#asthmatic!reader

The bunker door was twice as heavy in your current condition, but with a weak heave, you managed to nudge it open just enough to slink through. The door closed behind you with a thud, and you braced yourself against the loft railing. 

"Y/N,” Sam called when he heard the bunker door close, “Dean found a hunt while you were on your run.” When you didn’t reply, Sam shouted after you again. “We’re in the library!”

No longer able to support yourself, you fell to your hands and knees gasping for air. 

“Y/N?” Dean yelled a little louder, thinking you may not have heard Sam. When you still didn’t respond, the brothers exchanged a worried look. 

You needed help, but you could no longer speak; there was no way you had enough breath to call downstairs. Trying to conserve what little energy you had left, you kicked over a small bucket of bullet casings sitting next to the door. At the sound of shells loudly scattering across the floor, Sam and Dean darted toward the stairs.

“Y/N!” Sam and Dean’s speed increased when they saw you on all fours. They quickly scaled the staircase and were next to you within seconds. Dean landed at your side and placed a hand on your back. Sam knelt in front of you, taking your face in his hands. 

“Y/N/N, what’s wrong?” Sam’s hands moved from your cheeks to your shoulders and down your arms as he felt for injuries. 

You responded by placing a hand on your chest.  

“Y/N/N, are you having an asthma attack?" 

Your eyes widened in confirmation and both brothers began to move on autopilot. 

"Where is your inhaler?” Sam couldn’t hide the concern in his voice. He and Dean had been helping you cope with asthma ever since you joined them, but it never got any easier seeing you struggle for air, especially when an attack was this bad. 

You tried to respond, but all that came out was a stifled wheeze. Sam knew they were running out of time. 

“I think she keeps one on her nightstand?” Dean offered. Again, words failed you, but found the strength to nod “yes.” As soon as he had confirmation, Sam shot up and ran to your bedroom. Without Sam to lean on, you began to sway, and Dean slid behind you for support. 

“Lean against me, Y/N/N.” Dean eased you into a seated position between his legs. Your fists gripped the rough material of his jeans as you fought for air. 

“I know it’s hard, sweetheart, but try to relax.” Dean’s big hands enveloped your upper arms. He massaged them as he ran his thumbs across your shoulders. Your head lolled back in the crook of his neck. 

“That’s my girl,” he soothed, “Try to match my breathing.” You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, but no matter how hard you focused, you could not calm the urgency coursing through your body. You were fighting a losing battle against the panic churning inside you when you heard the comforting sound of Sam’s boots growing louder as he bound up the stairs. 

Sam crouched down, and you reached out a shaking hand to take your inhaler from him. “I’ve got it, baby girl.” Sam flashed you a sympathetic smile, “You just relax against Dean.”

Sam wrapped one hand behind your neck and eased the pump between your lips with the other. 

“Ready?” You nodded weakly and Sam released a puff into your mouth. Sam’s heart dropped as he watched most of the medicine billow past your lips. 

“I know it hurts, Y/N, but you have to do your best to take a deep breath.” Sam’s hand left your neck. “When you feel ready, squeeze my hand, and I’ll give you another puff, okay?”

You closed your eyes, mustering all of the strength you could and squeezed Sam’s hand. He discharged the medicine, and you took a shaky but complete breath. 

“That’s it, Y/N/N,” Sam encouraged, “Let’s do a couple more.” After two more puffs, the tension in your throat eased. Sam set down the inhaler and grabbed your other hand.

“Slow breaths, Y/N/N,” Sam lowered his head to yours, “Look at me, baby.” Sam took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled slowly through his mouth. You followed his example and took a shaky breath of your own. 

“In: one, two three,” Sam coached, “Out: one, two, three, four, five.” He could see your face begin to relax as the medicine took its full effect. 

“Good job, Y/N/N. In: one, two, three. Out: one, two, three, four, five.” 

Sam guided you through counting your breaths until your breathing evened and returned to a normal rate.  

“How you feelin’, honey?” Dean questioned behind you, his hands still rubbing your arms. 

“Better,” you replied in a raspy voice. “My chest is still tight.”

“We’ll get you downstairs to your room and set up a breathing treatment.” Sam assured. Both brothers were surprised when you shook your head “no.”

“Sweetheart,” Dean’s voice was gentle but firm, “you need a breathing treatment.”  

“I know,” you wheezed, “Sammy’s room." 

"You want to go to my room?” Sam asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. You usually wanted Dean after a particularly bad attack. When you nodded “yes,” his heart swelled. “Of course we can go to my room, Y/N/N. C’mere.”

Sam got on one knee and scooped you up in his arms. He carried you down to his room and laid you on the bed. He turned to go prepare your breathing treatment, but you grabbed his hand. Dean saw and smiled at his younger brother. “I’ve got it,” he mouthed across the room.

Sam walked around to the other side of the bed and propped up several pillows. He took off his boots and crawled in, leaning against the headboard. He reached over and pulled you to him, lifting you onto his chest. He used a pillow to support your back, knowing that being elevated would help your breathing. 

Dean came back with your nebulizer and set it on the bed next to Sam. He filled the cartridge with medicine and attached the tubing to the mask. Dean gently lifted your head and placed the mask over your nose and mouth. He turned on the machine, and you began breathing in the mist, feeling relief almost immediately. Dean leaned in, placed a kiss on your forehead, and then looked down to his brother. 

“I’m gonna get her some water, you need anything?" 

Sam shook his head. All he needed was to know that you were okay. Dean left for the kitchen and Sam tightened his grip around you.

"Thank you, Sammy,” you muttered through the mask. Sam exhaled in amusement at your gratitude. As if there was anything he and Dean wouldn’t do to keep you safe. 

“Anytime, Y/N/N,” he placed a kiss on top of your head, “That’s what I’m here for."

Tags: @senjoritanana​

You can feel it simmering in the background all day- that tightness in your chest that is always there in some form. It’s when you take the stairs (on the days you can do stairs) or even just leaning over to clean up a spilled drink. That shortness of breath, that perceived weight on your sternum, the cough that you try to mask. Frankie notices when your symptoms are worse but has stopped asking you all day long if you’re alright, because the answer is no…but yes. You’re enough okay. 

Your rescue inhaler helps a little bit, but only to take the edge off. It manages to get you through your day if you distract yourself enough, like keeping Netflix on so that you don’t focus on your breathing, or pointing a fan at your face to trick your body into thinking it’s breathing. Frankie doesn’t mind the background noise either, as it helps him calm his own mind. 

But then - even though you knew it was coming - it hits you out of nowhere. Frankie is in the other room when it happens, and you can’t get enough air collected to call out for him. Your throat feels like someone has an iron grip around it and you fumble for your inhaler again, barely taking in any of the medicine despite your best effort. You just need to get to the other room where you nebulizer is located. Fuck, it’s so far away. Fuck.  

You dart across the house and try to put the liquid albuterol into the nebulizer, but your hands are shaking and you can’t stand still because your brain is screaming RUN YOU IDIOT, YOU CAN’T BREATHE HERE even though you know that’s just your body dumping hormones to create a flight response. Even when your body is breaking down, it’s still trying to function. 

Tears are streaming down your face at this point and you’re struggling to remind yourself that you can still breathe a little bit. But your hands are shaking so much you can’t get the medicine open to dump into the nebulizer. Your body and your mind are both screaming for air, and you can’t, you can’t, oh god you can’t… 

Suddenly strong hands are over yours, taking the medicine from your hands and deftly setting up the nebulizer, flipping it on as you raise the breathing mechanism to your mouth. Frankie’s here. Frankie’s here. Frankie, I can’t breathe, help me. 

You can’t stay a word of this, of course, but Frankie knows exactly what you’re thinking. He sits you down on the edge of the couch, even though every cell in your body is telling you to run, but you need to conserve your energy. He’s right there next to you, one hand on your back and the other holding your free hand. Your eyes are squeezed shut, wishing every second that passed didn’t feel like an hour. 

“It’s alright, honey. Just a few more seconds of this and then the medicine will work. You’re okay, you’re not alone. As deep a breath as you can take…yes, just like that. Again. Good job. Keep doing that,” he says soothingly over the few minutes it takes for your body to come back down a bit. 

When you finally look at him in the eyes, he knows that you’re more under control. “Hi, baby. You’re doing so well. I’m right here with you.” 

You nod and he’s wiping the tears off of your face. And he just sits with you. Patient. Caring. You know he’s worried but he is never going to show it while you’re in the thick of your attack- he’s too well-trained for that. Finally, when the meds are gone and the nebulizer is shut off, you feel like you can sit back against him. He wraps his arm around you but doesn’t hold you too tight because he knows you’re still not ready for that. 

You settle into his warmth as best you can. “Thank you, Frankie.” 

But you didn’t really have a choice; sauntering out the front door was not an option when there was the very real threat of death, waiting to be delivered by the many agents in the base. Every time you ducked for cover, standing up became harder. You began to stumble as it felt like you were inhaling cotton wool. Before long, you heard Steve’s voice in your ear, starting with your name, “Do you copy?”

You didn’t reply, you couldn’t. You motioned for Natasha to reply for you as you exaggerated having to catch your breath. You were worried that if anyone found out about your asthma, you wouldn’t be able to work in the field anymore, or that you would be viewed as more fragile than the others. Fury knew, of course, but he trusted you to keep it in check. Forgetting your inhaler was not keeping it in check.

“We’re approaching the south-west exit; you boys better be there,” Natasha said. Your final target required the rest of your bullets to neutralise, but for a moment you could enjoy the sweet sound of silence. Using a toppled over weapons crate, you push yourself up, unable to gather momentum as quickly as you could a little while ago. Your breaths began coming out in little puffs, your lungs felt as if something was squeezing them together to prevent you from breathing.

You heard your name again, laced with more anxiety now, and Steve repeated the question. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Exit in sight, you were sprinting with Natasha, spotting the jet landing outside. It felt like a traffic jam of air in your lungs, none coming in and none coming out, even though it looked as if you were hyperventilating. All you could do was shout, “Yeah,” costing you valuable breath, because you were slowing down. Nat kept her pace, but you could only watch desperately as the distance between you both grew.

Approaching the large metal doors, there was a harsh wind that hit you. Shouts echoed through the corridor behind you, pairs of heavy boots falling in unison, like a chant. Nat turned, only to see you grappling with the wall, trying to find any grip to keep you standing. She said something into the comms, her voice flowing through your ears, but you couldn’t hear it. Running back towards you, she held her gun pointed down the corridor. You didn’t have the energy to stand up properly, leaning on the wall bent in half like a fortune cookie. It was then you had the heavy realisation that you had hit a more metaphorical wall. You couldn’t even feel if you were breathing or not, as the familiar wheeze you would normally get had passed long ago. Your lungs were like a vacuum, and you fell to your knees. Nat’s hand on your bicep helped you back up, and you heard her gun fire beside you.

After a moment, it wasn’t just Nat who was holding you up. You were scooped up within a second by a familiar pair of arms, the arms that would carry you to bed when you fell asleep on the sofa, or spin you around when you reunited. You became dead weight in his arms, head lolling against his chest as he ran, focusing only on breathing. Just holding on a little longer. You must not have been far from the jet, because after what felt like a minute, the metal clicking of footsteps alerted you to the interior of the jet. Steve set you down gently on the floor, trying to figure out where you were hurt. All you could do was grab onto his suit tightly, chest heaving.

“What is it, did they hurt you?” His voice was strained, and you shook your head. Thoughts drifting to the possibility of not being able to breathe again, which you knew was irrational. Your hand flew to your chest and you tapped it several times, wordlessly trying to tell him. His expression remained wrapped in concern until he recognised what was going on; an asthma attack. “Oh. Okay sweetheart, let’s help you sit up. I used to have asthma, before the serum,” His large hands gently raised you to a sitting position. Once you were there he pushed your shoulders back to open your chest as best as he could. Your head fell back against the wall as you tried to get as much oxygen in as you can. “Does anyone have an inhaler?” He shouted somewhere behind him, initiating a scramble of footsteps across the jet floor. “No, don’t breathe in so much. Try to breathe out.”

You had no control over the strength of your breathing. What once was a deep exhale was now stalling like a car, only a fraction of a puff due to you not having the strength to exhale. “What kind of advice is that, Rogers?” Tony’s voice pierced your ears. “They need air, and you’re telling them to breathe it out?”

“The biggest danger is if your lungs overfill with air, you need to free up space,” Steve snapped back, before turning back to you with a hand on your knee. Your eyes must have shown your panicat that, because he rubbed your leg reassuringly as if to say it wasn’t going to happen to you.

A hand on his shoulder revealed your saviour. The little blue inhaler that had so much control over whether you lived or not. As soon as he caught a glimpse of it, Steve uncapped it and shook it firmly. You took it with a shaky hand and didn’t bother trying to empty your lungs of air as you normally would. You just started spraying it into your lungs, seeing what would stick. Anything that would help to loosen the pile of bricks stacked in your lungs.

It didn’t work immediately, it couldn’t. And with every spray that didn’t magically release you from your prison, came more concern on Steve’s face.

Three sprays at a time, you tried to time it with one of your sporadic inhalations. After what felt like twenty - you certainly weren’t counting - it felt as if the dam was breaking, and you could finally attempt to exhale more and more to perfect the timing of your medication. Soon, you felt the wheeze appear again in an ugly fashion on one such exhalation. You coughed, releasing the mucus that always appeared during an asthma attack, and eventually, you felt well enough to put the inhaler down.

You were covered in a thin layer of sweat, and you felt slightly dizzy from having far too many doses of your reliever. Nat passed you a water bottle, which would come in useful to counteract any side effects, and Steve waited patiently for you to be comfortable again, helping you onto a more comfortable seat in the jet. “Are you feeling better?” You nodded. “Thanks, love. Didn’t know you were such an expert,” You tried to joke, but the raspiness of your voice ruined the lighter tone you tried to take, recarving the worried creases in Steve’s forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” He asked. “I wanted to stay in the field. I would get such bad cabin fever stuck in an office all day. Usually I have my inhaler with me, but I forgot. So here we are.”

Steve considered this. “I wouldn’t have benched you if you could handle it. You clearly can, seeing as this is the first we’ve all heard about it. I’ll just be carrying an extra with me from now on.” He said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you,” You whispered. He acknowledged you with a squeeze of your hand, making a mental note to ensure you don’t go anywhere without your inhaler again.

***

“Alrighty,” you coach looked over his clipboard for the thousandth time. The other students were gone, shipped off to their next step towards the brass ring that controlled the wrestling world. Some to fight in the rings, other to help kept best laid plans going straight. You and the man standing next you were either side of that coin. “There’s only one position left, and I’m afraid there’s only one answer.”

Wardlow bristled at the coach’s tone. He knew it too well.

“Japan has an opening for a quick-thinking ring-side counselor.” He held up an envelope, offering it to you. “Congratulations, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Sir.” You took it, beaming with pride and almost shaking too much to give a decent handshake. By the time you needed your next breath, you were already at the door and finally remembered to look back. It popped a hole in your enthusiasm.

Coach had his hand on Wardlow’s shoulder. “This isn’t the end. Something will come up. You’ll see.”

***

Three years later, the man that once stood by your side stood on the opposite side of the ring. He cut a good look in his suit and tie, hair slicked back and out of the way. You had to admire the way he’d advanced in wrestling since you saw him last. But now he was a problem.

“The second your ‘client’ stops getting in my way, I’ll stop getting in his.” Wardlow’s bargain was simple. But Max was not a simple client.

“That was never the deal, Wardlow.” You ignored how Max muttered ‘Warpig’ under his breath. “You’re supposed to be gone. Kaput. Out of sight and out of mind for one of the best rising stars of our generation. And you and I both know the gene pool out there.” You let your voice soften, hoping it would get your point across and end your headache. “There are other wrestling companies out there. Ones that would appreciate your drive and enthusiasm a lot better than here. I have connections if you need them.”

If Maxwell Jacob Friedman never spoke another word, it would still be too much. “You need all the help you can get. Take the deal. This isn’t the first time Y/N’s known best, is it old friend?”

How did he know about that? He wasn’t there. Granted, a lot of the talent backstage had been, but this wasn’t usually a story that people would tell.

***

It was the last time you two worked together. For over two months, you’d run as his valet, making sure he kept his cool in and out of the ring, finally leading up to this match. The original plan was to be a coed team, but your lungs didn’t have the stamina, so you settled. Talent scouts were in the audience, and they were ready to pick the best of the best. Backstage, you all shared a handshake, wishing each other good luck for the match, and for the future ahead.

Then everything went wrong.

First, nerves got to Wardlow. He stumbled on his way into the ring, almost taking you down with him. The match had a rocky start, and a rocky middle. Then, he zigged when he should have zagged, and caught a kick square on the jaw. While the referee checked on him, you created a distraction by grabbing a kendo stick from under the ring before stomping across it to get at the other team. By the time they were able to “talk you down” and the ref could kick you back to ringside, Wardlow was mostly recovered. He won, but not with as strong a finish as planned.

Your quick thinking got you the last open talent spot. Despite his protests at the time, you regretted every bit of it.

***

“You may have always had the brawn, but you’ve never had the brains.” Max continued to poke and prod at what he perceived to be Wardlow’s shortcomings. “Even then, Y/N is a brilliant strategist. She could probably outsmart you at every turn and beat you. You know what, let’s get a ref out here. You could be one half of AEW’s first coed match. You’ve only got half a wit, but it’ll be enough to show you just how far beneath everyone else you really are.”

With a groan, you stepped between them before Max got knocked out. “This really isn’t necessary. If we could get back on topic-“

Then Shawn Spears piped up before you could stop him. “Naturally, wanting to be a gentleman, you’d lay down for the lady, and we’d respect you. Or you could just walk out. That’d be easier to everyone.”

Wardlow pushed against your hands on his chest.

Things were rolling out of control and Max picked up the thread. “Natural. There’s a word to describe you. All brawn, no brains, just,” he flexed his shoulders, “just wild instinct with a touch of modern civility. C’mon. Let the beast out. Fight the beauty. But I still believe the girl could best you ten out of ten without breaking a sweat. The most natural thing in the world.”

“Max-“

“It’s not natural for girls to fight.” Wardlow instantly winced at his words, stepping back. “I don’t mean that-“

Too late. You had a frigid reply. “No, it’s not natural for someone to be as stupid as they are tall. But, oop. There you are.” Behind you, Max laughed with his usual loud, obnoxious bark. You were too busy glaring at Wardlow to tell him to shut up. “This conversation is over. Either we will come to terms and see eye to eye, or Maxwell Jacob Friedman and the Pinnacle will walk over you one last time before the world forgets about you.”

Boldy, you shouldered past him. He let you.  

***

Backstage, you quickly separated yourself from the guys and found a dark, quiet corner to breathe your blood down from boiling. Why did everything have to be so hard? And every word so sharp? You shed your suit jacket, running your fingers through your hair. You chose this. And you were going to keep it, no matter the struggles. You had to.

Familiar footsteps found you two minutes later just when you were starting to relax.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Y/N,” Wardlow blocked your path. “I didn’t mean a word of that-“

You growled, “it doesn’t matter. You said it anyways, knowing better than anyone else my health issues and why I can’t wrestle like I want to. Max is a pain in the ass, but you used to be better at this than letting him get under your skin like he does.”

Wardlow reeled. “Wait. You’re still having pulm- puls-, ah, lung issues? I still shouldn’t have said it, but you made it to the big leagues. The doctors still haven’t helped-“

“It’s the roughest side of asthma, Michael. It doesn’t fix up overnight, much less in a couple years.” Both of you knew yelling would only inflame internal problems, so you took a deep breath. “And doctors take money. I’m only just now starting to get the amount I need to afford better pulmonologists. It takes a lot to afford inhalers these days. Even with insurance, if you’ve got it.”

The pity in his eyes burned from your stomach to your spine. You reached for your jacket.

“About that scene-“

“Oh my God.”

“…it got away from me and I wanted to apologize.”

You tossed the fabric down, this close to going ballistic on your former partner. “There’s a lot about your career and tonight that’s gotten away from you. But there’s not much you can do to change it, so let it go. It’s out there, on live television, it’s probably all over the internet. Nothing you can do to stop it-“ Your next words were muffled with Wardlow’s hand over your mouth. He pushed you back into a wall to lessen your struggle.

“My god, you’re worse than Max.” He took a deep breath, looking down at the floor as if reconsidering every step that got him here arguing with you in some back hallway. His head tilted with a change. When he looked back at you, he was sure about something… and you were afraid.

With his hand over your mouth you couldn’t get away. When you tried, his grip tightened just enough to freeze you into place.

“One of Max’s problems is that he really needs a good fuck to work out everything that makes him a frustrating person to work with. Problem being that he can’t ever get laid because he’s annoying as hell.” He leveled his gaze with yours. “But you’re more capable than that. Always have been.” Slowly, he lowered his hand. And you were too intrigued to move.

“Are you offering something?”

“I am. Do you have an answer?”

You licked your suddenly dry lips. This was the line neither of you would cross back in the day. It was too messy then. Now would be disastrous. Then again, standing next to him didn’t make your skin crawl like standing with the Pinnacle. It was familiar. Safe.

Your brain was going a million miles an hour, and he knew it. Gently, he cupped your face, tilting it up. “May I?”

“Mhmm.” You leaned up to meet him.

Slow and steady, you tilted and moved with one another. His hands landed on your hips, holding you in place as his hips pressed you further against the wall. Yours clawed at the soft fabric of his shirt, moving up the collar before lacing behind his neck. He reached behind you, spreading his large hands across your lower back to arch you further into his kiss. Giving you a second to breathe was a mistake.

“We can’t do this, can we?” You whispered it against his chest. Before he could stop your mouth with another kiss, you managed, “everything could blow up in our faces. This would be the final straw for Max taking you out. I could lose everything-“

He kissed you deeply, dazing you. “I won’t let that happen.” The movements between you were coming to a head, becoming more frantic and needy for more, or to stop before you’d do something you’d regret. Wardlow’s hands managed to get under your blouse, almost burning you with the shock of finally feeling his touch like this.

Still, your brain turned. “If anyone finds out-“

“Do you ever shut up?” He grunted as you rolled your hips into his. “Max really has turned you for the worse.”

You mock gasped, even as he mouthed at your throat. “Do you always talk about MJF with your partners?”

“No. They usually have the pleasure of never knowing who he is. As you are not that blessed,” he stopped, gripping your chin to force your gaze, “I’m going to make sure the only name you can remember tonight is mine.”

The second he waited for your denial, your escape, passed in an infinite flash.

Then teeth clacked, tongues met, and you both hurried to undo each other’s shirt buttons. He managed yours first, ripping it apart without snapping any buttons off. Your hands fumbled, unable to manage the same for his touch distracting you to no end. Down went your sensible pants. You at least managed his belt buckle and zipper. Wardlow hiked you up around his hips so he could kiss the swell of your breasts. You gave up on his shirt, managing instead to lightly rake your nails down his chest. You could always plan an attack. Stage something to explain all the marks on each other-

“You’re thinking again. Stop. Just be here. With me. Not out there.” He ruffled out of his shirt so your hands could explore the whole expanse of him.

It was the grounding you needed. All that muscle under your fingertips. All that flushed skin to touch. To finally feel flexing, blood pumping in time with yours. Wardlow sucked harshly on your neck, making you gasp into his shoulder. As he tweaked your nipples, massaging your breasts in between, you rocked more and more desperately against his bulge. It was too much. His mouth on your neck. His hands caressing, leading your body into passion. The pressure building in your core. The tipping point came when your rolling stuttered, forcing a groan out of Wardlow. You shuddered at the sound, head to toe to core.

“Did you just come?” He smiled and kissed the underside of your jaw. “Dearest, we’ve just begun.”

With your mind in a haze, you didn’t feel the shift in the last layers of clothing until he was fully against you, hot and hard and ready. You bit your lip, holding back many wanton sounds as he rutted his cock through your slick.

“Please, Michael, please-“

“Hang on.”

He wrapped your arms around the back of his neck. You curled your fingers in his hair, mussing it, and dragging your nails along his scalp. He hummed in delight, but remained focused on filling you inch by glorious inch. Your head fell back into the wall, your mouth opened slack. When you finally composed yourself to look him in the eye, he was already watching hungrily for your next reaction.

The draw out was the last slow moment you had before he let the beast out. Filling you. Pounding into you wonderfully enough for you not to care if anyone heard you. There wasn’t a thought in your head. Just him. The stretch of him within you. Hearing his moans and grunts against your ear when your body clenched. Once again the peak approached.

Wardlow braced himself against the wall, his hips stuttering. “Do- do you remember… when we main evented Chicago that one time?”

“Yes.” You clawed at his back.

“I wanted to ravish you then.”

He moved faster. Shorter thrusts, but never losing his depth.

“End of matches.”

“What?”

You whined, so close to the edge. “Win or lose, I wanted to jump you after every match.”

“What took you so long?”

He smiled against your forehead. Then, with a strained roar, he filled you, pumping thrusts to chase the sensation, taking you down with him. His chest muffled your shout. As the orgasms washed over you both, you clung to one another like you’d never let go.

It may have been five, it may have been twenty minutes before either of you recovered. Like old lovers, you passed one another their clothes, helped with buttons, never letting a touch go unlingered.

Wardlow held back your suit jacket. “You can’t go back to him.”

“Sure I can.” You held up your hands when he gripped your shoulders. “He’s paying my bills, and then some. Yeah, he’s going to stab me in the back eventually. But I’ll see the signs. And I already have an exit plan built,” you added with a shrug.

Wardlow huffed. “Yeah, with whom?”

“Well, I was hoping it could be you, but if you don’t think that’d work I can ask Omega and the Elite. They might be able to finally kick MJF’s ass-“

“Wait, wait, wait. Me?”

“You.” With a swallow, you thought back over what Max poked at earlier. “We both know the reason I got so far was because it was at your expense. If I can repay that in any way, this might be it. Are you interested? Are you willing to keep an eye out for when the wind changes?”

Wardlow crossed his arms. “What all does this plan entail?”

“A lot of kendo sticks and maybe a barbed-wire bat.”

He hugged you close, laughing into your hair. “I’ve missed you.”

You both needed the gentle silence that followed. He ended it with a kiss to the top of your head.

You composed yourself quickly. “Remember, you hate my guts until I give you the signal. Right?”

“Right.”

You had to grin. You missed how quickly he caught on with your harebrained schemes. Without another word, you left him in the dark, not looking back.

*** Masterlist

Wrestling/WWE Masterlist

*** 

Other Wrestling Angst/Smut:

Preparing for the Future (A, F, S, Breeding Kink) - Baron Corbin

Only Yours (AR, A, S) - Cesaro

My Favorite Things (AR, A, S, F) - Drake Maverick

Fuck the Demon Away (A, S) - Elias Samson

Don’t Rush This (AR, A, S, F) - Jack Swagger

No More Whispers (AR, A, S, F|F) - Peyton Royce

Hard Feelings (AR, A, S, Trans!OC) - Rezar (AOP)

Doubt Comes In (AR, A, F, S, F|F) - Rosemary 

To Heaven and Back (AR, F, A, S, Plus!Reader) - Sami Zayn

✪ STEVE ROGERS ✪

Piggyback Rides [headcanon] by @rodrikstark

★ BUCKY BARNES ★

Cocoon [blurb] @sweetascanbee

Honey and Chamomile by @wkemeup

Here and Now by @sunlightdances

Timeless by @ohheyjanie

Star-Crossed [18+] by @heli0s-writes

Tell Me Which One Is Worse (Living or Dying First) by @nightowlwriting

Looped (again) by @softlybarnes

Daisy Chain [soulmate!au] & Because the Sky is Blue [soulmate!au] by @aphrogeneias

The Last Name [series: ongoing] by @demonpoxballad

Reflections [series: ongoing] by @breadqueen95 [yes, I am rec-ing this again because she posted a new chapter and you should read this series.]

untitled [asthmatic!avenger!reader] & A Correspondence of Obligation [royalty!au: prince!bucky, princess!reader; series: ongoing] by @pellucidconstellations

No Such Thing [college!au: collegefootball!bucky; series: complete] by @sanguineterrain

🕸 PETER PARKER 🕸

London Bridge [nwh] & Project Partners & Light Pollution by @certifiedskywalker