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elysiaheaven · 10 hours

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𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠- 𝐃𝐫 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 𝐱 𝐅.𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (Smut)

Words:6000

Genre: Smut

Summary: You decided to help him create a alabaster sculpture, after he broke it. He invites you to a bath, Only to fucking read a damned book

CW: Mentions of Hickey, Marking, Degradation, Overstimulation, Bondage kink, Dom Ratio, Bottom y/n, Dirty talks, Fingering, Rough sex,

You stand in Dr. Ratio’s dimly lit workplace, the faint scent of drying plaster and damp stone lingering in the air. Sunlight filters through tall windows, casting long shadows across the half-finished sculptures and scattered tools. A broken alabaster headpiece sits on a table nearby, the remnants of his last attempt—one that shattered due to his frustration.

He’s leaning over a block of clay now, his wavy violet hair obscuring the sharp focus in his eyes as he meticulously carves details into the surface. You try to suppress a smile, but you can’t help it. Despite his irritable and sarcastic nature, you adore him.

“Focus,” Ratio’s voice slices through your thoughts. He glances at your work with a smirk that borders on condescension. “If you’re going to waste my time, at least try to do it properly.”

You huff, rolling your eyes at his sharp tongue, though deep down, you find comfort in the familiar banter. After all, this wasn’t about proving yourself to him. It was about being close to him—no matter how cruel he sometimes tried to be. He enjoyed teasing you, and you let him because, well… you loved him.

Your hands move over the clay in front of you, smoothing out the rough edges as you try to mirror his techniques. Every movement is deliberate, as if he’s watching your every misstep.

It hadn’t always been this way.

There was a time you were with Aventurine, a bond you once thought would last. The two of you shared long nights under the stars, discussing investments and strategies in a way only the IPC’s brightest could. But things changed after a specific incident—a time where you felt doubt creep into your relationship, where you felt unsure of what you wanted. Topaz offered you a new position, a way out of the pressure you had put on yourself with Aventurine. And you took it.

He made you forget it

You and Ratio met not long after that. You worked together, your skills and ambitions clashing but complementing one another in unexpected ways. It wasn’t until one fateful night in Penacony, that he confessed.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Ratio had said, his usual confidence flickering for the briefest moment. “You and Aventurine… you were something. I don’t want to be the rebound—don't want to be the second choice. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel something for you. So, there. I’ve said it. Do with that what you will.”

Your heart had pounded in your chest, unsure of how to respond. You nodded, too overwhelmed with emotions to find the words. That had been the turning point. Now, you stood by his side, his lover, his student, and more.

“You’re messing up the contours again,” he snaps, pulling you back to the present. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Maybe if you weren’t so mean about it, I’d do better,” you mutter under your breath, not entirely joking. His eyes narrow slightly, but the corner of his lips twitch upward, betraying a smirk.

"Maybe," he replies, setting his tools down and crossing his arms. "But then where’s the fun in that?"

You give him a playful glare and return to your work, but his presence beside you is comforting. He walks over, looming behind you. His muscular build casts a shadow over your small sculpture, and without warning, his hands cover yours. He guides you in carving smoother lines, his touch both firm and surprisingly gentle.

“You’re making it too complicated,” he murmurs in your ear, his voice low but full of that familiar arrogance. “Simplicity is key. Don’t overthink it.”

The sensation of his breath on your neck sends shivers down your spine. He’s close, too close for you to focus on the task. But you pretend, anyway.

“Is this better?” you ask, turning your head slightly to meet his reddish-pink eyes. They flicker with something unspoken, but he nods after a moment, letting go of your hands.

“Passable,” he says, moving away, but you catch the faintest trace of a smile.

The hours pass in a comfortable silence, the two of you working on the new alabaster headpiece for him. His sharp criticisms gradually soften into suggestions, and eventually, you create something he approves of—a new sculpture, perfect for him to wear.

You take a step back, admiring the finished product with pride.

He picks it up, turning it over in his hands before placing it on his head, the alabaster gleaming in the light. He looks at you, his usual smugness replaced with a rare moment of sincerity. “Not bad,” he says.

It’s as close to a compliment as you’re going to get, but it’s enough.

Ratio steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’ve done well,” he murmurs, voice lowering as he reaches out to gently tilt your chin up. “And… I’m glad you stayed, despite everything.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world feels still, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. He leans in slowly, his lips brushing yours in a soft, almost hesitant kiss. It’s brief, but the warmth lingers as he pulls back, eyes searching yours.

“And don’t think for a second that means I’ll be easier on you,”

You roll your eyes..

You stand back to admire your work, you don’t realize your hands are still caked in clay until you try to brush a stray hair out of your face. The smudge leaves a streak across your cheek, and when you look down, your clothes are covered in it too. You groan softly, trying to wipe it off, but it only smears further.

“You’re a mess,” Dr. Ratio’s voice comes from behind you, rich with amusement.

Before you can respond, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him. His muscular frame is warm against your back, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he holds you close. He leans his chin lightly on your shoulder, his violet hair brushing your skin as his reddish-pink eyes lock onto yours in the reflection of a nearby glass pane. There’s a playfulness in his gaze, but also something deeper, something that makes your heart race.

"You’re dirty right now,” he murmurs, his voice carrying that usual commanding tone, though softer than usual.

You twist in his arms, a teasing grin forming on your lips. “Or maybe you’re just too clean,” you whisper before leaning up to kiss him lightly, just brushing the surface of his lips.

Ratio’s eyes darken as he narrows his gaze at you. The air between you crackles with tension, and for a moment, he just stares at you, unblinking. “I’m the one who kissed you, right?” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

You barely have time to react before he cups the back of your neck and crashes his lips onto yours, kissing you with a fierce intensity that sends a wave of heat rushing through your body. His grip tightens slightly, pulling you even closer, and you melt into him, losing yourself in the moment.

His lips move against yours with practiced precision, but there’s an underlying hunger, a need that he’s finally letting surface. He tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss, and you can feel him smile against your lips when you gasp softly. There’s something both possessive and tender in the way he holds you—like he’s teaching you how to give in completely.

After a moment, Ratio pulls back just enough to speak, his voice huskier than before. “You need to stop teasing if you want to learn,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

You feel his lips brush yours again, slower this time, more deliberate. His hands guide your face as he kisses you deeper, teaching you the rhythm he wants. His tongue traces your lower lip, coaxing a response from you as his kiss grows more insistent, almost like he’s showing you every secret behind his confident, often cold demeanor.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you lean into him, completely lost in his touch. The clay on your hands leaves marks on his skin and clothes, but neither of you care. The world fades around you as Ratio pours all his frustration, passion, and unspoken feelings into the kiss, guiding you with every motion, every shift of his lips against yours.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing heavily, the air between you charged. His eyes search yours, and the usual smugness in his expression is softened by something more vulnerable, more real.

“I hope you’re paying attention,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your cheek lightly. “Because I’m not going to repeat that lesson.”

You cross your arms and give Ratio a teasing grin, knowing exactly how to push his buttons. "I didn’t get it," you say, feigning innocence, "Maybe I need a few more lessons." You bat your eyes playfully, knowing full well what you’re doing.

Ratio sighs, his lips twitching in that familiar mix of amusement and frustration. "You’re impossible, you know that?" His eyes narrow, though there’s a glint in them that says he’s not entirely annoyed. He looks down at both of you, noticing the clay smeared across your clothes, his shirt, and even your hair. "Look at us, we’re both a mess." He runs a hand through his wavy violet hair, now streaked with bits of clay. "I’m going to take a bath."

He turns to walk away, his tone casual as if what he’s about to say next is no big deal. "You should join me."

You hesitate, unsure if he’s serious. "It’s okay, I’ll—"

Ratio turns his head slightly, raising an eyebrow as if challenging you. "I don’t believe you," he says, his voice low and smooth, leaving no room for argument. His eyes flicker with something unreadable. "You’ll join me."

You swallow, your heart racing as you nod, not entirely sure what’s pulling you into this but unable to say no.

You don’t know how it happened, but here you are—submerged in fragrant, warm water, the scent of rose petals filling the air as they float lazily on the surface. The steam curls up around the edges of the large marble tub, wrapping around you like a blanket. You’re sitting across from Ratio, both of you completely naked, the water lapping softly against your skin.

Ratio, in typical fashion, looks completely unbothered. He’s reclining back, his eyes skimming over the pages of a book he must’ve grabbed on the way in. His muscles are relaxed, his toned form half-submerged in the water, and yet there’s something almost regal about the way he sits—completely in control, even in this intimate setting.

Meanwhile, you’re blushing furiously, trying to keep your eyes from wandering. The bubbles and rose petals do a decent job of covering the most vulnerable parts of your body, but it doesn’t stop the heat rising in your cheeks. You bite your lip, the silence between you heavy, but neither of you speaks. The only sound is the gentle sloshing of water and the occasional soft rustle as Ratio turns the page of his book.

A small yellow rubber duck bobs between you two, bumping against your knee. You can’t help but huff in annoyance. Here you are, completely flustered, and Ratio is sitting there, reading—acting as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

"Seriously?" you mutter under your breath, half-joking but half-frustrated. "You’re just going to ignore me and read your book? Insensitive much?"

Ratio doesn’t even look up from his book, though you can see the slight curve of a smirk on his lips. "You’re the one who said you didn’t get it," he says, his tone maddeningly calm. "Maybe if you paid more attention, I wouldn’t have to keep teaching you."

Your eyes narrow, but before you can retort, his gaze finally flicks up to meet yours. His reddish-pink eyes, framed by the soft curls of violet hair, pierce through you, making your breath catch. There’s something dark and amused in his expression, as if he’s enjoying every bit of your frustration.

"Do you want my attention, or are you just trying to be difficult?" His voice is smooth, but there’s a challenge hidden underneath it, one that makes your heart pound even faster.

You huff, crossing your arms as you stare at him, the frustration building. “You’re so unromantic,” you complain, your voice edging into a whine. “We’re in a bath together, surrounded by rose petals, and you’re just… reading?”

Ratio doesn’t even flinch, casually turning another page in his book. “The rose petals,” he says, his tone as indifferent as ever, “are for the scent. Nothing more.”

You blink at him, completely thrown off. “For the scent? You’re kidding, right?” Your eyes narrow, and you give him a look that clearly says you’re unimpressed. “Who puts rose petals in a bath just for the scent? That’s such a ridiculous excuse.”

Finally, he lowers his book slightly, glancing at you with a cold, unreadable expression. “It’s not an excuse. It’s practical.” His voice carries that usual sharpness, cutting through the thick steam around you. “Do you want the truth, or do you prefer fantasies?”

Your frustration boils over, and you push yourself up from the bath, the water cascading down your skin as you start to stand. “Unbelievable!” you mutter under your breath. “I don’t need lessons on scents from someone who doesn’t understand basic romance.”

But before you can fully rise, Ratio’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with surprising speed. In one swift motion, he pulls you back down into the water, his strength undeniable as you fall against his chest. The splash sends water spilling over the sides of the tub, and the air between you crackles with tension.

“Sit,” he commands, his voice low and firm, not giving you a chance to argue.

You glare at him, but your body goes still as you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer. His skin is warm against yours, and his touch sends a shiver down your spine, despite your irritation. He leans forward, his breath hot against your ear as he speaks, his tone slower now, more deliberate.

“You want romance?” His voice is barely a whisper, yet it sends a jolt through you. “Let me teach you something about scent.”

His hand trails up your arm, pausing to brush away a strand of wet hair from your face. “Scent is powerful,” he murmurs, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “It’s not just for decoration, it’s a signal. A memory. The roses… you’re not paying attention to what they’re really doing.”

You shiver, his words sinking in as he continues. “Roses have always been a symbol of passion, of longing. Their scent is designed to linger, to invade your senses.” His hands move up to cup your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “When you think of this moment, the scent of these petals will remind you of it—whether you like it or not.”

Your heart races, your breath coming in shallow as Ratio’s eyes hold yours, his intensity making it impossible to look away. His voice drops even lower, a subtle challenge laced within. “So, tell me again, is this unromantic? Or are you simply unaware of what’s really happening around you?”

You’re speechless, caught between the frustration you felt moments ago and the way his words now swirl in your mind. Before you can gather a response, Ratio smirks faintly, brushing his thumb against your lips.

“Next time, think before you act. You’ll find there’s more to everything than what you see on the surface.” He leans in, his lips hovering close to yours but not quite touching. “Now… do you still need another lesson, or have you learned enough?”

His words hang in the air, and you realize you’re clinging to him, your frustration long forgotten. The rose petals drift around you, their scent now intoxicating as you sit there, your body pressed against his. You bite your lip, but the heat in your cheeks is impossible to hide.

“Maybe…” you whisper, eyes half-lidded as you lean into him, “I need just one more lesson.”

As the kiss deepens, Ratio’s hands move with deliberate precision, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. He releases you from his embrace, his fingers trailing lightly down your arms, leaving a trail of tingling warmth.

“Let’s add a little more… complexity to your lesson,” Ratio murmurs, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. He reaches over to a nearby cabinet and retrieves a soft, silk blindfold. The fabric glides between his fingers as he holds it up, inspecting it with a contemplative look.

You blink, your heart pounding as he brings the blindfold closer. “What are you—”

Before you can finish, Ratio gently but firmly places the blindfold over your eyes, tying it securely behind your head. The darkness is immediate and complete, enveloping you in a world of black.

You shift uncomfortably, trying to adjust to the sudden loss of sight. The warmth of the bath and Ratio’s presence are the only things grounding you now. “Ratio… what’s this about?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, you hear him move around, the soft rustle of his clothing and the gentle splash of water filling your senses. “Studies show that when you can’t see what’s happening,” he starts, his voice a smooth, calming presence in the darkness, “your brain becomes more attuned to other senses. Touch, sound, scent—they all become heightened. It’s a fascinating phenomenon.”

You shiver, your skin tingling with anticipation and curiosity. “And what does that mean for me?”

“It means,” he says, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper, “that you’re going to experience everything in a new way.” His fingers brush lightly against your arm, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “You’ll have to rely on your other senses to understand what’s happening.”

His touch is feather-light, making you shiver as he explores your skin with a practiced, teasing touch. His fingertips graze your shoulders, your neck, and the small of your back, each touch sending waves of sensation through you. The silk blindfold leaves you feeling both vulnerable and exhilarated, heightening every whisper of his touch, every movement.

Ratio’s voice becomes a soft murmur, though it’s clear he’s enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “When the brain can’t see, it often fills in gaps with what it already knows or anticipates,” he explains. “It’s a way of adapting, of creating a picture from incomplete information. Right now, you’re creating an experience based on the limited input you’re receiving.”

You feel his breath against your ear, and his voice lowers even more, almost a purr. “The question is, how much of this can you interpret? How much will you understand without seeing it?”

His hands move to your waist, guiding you gently but firmly. His touch is both confident and tender, each caress and stroke meticulously designed to draw out your reactions. You can’t help but respond, your body leaning into his touch, the warmth and closeness of him filling your senses.

A soft, playful chuckle escapes him. “You’re reacting quite beautifully. It’s interesting how the brain can be so focused on sensation when it’s deprived of sight.” He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he continues, his voice a low, intimate whisper. “Every touch, every sound, every breath I take is magnified for you. Your mind is building an image of me, of what I’m doing, based on what you feel.”

His hands wander gently over your body, teasingly exploring every inch of your skin, making you squirm and gasp with each new sensation. The anticipation and the unknown heighten every touch, every whisper, making your pulse race.

Ratio’s fingers trail up to your neck, his touch light yet purposeful. “Tell me,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “what do you think I’m doing now? Can you imagine it? Can you sense the intention behind each touch?”

You breathe heavily, trying to focus on the sensations he’s providing, each one building a complex picture in your mind. “I… I think you’re—”

He cuts you off with another teasing touch, his fingertips tracing slow, deliberate patterns on your skin. “Think harder,” he encourages, his voice laced with amusement. “The more you pay attention, the clearer the picture becomes.”

Ratio’s lips brush lightly against your ear, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. His kisses are soft, teasing, a gentle press of warmth that contrasts with the cool air around you. The blindfold makes everything feel more intense, each touch and kiss magnified in the darkness.

You gasp softly as his lips move along the sensitive skin of your ear, trailing slow, deliberate kisses. His breath is warm and teasing against your skin, and each soft touch makes you more aware of how sensitive you are to his every move.

His hands, still resting on your waist, move upward with a tender, almost reverent touch. He explores the contours of your shoulders and neck, his fingers brushing lightly over the sensitive skin there. Each touch feels like it’s designed to provoke a response, making you squirm and lean into him more.

Ratio’s lips continue their path along your ear, his kisses growing more insistent, more lingering. He traces the outer edge of your ear with his lips, planting soft kisses along the delicate folds. The contrast between the soft, teasing kisses and the firm grip of his hands makes every sensation feel more intense, more immediate.

“You’re very responsive,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “It’s fascinating how much the brain can focus on when it’s deprived of sight. You’re feeling everything more acutely.”

His fingers trace slow, deliberate circles on your neck, drawing patterns that make you shiver with anticipation. The warmth of his touch contrasts with the cool air around you, creating a heightened sense of awareness. Each kiss, each caress, seems to build a growing tension, an almost unbearable anticipation of what’s coming next.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to whisper in your ear, his voice soft and intimate. “Do you feel how much more vivid everything is? How each touch is amplified because you can’t see it?”

Before you can answer, Ratio’s lips find their way back to your ear, his kisses becoming more fervent. His tongue occasionally flicks out to trace the delicate skin, each movement precise and deliberate. You feel his hands gently slide from your neck to the sides of your torso, his touch both gentle and commanding.

His kisses become more exploratory, his lips moving to the sensitive spots just behind your ear. The sensation is almost overwhelming, making your breathing come in short, erratic bursts. He continues to tease you with soft, lingering kisses, his touch expertly calibrated to make you shiver and gasp.

“I want you to understand,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive whisper, “how every sensation is magnified when you can’t see. It’s a lesson in perception and anticipation.” He leans in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear in a way that makes your pulse quicken. “Each touch, each kiss, is meant to make you feel more intensely. I want you to remember this feeling.”

Then! Life was tooo good! He told you a business and you were ready to suck it off!

You immediately got down to business.

You did everything as carefully as possible and delayed the process in order to tease Veritas and see how he would react. He was reacting, even if he barely showed it. His breathing was labored, but he was still looking at you with the same arrogance.

You continue your meticulous work, you're keenly aware of every reaction from Ratio. His breaths grow heavier, his arrogant gaze softening just a fraction. But still, he maintains that cool demeanor, watching you intently as you go about your task.

With each teasing delay, each flick of your tongue, you sense his control slipping. Yet, he holds onto his composure, refusing to show you any satisfaction until you've earned it.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of torturous pleasure, you taste the first signs of his release. His cock twitches in your hand, pulsing as thick spurts of cum coat your tongue. You try to pull away, wanting to avoid the mess, but his grip tightens in your hair, yanking you back down.

"No, keep going," he commands, his voice strained but still commanding. "Take it all."

His command sends another wave of arousal through your body, and despite yourself, you comply. You continue to suck and lick, taking in every last drop of his cum while he watches, his eyes burning with a mix of satisfaction and possession.

When he finally pulls free, you gasp for air, your mouth slick with his seed. But before you can wipe your lips clean, he binds your wrists behind your back, then grabs a length of rope and begins tying a blindfold around your eyes.

"Let's see how well you do without being able to watch me," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "And remember, every point you earn gets you closer to freedom."

Without warning, he plunges a digit inside you, feeling your walls clench around him instinctively. Hmm, looks like you're already quite ready for my cock, he muses, adding another finger to stretch you wider.

Ratio continues to explore your depths with his fingers, his movements deliberate and calculated. "As you can feel, your inner muscles are already contracting around me," he explains, his voice a low purr against your ear. "This is a natural response to stimulation, a sign of your body's readiness for penetration."

His fingers curl inward, rubbing against that sensitive spot deep within you. "The G-spot, as it's commonly known, is actually an area of concentrated nerve endings," he continues, his words a sensual counterpoint to the sensations he's evoking. "Stimulation here can lead to intense pleasure and even orgasm."

He adds a third finger, stretching you further as he applies gentle pressure to your clit. "Your body's reactions are telling me that you're highly responsive to these types of touches," he notes, his tone clinical yet infused with dark desire.

Ratio's fingers delve deeper, you can't help but cry out, your moans echoing in the room. "It's too much," you whimper, but the truth is far different. Your body craves more, hungers for the fullness only his cock can provide.

"You study so much," you breathe out between gasps, "but don't forget to enjoy the results." Even as you speak, your hips buck against his hand, seeking friction where you need it most.

His kiss is a claiming, his tongue dominating yours in a dance as old as time. It's a stark contrast to the scientific observations he's been making moments ago, but it fits perfectly with the primal urge coursing through your veins.

He breaks the kiss, his fingers stop their relentless assault, leaving you hanging on the edge of bliss. "Remember, this is just the warm-up,"

Ratio pauses his ministrations, letting you bask in the waves of pleasure that ripple through your body. He gives you a moment to catch your breath, his fingers trailing tantalizing patterns across your heated flesh.

"How do you feel?" he queries, his voice laced with a hint of concern. "Are you enjoying this? Or do you wish I'd hurry things along?" Despite his seemingly detached inquiry, his touch betrays his own growing excitement.

Before you can answer, he abruptly withdraws his fingers, leaving you empty and craving. "No," he says firmly, catching your hands in his and pinning them above your head. "I want to see how you handle the absence of sensation. How does that make you feel?"

Your mind reels from the sudden loss of stimulation, your body screaming for more even as you struggle to form coherent thoughts. "N-nothing," you stammer, your voice shaking. "It feels like nothing at all."

Ratio hums thoughtfully, his fingers trailing down your side to rest on your hip. "Interesting," he muses. "Your brain is processing the lack of sensation, interpreting it as a void rather than actual pain or discomfort. This suggests a high level of sexual tolerance and adaptability."

He leans in close, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers, "I think we can push you even further. Let's see how you react when I deny you both touch and sight." With that, he reaches for the blindfold, preparing to cover your eyes once more.

...................!!!!!!!! "It's..time to go on."

With a swift movement, Ratio removes the blindfold, revealing the world once more to your desperate eyes. But instead of touching you himself, he simply places his hand near your throbbing center, his fingers hovering just above your most sensitive spot.

"Cum for me," he commands, his voice firm and commanding. "Show me what I've done to you." His hand remains still, not providing the direct stimulation you crave, forcing you to rely on your own efforts to achieve release.

The tension coils tighter within you, your body begging for relief. But without his guidance, you're left to navigate the storm of emotions and sensations on your own.

With a sharp cry, you finally surrender to the mounting pleasure, your body convulsing as waves of climax crash over you. Your juices gush forth, soaking Ratio's hand and dripping onto the bed beneath you.

But the reprieve is fleeting. Before you can even catch your breath, he pushes you back onto the mattress, holding you down firmly. "That was just a preview," he declares, his voice a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. "Now, let's continue our little experiment."

He leans over you, his gaze locked onto yours as he teases open your folds with his fingers. Each slow, deliberate thrust sends another shockwave of pleasure through your system, reigniting the flames of desire that had barely begun to cool.

"Study and lesson," he reminds you, his tone dripping with carnal intent. "And remember, I'm in control."

Ratio's fingers continue their torturous dance, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure from your quivering body. But then, without warning, he replaces his fingers with the thick, rigid length of his cock. The sudden intrusion makes you gasp, your body stretching to accommodate his size.

He takes his time, savoring each inch as he slides deeper inside you. The stretch and burn are exquisite, pushing you to new heights of arousal. "Feel that?" he growls, pausing to give you a moment to adjust. "That's power. That's control."

With a steady pace, he begins to move, setting a rhythm designed to drive you mad with lust

Moans spill from your lips, raw and primal, as Ratio drives into you relentlessly. Each thrust sends a fresh wave of ecstasy crashing through your body, threatening to sweep you away in its intensity.

"Louder," he demands, his voice strained with effort. "Let me hear how much you love this." He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you.

Your cries echo off the walls, mingling with the obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh. The pleasure builds higher and higher, coiling tighter within you until you feel ready to burst.

The rubber duck he always keeps innocently floats past, and you had half a mind to reach out and turn its gaze away from the 'scene'.

"Focus on the sensation," Ratio instructs, his voice a husky whisper in your ear. "Notice every detail - the heat, the friction, the way my cock stretches you open."

As he speaks, he adjusts his angle, hitting a sweet spot deep within you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. "This is crucial data," he continues, his thrusts becoming more erratic as his own pleasure mounts. "Understanding the nuances of pleasure will help me craft the perfect experience for you."

His words are a distant hum, lost in the sea of sensation that engulfs you. All you can do is cling to him, arching your back to meet his increasingly brutal thrusts.

Cries of pleasure and frustration tear from your throat as Ratio's relentless pounding drives you closer and closer to the edge. Each word he utters only serves to fan the flames of your desire.

"That's it," he praises, his grip on your hips tightening. "Endure it like a good little bitch you are." His words are a crude insult, but they only add to the eroticism of the situation.

The coil inside you snaps, releasing a torrent of orgasmic bliss that washes over you in powerful waves. Your inner walls clench around Ratio's cock, milking him for all he's worth.

The final tremors of your shared climax fade away, Ratio collapses onto you, his weight pressing you into the tub. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly.

"I want to feel you come undone one more time," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with satisfaction. Slowly, almost gently, he begins to move inside you once more, coaxing your oversensitive body towards yet another peak.

With a final, powerful surge, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsating as he spills his hot seed into your waiting womb. The sensation triggers another orgasm, your body trembling and convulsing around him as you milk him dry.

Your moans mingle with his grunts of exertion, creating a symphony of passion that fills the room. Together, you climb the slopes of ecstasy, racing towards the pinnacle of pleasure. And as you crest the final hill, tumbling into oblivion together, you know that this is only the beginning of your journey into the depths of depravity.

The aftermath of your intense and passionate encounter leaves you feeling both exhilarated and drained. You’re trying to shake off the lingering sensations and focus on the task at hand: cooking. Your legs still tremble slightly as you attempt to prepare a meal, the aftermath of Ratio’s teasing and touch making it difficult to concentrate.

Ratio stays close by, his presence a constant reminder of the events that just unfolded. He watches you with an amused smirk, his gaze flickering between you and the cooking. “You’re not doing it quite right,” he says, his voice carrying that familiar mix of criticism and amusement. “The way you’re handling the ingredients is all wrong.”

You huff, your frustration bubbling up. “Oh, really? Maybe if you hadn’t spent so much time teasing me, I wouldn’t be such a mess right now.”

Ratio raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a more intense expression of amusement. “Is that so? It’s not my fault if you’re unable to focus. Perhaps you need more practice.”

You shoot him a glare, but before you can say anything else, Ratio steps closer. His movements are quick and decisive, and before you fully realize what’s happening, he gently but firmly pushes you onto the table. The action catches you off guard, and you find yourself splayed out on the surface, the cool touch of the table against your skin contrasting with the warmth of the kitchen.

Ratio stands over you, his eyes glinting with a mix of dominance and satisfaction. “I think you need a different kind of lesson,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “One that doesn’t involve cooking.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you struggle to regain your composure. “Ratio, what are you—”

He silences you with a finger on your lips, his touch light but authoritative. “Shh. Cooking can wait. Right now, you’re going to learn something more practical.”

His hands move with a deliberate calmness, as though he’s in complete control of the situation. He leans over you, his proximity making it hard to think clearly. His gaze is intense, his presence overwhelming.

“You were so eager to challenge me earlier,” he murmurs, his voice a deep, seductive whisper. “Now, let’s see if you can handle a different kind of lesson.”

His hands roam lightly over your body, his touch both firm and gentle. The contrast between the cool surface of the table and his warm, teasing touch creates a heightened sense of awareness, making every movement more intense.

“Tell me,” he says, his lips brushing against your ear, “how do you feel now? Do you understand the difference between the lessons I’ve given you and the ones you’re trying to master?”

You try to respond, but your voice comes out as a shaky whisper. “I… I get it. I’m sorry for complaining. I just—”

Ratio interrupts you with a soft, teasing kiss along your neck, his touch sending shivers through you. “You’re not just apologizing for the cooking, are you?” he asks, his tone playful yet commanding. “You’re acknowledging that there’s more to learn, more to experience.”

His hands continue their exploration, his touch both tender and possessive. You find yourself unable to resist the sensations he’s creating, the way his presence and touch make everything else fade into the background.

“Cooking will come later,” Ratio says, his voice a seductive whisper as he leans in even closer. “Right now, focus on what’s happening here, on what you’re feeling.”

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail smut #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr ratio #hsr smut #dr ratio smut #dr ratio x reader smut #Veritas ratio x reader smut

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tirfpikachu · 2 days

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sometimes i feel like, in certain cases, "detrans woman" and "nonbinary woman" ain't too different. and could even be used simultaneously by the same person without much issue. after all, isn't processing internalized misogyny and escaping the gender roles box for womanhood also a way someone can at the same time not feel like a binary man, not feel like a binary woman, but not feel like a not-woman either? after unlearning all the bullshit male society taught us, it can be destabilizing and create distance between us and other women. we might no longer feel like a normie woman. we've been awakened. we're no longer a gender roled woman, rolled up in everything she was taught she needed to be or she would fail at womanhood. we're an unfailible woman, we can't get a bad grade in womanhood bc we don't care about gender grades. we know it's all bullshit. we took back the power patriarchal society had over us. in that sense, we're not willingly binary anymore. and i think, over time, it's only going to get harder and harder to find women who are happily into the gender roles, the gender box assigned to them.

people fucking hate that, ofc. especially male people, and doubly so cis/bio men. they hate that we're awakened women. they hate that we found feminism and sisterhood and go detrans or use nonbinary in addition to woman, bc we reconnect with our body type and our upbringing. and by they, i mean both sides btw. the patriarchy hates that we found our power, of course. non-feminists scoff at us.

and... mainstream trans activists hate that our journey got us here, and hate how we make dysphoria seem curable in unmedical ways and transness more complex than they like to think. we complicate things. they hate that they found power in changing themselves (whatever makes them feel at peace ofc), while we tried to as well, but in the process we found our power was within us all along. we found that just being neutrally sexed animals, just female humans, female animals, girls the way that one calls a cat a sweet girl, cat first girl second, human first girl second... our bodies, our gender category, don't define us. anymore, anyways. anyone who defines us by our womanhood is a bigot, and we scrubbed our brains free of all the shit patriarchal brainwashing left in us. and for us, personally, it was enough to free us. that's not the case for anymore. some folks need more than that. some folks need to modify themselves beyond recognition to feel at peace with themselves. but i do hope they know that deep down, they were always good beings all along. i hope they know that gender is bullshit and sex says nothing about anyone's worth, personality, goals, interests, etc. it says fuckall about any of that. i don't care if i get a male or female rabbit. a rabbit is a rabbit. if i feel affection for a new pet, our connection is what matters [*]. i would never assign someone gender roles based on their sex. but it's sadly done way too often by parents and male society. if you're trans, temporarily or forever, you gotta clean up all your internalized misogyny and sexism/gncphobia. find kinship with other female people, or male gnc people if you're male. just check off some boxes. clean everything up. deep-clean your mind and your heart first.

[*] insert tras here being like, "why can't you be like that about dating? you dirty close-minded terfy homo dyke? why can't you love beyond genitals? beyond just bodies?" and these days i laugh and laugh and laugh at that shit because wow they have zero clue!! they don't know the sense of peace at having my female/afab body against another female/afab body, at knowing we were born the same, at knowing we went thru the same growing up, at knowing we understand eachother so, so deeply without saying a word bc she is what i am, she is where i have been, and i have suffered as she has suffered, and we are a love born of the connection all female beings share, the connection of bio dick havers treating us as prey. not knowing we're more powerful than they could ever dream of. do bodies like ours not hold the godly powers of creation itself? are we not gods in the literal sense, born creators, who get to choose if a new life should be made? do we not hold the future in the palm of our hand? to the dismay of penised beings? and do me and my beloved not love eachother only the way two gods could love one another, knowing the struggle, knowing the power? is the patriarchy not fighting tooth and nail to control us, wrestle us into submission before their phallic altar? do they not know it's impossible, for everything in us would dry up at the sight? do they not know that we can rely on sisterhood to get us through fucking anything? do they not know we masculinized ourselves and found ourselves happily female anyway? do they not know that i'd love her with a beard and five eyes, but if she was reborn male we would not be the same people to begin with (tho ofc i like to think the bodyswapped versions of us would have a love story too, we would not be us anymore, not this timeline's love story, she would be a different version of her and i would miss our og love)? because what is anyone without memories, and aren't childhood memories, puberty memories, some of the experiences most affected by one's body type (under the patriarchy), some of the most developmentally significant memories of all? is female just genitalia and estrogen puberty to tras, to "hearts not parts" type folks?

is female just a meat suit and not also the life experiences linked to it, our upbringing, a rich female culture one is born into? trans women might be immigrants into this female culture if they pass post-transition, they might get the exact body, but they just don't know the culture the way born into it do. any transfem will admit being transfem is hard, it's hard to merge into female culture when they self-admittedly don't know much about it. anyone not having been born into this culture, not being fluent the way only a native resident of femaleness can be, will show signs of it even if it's been 50+ years. you can't just wipe someone's upbringing clean, your past always leaves traces, and a transfem wouldn't be able to bond with other female4female lesbians on basic female upbringing things... when those are the things that make being into other female ppl so attractive for many of us! we just get eachother. we understand without even saying anything. we understand female body issues. there's a warm sense of peace emanating from that knowledge in my heart, knowing me and my girlfriend were born the same. we went through so many of the same things, all the good and the bad sides of growing up female. and i find that attractive as hell, and it brings me immense joy in life. there's so many inside jokes a transfem just wouldn't get the way my gf can. and i unfortunately need to add, since people get defensive, that this isn't shaming the transfem for not having those experiences. i hope the transfem will come to terms with not being female too. she can be a woman in society, but she's not born this way, she's an immigrant into womanhood, and that's okay. she still needs to let lesbians who are only into people raised female enjoy our unique sexuality that she just can't understand. i can't understand the transfem4transfem experience either. so what? isn't lgbt or 2slgbtqia+ or whatever culture all about inclusion and diversity in sexuality and gender expression? what about those who are girls the way animals are girls? we hate gender roles but we're personally definining cis womanhood as being female animals, female humans? what's so twisted about that? what about female4female lesbians? transmasc4transmasc can exist, why not us? why make everything so stupidly complicated for no reason? why shame us for how we were born, for being into others like ourselves?

i pity them, honestly. watch them bring girldick and male upbringing experiences to female4female lesbians, watch as we'll all dry up like the dying succulents on our windowsills and sip drinks laughing at the naked male bodies before us because they're so unsexual to us homodykes. watch as we raise eyebrows at the male's lack of misogyny in her upbringing, her lack of expertise on female culture, and just... everything that's so fundamentally unappealing to us. we can be friends. we can be allies. thankfully though, sex and marriage isn't activism. you can't play woke in the sheets. if you do, that's honestly sad. love isn't political. heteros made it political, but love is just love. and the love between two female people is normal. boring at times, even. we're normies. and if mainstream tras can't see that, well, maybe they have issues to work through in therapy. idk.

if two dysphoric ppl working through really hard shit end up feeling at peace with being female animals, female humans, and loving one another, if that's threatening, if that's bigoted, if that's twisted, well...

we detrans chicks and homodykes will find our own place to hangout. and we'll be nice to your faces, of course, but behind doors we're having a blast with others like ourselves. people like us have done this for as long as humanity has been alive, anyways. we always go underground and make it work anyhow. radblr is proof of that. idc if i have to go door to door checking if any homodyke is there, or if i have to comb thru tra spaces to find cool detrans folks, i will find others like me. that's what the marginalized have always done.

we're like lizards. we'll just find a cooler rock to party under🦎✌️

#lay text #to edit #ponderings #radblr #tirf #to edit/chop up into smaller posts #big lengthy ramblings whoops lol

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acute-scary · 3 days

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Between the Ropes… a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley fanfic.

Chapter 12: Loss

Warning: This chapter contains a description of graphic domestic violence, mentions of blood. Reader Discretion is extremely advised. This is the first time I have ever written something like this, I usually limit myself to only sex scenes and mild domestic violence in arguments but I was going back and forth with myself in posting this but I ultimately decided this was the direction I wanted to go with in this story.

The Terror Twin's locker room hummed with the faint sound of an air conditioner, but Rhea Ripley’s focus was on the mess of outfits scattered across the bench. Black leather, studs, and metal chains stared back at her, but no inspiration struck. She stood frozen, torn between choices that went beyond what she’d wear tonight. Across the room, Damian Priest was lacing up his boots, preparing in his usual laid-back manner.

"Any clue what you’re going with tonight?" Damian asked, his tone light but his eyes concerned as they flicked toward her.

Rhea gave a half-hearted shrug. "Not really," she muttered, her voice distant. "Does it even matter?"

Before Damian could answer, there was a knock at the door. His eyes met Rhea’s briefly, a silent question passing between them.

Damian stood and opened the door to reveal Hunter, his presence always carrying weight but his expression softer than usual. He nodded at Damian.

"Can I have a word with Rhea?"

Damian hesitated, glancing back at Rhea, but he gave a small nod, pulling on his jacket. "I’ll be back later." He shot her a final look, one filled with silent concern, before stepping out and leaving her alone with Hunter.

The door clicked shut, leaving the tension in the room thick as Hunter stepped inside, his hands on his hips as he leaned slightly against one of the lockers. "How are you holding up, Rhea?" His voice was low but direct.

Rhea let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the gear in front of her. "Depends," she said, glancing up at him with uncertainty. "What did you hear?"

Hunter sighed, running a hand over his beard as he studied her. "Honestly nothing, no one has said anything since I left you two Saturday."

She hesitated, her stomach twisting in knots. She had been compartmentalizing the chaos of her personal life to stay focused.

"It’s… a mess," she admitted, her voice trembling with the weight of the confession. "I’m leaving Matt. It’s over. And Jey—" She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. "Jey’s wife has already left him too."

Hunter’s brow furrowed slightly, though his expression remained neutral. "You’re sure about this? That you want to leave Matt?"

Rhea’s heart raced, but she nodded. "I don’t have a choice anymore. We are in love." She paused, taking in the look on Hunter’s face.

Hunter’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in judgment but in deep thought. "It’s a big decision, Rhea. I just want to make sure you’re not rushing into this because of the pregnancy."

Rhea met his gaze, her voice firmer now. "I’m not. I’ve been thinking about it for a bit and Jey, well…" She trailed off, unsure how to explain the complexities of her relationship with Jey.

Hunter leaned forward slightly, softening his tone. "You know this lifestyle better than anyone. It’s hard. The road, the long hours, being in the public eye. It pushes people to their limits. I’m not going to tell you what’s right or wrong here, but you’ve got to be sure—because whatever happens with Jey, it’s going to get more complicated before it gets easier."

Rhea felt the truth of his words settle over her. "I know," she said quietly, the weight of the situation pressing on her chest. "But I can’t keep living two lives."

Hunter let that sit for a moment before shifting the conversation. "And the pregnancy? What are you thinking there?"

Rhea closed her eyes for a second, feeling the tightness in her throat return. "I don’t know," she admitted, the vulnerability in her voice evident. "One moment I think I’m ready, and the next, I can’t even imagine it. I’m just… scared."

Hunter cut her off gently. "Hey, listen. You don’t have to make a decision today. I thought more about it and 48 hours is not enough." His voice was calming, a steadying force amidst the chaos swirling in her mind. "Focus on the show tonight and we will talk more when you are ready."

Rhea nodded, trying to absorb his words. She had been so consumed by the personal drama that she had forgotten what used to give her stability—her work. The ring.

"Liv’s going to pull back tonight," Hunter continued, bringing her focus back. "I’ve already talked to her."

Fear spiked in Rhea’s chest. "Did you tell her? About the pregnancy?"

Hunter shook his head. "No. She doesn’t know anything except to take it easy on you. You’re good. No one else needs to know what’s going on unless you want them to."

Rhea let out a sigh of relief. For a second, she’d feared her secret might be out, that the walls of her life were crumbling faster than she could rebuild them. "Thanks," she said quietly. "I don’t know what I’d do if this got out."

Hunter looked at her with a seriousness that only he could carry. "You’ve got to keep it together, Rhea. I know it’s hard, but right now, you’ve got to act like nothing’s changed. Especially with Jey. You go public with that, and it’ll blow everything up—for you, for him. And I can’t let that happen. Not right now."

Rhea swallowed the lump in her throat. "I get it. But… is there any chance? Could we ever go public?"

Hunter’s expression softened, though his answer didn’t. "Not now. You and Jey need to focus on your careers. The minute this gets out, it’ll become a distraction—both for you in the ring and for the company. People will talk, and they’ll keep talking, and you’ll lose control of your own story. Trust me on this."

Rhea bit her lip, frustrated but knowing he was right. "So I just… pretend everything’s fine?"

Hunter nodded slowly. "For now, yeah. You’re strong, Rhea. You can handle this. But you’ve got to be smart. This is bigger than just you and Jey."

Silence fell between them for a moment, the gravity of it all sinking in. Rhea knew the truth of what he was saying, even if she hated it. She had no choice but to keep playing her part.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Rhea asked.

“Did Finn and them not go over it with you?” Hunter asked.

“They went over Dom’s match with Damian but I don’t know about me if you wanted promos.” Rhea replied

“Oh I forgot to tell them that I am so sorry. You’ll have a promo with Finn and Jey shows up to your defense. Do act mildly flirtatious. You’ll also have a small promo with Damian. Damian will have his match with Dom. Did they go over the tackle with Liv and you?” Rhea nodded.

“We were going to have Finn jump on both of you two but it is way risky so just take a bump from Liv and a few kicks and that’s it. We will have Jey to save you guys but Jey has his thing with Bron so no saving this time…” Rhea agreed.

Before Hunter turned to leave, Rhea spoke again, her voice softer now, more personal. "Hunter, before you go… I know this is random, but… what was Joanie like?"

The question hung in the air for a beat. Hunter’s face softened, a faraway look entering his eyes as he smiled slightly. "She was… incredible," he said quietly. "Tough as hell, but she had this way of making everyone around her feel seen, like they mattered. No one could light up a room like her." He paused, the memories clearly filling him. "She was loyal, fierce… and kind in a way you don’t see much in this business. I think you two would’ve gotten along."

Rhea felt a warmth at his words, the admiration clear in his voice. "I wish I could’ve met her."

Hunter offered her a small smile, filled with unspoken emotion. "She would’ve liked you, Rhea. A lot."

With that, he gave a final nod and left the room, leaving Rhea alone with her thoughts and the lingering weight of his words. As the door clicked shut behind him, she stood for a moment, staring at her gear, her mind swirling with everything left unsaid.

The show was in two hours. She had to put everything aside and be who the world expected her to be. But right now, that felt like the hardest thing in the world.

Jey stared at his reflection in the locker room mirror, half-dressed and restless. His pink, blue and white cropped YEET shirt clung loosely to his chest covered by a black hoodie, and his black Nike shorts hung comfortably from his hips. But none of it felt right. It wasn’t the gear—it was something else.

It had been four hours since he’d last seen her. Four long hours, and all he could think about was Rhea. They’d spent almost nearly the whole week together—him, her, and Damian, moving like a tight unit through the chaos of this thing called life. But even with all that time, it didn’t feel like enough. He couldn’t shake the need to be near her, to see her, to feel the pull between them.

It wasn’t just because she was carrying his child, though that bond was undeniable. There was something deeper growing inside him, something unspoken. She was the woman who had changed everything for him, and though he hadn’t said it out loud, the thought crossed his mind more and more lately: She’s going to be my wife someday.

That thought made him pause, his hands still on the zipper of his hoodie. He hadn’t meant to think it, but there it was, slipping into his head without permission. He shook it off, focusing on the moment. He knew he wasn’t supposed to see her right now, but the pull was too strong to ignore. He zipped his hoodie halfway up, threw the hood over his head, and headed out into the hallway.

His feet moved almost automatically, carrying him through the buzzing backstage area. He passed by Sami Zayn, Bronson (Bron Breakker), Drew McIntyre, and even Phil (CM Punk), exchanging quick greetings and fist bumps, but his mind wasn’t on any of it. He wasn’t here for them.

Finally, the noise of the arena faded into the background as he found himself on the quieter side of the building. His steps slowed when he reached the door to the Terror Twins’ locker room, his heart thudding a little faster. He knew they had to be careful, that it wasn’t smart for him to be here, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to see her.

He knocked lightly, almost hesitantly, and after a moment, the door opened a crack. Rhea’s face appeared, her eyes wide with surprise before softening. Without a word, she grabbed his hoodie and pulled him inside, quickly shutting the door behind them.

The room was dimly lit, her clothes scattered across the floor from trying to pick an outfit for tonight, and it was just the two of them, alone in the quiet. The tension between them was thick, a magnetic pull that neither of them could ignore. Jey’s pulse raced, the space between them too small and too big all at once.

“Jey, what are you doing here?” Rhea whispered, but there was no anger in her voice—only curious?

“I had to see you,” he said, his voice low and steady.

She let out a soft sigh, her hand still gripping the front of his hoodie. “We were all just together, you know? Four hours ago.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice now, even as her eyes searched his, the same tension between them simmering just beneath the surface.

“I know,” Jey replied, stepping closer, his hand coming to rest gently on her waist. “But I couldn’t help it. You get it, right?”

Her expression softened even more, her hand slipping up to rest against his chest. “Yeah. I get it but we still have our jobs to do… I mean how else are we going to afford baby clothes?" She said jokingly and Jey smiled. He gave her a quick kiss as his hand rested on her stomach.

He thought about everything—about the baby, the future, how deeply tied he already felt to her. And for a brief second, the thought flashed through his mind again: Maybe one day, she’ll be my wife. But he didn’t say it. It wasn’t time for that yet, even if the feeling was there, growing quietly inside him.

“Hey what’s with the pink shirt?” Rhea said.

“Oh you like it?” Jey said as he unzipped his hoodie. “Couldn’t do purple?” Rhea asked. “Didn’t wanna associate myself with The Judgement Day… wanted to associate myself with the Terror Twins.” He grinned.

“Prove your alliance Mr. Uso..” She said giving him a seductive smirk.

Before he could say anything more, there was a knock at the door. Both of them froze, eyes widening as the sound cut through the moment.

Jey stepped back, instinctively moving toward the shadows of the room, ready to slip away. But before he could, the door opened a crack—and there stood Damian, his broad frame filling the doorway. He took one look at the dark shadows Jey tried to slip away but Damian laughed.

“Man, we were all just together four hours ago, and you can’t keep off her? Also try changing your shoes, white is too bright.” Damian chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. His tone was playful, but there was a warmth in his eyes—understanding, maybe. He wasn’t surprised. He’d seen the way things had changed between them.

Jey grinned sheepishly, his hand dropping from Rhea’s waist, but he didn’t move further away. “What can I say? I’m weak.”

Rhea rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “You two are ridiculous.”

Damian let out a laugh and shook his head. “You know we’ve got a show to get ready for, right? You’ve got, what, another two hours before we are suppose to be putting in work?”

Jey shrugged. “Plenty of time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Damian said, still smiling. “Just don’t get caught. I don’t wanna have to explain why you two were hiding out in here.”

As Damian turned to leave, he paused at the door and glanced back at them. “Oh, and Jey? If you’re this whipped already, I can’t wait to see what happens when the baby gets here.”

Jey laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, man. Me neither.”

Damian gave them one last smirk before stepping out and closing the door behind him, leaving Jey and Rhea alone once more.

Rhea sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You seriously have to go, Hunter already said we have to keep everything under wraps still.”

“I know,” he said softly, stepping closer again. “But it’s hard. You know that.”

Her hand rested on his chest again, and she nodded.

They stood there for a moment, the air between them still charged, but there was something else now. Something quieter, more certain. Jey knew they were in the thick of it right now, with everything that came with being who they were in this business. But in the back of his mind, the thought lingered—one day, she’ll be my wife.

They just had to get through this first…

RAW had finally come to an end, and the crowd had filtered out of the arena. In the now-quiet Terror Twins’ locker room, Jey sat on a bench, already packed and waiting, while Damian leaned against the wall, scrolling through his phone. Rhea was still in the shower, and though they had been together all week, Jey couldn’t help but think about her. No matter how much time they spent together, it was never enough. She was the mother of his child, and more than that, the woman he wanted to spend his life with.

The door to the showers opened, and Rhea walked out, fresh from the shower, her hair still damp and hidden under a black beanie. She wore an oversized hoodie and leggings, her body language relaxed but tired from the night’s events. She looked over at Jey and Damian, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"You guys ready?" she asked, her tone casual but carrying that underlying connection she shared with Jey.

"Yeah, I got our bags," Jey replied, standing up and adjusting the strap of her duffel over his shoulder.

Damian chuckled as he moved to open the door. "Almost all week we were all together, and now you two are acting like you haven’t seen each other in days." His voice was teasing but warm, a bit of ribbing among friends.

Rhea shook her head, a playful smile on her face. "Can’t help it," she shot back lightly, her eyes flicking toward Jey for just a second longer than necessary.

Jey smirked but said nothing, Damian peeked his head out and saw the exit, one by one they made it out into the hall as they made their way toward the exit. The group moved quickly, avoiding any lingering crew or fans. Outside, the cold night air bit at their skin as they stepped toward the black SUV waiting at the curb. Kayden, already sitting inside, waved quickly at them through the window. Damian held the door open as Rhea climbed into the car first, sliding in next to Kayden.

Jey followed, taking a seat across from Rhea while Damian hopped in beside him. Once everyone was settled, the driver pulled away, heading toward the airport. The car was silent, not because there was nothing to say, but because they all knew better. In their line of work, privacy was paramount, especially for Jey and Rhea. Too many eyes, too many chances for a slip-up. Even in the back of the SUV, they knew not to speak too freely.

Kayden leaned back in her seat, scrolling through her phone, while Damian rested his head against the window, eyes half-closed. Rhea sat next to Kayden, her body turned slightly toward the window, while Jey sat quietly across from them, his gaze occasionally flicking toward Rhea. The silence between them was thick, filled with unspoken words, but they’d gotten used to this routine. It was what they had to do, at least in public.

The SUV pulled up to the airport after what felt like an unusually long ride, and the group began piling out of the car. Jey grabbed their bags, handing Rhea’s over as they stood at the curb, the cold air hitting them once again. Kayden and Damian moved ahead, leading the way inside the terminal.

They walked together through the airport, making their way past crowds of travelers and fans, all while keeping things casual and low-key. When they reached a quieter part of the terminal, near the security checkpoint, Damian stopped and turned to Jey and Rhea.

“This is where we split,” he said, giving Jey a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll text you guys the Airbnb address once we get there.”

Kayden, standing beside Damian, gave Rhea a quick hug. "Safe flight, okay?"

Rhea nodded, returning the hug. "You too. Let us know when you land."

With that, Damian and Kayden headed off toward their gate, leaving Jey and Rhea standing together in the bustling terminal. It was quieter here, but still too public for them to let their guard down. They stood a few feet apart, the distance feeling heavier now that they were alone.

“I’ll text you when I land,” Rhea said, her voice soft, almost drowned out by the sounds of the airport around them.

Jey nodded, his gaze steady on her. “Yeah, do that. I’ll let you know when I’m there.”

They couldn’t hug, couldn’t kiss, not here. It was too risky. But they both knew the routine by now, and though it was never easy, they had learned how to navigate it. The connection between them, unspoken but always present, made the distance harder. Still, they had to play their parts.

"I’ll see you soon, I love you Rhea." Jey said, his voice low but filled with meaning.

Rhea gave him a small smile, the kind only he understood. "I love you too Jey. See you soon."

Without another word, they turned and headed in separate directions, each moving toward their own gate. As they walked away from each other, the weight of their love hung between them, but they both knew it was only temporary.

Rhea’s plane touched down in Orlando just past five in the morning. The time zone change did little to mask the exhaustion that weighed on her. After collecting her bags from the carousel, she hailed an Uber, the early morning chill biting at her as she waited. She knew that Matt would be awake, despite the early hour; he’d sent her a “Good morning” message that she hadn’t yet responded to. She wrestled with her thoughts during the ride, her mind a whirlwind of doubt and resolve. The closer she got to home, the more she felt the weight of what she was about to do—telling Matt she no longer loved him, without revealing the affair or the pregnancy.

The Uber pulled up to her house, and Rhea paid the driver before stepping out into the quiet, pre-dawn air. As she approached her front door, the familiar, comforting sight of her dogs greeted her. They whined softly, tail-wagging, but they knew better than to bark. She quickly petted them, their warm bodies a brief comfort. Rhea let them out through the sliding glass door to the backyard, followed by her cat, who relished the chance to roam outside.

She closed the sliding door and walked through the dining room, her heart pounding in her chest. The house felt oddly still as she approached the kitchen, where Matt was sitting at the breakfast table. He looked up, a look of surprise flashing across his face as he saw her.

“Rhea!” he exclaimed, getting up to greet her. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned in for a kiss. Rhea forced herself to kiss him back, her heart sinking with each second.

“Matt, sit down,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. Matt looked puzzled but complied, taking a seat at the table. He glanced at her with a mix of curiosity and concern, still holding the remnants of his breakfast.

“Everything okay? You look tired,” he said, his tone gentle, though there was a hint of confusion in his eyes.

Rhea took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She sat down opposite him, the silence between them stretching uncomfortably. Her heart raced as she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Matt, I need to talk to you.”

Matt’s expression shifted from concern to confusion. “What’s going on?”

Another long pause followed. Rhea struggled with her words, the weight of what she was about to say almost too much to bear. “I… I’ve fallen out of love with you.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Matt sat there, stunned. Then, his face twisted into a look of disbelief and anger.

“What are you talking about? You can’t just drop that on me!” he shouted, his voice rising. “What the hell is this about?”

Matt’s outburst quickly escalated. He started accusing Rhea of having an affair with Damian, his voice laced with rage. “Is it Damian? Are you cheating on me with him?”

The room seemed to spin as Matt’s anger reached a boiling point. He began throwing glasses from the table, the shattering sound a violent punctuation to his fury. He punched the wall, leaving a dent and a visible crack.

Rhea, not accustomed to confrontations or yelling, felt herself shrinking under the intensity of the situation. Her voice wavered as she tried to make herself heard. “It isn’t Damian… it’s Joshua.”

The name only seemed to ignite Matt’s rage further. He grabbed Rhea by her arms, shaking her violently. His face was a mask of uncontrollable fury. “JEY FUCKING USO?” he roared. “You’re leaving me for Jey Uso?”

The situation spiraled into chaos. Matt’s anger turned increasingly violent. He shoved Rhea, causing her to stumble, and continued to hurl objects around the kitchen. Rhea’s pleas for calm were drowned out by his shouting and the crashing of broken dishes.

The confrontation became a blur of fear and pain for Rhea. She tried to stay out of Matt’s way, but his rage was all-consuming. His fists pummeled the walls, and every word from his mouth was an accusation or a threat.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Rhea finally managed to say, her voice breaking. “But I couldn’t keep living a lie.”

Matt’s anger showed no sign of subsiding. He continued to scream and destroy, the force of his emotions causing damage both physical and emotional. Rhea backed away, feeling utterly helpless as the violent scene unfolded before her.

Rhea’s attempt to regain her composure was cut short as Matt, consumed by rage, pushed her violently against the wall. She stumbled, her back slamming into the hard surface, the impact causing a sharp pain to shoot through her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked up at Matt, his face twisted in a mixture of hurt and fury.

“How could you do this to me?” Matt roared, his voice echoing through the now-chaotic kitchen. His anger was palpable, and every word was a jagged knife to Rhea’s already shattered emotions.

She tried to rise, her limbs shaky, but Matt’s anger knew no bounds. “Show me how tough you are, then! Show me Rhea Bloody Fucking Ripley!” he taunted, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity. Before Rhea could react, Matt’s fist flew toward her, connecting with her cheek. The force of the blow sent her crashing to the floor, pain exploding through her head and face.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she lay on the ground, fear gripping her heart like a vice. She had never seen him like this—his rage was feral, uncontrollable. Matt’s next move was swift and brutal. He kicked her in the stomach, the pain a sharp, burning sensation that made her cry out. Her mind raced with the thought of her baby, the life growing inside her that was now at risk because of Matt’s violence. The pain was unbearable, but the thought of her unborn child made it worse.

“Please, stop!” Rhea begged, her voice breaking between sobs. “Matt, please stop!”

But Matt’s fury was unrelenting. He continued to kick her, each blow adding to the agony. Rhea could barely defend herself, her body trembling and her cries growing more desperate. Her pleas fell on deaf ears as Matt’s rage showed no signs of abating.

Matt then grabbed her by her hair, yanking her roughly from the floor. Rhea felt her scalp sting as strands of hair were forcibly pulled out. She cried out in pain, but Matt’s anger was focused solely on his own sense of betrayal. He dragged her across the house, her feet scraping against the floor, the pain adding to her already overwhelmed senses.

When they reached the front door, Matt’s rage reached a new level. He threw Rhea out of the house with a final, brutal shove. She tumbled down the steps, the cold concrete biting into her already bruised and battered body. Her bags were thrown at her, landing with a thud beside her as she lay in a heap on the ground.

Matt’s face was a mask of pure rage as he slammed the door shut behind him. The sound of the lock clicking into place was a final, definitive end to the confrontation. Rhea lay on the steps, her body aching and her spirit crushed. She reached for her bags, struggling to gather them as tears mixed with the grime of the front steps.

From inside, Matt’s angry shouts and the sound of furniture being thrown around were muffled by the door, but the intensity of his rage was still palpable. Rhea, now alone in the early morning cold, felt a deep, visceral fear and sadness. Her thoughts were a tangled mess of pain, regret, and concern for her unborn child.

She managed to pull herself together enough to stand, though every movement was a struggle. The weight of her situation pressed down on her as she took a shaky step away from the house. Her wedding ring, which Matt had grabbed and put in his pocket, was now a painful reminder of the life she was leaving behind. Rhea took a deep breath, forcing herself to move forward despite the overwhelming fear and hurt.

The night air was cold and unforgiving as Rhea made her way down the walkway and away from the house. Each step was a reminder of the pain she’d just endured and the uncertain road ahead. She was alone, battered and emotionally drained, but she had to keep moving. For her sake and for the sake of the baby she carried, she had to find a way to keep going.

Jonathan was in his usual morning routine, stretching in his hallway before heading out for his run. With his AirPods securely in place, he scrolled through his playlist, selecting a song to accompany his exercise. He closed his front door and began jogging down the street, the rhythmic beat of his music setting a steady pace.

As he approached the familiar stop sign at the end of his street, Jimmy noticed a "Road Closed" sign and a busted pipe blocking his usual right turn. Rolling his eyes, he realized he’d need to reroute through Stone Creek, a subdivision he knew well—Rhea lived there. The thought of possibly encountering her or Matt made him uneasy, especially given the recent family fallout. Even though Jey was estranged from the family due to the affair with Rhea, Jimmy still felt a deep sense of conflict.

Jimmy adjusted his route, his mind focusing solely on the run ahead. The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement and the music in his ears created a temporary escape from his worries. However, his focus was abruptly shattered when he noticed a figure up ahead.

As he drew closer, he saw that the figure was a woman, and she seemed to be limping. She was carrying a duffel bag and what looked like a luggage bag and the sight was unusual, especially in such a well-to-do neighborhood. Suddenly, the woman dropped the two pieces of luggage and then the woman collapsed. Jimmy’s heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively shouted, “Hey, wait! Are you okay?!”

Though he wasn’t one to typically reach out to strangers, something about the scene felt urgent and alarming. He approached the woman cautiously, his concern growing as he noticed a growing pool of blood around her. His heart raced as he gently rolled her onto her back, his worst fears realized when he saw that it was Rhea.

Rhea’s face was bruised and swollen, and her joggers were stained with blood. Her eyes fluttered open weakly when she saw Jimmy, and she attempted to speak, but her words were choked off by labored breathing.

“Rhea! Don’t try to talk,” Jimmy said urgently, his voice trembling. He quickly pulled out his phone, dialing 911 with shaking hands. As he waited for the operator to answer, he held Rhea’s hand tightly, trying to offer some comfort amidst the chaos.

Rhea managed to utter a single word, “Baby,” her voice barely audible. Jimmy’s breath hitched as he processed her word. Panic set in—Rhea was pregnant, and her condition was deteriorating rapidly.

“Hang in there, Rhea, help is on the way!” Jimmy said, his voice cracking. Blood began to stain his shirt and shorts as he knelt beside her, trying to keep her as calm as possible. Her eyes started to roll back, and Jimmy’s breathing grew more erratic, his hyperventilation escalating with the urgency of the situation.

"Please I need an ambulance in the Stone Creek subdivison, I'm down from the two way! My friend she is bleeding! I need help!" Jimmy said urgently.

Soon, the sound of approaching sirens grew louder, and soon the EMS team arrived. They quickly assessed the situation, their professionalism a difference to Jimmy’s mounting panic. They began to load Rhea onto a stretcher, and Jimmy followed closely, his heart pounding in his chest.

As the paramedics worked, they began asking questions about Rhea’s condition. Jimmy struggled to provide answers, his mind racing as he tried to recall any details that might be helpful. “I don’t know much,” he said, his voice strained. “She’s pregnant, but I’m not sure how far along she is. I just found her like this.”

The EMS team continued their assessment, their expressions serious as they worked to stabilize Rhea. Jimmy felt helpless, watching as they administered care, trying to ignore the blood that continued to stain his clothes. He stayed close to Rhea, his presence a small comfort as they transported her to the ambulance.

The ride to the hospital was a blur for Jimmy, filled with anxiety and fear. The only thing that mattered was Rhea’s well-being and the safety of the baby she carried. As they arrived at the hospital, the paramedics wheeled Rhea into the emergency room, and Jimmy was left standing in the hallway, waiting anxiously for any news.

The sight of Rhea’s battered and bloodied form, the realization of her pregnancy, and the violence that led to this moment weighed heavily on Jimmy. His mind was a whirlwind of concern for his brother’s estranged partner and the baby that would be deeply affected by this crisis. All he could do now was hope and wait for any updates on Rhea’s condition.

The waiting room was empty and impersonal, a normalcy difference to the chaos and urgency that had just unfolded. Jonathan, still in the ill-fitting blue scrubs provided by the hospital, paced back and forth. His mind was a whirlwind of worry and confusion, the events of the morning replaying over and over. The blood on his clothes, now taken by the police as evidence, left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Thankfully no one was in the waiting room.

In a moment of clarity amid the chaos, Jonathan reached for his phone. With trembling fingers, he dialed Trinity’s number. The call connected, and her familiar voice was a small comfort.

“Hey, Jon, what’s going on?” Trinity asked, her tone concerned.

Jonathan took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “Trin', you need to come to the hospital. Rhea… Rhea’s here. She’s hurt badly. The police took my clothes for evidence because they were covered in blood.”

The gravity of the situation was evident in Trinity’s response. “Oh my God, Jon. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jonathan said, his voice strained. “Just shaken up. But I need you to bring me a change of clothes. These scrubs they gave me don’t fit, and I feel completely out of place. And… I think you should come here as soon as you can.”

“I’m on my way,” Trinity assured him, her voice filled with urgency. “Just hang in there. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

Jonathan thanked her, his relief palpable even through the strain in his voice. He ended the call and continued to pace, his thoughts racing. The hospital’s sterile environment did little to comfort him as he replayed the events in his mind.

Every detail of Rhea’s injuries, her bleeding and battered state, was etched into his memory. The image of her collapsing on the street and the desperation in her eyes was haunting. The reality of her situation and the violence she had endured made the waiting room feel like a prison, each minute stretching longer than the last.

As he waited for Trinity to arrive, Jonathan’s thoughts turned to Jey. He knew how difficult this must be for him, and the family dynamics were complicated. The affair with Rhea and the subsequent fallout had already strained their family ties. Now, with Rhea’s condition so dire, the complexity of their situation seemed almost unbearable.

When Trinity arrived, she brought with her a change of clothes and a look of deep concern. She approached Jonathan, embracing him briefly before handing him the fresh clothes. “I’m so sorry, Jon,” she said softly. “We’ll get through this. How’s Rhea?”

“Still waiting for updates,” Jonathan replied, accepting the clothes gratefully. He quickly changed into the new outfit, feeling slightly more comfortable. “I don’t know much, but I hope she’s stable. The doctors have been working on her for a while now.”

Trinity sat beside him, her presence a comforting anchor amidst the uncertainty. They both stared at the door to the emergency room, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on their shoulders. As they waited for any news, Jonathan found solace in Trinity’s support and the shared hope that Rhea’s condition would improve.

The moments dragged on, each tick of the clock a reminder of the ordeal they were enduring. Jonathan’s thoughts remained with Rhea, Jey, and the future of the baby they were all so deeply concerned about. All they could do now was wait and pray for the best.

Jonathan continued to pace, the weight of Rhea’s condition pressing down on him. The calm unfeeling environment of the waiting room only heightened his sense of despair. He knew he needed to reach out to Jey, despite the estrangement that had existed between them due to Jey's affair with Rhea. The situation was dire, and Jonathan’s frustration and concern outweighed his resentment.

Taking a deep breath, Jonathan dialed Jey’s number. The line rang a few times before Jey’s voice came through, sounding both tired and wary.

"Why you calling?" Jey’s tone was cautious.

Jonathan’s voice was taut with anxiety as he relayed the grim news. "Joshua, I need you to know what’s happened. Rhea’s here at the hospital—she’s in bad shape. I found her bloodied and battered. The police have taken my clothes for evidence."

There was a stunned silence on the other end before Jey’s voice cracked with panic. "Oh my God, Jon. What? Are you serious? How bad is it?"

"It’s really bad," Jonathan replied, his voice trembling. "I don’t know much yet. The doctors are still working on her, but I needed you to know. I know we’ve had our issues, but she needs all the support she can get right now."

Jey’s response was urgent and frantic. "I’m coming down to Orlando as fast as I can. I’ll book a flight right now. Just—hang in there. I need to be there."

Jonathan’s heart ached at the desperation in Jey’s voice. "Okay. Please hurry. I’ll keep you updated as soon as I know more."

"I will," Jey assured him, the determination clear in his tone. "I’ll be there soon."

Jonathan ended the call and sank into a nearby chair, feeling a mix of relief and trepidation. Jey’s arrival would bring another layer of complexity to the situation, but right now, the focus needed to be on Rhea’s recovery. He glanced at Trinity, who was watching him with concerned eyes.

"Jey’s coming down," Jonathan said quietly. "He’s booking a flight now."

Trinity nodded, squeezing Jonathan’s hand for reassurance. "We’ll get through this. One step at a time."

As they resumed their anxious vigil, the anticipation of Jey’s arrival and the ongoing hope for Rhea’s recovery filled the air. Jonathan could only hope that, despite the tensions and past grievances, the presence of his brother might offer some solace in this harrowing time.

—

As Jonathan and Trinity waited in tense silence, the door to the waiting room finally opened. A doctor in scrubs entered, his face a mask of professional concern. Jonathan and Trinity both stood, their hearts pounding as the doctor approached.

"Are you both here for Mrs. Demi Adams?" the doctor asked, his gaze shifting between them.

Jonathan nodded. "Yes, that’s Rhea. What’s her condition?"

The doctor’s expression grew somber. "Mrs. Adams has suffered severe trauma. She’s lost the baby due to the impact to her stomach. Additionally, she has significant internal bruising to her ribs and has lost more than 35 percent of her blood. She will need a transfusion."

Jonathan felt his stomach drop at the news. "What can we do to help?"

The doctor turned to Jonathan. "Would you two be willing to donate?"

Jonathan quickly responded, "I’m O Negative."

Trinity added, "I’m AB Positive."

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "Jonathan, O Negative is the universal donor type and will be the best fit for her. I can arrange for you to donate blood immediately."

Jonathan glanced at Trinity. "Trin', call Jey and let him know what’s happening. He’s on his way here."

Trinity nodded and stepped aside to make the call. Meanwhile, the doctor guided Jonathan toward a nearby medical area for the blood donation.

Jonathan prepared to give blood, he felt a surge of mixed emotions—fear, determination, and a deep sense of responsibility. The gravity of the situation was overwhelming, but he knew that every bit of help could make a difference for Rhea.

As the needle was inserted and the blood began to flow, Jonathan’s mind remained focused on the hope that his donation would help stabilize Rhea. He glanced back toward Trinity, who was already busy on the phone, and silently wished for strength for everyone involved. He then realized something as he saw the blood flow… Rhea will now carry the blood of a Samoan.

—

Jey said his goodbyes to his kids, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders. He glanced back at Takecia, his ex-wife, who watched him from a distance with an unreadable expression. As he got into the Uber, the finality of the moment settled in. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Rhea and the unexpected, tragic turn her life had taken.

The Uber ride to the airport felt interminable. Jey's thoughts raced, grappling with the shocking news. Rhea’s plan had been to confront Matt, her husband, to tell him she was leaving. The violence she had suffered left Jey with a gnawing question—was Matt responsible for what had happened to her? The possibility gnawed at him, fueling his urgency.

While the Uber navigated through traffic, Jey pulled out his phone and began typing furiously. First, he sent a message to Damian Priest:

“Damian, Rhea’s been attacked. Jimmy called. She’s in critical condition at the hospital. I’m heading to Orlando now. I’ll keep you updated.”

He quickly followed up with a message to their boss, Paul Levesque, aka Triple H:

“Paul, Rhea’s been seriously hurt. Jimmy’s at the hospital with her, and I’m flying down to Orlando ASAP. I’ll keep you posted. I think this going to hit the press soon.”

As he finished sending the messages, Jey’s mind was already racing ahead, preparing for what awaited him in Orlando. The media frenzy was inevitable; Jimmy’s discovery of the wounded Rhea would likely draw significant attention. Jey hoped that his presence might offer some stability amidst the unfolding chaos.

The Uber pulled up to the airport, and Jey stepped out, taking a deep breath. His focus sharpened as he moved quickly through security, every step driven by the urgency to be by Rhea’s side. His phone buzzed with responses as he made his way to the gate, but his thoughts remained firmly on Rhea and the daunting challenge that lay ahead.

Jey rushed up to the airline counter, his urgency evident as he approached the clerk. “I need a first-class ticket to Orlando, non-stop,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s an emergency.”

The clerk’s eyes widened as she recognized him. “Oh, you’re Jey Uso, aren’t you? One half of the Usos! It’s such an honor to meet you.”

Jey, barely registering the fanfare, nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s me. I really need to get to Orlando as soon as possible. Is there any way you can expedite this?”

Understanding the gravity of the situation, the clerk quickly shifted gears. “Of course, let me check for you.”

She typed rapidly on her keyboard, then looked up with a sympathetic smile. “I’ve got a first-class seat available on a non-stop flight to Orlando that’s boarding in 10 minutes at Gate 62. The fare is $837.62.”

Jey barely hesitated handing his credit card. “Just charge it. I don’t care about the price. I just need to get there.”

The clerk processed the payment swiftly, handing Jey the ticket. “Here you go. Gate 62. You should head over there quickly; they’ll be boarding soon.”

Jey thanked her and sprinted toward the gate, his heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and determination. As he approached Gate 62, he could hear the final boarding call for his flight.

He glanced at his ticket, then at the departure screen, and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. The urgency of the situation pushed him forward as he made his way onto the plane, hoping that the flight would pass swiftly and that he would arrive in Orlando in time to offer Rhea the support she so desperately needed. Another five hours he is going to have to wait..

—

After four long hours, Rhea finally managed to open her eyes. The morphine was working its way through her system, making her feel drowsy and disoriented. As her vision cleared, she was surprised to see she was in a hospital room surrounded by unfamiliar faces—Jonathan, Trinity, and Solofa Fatu, known to WWE fans as Rikishi.

Jonathan was the first to notice her waking. He gently nudged Trinity, who had fallen asleep in a chair next to him. As Trinity stirred and looked over, Jonathan leaned closer to Rhea.

“Rhea, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Rhea blinked slowly, struggling to piece together her foggy memories. “I... I remember getting off the Uber and walking into my house. That’s it. I don’t remember anything else.”

Jonathan sighed, his expression filled with relief. “I found you with your luggage on my morning run. You just collapsed in front of me.”

Rhea’s face showed her frustration and confusion. “I can’t remember anything. Why... why am I here?”

Solofa, who had been quietly observing, stepped closer. His presence was commanding, and his voice carried a deep, cultural resonance. “Rhea, my son has done something very brave. I know this might be hard to understand right now.”

Rhea looked at Solofa, her eyes filled with question and concern. Trinity spoke up, her voice calm and reassuring. “He’s talking about Jon. He saved your life by donating a lot of blood.”

Solofa nodded, his gaze steady and serious. “Rhea, I need to tell you something important. There are deep connections in our Samoan culture, and while I am troubled by the circumstances that led us here—circumstances that have strained my son's marriage—I also understand that responsibility and honor are central to our ways. You are now linked to our Samoan Bloodline. We are bound by blood and duty.”

Rhea, still groggy and disoriented, could only absorb part of Solofa’s words. The cultural weight of his message was not lost on her, and she nodded slightly, acknowledging the gravity of the connection being made.

Solofa’s gaze softened, showing both the seriousness of his concern and the depth of his cultural values. “You must understand, Rhea, that in our tradition, family and honor are everything. Whatever has happened, we are bound together now in a way that cannot be easily severed.”

Jonathan and Trinity watched the exchange with a mixture of respect and concern. Rhea, despite her struggle to fully grasp the situation, could sense the profound significance of Solofa’s words and the deep cultural ties that now connected her to this family.

As Rhea nodded her head, the weight of the conversation settled over her, mingling with the pain and confusion of her recovery. Despite the challenges ahead, the support from Jonathan, Trinity, and the Fatu family provided a glimmer of hope amidst the turmoil.

Solofa gave clear instructions to Jonathan before Jey was allowed to see Rhea. “I need to speak with both of you before Jey goes into her room. Please, follow me.”

Jonathan exchanged a puzzled glance with Trinity but followed Solofa out of the room. As they left, Rhea, still trying to piece together the fragments of her memory, turned to Trinity with a mix of confusion and concern.

“What are they doing?” Rhea asked, her voice weak and trembling.

Trinity offered a reassuring smile, though her eyes betrayed her anxiety. “It’s going to be very special what they do. It’s part of how we honor and support each other in our culture.”

Rhea didn’t fully grasp what Trinity meant but chose to let it go for now. “I still can’t remember anything clearly,” she admitted, frustration creeping into her voice.

Trinity took a deep breath and gently brought up the topic she had been dreading. “Rhea, the baby... you lost the baby due to the trauma.”

As soon as the words left Trinity’s mouth, Rhea’s composure broke. Her face crumpled with grief, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. She didn't utter a word, the weight of the loss too overwhelming for her to articulate.

Trinity immediately moved to her side, her own heart aching at Rhea’s anguish. She climbed onto the bed, pulling Rhea into a tight embrace. Despite the discomfort of the hospital bed, Trinity held her friend close, her grip firm and unwavering.

Rhea clung to Trinity, the raw pain of her loss pouring out in silent sobs. Trinity’s presence was a lifeline, her warmth and steadfast support providing some solace amidst the heartbreak.

For a long while, they remained like that, Trinity’s comforting embrace a small refuge from the storm of grief. The shared sadness and the strength of their bond were palpable, offering a brief respite from the crushing weight of Rhea’s sorrow.

After another two hours, Jey finally arrived at the hospital. Exhausted and anxious, he was met by his father, Solofa, and his brother, Jonathan. They led him to a private hospital room not currently in use, where Solofa took a deep breath and prepared to speak.

“Joshua,” Solofa began, using Jey’s real name, his voice steady but filled with the weight of the situation. “Jonathan has done something incredibly brave for Rhea. He donated a significant amount of blood to save her life.”

Jey's eyes were already brimming with tears, but Solofa’s next words hit him like a punch to the gut. Solofa took a step to his son and put a hand on his shoulder. He was not the man to bullshit. “The baby didn’t make it.”

The gravity of the news overwhelmed Jey. He sank to his knees, his body shaking with sobs. Jonathan rushed to his brother, wrapping him in a tight embrace. The sight of Jey’s anguish pierced Solofa’s heart, and he felt a deep, painful empathy for his sons.

As Jonathan held Jey, offering him whatever comfort he could, Solofa’s own heart ached for the family he was trying to hold together. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of Jey’s muffled cries.

After a few moments, Solofa gathered his composure and addressed Jonathan. “Jonathan, I need you to join your cousins in a small ceremonial haka in Rhea’s room. This is an important part of her official induction into the family, and it’s a way to honor both Jey and Rhea’s families, acknowledging the new bonds formed through this ordeal.”

Jonathan nodded, understanding the significance of the ritual. Solofa turned back to Jey, his expression filled with a mix of sternness and compassion.

“Joshua, you need to be strong. This haka is for you and Rhea, a way to honor and welcome her into our family despite the pain. It’s a tradition that connects us all, and it’s a sign of respect for what has happened.”

Jey wiped his tears, trying to steady his breathing. He knew the importance of the haka and the role it played in their culture. With a heavy heart but a sense of resolve, he prepared himself for the ceremonial rite.

Jonathan, having received the instructions, headed towards Rhea’s room. He knew that this ceremony was more than just a formality—it was a profound expression of family, honor, and the strength of their cultural traditions.

As Jonathan and Solofa prepared for the haka, the air in the hospital room grew thick with the anticipation of a ritual that would bring some semblance of closure and unity amidst the chaos. The haka would serve as both a tribute to Rhea and a reaffirmation of the bonds that held the family together, even in the face of overwhelming sorrow.

Jey walked slowly to Rhea’s bedside, his heart heavy with grief. Seeing her so frail and vulnerable in the hospital bed was almost too much to bear. He knelt beside her, tears streaming down his face, and gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. The sight of Rhea’s tear-filled eyes meeting his own was heartbreaking. They both began to sob, mourning the loss of their unborn child in each other’s arms. Jey clasped her hand tightly, their shared sorrow a poignant reminder of their connection.

As they clung to one another, the door to the room opened, and Solofa, Jonathan and Joseph better known to WWE as Solo Sikoa, and three of their cousins entered. The solemnity of their expressions underscored the gravity of the moment. Solofa took his place at the head of the group, his presence commanding and filled with a deep sense of cultural responsibility.

Without a word, Solofa began to lead the haka, his voice rising in a powerful chant that reverberated through the room. The haka, a traditional war dance, was performed with fierce intensity and solemnity, embodying the strength and resilience of their heritage. The rhythmic stamping of feet and the rhythmic, synchronized movements of the performers conveyed a profound sense of unity and respect.

The haka was more than just a performance; it was a sacred ritual that honored Rhea and the loss they were mourning. Each movement of the dance was infused with the deep cultural significance of their Samoan traditions, reflecting the pain, strength, and solidarity of the family. The chant, powerful and evocative, served as both a tribute to Rhea’s struggles and a reaffirmation of the bonds that held them all together.

As the haka reached its climax, the raw emotion of the ritual was palpable. The intense, rhythmic energy of the dance resonated with the room’s atmosphere, creating a sense of sacred connection. Jey and Rhea watched, their tears mingling with the shared grief of their family. The haka was a profound expression of their collective sorrow and strength, a cultural embrace that enveloped them all.

After the haka, the room fell into a reflective silence. The performers stood with a quiet dignity, their faces marked by the intensity of the ritual. Jey, still holding Rhea’s hand, felt a profound sense of cultural and familial solidarity. The haka had not only honored their loss but also reinforced their place within the Samoan Bloodline, binding them together through their shared heritage.

In the quiet that followed, the emotional weight of the moment lingered, a testament to the deep connections forged through tradition and family.

—

*Please note: The depiction of Samoan ritual dance in this story is intended solely for entertainment purposes and is not meant to offend or disrespect any cultural practices. The intention is to honor the cultural significance while crafting a fictional narrative. I deeply respect the Samoan culture and the traditions it represents.*

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