom wrapped in sugar.
Vanessa didn't answer.
Didn't roll her eyes back. Didn't play the game.
She just picked up her tray, turned, and walked away—each step heavier, louder than it should've been.
And for the first time in her life... she didn't care what they thought.
It hit her like a sudden downpour.
The silence behind her, the looks. The stunned, silent gasp of a table full of girls who had never once expected her to walk away.
Not from them.
Her fingers tightened around the tray. She wasn't even sure where she was going. She didn't have a plan or a script. She just knew she couldn't sit there one more second pretending like everything was fine.
And before she could even think too hard about it—she was already walking across the field.
Toward the big tree near the edge of the sports grounds.
Away from the noise, the whispers, the curated perfection.
Toward him.
Ethan was exactly where she expected him to be. Exactly where he always was after lunch—his back leaned against the thick trunk, hood drawn up, legs sprawled lazily, a book resting open on his knee. Completely unbothered by the world that had made her feel like she was suffocating.
She didn't even know why she went to him. She just...
She needed somewhere that wasn't there.
Someone who didn't need her to perform.
With a heavy sigh, Vanessa dropped down beside him, letting her tray thud against the grass. Her shoulders sagged. Everything felt loud inside her head—her heartbeat, her doubts, Chloe's voice looping over and over again like a poison.
Ethan didn't even look up. "Rough day, huh?"
She snapped her head toward him. "How did you—?"
He finally glanced at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Vanessa Reyes, reigning queen of this school, willingly sitting in the outcast zone? You tell me."
Vanessa groaned and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Ugh. They're so... fake."
Ethan chuckled. Low, dry, like he'd been waiting for her to say it. "And you're just realizing this now?"
She shot him a look, one eyebrow raised in warning. "Shut up."
Silence.
But not the awkward kind. Not the loaded, brittle kind that came with unsaid expectations.
This was... peaceful.
Comfortable in a way she hadn't felt in ages.
No masks. No angles. Just... sitting.
Ethan flipped his pencil between his fingers absently, like it helped him think. "So... what happened? You finally see them for what they are?"
Vanessa hesitated.
Her pride tangled in her throat.
She didn't want to say it. Didn't want to voice the truth that had been clawing its way up her chest since the moment Chloe had grinned at her like a predator spotting weakness.
But Ethan didn't press. He just waited. Quiet. Steady.
And somehow, that made it harder to hold it in.
"I used to think they were my friends," she muttered, eyes fixed on a blade of grass. "That they actually cared about me. But the second they saw me with you, they—"
Her voice caught.
Ethan raised an eyebrow but didn't speak.
Vanessa exhaled, long and shaky, and rubbed her face. "They turned on me."
Like flipping a switch. Like years of friendship meant nothing. All it took was one moment—one unfiltered glimpse of her sitting beside the wrong person.
Ethan smirked, eyes flicking back to his book. "What, they didn't like seeing their queen with the 'black-hooded nerdy rich kid'?"
She groaned. "Ugh. You heard about that?"
He shrugged, not even looking up. "I don't care what people say about me."
That made her pause.
Because he meant it.
He wasn't just brushing it off. He wasn't deflecting like she would have—laughing it away or making some half-snide comeback. He just didn't care.
Not even a flicker of pain in his eyes.
Just... calm.
She stared at him.
And for the first time, she believed him.
All those years—him sitting alone, walking with his head down but never hunched. The way people whispered about him, made up stories, poked and prodded—and he never once broke.
Meanwhile, she had spent two days as an outsider and was already unraveling at the seams.
She let out a breathless, bitter laugh. "You're probably loving this, huh? Watching me get a taste of my own medicine?"
Ethan leaned back against the tree, eyes still calm, but something in them had shifted. He turned his head, looked at her—really looked at her.
"No."
She blinked. The certainty in his voice caught her off guard.
His gaze was steady. Quiet. Deep.
"I don't care about revenge," he said, his voice lower now, almost thoughtful. "I just want people to see things for what they are."
Vanessa swallowed hard.
And in that moment, something clicked—slowly, deeply, painfully.
Maybe he had succeeded.
Because sitting here, in the quiet shade of the tree with the wrong boy and no mask left to wear—she was finally seeing it.
Everything.
The days blurred into a soft, golden haze, and Vanessa found herself drifting toward Ethan more often than she was willing to admit—even to herself. It wasn't supposed to happen. That's what she kept insisting, like a mantra that lost strength with every repetition. Their paths just happened to cross. Coincidence. Proximity. That's all it was.
But deep down, beneath the denial she wore like armor, something in her had already surrendered.
It was in the way her steps always seemed to carry her toward him—between classes, after school, during practice. Even when she told herself she was just passing by, her body moved with a silent purpose, like gravity pulling her in. And Ethan? He never looked surprised. Not once. As if he'd always known she'd show up. As if he'd been waiting.
Their sparring had started as a challenge. A means to vent, to grow stronger a way to talk to him. Something to throw herself into so she wouldn't have to deal with... this. Whatever this was. But now, every blocked punch, every collision, every tumble onto the mat—each one was starting to feel like something more. Something intimate. A language all their own.
And she was getting stronger. She could feel it in the way her limbs moved, quicker, sharper. Her body responded faster than her thoughts, instincts honed in ways that thrilled and terrified her. She was improving. But not enough to beat him.
And Ethan? Ethan noticed. He noticed everything.
"You're thinking too much again."
She barely processed the words before his leg swept under her like a whisper, fast and inevitable. The mats rushed up to meet her, knocking the breath from her lungs.
She groaned, face to the ceiling, frustration blooming in her chest. "Ugh. I hate you."
A familiar hand appeared in her peripheral vision—steady, calloused, sure. His smirk hovered above her like a dare. "I know."
She narrowed her eyes at him but took the hand anyway. His grip was warm, grounding. He pulled her up with effortless strength, his palm brushing against hers a little too long, a little too slow. Her stomach fluttered, an involuntary response she ruthlessly ignored.
She rolled her shoulders, shoving the feeling down, deep down where it couldn't distract her. "Again."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, something mischievous flickering in his eyes. "Didn't take you for a masochist."
Vanessa scowled, but her voice stayed even. "I need to beat you at least once."
He laughed, a low, warm sound that curled around her spine. "Keep dreaming."
She lunged at him, sudden and fierce.
But this time... he hesitated.
Just for a second. A flicker. A pause so subtle it might've gone unnoticed. But she saw it. She felt it.
He was holding back.
And that realization struck her harder than the fall.
Her fists moved on instinct, but her mind was somewhere else—circling that moment like a hawk. Why had he done that? Why now?
After training, they sat on the park bench together, sweat cooling on their skin as twilight settled in. The air was soft and warm, the kind of evening that made everything feel suspended in time.
Vanessa hadn't stopped thinking about that moment. Ethan's hesitation looped in her mind like a riddle she couldn't solve.
Ethan was unreadable as always—hood up, gaze forward, sipping water like the world wasn't tilting beneath them. That calm, infuriating confidence.
She turned toward him, eyes narrowing. "You're going easy on me."
He didn't flinch. Didn't even glance her way. "No, I'm not."
"Liar."
That smirk again. The one that made her stomach knot in a way she was beginning to recognize far too well. "Oh? You think you've gotten that good?"
She crossed her arms, heart thudding. "I know when you're not giving it your all."
He leaned back against the bench, letting his head tilt as if he were truly studying her now—no more distractions, no playful banter to hide behind. "Maybe I just don't want to break my new training partner."
Her breath caught. Just a second. A hiccup of feeling she tried to smother behind a laugh. "Oh please, I can take whatever you throw at me."
But when she looked at him—really looked—his expression had shifted. Less amused. More... focused.
Like he wasn't watching an opponent anymore.
He was watching her.
And suddenly, she wasn't sure who was winning anymore.
She swallowed hard, pulse tapping at her throat. Maybe he did know. Maybe he'd always known. Maybe this whole time, he'd been reading every flicker of her hesitation, every flicker of something more.
But if he did... why wasn't he saying anything?
Why was he still letting her pretend?
Why was she still pretending?
In the days that followed, the silence between them began to hum with something louder than words.
It was subtle. Maddeningly so. But Vanessa started noticing everything. Not just the way Ethan looked at her—no, that had changed too, but it was more than that. His eyes lingered, just a fraction of a second longer when she spoke. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of her mouth, the cadence of her voice. Like he wasn't just listening—he was feeling her words.
Then there were the little things. The almosts. The barely-there brushes of his hand when he handed her a water bottle. The way he'd step closer during a sparring session, not in a calculated move, but instinctively. Naturally. As if his body had made the decision to be near her before his mind even caught up. And he still insisted on driving her home, every time. Even when she didn't ask. Even when she said she didn't need it.
But he never said a word about any of it.
And Vanessa? She was unraveling.
Inside, she was screaming at herself. Begging to make sense of it. But outwardly, she wore the same casual mask she always had—tight-lipped, indifferent, in control. Because control was all she had left.
She couldn't be the first to break.
She wouldn't be.
So she kept pretending. Pretending like the space between them didn't buzz with electricity. Pretending she didn't notice the way his breath caught when she got too close. Pretending she didn't wait for his voice like it meant something.
Because if Ethan had noticed the shift in her—if he'd truly seen the way her guard had started to slip—then why hadn't he pulled away?
Or worse...
Why hadn't he pulled her closer?
That question festered in her like a wound. And it hurt. More than she wanted to admit. Not knowing—not knowing—was a kind of slow, quiet torment that dug deeper every time he looked at her like nothing had changed. Like everything hadn't changed.
She hated it.
Vanessa had always been the type to act. To throw the first punch. Dive into a challenge headfirst and figure it out later. Control was second nature to her—muscle memory. But this? This limbo? This careful, aching dance?
This wasn't a fight she could win with instinct or fists.
This was Ethan.
And Ethan was impossible.
She tried to smother it. The way her heart stuttered every time he said her name. The way she found herself lingering longer after sparring, waiting for some excuse to stay near him. The way her eyes drifted toward him when he wasn't paying attention—just to study the quiet lines of his profile, the way his jaw tensed when he was thinking.
It was driving her insane.
But what made it worse—what made her want to scream—was that she knew he saw it. Ethan wasn't the type to miss things. He was always too sharp, too aware. He read people like books they didn't know they were writing. He saw beneath armor. He had to know.
So why was he acting like he didn't?
Why was he letting her twist in this silence?
They sat on the bench again that evening. Another long training session behind them. The sky was streaked with the soft glow of sunset, casting shadows that danced across the pavement.
Vanessa stared ahead, jaw tight, willing herself not to look at him.
She failed.
Her eyes found him almost involuntarily. As they always did.
He looked relaxed. Calm. Like nothing inside him was on fire. Like his silence wasn't a slow, deliberate cruelty. Like he wasn't torturing her.
Her chest burned.
She swallowed, her voice low. "You're really not gonna say anything, are you?"
Ethan turned his head toward her, blinking slowly. "About what?"
She clenched her fists.
Oh, she thought bitterly. So we're playing that game.
Vanessa turned away, scowling. "Nothing."
He smirked, raising one amused eyebrow. "Alright."
And just like that, he let it go. As if nothing inside him was tangled or aching. As if it was just another day, just another conversation, just another bench.
She wanted to scream.
How could he sit there, so still, so composed—knowing everything she was feeling—and not even flinch? How could he keep pretending he didn't see the chaos in her? Unless...
Unless he was waiting.
Waiting for her to say it first.
Vanessa felt her spine straighten, her muscles coil tight.
NO.
Nope, that wasn't going to happen.
She wasn't going to be the one to give in. Not now. Not when the silence was still safer than the truth. Not when vulnerability felt like a loaded gun pressed to her ribs.
Even if it killed her—
She would not be the first to break.
For days, Vanessa felt like she was drowning in her own thoughts.
It wasn't subtle anymore. It wasn't something she could brush aside or smother with focus. No matter how hard she tried to shove it into the background, it clawed its way forward—louder, heavier, impossible to ignore.
She couldn't concentrate in class. Words on the whiteboard blurred into nonsense. The steady drone of her teachers became a low, irritating hum in her ears. Her pen moved, but the notes were meaningless—disconnected from her mind, which was always somewhere else.
Always on him.
Training with Ethan had become its own kind of torment. Not physically—though the workouts were intense as ever—but emotionally, mentally, internally. The silence between them was deafening. Every movement felt charged. Every glance, every pause, every time his fingers brushed hers when they exchanged gloves or corrected a stance—it lit her up from the inside, a slow-burning fuse that never quite reached the explosion.
It was unbearable.
Every time she looked at him, her chest would tighten. Her lungs would seize up, like her body forgot how to breathe just from the curve of his jaw or the shift of his weight. Every time he spoke, she found herself leaning in—just slightly, just enough—to catch his voice like it mattered more than anything else.
And every time she tried to push it away, to dismiss the ache in her gut or the heat behind her eyes, her thoughts betrayed her. Dragged her right back to the weight of his gaze, the sound of his laughter, the maddening way he kept pretending nothing had changed.
She was losing her mind, one heartbeat at a time.
She needed help.
That evening, Vanessa found herself in the kitchen, stirring sauce at the stove, tension thrumming through her shoulders like a live wire. Her mother moved beside her, chopping vegetables with practiced ease, humming softly to herself. The warmth of the home, the scent of garlic and tomatoes, the familiar rhythm of domestic life—it should've calmed her. It didn't.
Her heart was a storm.
She hesitated, fingers tightening around the spoon. Then—
"...Mom?"
The word came out small. Too small. Too vulnerable.
Her mother glanced over, one eyebrow arched in suspicion. "You only call me 'Mom' like that when you need something serious."
Vanessa sighed, setting the spoon down with more force than necessary. She stared into the pot like it might offer answers.
"I think I really like him," she said finally, the words quiet and raw, slipping out before she could second-guess them.
There was a beat of silence. Then—
"Oh?" Her mother's voice was light, teasing. "And let me guess... Ethan?"
Vanessa groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Why is it that obvious?"
Her mom just laughed.
Vanessa crossed her arms, frustrated. Embarrassed. "Yeah, well... I don't know what to do."
Her mother's expression softened. She set down the knife and leaned back against the counter, giving Vanessa her full attention.
"Are you scared of rejection?" she asked gently.
Vanessa hesitated, lips parting, then closing again. She stared at the floor.
"No—I mean... maybe?" Her voice cracked on the last word. "It's not just that. I don't want to ruin things."
Her mom nodded slowly, eyes full of something deep and understanding. "Vanessa, sweetie, if you like him, then just go for it. If it works out, great. If not, you move on and try to stay friends. But you'll never know unless you say something."
Vanessa chewed her lip, a thousand thoughts clawing at the inside of her skull.
"But what if I... what if I make a fool of myself?" she whispered, more vulnerable than she meant to sound.
Her mother smirked, reaching over to ruffle her hair. "Then at least you'll have a good story to tell."
Vanessa rolled her eyes with a dramatic groan, but something inside her uncoiled. Just a little. The weight didn't vanish, but it shifted—moved slightly off her chest.
She took a breath, hesitant.
"...Should I invite him for dinner again?" she asked after a moment, not looking at her mom.
There was a pause. Then a soft, almost excited smile bloomed across her mother's face. "That's a great idea."
Vanessa's stomach dropped.
The words were barely out of her mouth before the regret hit her like a slap.
Because saying it meant doing it.
And doing it meant facing him.
And facing him... meant risking everything.
Her heart pounded loud in her ears as she turned back to the stove, gripping the spoon like a lifeline.
What if he knew? What if he didn't? What if he said yes? What if he said no?
What if she was about to fall—completely—and he didn't catch her?
She wasn't ready.
But maybe... maybe she never would be.
Vanessa had never been more nervous in her life.
And that was saying something—because her life, frankly, had been an ongoing catalog of anxious disasters. First crushes, awkward middle school dances, almost failing pre-calc, the first time she got her period in gym class, the time Ethan came over for dinner and her dad tried to be funny. That night alone had made her question the whole trajectory of her existence. She'd nearly combusted from secondhand embarrassment.
But this?
This was worse.
Infinitely worse.
Her heart wasn't just pounding—it was slamming against her ribs like it was trying to break out and run far, far away. Her palms were already damp, and she hadn't even opened the door yet. She kept touching her hair, smoothing her shirt, then undoing the same fix seconds later. Over and over. A compulsive loop. Like her body thought it could somehow tidy up the chaos inside her chest by adjusting a few strands or straightening a hemline.
Ridiculous.
She knew it was ridiculous. But she couldn't stop.
Because tonight wasn't like the others.
Yes, she had invited Ethan over. Yes, he had said yes—just like he always did. Casual. Effortless. No fanfare, no questions.
But something inside her had shifted.
It hadn't happened all at once. No thunderclap. No lightning strike. Just a slow, inevitable build-up over too many evenings spent together in too-close spaces. Between shared smirks, petty arguments over flashcards, stupid dares and teasing eye-rolls, somewhere along the line her feelings had grown teeth. Sharp ones. She couldn't keep them behind her smile anymore.
Tonight, she was going to tell him.
She was going to say the words.
I like you.
No. That sounded too...flat. Too pale for what had been pulsing under her skin for weeks. Maybe months. There were better words. Deeper ones. Truer ones.
She was going to confess.
No chickening out.
No excuses.
No hiding behind jokes or sideways glances.
Just... truth.
Or at least, that was the plan.
And then the doorbell rang.
Her stomach didn't just drop—it plummeted. Straight through the floor. Straight through the earth's crust. She was ninety percent sure she actually stopped breathing.
Her hand hovered over the doorknob. Just open it, she told herself. Just move.
She opened the door.
And there he was.
Ethan.
No hood. No walls. No armor.
She'd seen him without it before. It wasn't rare, exactly. But this—him under the porch light, his pale hair tousled just enough to look like he hadn't tried at all, soft shadows contouring the lines of his face—this version of him still knocked the air out of her lungs. It was stupid how good he looked. Unfair, really. The kind of unfair that made her want to scream into her pillow after he left.
The black jacket—his signature, his shield—was missing tonight. Instead, he wore a plain gray shirt that clung just enough to his frame to distract her thoughts, and jeans that hugged his hips just a little too well. Like he didn't know. Or maybe he did.
The aura he usually wore like a second skin—aloof, unreadable, untouchable—was still there, but thinner tonight. Softer, somehow. He looked... human. And it scared her more than if he'd been cold and distant. Because soft Ethan was dangerous. He made her want.
"Hey," he said, hands in his pockets, like this was just another night.
Like she wasn't unraveling right in front of him.
"Hey," she replied, voice a touch higher than normal.
Their eyes met. Held. It went on just long enough to be noticeable. Just long enough for her to feel the crackle in the air. Then she stepped aside, heart a panicked staccato against her ribs, and let him in.
Dinner was... surprisingly normal.
Too normal.
Her dad, of all people, managed to fall into this bizarrely smooth rhythm with Ethan—talking about football scores, upcoming weather changes, and, at one baffling point, motorcycles. Motorcycles. Her dad hadn't so much as touched a bike since college, and now he was throwing out engine specs like he'd been born in a garage. Ethan humored him, of course. Nodded, even smiled. That smile—subtle and devastating—made Vanessa want to scream.
Her mother sat quietly, watching everything with that serene, Mona Lisa smile of hers. It was the kind of expression that said she knew something. And that was terrifying. Vanessa tried not to look at her too long. She didn't need psychic parental insight tonight.
But no one seemed to notice that she wasn't eating.
Not really.
She pushed food around her plate, barely tasting a thing. Her stomach was a solid knot. Like she'd swallowed a ball of nerves and it had tangled itself tight inside her.
She tried to focus on the conversation. Tried to chime in, laugh at the right moments, keep her mask steady.
But inside, her thoughts were chasing themselves in circles
I'm going to tell him.
I have to.
If I don't, I'll regret it.
But what if it ruins everything?
What if he doesn't feel the same?
She risked a glance across the table.
Ethan looked so calm. Like this was just another evening. Another dinner. Nothing monumental. Nothing... potentially life-changing.
And then he looked up.
Met her gaze.
Held it.
One eyebrow lifted, barely there, but definitely asking something.
Vanessa's breath caught. She looked away, cheeks heating. Caught. Again.
She wasn't good at this. She could banter. She could flirt without admitting that's what she was doing. But this? Raw, real vulnerability?
She wanted to run.
But she didn't.
After dinner, she walked him to the door. It was routine by now. A familiar ritual. But tonight, every step felt heavier. Slower. Her pulse thudded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
This was it.
Her last shot.
They stopped at the entryway. She opened her mouth—and nothing came out. Her brain, a second ago brimming with a thousand rehearsed lines, was suddenly blank.
Ethan turned toward her. He was close. Close enough that she could smell the faint trace of his cologne—something clean, understated, with a warmth that clung to him even when everything else about him was cool and unreadable.
His eyes met hers again. Searching this time. Not teasing. Not guarded. Just... present.
Say it.
Say something.
But her throat clenched.
She looked up at him. Everything in her screamed to do it now.
She didn't know if she moved first or if he did. It felt like the kind of moment that stretched outside of time—tethered by some invisible pull between them.
Her breath trembled in her chest.
One step.
One word.
One second.
That's all it would take.
But her feet stayed planted.
And the silence between them grew thick, charged. Not awkward. No. He didn't look uncomfortable.
He looked like he was waiting.
Her heart slammed again.
Waiting... for her?
She opened her mouth again. "Ethan..."
His head tilted slightly. Eyes on hers. Still quiet. Still calm. Still—
Hopeful?
Maybe.
God, maybe.
But still, the words refused to leave her mouth.
Outside, the night air bit gently at Vanessa's cheeks, cooling the flush that had taken root there since dinner. It felt like stepping into water after too long under a sunlamp—shockingly pleasant, a relief she hadn't realized she needed until it hit her skin.
She exhaled, long and slow, and tried to let the tension drain with it. Her heart was still jittering in her chest, her hands still restless by her sides. But at least out here, the quiet wrapped around them like a soft blanket. Less noise. Less pressure.
The porch light cast a golden glow across Ethan's profile as he stepped down beside her. The silence stretched for a beat—close, but not touching. Comfortable. Familiar. It should've been calming.
It wasn't.
She could feel the heat of him, the subtle energy that always radiated from his presence. It was maddening how normal he looked. Like this wasn't the biggest moment of her life. Like everything inside her hadn't just shifted and cracked open.
Ethan shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, the motion casual. Then he tilted his head slightly, watching her with that half-lazy, half-perceptive look that always made her feel simultaneously seen and naked. "You've been weird tonight."
Her breath hitched.
She stiffened instinctively, like a spotlight had been flipped on over her head. "Huh?"
"You barely ate," he said easily. "And you kept looking like you were about to pass out. Something's been on your mind for a while now."
Of course he noticed.
Of course he did.
He always did.
Always saw through her carefully constructed defenses, her sarcasm, her distraction tactics. He read her like she was something simple—an open book with large print—and not the mess of noise and insecurity she actually was. He made it look so easy, like peeling her open was second nature.
Vanessa's breath caught again, sharper this time. Her lungs were suddenly too small. Her throat was too tight. She clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.
Just say it.
It was now or never. No more hesitating. No more hiding behind nervous laughter or changing the subject. She was standing on the edge, and there was nowhere left to retreat.
"I like you."
The words burst out of her in a rush—unfiltered, raw, real.
She immediately wanted to swallow them back.
There was no dramatic pause. No practiced delivery. No soft romantic crescendo like she'd imagined in her daydreams. Just her voice, breathy and shaking, cracking under the weight of what she was giving away.
Ethan blinked.
"...Oh."
Her stomach dropped.
That's it?
No stunned silence. No fireworks. Just—oh.
She braced herself, heart thundering. Braced for the laughter, the awkward backpedal, the distant "I'm flattered, but..." She could already feel the burn of humiliation climbing up her neck.
But instead, Ethan sighed softly and shook his head, like something had just been confirmed. "So that's why you've been so out of it."
She frowned. Confusion sliced through the anxiety, sharp and indignant. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He smirked. That infuriating, smug little curve of his lips that made her want to punch him and kiss him in the same breath. "You're not exactly subtle, Vanessa."
Her face flamed instantly. The humiliation doubled, tripled, until she was burning from the inside out. "Oh my God."
He laughed—low, warm, absolutely delighted. Bastard. He was enjoying this.
She covered her face with her hands, groaning into her palms. "Kill me now."
"So?" His voice was still playful, but there was something underneath it now. Something quieter. Something a little serious. "Are you gonna keep hiding behind your hands or are you gonna let me answer?"
She peeked through her fingers, eyes narrowing. "Are you gonna say something? Or just keep making fun of me?"
Ethan shrugged, all nonchalance. "I don't mind. We can date."
Vanessa froze.
Blink.
"What?"
He looked at her like she was the one being unreasonable. "Did I stutter?"
"You just—" Her mind was lagging, trying to catch up to the sheer casualness of it all. "You just said we could date. Like it's nothing."
"Yeah," he said again. "We can date."
Her brain was a screaming carousel of chaos. Spinning lights. Alarms. Sirens. Is this real? Is this happening?
"No dramatic confession back?" she asked, incredulous.
"Nope."
She stared. "Are you serious? You knew this whole time and didn't say anything?"
"I was waiting."
"For what?!"
"For you to make the move."
Vanessa let out a strangled noise and turned away, pressing her hands to her forehead like that might somehow help her make sense of this.
"You were waiting?" she repeated. "You knew I liked you and just... let me implode about it for weeks?"
He grinned. "You're cute when you implode."
"I hate you."
His laugh was unbothered, soft, and stupidly attractive. "Those are very contradicting statements."
She wanted to hit him. She wanted to kiss him.
She wanted to crawl into a hole and yell into the dirt.
This couldn't be real. This couldn't be how this happened. Not like this. Not with him smiling like a cat who'd known the mouse was going to fall into his lap the entire time.
"...So that's it?" she asked, trying to process. "Just like that?"
He nodded. "I don't do complicated."
And that—God, that was so Ethan. So infuriatingly him. No drama. No games. Just... blunt truth. She didn't know whether to be grateful or furious.
Her voice was dry when she finally muttered, "...Fine. Whatever. I guess we're dating now."
Ethan stepped a little closer, his grin curling wider, eyes soft but sparkling. "Yeah. We are."
Something inside her cracked wide open at those words. Not with panic this time—but with heat. With electricity.
And with terrifying, undeniable joy.
She looked up at him—really looked—and realized her heart was still racing. But not out of fear anymore.
Out of wonder.
Out of hope.
This wasn't how she pictured it. Not the delivery, not the response, not the lack of sweeping music and perfect lighting. But it felt real. It felt true. And maybe that mattered more than anything else.
They stood there, the world still spinning quietly around them. The night was cool. The stars above blinked lazily. And the space between them felt suddenly charged with something new. Something fragile and tentative, but unmistakably alive.
Vanessa didn't know what would happen next.
She didn't know how to be someone's girlfriend. Especially not his.
But the warmth in her chest was spreading fast, melting the last of the fear.
She glanced at him, unable to stop the crooked smile that tugged at her lips.
"Don't think this means you're off the hook for embarrassing me," she warned.
Ethan smirked again, a glint in his eye. "Wouldn't dream of it."
They lingered under the porch light, neither in a rush to leave nor quite ready to step into whatever they'd just started with a few impulsive words.
The silence wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Wired. Something real and uncertain strung between them. Vanessa could still feel the echo of her confession in her chest, like a note still ringing. And his answer—that maddeningly casual, perfect reply—had wrapped around it tight.
They were connected now.
Dating.
She still couldn't say it without hearing the disbelief in her own head.
Dating Ethan.
She looked over—Ethan, hands jammed in his pockets, leaning against the porch railing like this was just another Thursday night. Like nothing seismic had just happened.
He caught her staring. Of course he did.
"What?" he asked, one eyebrow lifting, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
She shook her head, swallowing the edge in her voice. "It's just... a lot."
"Mm." He looked entertained. "You're spiraling."
"Obviously," she said flatly, crossing her arms. "Have you even considered how weird this is going to be at school?"
Ethan tilted his head, like he might actually think about it. "Probably."
"Probably?" she echoed, disbelieving.
He didn't blink. "People talk. They'll talk. They always do."
She let out a dry laugh. "Vanessa's dating him? The guy she fought with every week in sophomore year? The guy she once called a self-absorbed icicle?"
He looked mildly insulted. "I was not an icicle."
"You definitely were."
"I was mysterious."
"You were impossible."
He grinned. "Semantics."
She rolled her eyes, but it lacked bite. Her heart was still thudding too loud. The cold didn't even register.
And then, quieter: "People won't get it. I mean... I used to—"
"Yell at me?"
She grimaced. "Yeah."
He shrugged. "It wasn't unearned."
That threw her. "You're admitting that?"
"No reason not to," he said simply. "I wasn't exactly charming."
She looked away. "Still. I don't know how we got here."
He met her gaze, unflinching. His voice dropped. "You stopped looking at me like I was a problem. That was the start."
Something inside her twisted. He said it like it was obvious. But it hit hard.
"I used to think I hated you," she said.
"I remember."
"I didn't."
"I know."
Of course he knew. That was the thing about Ethan. No speeches, no games. Just clarity, brutal and calm.
And God, it was doing something to her chest she didn't have words for.
They talked a little longer. Nothing mapped out, nothing claimed. Just circling the edge of whatever this was, toeing the line like they were daring it to snap.
Who would they tell first?
Would they keep it quiet?
Would people think she'd lost her mind?
Would it matter?
And underneath all of it: Was this real? Did they want it to be?
The porch light flickered—her dad's ancient signal. Vanessa took a small step back.
"I should go," she said. Voice quieter now.
Ethan nodded. "Yeah."
They stood there, caught between the before and after.
"I'll text you," she said. It felt hollow.
"I'll answer," he replied.
And somehow, that felt right.
She turned and opened the door, stepping into the warmth of the house. Her hand lingered on the doorknob a beat too long before she shut it gently behind her.
Her mom was standing just inside, arms crossed, expression neutral but unmistakably curious.
Vanessa froze.
Her mother's eyes flicked over her—at the blush still high in her cheeks, the slight, stunned smile she hadn't managed to get rid of, the way she hovered there like her body had returned but her mind was still miles away.
"Well?" her mother asked softly.
Vanessa exhaled, a single word tumbling out in disbelief.
"He said yes."
There was a pause.
And then her mom's face broke into the softest, most amused smile.
"I knew it," she said, almost to herself.
Vanessa narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"I told your father. I told him. I said, 'Those two are going to end up together, just wait.'"
"MOM."
Her father's voice floated in from the living room. "Is it official now? Do I need to have The Talk with him?"
Vanessa groaned out loud. "Oh my God, no. Please don't."
Her mom laughed. "Let her breathe, Dan."
"I'm just saying!" her dad called back. "I like him. But I've got questions."
Vanessa couldn't stop the laugh that broke through. She pressed a hand to her face, cheeks blazing, her whole body still buzzing with adrenaline and disbelief and joy.
She took the stairs two at a time, heart thudding, and slipped into her room like she was escaping.
But there was no escape from the thoughts racing through her now.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall, hands gripping the blanket on either side of her thighs.
Her first real relationship. One she had created and not out of peer pressure or the need to look cool.
Her first real boyfriend.
And it was Ethan.
Ethan—who used to roll his eyes at her in class. Ethan—who she once called a soulless vampire in front of the entire math wing. Ethan—who never flinched when she was angry, who gave as good as he got, who made her feel like she wasn't just someone loud and impossible and too much.
How had this happened?
The Ethan she'd hated had never really been the whole story.
And now, somehow, that boy—the boy who'd been an argument waiting to happen—was hers.
Her heart ached with something unfamiliar. Something tender and huge.
It felt terrifying.
But it also felt like hope.
She curled up under her blanket, phone in hand, staring at the screen, waiting for his name to pop up.
Waiting for something that, for once, didn't feel out of reach.
That was the thought Vanessa clung to—tight, desperate—like a lifeline wrapped around the thrum of her uncertain heart.
~~~~~