#reck6ning

He didn’t answer right away. Of course he didn’t. That was part of his game—making people uncomfortable, pulling at their thoughts like tangled threads until they unraveled on their own. And Rhea hated it. Hated not knowing what this was about. She didn’t play games she hadn’t signed up for, and Uncle Howdy didn’t come with a rulebook. Her mind was racing—was it Judgment Day he wanted to dismantle? Was it Dom? Or was it her? “You don’t scare me,” she added, eyes narrowed, taking a cautious step forward. “But I’m not stupid either. You don’t circle someone unless you think they’ve got something you need… or something you want to destroy.”

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞.     he says it     —     cold,     clean,     like it’s easy for him.     like it doesn’t tear the ground out from under her feet.     ❝     i want you to leave.     please leave right now.     ❞     and for a second,     she swears she forgets how to breathe.     he means it.     that’s what cuts the deepest.     he actually means it.     not because he’s angry.     not because she did something wrong.     but because…     he’s trying to push her out.     trying to cut her off.     and she doesn’t understand why.     doesn’t know what changed.     'was i too much?     not enough?     did i stay too long?     did i make it too real?'     the thoughts spiral,     fast and sharp,     slicing at the softest parts of her.     but she doesn’t cry.     she just….    stands there.     trembling around the edges,     heart caving in beneath her ribs.     her throat is dry,     her pulse is loud,     her nails dig into her palms like that pain might keep her upright.     but she speaks anyway.     ❝     no.     ❞     quiet.     small.     but not afraid.     not anymore.     because if she lets go now     —     if she walks out that door     —     she doesn’t come back from it.     ❝     i’m not leaving.     ❞     her voice cracks as she says it,     but it’s the only truth she knows.     because this isn’t just a place.     it’s not just some twisted idea or ideology.     this is him.     this is the only place her soul ever made sense.     ❝     you don’t get to ask me that.     ❞     and she means it.     how could he?     how could he say that after everything? after the nights they sat in silence and let the world rot around them,     after he told her she didn’t need fixing,     after he let her stay when she was nothing but broken glass and bruised intentions?     her feet move before her brain catches up     —     just a step,     but it’s enough.     ❝     i was there before anyone.     before the chaos.     before you even had a name for it.     it was just you.     and me.     and the dark.     ❞

she swallows hard.     her chest is tight.     her hands shake.     what’s left if he pushes her out now?     where does she go when the only place she ever belonged doesn’t want her anymore?     ❝     i didn’t ask for this to grow.     i didn’t care what it became.     i was never here for the power or the noise or the followers.     i was here because i believed in you.     ❞     she hates how desperate she sounds.     how raw she feels.     but there’s no hiding anymore.     not here.     not in front of him.     ❝     i don’t care what you say,     i’m not going.     ❞     another step.     closer now.     close enough that if he reached out,     he could end this.     but @reck6ning doesn’t.     and that silence just guts her more.    ❝     you can shut the door.     you can scream at me.     you can try to pretend i don’t matter     —    but i’m still not leaving.     ❞     her voice wavers.     soft and aching.     ❝     because i don’t have anywhere else.     and even if i did,     it wouldn’t be you.     ❞     and she'd rather stay here and rot with the bones of it than pretend she could ever belong somewhere else.     she’s not some lost little girl begging to be seen.     she’s the one who stayed.     the one who watched it all burn and never looked away.     she loves him in the ugliest,     most unshakable way.     and she’ll never walk out first.     not from him.     not even if it kills her.

Then she followed. Quiet steps. Slow and purposeful. Like she was approaching a caged animal that might just decide the bars weren’t enough. And there he was. Bo. Or… maybe not. Maybe it was him now. The one with the mask and the slithering grin. She leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching the figure in front of her like she couldn’t decide if she was impressed or concerned. Maybe both.

"You looked good out there," she finally said, voice low but clear. "All of you did. Like you never left."Her eyes narrowed, chin lifting just a little. "So which one am I talking to right now?" she asked, curious but not afraid. "Bo? Or… the other one?" Rhea stepped closer, slow and calculated. She didn’t want to provoke — but she didn’t not want to either. "I’m glad you’re back," she continued, tilting her head slightly. "I think the locker room needs a little shake-up. Needs to remember what fear tastes like."

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥.     not silent because nothing in their world is ever really silent.     the walls breathe here.     they murmur,     groan,     whisper things only the brave     (or the broken)     dare to listen to.     but tonight,     the house is stiller.     almost like it’s holding its breath.     and liv?     she’s sitting cross-legged on the warped floorboards,     picking at the hem of her frayed sleeves,     staring at a flickering bulb like it’s gonna give her all the answers.     she’s been here since the beginning.    long before the masks.    before the headlines.    before the world knew what was coming.    they called them a cult.     freaks.     monsters.     liv smiled every time.     because she knows the truth:     she wasn’t recruited.    she belonged.

there’s something about the way bo moves through the shadows that makes her feel safe in the most terrifying way.     like he could unravel her completely,     and she’d thank him for it.    she hears the creak of boots before she sees him.    ❝ you’re late, ❞ she says, voice light but worn.     like she’s been waiting all day and pretending not to care.     she doesn’t look at him yet.     just keeps tracing circles in the dust with her fingertip,     like the symbols in her head need somewhere to go.    ❝ we’re supposed to watch the fire tonight,     remember? ❞     a beat.     then a quieter,     almost fond,     ❝ you promised. ❞     her tone is all sugar and static.     gentle,     but charged.     because no one in the group gets to just forget a promise.     not with her.

especially not him.

𝐡𝐞𝐫   𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡   𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐬   𝐨𝐧   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞   𝐨𝐟   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐚𝐢𝐫.       like   it’s   caught   in   barbed   wire.     ❝       please   don’t   go.       ❞       three   words.     and   they   hit   her   like   a   bullet   between   the   ribs     —       quiet,       precise,       irreversible.     she   doesn’t   turn.       she   won’t.       because   if   she   does     —       if   she   even   glances   over   her   shoulder       —     she   knows   she’ll   fall   apart.     and   she   can’t   afford   to   fall   apart   anymore.       not   in   front   of   him.       not   in   front   of   the   ghost   of   the   man   who   once   promised   her   the   world   and   gave   her   the   ruins   instead.

@reck6ning,     her   bo.       except   he’s   not   really   hers   anymore,       is   he?     he   hasn’t   been   for   a   long   time.       not   since   the   laughter   stopped   sounding   like   music   and   started   sounding   like   madness.     not   since   the   fire   in   his   eyes   stopped   warming   her   and   started   burning   through   her.       and   maybe   that’s   the   cruelest   part   of   all       —     that   she   still   hears   him   in   her   head   the   same   way   she   used   to,       still   feels   the   memory   of   his   touch,       gentle   and   trembling,       ghosting   across   her   skin   like   it   misses   her   too.       but   that   was   before.     before   the   dark.     before   the   transformation.     before   the   masks   and   the   rituals   and   the   whispers   in   the   trees   that   told   her   to   follow   him,       to   become   like   him,       to   lose   herself   for   the   sake   of   belonging.       she   did.       god,   she   did.     and   now   she   doesn’t   even   know   where   liv   ends   and   the   sickness   begins.

her   throat   tightens.     her   eyes   sting.       but   she   won’t   let   herself   cry       —       because   if   she   starts,     she   doesn’t   know   if   she’ll   stop.       not   this   time.       and   still…       that   voice.     his   voice.     ❝       please   don’t   go.       ❞       it’s   the   closest   thing   to   real   he’s   sounded   in   months.       and   that’s   what   shatters   her   most   of   all.       because   maybe   he   means   it.       maybe   there’s   still   a   piece   of   him   left   somewhere   beneath   the   rot.     maybe   he’s   still   in   there     —       trapped.       begging.     hurting.     and   maybe   if   she   just   reached   out       —     no.       no,       no,       no.       that’s   how   it   starts.       that’s   how   it   always   starts.

she   clenches   her   fists   until   her   nails   bite   into   her   palms.     ❝       you   don’t   get   to   ask   me   that   now,       ❞       she   whispers,   voice   low,       barely   more   than   a   breath.       ❝       not   after   everything.     not   after   you   let   it   happen.       ❞       her   knees   threaten   to   give.       because   the   truth   is,     she   would’ve   stayed.       a   thousand   times   over.       if   he’d   just   asked   sooner.       before   the   rituals.       before   the   blood.     before   he   taught   her   how   to   smile   with   her   teeth   and   mean   violence.     ❝       you   should’ve   stopped   me   when   i   still   remembered   how   to   be   saved.       ❞

Rhea wasn’t about to let him off easy. She took a slow step forward, eyes locking with his, searching for the real reason he was here. "I’m guessing you didn’t come all the way out here just to run into me by accident.” Her tone was low, almost teasing, but there was an edge beneath it — a challenge. She could feel the electricity crackling between them, the unspoken things hanging just beneath the surface, dangerous and inviting all at once.

he was still sound asleep, on a day where she thought he would already be up, wanting to do something, go somewhere. but she understood. if she didn't have brie in her life, she probably wouldn't have done nothing except for sleep. but that is when nicole took matters in her own hands and decided to do something special for him. breakfast in bed. she made pankcakes with a smiley face on them, a piece of his favorite cake and a card that she made for him. she wasn't sure if any of this would cheer him up or would put him in a better mood but nikki bella was going to try her hardest because bo meant everything to her. and she was going to prove that to him especially today of all days. she set the food on the side of the counter and jumped onto the bed, kissing him all over his face until he woke up.