Witters Note:
This is a slow story (also my first,48 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 2.5K to 4k words each. The story is centred on romance and soon moves to soft dom then to full BDSM 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 17 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.
Just to inform the erotic part starts in chapter 15 and the sexual teasing after chapter 8-9 where Vanessa has celebrated her Birthday. No Minors were involved.
Enjoy Reading
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Vanessa burst through the front door, slamming it shut behind her, the echo reverberating through the empty house. Her heart thudded in her chest, too fast, too loud, as if trying to hammer its way out.
The trophies.
The certificates.
The photos.
Too much.
She could still see them, even now—row after row of gleaming accomplishments lining that room. Accolades that didn't belong to the Ethan she thought she knew. Not the Ethan William who walked the halls in silence, hoodie up, eyes down, who flinched when she shoved him into lockers.
Her backpack dropped to the floor with a thud, forgotten. Her legs felt like jelly, but she stumbled to her desk, dragging the laptop open with shaking fingers.
Ethan Smith.
She typed the name like it was a curse—like it was the key to something she wasn't supposed to find. Her breath held as the screen loaded, the results populating almost instantly.
State champion at twelve. National competitor at thirteen. Multiple black belts. Karate. Judo. Kickboxing.Muay Thai. The list went on, absurd and surreal.
Her fingers hovered over the touchpad, motionless as her gaze latched onto the images beside the articles. His hair was lighter back then, almost white from what seemed to be brown, she couldn't tell—but the eyes…
Those eyes.
Cold. Calculating. Intense.
Exactly like the ones that had looked right through her today. The same ones that never fought back, never flinched, never cracked. Not because he was afraid.
Because he had chosen not to.
And that thought…
That was what really twisted in her gut.
He could've broken her. At any moment. But he didn't. Not because he couldn't. Because he didn't want to.
Why?
Vanessa's pulse roared in her ears as she kept scrolling. The articles were dated, but they painted a picture she hadn't seen—had refused to see. Not a loser. Not a coward. A prodigy. A weapon honed in silence.
And then—one headline made her freeze.
"Drunk driver kills married couple in fatal collision."
Her stomach clenched.
She clicked on it before she could think. The article was short, clinical. Cold, like a slap.
Survived by their son, Ethan Smith William.
William.
Vanessa blinked rapidly, her brain scrambling to piece it together. Smith. William.
The tournament rosters all listed Ethan Smith—his mother's surname.
But at school, he was Ethan William .
She leaned back in her chair, her heartbeat skittering wildly. Why would someone switch names like that? Why the divide? Why keep them separate?
Why had he chosen this persona and buried it beneath quiet steps and downcast eyes?.
And she—she had stomped all over him.
Vanessa's jaw clenched. Her thoughts spun out like frayed wire, snapping in every direction.
What else didn't she know? What had she missed while laughing with her friends, pointing at the so-called freak in the hallway?
What had he been hiding?
And why the hell was it bothering her so much?
By midnight, her mind was a storm she couldn't escape from. Her body screamed for rest, but her thoughts refused to quiet.
She replayed everything—every smirk, every insult, every shove, every time he could've retaliated but didn't.
It wasn't restraint anymore. It was control. A level of control she hadn't recognized, hadn't respected, hadn't understood.
Until now.
By the time dawn threatened the horizon, Vanessa was still sitting there—laptop closed, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes wide and dry.
She needed answers.
By Monday, she'd made up her mind.
She would confront him. She didn't care how awkward it would be. She didn't care if it turned into a fight. She needed to see his face when she said his real name out loud.
But Ethan never showed up.
She arrived at school early—unusual for her—and parked herself where she could see the front entrance. Her gaze flicked up every few minutes, scanning the crowd of students spilling in.
No sign of him.
'Maybe he's late,' she told herself. He's late sometimes. Probably doesn't even care about first period.
But as the hours dragged on, irritation gave way to a quieter, more insistent emotion.
Lunch came. No Ethan.
Her foot tapped restlessly under the table. She kept pretending not to look at the doors. But she was. Every couple of seconds. She was.
Her friends noticed.
"You good?" Madison asked, brows raised.
"Fine," she lied, poking at her salad like it had insulted her.
He didn't come.
And suddenly, it mattered.
It mattered.
Tuesday morning, she marched into school with her jaw tight and eyes narrowed, a plan in mind.
Still—no Ethan.
Not in class. Not in the halls. Not even loitering by his locker like he sometimes did, pretending to scroll his phone while avoiding eye contact with the world.
Vanessa's chest tightened, irritation slowly curdling into unease.
Where the hell did he go?
She'd never cared before. His absence used to feel like a blank space on the map—unimportant. Uninteresting.
But now?
Now it gnawed at her.
Like a missing piece she didn't know she needed—until it was gone.
He'd disappeared.
Like a ghost.
Or maybe—maybe he'd always been a ghost.
Vanessa stood by Ethan's bike, arms crossed, a restless edge to her stance. The wind teased the hem of her jacket, but she didn't flinch. She had posted herself there like a sentinel, unmoving, unbothered by the curious glances from passing students.
It was Wednesday.
Three days.
Three long, gnawing, nerve-scraping days of silence.
Of not knowing.
Of being ignored.
Her fingers tapped against her bicep, rhythmic and sharp.
She wasn't used to feeling… this. Uncertainty. Obsession.
Hell, she hadn't even realized how much she'd spiraled until she'd caught herself rereading the same article about Ethan's tournament wins at 2 a.m. like a stalker with a obsession.
Only it wasn't a obsession. Not really. It was something uglier.
Something that felt a lot like being dethroned.
Then—there he was.
The moment he stepped out of the school doors, she felt her body go taut. Like a rubber band drawn too tight.
Black jacket. Hood up. Head down. That familiar, frustrating stillness.
Ethan.
Her breath hitched for a second.
So damn calm. So infuriatingly unbothered.
Three days, and he looked like he hadn't even noticed she existed.
He didn't look at her.
Not really.
His gaze flicked to his bike—his bike, right next to where she stood like a challenge—but all he did was shake his head and keep walking.
Like she was air.
Like she was nothing.
Her jaw clenched, muscles ticking beneath the surface.
Oh, hell no.
She pushed off the bike, footsteps catching up with his in a few determined strides.
"Hey," she said, voice clipped.
No response.
Her eyes narrowed. "Hey!" She practically jogged now, matching his pace. "What, you're just gonna ignore me now?"
Still nothing. Not a twitch. Not even an annoyed glance.
He moved with that same damn steadiness, every step quiet but confident.
Controlled.
Contained.
And it burned.
It burned.
After everything—after that Saturday—after finding out who he really was, he was just going to act like she didn't exist?
Like none of it mattered?
Her hands curled at her sides, itching to grab him by the shoulder and make him look at her, make him acknowledge her.
But she didn't.
Because something about the way he moved…
Like nothing could touch him.
Like she was just background noise to whatever internal path he was following.
For the first time, he was the one with the upper hand.
And God, she hated that feeling.
Eyes watched from every direction. The schoolyard, the parking lot, the sidewalk. She could feel the whispers like smoke in the air.
Her so-called friends leaned on the brick wall nearby, smirking. Enjoying the show. Waiting for her to snap.
And she would've, normally.
Thrown something. Screamed. Humiliated him.
But now?
Now she just couldn't look away from him.
"What's your deal, huh?!" she snapped, louder this time. She didn't care about the stares. Didn't care about the way her voice cracked on the edge of anger. "You just gonna act like Saturday didn't happen?"
No response.
He was ice. Untouched. Unshaken.
And that—more than anything—pissed her off.
"I know who you are, Ethan." Her voice dropped, sharper now. "Or should I say Ethan Smith?"
For a split second—barely more than a blink—his stride faltered.
It was subtle, but she saw it.
And the jolt it gave her—sharp, electric—made her heart pound.
Got you.
She surged forward, stepping directly into his path, forcing him to stop or walk through her.
"So what now?" she asked, the corner of her lip twitching into a mocking smile. "You just gonna pretend you're some nobody?"
He sighed through his nose. Not annoyed. Not exasperated. Just… patient.
Then he finally looked at her.
Really looked.
His eyes were cold. Calm.
Unbothered, but not blank.
More like he was weighing her. Measuring the moment.
"And what exactly do you think you know, Vanessa?"
His voice was soft, but every word hit like a stone dropped in still water.
She scoffed. "I know you've been playing me. Playing everyone. The disappearing acts. The name thing. The whole weak, silent act—it's all fake, isn't it?"
Still, he didn't flinch. Didn't rise to her anger.
He just said, "And?"
The word hit her like a slap.
And?
What the hell did he mean and?
Where was the rage? The guilt? The explanation?
Her mouth parted, ready to shout something, anything—but nothing came.
He turned, walking toward the park without another word.
And she—like a moth to a flame—followed.
She shouldn't have.
She knew she shouldn't have.
But some stubborn instinct pulled her after him.
As he stepped onto the dirt path under the trees, it became clearer—he wasn't running. He wasn't avoiding her.
He was leading her.
That realization settled in her chest like a stone.
He stopped by a bench, hands in his jacket pockets. Still calm. Still unreadable.
"You want answers?" he asked, gaze somewhere above her, like even now, she wasn't quite worth looking directly at. "Fine."
She folded her arms. Waiting. Steeling herself.
"When I started training," he said, "my dad hated it. Thought it was useless. Said it'd never get me anywhere. So I entered my first tournament under my mother's name—Smith."
She frowned slightly, lips parting, but he kept going.
"Then I started winning. Making headlines. Getting attention. Suddenly, my dad wanted me to compete under his name. To make it look like he'd supported me all along."
He shook his head, a bitter edge creeping into his voice.
"By then, I knew better. My masters had warned me. Fame isn't strength. It's distraction. It turns people into targets, turns training into performance. Makes you forget who you are."
His gaze flicked to hers—sharp and cutting.
"People like you."
Vanessa recoiled instinctively, a sharp breath catching in her throat.
"Excuse me?"
Ethan's voice didn't rise. Didn't waver.
"You let attention shape you. You needed people to be afraid of you. That became your identity. Your armor. And it made you sloppy."
It felt like a punch. But worse—because it wasn't rage or insult.
It was dissection.
Cold, accurate dissection.
"I wanted something different," he said, quieter now. "I learned early on—if I wanted peace, I had to disappear. Keep my life separate. No eyes. No pressure. No fights unless they came to me."
Vanessa stared at him, her throat tight. "I don't—"
He cut her off with a look that silenced her.
Then his voice dropped lower, like he was slicing with the words:
"And now look at you. You offered to be someone's slave for a day over two hundred bucks. Just to keep up the image. Just to stay on top in a game that's already eating you alive."
A slow, cruel smile curved his lips.
"Pathetic, isn't it?"
Her cheeks flushed hot, her fists clenching at her sides.
Because he was right.
He was so damn right.
And that truth stung more than any insult.
She wanted to scream. To slap him. To fight.
But instead, she stood there—silent.
He turned.
And just like that—he walked away.
No parting words. No backward glance. No challenge.
He left her there, with nothing but the sharp sting of her own reflection.
And somehow… that hurt more than anything else.
Day 1 – Of Realizations
Vanessa barely heard a word in class. The teacher's voice was a distant hum, like static in the background of something far more consuming.
Her mind was on replay—every second of that conversation with Ethan looping like a film reel she couldn't shut off.
"You built your whole identity around being feared."
The line rang out louder than the school bell.
Was that true?
Her knee bounced under the desk, her teeth chewing the inside of her cheek.
No. Of course not.
She wasn't some high school tyrant clinging to power like a cartoon villain. She was confident. Respected. Strong.
Right?
But then—why did those words stick?
Why did they sting?
She looked around the classroom and caught a glimpse of a girl flinch as Vanessa accidentally brushed past her desk.
The reflex was automatic—defensive.
Not from friendship. Not from admiration.
From fear.
Vanessa's stomach tightened. She didn't like the way that felt.
Day 2 – Of Realizations
Lunch. The usual table. The usual girls. The usual venom.
Someone laughed too loud about tripping a freshman and watching him scramble to pick up his books. The others joined in, the cackling spreading like wildfire.
Vanessa was supposed to laugh too. To add her usual one-liner.
But she didn't.
She just stared.
At the kid they were mocking.
At the smear of cruelty across her friends' faces.
At her tray, untouched.
Why do we even do this?
She'd never questioned it before.
It was just the way it was.
They laughed.
Others bowed.
And Vanessa led the pack.
But now, the laughter sounded hollow. Forced. A little desperate.
One of the girls nudged her. "You okay? You're quiet today."
She forced a shrug.
She didn't have an answer.
At least not one that made sense anymore.
Day 3 – Of Realizations
She used to own this table. This group.
She used to speak, and the room would tilt toward her.
But now?
She felt like a guest at her own party.
She noticed the way her so-called friends picked at each other when someone wasn't around—subtle digs, competition in the form of compliments laced with poison.
The constant comparisons. Who had the better bag. The latest phone. The more scandalous story.
And all she could think was—Had it always been like this?
Was this who she was?
Someone who built herself up by tearing others down?
The realization landed hard.
Because the answer, deep down, was yes.
And she hated that.
Day 4 – Of Realizations
Ethan wasn't at school again.
And unlike last week—she noticed.
She looked for him without even realizing it. Her eyes flicked toward the empty corners where he usually sat, the quiet shadows he melted into.
It wasn't annoyance that churned in her stomach.
Not frustration.
It was something… quieter.
Like disappointment.
Like loss.
She told herself it was just because she needed to finish the conversation.
But part of her knew that wasn't the whole truth.
She didn't just want to talk.
She needed to.
Because Ethan was the only person who had ever made her feel like she wasn't untouchable—and for the first time… that didn't feel like a bad thing.
Day 5 – Of Realizations
Vanessa stood in front of her bathroom mirror, the one she usually admired herself in.
Hair perfect. Eyeliner sharp.
A face that had been sculpted to intimidate.
To dazzle.
To dominate.
But now, as she stared… all she saw was someone trying.
Trying to look strong.
Trying to seem like she had control.
Was it ever respect?
Or was it just fear?
She didn't know.
And that scared her more than anything Ethan had said.
Because if she wasn't feared—what was she?
Day 6 – Of Realizations
The thought had been haunting her.
"Who am I, if I'm not the girl everyone is afraid of?"
It echoed in her like an old injury—dull, persistent, inescapable.
She had spent so long being someone that the idea of not knowing who she really was felt like freefall.
No script.
No armor.
Just raw, unfiltered uncertainty.
She wasn't ready to answer that question.
But she knew one thing—
She needed Ethan.
Not to attack.
Not to accuse.
But to ask.
Day 7 – Of Realizations
Vanessa sat at the back of the cafeteria. Alone.
The usual table laughed without her.
No one even seemed to notice she wasn't there.
She stared at her untouched food.
At the grease stains on the tray.
At nothing in particular.
She had spent years thriving in fear.
If people feared her, they wouldn't mess with her.
They wouldn't dig too deep.
They wouldn't see how hollow she sometimes felt inside.
But now… she saw it clearly.
Fear wasn't power.
It was isolation.
Because when the fear wore off—when the act didn't hold—there was nothing underneath.
Just a girl pretending to be a queen.
And queens don't last without a crown.
Her hands curled into fists under the table.
Not from rage.
But from something like grief.
Because for the first time, she realized—
She didn't have anything real.
No legacy. No passion. No skill set.
Just intimidation.
And that only worked… if people cared enough to be afraid.
The real world wouldn't.
That truth settled in her stomach like lead.
Heavy. Cold. Unshakable.
She couldn't sit here anymore.
Couldn't pretend to be okay.
She needed to see him.
Later that day
She checked everywhere.
The library. The field. The usual quiet spots.
Empty.
But then—she remembered.
He always returned to his bike.
No matter how far he vanished, he always came back to that one place.
And so, for the second time in a week, Vanessa stood by Ethan's bike, the afternoon light slanting long across the pavement.
Not to demand.
Not to threaten.
But to understand.
She waited.
And when the doors opened—there he was.
Hood up. Hands in his pockets. That maddening calm.
And yet—her heart skipped.
She didn't even know why.
Just that for the past seven days, her entire world had been shifting.
And now, here was the epicenter of that quake.
Right in front of her.
He stopped a few feet away.
His eyes studied her—not dismissive, not cold. Just… curious.
"Did you come to a conclusion?"
His voice was still smooth. Still quiet.
But it echoed inside her like a challenge.
Vanessa didn't speak immediately.
She looked at him.
Really looked.
Then nodded.
Ethan tilted his head slightly.
"Then why are you here?"
She opened her mouth—but found she didn't have a script.
No biting comment. No cocky comeback.
Only truth.
"I wanted to know more."
The words surprised even her.
Ethan didn't smile. Didn't gloat.
He just studied her again—like she was a puzzle with a piece missing.
She met his gaze.
Steady.
Open.
For the first time, she wasn't trying to win.
She wasn't trying to look strong.
She was just there.
And for the first time in her life—
She was ready to listen.
Ethan exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, the way someone does before a decision. Then, wordlessly, he moved toward his bike. The motion was fluid, practiced, like second nature—he swung a leg over and settled into the seat, his hands resting lightly on the handlebars, like he had all the time in the world.
He didn't look at her at first, just kept his gaze forward.
"Do you want to talk here," he asked, "or do you want a ride to the park?"
Vanessa blinked.
The park?
A flood of memory rushed in—her chasing after him like a storm not too long ago, cornering him with words sharpened like knives. Back then, she hadn't come to listen. She came to win.
But this…
This felt different.
There was no mocking in his tone. No trace of a dare.
Just an offer. A choice.
And for some reason, that made it harder.
She hesitated only for a second before nodding. "The park."
Still, Ethan didn't comment. Just tapped the spot behind him.
She moved forward, climbing on in an awkward shuffle. Everything about it felt surreal—unnatural.
What the hell am I doing?
She, Vanessa Reyes , queen of hallway stares and whispered rumors, was now sitting behind the guy she'd spent years reducing to silence.
And now here she was—clinging to the side of his bike like a girl who didn't know where she stood anymore.
She hovered her hands near him, unsure where to place them. She wasn't used to closeness that didn't come with calculation.
"Hold on properly." His voice cut through her thoughts—calm, dry, like he already knew she'd argue.
She rolled her eyes, defensively. "I'm not—"
But before she could finish, the engine roared to life.
The sudden jolt ripped the breath from her chest. She yelped, reflexes kicking in, hands flying to his waist as instinct overrode pride.
She clutched him tighter than intended.
He didn't say a word.
Didn't tease.
Didn't flinch.
And somehow… that made it worse.
Or better.
She wasn't sure.
The ride was smoother than she expected. The wind rushed past them, crisp and cold, cooling the anxious flush in her cheeks. The world blurred around her, but for once—her thoughts slowed.
For a brief moment, it felt like freedom.
Like she could finally breathe without choking on the weight of who she'd been.
By the time they reached the park, she had almost forgotten she was supposed to be nervous.
Ethan parked near the bench. Their bench.
He got off first, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he glanced over at her.
Vanessa slid off after him, her legs a little unsteady—whether from the ride or from something more internal, she didn't know.
"So?" she prompted, more defensive than she meant to be.
Ethan looked at her for a long moment, then asked, "You spent the last week thinking, right?"
She nodded once.
He didn't soften. "And what did you figure out?"
Vanessa crossed her arms, a shield against the vulnerability threatening to surface.
"That I let my ego make all my decisions. That the power I thought I had in school doesn't mean anything once I step outside of it. That the second I leave, no one's going to be afraid of me anymore—and I have no idea how to deal with that."
Her voice cracked at the edges. She hated that.
Ethan smirked, just a little. "That's a good start."
Her brows knit together. "Start?"
He gestured for her to sit. She hesitated, then gave in, lowering herself to the bench as he remained standing, eyes scanning the trees like they held some answer he hadn't quite found.
"Fame is like fire," he said finally. "It can keep you warm… or burn you alive. You let it get to your head, and suddenly you think you're invincible. That's when it turns on you."
She stayed silent. The wind stirred her hair. She didn't brush it away.
"Power's the same," he continued. "You thought you had it because people were scared of you. But real power? It's not about making others smaller." He turned, eyes meeting hers. "It's about being so sure of who you are that you don't have to prove anything."
Vanessa swallowed hard.
Something in her chest pulled tight.
Was that what she had been doing this whole time? Screaming her worth loud enough to drown out the silence inside?
Ethan wasn't finished.
"You spent years pushing people down just to stand a little taller. But when you needed something real—when your back was against the wall—who did you turn to?"
She flinched, the truth striking with cruel precision.
"Not your friends," he said. "You couldn't."
She bit the inside of her cheek, jaw tense. "What's your point?"
"My point," he said softly, "is that respect and cruelty aren't the same thing. The way you've been living? It's built on fear. And fear breaks. The moment someone stronger shows up—or someone who doesn't care—you're nothing. Just a name people roll their eyes at in old yearbooks."
He looked away, and for the first time—there was something like sadness in his eyes.
Like he knew exactly what he was talking about.
"You think I don't know what that feels like?" he asked quietly. "To be built up just to be discarded?"
Vanessa stared at him.
And for the first time in years, she really saw him.
Ethan had always been a shadow—quiet, invisible by choice. She had written him off as weak because he didn't fight back.
But now…
Now, she wasn't so sure.
He wasn't loud.
He didn't need to be.
He was still. Unshakeable.
And somehow, that made him feel ten times more powerful than anyone she had ever known.
The silence between them stretched.
But for once, Vanessa didn't feel the need to fill it with noise or deflection.
She just sat there—feeling the weight of her choices. The cracks in the mask she'd worn for so long.
Ethan glanced at the sky. The light was beginning to fade, casting long shadows over the grass.
"I should drop you home."
She wanted to say no.
To keep talking.
To ask what came next—what she was supposed to do with everything unraveling inside her.
But she couldn't find the words.
So she just nodded.
The ride back was quieter than the first.
She held onto him again, but it wasn't awkward this time. It just was.
Her thoughts swirled in the wind—loud, anxious, and painfully real.
No more pretending. No more armor.
Just questions.
And a sinking fear that she might not like the answers.
When they reached her house, she got off slowly, grounding herself with every step.
She turned to say something—anything.
But Ethan just gave her a small nod. Not cold. Not dismissive.
Just enough.
And then he rode off.
Leaving her there on the curb.
And for the first time in years—
Vanessa didn't have a plan.
Didn't have control.
She only had the truth.
And the terrifying, impossible question of what to do with it.
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Writers Comment:
Sorry for the Oogway advise part. I know some people might have cringed at it and may even have half a mind to stop reading. I would just like to say that that was there to show the maturity Ethan has and he doesn't give this kind of advise after the next chapter.
I am also working on some timeline issues for this story any other criticism is appreciated also please comment anything you liked or disliked. I am a new author and this only my first story and i would like to know what the people want. I have written 2 more.
Lost Love : It is a non erotic cheating wife revenge story
and
A Jealous Wife : A wife slow descent into BDSM
Lost Love will be published soon (28th April)
A Jealous Wife would be a full on fast moving BDSM based erotica which is ready for uploading (25th April) just tweaking a few things and would soon be uploaded. This one would be having longer chapters (8k -10k) and would be uploaded every Friday with a 2 week gap (I think not sure though).
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