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honeydippedfiction · 4 months ago

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Bond Beyond The Ring

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Requested by @wrestlingbaby

The match was over, and the roaring crowd was a chorus in Y/N’s ears. She leaned against the ropes, chest heaving as she caught her breath, her body still vibrating with the thrill of combat. The spotlight warmed her skin as she glanced around the arena, taking in the sea of cheering fans. They chanted her name, a sound that filled her with pride and gratitude.

Sliding out of the ring, Y/N slapped hands with the front-row fans, flashing her signature smile despite the ache in her muscles. The walk to the back was a familiar one, but it never felt routine. Every night in All Elite Wrestling was a new chapter, a new chance to prove herself.

Backstage, she didn’t have time to dwell on the match’s highs or lows because she knew exactly what waited for her—a burst of laughter and camaraderie with her closest friend in the business, Anthony Bowens.

Anthony Bowens was sprawled out on one of the benches in the locker room, his long legs stretched out in a way that made it clear he had no intention of moving anytime soon. His phone rested loosely in one hand, but the mischievous grin on his face gave him away—he was already planning some kind of retort or comeback. Y/N approached with the energy of someone who had too much adrenaline left after a match, her phone held high like a championship belt.

“Alright, Bowens. TikTok time,” she declared with mock authority, dropping down beside him so forcefully that the bench creaked under her weight.

Bowens groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough this week? My dancing is a public hazard at this point.”

“Humiliated you?” she shot back, her tone dripping with mock indignation. “Please. I’ve made you go viral. You should be thanking me. You’re welcome, by the way.”

She was already scrolling through her app, her face lighting up as she landed on a trending dance. “Oh, this is the one,” she said, pointing at the screen like it held the secret to eternal life. Her excitement was contagious, and Bowens couldn’t help but laugh.

“Again with the dancing?” he said, slowly getting to his feet with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re gonna kill my knees before I’m thirty.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” she quipped, standing next to him and pulling him into frame. “Now stop whining and hit this pose.”

“Pose? What is this, modeling school?” Bowens teased, but he mirrored her stance anyway, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

As they began stumbling through the choreography, their laughter filled the room, a perfect counterpoint to the sterile hum of the overhead lights. Y/N’s expression was a mix of concentration and exasperation as she kept pausing the music to critique Bowens’ steps.

“No, no, no! You’re too stiff, Anthony. You have to loosen up!” she said, shaking her arms wildly to demonstrate.

“Loosen up?” he repeated, attempting to mimic her movement but looking more like a malfunctioning robot. “This is as loose as I get, Y/N!”

“You’re impossible!” she shouted through her laughter, doubling over as Bowens broke into a ridiculous freestyle, making exaggerated moves that were nowhere close to the choreography.

Nearby, the Blackpool Combat Club sat, their presence heavy and still, like storm clouds gathering in a bright sky. Wheeler Yuta’s hands froze over the laces of his boots, his brow furrowing as he watched the scene play out. Jon Moxley leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw set in a hard line. Bryan Danielson exchanged a glance with Claudio Castagnoli, whose expression was unreadable, though the tension in his posture spoke volumes.

“Why don’t they just rent a comedy stage?” Mox muttered under his breath, his gravelly voice barely audible.

Bryan shrugged, but his lips thinned as he looked away from the pair. “They’re at it again.”

Wheeler glanced up, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’ve been at it for weeks.”

Y/N and Bowens were too caught up in their antics to notice the simmering tension a few feet away. She clapped her hands in triumph as they finally nailed the last step, spinning to check their reflection in the camera.

“See? Told you we could pull it off!” Y/N exclaimed, nudging Bowens with her shoulder.

He rolled his eyes, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna need a chiropractor after this, but sure, we pulled it off.”

The two dissolved into laughter again, their bond as easy and natural as breathing. But in the corner, the Blackpool Combat Club sat in heavy silence, their presence a shadow that loomed over the bright moment. None of them said another word, but their tension spoke volumes.

Wheeler Yuta’s hands froze mid-lace on his boots, the rhythm of his movements interrupted as the sound of Y/N and Anthony Bowens’ laughter echoed across the locker room. His jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the laces as if the tension in his chest had traveled to his hands. He glanced toward them, his lips pressing into a hard line.

A few feet away, Jon Moxley leaned back against the wall, his broad shoulders resting against the cold steel lockers. His arms were crossed over his chest, the veins on his forearms prominent as he gripped his biceps tightly. His scowl deepened with every burst of laughter that erupted from the pair. His ice-blue eyes flicked toward them briefly before darting away, as if the sight alone was an irritant.

Claudio Castagnoli sat at the end of a bench, his massive hands resting on his thighs. The tension in his posture was evident—his normally relaxed demeanor replaced with a stiffness that seemed uncharacteristic. He caught Bryan Danielson’s eye, and the brief glance they exchanged was heavy with unspoken frustration.

“They’re at it again,” Wheeler muttered under his breath, breaking the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried a sharp edge, the kind of bitterness that lingers after being sidelined one too many times.

Bryan’s gaze lingered on Y/N for a moment, his lips twitching as if he were holding back something he’d regret saying out loud. His expression was thoughtful but tense, his brows furrowed just enough to betray his annoyance. Finally, he shook his head, exhaling slowly. “She’s been glued to him for weeks,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with a note of disappointment.

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and loaded.

Moxley, ever the one to cut through the silence, let out a low, gruff sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a growl. “Too busy making videos to remember who brought her into the fold,” he said, his tone sharp, cutting.

His words hit the air like a thrown gauntlet, and Claudio shifted slightly, the bench creaking under his weight. His expression was unreadable, but the tightness in his jaw and the flicker in his dark eyes gave him away.

“She doesn’t see it,” Wheeler added, almost to himself, as if he were trying to make sense of it all.

Bryan let out another sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the lockers. “She doesn’t see it because she’s too busy... laughing, dancing, being everywhere except here.”

Jon pushed off the wall slightly, his presence as commanding as ever despite his stillness. “She’s one of us,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “She’s supposed to have our backs.”

There was no response to that—not from Bryan, not from Claudio, not from Wheeler. Instead, the four of them sat in silence, their collective frustration and hurt simmering just beneath the surface.

In the distance, Y/N and Bowens’ laughter echoed again, oblivious to the storm brewing in the corners of the locker room. To Y/N, it was another lighthearted moment, but to the Blackpool Combat Club, it was a painful reminder of what they felt they’d lost.

I didn’t see it at first.

When I look back now, I wonder how I missed the way the atmosphere shifted, how the weight of the room seemed to change as soon as I walked in. The Blackpool Combat Club—Jon, Bryan, Claudio, Wheeler—had always been my foundation. They weren’t just a team; they were my brothers. My safe haven. No matter what the day threw at me, I knew they’d have my back.

But lately, stepping into the locker room felt like walking into enemy territory.

It was subtle at first. Jon wouldn’t even glance in my direction half the time. The man who had been a gruff but constant source of support, who had always made a point of acknowledging me—even if it was just with a muttered “Good match” or a nod—acted like I didn’t exist. His icy indifference cut deeper than I wanted to admit.

Wheeler was worse. He didn’t just ignore me—he avoided me. Conversations that used to flow easily between us now felt strained or nonexistent. If I tried to talk to him, he’d mumble something, barely looking up from whatever he was doing, his eyes fixed on his boots or the floor as if I wasn’t worth the effort.

And Claudio... Claudio was the one I thought would never change. He was warmth personified, a calming presence in a world that was often chaotic. But even he had grown distant. Conversations that used to come with his easy, genuine smile were now brief and clipped, his tone neutral at best, cold at worst.

Then there was Bryan. Bryan, who I had always seen as the glue that held us together, the one who could talk us through any conflict, had simply shut me out. No eye contact. No words. Just... silence.

It stung more than I was willing to admit.

At first, I told myself it wasn’t personal. They were just tired. We all were. The grind of wrestling wasn’t for the faint of heart. The endless matches, the brutal travel schedules, the constant pressure to improve—to be better, faster, stronger—it could wear anyone down. Maybe they were just overwhelmed.

But then, the little things began to add up. The glares I caught from the corner of my eye. The way conversations stopped as soon as I walked into the room. The pointed silence that seemed to wrap around me like a cloak. And the worst part? The way they’d close ranks. It was subtle but deliberate, their body language shifting to make it clear that I wasn’t part of the circle anymore.

It was like I’d been pushed to the outside, watching as they locked themselves away in a place I couldn’t reach.

That’s when I knew something was wrong. This wasn’t just fatigue. This wasn’t just the wear and tear of the road. This was different.

And it hurt. It hurt more than I wanted to admit, because no matter what, I still cared about them. They weren’t just my teammates. They were my family. Or at least, they had been.

Now, I wasn’t so sure.

Y/N tried to bridge the gap, but every attempt felt like throwing a pebble against a brick wall. No matter how hard she tried, nothing seemed to break through.

One evening, after a particularly grueling match, she decided to try again. Claudio was sitting on the bench, his massive frame hunched over as he scrolled through his phone. He was always the most approachable, the one who could soften even the toughest situations. If anyone was willing to talk, it would be him.

She leaned casually against the lockers, keeping her tone light. “Hey, Claudio, want to grab food after the show? I heard there’s a great spot nearby.”

For a second, she thought he might smile or at least look up, but he didn’t. His eyes stayed glued to his phone, his thumb idly scrolling as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

“No, I’m good,” he said finally, his voice flat, devoid of the usual warmth she had come to count on.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. She forced a laugh, trying to mask the sting. “Alright, maybe another time,” she said, her words hanging awkwardly in the air.

Claudio didn’t respond, didn’t even nod. The silence that followed was louder than any rejection.

Y/N swallowed hard, her smile faltering as she pushed off the lockers and turned away. She hadn’t made it far when she spotted Bryan Danielson walking down the hallway, his stride purposeful as always. If anyone understood the importance of communication, it was Bryan. He’d been the mediator in countless tense moments before.

She quickened her pace to catch up with him. “Bry,” she called out, her voice a mix of hope and determination. “What do you think about—”

“Not now,” he cut her off sharply, not even breaking his stride.

Y/N froze mid-sentence, her words dying in her throat. She stood there, stunned, as Bryan disappeared around the corner without so much as a backward glance.

Her heart sank, a dull ache spreading through her chest. She had always prided herself on being strong, on rolling with the punches no matter what. But this? This was different. This wasn’t an opponent in the ring, a challenge she could overcome with sheer grit or determination. This was her family, shutting her out without explanation, and it was tearing her apart.

She stayed rooted in the hallway for a moment longer, her arms wrapping around herself as if to shield against the cold indifference that had just been hurled her way. No matter how hard she tried to bridge the gap, it seemed to widen with every step.

The breaking point came after a show in Chicago.

It had been a long night—a sold-out crowd, an adrenaline-filled match, and a post-show buzz that should have left me on a high. Instead, I found myself pacing the hallways backstage, my frustration bubbling over with every step. I couldn’t take it anymore. These weren’t just coworkers—they were my family. The people who’d picked me up after losses, celebrated my wins, and stood by my side through the chaos of life in wrestling.

If I’d done something to hurt them, they owed it to me to say it.

Determined, I turned a corner and saw them in the locker room, just like always. Jon sat at the center, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his intense eyes fixed on the floor as if deep in thought. Bryan stood near the lockers, arms crossed, his face unreadable but tense. Claudio and Wheeler were seated across from each other, their postures stiff, their expressions a mix of discomfort and something I couldn’t quite place.

The sight of them huddled in quiet conversation—so close-knit, so locked in—lit a fire in my chest. They looked like a fortress, impenetrable, and for the first time, I realized I wasn’t inside those walls anymore.

I didn’t hesitate. I stormed into the room, the sound of my boots on the floor breaking their quiet.

“Alright,” I said, my voice sharp and unwavering. “What the hell is going on?”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and all four heads turned toward me.

Jon’s expression shifted immediately, his jaw tightening as his blue eyes narrowed. Bryan’s arms stayed crossed, but his posture stiffened, a flicker of unease crossing his face. Claudio glanced at Wheeler, who looked away quickly, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“What are you talking about?” Moxley asked, his tone flat but carrying that edge of irritation he always had when something—or someone—rubbed him the wrong way.

I took a step forward, refusing to let them dismiss me. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I shot back, my voice rising. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. Acting like I don’t exist. Did I do something? Because if I did, I’d really like to know.”

Jon leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable but cold. “Nobody’s ignoring you,” he said, the words clipped, like he was trying to shut the conversation down before it could even start.

“Bullshit,” I said, the anger in my voice catching even me off guard. “Don’t lie to me, Jon. I’m not stupid. You’ve all been avoiding me, treating me like some outsider. And for what? If I did something, just say it. Don’t play this silent game with me.”

The room went silent. The tension was so thick I could feel it pressing against my chest, making it harder to breathe.

Bryan shifted, uncrossing his arms and exhaling slowly. Claudio looked down at his hands, and Wheeler wouldn’t even meet my eyes. Jon, however, stayed locked on me, his gaze unwavering, his lips pressing into a tight, thin line.

“What’s it gonna be?” I asked, my voice softer now but no less firm. “Talk to me. Or is shutting me out the only thing you’re good at these days?”

For a moment, no one said a word, the weight of my challenge hanging heavy in the air. I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, waiting for someone—anyone—to break the silence.

The silence was deafening, stretching across the room like a tangible force. It pressed against Y/N’s chest, suffocating in its intensity. Every pair of eyes seemed to avoid hers, save for Jon Moxley, whose steely gaze finally lifted to meet her.

Moxley stood, his movements deliberate, his posture rigid as if his body carried the weight of unspoken words. His stare was piercing, cutting through the room with an edge that made Y/N straighten her shoulders instinctively.

“It’s not about what you did,” he said at last, his voice low and gravelly, each word deliberate and measured. “It’s about who you’ve been spending all your damn time with.”

Y/N blinked, the accusation hitting her like a slap she hadn’t seen coming. Her brows furrowed, confusion knotting in her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Bowens,” Wheeler Yuta muttered from his seat, his tone sharp, laced with bitterness. His hands fidgeted in his lap, but his eyes finally darted up to meet hers, his frustration clear. “It’s like we don’t even matter to you anymore.”

The words sank deep, and for a moment, Y/N was too stunned to respond. Her jaw tightened as she struggled to process what he’d just said.

Bryan Danielson let out a heavy sigh, his arms dropping to his sides as he stepped forward slightly. He wasn’t as blunt as Jon, nor as young and raw as Wheeler, but there was an unmistakable weariness in his voice when he spoke. “You’re always with him, Y/N. Always laughing, making videos, goofing off. Meanwhile, we’re over here—trying to focus, trying to keep this team together—and it feels like you’ve moved on.”

Moved on?

The words echoed in her head, stinging like an accusation she hadn’t prepared to defend against. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She stared at Bryan, at Wheeler, and finally at Moxley, whose intense glare hadn’t wavered.

“You think I’ve moved on?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her tone a mix of disbelief and hurt. “You think I don’t care about you anymore?”

“You don’t act like it,” Wheeler shot back, his voice quieter now but no less cutting. “You’re always with him. Every time we turn around, it’s Bowens this, Bowens that. TikToks, jokes, laughs—you don’t have time for us anymore.”

Claudio Castagnoli, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up, his deep voice calm but firm. “We’re not saying you can’t have other friends, Y/N. But... you used to spend time with us. Talk with us. Lately, it’s like we’re the last people on your mind.”

Y/N looked around the room, her gaze moving from face to face. Each of them wore different expressions—anger, disappointment, frustration—but the common thread between them all was pain. They felt abandoned.

“I can’t believe this,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “You’re jealous. All of you.”

Jon’s jaw clenched at the word, his glare sharpening. “It’s not jealousy,” he said, his tone dangerous, his voice lowering even further. “It’s loyalty. We’re supposed to be a team. Family. But it feels like we’re the family you forgot about.”

His words hit like a hammer, cracking through the remaining layers of her composure. Y/N stood there, her heart pounding, as the silence returned, heavier than before.

For a moment, all I could do was stare at them, my mind struggling to catch up with what I’d just heard. Jealousy. That’s what this was.

They were jealous.

A disbelieving laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it, the sound sharp and brittle in the tense room. “You’re kidding me,” I said, my voice rising as I looked from face to face. “You’re mad because I’ve been hanging out with Anthony?”

Jon crossed his arms over his chest, his glare unwavering, while Wheeler shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Claudio’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn’t respond. But then he spoke, his voice even but undeniably tense.

“Not mad,” he said, though the clipped tone betrayed him. “Just... frustrated.” His dark eyes finally met mine, and there was something there—something raw and unguarded that made my stomach twist. “You used to be with us all the time. Now it feels like we’re the last people on your mind.”

His words hit harder than I expected, cutting through the disbelief that had been building in me.

I opened my mouth to argue, to fire back with something defensive—maybe even sarcastic. But the moment I really looked at them, the words died in my throat.

Jon’s glare wasn’t just anger. It was layered with something deeper, something I hadn’t noticed before: hurt. Bryan, who always wore an air of calm rationality, looked away when my gaze met his, as if he couldn’t bear the weight of the conversation. Claudio’s expression was tight, his usual warmth replaced by quiet disappointment. And Wheeler...

Wheeler looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. His hands fidgeted nervously, and his lips pressed into a thin, uncertain line. But it was the look in his eyes—an almost childlike mixture of frustration and sadness—that made my chest ache.

Suddenly, it didn’t feel so ridiculous.

They weren’t just mad. They weren’t just frustrated. They were hurt.

And the worst part? They had a reason to be.

Y/N took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling as she steadied herself. Her voice softened, no longer defensive, but filled with the sincerity she hoped they’d hear.

“You guys are my family,” she said, her tone firm but warm, her eyes moving from one face to the next. “You’ve always been my family. That hasn’t changed, and it never will. Just because I’ve been spending time with Anthony doesn’t mean I care about you any less. You’re my people—always have been, always will be.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. Y/N wasn’t sure what kind of reaction to expect. For a moment, no one spoke, the room still thick with the weight of unresolved emotions.

Then, Moxley broke the silence with a low grunt. He leaned back against the bench, his posture relaxing slightly, the tension in his broad shoulders melting away. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he glanced up at her.

“Well,” he muttered, his voice as gravelly as ever, “maybe next time, include us in one of those TikToks. Could use a little of that spotlight you’ve been hogging.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in mock surprise, her lips twitching into a grin. “You? Dancing? Now that’s something I’d pay to see.”

The tension cracked, like ice breaking under the warmth of the moment. Bryan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if the thought of Moxley dancing was too absurd to picture. Wheeler snorted, his fidgeting hands finally stilling, while Claudio let out a hearty laugh, his deep voice echoing in the small room.

“Don’t underestimate me, Y/N,” Mox said, his smirk growing into a full grin. “I’ve got moves.”

“You’ve got something,” Bryan chimed in, his voice teasing but light. “Not sure if it qualifies as dancing, though.”

The room erupted into laughter, the sound genuine and full of relief. The air that had been so thick with tension just minutes ago now felt lighter, almost buoyant. It wasn’t perfect—there were still things left unsaid, moments to work through—but the rift between them had begun to mend.

Y/N shook her head, a smile still playing on her lips as she took a seat on the bench beside them. For the first time in weeks, the distance she’d felt between herself and the Blackpool Combat Club seemed to shrink, replaced by the familiar camaraderie she’d missed so much.

Because in the world of wrestling, bonds weren’t just forged in the ring. They were tested and strengthened in the moments in between—in the fights, the misunderstandings, and the reconciliation that followed.

And no matter what, the Blackpool Combat Club always found their way back to each other.

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