#WweRaw

[itsgivingmami]

A Long Search Ended

Part One- Real And Dangerous

Rhea Ripley x Reader

You almost didn’t go.

Not because you were nervous—but because you’ve learned to trust your instincts, and this had every opportunity to go wrong.

Anonymous messages. Confident, clipped texts signed “Mami.” Lavish coffee tips sent to your link every morning—5x the price of what you actually ordered. Then, the invite: an upscale rooftop bar downtown, no profile picture, no name, just “Wear black. I’ll know you.”

You’d Googled the bar three times. Glass railings. Skyline views. Cocktails named after ancient gods. You weren’t scared. You were just strategic.

You wore your sharpest heels. Vintage. Black satin. They hurt a little, but that was part of the look. You didn’t come here to play small.

You told yourself you’d leave after one drink. Just long enough to prove you weren’t afraid of your own power, your own choices.

And then you saw her.

Rhea Ripley.

Nothing like you imagined—and somehow exactly what you’d hoped for.

She’s already at the corner table, silhouette haloed in citylight, like the universe remembered how to draw desire in human form. Tall, inked, dressed in black. Button-down half open, chains catching the glow, jawline so clean it could cut glass. One arm slung over the chair. The other holding a drink like it owes her something.

She isn’t scrolling. Isn’t looking around.

She’s already watching you.

And she smiles.

You walk toward her like you own the place.

“You came,” she says, voice smooth and grounded in velvet. “Good girl.”

Your spine straightens, but you don’t flinch. If anything, your smirk answers hers.

“I almost didn’t,” you admit, sliding into the chair she just pulled out for you with one hand. “You know how this can be,” Rhea hums in agreement, “But something told me you’d be real. That or dangerous.”

She shrugs, amused. “Can’t promise I’m not both.”

She gestures toward the bar without breaking eye contact. “What’ll you have, pretty girl?”

You give your order with a nod—unapologetic but polite. She watches you like she’s impressed already.

You know how to hold her attention. And you like the weight of it and have no intention of handing it over to someone else.

The drinks come fast. She tips without looking. The man behind the bar practically trips over himself to say thank you.

Rhea doesn't blink. Her attention is on you.

“So,” she says, swirling the rim of her glass with one ringed finger, “let’s get the formalities out of the way.”

You cross your legs slowly– controlled. “Sure.”

“What are you looking for?” she asks, tone low. Curious, not calculating.

You don’t blink. “Someone who gets it. Who spoils because they want to, not because it’s earned by fake sweetness. I’m not an actress. If I flirt, it’s because I feel like it. If I don’t, I won’t fake it for a handbag.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but something behind her eyes sharpens. Like she’s just made a decision.

“I don’t like girls who fake it either,” she says. “Good. Keep going.”

You take a slow sip. “I’m not naive. I know what this is. But I don’t want to be bought. I want to be chosen. And I want the same right in return.”

Rhea nods, thoughtful. “So you want power. Just not a leash.”

“I want someone who sees me as a luxury. Not a receipt.”

That earns you a grin. “Fuck. You’re better than I thought.”

You lift a brow. “What did you think I’d be?”

She leans in, resting her forearms on the table. “ Too timid. Or greedy. Either way, forgettable.”

You let the compliment sit. You don’t need to downplay it. You don’t blush. You just smile and take another sip.

“And you?” you ask. “What are you looking for?”

Rhea’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“Someone who lets me take care of them,” she says simply. “Without guilt. Without games. I want to come home from a week of throwing chairs and fists and find a reason to breathe out. I want soft moments. Eye contact. Quiet trust. And I want to give you everything that makes your life easier.”

She tilts her glass. “That’s the deal.”

You study her. “That sounds dangerously good.”

She smirks. “Baby, most people agree I am.”

There’s a silence that crackles between you. Not awkward. Heavy. Bright. Something dangerous and golden and electric.

“So,” she adds, voice silkier now, “what’s your allowance minimum?”

You don’t squirm. You don’t hedge.

“A thousand a week,” you say easily. “At baseline.”

She tilts her head like she’s watching a spark she’d only hoped to see.

“Add a zero,” she replies, lifting her drink. “And don’t insult yourself like that again.”

You blink, momentarily stunned but you don’t flinch. “You don’t know if I’m worth that.” and factually, you’re right. But the two of you are old hands at this game and from what she's seen so far, she wants you as her playmate.

She grins, slow and devilish. “I’ll enjoy finding out.”

You sip your drink like it doesn’t matter. Like the idea of her isn't causing you excitement. Like the ice doesn’t burn down your throat and the way she’s looking at you doesn’t stir heat low in your stomach.Like she hasn’t even paid for anything yet and you feel spoiled. You hum thoughtfully, setting the glass down.

“I’m not cheap,” you murmur. “In case that’s unclear.”

Rhea’s gaze narrows—pleased. “Good.”

She leans forward, resting her forearms on the table, her rings catching the glow from the candle between you. “Cheap doesn’t suit you. You wear value too well.”

You let your lip curve up slightly, just enough to show her you heard the compliment. Just enough to let her know she’s earned another.

“You always this smooth?” you ask, tilting your head.

“No,” she says simply. “Only when I want something.”

That makes your brow lift—just a little. “And what exactly do you want, Mami?”

The nickname rolls off your tongue like you’ve always said it. Like it belongs there. And Rhea, for a fraction of a second, loses her rhythm. Her brain forgets that she’s heard a thousand people call her that, but she's never heard you do it and she's not sure she cares to hear it from anyone else again. Her jaw flexes. Her thumb taps once against her glass.

Then she recovers.

“I want late-night drives with someone who knows how to sit in silence and still be heard,” she replies. “I want to spoil a woman who doesn’t apologize when she asks for more. I want to be the one she texts when she’s bored, or hungry, or just needs to feel expensive for no reason. I don't want someone who thinks they're bothering me for something when i've told them a thousand times I want to give it”

She leans in just enough for the scent of her cologne to wrap around you—clean and rich and a little dangerous.

“I want to give you the world,” she says. “If you’re smart enough to let me.”

The words settle between you like silk sheets—cool at first, but warming fast.

Your fingers trace the rim of your glass pink lip pulled between your teeth and you listen. “And what do you get?”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “The pleasure of watching you take it.”

It’s almost too much. Her confidence, the way she seems to genuinely crave this, the way no woman you could’ve met on the site compares to this. Almost.

But you’re better at holding your own than most and she's clearly looking for experience, or at least the illusion of it. You sit back, letting the silence drag for a beat—let her feel you assess the offer like it’s one of many. Even though you already know no one else could hold a candle to her.

“I don’t fake things,” you reiterate one last time, the honesty she brings to the table prompts your own, “Not pleasure. Not conversation. Not interest.”

“I don’t want to pretend I do enough of it at work, paid for too many fake girls to last me lifetimes,” she replies instantly. “I want you.”

The way she says it—low and unapologetic—catches something behind your ribs.

Your voice softens, but it doesn’t tremble. “You’re sure?”

Rhea tilts her head. “I’m never not.”

Another beat. The tension shifts, subtle but seismic.

You feel it in your spine.

In the air between your knees under the table.

In the way she watches you like she’s ready to spend ten grand and not even ask for your name in return—just to see you smile like this again.

“So,” she murmurs, her voice a velvet blade, “are you ready to let me take care of you?”

Your heart doesn’t race.

It prowls.

You lean forward slightly, letting your knee brush hers beneath the table.

“Yes,”

—

The night ends before you’re ready.

Not because you’ve run out of things to say—if anything, your words are starting to blur, pulled close by candlelight and that low drawl of hers that always lands somewhere just behind your navel. You’ve kept her entertained—despite the fact she’d be happy staring at you in that dress.. You’ve kept control.

But she’s still holding the power.

And you like it that way.

You’ve spent the past two hours with her —drink in hand, gaze heavy on your lips, never once pretending to look away. She asked questions with the kind of focus that made your pulse jump, voice low and unhurried. She never pushed. Never pressed. Just… let the silence stretch where it needed to, like she trusted you’d fill it with something worth hearing.

And you did.

The bartender dims the lights slightly. The crowd thins. Rhea finishes her drink, slow, and stands.

Her hand extends toward you—rings catching light, wrist inked, knuckles slightly bruised. You take her hand, gentle around the wounds, your fingers sliding against hers in a soft grip that still makes your stomach twist. She helps you from the booth like it's a habit. Like it’s instinct. Like you already belong where her hand goes first.

You don’t speak.

Not yet.

The walk out is quiet. Her body close to yours, not crowding but anchoring. Every few steps, her hand grazes your back—just enough to remind you she’s there. That she’s watching. That this isn’t some exit on autopilot. She’s walking you out. You get the attention. Not the others still sipping expensive cocktails or leaning too hard at the bar.

Outside, the air is cooler. Wind brushes your legs. You don’t shiver, but she notices.

Without a word, she shrugs off her jacket and drapes it around your shoulders. It’s warm. Smells like leather and cologne and her skin. You close your fingers over the lapel on instinct, holding it there.

Then she holds out a small, folded square of paper. The kind you only get when someone wants to make sure you don’t forget the moment.

Your name is written on it in her handwriting. Strong. Slanted. Clean.

You glance from the paper to her face. She’s unreadable beneath the soft glow of the streetlamp.

“I want to know when you’re home safe,” she says simply. “That’s my real number.”

You blink.

because you’re surprised— “You don’t want to use the app messenger?” —because she’s cutting straight through the act. No games. No waiting.

“You’re giving this to me after one night?” you ask, brows lifting.

“Sweetheart,” Rhea murmurs, stepping closer, “I was going to give it to you before you even sat down.”

The words make something inside you pull tight.

She lifts a hand and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear where the wind’s loosened it. Her knuckles drag down the edge of your cheek—slow, reverent, like she’s memorizing the curve of your skin with her hands instead of her eyes.

It’s not a move. It’s a choice.

A final act of care before you part.

“Im done with maybes,” she says. “You’ve said yes, I don’t keep my options open”

You stare up at her, heart steady now but beating hard. There’s no hesitation in her gaze. No uncertainty in her voice. Just the weight of a choice already made.

“…Thank you,” you say quietly. Not shy. Just honest.

She leans in—not for a kiss, not yet. Just close enough that you feel her breath against your lips when she speaks.

“Text me when you get home,” she says. “Or I won’t sleep.”

You nod.

She opens the door for you, waiting until you slide inside before shutting it gently behind you. She doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile again. She just stands there—tall, steady, unmoving—watching you like a promise.

And when you finally unfold the note in your lap, the number is written in thick black ink. At the bottom, in the corner, there’s a small sketch—

A heart. Simple. Inked in the same bold hand.

Claiming you without asking permission. For the first time since the sun began to set, you allow yourself to feel excited.

And all the way home, the paper sits in your lap like it’s worth more than every hundred-dollar bill you’ve ever touched.

—

The city hums around her, alive, neon and windy—but Rhea walks like she’s underwater. She barely takes in the scenery as she reflects on the past 3 hours, the front of her brain still flashing with memories she’d like to keep for later. She could’ve called for another car but there's something about you that brings a nostalgia she doesn't recognize, but drags her along the busy street anyway.

Boots heavy. Hands in her pockets. Shoulders tight beneath the weight of her own thoughts. She cuts down a quieter street off the main drag, where the headlights can’t reach and the echo of your heels still rings in her ears.

She’s never liked goodbyes.

Even temporary ones.

And this one—it felt like more than a goodbye.

But tonight feels different.

Because you were different.

And Rhea is trying—failing—not to admit how much she noticed that.

You left with her jacket, her number, the scent of her skin on your shoulders. But what you left behind was the feeling of something new.

Rhea’s always been good at this.

She’s done this.

Sugar dynamics. Affection as an offering. Spoiling as a skill.

Something quieter than loneliness but sharper than peace. A need to give. To own. To make someone’s life prettier by touching it. And maybe, selfishly, to be seen as more than fists and titles and bruised knuckles in gold rings.

She’s had her share of maybe-babies. Girls who called her Mommy before they even asked her real name. Girls who wanted bags, not boundaries. Girls who loved the idea of her—until they met the steel beneath the silk.

It used to be a way to feel in control.

A way to give without the mess of commitment because she didn’t have time for it.

To feel wanted. Powerful.

To watch someone light up when she gave them something—jewelry, rent, plane tickets—without the tangle of actual feelings in return.

It was easier that way.

Until it wasn’t.

Until she started noticing how many of them flinched when she got quiet.

How many pulled out the baby voice when asking for money.

How many called her “Mommy” after half a drink—without meaning it.

Just because they thought it would work.

It did, for a while.

But it always left her colder.

And worse than the sugar babies?

The friends.

The ones who only called when they wanted to borrow something.

The ones who used her name for clout and ghosted when she got injured.

The ones who swore they saw her but never looked close enough to notice when she was drowning.

She started building walls before she even realized she was doing it.

Started answering less texts.

Stopped letting anyone follow her to work.

Stopped giving her real number.

And tonight?

Tonight she’d expected to feel nothing.

Maybe you’d be hot.

Maybe you’d be funny.

Maybe it would be another quiet, forgettable evening that left her wallet lighter and no more fulfilled.

But then you showed up—heels clicking, chin lifted, eyes sharp.

You sat across from her tonight like you already understood what you were walking into. Like you knew she’d be different from women you’ve met.

You flirted when you wanted to. Didn’t when you didn’t. You talked like you’d never been anyones before—not because no one had tried, but because no one had made it feel safe. You said Mami like you were testing the weight of it in your mouth and then smiling at the taste.

She ponders if that's the reason, or if it's something else that makes you so dangerous. The type that causes manic decisions and desire filled ideas. The type of danger that makes her delete her sugar profile despite waiting weeks for verification the first time.

You make her feel like the first time she bought herself something expensive, the first time she splurged on a fancy car, the first time she ever flew first class.

Rhea exhales hard through her nose. Her breath fogs under the glow of a flickering streetlamp. She pauses beneath it, the kind of place where deals are made and confessions slip out when the night’s too quiet.

She pulls her phone from her pocket.

You haven’t texted yet.

She looks up. The sky’s the color of velvet dipped in ash. Her reflection swims faintly in the shop window beside her—black shirt rumpled at the collar, neck flushed, jaw tight.

She still smells like you.

The thought alone makes her shift her stance, fists clenching once, jaw flexing again.

And then—

A vibration.

She closes her eyes and smiles, she barely needs to look to know who it is but she does anyway.

home safe.

Thank you again for tonight.

She stares at it for a beat.

Not because she doesn’t know what to say.

But because suddenly, everything she could say feels too small for the moment. Too small to signal the beginning of something new. Too simple, too practiced, too many times she’s played this game.

You don't need a reassuring nudge,

You're not of the maybe babies, trusted that she didn’t need you crawling and falling over her for her to spoil you,

You dont need to be persuaded into feeling comfortable with her.

You already did and that was worth more than anything she could’ve paid for tonight.

So she types one word.

Good.

Then she adds another, something out of her normal wheel house— like you.

Sweet dreams, baby.

She pockets her phone and starts walking again, slower now.

The street curves ahead. The night still stretches wide.

And for the first time in months—maybe years—Rhea doesn’t feel like she needs to guard what she gives.

She wants to give it.

Wants to watch you take it.

Wants to see if you’ll surprise her again.

She’s still not sure what this is.

But she knows it’s not fake.

And for her?

That’s enough to make her want the next night before this one’s even over.

—

It’s been just over an hour since you got home.

Your dress is folded across the back of your chair. Your heels are off. Your skin still smells faintly like her cologne—rich, smooth, and unsettling in the best way. A three wick candle burns on your desk, the scent of clean laundry floating around.

The note she gave you sits on your nightstand, unfolded, the logo of the bar sitting in the corner.

You haven’t texted again.

You don’t need to. She said text when you’re home. And you did.

But still, you keep hearing her words:

Text me when you’re home. Or I won’t sleep.

There’s something about it—soft but possessive, quiet but firm. Like she didn’t just say it. She meant it.

You want to tell her that despite having your comfy clothes on, the feeling of riding her high makes you feel wrapped in luxury. Like adding her into your phone adds thousands to your networth. Like being hers suddenly feels like being a necklace in a glass case that everyone else wants.

You lean back against your bed, breathing steady. Still processing the way she looked at you—like you were something precious she deserved, planned to claim. Like she knew the gifts did partly for you, and partly for her getting to see you in them. It was rare to meet a sugar parent concerned more with spoiling than the affection that came with it. It's a nice change of pace you finally feel like you can keep up with. And then—your doorbell rings.

You pause.

It’s nearly 11PM.

You’re not expecting anyone.

Cautious, you approach the door and peek through the window. Sitting neatly on your doorstep is a tall white box. Elegant. Weighted. Tied with a wide black satin ribbon. There’s a card tucked into the bow. Handwritten.

For you.

No logo. No return address.

But you already know who it’s from.

You bring it inside, heart pounding with something warmer than surprise. You place it on your bed, fingers slow and deliberate as you untie the ribbon—like the act deserves patience.

The scent hits you first.

Vanilla. Lavender. Rose. Something headier and darker underneath. It smells like a boutique where everything costs too much and nothing feels cheap. It smells like her.

Inside is a bouquet—lush and decadent. Pale petals layered with deep, moody blooms. You can see the thought behind it. A study in contrast. Soft meeting sharp.

And nestled beneath the flowers—an envelope.

Your name. Her handwriting.

You open it.

Inside, a small black card. Thick paper. Gold print. Simple.

You read.

You were even better than I imagined.

I said I don’t have a spending limit.

That wasn’t just about clothes.

I meant time.

Attention.

Energy.

www.elysianthread.com — it’s one of my favorites.

I want to see you in every damn thing they make.

Pick out whatever you want.

Make a cart.

Send it to me.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t want to see you in.

— R

Your breath catches.

Not from shock.

But you weren't expecting it within an hour of leaving her.

You set the card down next to her Humber on your nightstand, bite your bottom lip, and open your laptop. The website pulls up in seconds. It’s stunning—sleek black background, gold lettering, photography shot like fashion editorials and forbidden dreams.

Silk slips. Structured corsets. Soft lounge sets. Delicate chokers.

Luxury lingerie that feels like armor and worship in the same breath.

And you’re not blushing— well maybe a little.

You’re smiling.

You lean into the screen, scrolling slowly. Imagining the weight of the gaze you'd spent hours across for earlier and what would change it, make it lighter, heavier, needier. You find yourself more excited adding pieces in dark tones than your usual pastel palette, pieces feeling closer to the woman buying them for you. You select pieces like statements. Like spells.

Slips in oxblood silk.

Loungewear that looks soft enough to drown in.

A gold anklet with a black charm you swear could pass for her energy in accessory form.

When the cart’s sizable, you copy the link. Open her message thread.

included a lot to pick from

you don’t have to—

You pause. Delete the second line.

You don’t need to soften it.

You don’t need to ask for less.

She invited this.

She wanted you.

You send the link.

Two minutes later, her reply hits.

Rhea:

Sweetheart.

You really think I’m picking one?

—

To be continued— likes, comments and reblogs always appreciated💜

—

Taglist- let me know if you’d like to be added

@starrycherie

@oldmanluvr13

[haloreigns]

IM UP.

[okayymj]

Seth is so real.

Credits to @noncontextwrestling on Instagram

[itsjuanke]

[rollinzuniverse]

You know he’s about to do some vile shit in that steel cage because the way he whispered “understood” just shows how much he isn’t done with Punk yet

My lil sadistic Rollins 😌

[ambreignsfan4life]

People Jey as reunited with, made friends with and made amends with since leaving The Bloodline

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices/ BTR Book 2: a Jhea fanfic.

Chapter 16: Valentine’s Day

February 14th, 2025 5:48PM

Liv finished adding the final touches to Rhea’s makeup, the soft glow of the light purple glitter highlighting her eyes. She smiled at the transformation, the face of her best friend illuminated with joy. Rhea sat back, admiring the work in the mirror.

“I haven’t done your makeup in so long,” Liv remarked, looking at Rhea with a proud grin.

“I missed it,” Rhea replied, her voice soft as she took in the sight of her reflection.

Liv chuckled. “Remember when I fixed your black lipstick when we got tossed out of the ring?” she asked, leaning in closer to ensure everything was perfect.

Rhea smiled, her eyes filled with nostalgia. “Yeah, you saved me. You’ve always had my back,” she said with a playful grin. “You know… if I didn’t retire, I wouldn’t have minded continuing to put you over.”

Liv stopped for a second, her eyes meeting Rhea’s through the mirror. “Rhea…” she began, her voice quiet.

Rhea turned her head slightly, meeting her best friend’s gaze. “You deserve it so much,” she said. “I love that you and Dom are dominating right now. You two have earned it.”

Liv smiled, feeling a surge of warmth in her chest. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Rhea. “I love you so much, girl,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Rhea hugged her back tightly. “I do too, times 10,” she whispered back. “Now let’s finish before Jey has an aneurysm from us lagging.”

As if on cue, Jey’s voice echoed from the doorway. “I love you, Rhea, but the limo will literally be here any minute.”

Liv shot a quick glance toward him before rolling her eyes playfully. “Alright, hold on!” she called, grabbing the final touch: a clear pink lip gloss. She applied it carefully to Rhea’s lips, making sure it was perfect.

Jey sighed, but he couldn’t hide the fondness in his voice. “Dom’s waiting on you Liv.”

Liv smirked, applying the gloss. “I know, I know, I know, I’m ready,” she said, giving Rhea one last smile. She looked up and winked. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Suddenly, the sound of a car horn blared from outside. Jey’s eyes widened. He pulled out his phone, quickly glancing at the message from Jeremiah. “Babe. The limo’s here!”

Rhea stood, grabbing her purse and making her way to the door. “I know! I’m going!” she said, feeling the rush of excitement take over her.

She hugged Liv tightly. “Make sure Jeyce and Jaciyah are in their rooms before you two go! And check on them if you come back before us!”

Liv waved her off. “Go, go, go!” she urged with a grin. “We got it!”

Rhea took a step back and blew a kiss to both of them before heading out the door. Jey stood in the hallway, ready to usher her out the door as they both made their way toward the waiting limo. Liv quickly ran to check on the kids, a sense of responsibility kicking in.

As Rhea stepped into the limo, her heart raced with anticipation for the night ahead. She felt the weight of everything that had happened, everything that was yet to come—but for now, she was living in the moment. With Jey by her side, and the night filled with endless possibilities, she was ready to enjoy what life had in store.

The limo's soft hum and the city lights flickering outside faded into the background as Jey's attention was entirely on Rhea as the drive progressed. His eyes traced the elegant curve of her neck, the way the black leather dress molded to her body, accentuating her every movement.

It was a striking vision-Rhea, effortlessly beautiful, glowing in the dim light of the limo.

The way the fabric hugged her frame was nothing short of breathtaking, making her appear as if she belonged in a dream.

Jey's heart ached with the deep, unspoken love he had for her, something he had never imagined feeling so intensely for anyone. He admired her strength, her grace, and the quiet way she carried herself, especially now as she was navigating this new chapter of their lives-pregnant with their child. Though her belly had yet to show the signs of it, he could see how her body had subtly shifted, a reminder of the new life they were about to welcome. His eyes softened, a mixture of awe and pride swelling inside him.

Rhea shifted in her seat, sensing Jey's gaze on her. She turned to meet his eyes, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Are you still there?" she asked softly, her voice filled with warmth, as if she knew exactly what was running through his mind.

Jey's heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice, the playful tone grounding him in the moment. He reached out without a second thought, pulling her gently toward him, and their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss. It wasn't just a kiss—it was a conversation, a silent exchange that said everything words could never capture. In that one moment, Jey felt the depth of his emotions-how much he cherished her, how much he needed her, and how unbelievably lucky he was to share this life with her.

Pulling back slightly, he let his forehead rest against hers, his breath mingling with hers.

His voice was hushed, reverent. "I don't know how l'm so lucky to have you in my life," he confessed, his heart laid bare in those simple words. His fingers lightly brushed against her arm, tracing the soft curve of her skin. He had everything he could ever want— her love, their child on the way, and the promise of a future they would build together.

Rhea's heart swelled, her chest tightening at the tenderness in his words. It was moments like this-so raw and pure-that made her fall in love with him all over again. Her gaze softened as she smiled, eyes brimming with affection. "Joshua... I love you so much," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Every word felt like a vow, a testament to all the struggles they'd faced and the love that had blossomed between them, stronger than anything she had ever imagined.

Jey's heart pounded in his chest as she spoke, her words wrapping around him like a warm embrace. He leaned in, unable to resist the pull between them. His kiss this time was deeper, more urgent, as if he needed to remind her of the depth of his feelings-how much she meant to him, how she had transformed his life in ways he couldn't express.

As his hands roamed over her skin, the soft warmth of her body against his sent a wave of emotion rushing through him. Her skin was like butter-so soft, so delicate-and it felt as though everything inside him was awakening to the touch. He could feel the way she responded to him, her body leaning into his as they kissed, her hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. It was as though the entire world outside didn't exist anymore-there was only the two of them, wrapped up in each other, in their love.

For a moment, everything was still. Rhea's breath hitched, and her pulse quickened at the way Jey's hands caressed her, at the way he made her feel like she was the only one who mattered. She had never felt so seen, so loved, so cherished. Her heart raced with the certainty that this-right here, right now— was everything she had ever dreamed of.

She had found her person, and in his arms, she felt invincible. There was a peace between them, a quiet understanding that no matter what challenges they faced, no matter how their lives would change with the new addition they were expecting, they had each other. And that was enough.

"I love you, Joshua," she murmured, her voice a soft promise.

Jey kissed her again, this time slower, savoring the moment, knowing deep down that these moments-these quiet, tender exchanges-were the ones he would treasure forever. His hands cupped her face, as if trying to imprint the feeling of her into his very soul. "I love you more, Demi," he whispered back, his heart swelling with emotion. As the limo continued to glide through the streets, the world outside felt miles away.

The limo eventually slowed to a smooth stop in front of Table 104, a sophisticated restaurant known for its exquisite ambiance and attention to detail. The driver stepped out, rounded the vehicle, and opened the door with a slight bow. Jey exited first, offering his hand to Rhea as she stepped out gracefully. The evening breeze was cool, carrying a faint scent of salt from the nearby ocean.

Hand in hand, the couple entered the restaurant, where the soft hum of conversation and clinking glassware filled the air. A hostess greeted them warmly at the podium.

“Good evening, welcome to Table 104,” she said with a smile. “Do you have a reservation?”

Jey nodded confidently. “Yes, reservation for two under Fatu.”

The hostess spoke into her headset, her voice polite and efficient. Moments later, the restaurant manager appeared, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit. His demeanor exuded professionalism, but his smile was warm and inviting.

“Mr. and Mrs. Fatu,” the manager greeted, extending a hand toward Jey before gesturing toward Rhea, who blushed at the manager calling her Mrs. “please, follow me.”

Jey and Rhea followed him down a dimly lit hallway, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting. The manager opened a set of double doors, revealing a private dining room that looked like a scene from a romantic dream. Endless arrangements of flowers adorned the room, cascading over the edges of tables, lining the walls, and filling the air with their intoxicating fragrance. The centerpiece was a single round table draped in white linen, illuminated by the soft glow of a crystal chandelier overhead.

Rhea’s hand instinctively tightened around Jey’s as she took in the breathtaking display. She turned to him, her eyes shining with emotion. “It looks just like…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze swept across the room.

Jey smiled, leaning in close. “Just like in The Great Gatsby, babe,” he finished for her, his voice soft but filled with pride.

Rhea’s heart swelled as she turned toward him and kissed him gently, her hand brushing against his cheek. “You never stop amazing me, Joshua.”

The manager discreetly cleared his throat, guiding them to their table. He pulled out Rhea’s chair first, ensuring she was seated comfortably before gesturing for Jey to sit across from her. Once they were settled, he spoke with genuine care.

“Your personal server will be with you momentarily. And mam’,” he added, addressing Rhea with a smile, “your fiancé informed us of your exciting news, so we’ve taken extra precautions. All cooking utensils, pans, and oils used for your meal tonight have been meticulously prepared to avoid any cross-contamination, particularly with seafood containing mercury.”

Rhea’s expression softened with gratitude. “Thank you so much,” she said sincerely.

The manager inclined his head. “It’s our pleasure. Please enjoy your evening,” he said before leaving them in privacy.

Rhea looked across the table at Jey, her fingers tracing the edge of the fine crystal glass in front of her. “You told them about the pregnancy?” she asked, her voice filled with both surprise and admiration.

Jey shrugged modestly, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Of course I did. You and the baby come first, always.”

Rhea’s heart swelled as she leaned across the table and took his hand in hers. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Jey chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I’m just trying to keep up with you, babe.”

—

Meanwhile, on the waterfront, Dom had his hands gently covering Liv’s eyes, guiding her carefully along the dock. The soft lapping of waves against the wooden planks filled the air, along with the distant sound of seagulls. Liv giggled nervously.

“Dom,” she said, her tone half-warning, half-laughing, “if you push me in the water, I swear I’ll—”

Before she could finish, Dom removed his hands and said with a wide grin, “Surprise.”

Liv blinked as her vision adjusted, her jaw dropping at the sight before her. Anchored at the edge of the dock was an elegant, fully lit private yacht. The sleek vessel was adorned with delicate fairy lights, and on the deck, a waiting staff stood dressed in crisp uniforms, ready to welcome them aboard. The setting sun cast a warm golden glow over the scene, and the faint sound of soft music floated through the air.

Liv turned back to Dom, her eyes wide with delight. “A private dinner on a boat?” she exclaimed, barely containing her excitement.

Dom smirked, a spark of pride glinting in his eyes. Before he could respond, Liv let out an excited squeal and launched herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as she peppered kisses all over his face.

“You’re the best!” she said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to beam at him. “My daddy Dom!”

Dom laughed, his hands steadying her against him. “Only the best for my girl,” he said, his voice warm and filled with affection.

Liv kissed him again, this time more deeply, before hopping back down and grabbing his hand. Her infectious smile hadn’t faded as she tugged him toward the boat, practically skipping. “Come on! Let’s get on this thing before I pass out from excitement!”

Dom chuckled, letting her pull him along. As they reached the edge of the dock, a member of the staff extended a hand to help Liv up the short gangplank. She stepped aboard the yacht with Dom following close behind, his hand never leaving hers.

The deck was set up with a single, exquisitely decorated table for two, complete with candles flickering in glass lanterns, an array of flowers, and a chilled bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. The warm ambiance was perfect, and Liv couldn’t stop taking it all in, spinning around to see every detail.

“This is…wow,” Liv said softly, her eyes sparkling as she turned to face Dom. “You really went all out, huh?”

Dom shrugged, a modest grin on his face. “You deserve it. I wanted to make tonight special for you.”

Liv stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his neck as she looked up at him with a tenderness that made his heart melt. “You make every night special, Dom,” she said, her voice filled with happiness.

Dom leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead before pulling her into a warm embrace. “Then let’s make tonight unforgettable.”

As they settled at their table, the yacht’s engine purred to life, and the boat began to glide smoothly out onto the water. The city skyline shimmered in the distance, and the stars slowly began to emerge overhead, setting the perfect stage for their evening.

—

After Rhea and Jey had left, and after Liv did her final check-in with Jaciyah and Jeyce, the house fell into a calm stillness. Jeyce waited patiently until he was sure Liv and Dom had left for their evening plans. Once the coast was clear, he quietly opened his closet and pulled out the outfit Dom and Jeremiah picked out for him.

Jeyce grinned to himself as he got dressed, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and nerves. At twelve years old, this was the first time he had planned something like this—a secret dance with Demi.

After fixing his collar in the mirror, Jeyce grabbed his laptop and checked the time. Just as he did, an instant message from Demi popped up on the screen:

“Come over! He just left!”

Jeyce’s grin widened. He quickly glanced out his window, spotting Jeremiah doing his final patrol around the property. Timing was everything. Once Jeremiah rounded the far corner of the house, Jeyce swung his leg out the window and climbed down the trellis, his movements quiet and practiced. Landing softly on the ground, he crouched for a moment to make sure no one had heard him.

Sticking to the shadows and avoiding the security cameras, Jeyce snuck around the side of the house, careful not to alert his uncles, who were chatting animatedly near the edge of the property. He made his way to the lowest part of the perimeter gate, where he had stashed a step stool earlier that day. With a quick climb, he was over the gate and on the other side, his heart pounding with exhilaration.

As soon as he was a safe distance away from the house, Jeyce straightened his shirt, smoothed his hair, and started walking casually down the trail toward Demi’s house. Along the way, he spotted a bush of vibrant yellow roses blooming in front of a neighbor’s yard. The sight sparked an idea. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then carefully plucked one of the flowers by the stem. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

Flower in hand, Jeyce arrived at Demi’s house a few minutes later and knocked on her door. He tried to play it cool, but his palms were sweating, and his heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.

When the door opened, Jeyce froze. Demi stood in front of him, looking stunning in a black dress that shimmered softly under the porch light. Her hair thrown in a braid and her makeup was subtle, only some eyeliner and mascara but to Jeyce, she looked like a real-life princess.

He swallowed hard and held out the yellow rose. “Uh, this is for you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Demi’s eyes lit up as she took the rose with a warm smile. “Thank you, Jeyce,” she said, her voice kind and full of affection. “You look so handsome.”

Jeyce felt his face heat up. “You look… really pretty,” he managed to say, his voice emitting a small stutter.

Demi held Jeyce’s hand with a playful grin, pulling him inside her house. The warm light from the living room filled the space, giving it a cozy, intimate feel. She quickly pushed the coffee table to the side, clearing a spot for the two of them to move around. With a glance at Jeyce, she smiled and hit play on the stereo. The soft, familiar strum of “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out” by The Smiths filled the room.

Jeyce’s eyes lit up when the first few notes played, and he laughed nervously, but Demi only encouraged him with a wink.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice light with excitement.

Without waiting for an answer, she pulled Jeyce into the center of the room, their hands still clasped tightly. Instead of swaying, the two of them started to move with the beat, their bodies responding instinctively to the music. Demi laughed as she spun in a circle, pulling Jeyce along with her. He stumbled a bit but quickly found his balance, matching her energy.

“Like this!” Demi said, making exaggerated dance moves, her arms flailing in the air. Jeyce couldn’t help but laugh, his nervousness fading as he mirrored her actions, adding a few wild moves of his own. He twirled and dipped, feeling a sense of freedom that made his heart race with excitement.

They moved across the floor, laughing loudly as they danced out of sync with each other but still in tune with the rhythm of the song. Demi jumped up and down, pulling Jeyce to do the same. His laughter grew as he jumped along, completely caught up in the moment.

“You’re not bad at this!” Jeyce teased, grinning as Demi did a playful spin, her hair flying out behind her.

Demi grinned back, her eyes sparkling. “I’m a pro,” she joked, giving him a quick wink before they both broke into another round of ridiculous dancing, kicking their feet and swaying their arms with abandon.

Jeyce’s chest ached from laughing so hard. There was something freeing about this, something so simple and carefree that he couldn’t help but feel a rush of joy. It was like the whole world had disappeared, and there was just him and Demi, laughing, dancing, and having fun together.

At one point, Jeyce broke into a little slide across the floor, his arms outstretched like he was gliding on ice. Demi followed with a dramatic twirl, spinning into a series of jumps that made Jeyce laugh even harder. They were a blur of movement, their bodies working together in perfect chaos.

The song played on, its mellow tone mixing with their wild energy. They were dancing without a care, the music wrapping around them like a thread that bound them together in the moment. Jeyce never wanted it to end. It felt like they were the only two people in the world, and for a moment, nothing else mattered but their laughter and the fun they were having.

Demi caught her breath, her arms still moving to the beat as she looked at Jeyce. “You’re not so bad yourself!” she said between laughs.

Jeyce flashed her a grin, his face flushed but his spirit high. “I think I’m getting the hang of it!” he said, doing a goofy little dance move that made them both giggle uncontrollably.

And in that moment, dancing with Demi, everything felt just right.

—

As Jey and Rhea finished the last bite of their dinner, the server returned with a tray holding a delicate dessert, a small smile on their face. “Monsieur and Madame,” the server announced, “I present you our award-winning cannoli. Enjoy.”

Rhea’s eyes lit up as she took the first bite, savoring the rich sweetness of the filling and the delicate crunch of the shell. “This is amazing,” she said, her voice full of appreciation.

Jey took a bite as well, wiping a small amount of powdered sugar from his hands. “We’re definitely learning how to make these,” he said with a grin. “These are too good to not be in our kitchen.”

They both continued to savor the cannoli, exchanging playful glances between bites, both wrapped up in the intimacy of the moment. The dessert, just like the dinner, had been nothing short of perfect, and it was only made better by the soft ambiance of the private room around them.

As they finished the dessert, the door to their room opened once again, and the manager walked in, leading a woman with an elegant harp. The woman gently set the harp down and adjusted her music stand. The manager turned to Jey with a smile. “Mr. Fatu, your request is here,” he said.

Jey nodded in appreciation, smiling as he stood up from his seat. “Thank you,” he said softly.

He then looked at Rhea, his eyes full of love and a touch of mischief. “Join me in creating another memory?” he asked, his voice low and inviting.

Rhea’s heart fluttered as she gazed at him, then at the harpist, who had begun to play a soft, melodic tune. She smiled and nodded, feeling her pulse quicken in anticipation.

Jey extended his hand to her, and she took it without hesitation. They stepped into the center of the room, their movements fluid and synchronized, as if they had been dancing to this song for years.

The enchanting melody of "Young and Beautiful" by Lana Del Rey began to fill the space, and Rhea's heart skipped a beat. This was their song, the one that had come to symbolize so many moments between them.

As they began to sway together, Rhea rested her head against Jey’s chest, her eyes closing as she let the music wrap around them. The gentle strums of the harp were like whispers between their souls, each note pulling them closer together. Jey’s hand was warm on her back, guiding her in the dance, his other hand holding hers with a tenderness that made her feel cherished.

Rhea smiled softly, her fingers lightly tracing the fabric of Jey’s shirt. She could feel the rhythm of his heart, steady and strong. They moved as one, their problems in the outside world fading until it was just them, the music, and the feeling of being completely in sync.

Jey leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against her ear. “You’re perfect, you know that?” he whispered, the words only meant for her.

Rhea couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with emotion. “I love you..” she murmured, the words as natural as breathing.

He smiled back, his lips brushing against her forehead as they continued to sway in the soft glow of the room, “I love you always..” the harp’s music echoing around them like a dream. This was a moment neither of them would forget, a moment of peace and connection in the middle of the chaos of their lives.

As the song came to an end, Jey pulled back slightly, his hands still on Rhea’s waist as he looked at her. He could see the joy in her eyes, the happiness that only came when they were together.

“Another perfect memory,” he said softly, his voice filled with contentment.

Rhea smiled up at him, her heart full. “Another perfect memory,” she agreed.

—

Back To The Old House by The Smiths played softly in the background, the calm melodies contrasting sharply with the tension building between Demi and Jeyce. After a two hours of dancing and talking, they had finally sat down on the couch, both feeling content but exhausted. The night had been fun, and Jeyce couldn’t help but smile as he looked at Demi.

“I really loved spending time with you tonight,” Jeyce said, his voice sincere. He didn’t know how to explain how much it meant to him. She was someone special, and tonight had felt like something out of a dream.

Demi’s smile was warm and genuine. “I loved it too,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. There was a softness to her gaze that made Jeyce’s heart flutter. They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence.

They leaned in gently, almost instinctively, their faces drawing closer. It felt natural, the space between them shrinking until their lips finally met. The kiss was a soft, hesitant peck, but it lingered longer than either of them had expected. Neither of them pulled away, as if time itself had slowed down for that one perfect moment. Jeyce felt the warmth of her lips against his, and it was everything he had imagined. Demi’s hands rested on his shoulders, both of them holding on to the moment as if it were a secret that only they shared.

But before Jeyce could move his lips, a loud voice erupted, breaking the spell.

“Demetria Bartley!”

Both Jeyce and Demi jerked apart, their eyes wide in shock. Neither had heard the door open, but now there stood Mr. Bartley, fuming with anger. Demi’s face went pale, and panic rushed through her. Her heart pounded in her chest as her father walked toward them, his fury evident in his every step.

“Dad!” Demi said, her voice shaky. She tried to explain, but Mr. Bartley wasn’t listening. In an instant, he pulled Demi away from Jeyce, his grip firm and angry.

Jeyce stood up quickly, his voice trembling as he tried to defend himself. “We didn’t do anything! We were just—”

“Go to your room, now!” Mr. Bartley snapped at Demi, cutting Jeyce off with a cold tone. He didn’t wait for Demi to respond; his anger had already taken over, and he wasn’t about to let his daughter get away with what he thought was inappropriate behavior.

Demi, still in shock, looked at Jeyce with a mix of fear and apology in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something but hesitated, knowing there was nothing she could do in that moment. Reluctantly, she walked toward her room, her head down.

Jeyce felt his heart sink. This was all happening so fast. He had just shared a special moment with Demi, and now it was being torn away from him. He looked at Mr. Bartley, who was glaring at him as he turned toward the door.

“Come on,” Mr. Bartley ordered, his voice laced with anger. “I’m taking you to your parents.”

Jeyce nodded silently, his stomach twisting. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, but he followed Mr. Bartley out of the house. His mind raced, his thoughts jumbled. He wished he could have stayed with Demi, but now everything had been ruined.

As they reached the car, Mr. Bartley started questioning him. “Where are your parents, anyway? Do they know you’re sneaking around in my house?”

Jeyce swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “No, sir. They’re out.”

Mr. Bartley huffed, clearly not satisfied with the answer. “Is there anyone at your house?”

Jeyce hesitated, then replied, “My three uncles.”

Mr. Bartley frowned at that. “Did you get their permission?”

“No, sir,” Jeyce answered, his voice showing his fear.

They drove in silence for a while, the tension thick between them. Jeyce could feel his palms sweating, anxiety gnawing at him. The house he lived in was vast and imposing, surrounded by a gated property, but it had never felt more like a prison than now. Jeyce watched as Mr. Bartley pulled up to the gate, taking in the surroundings. Despite his anger, there was a slight shift in his demeanor, as if he was momentarily impressed by the size of the estate.

“Nice house, kid,” Mr. Bartley muttered, his tone softer now but still tinged with irritation.

Jeyce’s eyes flicked toward the gate as he spotted Jeremiah walking along the edge of the property. “That’s my uncle Jeremiah,” Jeyce said, trying to stay calm and keep the conversation from escalating.

Mr. Bartley gave a brief nod but didn’t respond. The tension in the air was thick as he parked the car, and Jeyce could feel his stomach churn with unease.

As they got out of the car, Mr. Bartley’s frustration hadn’t waned. Jeremiah approached the gate and saw Jeyce. Mr. Bartley looked at Jeremiah, his tone clipped and demanding. “I want to speak to Jeyce’s father. Now.”

Jeyce’s heart raced as they walked toward the front gate. This wasn’t how he imagined his night would end. His thoughts flickered to Demi, and a part of him felt desperate to see her again, to explain everything to her father. But for now, all he could do was follow Mr. Bartley and hope that the consequences wouldn’t be as bad as he feared.

—

Jey and Rhea were lost in each other's arms, the warmth of their bodies pressing together in the back of the limo. The atmosphere between them was electric, the chemistry undeniable after a perfect night filled with laughter, romance, and memories. Their lips met once more in a heated kiss, the moment stretching out, making everything else fade into the background.

Jey deepened the kiss, his hands moving to Rhea's back, pulling her closer. It felt like the world had stopped, and all that mattered was them, locked in a perfect embrace.

“God I could feel you..” Rhea murmured as she felt Jey’s member against her. Jey broke the kiss and he pulled her to straddle him. Jey kissed her neck and Rhea moaned as he began to suck on it, attempting to leave a love mark. “Im not wearing any underwear..” Jey pulled back and he said, “You are so fucking naughty..” They kissed once more, their needs urgent, but just as Jey was about to extend the moment further, the sudden vibration of his phone broke through the haze of desire.

Jey pulled back reluctantly, looking down at his phone, and saw that it was Jeremiah calling. He let out a quiet groan, frustrated that the night was about to take a turn. Still, he managed to kiss Rhea's forehead gently before answering the call.

"Hold on, babe," Jey murmured, his voice still thick with the aftermath of their kiss. Rhea nodded, wiping her lips with a playful smile as she got off of Jey, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Jey answered the phone quickly. "Jeremiah, what's going on?"

Jeremiah's voice came through with urgency.

"Jey, it's bad. Jeyce sneaked out. He was at Demi's, and they-"

Jey's heart skipped a beat. "What happened?" he asked, his voice tight.

"He was caught kissing Demi by her dad. Now Demi's dad is demanding to speak with you," Jeremiah explained, his words tumbling out. "He's pissed, Jey. He wants you here now."

Jey took a deep breath, his mind racing.

"Alright, I'm on my way. Let him in, I'll be there in about ten minutes. Don't let Demi's dad leave."

He ended the call and leaned back into the seat, running a hand through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into a confrontation, especially not after such a perfect evening with Rhea.

"What am I gonna do with this kid?" Jey muttered to himself, shaking his head in frustration. He glanced over at Rhea, who was watching him intently, a raised eyebrow signaling her curiosity.

Rhea reached over and placed a comforting hand on his leg. "You'll figure it out," she said softly, her voice calm but full of understanding. "You always do."

Jey let out a heavy sigh, his mind spinning as he thought about Jeyce. The kid was growing up too fast, and sometimes it felt like he was taking unnecessary risks. It wasn't the first time Jeyce had done something impulsive, but this-this was different.

Kissing Demi, sneaking out, getting caught by her father... things were getting complicated.

"I just don't get it," Jey said, rubbing his temples. "He's a kid, but he's—." Rhea cut Jey off by placing two fingers on Jey’s lips. “Baby.. don’t stress yourself out right now.. let’s get through the talk with Demi’s dad and we will figure out what’s next..”

"Alright, let's do it..”

After some time, the limo smoothly pulled into the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. Jey leaned forward, glancing out the window. As the vehicle came to a halt, he noticed a black Camaro parked by the gates, its sleek lines unmistakable. That has to be Demi’s dad’s car, Jey thought, his jaw tightening. He was about to walk into a tense situation, and he had no idea what to expect.

The driver opened the door for Rhea, who stepped out first, adjusting Jey’s jacket that he had took just in case, with a small smile of reassurance. Jey followed, stepping into the cool night air, scanning the surroundings. The lights from the house illuminated the driveway, and in the distance, he saw the familiar shapes of his cousins—Jeremiah, Jeremy, and Jesse—standing in the living room, their posture rigid, as if they had been waiting for him. Jey and Rhea entered the house and walked into their living room, Jey’s eyes flicked to the small figure of Jeyce sitting on the couch, head down, clearly feeling the weight of the situation. But there was someone else in the room.

A tall man, covered in tattoos, stood just behind Jeyce, his presence imposing. He had a dark look in his eyes, and his stance spoke volumes. The man took a step forward as Jey approached and extended a hand, his voice deep as he introduced himself.

“Dacre Victor Bartley,” the man said firmly, his handshake strong. “And you must be Mr. Fatu.”

Jey, looking the man over for a moment, nodded, returning the handshake with equal firmness. “You can call me Joshua,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “First, let me apologize for my son’s actions. I, nor his mom or his bonus mother, have raised him like this.”

Dacre’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. He glanced around at the room, then looked back at Jey. “I’m divorced as well,” Dacre said, his voice lowering a bit. “I was actually on a date, came home early to check on Demetria, and found them kissing on my couch.”

Jey nodded, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. He had tried his best to raise Jeyce right, but this was a situation where no amount of good intentions seemed to fix the damage.

“I’m very sorry,” Jey replied, his voice steady but regretful. “He was on punishment for fighting earlier, and he will be punished more for this. It won’t happen again.”

Dacre considered Jey’s words for a moment, his posture softening slightly. “I know,” he said, his eyes softening just a fraction. “My daughter said your boy stood up for her. I respect that. I don’t tolerate disrespect, though, and what I saw on that couch is not acceptable.”

Jey nodded in understanding. This wasn’t about the kiss so much as the respect they needed to show each other’s families. He could appreciate Dacre’s stance, but he also understood his own son had crossed a line.

“I’m keeping my daughter away from your boy for a bit,” Dacre continued, his voice firm but not angry. “She’s never done anything like this, and I don’t want her making these kinds of decisions again.”

Joshua took a deep breath, processing the man’s words. “That’s fine,” he said, his tone even. “I respect your decision.”

Dacre nodded once more, then looked at Jey with a more neutral expression. “I think that’s all for now,” Dacre said, his voice not quite as harsh. “We all have to make sure our kids understand the consequences of their actions.”

Jey didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence linger for a moment as he glanced at his son, still sitting on the couch with his head down. The weight of the moment was heavy, but Jey knew it wasn’t over yet. There was still more to be done, lessons to be learned on both sides. He turned back to Dacre.

“I’ll take care of it,” Jey said, his voice carrying an air of finality. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Dacre gave a short nod and, after a moment of eye contact, turned to leave. He gave a curt glance to Jeyce before walking out the door, heading to his car without another word.

Jey stood there for a moment, processing everything. His jaw clenched, and he let out a quiet sigh before he turned to his brothers. They didn’t need to say anything—he could see the concern in their eyes, feel the tension in the room.

He looked at Jeyce. “Come on,” he said softly, his tone firm yet fatherly. “Let’s talk.”

[kcloveswrestling]

Welcome home, Taylor🫶

we missed you!

can’t wait to see where you take this character and group! you’re here, we will follow!

[killer-fucking-kross]

cm punk is just a real life aj lee fan page

[harlan-so-c]

[wyattsw6rld]

[itsgivingmami]

Rhea who’s been pining after reader ever since they met in NXT, reader was Damian’s best friend and gear maker.

Reader decided one day that she wanted to try making women’s gear and who’s a better subject than Rhea Bloody Ripley?

They get up close and personal in their first fitting and the champion gets flustered…

-Told you long requests were a bad habit, Maggie

A Measure of Love- Rhea Ripley

Enjoy!! Comments. Likes and reblogs always appreciated

Rhea picked up her pump cover from the bench and wiped her face, sweat running from her dark tresses down her temples. The air is cranked in her garage but it does barely anything to cool her flushed skin. The music is loud as she turns to face Damian, finishing his last rep of presses.

“You wanna grab lunch?” Rhea shouts and Damian slides his body out from the bar and sits up. He takes a moment to catch his breath and take a sip of water.

“I can’t I’ve got a fitting for war games,” Damian explains and Rhea feels her heart leap at the mention of her favourite person. “Speaking of which I don’t wanna go all smelly can I grab a shower?”

“You know where it is,” she teases in fake annoyance and he claps her on the shoulder and heads into her home towards the guest room. Once he’s gone Rhea deflates she leans against the bar with her hands clasped together holding her forehead up.

How many years, how many mentions, how many times had she thought of you and still, heart racing and if she wasn’t already worked up from the exercise she was sure she’d be blushing too. There was the assumption that she’d be used to it by now with all the time you spent in her head and not to mention all the time she’d spent scrolling your social media. For fucks sake you’d been to her house at least a couple times during parties, she could probably find you at Damian’s more often than not and you were constantly backstage during raw. That’s how you had met, and since that day not a single on had past that Rhea hadn’t thought about you in some capacity.

~

“Fuck,” Rhea arms were twisted behind her neck trying to get the buckle on her top closed but every-time she got the fascinator in place it snapped open. “Fuck!”

She’s rushing from the locker room towards catering, she’ll have to sprint to make it to gorilla before her fight but she can’t exactly go out topless either. Her bleach blond hair tickles the top of her hands as she holds her top, she’s relieved having it so short finally but it’s the perfect length to get stuck in the abysmal clasp.

“Priest!” Damian’s turns from the group he’s talking with to spot his friend yelling for him, he excuses himself quickly seeing the worry on her face and for a second he think she’s got some sort of neck injury.

“What’s wrong?” He asks trying to pull her arm from her neck, and she nudges him off. He stares confused,

“Stupid thing won’t stay closed can you try I’ve gotta be at gorilla,” she turns and he takes a moment to look before admitting defeat.

“Stay here,” he says before quickly running down the hall and out of view. Rhea bobbles impatiently as she feels time passing, maybe she should’ve just tried to find a merchandised shirt.

Damian’s boots are loud as he hauls back around towards her, there’s a quick glance thrown over his shoulder as a shorter woman’s comes trailing behind him. Her hair swings behind her in a ponytail, her large white button up, open on her shoulders acts like a cape as she and Damian run towards Rhea.

“Who’s this?” Rhea asks as they meet her in the hall, her eyes don’t leave the woman infront of her, staring up through round wire frame glasses.

“She does all my gear she’ll fix that,” Rhea squints for a minute before snapping back to reality, right her top, her match. She continues to stare at the woman as her brain catches up,

“I’ve got it I promise,” you tell her but her hesitancy has nothing to do with your skill and everything to do with the fact that she doesn’t want to stop looking at you. With a thick swallow Rhea nods and spins around, gently lowering to her knees and allows you to work.

She makes it out in time, the golden lights of nxt greeting her for the evening. Her tops holds strongly as she pins her opponent.

Damian congratulates her as she gets back to the gorilla but her eyes scan the room for you. As she makes her way back to the locker room she checks every hallway for the sight of you but nothing. She rips her gear off the first chance she gets and packs up quickly, throwing items into her bag before heading back out into the busy hallways.

~

She never did find you that night, but as a thank you she had sent you flowers a few days later come to find out you weren’t actually in town and they had died at your doorstep. That was the first on only time Rhea had decided to shoot her shot with you and years later you were still completely ignorant to the roses your building had removed from the hall.

From then she’d found every excuse to be close to you, came to Damian’s fittings when she could, offered to wait with you backstage at events. Everything but actually make a move on you or tell you how she felt.

“I’m headed out,” Damian leaned in the doorway with his gym bag in hand, she waves him off with a tired smile. She loves her closest friend but she can’t help the jealousy that creeps in. She finally leaves the garage to get a glass of water before heading off to a shower of her own.

She’s in her bedroom pulling out sweats and hour later with a table when her phone lights up with Damian’s contact photo. Probably wants to show off his new gear. She tosses the clothes on the bed and sits down, sliding to accept his FaceTime. Her phone nearly flys across the room when she sees your face light up her screen and she looks down at the towel covering her body.

“Hey gorgeous!!” You greet happily unaware the fluster you’ve put her in. “Do you have a second for me?”

She could laugh if she wasn’t caught so off guard. A second? She had years to give to you, years she’s waited stuffed under her belt. She runs a hand through her wet hair in attempt to look more presentable and nods swallowing thickly.

“Yeah always,” she tells you honestly, her mind tones brings a smile to your face.

“Are you loyal to somebody for your gear?” You ask quickly, Rhea furrows her brows and shakes her head.

“Not particularly I tend to shop around,” Rhea answers and you light up, Rhea hears Damian pipe in with a teasing ‘I told you so,” before you swatted at him. Rhea took your distraction as an opportunity to admire you.

Contrary to popular belief she was not all skulls, goth and black. She did occasionally enjoy the light and airy things in life, some might even call cute and one of those things, was you. The way your hair falls around your face and when you smile one side raises a little higher than the other. Your face had changed over the last couple years as did your habit for choosing contacts over your frames but to her you still looked as tempting as your first meeting.

“I don’t know how you deal with him,” your voice snaps Rhea back to reality as her phone comes back into focus. You’re rolling your eyes at Damian and smiling at her. “You’re never going to get married at this rate stupido!”

“Says the single woman,” Damian retorts and Rhea places her phone to view the ceiling. She hears you scoff as she pulls on a pair of sweat pants and a tee.

“I know how to treat a woman better than you!” And it was true, you did. You had more long term relationships than Rhea or Damian in the last few years and it gutted her every time. It both relieved and filled her with anxiety when you clarified that you were gay for the first time. Rhea had gone from worrying about you and Damian together to worrying about every other woman on the planet. “Where’d you go?”

Rhea tosses the towel into the hamper and grabs her phone and as she reappears you smile.

“Sorry you caught me out the shower,” You watch Rhea shuffle back and lean against the head board,

“I’m sorry I just really wanted to talk to you!” You explain and she feels her heart jump. She’s torn between watching you and watching herself ok her phone to make sure her face doesn’t betray her.

“I’m all yours,” Rhea admits, it feels nice to say aloud even though she really does mean it and you chuckle in response to what you assume is a joke.

“I’ve been thinking about moving into doing women’s ring gear,” you speak quickly a feeling of nerves flowing over you, “and since you and your terror twins are officially teaming up I was thinking that maybe I could do your gear too, could make them match and everything,”

Listen, Rhea knows she should be paying attention to your offer, and she hears you but the way you’re blushing and refusing to really look at her is something she hasn’t seen and it’s pulling the dominant side of her out of the hole she pushed it down into a long time ago in regards to you.

“You wanna make gear for me?” Rhea questions and you nod enthusiastically,

“Yes! Please what do ya say?”

~

“Hello?” Rhea shouts into the quiet room, her voice echoing back at her. She moves inside and closes the door behind her, the lights above her hum dully, a good sign that you’re here somewhere. She’s only been here a few times when tagging along with Damian but the studio is familiar enough, your loft hanging above the space.

“Hi!” She hears followed by the clanking of metal, she watches you descend the spiral staircase quickly and speed walk towards her. Your arms wrap around her neck, pulling her down your height. “Thank you for this,”

“Anytime,” she replies because any chance to spend time with you is a win in her book, getting new custom ring gear was an added bonus. “So what do you need from me?”

“I need your measurements and then we can look at some sketches,” Rhea freezes in place, measurements, her measurements. She wasn’t sure how that fact hadn’t crossed her mind, of course you were going to have to touch her at some point during fittings but measuring her? You were too busy floating around collecting your measuring tape and notepad to notice the (gay) panic happening. “Cool?”

“Oh? Um-“ Rhea forces a smile and nods as you look at her innocently, “cool,”

Half an hour later Rheas standing on a pedestal in her bike shorts and sports bra, her mind a mental minefield of trying not to think about you and simultaneously prepare herself for you to be so close.

“Okay so hold your arm out a little for me,” Rhea takes a sharp breath in as you gently touch her right arm, moving it to where you want it. “Perfect,” your hands are gentle as you measure the length of her arm and she can feel your eyes move along her skin.

“How come you decided to do women’s gear?” Something, anything, a distraction of any kind was better than the silence. You look up from the tape to her, her gaze remains stuck in front of her, stoic like a statue. “You’re pretty established with the work you do now,”

“I got inspired,” you answer vaguely and pull your tape along her arm back to your waiting hand, “there’s a woman I want to see in my clothes,”

“Gotcha,” she tries to say casually, throwing a quick answer out before her voice breaks. “So I get to be the guinea pig?”

“Hmmm,” you hum as you make your way around her, your finger tips are cold on the back of Rheas neck as you hold the tape and run it down the length of her back. You watch the muscle is her back tense and move and quickly advert your eyes back to the task at hand. “I wouldn’t send you out in anything I wasn’t confident in,”

“No I didn’t mean-“ your soft giggles cut her off as your forehead hits her back.

“I was kidding,” you rub her back gently to let her know she’s okay before moving to measure her waist.

“So who’s this dream muse of yours?” She can’t help but ask. Rhea tries to keep her tone playful but the way her tones drops towards the end of her sentence gives her away more than she’d like. Your eyes seemed focused on your tape and she hopes you weren’t plying close enough attention. “I’m sure Damian could put in a good word with pretty much anyone,” You avoid making eye contact with her as you return to your notepad to jot down her waist number and shrug.

“I’m sure he could knowing him,” you tease but say nothing else about it and it sends the gears in Rheas head turning full force. “Arms up,”

“If it’s someone in my division I could talk to them for you?” Rhea offers and she doesn’t know why, she doesn’t exactly want to share you but the way you’re measuring across her chest prompts her to start rambling.

“I don’t think so,” you giggle and smile at her. Now she was starting to feel antsy, all the past times a girl had shown up in your life she was blind sided, at least this time she had the opportunity to prepare herself for seeing you with someone else.

“Cmon just tell me who she is,” Rhea tries again ignoring your hands on her hips, “I know I could convince her,” why can’t she stop talking?

“I really doubt it Rhea,” you tell her, you lowering onto a knee in-front of her getting ready to measure her legs. You keep your eyes on her thighs as you measure them, refusing to look up. You write down your number before looking up. “Plus no need,”

“Why not?” Rhea asks, your vagueness is starting to irritate her, despite how cute you are how nice your touch feels.

“Because I’m already measuring her,”

To be continued…

[bornmadbornbad]

You're seeing it right!! Alexa Bliss is back baby. Your eyes are not deceiving you. / Words can't express how happy I was when I saw her name pop up on the screens after hearing her theme play. The highlight of the night for real!!! I hope she knows how loved she is in the WWE Universe. 🫶🏼

[okayymj]

Credits to @nikoexxtra1 on Instagram.

[itsjuanke]

Wrestlemania vlog