Discover Top Posts Tagged with #zack ryder

through thick and thin. matt cardona

matt cardona x reader

synopsis: when matt is released from wwe in 2020, you stay. what follows is years of rebuilding, long drives, independent shows, and choosing each other while he proves himself on his own terms. in 2025, the past calls one last time and matt walks into smackdown not as a memory, but as a man who earned his place back.

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2020

the apartment felt too calm for a tuesday afternoon.

you were folded into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked beneath you, the low hum of daytime television filling the space more than actually entertaining either of you. laundry sat half finished on the coffee table, socks paired, shirts in neat piles, the kind of domestic in between moment that never felt important until later.

matt was on the floor, back against the couch, sorting through the rest of it with absent focus. he wore an old hoodie, one you’d stolen once and never given back, the sleeves pushed up as he matched black socks like it mattered.

"this one’s yours" he said, holding up a sock with a hole in the heel. "i’m not claiming responsibility for that."

you huffed a laugh and flicked it at him with your foot. "that hole has history."

"yeah" he said. "a tragic one."

he leaned his head back against the couch cushion, eyes closing for a second like he was letting himself exist without thinking too hard about what came next. it struck you then, how relaxed he looked. not the kind of tired he usually carried home from the road, not the tightly wound energy that followed him even on his days off. this was different. this was ease.

you’d only been together a few months. long enough to learn the rhythms, not long enough to take them for granted. long enough to know when he was performing and when he wasn’t. right now, there was no performance. no camera. no crowd.

just matt.

your phone buzzed in your hand, a group chat lighting up with bad memes and worse opinions about wrestling storylines. you didn’t bother reading them. none of it felt urgent. not today.

"wild times" matt muttered, glancing at his own phone where it lay face down on the carpet. "whole world’s on pause."

"at least you’re home" you said.

he smiled at that, small and genuine. "yeah. could be worse."

he shifted, turning enough to look up at you properly. there was something almost boyish in the way he did it, like he was checking that you were still there, still real. his hand found your ankle, warm and familiar, grounding.

"you know" he said, casual, like it was a joke he’d already decided not to take seriously, "i think i’m officially unfireable at this point."

you raised an eyebrow. "you’ve survived worse."

"exactly" he said, grinning. "they wouldn’t know what to do without me."

you smiled back, easy and unguarded, because for once it felt like you didn’t have to brace for impact. the future felt fuzzy, sure, but not threatening. just undefined.

you leaned forward to hand him a folded t-shirt, your fingers brushing his for half a second longer than necessary. he took it, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

the moment passed, unmarked.

later, you would replay it in your head, the quiet, the laughter, the way everything felt so painfully normal. later, you would wish you’d known to hold onto it tighter.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

it happened without warning.

one second, you and matt were huddled on the couch watching a random film that neither of you were interested in. the next, his phone vibrated against the floor.

not rang, vibrated. a soft, insistent buzz that cut through the quiet like it didn’t belong there.

he glanced down at it out of habit more than concern. you watched his expression shift before he even picked it up.

his jaw tightened. the easy looseness in his shoulders disappeared, replaced by something sharp and alert. you didn’t recognize the number, but you recognized the look. you’d seen it before, airports, backstage hallways, moments when the real world intruded too fast.

"hold on" he said, already reaching for the phone.

you nodded, heart ticking a little faster for reasons you couldn’t name yet.

he answered it standing, turning slightly away from you, his voice neutral. professional.

"hey."

there was a pause. then another.

you couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but you watched it land anyway. his free hand curled into a fist at his side. his shoulders went rigid, like he was bracing for impact that had already arrived.

"yeah" he said quietly. "okay."

the call didn’t last long. a minute, maybe less. no arguing. no raised voice. just clipped responses and long silences.

when he hung up, he didn’t move.

the phone stayed in his hand, screen dark, thumb hovering like he might will it to light back up and undo whatever had just been said. you waited for him to say something, anything but the words didn’t come right away.

the room felt smaller.

"they released me" he said finally.

the words were flat. not shaken. not angry. just stated. like he was reading them off a piece of paper.

your breath caught before you could stop it. "what?"

he swallowed, throat working, eyes still fixed on nothing. "effective immediately."

there was a ringing in your ears you hadn’t noticed before. the television murmured on in the background, completely oblivious. you reached for the remote and turned it off, the silence that followed somehow worse.

"matt"

"i don’t know" he said, cutting himself off before you could ask the obvious questions. his voice cracked on the second word. he scrubbed a hand over his face, hard. "they didn’t really explain. just budget cuts. circumstances."

he laughed once, sharp and humorless. "circumstances."

you stood and crossed the room without thinking, stopping in front of him. he finally looked at you then, and whatever you saw in his eyes made your chest ache. not tears. not yet. just shock, naked and unguarded.

"i’m sorry" you said, because it was the only thing that felt even remotely adequate.

he shook his head. "it’s not" he stopped. tried again. "i’ve been there fifteen years."

the number hung between you, heavy and impossible to process.

neither of you moved. there was nothing to do, nowhere to go, no next step that didn’t feel like falling off a cliff. his phone buzzed again in his hand, emails, messages, notifications already piling up but he ignored it.

the future, whatever shape it had been a few minutes ago, evaporated.

and standing there in the quiet wreckage of a single phone call, you realized this wasn’t just the end of a job.

it was the end of a name. a character. a version of him the world thought it knew.

matt exhaled slowly, like the air had been knocked out of him and he was only just remembering how to breathe.

"i guess" he said, voice low, almost to himself, "that’s it."

the shock didn’t fade so much as it cracked.

matt started pacing.

back and forth across the living room, steps uneven, hands dragging through his hair like he was trying to pull the thoughts out of his head by force. he talked in fragments, half-formed sentences that kept looping back on themselves.

"i should’ve seen it coming" he said. "they always do this. always."

you stayed where you were, watching him unravel without trying to stop it. this wasn’t something you could fix with logic or comfort. he needed to burn it out of his system.

"i did everything they asked" he went on. "everything. changed when they told me to. waited when they told me to wait. got over when they needed me to and disappeared when they didn’t."

his voice rose on the last word before he caught himself and went quiet again.

then, just as suddenly, he stopped moving.

"i’m not done" he said, more to the room than to you. "they don’t get to decide that."

there it was. the edge. the thing that had kept him going through injuries and missed opportunities and years of being overlooked. even now, with everything stripped away, it was still there, burning under the hurt.

"i’ll work" he said, turning to face you. "i don’t care if it’s indies, japan, backyard shows if i have to. i’ll work. i always do."

you believed him without question.

he exhaled sharply and rubbed at his face again, exhaustion creeping in where adrenaline had been. His eyes dropped to the floor.

"but you didn’t sign up for that."

the words landed heavier than anything else he’d said.

he looked at you then, really looked at you, like he was bracing for impact all over again. "this was supposed to be stable. me being there. and now it’s not."

you opened your mouth to speak, but he kept going, the dam already cracked.

"i don’t know where I’ll be in six months. i don’t know what money looks like. i don’t know what this does to my reputation." his jaw tightened. "and if you want out, if this isn’t what you want, i’d understand."

there it was. the offer.

an exit wrapped up as concern, as fairness, as protection. you saw it for what it was: fear. not of losing you, but of holding you back.

you crossed the room and stopped in front of him, close enough that he had no choice but to meet your eyes.

"i’m not going anywhere" you said.

he shook his head immediately. "you don’t have to say that right now."

"i do" you said. "because you mean it."

you reached for his hands, grounding him the way he’d grounded you earlier, folding your fingers into his like this was something solid you could build on.

"you’re going to work" you continued. "you’re going to grind. you’re going to rebuild everything from scratch if that’s what it takes. and yeah, it’s going to be messy."

his throat worked as he swallowed.

"but that doesn’t scare me" you said softly. "losing you does."

he stared at you, disbelief flickering across his face. "you’re sure?"

you nodded. "i didn’t fall for a job title. i fell for you."

for a moment, he looked like he might argue again but instead, his shoulders slumped. the fight drained out of him all at once, leaving something quieter behind.

"okay" he said, barely above a whisper.

it wasn’t dramatic. it wasn’t a vow or a promise.

but it was real.

and as he pulled you into his arms, holding on like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground, you knew this was the moment everything changed, not because he’d been released, but because neither of you had walked away.

the adrenaline wore off slowly.

it left behind a kind of bone deep exhaustion that settled into the room as evening crept in, turning the light softer, duller. neither of you moved much after that. you sat together on the couch, your legs tangled, the world outside continuing on like nothing had shifted at all.

matt leaned into you without comment, his head resting against your shoulder. the weight of him was different now, heavier, not physically, but with everything he was carrying. you didn’t mind. You adjusted, wrapping an arm around him, letting him breathe.

"i hate that it feels like this" he said quietly.

"like what?"

"like i should’ve known better than to trust it." he paused. "like i failed"

you turned your head just enough to rest your cheek against his hair. "you didn’t fail" you said. "they just didn’t know what to do with you."

he didn’t respond right away. he didn’t argue either.

outside, a car passed. somewhere down the block, someone laughed. ordinary sounds that felt strange in a day that had fractured so cleanly down the middle.

"i’ll figure it out" he said eventually. not defiant this time. just certain. "i always do."

"i know," you said.

there was a lull, a heaviness to the silence because neither of you knew what to say.

"thank you" he said finally.

you shook your head. "you don’t have to thank me."

he reached for you again, pulling you close, his arms steady this time. whatever came next, uncertainty, hard work, long nights, would be faced together. not because it was easy. because it was chosen.

later, as the apartment settled into quiet and the day finally loosened its grip on him, matt exhaled slowly, like he was letting something go.

"we’ll be okay" he said.

you believed it, not because it was guaranteed, but because you’d already decided it was true.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

2025

the hotel room smelled faintly of detergent and takeout, the kind of clean that never quite felt real. your suitcase lay open on the bed, half unpacked even though you’d be gone again in less than twenty four hours. it had stopped bothering you a long time ago. living out of bags was just part of the life now.

matt sat at the small table by the window, taping his wrists out of habit while scrolling through his phone. he didn’t have to wrestle tonight, not until tomorrow, but some routines never left you. discipline like that didn’t disappear, it just adapted.

"you ready?" you asked, tugging on your hoodie.

"yeah" he said, glancing up with a grin that was easy and familiar. "always."

you smiled back. this was the good part. the part you’d fought for. not the chaos, not the grind but the steadiness underneath it all. you’d built something real together, brick by brick, miles and matches at a time.

his phone buzzed.

once.

he ignored it at first, finishing the tape on his wrist before reaching for it. you didn’t think anything of it. he got calls all the time, promoters, wrestlers, travel nonsense.

then his expression changed.

not panic. not excitement.

recognition.

you watched his shoulders straighten, the way they always did when something mattered. he checked the screen again, like he wanted to be sure it wasn’t a mistake.

"hey" you said quietly.

he looked at you. "it’s stamford."

your stomach dipped, slow and controlled. not fear, something older. familiar.

he answered the call without standing, voice calm and measured. "this is matt."

you couldn’t hear the other side, but you didn’t need to. you’d learned how to read him over years of rooms just like this. the way his jaw tightened. the way his thumb rubbed once against his wedding band.

"yes" he said. "i’m listening."

the call lasted longer than you expected.

minutes passed. you sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in your lap, heart steady despite the weight pressing in. you trusted him. trusted whatever this was to be handled the way everything else had been, together.

when he finally hung up, he stayed still for a moment.

then he exhaled.

"they want me back" he said.

you blinked. "back how?"

"for the cena thing" he said. "the last time is now tournament."

that name landed harder than anything else. not because of what it promised but because of what it represented.

"one match" he continued. "maybe more, depending. but one run."

you nodded slowly. "as matt?"

he hesitated.

"no" he said. "as zack ryder."

the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable but it was heavy. not with doubt. with memory.

you stood and crossed the room, stopping in front of him. he looked up at you, searching your face for something, permission, maybe. or reassurance.

"i don’t need them" he said before you could speak. "i’m not chasing anything. i just-"

"i know" you said softly.

you reached for his hand, thumb brushing over the ring he wore like it had always been there. "this isn’t about going back" you said. "it’s about finishing something."

his eyes softened. "you’re okay with it?"

you smiled, small but sure. "i married you knowing where you came from. i'm not afraid of you closing the door behind you."

he laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "i don’t deserve you."

"probably not" you said, leaning in to kiss him anyway. "but you’ve got me."

he pulled you into his arms, solid and warm and present, nothing like the man he’d been in that apartment years ago. this version of him wasn’t asking to be saved.

he was choosing.

"then i’ll do it" he said.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the locker room felt smaller than it should have.

not cramped, just heavy, like the air itself remembered too much. the hum of distant production bled through the walls, muffled but constant, a reminder that this place still knew his name even if it didn’t say it out loud.

matt sat on the bench in front of the locker, his gear laid out beside him.

not his gear.

zack ryder’s.

the colours were too familiar, folded too neatly, like they’d been waiting all this time. you watched him stare at it, jaw set, hands resting on his knees like he was bracing himself for something physical instead of emotional.

he hadn’t touched it yet.

"i hate this," he said quietly.

you stayed where you were, leaning against the opposite bench, giving him space without leaving him alone. "i know."

"they asked if i still had it" he continued. "like it was just sitting in a drawer somewhere." he let out a humourless breath. "i had to get it remade."

you crossed the room then, sitting beside him. the bench creaked under your combined weight.

"it doesn’t fit the same" he said, picking up the knee pad and turning it over in his hands. "none of it does"

"you don’t have to love it" you said. "you just have to survive it."

he snorted softly. "you always say that."

"and i’m usually right."

that earned you a small smile, brief, but real.

he rolled the fabric between his fingers, eyes unfocused. "i already know how this goes" he said. "i’m not winning. this isn’t a comeback. It’s a moment."

there was no bitterness in his voice. just fact.

"i’m okay with that" he added, quickly, like he needed you to know. "i am. i just don’t like putting this on knowing i’m walking in to lose as a version of myself i worked so hard to outgrow."

you reached for his wrist, grounding him. "you’re not losing" you said.

he looked at you, eyebrow raised.

"not really" you clarified. "you already won. this is just the punctuation"

that made him pause.

he swallowed. "i don’t want to disappear again."

"you won’t" you said without hesitation. "this isn’t them keeping you. this is them borrowing you."

he laughed quietly at that, then leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, head dropping for a moment. you could see the nerves finally catch up to him, shoulders tight, breath shallow.

"i’m nervous" he admitted. "i shouldn’t be. i’ve done this a thousand times."

"you haven’t done this like this" you said. "not with everything on the line already settled."

he glanced at his ring, twisting it once around his finger. "i’m grateful you’re here" he said. "i don’t think i could do this without you."

you leaned in and pressed your forehead to his. "you don’t have to."

he closed his eyes, letting the moment stretch.

finally, he picked up the gear again, not with resentment this time, but with acceptance. he stood, slipping into it piece by piece, each movement deliberate. you helped where he let you, adjusting a strap, smoothing fabric, grounding him in the present.

when he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror.

zack ryder stared back.

but so did matt cardona.

you stepped up behind him, resting your hands on his shoulders. "go give them their moment" you said softly. "then come back to me."

he met your eyes in the mirror and nodded.

"one last time" he said.

and when the knock came at the door, calling him to gorilla, he didn’t hesitate.

he kissed you once, quick, sure, anchored.

then he walked out, not as a man returning to the past, but as one finally closing it.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you didn’t realize you were crying until it was over.

the bell rang and the crowd roared, and for a moment everything blurred together, lights, noise, movement, until it all collapsed into the simple truth of it: the match was done. He lost, just like he’d said he would. clean. no excuses.

and still.

your chest ached with pride.

you wiped at your eyes as you stepped back toward the curtain, forcing yourself to breathe, to ground. you’d watched him move out there like nothing had been taken from him at all, crisp, controlled, confident. not nostalgia. not charity.

he’d belonged.

the curtain shifted.

matt came through slowly, sweat-soaked, breathing hard, hair damp and pushed back from his face. zack ryder gear still clung to him, but the way he carried himself, head high, shoulders back, was unmistakably matt.

his eyes found you immediately.

they always did.

for half a second, something like relief crossed his face, and then he smiled, soft, real, a little stunned. He opened his arms without saying a word.

you walked straight into them.

he wrapped you up, solid and warm and alive, one arm tight around your back, the other cradling your head like he needed to make sure you were really there. you pressed your face into his shoulder, the scent of sweat and tape and adrenaline grounding you more than anything else could have.

"you did so good" you said, voice breaking despite yourself.

he laughed quietly, breath still uneven. "yeah?"

"yes" you said, pulling back just enough to look at him. your eyes were red. you didn’t care. "better than half the roster out there. and you know it."

his expression shifted, something unguarded breaking through the composure he’d worn all night. "you think so?"

"i know so."

he swallowed, nodding once. "that means more than anything they could say."

someone brushed past behind him, agents, talent, movement everywhere, but it felt like the space around you had narrowed, like the world had decided to give you a moment.

"i was nervous the whole time" he admitted quietly. "but once i got in there it was fine. like riding a bike." he huffed. "a very violent bike."

you smiled through the last of your tears. "you looked free."

"i felt free" he said. "that’s new."

he leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "thank you for being here" he murmured. "for all of it."

"always" you said.

he pulled back again, wiping at the corner of your eye with his thumb, gentle despite the adrenaline still buzzing through him. "you cried."

"shut up" you said, swatting lightly at his chest. "you earned it."

he laughed properly this time, loose, relieved and then glanced back toward the ring, thoughtful but not longing.

"one last time" he said. "and it was enough."

you squeezed his hand. "more than enough."

and as he turned to head down the hall, already peeling away the past piece by piece, you knew something had shifted, not because he’d lost, but because everyone else had finally seen what you’d known all along.

matt cardona didn’t belong in the past.

he belonged everywhere he chose to stand.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

home felt different after you came back.

not because anything had changed but because you’d both proven it didn’t have to. the house was warm and lived in, the kind of place that held onto laughter even after it faded. shoes lined the entryway in no particular order. someone’s jacket was draped over the back of a chair like they planned to come back for it eventually.

you were hosting.

a few friends, wrestling adjacent, indie lifers, people who’d seen matt bleed in bingo halls and celebrate wins in parking lots. chosen family. the kind that didn’t care about titles or contracts, only effort.

music played softly from a speaker in the kitchen. someone laughed too loud at something dumb. matt stood by the counter with a drink in his hand, relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in years past, no edge, no scanning the room for threats or opportunities.

he was home.

you caught his eye from across the room and smiled. he smiled back easily, lifting his glass in a small salute.

then his phone buzzed.

once.

he frowned, more annoyed than anything, checking the screen like it was an interruption rather than a possibility. you saw the shift immediately, not panic, not hope.

recognition.

he didn’t answer it right away.

he met your eyes again, eyebrows lifting slightly in a silent question.

you nodded once.

"hey" he said into the phone as he stepped toward the hallway, voice casual. "yeah, i can talk."

you stayed where you were, chatting, laughing, pretending your heart wasn’t ticking a little faster now. you’d learned not to jump at every shadow. if this was something, it would wait.

the call lasted longer than the last one.

you watched him pace just out of sight, hand on his hip, nodding slowly. once, he ran a hand through his hair, something he only did when he was thinking hard, not reacting.

finally, he came back.

the room quieted without anyone meaning to make it happen. maybe they sensed it. maybe they just knew.

matt stood there for a moment, looking at all of you, friends, laughter, the life he’d built without asking permission. then his eyes found you.

"they want to offer me a contract" he said.

the words landed softly, like they didn’t need to announce themselves.

"permanent" he added. "smackdown."

someone swore under their breath. someone else laughed in disbelief. a cheer broke out, genuine and unpolished. you felt tears sting your eyes, not sharp this time. warm.

you crossed the room and took his hand.

"as matt?" you asked quietly.

he squeezed your fingers. "as matt."

you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

"we don’t have to decide tonight" he continued, glancing around. "they said they know i’m happy. they just want me there."

the irony wasn’t lost on either of you.

"looks like they finally figured it out" you said.

he laughed, shaking his head. "took them long enough."

friends closed in then, hugs, congratulations, noise returning in a wave. but in the middle of it all, matt leaned in close, his voice meant only for you.

"i already know my answer" he said.

you smiled. "me too."

because this time, it wasn’t about proving anything.

it was about choosing what came next, together, on your terms, with no fear of losing yourselves along the way.

and that made all the difference.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

2026

the lights were brighter from ringside.

they always were.

you sat just beyond the barricade, hands folded in your lap, the familiar thrum of the crowd vibrating up through the floor and into your bones. the ring loomed in front of you, ropes gleaming under smackdown blue, the kind of production that once felt intimidating and now just felt earned.

matt’s music hit.

the reaction was immediate, not confused, not nostalgic. the crowd rose in recognition, a wave of sound that made your chest tighten with pride. you stood as he came through the curtain, eyes locked forward, posture easy and confident.

matt cardona.

no asterisks. no footnotes.

he didn’t look at you right away. you knew better than to take it personally. this was his ritual, centre, breathe, assess. but when he turned toward your side of the ring during his entrance, his eyes found yours instantly.

the smallest smile tugged at his mouth.

you nodded once.

the bell rang, and the match began.

kit wilson was quick, sharp, eager to prove himself. he threw everything at matt, speed, innovation, momentum but matt absorbed it, grounded it, turned it into structure. he didn’t rush. he didn’t overreach.

he worked.

you watched the details most people missed, the way he shifted his weight, the way he spoke quietly to kit between movements, the way he let the crowd come to him instead of chasing them. this wasn’t about flash.

it was about command.

at one point, matt rolled near your side of the ring, pushing himself up on one knee. he glanced at you again, breath heavy, eyes steady.

you mouthed, you’ve got this.

he nodded.

the finish came clean.

matt caught kit mid flight, pivoted, and drove him into the mat with finality. the referee dropped for the count.

one. two. three.

the bell rang, sharp and definitive.

you were on your feet before you realized it, clapping hard as the crowd erupted. matt rolled to his knees, chest heaving, then stood as his hand was raised.

he didn’t look to the hard camera.

he looked for you.

he crossed the ring, ducked through the ropes, and moved straight to the barricade. you leaned forward at the same time, hands gripping the rail, heart pounding.

without hesitation, he cupped your face and kissed you, quick but sure, grounding and real, like everything else the two of you had built. the crowd cheered louder, but it faded into background noise.

for a moment, it was just you.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours through the barricade.

"home" he said quietly.

you smiled, eyes bright. "you earned it."

he grinned, wide and unguarded, before turning back toward the ring, victorious, validated, exactly where he belonged.

and as the blue lights washed over everything, you knew this wasn’t the end of his story.

it was the proof that it had always been his to tell.

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