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agendabymooner · 2 years ago

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MASTERLIST: A-N F1 DRIVERS by agendabymooner

LINK TO MASTERLIST: O-Z F1 DRIVERS by agendabymooner

LINK TO SOMETHING SINFUL (SMUT) MASTERLIST by agendabymooner (MINORS DNI)

note: I CANNOT OFFICIALLY FIT MY WORKS IN ONE POST 😭 so here is my alphabetical f1 masterlist!!!

legends/genre:

a = angst g = general fic hc = hurt/comfort h = humour

s = smut (minors, dni) mc = mature content (minors, dni) f = fluff

★ - newly added ♡ - favourite piece

ALSO CHECK OUT:

MOONY'S CHARACTER DIRECTORY

MOONY'S FILIPINO CHARACTERS DIRECTORY

alex albon (aa23)

front page lover (thai!kpop idol!ofc)

keeper, smau: polly berkshire has obscure interactions with her thirsty boyfriend and it's safe to say that they love each other.

fashion week, smau: the williams driver and polly always got something for everyone to talk about.

double aa, socmed snapshot: a series of instagram stories in which alex is a dad to alice albon

own it, smau: alex's hidden talent is being a good boyfriend with a dash of photographer. ★

fernando alonso (fa14)

the breakup and makeup series (pro wrestler!ofc)

time to rock and roll, fic: the first time beatrice staedtlander and fernando alonso had broken up. (hc) ♡

heaven, smau: back in 2000s, fernando alonso and beatrice anastasia 'trish' staedtlander were every racing and wrestling fans' couple. years after, trish alonso became a mother and a wife... and the grid's crush of the season. fernando was certainly not happy so what's a better way to remind everyone that he was hers? (f, g, h)

from the ground up, smau: tino and tiago alonso were the twins that trish had given birth to at the age of 40, and everyone understood now why she didn't make it to the 2024 canadian gp. (f)

look what god gave her, smau: beatrice 'trish' alonso survived fernando's messy image better than anybody did. (f, g, h)

bonnie and the fame

maneater, smau: bonnie catherine sutton was carlos sainz's ex-girlfriend who returned to the f1 scene as a different woman. turns out, she's fernando alonso's fiancée (f)

ego, smau: never underestimate a woman's self-esteem, it might end up wounding you more than it would her.

oliver bearman (ob8)

ice ice baby, smau: kimi raikkonen's daughter romania raikkonen debuted in formula one with her friends AND it's safe to say that the iceman doesn't like ollie that much.

icy in saudi, smau: aroma raikkonen was ollie's biggest supporter in his f1 debut. plus, she also had her personal 'reverse harem' consisting of her best friends in the f2 grid. ★

ollie on thin ice(man), scenario: kimi raikkonen had proven himself to be oliver bearman's biggest hater at some point. ★

jenson button (jb22)

pride and pettiness (x british!actress!ofc)

one, 2004: in which, ada and jenson met for the first time.

the mr. darcy type, smau: much like the popular love interest, jenson should have known better than to say things that wouldn't impress a woman he grew interested in. OR ada abbott made sure that he worked hard for her time and attention. (f) ♡

shunt the hell up! (x hunt!driver!ofc)

shunt your lovers, kiss your enemies. smau: it was funny how enemies can be your teammate AND your lover at the same time. OR jj hunt, the daughter of the late james hunt, was jenson's biggest rival until a certain baby predicament cost her her entire racing career. (g) ♡

better enemies than strangers, smau: the brawn gp docuseries discussed jj hunt and the surprising turn of events in her rivalry/partnership with jenson in 2009. ★

other works

affection, blurb: in which, jenson learned that he should just say it without being a little too drunk.

pierre gasly (pg10)

newsflash, smau: ensley soleil doesn’t like playboys. too bad, pierre gasly’s down bad for her (attention and love). (f, g, h)

odds, fic: their timing was always wrong, maybe that's why pierre should consider making it even for the two of them as she writes songs about him and their courtship.

lowkey, smau: fans thought that pierre moved on from ensley four months after publicly declaring his (love?) for her. funnily enough... (f, g, h)

indigo, chatfic + smau: there's really no reason for pierre gasly to be jealous over some man that ensley wrote 'high school in jakarta' about. not when she wrote one or more songs about the frenchman. (f) ♡

high school in jakarta, fic: meeting ensley’s close friends would also mean that he’d have to meet her high school sweetheart, who he believed he couldn’t compete against until ensley ensured that his two-day attendance wouldn’t be spoiled by some guy who couldn’t let go of some memories she couldn’t even remember. ♡

dancing with the devil, smau: ensley soleil doesn't care about what people are saying about her relationship with pierre especially now that she's married to him. (f)

vintage, smau: pierre gasly is a husband and a fanboy of ensley soleil gasly amongst other things. (f)

hot dad era, socmed snapshot: pierre gasly. 30% f1 driver 70% dilf.

other works

do i make you nervous, blurb: lesson learned: just date her first rather than being friendly in the bed.

lewis hamilton (lh44)

stevie and lewis (hearth sister!ofc)

thick and thin, smau + fic: lewis should know better than underestimating her and her capabilities to yearn for him for years. (hc)

hands on and paws on, socmed snapshot: lewis is a stay-at-home dad to lottie hamilton and his best boy, roscoe, happens to watch his mummys everywhere she goes as she carries baby hamilton #2.

the hamilton daycare, fic: lewis is already a stay-at-home dad so what makes his day out in monaco with his two kids any different? (f) (2/3 of daddy, debriefed!)

where the bad girls are (kpop idol!ofc)

lifted, smau: lewis is married to a kpop idol who happened to be one of the girls to shape the image of female groups in the korean pop community.

crowned couple (x miss universe!ofc)

the couple of the universe, smau: lewis is a careless being this season and everyone's wondering why.

melody series (x performer!ofc)

summary: with her sharp eyes focused on her audience, a burlesque performer who went under the name of melody returned to rythme romantique, an entertainment lounge which exclusively caters to the wealthiest people of monaco — or in this case, to the people with a status that are recognized by all. her three exclusive performances were meant to be a closure for her connections in the principality. still, a certain formula one driver saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former flame after two years of her absence. felicity vos learned that this was a rich man’s world and that he could do whatever he wanted, but she also realized that the agreement they settled on years ago was corrupted the moment he expressed his love for her.

one, million dollar man: monaco was a world of glitz and glamour that she left two years ago. returning to the principality clearly was a huge mistake as she found herself talking to the man who swore to nothing but his love for her.

two, this is what makes us girls: "decorum isn't something you can buy with money or fame." or what did lewis really want from her and why did he show up on the second night of her performance?

arthur leclerc (al12)

the scheming schumachers, smau: sunny schumacher is mick's cousin and what does a family do? they attract arthur leclerc to get him away from his best friend, who happens to be mick's girlfriend. thankfully, the schumacher cousin is something of a welcome distraction for the monegasque.

charles leclerc (cl16)

the leclerc boys series (x hearth sister!ofc)

debunking drama, smau: prequel to of long lines and names; aimee hearth, the mclaren media manager and one of the famous hearth sisters, was rumoured to be dating lando norris. a certain monegasque's baffled reaction became a trending topic in twitter as he counteracts the rumour with an instagram post of his lover. (f, h)

many kids with many names, smau: everyone found out that aimee and charles were having not only one but two babies. turned out, those two babies have at least a million name. (h) ★

of long lines and names, fic: five kids with (almost) five names under six years. OR the three pregnancies that charles had witnessed told him how motherhood and memories could come in two sets of twins and a boy that looked so much like him. (f)

the leclerc daycare, fic: before his last set of twins were born, charles had to watch his boys on his own- not exactly by himself when he's got esteban and pierre acting as his right hand men. (f) (1/3 of daddy, debriefed!) ♡

about names, scenario fics

summary: extension to of long lines and names and the leclerc daycare; charles and aimee's boys and their names go hand in hand OR times when the couple had to tell their kids that their names were signs of love and respect for their namesakes.

one, an amazing boy with an amazing name: hervé's anger left his parents confused after he refused to be called by his first name. thankfully, his mamé pascale had an easy access to his heart that eventually led to an answer to his sadness.

two, the wingman of maranello: jules leclerc learned two things as he travelled to italy with his father: he had an uncle named uncle teague and uncle teague had a best friend that was once charles' godfather.

other pieces

"slut", smau: charles' ex trashed his new girlfriend a while ago, but too bad he wasn't really into the thought of making music with anyone but lou villar.

breaking curses not hearts, smau: frankie bardot atkinson was also known for her curse in the film industry. after breaking her long streaked curse and finally won an oscar, was it finally charles' time to break his curse at monza gp?

kevin magnussen (km20)

family ties, smau: lando norris forgot that his brother-in-law is in the grid with him and lola norris magnussen couldn't help but make of her brother for it.

lando norris (ln4)

lover era (x alessandro sister!writer!ofc)

london boy, smau: nicola 'cola' alessandro moved to britain and what's a better way to introduce yourself to england than taking a trip around with a certain mclaren driver? (f, g, h)

i think he knows, smau: grazia nichols published her debut novel based off formula one, and a fan could have sworn that the the book bf - nolan langford - was based off of lando's character as a driver altogether. (f, g, h)

✿ honey, honey! series masterlist - lando norris x ofc (honey-sue lewis) ft. sidemen

other pieces

too good to be true, smau: just a brief overview of lando’s relationship with a countryside girl who, beyond her introverted tendencies, was an unhinged, unserious yet amazing mother and girlfriend. ★

f1 drivers (general)

✿ 9 to 5 series masterlist - f1 grid x ofc (lester alessandro) ft. fictional wolff kids

✿ f1 voicemail blurbs - series of blurbs with voicemails left by the drivers. ★

too much caring, smau, sv5 + jb22: kpop idol juno was assumed to have cheated on retired driver jenson button with his best mate sebastian vettel. oh how wrong those people were...

#formula one masterlist #f1 masterlist #formula one fic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula one smau #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 masterlist #formula one series

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guywrestlingaddiction · 8 months ago

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Everything Great About a Match: Mr.Joshua Goodman v Christian Taylor (bgeast.com)

Everything Great About a Match: +5

Mr.Joshua Goodman v Christian Taylor (bgeast.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

So let's begin:�� +1: For Christian's debut match! Every great wrestler needs an origin story and Christian's story begins with big bad Joshua. So can he win? Well of course not, this is Mr.Joshua we are talking about here but still enjoy these images of Christian before he was famous and suffered his first pro beatdown.

From Cocky ... To Crippled.

Mr.Joshua: You, you don't know the rules. Looks like I'm going to have to explain them to you.

+1: Mr.Joshua brings the heat and does not hold back on our rookie. If you were expecting some mercy being the new guy then you picked the wrong opponent because Mr.Joshua does no such thing. The guy brutally dismantles our newbie and gives him the freshmen match to remember.

+1: The humiliation. Not only is our jobber destroyed but Mr.Joshua makes our jobber look as humbled as possible. He thrashes him and even toys with the guy's head by slapping him to show him he's the man. Christian is not only dominated but he's made to be humiliated, repeatedly, and with just a little something extra to claim the poor guy. What a welcome to bgeast! I'm surprised Christian came back from this.

+1: For this move. I'm not sure what we're calling this - headlock with leg split variation but our wrestlers know each other's bodies enough to make this work. How else do you combine Mr.Joshua's chisled muscular frame with Christian's long lanky body to produce a new wrestling outcome?

+1: For the "Adjustment". This will always get a point as Mr.Joshua's sexy signature move in my book. The man knows it's what the fans want and knows how to work it into every match to not let us down!

------- Everything Great About this Match: +5

So there you have it. This may very well be the toughest, vicious, most primal newbie match I have ever seen and I've seen a ton of matches. Mr.Joshua goes balls to the walls all over Christian's poor lithe body ensuring that the rookie will never forget his place on the food chain. In the end, Mr.Joshua takes this match to that extra special place beyond domination and poor Christian may never fully recover from the humiliation.

#gay wrestling #bgeast.com #joshua goodman #Christian Taylor

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littlemagicalstardust · 1 month ago

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Happy Pro Wrestling Debut Anniversary to the legend of 'Freshly Squeezed' Orange Cassidy! On this day... March 13th, 2004 Orange made his debut with his friend Dan in GBW! He's wrestled earlier than this but apart of an official card, he made his debut on this day in 2004! He's had quite the wild journey since then and I could not be more proud of him!

#throwback #my screenshots #aew #aew dynamite #aew collision #freshly squeezed #orange cassidy #proud of him #happy pro wrestling anniversary #fire ant #congrats king #legend

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kopw · 2 years ago

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#will ospreay #naomichi marufuji #pro wrestling noah #noahedit #naomichi marufuji debut 25th anniversary show #favorite sequence of the match...

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rosenclaws · 2 months ago

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Superstars || Pro Wrestler!Logan x Pro Wrestler!reader

Summary: It's your first day on XMN television since being called up to Evolution. With new friends and possible new rivals your career is filled with the unknown. Especially when it seems like one of the veteran superstars has his eyes on you.

Warnings: some description of wrestling violence.

a/n: OKAY SO. I decided to treat this universe as like sort of series? But it's not like a cohesive story just a lot of short stories in the same universe that can be read separately kind of. This is like the introduction thing though so I will be following up but it can still be read solo. ALSO, I'm gonna add some like wrestling terminology at the end of the fic in case you aren't familiar with certain slang but if that's annoying plz let me know. plz feel free to ask me any clarifying questions too! This is just me combining my two interests lmao.

This was it. Your debut on Evolution since being moved from Origins. You paced back and forth backstage as you rehearsed your lines over and over again. You were supposed to go and interrupt the current Woman's champion Storm. She's the babyface of the Woman's division and you're the egotistical heel.

She has been undefeated for a year now and you were her next challenger. You feel someone tap your shoulder and you turn to see Storm and Rogue.

"You ready?" Storm asks, the belt resting on her shoulder.

"I guess," You were already dressed up with hair and makeup but it didn't feel real yet. Evolution was XMN's main show. That's where the superstars were, the ones they saw as true star power.

"You're going to do great, promise I'll go easy on you." Storm teases. Despite her goddess character, she's nothing but sweet and down to earth.

"First promo on a new show, don't forget your lines sugar." Rogue jokes.

"I'll try." You say nervously. She notices the deep anxiety written all over your face and gently places her arms on your shoulders.

"You got this, take a deep breath and when you get out there take it all in because you're never going to forget it." Rogue says warmly.

The two of them are called by a production manager leaving you alone once again. The clock was ticking ever closer to your call time. As you head closer to where you need to be you're stopped once again but this time by two men you've never met but heard a lot about.

The Wolverine and Deadpool were XMN's top tag team. Somehow the two of them work. Logan or Wolverine was always going to be a star.

Founded on the indie circuit going by just Logan at the time he was big, brooding, and strong. But his mic work was lacking as he wasn't a big talker. Still his raw talent and clear wrestler figure made it a no brainer to sign the man. That's where he met Wade Wilson. Or Deadpool.

He was a comedy character with a big mouth and the ability to get the crowd wrapped around his finger. He was vulgar and unserious as hell but people loved him. So imagine the shock when the two of them became a tag team. It was strange at first, I mean the two were nothing alike but for some reason the fans gravitated to them. The buddy cop duo charmed their way into viewers hearts.

It made sense, Wade was funny but he never quite reached the status to win any gold. Logan had the chance to win gold but fans hadn't really seemed to connect with him as a possible champion. Put them together and you had an odd couple tag team that people just wanted to root for. Wade did the talking while Logan was the muscle. But the banter the two of them electric.

Not to mention the chemistry in their wrestling, pulling off tag team moves flawlessly. Now they're the world tag team champions. And they're standing right in front of you. You were a massive fan of them and had been before you even joined XMN.

"Logan look! A new ducky has joined the pond." Wade pulled you into a hug immediately.

"Oh, uh hi!" You say as you hug him back.

"Get off her idiot." Logan says with a roll of his eyes.

Man Logan was even hotter in person. They had a match tonight and you just thank whoever decided he should wear those low rise trunks. Everything is on display for sure.

"Hi, I'm a huge fan of both of you." You say excitedly.

"Of course you are, who isn't a fan of us." Wade says jokingly.

"Shut up." Logan says before turning to you.

"Thanks sweetheart. Glad to see you here." You notice his eyes scanning you up and down and you silently thank yourself for wearing your good shorts.

"I've seen you on Origins, you're amazing!" Wade compliments and you thank him.

"You really think so? I'm really nervous about tonight." You say shyly. You've done this before but for some reason tonight just felt different.

"Look, you've got no reason to be nervous sweetheart. You got the look, the talent, the athleticism. Everything. Plus a pretty face never hurts." Logan says with a smirk.

You feel your stomach erupt with butterflies at his compliment. Logan isn't the guy to say something he doesn't mean. In fact it's a shock he's even talking to you. You were warned before about how little he talks and to not take it personally. But here he is smiling and giving you advice.

"Thank you, it means a lot coming from you." You say with a smile.

"Good luck tonight by the way, I'm kind of surprised you aren't main eventing. I mean everyone loves you guys." Logan just shrugs and throws the belt over his shoulder.

"I don't mind too much, we'll get the crowd going for you." He says with a wink. Wade eyes the two of you suspiciously, head turning back and forth.

"Oh my god you are so-" Logan slaps his hand over Wade's mouth before he can say anything else.

"We have to go, see you around real soon sweetheart." Logan drags Wade away towards the main stage.

"So rude!" Wade huffs as he shoves Logan's hand off his mouth. Your eyes drift down as they walk away, shamelessly watching Logan's ass.

Despite only talking to him for a couple minutes he's managed to calm all your nerves.

You watch Logan and Wade's match from gorilla. You can't tear your eyes from the screen as Logan clotheslines . He lets out a roar and the crowd cheers. The intensity in his eyes send shivers down your spine. But fuck does he look good.

His massive arms are on full display as he lifts Beast over his head and slams him onto his knee. He turns his back to the camera and you get to see those muscles in all their fucking glory.

"Careful, you might catch flies." You turn to see Jean standing next to you. She's smiling but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"Oh I wasn't...I was just watching-"

"It's okay, he's a handsome man. Trust me I know." She hums.

You laugh nervously but there's a strange air between the two of you. Jean was the top star. She may not hold a belt but she was a massive draw and everyone knew it.

"If I can offer you a word of advice, I'd stay away from him if I were you. A lot of history there." She flashes a smile and leaves.

You start to fiddle with your sleeve as you let Jeans words sink in. Looking at Logan doesn't mean anything. He's handsome anyone could see that. That's all it is. You don't think about him that way, at least you don't think you do. You barely know the guy. Storm notices your mini spiral and comes over to snap you out of it.

"Don't let her get to you," Storm says.

"Whatever she said, just block it out." You nod and try and push that away. This is your moment and you got this. This is no different than being on Origins. You know how to do this, you're good at this. The bell rings and Logan and Wade stand victorious.

As they walk back into gorilla you clap along with everyone else. Logan runs his fingers through his hair, his once perfectly styled tuffs are now flattened from sweat. His whole body is sweaty and fuck is it hot.

"Nice match Logan," Storm hums.

"Thanks 'Ro. By the way, be nice tonight alright, It's her first day." He says gesturing towards you. Storm raises an eyebrow at his request.

"She's not brand new Logan, just new to this show."

"I know. Just saying she might be nervous is all." Storm smirks. Logan has never cared this much about a new superstar before.

Interesting.

"Logan! That match was amazing." You praise. You move to hug him but stop yourself. Feeling a pair of eyes drilling themselves in the back of your head.

"Thanks sweetheart, I had hoped you were watching." Storms music hits and you watch her walk out to the crowd. The nerves coming back in full force as you realize it was almost time to go out there.

"Hey, stop that." Logan nudges your shoulder and you sigh.

"I don't know why I'm so nervous. I've been doing this for years but this just feels so much bigger." You say.

"Look Chuck wouldn't have brought you here if he didn't think you were ready. I've followed your career since you joined this place. Like I said earlier you have everything it takes. So don't let some nerves get in your way got it?" Your eyes widen at his words.

He's really watched you all this time? Logan is a star and you've just got called up from developmental. It's like a surge of confidence. He's right. You can do this.

"Thank you Logan." You take a few deep breaths and wait by the curtain. In and out.

You focus on what you have to say and wait. A calmness washes over your mind and body as your music hits. Like a switch is flipped inside of you. You grab the mic and walk out that curtain, ready to show the world what you had.

The whole segment went flawlessly. You interrupt Storm, pushing yourself as the soon to be new woman's champion. You feel right at home as exchanged a war of words with her. Everything ending in a brawl that leaves Storm on the mat with you standing above her. Holding the belt and pointing right at the camera.

The fans fell right into your hand. Booing your shameless attack on their champ. You try and hide your smile as you walk out. The fans love you, they want this match and you couldn't be happier. The moment you step back through the curtain you let yourself breathe. Jumping in happiness.

"You did great sugar! It was electrifyin'" Rogue says while pulling you into a hug.

A few other people congratulate and welcome you to the show. After a small debrief about next week you're free to go. Walking through the halls of the arena you can barely contain your excitement for next week. As you change back into normal clothes you find a familiar face waiting outside of the locker room.

"Logan, I thought you would have gone back to the hotel by now." You say, slightly shocked he's still her. He's leaning against the wall with his backpack. Dressed in a very cozy looking gray sweater.

"Decided to stick around to watch. I told you you'd kill it." He joins you as you walk to the exit.

"Well I had to make sure we were worth following your match." You tease. The conversation flows easy as he walks you to the car waiting to take you both back. Luckily the lobby is practically empty by the time you're dropped off with no one joining you in the elevator.

"Hey, I'm going to train tomorrow if you want to join me. I could show you a few things. See what you've got too." Logan offers.

"Yes!" You blurt out. The chance to train with Logan, you'd be a fool to pass that up.

"I mean, yes that would be great." You try and cover any embarrassment by staring at the ground, wishing it would swallow you up. Logan chuckles leans against his hotel door.

"Okay, it's a date then. See you tomorrow sweetheart." He scans his keycard and goes into his room, leaving you standing there in shock.

A warm fuzzy feeling growing in your stomach as you repeat his words in your head. Date. You hear someone clear their throat and you turn to see Jean watching with an unimpressed look on her face.

You duck your head and hurry to your room. Getting in as fast as you can. You throw your bag on the table and fall onto the hotel bed. Today was not like anything you were expecting. Debuting on a new show, meeting Logan, Jean, setting up a championship feud. It's a lot in one day but you couldn't be happier. This was everything you had dreamed of since you decided to become a wrestler and now it was coming true.

Who knows what's going to happen next.

Gorilla - backstage area where the show is run and the area right before the entrance curtain

Promo - promotional interview, a dialogue or monologue used to advance a storyline.

Babyface/Face - The "Good guy", "Hero" character. Wants to be cheered by fans

Heel - "The bad guy" or "Villian" that is meant to be boo'd by fans

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wrestler!logan howlett #wrestler!logan howlett x reader

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honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

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Turning Point

Chapter I of Revved Up To Fight

Navigation

Summary: After working the indies for several years, Y/N finally receives the biggest match of her career against one of the rising stars in pro wrestling. With her family by her side for support, Y/N feels unstoppable but questions always linger regarding her legacy.

WC: 9k

Warnings: pro wrestling, mentions of bruises, sibling teasing, not a whole lot.

Taglist

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

I leaned back against the weathered brick wall of the community center, the hum of an ancient vending machine buzzing in the background. My hands quivered—not with nerves, but with the aftershocks of adrenaline still surging through me. The crowd tonight had been small—maybe fifty people, if I was being generous—but their energy had filled the room. For those brief fifteen minutes in the ring, I had felt invincible, like the world belonged to me.

This was the grind. Cheap motels, endless hours on the road, and wrestling in venues that always smelled faintly of sweat and popcorn. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine. For once, I wasn’t "Y/N, daughter of racing royalty." I wasn’t walking in anyone’s shadow. I was forging my own path, creating my own identity.

When I first started wrestling, I made a vow to myself—I wouldn’t rely on my family name. Not out of shame, but because I needed to prove something. I had to know I could do this on my own terms, without shortcuts. I chose a ring name that felt like a statement—a declaration of my determination. When I stepped through those ropes, I became someone else, someone who wasn’t afraid of failure, someone who fought tooth and nail for every cheer and chant.

The indie circuit was brutal. My debut match had been in a rundown high school gym, the kind with faded lines on the floor and bleachers that groaned under the weight of every spectator. The spotlight overhead flickered erratically, and the applause was sparse—nothing but a smattering of claps from a crowd that had no idea who I was. I didn’t just want to prove myself—I needed to. The pressure to succeed felt suffocating.

And then the match began.

It was rough. Both the match and the learning experience. My opponent was a seasoned veteran, the kind who didn’t go easy on rookies. Every slam, every strike, felt like a test. By the end of it, I was battered, bruised, and exhausted—but I was still standing. When the referee raised my opponent’s hand in victory, something unexpected happened. Applause. Not for the winner, but for me—the rookie who’d taken every hit and kept fighting. It was that moment, that moment of respect, that solidified my place in this world.

From there, it was a slow burn. Each match was a lesson: how to take a hit, how to sell a move, how to read the crowd. The physical toll was harsh—my body constantly ached, my knees felt like they belonged to someone twice my age, and there were mornings I could barely get out of bed without wincing. But it was the mental battle that often felt like the toughest. There were nights when the crowds were silent, when it felt like I was giving everything, and yet, getting nothing back. Those nights were the hardest. But each time doubt crept in, I reminded myself why I was doing this.

The indie scene, however, wasn’t just about the struggle. It was a family. A community of wrestlers, promoters, and fans bound together by this chaotic, unpredictable world. Some of the veterans took me under their wing, offering words of wisdom and encouragement. One of them told me after a particularly brutal match, “You’ve got something. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”

And then there were the fans. They were the heart of the indie circuit. They didn’t care about my family background or my past; they cared about the fight in that ring. One night, after a show, a kid—maybe 10—approached me, holding a sign that said, “Furiosa Rules!” His eyes lit up when I signed it. That moment made every bruise, every mile, worth it.

There were a few matches that stand out in my memory, moments I’ll never forget.

One was a no-disqualification match against a veteran who had been on the circuit for over a decade. The match became a war zone—chairs, kendo sticks, even a table were all part of the carnage. At one point, I was slammed onto a pile of thumbtacks. The pain was excruciating, but I refused to stay down. When the match ended, the crowd stood, clapping in unison. I didn’t win that night, but I earned their respect.

Another match that sticks with me was a regional tournament, bringing together the best indie wrestlers in the area. Three matches, two nights, each more grueling than the last. In the final round, I faced a much more experienced opponent. I didn’t win, but afterward, the promoter pulled me aside and said, “You stole the show.” That compliment felt like a win in itself.

And then there was the tag team match. My partner was a grizzled veteran with a reputation for being tough to work with. But somehow, we clicked. The match was electric, and by the end, the crowd was chanting both our names. It was the first time I truly felt like I belonged.

Each match, each road trip, each late-night diner meal molded me into who I was becoming. I learned to appreciate the small victories: hitting a move I’d spent weeks perfecting, the camaraderie in the locker room, the way the crowd’s energy could lift me even when I was running on empty.

Most importantly, I learned to trust myself. This journey was never about proving anything to my family or living up to expectations. It was about finding who I was and discovering what I was capable of. And every time I stepped into that ring, I found a little more of myself.

I didn’t know where this path would ultimately take me, but for the first time, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be. And for once, that was enough.

I collapsed onto the lumpy motel bed, the springs groaning beneath me. The dim, yellow glow from the bedside lamp cast long, skeletal shadows against the walls. I glanced at my reflection in the cracked mirror across the room, taking in the sight of my unruly locs, half-tied and falling loose, the frizzy strands framing my face. Sweat clung to my skin, pooling at the edges of the bruise blooming on my left cheekbone—a reminder of the brutal match just hours earlier. My limbs were covered in similar marks, the battle scars from my relentless grind in indie wrestling.

The silence in the room was oppressive, amplifying the ache in my muscles. The air conditioning unit sputtered weakly in the corner, its hum doing little to ease the tension in the air. I lowered myself gingerly onto the edge of the bed, wincing as the springs creaked beneath my weight. Every inch of me throbbed, each bruise pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

I glanced again at the cracked mirror above the dresser. The image staring back at me was far from glamorous, but it was undeniable—battered, bruised, yet resilient. My locs had unraveled into a tangled mess from the hurried bun I'd thrown together before the match. Sweat mixed with the remnants of eyeliner, leaving dark streaks beneath my eyes like war paint. The bruise on my cheekbone was a constant reminder of the pain I’d endured, each strike, each fall, pushing me closer to something bigger.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I ran a hand through my damp hair. This life wasn’t glamorous. The dingy motel rooms, the creaky beds, the endless string of matches in forgotten corners of the country—it was a far cry from the bright lights and roaring crowds I had once dreamed of. But it was mine. Wrestling wasn’t just a job. It was a calling, a sanctuary, a purpose that filled every part of me.

I reached for my phone, wincing as the frayed charging cord snagged free from its precarious position. The screen lit up with a missed call notification—an unfamiliar number. Probably a promoter, I thought, shaking off the exhaustion weighing me down as I swiped to return the call.

The line clicked to life after two rings. "Y/N, it’s Mike Peterson from Chicago Pro Wrestling," came a gruff voice, familiar and reassuring.

"Hey, Mike!" I answered, trying to muster more energy than I felt. "What’s up?"

He didn’t waste time. "Got a big opportunity for you," he said, his voice steady. "We’re putting on a pre-AEW event leading up to Dynasty. It’s Thursday, April 18th. You’d be in one of the main matches, going up against Skye Blue."

Skye Blue. The name hit me like a freight train. She was a rising star in AEW, a fan favorite from Chicago. This wasn’t just another match; this was the match that could change everything for me.

"Are you serious?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly, betraying the excitement bubbling up inside me.

"Dead serious," Mike replied, almost as if he anticipated my reaction. "You’ve been killing it on the circuit, and we think you’re ready for this spotlight. It’ll set the tone for the weekend. You in?"

For a brief moment, I forgot about the bruises, the exhaustion, the stale air of the motel room. I clenched my fist, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I’m in," I said, the words flowing out with the force of a promise.

"Good. We’ll finalize everything tomorrow. Rest up, kid," Mike said before the line went dead.

I sat there in the silence of the room, the weight of the opportunity crashing over me in waves. This was it—the break I’d been waiting for, the one I’d been fighting for, the one that had kept me pushing through the pain.

Without thinking, I opened my phone and dialed up FaceTime. There were two people who needed to hear this first—the ones who’d seen every step of my journey, who’d understood the sacrifices. My parents.

The screen blinked to life, and my heart skipped a beat as the first ring echoed in my ear. It was late—really late—in Monaco, but I couldn’t wait. Not for this.

By the second ring, my mom’s face appeared, her warm smile soothing the nerves twisting in my stomach. Her perfectly styled locs cascaded over her shoulders, and she adjusted her glasses, peering at me with concern. "Y/N?" she asked softly, her voice carrying the gentleness of a mother. "What time is it over there?"

"Late," I replied, swallowing hard. My fingers tightened around the phone as I steadied my breath. "But I needed to tell you something. It couldn’t wait."

From off-screen, I heard my dad’s deep voice rumble, protective and familiar. "Is everything okay?"

"More than okay," I said, and this time, I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face—a real smile, the kind that reached my eyes. "First off, congrats to Sterling on his win in Japan. Tell him I’m proud of him."

Mom laughed, the sound rich and musical, and I could see the pride in her eyes as she shook her head. "He’s impossible right now," she teased. "Red Bull’s golden boy is feeling himself, as usual."

"As he should," I agreed with a laugh of my own. "He earned it. But this isn’t about Sterling." My words caught in my throat for a moment. The weight of what I was about to share was heavy, but I pushed through.

Mom leaned closer, sensing the shift in my tone. "What’s going on, baby?" Her concern was palpable.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself. "I’ve got a match this Thursday. A big one. I’m going up against Skye Blue in Chicago. It’s the main event at the indie show before AEW’s Dynasty in St. Louis." I paused, letting the words settle before continuing. "I want you all to come. Salome, too. And Sterling, if he can make it."

Her face lit up instantly, and I could see the pride in her eyes before she even spoke. "Oh, baby, we wouldn’t miss it for the world."

Just then, my dad appeared beside her, his usually stoic face softer than I’d ever seen it. His dark eyes met mine, and he nodded slowly, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re really doing it, Y/N. You’ve made your own way, and we couldn’t be prouder of you."

A lump rose in my throat, and I couldn’t blink the tears away fast enough. They slipped down my cheeks, warm and unstoppable. "I wouldn’t be here without you guys," I said, my voice trembling. "Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve accomplished—it’s because of you. Your support. Your sacrifices."

Mom’s hand hovered just out of reach of the screen, as if she could physically comfort me across the distance. "We’ve always believed in you, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentle. "And we always will."

Dad’s steady voice broke through, grounding me like it always did. "We’ll be there, Y/N. All of us. And when you step into that ring, we’ll be the loudest ones cheering."

The lump in my throat grew, but I nodded, locking eyes with both of them through the screen. For the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. This wasn’t just my journey—it was ours.

As the call ended and the screen went dark, I sat there in the quiet, the tears still drying on my cheeks. My family believed in me, and for the first time, I could see the end of this long road ahead of me.

Thursday wasn’t just another match. It was my moment. And with them by my side, I was ready for it.

—-

The shrill chime of my phone sliced through the stillness of the room, yanking me out of a restless sleep. Groaning, I fumbled around for it, my hand grazing the nightstand until it finally closed around the cool glass of my phone. Squinting at the screen, I groaned again. Sterling.

I swiped to answer, already bracing myself to give him an earful. But before I could even speak, his grin filled the screen. His hair, as perfect as always, bounced slightly under his Red Bull-branded hoodie. He looked like he'd just stepped out of an F1 commercial, effortlessly stylish, but there was something in the background that caught my attention.

"Sterling," I said, sitting up so fast the covers fell around my waist. "Why does it look like you're on a plane? I thought you were supposed to be in China."

He leaned back, completely at ease in what was unmistakably a private jet, the kind of luxurious leather seat only reserved for the very wealthy. Behind him, sleek cabinets and soft lighting made it look like something out of a travel magazine. He looked so comfortable that if it weren't for the time difference, I'd have sworn this was just his normal day.

"I told the team I’d pay the fine," he replied with a casual shrug, a grin stretching across his face. "There’s no way I’m missing my little sister’s biggest match."

I blinked, the weight of his words slowly sinking in. My sleepiness evaporated, replaced by disbelief and a simmering frustration. "You’re supposed to be prepping for the Grand Prix, Sterling! Media day’s tomorrow! Do you realize how insane this is? What if the team finds out?"

"They already know," he said, unfazed, as if missing a major media event for his sister’s match was the most natural thing in the world. "Christian wasn’t thrilled, but he’ll live. And trust me, they’ll fine me enough to make their point." He waved dismissively, as if money were no object—which, for Sterling, was probably true.

I shook my head, trying to process the enormity of what he was doing. "You’re really doing this? Leaving everything—"

"For you," he interrupted, his tone firm, his eyes locking onto mine with a look of complete sincerity. "Y/N, this isn’t just any match. This is your main event. You've worked your ass off for this. If I can’t be there for you now, what kind of brother am I?"

My throat tightened, and I gripped the phone like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. "You're insane," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

"Maybe," he chuckled lightly, his grin softening into something more genuine. "But family comes first. Always." His expression turned serious as he leaned closer to the camera. "You’re going to walk into that ring and show the world what you’re made of. And I’ll be right there cheering you on. I’ll land in Chicago tomorrow morning, and no matter how tired I am, I’ll be at that arena."

I tried to respond, but the words caught in my throat. All I could do was nod, my eyes filling with tears as I blinked them away.

"Get some sleep," Sterling said, his voice softer now. "You’ve got a big day ahead, and I expect you to wipe the floor with Skye Blue."

The call ended before I could say anything more, and the screen faded to black. I sat there in silence, staring at the phone in my hands. Sterling didn’t have to do this. He could have sent a quick text or a brief FaceTime before his preparations. But he wasn’t just sending well wishes from a distance. He was crossing oceans, defying his team, risking fines—all to be there for me.

Suddenly, the ache in my legs and the bruises on my arms didn’t seem as heavy. The grueling hours of training, the sacrifice, the sleepless nights—all of it felt worth it. I wasn’t alone in this fight. When I stepped into the ring on Thursday, it wouldn’t just be my battle. It would be ours.

I sat on the edge of the bed long after the call ended, the soft glow of the phone still lighting the room. Sterling’s words echoed in my mind, grounding me: Family comes first. Always. I wiped away the last of the tears, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, a small smile tugged at my lips.

This was it. My moment.

My eyes drifted to the half-packed suitcase in the corner of my room. I’d started packing earlier but had stalled, the weight of the upcoming match making it difficult to focus. But now, with Sterling putting everything on the line to be there for me, there was no room for self-doubt.

I stood and crossed to the suitcase with a renewed sense of purpose, grabbing the first item that I knew I couldn’t leave behind: my ring gear. The black and gold outfit had become my signature, and I ran my fingers over the fabric, checking for loose threads, before carefully folding it and tucking it into the bag. Next, I packed my boots—well-worn but polished, their soles bearing the imprint of countless matches.

As I packed, my mind wandered to the upcoming fight. Skye Blue was no joke—quick, clever, with a natural ability to turn the crowd in her favor. But the thought of facing her didn’t make me nervous. It fueled me. I knew her strengths, her weaknesses. And I was ready. I’d earned my spot in that ring.

The last thing I packed was a framed photo of my family—me, Mom, Dad, Sterling, and Salome, all grinning like fools after one of Sterling’s early wins. I slipped it into a side pocket of the bag and zipped it up carefully, sealing it shut.

By the time I finished, the first light of dawn was creeping through the blinds, casting a soft glow over the room. My flight wasn’t until later that morning, but sleep was a distant memory. Instead, I double-checked my bag, grabbed my carry-on, and headed out the door.

This wasn’t just another match. This was my moment. And with Sterling’s promise echoing in my heart, I was ready to make it count.

—

The flight to Chicago was smooth, a gentle hum of the plane's engines filling the quiet cabin. But for me, the hours felt stretched, each minute creeping by as my nerves twisted in slow, relentless circles. The weight of the moment sat heavy on my chest, and no amount of distraction could ease it. I slipped my headphones in, drowning out the background chatter of the other passengers, and opened my phone to scroll through match footage. I watched Skye Blue’s recent matches, studying every move, every counter, every moment where she’d turned a match in her favor. I took notes, my fingers tapping furiously against the screen, but the words felt like static in my mind. My thoughts were elsewhere, on the magnitude of what I was about to face.��

When the plane finally began its descent, my body tensed, the familiar rumble of the wheels hitting the tarmac offering some sense of relief. We had arrived. But it wasn’t until I stepped off the plane and into the crisp Chicago air that the full weight of it all hit me. The skyline loomed ahead, towering and imposing, and for a moment, I felt small against the backdrop of this giant city. This wasn’t just another stop on my circuit. This wasn’t just another match. Chicago—this city—was a proving ground. A chance to show the world, once and for all, that I belonged on the big stage. That I wasn’t just a fighter. I was a force to be reckoned with.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the cool air, and squared my shoulders. The nerves were still there, but they were becoming something else—something sharper. This was my moment.

Outside the airport, a car from the promotion was waiting for me. The driver, an older man with silver hair and a permanent twinkle in his eye, greeted me with a warm, “Welcome to Chicago!” His name was Joe, and he was as cheerful as they come. He helped load my bags into the trunk with the kind of quiet efficiency that only comes with years of experience. As the car pulled away from the airport, the city unfolded before me. Skyscrapers reached up like steel giants, their glass windows reflecting the pale afternoon sky. The streets below were a blur of movement—taxis rushing by, pedestrians weaving through the crowds, the distant hum of life that only a city like Chicago could sustain.

I let my eyes drift over the scenes outside the window, taking it all in. The energy here was palpable, the kind of electric pulse that ran through the heart of the city. It was chaotic, yes, but there was a rhythm to it, a beat that I could feel in my bones. I could almost hear the crowd, feel the roar of the fans as they’d welcome me into that arena. This was the kind of place where dreams could be made—or shattered. And I was determined to make mine.

The hotel was a modest one, tucked away on a quieter street away from the hustle and bustle. Nothing fancy, but it had what I needed: a bed, a shower, and most importantly, silence. I checked in quickly, the front desk attendant giving me a polite smile as she handed over my room key. The elevator ride up to my floor felt longer than it should have. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, each thud a reminder of what was coming. The hotel room itself was simple—nothing extravagant, but comfortable. The bed, though, looked like heaven. The soft, inviting sheets promised a moment of rest that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to take. But first, I forced myself to unpack.

I opened my suitcase, taking a moment to arrange everything just so. My ring gear, my boots, my toiletries—all of it went neatly into its place. My phone buzzed on the bed next to me, a text from Sterling flashing on the screen: “Make sure you rest up. Big day tomorrow!”

I smiled, a wave of warmth spreading through me at the thought of my brother. He was already on his way to Chicago, despite all the commitments he had back home. He was the reason I could believe, for a brief moment, that this was all possible. Family always came first.

Once everything was unpacked, I sank onto the bed, the soft mattress cradling me like a cloud. I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing the exhaustion of the past few days to catch up with me. The muscles in my body, worn from travel and the previous night’s restless sleep, finally began to relax. But my mind wouldn’t shut off.

Tomorrow was the day.

I let out a breath and grabbed my phone again, scrolling through some more footage of Skye Blue’s matches. I couldn’t afford to stop now. I had studied her before, but I needed to be ready for every possible move. Every counter. Every advantage I could use to gain the upper hand. As I watched, I jotted down a few more notes. There were small things—subtle moves, things she liked to do when the match was starting to turn in her favor. But there was one thing I hadn’t considered. The crowd. I needed to think about the crowd. The way they reacted to her. They were as much a part of the match as anything else.

I set my phone down and stretched my arms above my head, trying to shake the tension that had taken residence in my shoulders. Tomorrow, everything would change. I would step into that ring with Skye, and it wouldn’t just be about proving myself to her. It would be about proving myself to everyone who’d ever doubted me. The journey I’d taken—every grueling training session, every early morning, every match that had left me bruised and sore—would culminate in that one moment. The spotlight would be on me, and I wasn’t about to let it pass by without showing the world who I was.

The quiet of the room settled around me again, and this time, instead of feeling the weight of the moment, I felt a calm determination settle in my chest. Tomorrow, I would rise to the occasion. It was no longer about the fear of the unknown. It was about seizing what was mine.

I finally allowed myself to close my eyes, the exhaustion taking over. But even as I drifted off to sleep, I could feel the anticipation building in my gut, the promise of tomorrow hanging in the air, just beyond the reach of my dreams.

—

The next morning, I woke to the soft chime of my alarm, its gentle sound cutting through the stillness of the room. The golden light of the Chicago sunrise was already filtering through the curtains, casting long, warm beams across the floor. I blinked away the remnants of sleep, my heart thudding with anticipation. Today was the day. The day I’d step closer to my dream. The day I’d meet Mike, the AEW promoter, to go over every detail of the match that would define the next chapter of my career.

I swung my legs off the bed, feeling the cool air of the room against my skin. The quiet hum of the city outside was a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts in my mind. I stood in front of the mirror, letting the reality of it all sink in. I wasn’t just getting ready for a match; I was preparing for something bigger—something that would change everything.

I dressed quickly, my mind still racing, but my hands moving with purpose. I chose black jeans and a fitted white tee, pairing it with my favorite leather jacket. It was a simple outfit, but it made me feel powerful—polished, yet grounded. Confidence wasn’t just about how I felt, it was also about how I presented myself. I wanted Mike to see someone who was ready for this moment, who wasn’t just there to fight, but to own the ring.

After a quick breakfast, I grabbed my things and headed out. The hotel lobby was quiet, the early morning stillness lingering as I stepped into the car that would take me to the venue. The driver weaved through the streets of Chicago, the towering buildings casting long shadows on the streets below. The city was alive, even at this hour, the energy unmistakable. As we neared the arena, the size of the venue hit me like a punch to the gut. It loomed ahead, massive and imposing, like a cathedral built for competition. This wasn’t just any building—it was the arena where my future would unfold. The place where I would prove myself to the world.

The car pulled up to the entrance, and I stepped out, my heart racing in my chest. I could already feel the pulse of the crowd in my veins, the roar of the fans, the rush of adrenaline that would come with every single step I took in that ring. But today wasn’t about the fans or the fight—it was about laying the groundwork for everything to come.

Mike was waiting for me just inside the venue, clipboard in hand, his posture as straight as an arrow. His face was all business—no-nonsense, sharp focus. But when he saw me, his features softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was the first sign of warmth I’d seen from him, and it put me at ease.

"Y/N," he said, stepping forward and extending a hand. "Welcome to Chicago. Let’s make this one for the books." His voice had that confident, assured tone of someone who knew what they were talking about. It was impossible not to feel a flicker of excitement at his words.

I shook his hand firmly, matching his smile. "Let’s do it," I replied, my voice steady, even though my nerves buzzed beneath the surface. This was the moment I’d worked for, and I wasn’t going to let anything stop me.

We made our way to the small conference room just off the main floor of the arena, the sounds of distant construction and the hum of preparations for the night’s event seeping in through the walls. As we sat down, Mike began to go over the details of the match—timing, structure, key moments, and everything in between. His words were methodical, precise, but I found myself zoning in on one thing: the arena. The energy in the building, even in the stillness of the morning, seemed to vibrate in my bones. It wasn’t just the technical aspects of the match that I had to prepare for—it was the atmosphere, the roar of the crowd, the spotlight that would be shining directly on me.

As Mike continued, I let myself visualize the moment. The lights dimming, the crowd growing louder, the first step I’d take as I made my way to the ring. My heart beat faster, but it wasn’t from nerves this time—it was from anticipation. This was what I’d dreamed of, what I’d worked so hard for. And now, it was within my reach.

Mike paused, his eyes locking with mine. "You ready for this?" he asked, his voice laced with a quiet challenge, as though he was testing me.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the question settle on me. This was my time. There was no backing down now. "Absolutely," I replied, my voice strong and certain. "I’ve trained my whole life for this. I’m ready."

A small nod of approval crossed his face, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of respect in his eyes. We weren’t just talking business anymore—we were talking about something bigger than that. Something that transcended the usual talk of wins and losses. This was about legacy.

The rest of our meeting went by in a blur. Mike laid out the finer points of the match, but my mind kept drifting back to the arena. The sound of the crowd, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, and the feeling of standing in that ring. It was all so close now, so real. I could almost taste it.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, the sun had risen fully, the light pouring in through the windows of the conference room. I shook Mike’s hand once more, a firm, assured grip. "Thanks for everything," I said, feeling the weight of the day starting to settle in. It wasn’t just a match—it was a career-defining moment.

As I walked out of the conference room, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced down to see a message from Sterling: “How’s it going? You’re gonna crush it. I’m already on my way.”

A grin tugged at my lips as I typed a quick reply: “Thanks, bro. Can’t wait to see you tonight.”

The energy in the arena was starting to shift, the crew hustling to get everything ready for the night ahead. I could feel it in the air, like a current just beneath the surface, waiting to explode. I stepped outside, the cool breeze hitting my face, and took a moment to just breathe it all in. The city, the venue, the fight—it was all happening. And it was happening now.

I wasn’t just here to compete. I was here to make a name for myself.

And with Sterling by my side, I knew I was ready to take on whatever came next.

—

After the meeting with Mike, I made my way back to the hotel, my thoughts swirling with everything we’d discussed. The weight of the match was starting to press down on me, and I knew I needed to shake off the nerves that were beginning to settle in. I couldn’t afford to let doubt take root, not now, not with everything at stake.

I stepped into my room and changed quickly, slipping into my workout gear—a simple black tank top and leggings. The familiar comfort of my sneakers felt grounding, and I tied them with a focused determination. As my fingers pulled the laces tight, a familiar sensation gripped me. The pre-match jitters were starting to creep in, tightening my chest like an over-wound clock, the anticipation of what was to come making it hard to breathe. But I knew exactly how to handle it. Movement has always been my best weapon against nerves. It steadied me, helped me regain control.

The hotel gym was small, tucked away at the end of a quiet hallway, but it was functional, with polished floors that gleamed under the bright lights. A wall of mirrors stretched along one side, reflecting the faint hum of treadmills and elliptical machines. A few early risers were scattered about, mostly business types in stiff shorts and branded shirts, their focus more on their phones than their form. The gym was quiet, almost serene, except for the low sound of the machines and the occasional clink of weights.

I claimed a treadmill near the back, positioning myself where I could see the faint reflection of myself in the mirror. Slipping on my headphones, I cranked up the volume, letting the music fill my ears and drown out the buzzing of my thoughts. I needed to block everything out—everything except the rhythm of my body moving, the steady pulse of the beat in my chest.

As my feet began to hit the treadmill with a steady cadence, the tension in my muscles started to unwind. The first few minutes were always the hardest, the nerves still clinging to my limbs. But then, as the music thumped and the world outside the gym seemed to fade away, my body fell into a rhythm. Each step was like a reminder, a mantra of all the hours I’d spent training, all the sacrifices I’d made to get here. Thirty minutes in, sweat was dripping from my brow, my breathing steady but purposeful. I pushed harder, letting the pounding bass of the music carry me forward, imagining the ring, the lights, the crowd. I saw the faces of my family and Sterling cheering me on, felt the energy of the crowd rising with each movement. The intensity built, not just in my legs but in my mind.

I could do this.

After cardio, I transitioned to the weights section, grabbing a barbell and carefully loading it with plates. I positioned myself on the mat, my focus now zeroed in on the routine I’d done a thousand times. The first lift of the deadlifts was always the hardest, the weight challenging my muscles, but I welcomed it. The burn was a sign of progress. It was a reminder that the hard work had paid off. Each movement was precise, each rep a step closer to what I needed to be. My muscles screamed in protest with each lift—squats, deadlifts, bench presses—but I pushed through, moving with the kind of relentless focus that had become second nature. My body had been forged in the fire of practice, and this was just another moment of testing it.

By the time I finished, the sweat was pouring down my face, my limbs feeling heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction. My muscles hummed with the good kind of pain, the kind that meant I’d pushed myself to the edge. I wiped down the equipment, my hands slick with sweat, and grabbed my water bottle. I tilted my head back, taking a long, satisfying sip, the cool liquid easing the dry burn in my throat.

The nerves were still there, lingering like an electric buzz just beneath the surface, but now they were different. More manageable. Less daunting. I could feel the storm on the horizon, but it didn’t scare me anymore. It was a storm and I knew how to handle the weather. It was the same kind of storm I’d faced in the ring, the same kind of tension that had once paralyzed me but now pushed me forward.

I walked out of the gym, my body humming with exhaustion, but my mind clearer than it had been all morning. The path was set. Tonight, the match would come, and I would be ready. No matter what, I was prepared to face it. With every stride I took back to my room, I knew I was one step closer to what I’d come here for. And nothing, not even my nerves, was going to stand in my way.

—

The arena felt different when I returned. The vibrant buzz of activity earlier in the day had faded into a quiet stillness, replaced only by the distant clatter of equipment being moved and the occasional echo of footsteps reverberating off the concrete. The ring at the center remained unchanged—its ropes taut and unyielding, the canvas pristine and untouched. It stood there like a silent sentinel, waiting. And I couldn’t help but feel the weight of it—the place where everything I had worked for would come to fruition. Tomorrow, this ring would be my battleground.

But as I walked through the entrance, expecting the usual calm before the storm, I froze in my tracks. I didn’t expect to see her there.

Skye Blue stood in the center of the ring, her dark hair tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail. She wore her workout gear already—black leggings and a tight-fitting tank top, the kind of gear that suggested she had been there for a while. Her posture was casual, her arms folded loosely across her chest, but her eyes—bright, alert—were scanning the space, studying every inch of the arena. She was in full prep mode, visualizing tomorrow’s match, no doubt. And I found myself drawn to her focus, the way she moved with purpose despite the relaxed outward appearance.

She spotted me before I had a chance to approach, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "You must be Y/N," she said, pushing herself off the ropes with a fluid, almost effortless motion, and walked toward me with the kind of easy confidence that only comes with experience.

"That’s me," I replied, offering a smile in return. Up close, I realized she looked younger than I had expected, but there was something in the way she carried herself—a quiet maturity, a calm self-assurance—that made her presence undeniable.

"Mike told me you’d be here," she continued, her voice casual but with an underlying edge. "Figured I’d stick around and see what you’re about." Her arms crossed over her chest as she tilted her head slightly, studying me in return.

"Just seeing, or were you thinking something more hands-on?" I raised an eyebrow, the challenge instinctively rising within me.

Her grin widened, mischief flickering in her eyes. "Hands-on. A little sparring, nothing crazy. Just enough to get a feel for each other’s style. You game?"

I considered her for a moment, taking in the calm confidence she exuded. There was no hesitation. "Let’s do it."

We climbed into the ring, the ropes creaking under our combined weight as we positioned ourselves. As I faced her, I couldn’t help but observe how she moved—balanced, fluid, the way her weight shifted easily from foot to foot. Every step was measured, every motion deliberate. She had the poise of someone who knew exactly where they stood.

The sparring started light, almost like a dance. Skye came at me with a speed that caught me off guard at first. Her movements were sharp, quick jabs and feints that kept me on my toes. I countered with strength, grounding myself and using my power to push her back, though I knew this wasn’t about winning. It wasn’t about overpowering her. It was about learning—about finding that elusive rhythm that would define tomorrow’s match. We were both testing the waters, each move a way to feel out the other.

Minutes stretched on as we moved through a series of strikes and counters, pushing ourselves but never too far. After about fifteen minutes, we both paused, catching our breath. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, feeling the sting of exhaustion in my muscles, but also a growing sense of clarity. This was what I needed—this kind of challenge, this kind of focus.

Skye leaned against the ropes, her chest heaving as she wiped the sweat from her brow. "You’re strong," she said, her tone more appreciative than competitive. There was a respect in her voice that I hadn’t expected, and it took me off guard.

"And you’re fast," I replied, grabbing my water bottle from the corner of the ring and taking a long drink. My throat was dry, but I could feel my heart rate slowing as the cool water settled in.

She chuckled, a sound that was equal parts mischievous and impressed. "Looks like we’re going to give them a hell of a show tomorrow."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and I found myself smiling, the tension that had been weighing me down lightening just a little. There was no animosity between us—just two people preparing for the same thing. I was beginning to feel that camaraderie, even if we were technically competitors.

We sat down on the edge of the ring, the ropes pressing into our backs as we cooled off, our legs dangling over the side. We talked then, swapping stories about our journeys. Skye shared her early days in wrestling—the grueling, exhausting training, the long hours in small venues where the crowds were sparse but the passion was fierce. I listened intently, feeling the parallels between her experiences and my own. We had both worked hard to get here, and the weight of that shared struggle made the conversation feel more real, more genuine.

I opened up too, telling her about my own journey—about the sacrifices I’d made, the sleepless nights, the moments of doubt. But also, the moments of triumph, when everything came together, when I felt unstoppable.

After a while, Skye glanced over at me with a small, knowing smile. "Hey," she said, her voice softer now. "A few of us are grabbing food tonight, just to unwind before the big match. You should come. It’s good to relax, you know? Just… take your mind off everything for a bit."

I hesitated for a moment, the weight of the match still heavy on my mind. It would be easy to stay cooped up in my room, running over every detail of the match in my head. But the thought of unwinding for a little while—of not thinking about the pressure, the expectations—was tempting.

"Sure," I said after a beat, nodding. "I could use a break."

As we made our way out of the arena together, I felt a shift—like the tension had eased just a little bit. Tomorrow, everything will be different. But for tonight, it was nice to know that, no matter what happened in that ring, I wasn’t doing this alone.

—

Later that afternoon, I drove to the airport to pick up my family, the quiet hum of the SUV’s engine offering a temporary respite from the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. The terminal was buzzing with activity when I arrived, the usual chaos of travelers navigating the maze of gates, dragging rolling suitcases behind them, and muttering into their phones as they hurried toward their destinations. Amidst the cacophony, I felt my heart skip a beat when I spotted them in the crowd.

Salome was the first to spot me, her face lighting up like the sun breaking through clouds. She broke into a run, her arms wide, and before I could say anything, she collided into me, her excitement palpable as she squealed, "Y/N!"

I laughed, a mix of joy and relief flooding through me as I returned her hug, holding her tightly. When we pulled back, I took a moment to study her, seeing the girl I’d left behind just a few months ago transformed. She was taller than I remembered, her wild curls bouncing with every movement, and her eyes were sparkling with the kind of excitement only a college student could possess. "Look at you," I said, grinning. "College is treating you well."

"Sterling cheated at Uno again," she said, her lips pouting dramatically.

Before I could respond, I heard a familiar voice from behind. "Sometimes you need to cheat to win," Sterling’s voice called out with that trademark nonchalance of his. He sauntered toward us, effortlessly cool, wearing his Red Bull hoodie like a second skin. His curls bounced with every step, and there was the usual quiet confidence in his stride.

I rolled my eyes but pulled him into a hug, smiling as I whispered, "Sterling, thanks for coming."

"You think I’d miss this?" he responded, his voice soft but carrying the weight of a promise. His eyes were filled with the same conviction I’d always known.

And then I saw them—my parents, walking side by side with the same grace and effortless cool they’d always had. My dad, Derrius, still exudes that MotoGP legend swagger, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd with ease. His salt-and-pepper locs were tied back in a low ponytail, and his sharp, ever-watchful eyes scanned the bustling terminal until they landed on me.

My mom, Xolani, wasn’t far behind. Her locs were longer now, perfectly styled to frame her radiant face, and her warm smile immediately washed over me like a wave, making me feel like I was still a little girl in her arms.

"Baby girl," my dad’s rich baritone voice rang out as he stepped forward, pulling me into a hug that felt like home.

"Hi, Daddy," I murmured into his chest, holding on a little tighter than usual.

When my mom stepped forward next, her embrace was soft but no less comforting. "Y/N, you look amazing," she said, pulling back to study me, her gaze filled with quiet pride.

"Thanks, Mama," I replied, feeling a familiar swell of pride in my chest. It wasn’t just the match or the nerves—it was the comfort of being surrounded by the people who had always had my back.

The five of us piled into the SUV I’d rented, and the car came alive with chatter and laughter. Salome recounted stories from her college life, diving into tales of dance rehearsals, late-night study sessions, and the chaos of dorm life. Sterling added his own spin, sharing anecdotes about the rivalries and drama in the paddock, how his engineers were convinced he was too reckless on track, a claim that always seemed to amuse him.

"Too reckless?" my dad said, twisting in his seat to look at Sterling, his voice booming with that competitive edge. "Kid, you’ve got nothing on me back in my day."

Sterling smirked. "Maybe. But I’m racking up podiums, old man."

My mom rolled her eyes, reaching over to swat my dad playfully on the arm. "Don’t encourage him, Derrius."

I chuckled, my heart full as the familiar banter flowed effortlessly between us. It was moments like this that reminded me why I’d fought so hard to be where I was—to make them proud.

We chose a cozy, family-owned restaurant a few miles from the airport, and as we walked in, the warm smells of grilled meats and rich spices immediately made my stomach growl in appreciation. We were seated at a large booth by the window, the soft glow of the setting sun casting a warm light over our table.

The conversation soon turned to my match, and my dad was the first to ask the question that had been on his mind.

"Tell us about Skye," he said, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting casually on the table. He had that air of a seasoned competitor, the kind that came from years of analyzing opponents before a big race.

"She’s fast," I said, swirling my water glass idly as I considered my words. "Her movements are fluid, and she’s got a real knack for counters. But I think I’ve got the strength advantage."

My mom’s gaze never wavered as she studied me. "Strength’s important, but don’t underestimate her speed," she said thoughtfully, her voice carrying the wisdom of years spent watching me train. "It only takes one misstep to lose momentum."

"She’s right," Sterling chimed in, his voice calm but encouraging. "But I’ve seen you fight, Y/N. You’ve got the instincts to handle her."

Salome leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands with a gleam in her eyes. "Can we talk about how cool it is that my sister’s the main event in Chicago? Like, I’m telling everyone back at school. You’re going to kill it."

Her enthusiasm made me laugh, and I reached out to squeeze her hand. "Thanks, Sal. That means a lot."

When the food finally arrived, the table grew quiet except for the sound of clinking utensils and the occasional hum of appreciation. As we dug into our meals, my dad launched into another of his legendary stories about his glory days in MotoGP. He recounted last-lap battles and hairpin turns with such vivid detail that even my mom, who had heard the stories a thousand times, couldn't help but roll her eyes and mutter something about how he’d aged her prematurely.

"You were reckless," she said, pointing her fork at him with a teasing smile. "You’re lucky I didn’t leave you after that crash in '99."

"And miss all this?" he replied, gesturing to the table with a wide grin.

Laughter filled the space, rich and full, and for a moment, everything felt exactly right. Here, in this moment, I wasn’t just the wrestler; I was their daughter, their sister, and their support. We had each other, no matter what.

The meal was winding down when Sterling pulled out his phone, ever the social media aficionado.

"Alright, family photo time," he announced, scooting closer to Salome and draping an arm around her shoulders.

"Derrius, smile," my mom said, nudging my dad.

"I’m always smiling," he said with a sly grin, his eyes twinkling as he gave in.

Sterling held up his phone, angling it expertly. "Okay, everyone ready? Three… two… one." The flash went off, capturing all of us mid-laughter.

Sterling inspected the photo, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "Perfect. This is going on the ‘Gram," he said, clearly proud of the shot.

He spent a moment editing before showing me the final post. It was a candid, warm shot—Sterling in the center, flanked by my parents, with Salome and me on either side. The caption read: "Family time before the big day 🖤" with tags for all of us, including my personal account.

"You’re tagging me?" I asked, surprised by the gesture.

"Why not? You’re the star tomorrow, Y/N," he said, his grin playful. "Let the world know."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped my lips. "Thanks, I guess."

By the time we left the restaurant, my phone was buzzing with notifications—likes, comments, and new follower requests. I glanced down at my screen, my eyebrows raising as I saw the names that were popping up among the new followers: Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, and Oscar Piastri.

"What the…?" I muttered, scrolling through the notifications in disbelief.

Salome leaned over to peek at my phone. "Wait, are those F1 drivers? Sterling, what did you do?"

Sterling smirked, unbothered as he slid into the driver’s seat of the SUV. "Just spreading the love, little sis. You’re trending now."

"You could’ve warned me!" I shot back, though I couldn’t hold back a laugh.

By the time we reached the hotel, speculation about my match was already running rampant online. Fans and gossip accounts were buzzing with theories about my relationship with the F1 drivers, and I could only shake my head at the chaos.

"Better get some rest," I muttered to myself, setting my phone aside as I climbed into bed. But as I lay there, a sense of anticipation stirred deep in my chest. Tomorrow, the world would see exactly who Y/N was—and why I was worth every ounce of this attention.

Tomorrow, I’d step into that ring not just for myself, but for them—for the family who had always supported me, and for the legacy of strength and resilience they had built. I wouldn’t let them down.

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35 @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @same1995, @hinamesgigantica, @fadingcloudballoon-blog, @laptime-deleted, @anamiad00msday

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