#manchester united

[megs-1800]

The Hangover From Hell

Notes: This is a rewrite of my first ever fic 'The Hangover from Hell', its in 3 parts so I have combined it into one big fic. It had the potential to be something so good but as it was my first fic it wasn't great so hope you guys enjoy the rewrite :) Give me feedback and requests as usual.

Word Count: 20.7k

Pairings: Mason Mount x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Swearing and Smut

The door creaked open just before 1 a.m., Mason stepped inside quietly, trainers damp from the rain, coat already half-zipped down. The house was dark except for one lamp in the dining room still glowing faintly. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. You was still up, still working.

You sat hunched over the table, hoodie draped over your frame, glasses on, papers fanned out in messy piles. Your laptop screen was the only other light in the room, a harsh, icy blue reflecting off your cheekbones and the clench of your jaw.

He winced. “Hey.” Your fingers didn’t stop typing.  “You’re still working?” he asked, dropping his bag.

“What does it look like?”

“Jesus, okay—was just asking.”

“You said you'd be back at ten.”

The words cut like a clean blade. No heat. Just finality. “I know,” you said, toeing his shoes off. “Team dinner ran over, then I got pulled into a sponsor meeting after. Wasn’t exactly optional.”

“You could’ve texted.”

“I figured you’d be asleep.”

You finally looked up. “I was,” you said, voice like glass, “then I woke up and realised you still hadn’t come home. Again.”

He breathed out slowly, steadying himself. “I didn’t do it on purpose, babe.”

“You never do. That’s the problem.”

He stepped into the room, brows furrowed. “Are we really doing this again?”

You closed your laptop with a sharp snap and stood up, your hands shaking from how tightly you’d been clenching them. “You’re never here, Mason. I don’t even remember the last time we had dinner that wasn’t cold or eaten in silence.”

“I’m busy,” he snapped. “You knew what my job was when you moved in.”

“Yeah, and I thought still that this life included me too.”

“It does!”

“Really?” you shouted, arms flung wide. “Because I feel like an extra in the Mason Mount Show! You come home, crash on the sofa, eat dinner, and then you're off again the next morning before I’ve even woken up.”

“I’m building a career, Y/N!”

“So am I!”

He scoffed. “You mean the job you left four hours away?”

Your eyes blazed. “Don’t.”

“No—say it,” he said, stepping closer. “Say it again. Remind me how you gave everything up. Like you haven’t brought it up in every single fucking argument.”

“Because it’s the truth!” you screamed, pointing a finger at him. “I left my home, my office, my family. I get on a fucking train at 6 a.m. three times a week to prove to my boss I can handle a promotion while living in a different city. And for what, Mason? To sit here in this house alone every night while you’re off doing everything but this.”

“That was your choice,” he said, jaw tight.

You blinked. “Wow.”

“I didn’t ask you to move up here,” he pushed. “That was your decision.”

“For us!”

“And now you hold it over my head like I begged you to uproot your life for me.”

“Because I did,” you snapped. “I did that for you because I believed in this relationship because I thought we’d be building something together.”

“We are!” he shouted. “You just don’t want to see it.”

“No, Mason. What I see is a man who puts his team, his brand, his sponsors and everyone else before the person waiting for him at home.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“No. I’m being honest for once.”

He laughed coldly. “Right. Because you’re a fucking saint in all this, aren’t you?”

“Don’t,” you warned.

“No,” he said, voice rising again, “you want to talk about sacrifice? I barely sleep. I play through injuries. I say yes to every event and shoot and obligation so I can provide for this life we have, for you.”

“I never asked you to do that!”

“Yeah? But you sure don’t mind living in the house I pay for, do you?”

Silence. The words echoed like a slap. You stared at him, completely still. Mason’s face dropped the second he heard himself. “Shit.” But it was already done. Your expression changed slowly. The fire didn’t die; it hardened.

“You think I’m using you?” you said, deadly quiet. “Is that what this is?”

“No. I didn’t mean—”

“Say it,” you snapped. “Go on. You think I’m just here because it’s convenient? That I’m some glorified house guest? That I am some gold digger”

“I was angry. I didn’t—”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, pushing past him. “You know what? I work. I pay bills. I contribute. I cook. I clean. I cry in this house alone more nights than I can count, and you have the audacity to act like you’re some martyr?”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Yes, you did!” you shouted, spinning back to face him. “You’re pissed off because I keep reminding you that I gave things up for you. And instead of actually showing up, you throw money in my face like that somehow excuses everything else you’ve neglected.” He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “So go,” you whispered. “Go back to your perfect little world where nothing’s asked of you but football and Instagram posts.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You think any of this is fair?”

He stared at you, hands trembling at his sides. “I can’t do this.”

“Then don’t,” you bit back. “Walk out like you always do.”

“I never walk out,” he growled. “You just make it so fucking hard to stay.” And that broke something in you.

“Then go, Mason. If you’re so miserable here, just fucking go.”

He grabbed his coat without another word. You stood frozen, pulse thundering in your ears. The door opened. Then— “You know what?” Mason snapped, half-turned toward you, eyes red with rage. “You keep saying I’m never here? Maybe that’s not the problem. Maybe the problem is that you’re never happy no matter what I do.”

Your chest rose and fell with fury. “Because I’m not happy,” you said. “Not with this. Not with you like this.” And then he left. The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame and you collapsed into the chair behind you, mouth pressed into your palm as the sob broke free, sharp and helpless.

Mason barely noticed how hard the door slammed, his heart was pounding. His breath was coming fast, harsh in the cold night air. The rain had started up again, it was a soft drizzle that kissed his skin, but he didn’t bother pulling his hood up. He just walked. He has no plan, no direction. Just… away, from the house, from you, from everything.

“Fucking hell.” He mutters with gritted teeth, every word you’d thrown at him still bouncing off the inside of his skull like bullets. He growled under his breath and dug into his coat pocket, pulling out his phone and jabbing at the screen until it rang.

Lewis picked up on the second buzz, voice loud with music and laughter in the background. “Mase? Everything alright?”

“No.” His voice was flat, sharp. “Where are you?”

“Uh— I’m still at the club, my event in Manchester finished early so we thought we would all go out. You alright?”

“No,” Mason repeated. “I’m coming.”

“Wait—what?”

“Send me the address.”

“Mason, are you—?”

“Just send me the fucking address, Lew.”

There was a pause, and then Lewis sighed. “Alright. Sending it now.”

Mason hung up before he could say anything else. He tapped open the Uber app with shaking fingers. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet. He could still feel you in his chest, your voice, your eyes, the way your mouth trembled when he said it.

“Yeah? But you sure don’t mind living in the house I pay for, do you?”

“What the fuck was that?” He swore under his breath, pacing the curb as the app said five minutes. He jammed his phone back in his coat pocket, trying to shake it off. He wasn’t even sure who he was angrier at — you or himself. He hadn’t meant it. Of course he hadn’t but you’d been winding him up all night, throwing (Y/H/T) and your sacrifices in his face like he was supposed to carry guilt around like a souvenir. He didn’t force you to leave. He didn’t make you choose this life. You did that. For them. Right?

The car arrived. Mason slid in the back, head pressed against the cold window. He didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just stared out at the rain smearing the city lights, trying to slow the thud in his chest. His phone vibrated in his pocket, he ignored it, it buzzed again and then again. Eventually, he glanced down.

Y/N ❤️ So that’s it? You storm out and leave me to clean up the mess?

Buzz.

Y/N ❤️ I can’t believe you said that to me. About the money. After everything. You’ve got no idea how much that fucking hurt.

Buzz.

Y/N ❤️ Say it then. Say I’m just here for the lifestyle. That I’m just some kept girlfriend you pity. Say it and mean it.

Buzz.

Y/N❤️ No? Nothing? Then don’t come back.

Mason clenched his jaw so tight it ached. He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. You wanted him to grovel. Apologise. Own every word like it hadn’t come out in a moment of pure white-hot anger. But what about what you said?

“You’re never around.”

“I���m not happy. Not with you like this.”

“Then go, Mason.”

You told him to leave. Practically begged him to and now you was shocked that he had?

The Uber pulled up outside the club. Mason stepped out, the thump of bass hit him immediately, followed by the rush of bodies, neon light spilling into the street from the door. He needed this. Needed the noise. The distraction. Something—anything—to drown you out. Lewis was inside near the bar with a few familiar faces — some of the lads from Portsmouth, a couple of others he didn’t recognise. Everyone looked surprised to see him, and Lewis immediately stepped toward him with wide eyes.

“Mate… you alright?”

Mason grabbed a shot glass off the tray and downed it in one go before answering. “No.”

Lewis put a hand on his shoulder. “Y/N?”

Mason didn’t answer, but that was answer enough.

“What happened?” Lewis asked, quieter now.

Mason let out a bitter laugh and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I fucked up. She fucked up. I said shit. She said worse.”

“You left?”

“I couldn’t stay,” Mason said, eyes dark. “Not after that.”

Lewis looked like he wanted to ask more, but Mason turned to the bartender instead. “Double vodka. Neat.”

“Mase—”

“I’m not talking about it.”

Not here, not now, not when your voice was still ringing in his ears. Not when his phone was lighting up again.

Buzz. Buzz.

He didn’t even look. He didn’t need to. He knew it was you, because this is what you did now. Push each other past the point of reason, and then scramble to patch the bleeding cracks with late-night texts and sorrys that came too late. He downed the vodka, barely flinching.

Lewis was watching him, cautious. “You two gonna be alright?”

Mason stared ahead at the bar. “I don’t know.” And he didn’t because this time… it felt different. This time, it felt like they’d crossed a line they couldn’t uncross. Like he’d slammed the door on more than just an argument and he didn’t know how — or if — he could walk back through it again.

The bass was relentless. It thudded through Mason’s chest like a second heartbeat, but none of it cut through the fog. He’d had three shots and half a vodka lemonade, and he still wasn’t numb. Not even close. Lewis was still watching him from across the booth, drink in hand, brow furrowed like he was waiting for a time bomb to go off.

Eventually, he leaned in. “Come outside with me.”

“I’m good.”

“No, you’re not,” Lewis said flatly. “Come on.”

Mason didn’t argue. He just dragged himself up and followed him out through the side door to the smoking area, even though neither of them smoked. It was quieter out there — rain-softened air, the hiss of traffic, distant shouts from the city streets. Mason leaned against the brick wall, head tipped back. The cool drizzle stuck to his lashes.

Lewis shoved his hands in his pockets. “Alright. Talk to me.”

“I don’t wanna—”

“You dragged your arse to a club at midnight after a fight. You do want to talk.”

Mason exhaled hard through his nose. He didn’t even know where to start. His jaw was tight. His whole body still brimming with tension, like if he said the wrong thing, he might implode. Lewis waited.

Mason stared at the pavement. “She was already in a mood when I got in.”

“Why?”

“I was late.”

Lewis gave him a pointed look.

“I had a team dinner,” Mason muttered. “Then sponsor meeting I couldn’t get out of.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No.”

Lewis sighed. “Mate…”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Mason snapped. “It’s not like I was out fucking around. I was working doing my job.”

Lewis raised a brow. “And what’d she say?”

“She said I’m never home. That I don’t show up for her.” Mason scoffed bitterly. “Said she left her whole life behind and travels four hours for work and I don’t even notice.”

“And do you?”

Mason’s jaw ticked. “Of course I fucking do. I just— I didn’t ask her to give that up. She made that choice.”

“But you benefited from it.”

“I never wanted her to throw it in my face every time we argue.”

There it was. The crack in the wall. “She does that?”

“All the fucking time,” Mason muttered. “Every time I miss something or I’m late or training gets extended. It’s always, ‘I moved my life for you, Mason.’ Like I’m supposed to feel guilty about building a life she said she wanted.”

Lewis let the words settle. Mason scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm the ache behind his eyes. “I didn’t mean what I said about the money.”

“what did you say?”

Mason’s head dropped. “She was screaming at me,” he muttered. “Telling me she didn’t even feel like she knew me anymore. That I made her feel small. I just— I snapped.” He took a breath, but it caught in his chest. His voice came out lower, tighter. “I said she didn’t seem to mind living in the house I pay for.”

Lewis winced. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“She looked at me like I’d smacked her in the face.” Mason’s voice cracked a little. “I’ve never seen her look at me like that.”

“Did she say anything back?”

“She told me to leave. Said if I really think that, then I shouldn’t come back.”

“And you walked out?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Mason bit, his temper flaring again. “Let her keep going? Sit there and get told I’m a shit boyfriend and a shit man and not enough for her anymore?”

Lewis was quiet for a moment. Then he said, carefully, “Do you believe her?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you leave?”

Mason swallowed hard. “Because I didn’t believe myself either.”

Lewis nodded, understanding settling in. Mason leaned back into the wall. His shoulders felt heavier now. The alcohol had hit, but it didn’t soothe. It just magnified the ache.

“I love her,” he said, voice quieter now. “I do. I’d marry her tomorrow if I thought she’d say yes.”

Lewis blinked. “Wow.”

“But I don’t know how to do this sometimes, Lew. She works her arse off. She’s building this whole career — dragging herself across the country to make it work. And I… I can’t even be there for dinner. I can’t remember the last weekend we didn’t argue. In all honesty I cannot remember the last time we had sex.”

“She’s under pressure. You both are.”

“I know,” Mason muttered. “But I’m sick of it. Of feeling like whatever I do isn’t good enough. Like she’s keeping score.”

Lewis nodded slowly. “You feel like she resents you.”

“I think she’s starting to.” He paused, staring at the cracks in the pavement. “And that fucking kills me.”

There was a long silence, then Lewis said, “So, what are you gonna do?”

Mason shrugged, defeated. “No idea.”

“You gonna call her?”

“Not tonight.”

“You think she’s still awake?”

His phone buzzed in his pocket like it was waiting for that cue. He didn’t check it. “I know she is.”

Lewis looked at him. “She loves you, Mase. You know that.”

Mason’s eyes dropped. “Yeah. I just don’t know if it’s enough right now.”

“You don’t just walk away from her.”

“I already did.”

“Then walk back,” Lewis said simply. Mason didn’t answer, because it wasn’t that easy. Not anymore.

As he went back inside his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Mason didn’t even have to check to know it was you.

Y/N ❤️ 23 unread messages. 4 missed calls.

And they kept coming:

“I don’t care if you hate me right now, you don’t get to say what you did and just leave.” “You think this is about money??” “I gave up everything for us. For YOU. And you threw it in my face.” “I don’t know if we come back from this.”

He locked the screen and downed another shot.

“Mate.” Lewis’s voice was low, firm. “You need to go home.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Lewis leaned in, exasperated. “She’s messaging you because she still cares. You fucked up and so did she. So go home and fix it.”

Mason let out a harsh laugh. “Not tonight, Lew. I’m done playing the villain for a while.”

Lewis stood, jaw clenched. “Alright. I’m leaving. But don’t do something stupid.”

Mason just waved him off with a lazy flick of his hand, eyes scanning the club as the lights blurred and the room spun a little more each time he blinked. Another drink was pushed into his hand by someone — he didn’t care who. He knocked it back. The music was deafening. Someone’s laughter rang too close to his ear, sharp and artificial. And then he felt it, fingers curling around his wrist. He looked up, she was blonde, tanned, tall, lipgloss and lashes and knowing eyes.

“Mason, right?” she purred, already tugging him toward the dancefloor. “Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight.”

He didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. She stepped closer, fingers dragging up his chest as the beat kicked in, her hips swaying shamelessly in front of him. He could smell her perfume. Feel the heat of her skin. Her arm hooked around the back of his neck and her mouth brushed against his ear. “You looked like you needed a distraction.”

Mason blinked slowly, everything muffled around him now. His heartbeat was thunderous in his chest but not from attraction but from guilt, fury and emptiness. She leaned in, lips grazing his jaw. “Mmm, you're even fitter up close,” she whispered, breath hot.

Her hands moved lower, sliding over his shirt. He should have pulled away but he didn’t, because for one fucked-up second, this was easier. Letting someone else want him even if it was for all the wrong reasons. Your voice screamed in the back of his mind but he was still drunk, he was still furious and still broken.

She pressed her body against his. Her lips landed on his neck, soft and warm and so wrong. She began to grind against him her hips moving to the music, lips now hot and wet and sucking at his skin. He clenched his fists, swallowing hard. The pulse in his dick was involuntary, humiliating.

It’s just biology, he told himself but he wasn’t into it, not really, not in the way he should’ve been. His heart wasn’t in it because it was still at home, still shattered in pieces on their kitchen floor. He felt her fingers slide into his back pocket. Her tongue dragged against his skin again. And then everything blurred. His vision swam. Heat rushed to his head and then— black.

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His head was pounding, his stomach churning, his mouth dry as sandpaper. Mason blinked once—twice—and immediately regretted it. The sunlight was brutal. The bed wasn’t his and the girl curled up next to him? Definitely not you. Fuck. He scrambled upright, pulse thundering in his ears as reality slammed into him.

The room reeked of stale perfume, vodka, and sex. His shirt was half off, his jeans were still tangled around his ankles. The blonde beside him shifted, sighing contently in her sleep as her hand reached out searching for him. He pulled away like he’d been burned.

He looked down at his phone:

1 New Message — Y/N ❤️

With shaking hands, he grabbed it. There were more texts from you through the night, a full timeline of a woman trying to climb down from anger, trying to reach him even when he was determined not to be reached.

“You really think I used you?” “You know I’d rather be in Manchester with you than anywhere else without you.” “I’m sorry Mase. I would give up everything again if I had to keep you. You know that, right?” “I love you so much.” “Come home and we’ll sort this.”

His stomach twisted violently. He turned. There it was — the final nail in the coffin — discarded and damning on the bedroom floor: A used condom.

Mason felt the bile rise to his throat. He didn’t even remember it. Not the moment. Not the decision. Not anything beyond blurred lights and her lips on his neck and the overwhelming desire to forget. And now? He couldn’t remember a thing except how you had cried during their fight. How you’d looked when he left. How you’d said you loved him anyway. He jumped up, barely getting his jeans on as he snatched his phone and wallet off the floor. He didn’t bother waking the girl he didn’t care what her name was. He just had to go. Now.

The Uber ride was a blur of self-loathing and panic. His hands were shaking the whole way. He prayed you wasn’t home. He couldn’t face you yet. He needed a shower, a second to breathe, a chance to figure out how the hell he was going to tell you what he’d done but as the car pulled up, his heart dropped. Your car was in the driveway.

His stomach clenched as he looked at the last message again.

“Come home and we’ll sort this.” It had been sent two hours ago. You had stayed up all night, probably waiting, hoping whilst he had been in someone else’s bed. Mason stepped out of the Uber slowly, each foot heavier than the last. The key in the door felt foreign in his hand. As he walked inside the house was silent, too silent.

He crept upstairs like he didn’t belong there because suddenly, he didn’t and then he saw you. Sprawled across their bed in his United training top, only that. Your hair was messier than usual. Your cheeks blotched. Your body curled tightly into the duvet like you was holding yourself together even in sleep and your face was tear-stained, puffy and beautiful.

His chest caved in. You had cried yourself to sleep, alone in his shirt and he had been inside someone else. Mason couldn’t breathe. He backed into the bathroom, hand trembling as he locked the door behind him and ripped off his clothes like they were infected.

He stood under the shower, head bowed, letting the hot water scald his skin. He scrubbed his neck raw. He washed himself three times. Four. Five. It wasn’t enough. He could still feel the girl’s lips. He wanted to scream, wanted to hit something, wanted to go back six hours and undo everything but he couldn’t. He’d crossed a line and now he had to live with it.

He didn’t think it would feel this bad, the shower had washed off the sweat, the perfume, the lipstick stains but not the guilt. Not the sound of that girl’s moan in his ear, not the fucking condom wrapper on the floor.

He stared at himself in the mirror, the hickey on his neck glared back. Dark and loud as proof. He yanked on his hoodie, zip pulled tight up to his chin. It was too hot but he needed the cover, he needed to hide it. He didn’t even know the girl’s name. Didn’t remember if he asked. He wasn’t even that drunk. Just… furious. Numb. Distant from himself. And now? He hated himself.

When he stepped into the bedroom, you was still asleep, still in his top. Still curled on his side of the bed. His heart cracked clean in two. He tiptoed in, unsure if he wanted you to wake or stay blissfully unaware a little longer but your eyes fluttered open as he bent to pick up a dropped hoodie from the floor.

“Mase?” you whispered, voice dry, scratchy.

He forced a smile. “Hey…”

Your face was soft with sleep, but your brow creased. “What time is it?”

“Nearly 7.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t text.”

“I know.”

You sat up slowly. “Where were you?”

He hesitated. “With Lewis.”

Your expression didn’t change, you just nodded. “Are we okay?”

He swallowed. “I think so.”

“Are you okay?” He hesitated too long. You leaned forward, placing your hand on his chest, under the hoodie. “Mason.” He tensed. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You stared at him for too long like you were searching, you could see something was wrong you always had a way of knowing these things. He looked away, he couldn’t look you in the eye. “Mason, please,” you whispered, rising onto your knees. “Talk to me. You came home, you showered, and now you’re standing there like you don’t even want to touch me.”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly.

“You’re still dressed.”

“I’m cold,” he lied, tugging the sleeves down. You frowned in reply. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his hands. “I’m just tired. I don’t wanna fight anymore.”

“We’re not fighting. Are we?”

He shook his head but when you slid closer, your legs curling around his waist, your hands on his jaw and he froze. “You’re stiff,” you said, pulling back an inch. “You don’t wanna touch me?”

“It’s not that—”

“Then what?”

He blinked down at you, throat aching. He wanted to tell you, he needed to but instead, he kissed you. It wasn’t rough or needy, it was desperate. He laid you back and kissed you until your shoulders relaxed beneath him. You tasted like toothpaste and sleep. Your skin was warm from bed, soft where his hoodie had bunched up around your hips. You tried to push it off him but he stopped you.

“You’re cold?” you asked, brow furrowing.

“Yeah,” he lied again. You didn’t press and just curled your fingers around his hoodie drawstrings and pulled him closer and Mason lost himself. He kissed down your chest, pulling your thighs apart gently, he didn’t rush. You sighed when his lips brushed the inside of your knee and again when his tongue dragged slowly across the crease of your thigh.

“God, I missed you,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. That burned worse than anything, he used his mouth first with soft, deliberate strokes that had your hips lifting off the bed within minutes. You was already wet, already gasping, already gripping the sheets and he didn’t let up, not when your moans got louder, not when you whimpered his name with that broken edge he knew meant you was about to unravel.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, thighs trembling around his shoulders. “Right there, Mase, I—shit—baby—Mason—”

He held your hips down, sucking your clit into his mouth as you came hard, sobbing into your palm but he didn’t stop. He licked you through it, again and again until you was shaking, pushing his head back weakly. “I—I can’t, I—Jesus, I’m gonna cry.”

He kissed up your belly, your ribs, your chest, finally curling beside you and brushing sweaty hair from your forehead. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You giggled breathlessly. “I think I saw God.”

He laughed, hollow. “Yeah?”

“You… You always take care of me.”

His heart twisted then your hand slid between them, palming him through his joggers. “Let me take care of you now.” He stiffened.

“No,” he blurted. “I mean. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” You kissed his jaw. “Let me.” He didn’t know what to do so he gave in.

You kissed him sweetly as you tugged his joggers down, eyes soft, fingers gentle but Mason couldn’t feel anything past the ache in his chest. He couldn’t stop thinking about that girl’s perfume, the way he’d let her grind on him, the way her lipstick smeared on his mouth, the way he didn’t even try to stop it.

He stared down at you, trying not to make too much eye contact as he knew if he looked too hard he would break so he lets you guide him into you. His hips moved in slow, familiar rolls.  Your nails scraped his chest lightly under the hoodie.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered against his mouth. He shut his eyes, focused on your moans, your breath, your warmth. He focused on his angles ensuring he hits the one just to the side which he knows makes you go insane, it wasn’t long until you were cumming all over his dick.

Mason should be into it, he should be coming unravelled at this but he cannot stop focusing on how he just ruined his relationship. He wasn’t even hard anymore, not really but he knew you weren’t going to stop until he cum so he knew he had to fake it.

He rocked into you a few more times, kissed your neck, bit down on his lip and then gasped, tense.

You stilled. “Baby?”

He nodded quickly, holding you tight. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Your smile was sleepy, satisfied, full of love. “Thank you,” you whispered, nuzzling into his chest but he didn’t say anything. He just laid there, hoodie zipped to the neck, sweat damp on his back, guilt thick as blood in his mouth.

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It had been six weeks, forty-two days of holding his breath. Forty-two mornings waking up beside you and thanking every possible god you was still there. You’d asked him once, the morning after when your fingers had trailed absentmindedly down his stomach, when he couldn’t meet you eyes.

"Where did you stay last night, Mase?"

His heart had almost stopped but he’d played it cool, he shrugged, faked a yawn and said something about meeting up with one of the United lads and crashing on their sofa. You’d blinked at him for a long time but then just nodded. You didn’t ask again and never pushed. He wasn’t sure if you believed him or not but you let it lie and Mason had buried the truth deep and plastered over the crack. He decided it was best not to tell you because if he told you he would loose you and he couldn’t cope with that.

He didn’t stop, not for a second. He brought you flowers every week, fresh tulips or peonies or whatever the hell the woman at the florist said were in season. Dinner on the table when you got home, ensured he cooked all your favourites. Little notes left by your toothbrush and a glass of wine always ready on the side for when you get home. He would send you little texts as much as he can during the day when he was at training:

I miss you already. You’re my whole heart. Still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

He touched you all the time, kissed you more. Fell asleep with a hand on your hip or your belly, anything to keep contact. Anything to remind himself that she was still here because he knew if you found out, if you ever really knew, you wouldn’t be.

He told himself it was the right choice, that telling you wouldn’t fix anything. That it would only break you. That it would undo everything you’d rebuilt together and the truth was, you’d been happier lately and he told himself that was what mattered, that he was doing it for you.

It was a Thursday evening, you had just gotten home from Y/H/T, another four-hour round trip for a meeting you couldn’t miss. He had pasta on the stove and a candle lit on the kitchen counter. He’d bought your favourite wine, too.

You walked in, hair up, coat falling from your shoulders as you dropped your bag by the stairs. “Smells incredible,” you called, smiling, tugging your shoes off.

He kissed you like he hadn’t seen you in weeks, you kissed him back just as eagerly. “How was the drive?” he asked.

“Awful,” you sighed, stretching your arms up with a little groan. “Traffic the whole way. My back is wrecked.”

“Go shower. I’ll rub it after dinner.”

You looked up at him and smiled, that warm, worn-out smile that still made his stomach twist. “You’re too good to me, Mount.”

He forced a laugh, brushing hair from your forehead. “Only because I’m scared of you.” You snorted and flicked his arm, then headed upstairs.

You ate together on the sofa, legs tangled, a film playing low in the background. You laughed at his commentary, he watched you more than the screen.

When you finally fell asleep on his chest, wine glass empty and fingers still curled in his hoodie, Mason closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to your head. He then whispered quietly, so quietly he barely heard it himself: “I’m sorry.”

The next day Mason got home just before five. Training had wrapped early, light drills, a couple tactical meetings, some banter in the dressing room. He hadn’t told you he’d be home this early, he wanted to surprise you.

He had the little blue tiffany box in his hand, his fingers kept rolling it between his palms like he was still second-guessing it, even though he knew it was perfect. You’d worn that same fake heart pendant around your neck since you met. Silver-plated and tarnished now, the clasp always jamming. You said it reminded you of home, your dad had given it to you when you turned eighteen, he said it was the first thing he ever bought just for you but Mason wanted you to have the real thing, something that would last, something as permanent as he wanted to be in your life.

He walked through the front door, calling out softly, “Babe?”

He heard your voice float from the office upstairs. “Still on a call! Two minutes!”

Smiling, he kicked off his trainers, set the box down on the table beside a bottle of wine, and walked into the kitchen to grab you a Diet Coke. He could hear you talking, calm and focused, rattling off figures and timelines like it was second nature. He loved how serious you was when you worked.

By five-fifteen, you was downstairs, ponytail a little loose now, hoodie sleeves shoved up your arms. You looked exhausted but still beautiful, you were always fucking beautiful. He handed you the can and leaned against the counter, barely containing the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“I got you something.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because you’re you.”

“Mason…”

“It’s not a big deal.”

You crossed her arms. “Every time you say that, it’s always a big deal.”

He smirked, picked up the box and handed it over. You stared at it. “This is Tiffany…”

“Open it.”

“Mason—”

“Babe. Just open it.”

With a soft sigh, you lifted the lid and froze. Inside sat a delicate sterling silver heart pendant, almost identical to your old one. Only this one wasn’t tarnished, the chain didn’t tangle. the clasp didn’t stick. Your last one broke 2 months ago and you had been gutted.

Your eyes were wide. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Mason…” Your voice cracked, just slightly. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know how much the other one means to you,” he said, stepping closer, “but this one’s real. Like everything else I feel for you.”

You looked up at him, and it almost wrecked him. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whispered.

“Say you’ll wear it.”

Your smile was shy, blooming. “Of course I will.”

“Good,” he murmured, brushing a hand down your arm. “Because I also made us dinner reservations. That new Italian in the city centre, some of the lads said it’s insane.”

You laughed, soft and disbelieving. “You made reservations?”

“I called and begged. Told them I was proposing.”

“Mason!”

“Kidding. Maybe. Go get dressed, baby. Take your time. I’ll wait.”

He’d never waited so impatiently in his life, he didn’t sit, he just leaned against the bottom of the stairs in his black dress shirt, scrolling aimlessly on his phone while the clock ticked closer to seven. He heard your footsteps first, the soft tap of heels and then the swish of fabric, he looked up and his brain stopped working. You was in navy blue, a silk-like dress you’d worn once before on his birthday, the one that hugged your hips and tied in a bow at the back. Your hair was curled, pinned just off your face, soft and effortless and so you. You was holding the necklace between two fingers.

“Will you put it on for me?” you asked.

He didn’t speak, he just took it, stepped behind you, and fastened the clasp with shaky fingers. His knuckles brushed your skin, warm, soft, still slightly dewy from your perfume.

You turned around, smiling up at him. “How do I look?” He swallowed like someone I don’t deserve he was going to say but corrected himself.

“Perfect.”

Your nose scrunched. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He leaned down and kissed you just lightly, too scared of ruining your makeup, too scared of losing the moment. When you stepped back and grabbed your clutch, his chest ached even now the truth was rotting him from the inside out.

Mason had barely picked up the car keys when you sauntered past him in those heels, clutch in one hand, sunglasses on like you was already on holiday. “You ready, chauffeur?”

He gave you a look. “You’re cheeky.”

“I’m practical,” you shot back. “You’ve got training tomorrow you are not going to drink and I’ve got a full cocktail menu waiting for me.”

“You decided this whole plan, didn’t you?”

You turned around and walked backwards down the path toward the car, grinning. “I read that this place does the best pornstar martinis in Manchester and since I checked the menu and you’re on ‘athlete mode’…”

“You’ve already chosen your drinks before we left the house?”

“Obviously.”

Mason just shook his head, unlocking the car. “Get in, menace.”

The restaurant was tucked down a side street just off Deansgate, candles already flickering on tables by the windows, that warm Italian lighting spilling out into the golden evening. There was a buzz of glasses, soft jazz, and the sound of plates clinking gently against marble.

Mason let you go in first, your fingers curled around his as you gave their name at the door. You looked like you belonged in some magazine: city-girl elegance in that dress, gold catching the light at your collarbone. Your table was tucked near the window, with a perfect view of the bar and just enough privacy to make the evening feel intimate. Mason pulled out your chair, something you always rolled your eyes at but secretly loved and then sat down across from you, already smiling.

“Okay,” you announced, opening the cocktail menu like it was a sacred text. “Pornstar martini… or… ooh, a watermelon spritz?”

“You came here with a mission,” he reminded you, arching an eyebrow. “You said ‘best pornstar martinis in the city’ that was your whole sales pitch.”

“I know,” you said dramatically, chewing your lip. “But what if I was wrong and the watermelon one is actually better? I mean, we do live here now, I can come back.”

“I’m driving every time, am I?”

“Yes, you’re my loyal designated driver forever. You should be honoured.”

He grinned behind his water glass. “I am.”

You looked at him then like you’d just clocked how happy he looked. How much lighter he seemed. You reached across and nudged his hand with yours “It’s nice seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Not overthinking everything.”

His stomach twisted for a second but then your drink arrived, passionfruit balanced on top, shot glass of prosecco on the side and the conversation turned to food, the bread basket, what they were going to share for dessert even though you always said you was too full and then ate half of his.

Thirty minutes later, the drinks were flowing, you were on your second martini, flushed and giggling, Mason with a coke and the kind of smile he didn’t even try to fight anymore. You was talking about a coworker named Samantha who kept eating your yoghurts from the work fridge.

“She’s got this sneaky voice, you know?” you said. “Like, she’s all like, ‘Oh, did you have a yoghurt in there?’ knowing full well she already ate it.”

Mason laughed. “You’ve got issues.”

“She’s the problem!”

“You literally wrote your name on the lid?”

“In Sharpie.”

Mason shook his head, stealing a forkful of your pasta. “You’re terrifying.”

“You’re lucky you get the soft version of me.”

“Oh, believe me,” he smirked, “I’ve seen the unhinged version too.”

You pretended to gasp, putting your drink down dramatically. “Excuse me, I am nothing but calm, composed, and extremely reasonable.”

“You literally threatened to block me because I said chicken nuggets weren’t a real dinner.”

“Because they are a real dinner!” you argued. “Don’t come for my safe food.”

“I’m just saying—”

“You eat bland-ass chicken and boiled rice for every meal. You have no leg to stand on.”

“Okay, that’s training food, first of all—”

“And secondly, your idea of spicing things up is a bit of lemon pepper.”

Mason burst out laughing, nearly choking on his drink. “Oh my god.”

“It’s true,” you said proudly. “I’m the flavour in this relationship.”

“You’re something, alright.”

You smirked. “You love me.” He looked at you. God, he really did, more than anything. “I really do,” he said quietly, and your face softened. You blinked, the tiniest shift, like you hadn’t expected him to say it that sincerely. Your cheeks were still warm from the drink, lips slightly parted. “I love you too, Mase.” And in that moment suddenly the whole restaurant disappeared.

You were still laughing over your yogurt-thief stories when the plates were cleared. You leant back in your seat, running your finger lazily along the rim of your glass, flushed from cocktails and compliments.

“You’re so annoying,” Mason muttered, shaking his head as you teased him for finishing your pasta. “You act like you’re full and then leave all your food for me to finish.”

“Strategic. I’m training you for fatherhood. Finish what the kids don’t eat.”

He laughed, sipping his drink, then frowned as a high-pitched screech came from the table behind you. A group of girls had just been seated, loud and clearly already halfway through their night. Laughter echoed across the restaurant as one of them banged her hand on the table and shouted, “I swear to God, she actually did it! She shagged him!”

Mason glanced at you, as you were already turning round. You cocked your head at the table behind you, an amused smirk on your lips. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” you whispered, eyes dancing. “Why are hen dos always like this? One martini and suddenly everyone’s got their tits out and a vendetta.”

Mason chuckled tightly, following your gaze, just a casual glance but then his eyes snagged on one of the girls, laughing, blonde, half her lipstick worn off. His heart stopped and his blood turned to ice. His smile faltered, his stomach dropped like stone because now he remembered where he’d seen that face before. Six weeks ago. A sticky club, a room that wasn’t his, a girl he didn’t even ask the name of. She was laughing now, head thrown back, completely oblivious to him but it didn’t matter. Mason had already gone pale, sweat bloomed under his collar and his mouth felt dry.

“Mase?” you said gently, nudging his foot under the table.

“Huh?”

“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He forced a laugh, trying to shake it off. “Nah, I’m just… full. Bit hot.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, but the waiter arrived before you could ask more, notepad in hand.

“Dessert?” he asked brightly.

Mason opened his mouth ready to say no, ready to run but you gasped, throwing your hands up.

“We have to get the tiramisu,” you said dramatically, placing a hand to your chest like it was sacred. “I’ve been thinking about it since the bread basket.”

The waiter laughed. “Good choice. One to share?”

“Obviously,” you winked. “He’s too full, remember.”

Mason managed a small smile. “Yeah… we’ll share.”

As the waiter left, you leaned across the table, teasing. “Admit it — you love how dramatic I get about dessert.”

Mason couldn’t look over your shoulder again, he stared at his water glass instead. “You’re the queen of drama,” he muttered, forcing a playful tone.

“You love it.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I do.” but it tasted bitter on his tongue.

The tiramisu arrived ten minutes later beautifully layered, dusted with cocoa, soft and indulgent. You sat up straighter in your seat, eyes lighting up like a kid at Christmas.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “It’s stunning.” Then, of course, you pulled out your phone. Mason watched you angle the plate, fluff your hair slightly, take the picture. He could hear the laughter behind you, the blonde girl again, louder now, as if she was everywhere. He couldn’t swallow, his chest was tightening. “Sending it to Lauren,” you explained, typing. “We always rate desserts. This is a ten already.”

Mason nodded mutely. “Babe,” you said gently, kicking him under the table. “Why are you so quiet? You were fine five minutes ago.”

He looked up at you, at the way your lips were slightly sticky from the drink, the way your necklace gleamed against your collarbone, how happy you looked, how in love you looked.

“I’m just tired,” he said. “Training was rough.”

You frowned a little, then forked into the tiramisu and held a bite up to his mouth. “Have some. It’ll cheer you up.”

He leaned forward and took it tasting nothing, just sugar and shame. You smiled softly at him, then took a bite for yourself. “I’m having the best night, Mase.”

He nodded again, swallowing hard. “Me too.” But it wasn’t true, not anymore.

You was giggling through a mouthful of tiramisu, cheek puffed, your phone still open beside your plate. You looked like heaven, your eyes were bright, lips curved, fingers curled under your chin as you hummed, “Oh my God… this is like… orgasmic.”

Mason forced a breath out of his nose, something like a laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He needed to get out of there. His skin was crawling and his vision tunnelled every time he thought about that girl still being behind them. Please don’t look this way, Please don’t see me, Please, just let me have this moment. He begged but fate wasn’t on his side because as you reached for your glass, a sudden shadow fell over the table.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again.” Mason’s stomach hit the floor, he slowly looked up. She was standing right beside them. Blonde, smug, red nails wrapped around a pink martini glass, swaying slightly on her heels. Her eyes locked on his, and her mouth curled like she was proud of herself. “You left in a hurry that morning,” she purred. “Didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

You froze, fork mid-air and Mason’s mouth was dry. The girl leaned a hand on the edge of their table, tipping forward slightly. “Best shag I’ve had in a while, to be fair. Didn’t even get to say thank you.” The clatter of your fork hitting the plate might as well have been a gunshot.

Mason’s heart stopped completely like it forgot how to function. He glanced at you, you hadn’t moved. Still staring straight ahead, still silent. Your shoulders were stiff and your hands were still. The girl let out a snort, then dragged her gaze to you. “Oh. Shit.” Mason braced as she looked you up and down, mouth twisting with cruel interest. “Didn’t realise you had a girlfriend,” she said, slow and deliberate. “Otherwise I wouldn’t’ve fucked you so hard.”

Something cracked in Mason’s chest visibly. “Leave.” His voice was low and shaking. The girl blinked, grinned like she was proud, then shrugged. “Just thought I’d say hi,” she said, sickly sweet. “Cheers for the night, though. If you and whatever your name is doesn’t work out you know where to find me.” Then she walked away, hips swaying, laughing as she rejoined her table. Silence fell, you didn’t move, you didn’t blink, You didn’t say a word.

Mason watched you, the slight wobble of your lip, the way your lashes were suddenly heavy like you was holding something back. Your hands were folded tightly in your lap now. Your shoulders had tensed like you was bracing for impact.

“Y/N/N—” he started.

“Don’t,” you whispered, voice so small he barely heard it. “Don’t talk.”

You didn’t say anything for what felt like forever, you just stared at the empty spot where the girl had stood, hands in your lap, face unreadable. Your drink sat in front of you, then, without a word, you reached for it and drained it. Mason sat frozen, his heart trying to claw its way out of his chest. You flagged down the waiter with a stiff hand. “Another one, please.” He didn’t stop you. The silence between you was deafening, not even strained, just hollow like someone had sucked all the air out of the room and left them sitting in the ruins. You downed the second drink as soon as it came. Then, quietly: “I think we should go.”

Mason nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He reached into his pocket and handed you the car keys. “You go ahead. I’ll get the bill.”

You hesitated just for a second and then pulled a few folded notes from your bag and tossed them onto the table. “I want to pay some.” Mason flinched and that broke him more than anything. It was the way you said it, flat, formal, like you were strangers who’d shared a meal and now had to go their separate ways.

“Y/N” but you was already gone. By the time he paid and stepped outside, he spotted you in the car passenger seat now head turned away, both hands covering your face. And even through the darkened glass, Mason could see your shoulders shaking. You was crying now, finally breaking and he hated himself more than he ever thought possible.

He got in the driver’s side silently, he didn’t turn the key, he didn’t say a word. He just watched you, helpless. You didn’t look at him, you had your phone in your lap now, the screen open. You sniffed, wiped your cheek, then showed it to him.

“Is this her?” Your voice cracked.

Mason leaned over and his stomach dropped. The blonde on Instagram, full face of makeup, bikini pic, caption like “Sunkissed & savage x”. You had found her. He didn’t even know how you could find someone that fast. You laughed one of those broken, bitter ones. “You follow her,” you muttered. “Of course you do.”

He tried to reach out to put a hand on your knee but you flinched, recoiled instantly like his touch burned. You shook your head. “Don’t.”

Mason sat back, swallowing hard. You stared at the girl’s profile, then blinked a few times like you was trying to clear your vision. “I didn’t know you wanted someone like that,” you said softly. “I thought you liked the way I was.”

Your voice broke on the last word. Mason opened his mouth, heart pounding, desperate to speak, to say I love the way you are, I love you more than I can stand, you’re everything but nothing came out. You didn’t wait for a reply, you just turned your face away toward the window and wiped your eyes, shoulders still trembling in the dark.

The drive home was silent, Mason didn’t even put the radio on and all the while, you stayed curled against the door like you couldn’t bear to be near him, like you’d shrink yourself small enough to disappear if you could and maybe that was the worst part.

The front door clicked shut behind you, but it may as well have slammed, pure silence followed. Mason lingered in the hallway, keys still in his hand, watching you walk ahead like he wasn’t even there. You left your bag on the stairs,  kicked off your heels with a quick, impatient shove. His voice came out hoarse. “Y/N/N—” You didn’t respond, he followed you into the kitchen, but you didn’t stop, just opened the fridge blindly, grabbed a bottle of water, and turned your back. He could hear you breathing, he could see the way your knuckles gripped the counter. The way your shoulder blades lifted with every breath like you was holding yourself together through sheer force.

“Y/N…” He stepped closer, voice low, pleading. “Please say something.”

You didn’t even turn around, he moved again, closer still. “Say anything, I don’t care what—”

You spun around so fast he flinched. “How was she?”

Mason blinked. “What?”

“You wanted me to speak,” you snapped, eyes wild and glassy. “So here you go. How was she?”

“Y/N—”

“No, I’m serious!” you shouted, voice rising like a siren. “You fucked her, didn’t you? So how was she? Was she loud? Did she beg for it? Were her tits better? Was she tighter?”

Mason’s jaw clenched. “Stop—”

“You want me to talk?” You kept going, eyes flashing. “Then give me some goddamn answers! Did she ride you? Or did you do it from behind so you didn’t have to look at her? Or was that the fun of it someone who didn’t know you? Someone who didn’t ask for anything but your cock for the night?”

“Enough!” Mason bellowed, slamming his hand against the table so hard the water bottle jumped. You didn’t even flinch. “Don’t like the questions?” you sneered. “Too fucking real?”

His chest heaved, guilt rolling off him in waves. He ran both hands down his face and let out a strangled groan. “Y/N, please—”

“No! You begged me to talk! I’m talking!”

Tears were slipping down your face now, quick and angry, even as you stormed across the kitchen, your voice rising. “Was she prettier than me? That what you want now, yeah? Some little blonde with fake tits and lip filler who calls you daddy while she rides your money? Is that what you needed that night?” Mason’s throat closed. “I wasn’t enough?” you whispered, suddenly small again. “You needed that?”

He took a shaky step forward, hand reaching. “Baby, please don’t do this—”

You stopped dead, eyes widened, mouth parted, colour draining from your face. It hit you. “Oh my God.” Mason froze. You blinked, stepping back. “Oh my God.”

“Y/N—”

Your voice cracked. “You didn’t come home after that fight…You didn’t come home that night.”

“Babe—”

“That was when it happened,” you whispered, like you couldn’t believe your own words. “That night.”

Mason’s stomach dropped. “Let me explain—”

You laughed, it was hollow and broken. “Oh my God, Mason. You slept with me the next morning.”

“Y/N—”

“Are you freaking kidding me?!” you screamed, face twisted in rage. “You cheated on me and then crawled back into bed like nothing happened?!”

“It was a mistake!”

“NO SHIT!”

You shoved him with both hands to his chest, he stumbled back a step but didn’t fight it. “You came home reeking of guilt, and I was too fucking stupid to see it!”

“I was drunk—”

“Oh don’t you dare use that as an excuse!”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

“But it did!” she shrieked. “And then you lied to my face! You held me, you kissed me, you said you loved me and you were still inside someone else less than twelve hours earlier! I can see the headlines now,” you spat. “‘I’m pregnant with Mason Mount’s baby’”

Mason’s heart stopped. “I wore a condom,” he said quickly, too quickly.

You scoffed. “Oh, thank God! Because condoms are just so bloody reliable when you’re drunk and slamming a stranger. Honesty do you think that makes it any better?!”

Tears streamed down your face now, hot and steady but you didn’t wipe them, you didn’t hide. You let them fall, let them show because now there was nothing else to protect. Mason’s voice cracked. “I didn’t know how to tell you—”

“You weren’t going to tell me!” He couldn’t argue because you was right. “You bought me jewellery,” you said, broken. “You made dinner. You ran me baths. You faked a whole life just to cover what you did.”

“I didn’t fake us, Y/N/N.”

“You faked trust,” you bit out. “You took away everything we built.”

Mason stepped forward, helpless. “I love you.”

“Don’t.”

“I swear to God, I never wanted to hurt you—”

“You already did!” you sobbed. “You ruined me.” And that was what broke him. Not the anger, not the screaming, not even the silence. It was the way your voice cracked on ruined, like you meant it, like he had actually done that to you.

Mason fell to his knees, hands in his hair, chest heaving. “I love you,” he whispered again. “I love you more than anything, Y/N, and I fucked up.”

You stood above him, shaking your head, arms crossed tight across your chest like you didn’t know what to do with your own body anymore.

“I can’t even look at you.”

“Y/N, please—”

“I need space.”

His heart split clean in half. “No—”

“I need to breathe, Mason. I need to fucking breathe before I drown.”

You turned, walking out of the room with slow, devastated steps up the stairs, into the dark, the echo of your footsteps louder than anything he’d ever heard and Mason stayed where he was on the floor, in pieces, where he belonged.

The house had gone too quiet, every tick of the clock felt like a hammer against his chest. Mason stayed slumped on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the spot on the floor where you had screamed at him, where you’d broken right in front of him and he’d had nothing to offer but guilt. He heard the soft padding of footsteps on the stairs, he looked up and you stood in the hallway. Hair scraped into a messy bun, glasses on, no trace of makeup left on your face. You wore an old grey tracksuit, sleeves rolled, cuffs dragging slightly on the floor but Mason swore that you looked just as beautiful as she had in that fucking dress an hour ago, and that made it worse.

Slung over your shoulder was the Louis Vuitton weekend bag he’d bought you for Paris. The trip he’d planned as a surprise for their anniversary. The one you’d cried about when you found the itinerary in his drawer. The bag was a matching set to his, one you’d squealed over when he gave it to you, all dimples and lipstick and eyes wide with joy.

"You're going?" he asked, voice rough and cracked.

You nodded, not looking at him as you zipped your coat. “I’ve got to be in Y/H/T for work next week anyway. So… I’m going back to my parents’.”

Mason stood up quickly, like that might stop you but it didn’t. His chest caved in when you stepped closer, just a few inches between you now. You leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. It was slow, intentional, painful. His eyes fluttered shut and when you pulled back, he saw your tears again. “As much as I hate you right now,” you whispered, “I know what you’re like. So please… take care of yourself.”

Mason’s jaw trembled, he couldn’t answer, he physically couldn’t make a sound. His hands reached for yours, gripping them tight like maybe if he held hard enough, you wouldn’t go but you slipped out of his grip like water through his fingers and then you walked to the door. No dramatic pause, no backward glance. Just a quiet closing of the door behind you and that was it, you was gone. Mason broke, he sank back to the floor, knees pulled to his chest, hand still covering the part of his mouth where you’d kissed him. The taste of you still lingered and the echo of your goodbye was louder than any scream.

Mason grabbed his phone, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t overthink it. He needed Lewis, it rang twice before Lewis answered, chipper. “Yo. What’s up?”

Mason couldn’t speak, his throat was tight, his vision blurred.

“Mase?”

He managed one cracked syllable. “Lew…”

“…You alright?” Now Lewis sounded concerned. “Is Y/N alright?”

“She left.” Mason swallowed hard. “She’s gone.”

There was rustling on the other end of the line, then the faint sound of a TV being muted and Debbie’s voice in the background, “What’s going on?”

Lewis clearly moved to another room. “Wait, what d’you mean ‘gone’? You two were just out for dinner—”

“She knows.”

“Knows what?”

Mason’s breath hitched. “What I did. That night… after the fight. I—I didn’t come home. I told her I stayed with one of the United lads but… that wasn’t the truth.”

There was a pause. A heavy, confused silence. “Okay? So where did you go?”

Mason closed his eyes. “I slept with someone.”

It hit the line like a bomb. Lewis didn’t speak, he didn’t breathe. Just the quiet ringing in Mason’s ears and the hollow pit growing in his chest.

“You… slept with someone?” Lewis finally echoed, voice hushed in horror. “You cheated on Y/N?”

“I didn’t plan to,” Mason rasped. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t like that, Lew. I didn’t even remember it at first, not until—until I saw her again tonight.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Suddenly, Mason heard voices again, his mum and dad, clearly within earshot now. “Lewis?” Debbie asked in the background. “What’s happened?”

Lewis snapped, “Not now, Mum—”

“No, put her on,” Mason muttered. “They’re gonna hear it anyway.”

Lewis hesitated, then, “He wants to speak to you.”

A few seconds later, Debbie was on the line. “Mason?”

His voice was barely audible. “I cheated on her, Mum.”

A pause and dead silence. Then, horrified: “You what?”

“It was one night. After we fought. She didn’t want to talk to me. I was drunk, I felt like she hated me, and I didn’t even think—I just—”

Tony’s voice cut in suddenly from the background. “Mason. You better not be saying what I think you're saying.”

“I did it,” Mason whispered. “I cheated on her and now she knows. She left tonight.”

Debbie exhaled sharply, like the wind had been knocked out of her. “Oh my God, Mason. Why? That girl loves you.”

“I know,” he said weakly. “I know, and I’ve been trying every day since to make up for it, without telling her. But tonight the girl came over to our table, said everything right in front of her.”

Debbie’s voice was trembling now. “Mason… do you realise what you’ve done to her? To yourself?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he choked. “I was scared she’d leave me so I said nothing. I thought I could fix it.”

“You lied to her,” Tony snapped. “You took her choice away and now you’re shocked she walked out?”

“I didn’t want to lose her!” Mason shouted, tears streaming now. “I love her!”

“Then you should’ve acted like it!” Lewis snapped. “Jesus, Mase. Y/N’s not some throwaway thing you replace. She trusted you, we all did.”

Mason fell silent. Gutted. Drenched in his own guilt. Debbie’s voice came back, quieter. Shaken. “Do you want us to come to you?”

“No,” Mason croaked. “I just needed to hear someone’s voice. I don’t know what to do. I—I think I’ve lost her for good.”

Another pause. Then, heartbreakingly honest: “You might have,” Debbie whispered. “But we’re still here. Even when you fuck up like this.” Mason didn’t speak. He just stayed there, clutching the phone like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

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Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since everything imploded, since the night at the restaurant, the girl, the tiramisu that never even got finished. Since you left him standing in the hallway with tears in his eyes and a bag that was meant for Paris slung over your shoulder. And since then, Mason had existed in this numb, hollow limbo. Not sleeping, not eating properly. Living between training and punishment because that’s what every day felt like now, a sentence.

You barely replied when he texted. Most of the time, you didn’t even open them and when you did, it was cold, bunt, two words if he was lucky.

"Yeah." "Busy." "Fine."

And then today, finally something different:

You at home?

He saw the message during a break between drills and nearly dropped his phone. His thumbs were clumsy, frantic as he typed back:

No I’m in training until 3pm but I can meet you after if you want? xx

No reply. He checked again after training but still nothing. There was still nothing when he changed or when he grabbed a coffee he didn’t even want or when he skipped the usual recovery session and practically ran to his car. He didn’t care, if you wanted to see him, he’d be there. If you was ready to talk, he'd crawl. He pulled up to the house just after three, barely bothering to kill the engine before he was out and jogging to the front door.

The street was quiet, the house looked exactly as he left it. Except something felt off. His stomach tightened as he pulled up the Ring app and tapped into the footage. His fingers froze, there you was. An hour ago. Your hair in a claw clip, oversized hoodie and leggings. You looked tired and distant. You wasn’t alone, two of your friends were with you, one of them carrying a box, the other holding a bag. You had your keys, you moved quickly. No hesitation, straight upstairs, in and out in less than ten minutes. You left with three boxes, four suitcases and a tote bag then they all left. Not before locking the door and posting the keys through the letter box, that broke him more knowing you weren’t planning on coming back.

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Its been six months since Mason saw you on the Ring Doorbell packing up all your things. He hadn’t heard your voice since. Sure, you replied to a few messages here and there, mostly work-related when he tried to use any excuse to reach out “you left your chargers” or “did this parcel come to mine by accident?” but you never gave him more than necessary and he didn’t blame you. He couldn’t but he just missed you. God, he missed you.

You didn’t block him, not once. Which was both mercy and cruelty in equal measure because Mason still checked your socials every damn day. Sometimes at night, sometimes mid-session in the dressing room pretending to scroll aimlessly. You didn’t post often, but when you did it hurt. Your smile, your glow, the new curls in your hair, your office team photos, the late-night snaps with your besties Lola and Summer.

He watched you get promoted from a distance, you were now Head of Operations. You looked so proud in the picture, stood in front of your company banner, holding your little award. The caption thanked your team and your boss but not him and why would it? He should’ve been the one you celebrated with. The one opening champagne with you, the one taking pictures in their kitchen. Lifting you on his shoulders, grinning like an idiot. Instead, he saw it on your story 12 hours after everyone else. It broke him, again.

A week later, he saw it. A graphic post from your charity’s page. Something bold and colourful and impossible to ignore:

"Shortlisted: Most Impactful Charity - London Fundraising Awards, September 2025."

Your name was in the caption, you was listed as a speaker. It was happening this Saturday in London and that was it. Mason knew he had to be there.

He rang Lewis first. “Oi, you free Saturday?” he asked, voice casual like it wasn’t costing him everything. “There’s this awards thing in London loads of top people, couple of foundations and charity organisations I’ve supported through United. Figured it’d be decent networking. Fancy it?”

Lewis was hesitant at first “In London?” but Mason talked it up. Played it smooth, didn’t mention you once. Then he messaged Declan and a couple of other lads. Told them it was black tie, fancy venue, one of those feel-good nights where a few pictures would go a long way.

It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t the truth either because only Mason knew the real reason he was going. He wasn’t going to network,  he wasn’t going to be seen. He wasn’t going to clap politely for community projects. He was going to see you.

Mason had barely taken a breath since he walked into the ballroom, the charity event was packed, swarming with donors, journalists, influencers, and polished CEOs who all wanted something. Cameras flashed and laughter ricocheted off champagne glasses. Mason had taken photos, shook hands, nodded at speeches, all while his eyes combed the room. He was searching for you. He almost gave up but then he found you from across the room. You was laughing, your head tilted slightly, hair curled and bouncing gently as you moved. The black and gold dress you wore clung to your top half in a way Mason couldn’t stop staring at. Elegant, effortless, devastating.

Your cheeks were a little flushed, you stumbled slightly in your heels and clung to one of your friends, grinning through it. You was tipsy, he could tell. He remembered that glow, that laugh. He used to walk beside you like this, used to keep a hand on the small of your back when you’d had too much prosecco, just to steady you. His chest ached.

“You good?” Declan asked beside him, nudging his elbow. “You’ve been staring at the same corner of the room for the last five minutes.”

Mason didn’t answer. Lewis followed his gaze and furrowed his brow. “What are you looking at—?”

His face changed when he spotted you like something clicked.

“No way,” Lewis muttered, voice flat. “Is that—? Is that Y/N?”

Declan sat up a little straighter. “Ohhh.”

Lewis’s head whipped toward Mason, the weight of the realisation sinking in fast. “Hold on. Wait a second. This is why you wanted to come, isn’t it?” Mason said nothing. His jaw tensed. “Oh my God,” Lewis groaned, pushing a hand through his hair. “You dragged me out on a Saturday night for a bloody stakeout? You said this was for the lads, for exposure, a good cause—”

“It is a good cause,” Mason snapped, but it came out too defensive. Declan leaned back, exchanging a look with Lewis. “You didn’t mention she’d be here.”

“Because I knew you’d say not to come,” Mason muttered.

Lewis blinked at him, stunned. “Mate… you’ve been quiet for six months. You wouldn’t even say her name. Now we’re at a black-tie event just so you can look at her from across the room?”

Mason glanced back at you, he couldn’t help it. “I just wanted to see her. That’s all.”

Lewis exhaled heavily, shaking his head. “Don’t you think if she wanted to talk to you, she’d have replied to one of the ten-thousand messages you’ve sent her?”

That one landed right in Mason’s gut. He said nothing. “She moved out. She’s not said a word in half a year, and now you’re watching her like you think something’s changed?”

Mason’s throat was tight. “I never got to explain.”

Declan, quiet until now, finally cut in, his voice low. “Mate… I get it. I do. But she looks like she’s doing alright. She’s got her people around her. This might not be the night to rewrite everything.”

Mason didn’t look away from her. “It’s the only night I’ve got.”

Lewis softened just slightly, sighing through his nose. “You don’t even have a plan, do you?”

Mason’s silence was answer enough and across the room, you laughed again, soft and warm and untouched by everything you left behind.

Mason sat still, unusually quiet while the ceremony carried on around him. The awards had been ticking by slowly, best local initiative, fundraising campaign of the year, outstanding community partner, they all presented with long bios and polite applause, rounds of appreciation that barely reached him. His fingers tapped lightly against the linen tablecloth, his leg bouncing under the table. He wasn’t here for any of this, he was here for you.

And then: “The winner of this year’s Most Impactful Charity Award,” the host announced, glancing down at the gold envelope in her hand. He hears him read our your charity’s name.  Mason’s head snapped up. The applause was immediate and thunderous. The table nearest to the stage, the one you was sat at, erupted into cheers. Hands banged against tables, napkins waved in the air, a few people even stood. You looked momentarily frozen in surprise before you stood, hugging your colleagues tightly.

Mason couldn’t clap, not yet. He just stared. There you was, smiling, stunned, your eyes glassy and glittering under the lights. You brought both hands to your chest as you reached the podium. The black and gold dress shimmered in the spotlight, but it wasn’t the dress. It was you who glowed. He felt his chest tighten in that maddening, helpless way again.

Your speech was quick, thanking your teams hard work for being able to help everyone you have. It was totally selfless, you took no responsibility eventhough Mason knew it would have been done to all your hard work. All Mason could do was look at you, this woman he had loved, hurt, and still loved anyway. The way you held the mic with both hands, your eyes scanning the room with that hopeful fire still burning in you, it floored him. You was everything he remembered and more. You had no idea he was watching but he’d never been prouder.

The second the final speech ended, chairs scraped back and glasses clinked. People swarmed to congratulate the winners, but Mason had only one person in his sights. He spotted you on the far side of the room, just as one of her colleagues leaned in to whisper something in your ear. You gave a tight smile and nodded, weaving through the crowd toward the side doors that led outside. Mason stood instantly. Lewis and Declan glanced up, both clocking his movement with the same knowing look.

Declan leaned back in his seat. “Go on then, Romeo.”

Lewis just smirked, raising his glass slightly. “Don’t make it worse.”

Mason gave them a faint, breathless laugh before following you out into the soft buzz of a London September night. Outside, the air was cooler, calmer. The rush of city traffic a distant hum. He saw you straight away, standing half in shadow, half bathed in the warm glow of a fairy light-strung terrace. In your hand was a cigarette. Mason’s chest squeezed, you only smoked when you was drunk or nervous or both. You took one final drag before your eyes caught his. Your spine straightened instantly and your expression froze. in one swift, guilty movement, you flicked the cigarette to the floor and ground it out with your heel, destroying the evidence.

You turned back toward your colleague, but it was too late. He was already there. The woman beside you looked to him, her eyes going wide. “Oh my God,” you blurted, “you’re Mason Mount!”

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, trying not to glance at you. “Yeah—uh—hi.”

“My boys love you,” the woman beamed. “Can I get a photo? And an autograph? They’ll actually explode.”

You silently handed over a napkin from your clutch and a pen from somewhere in your jacket pocket, your eyes darting everywhere but on him.  He can see your hand trembled slightly.

“Here,” you muttered to your colleague, stepping back to take the picture, fingers cold on the phone screen. Mason smiled faintly, signed the napkin with a quick message, and posed with the colleague who grinned like she’d won the lottery. Once done, the woman squealed, “They’re going to freak out, thank you!” before turning to you. “You could have told me you knew him!”

Your lips barely lifted. “Yeah. Well.”

The woman didn’t catch the tone. “I’ll let you two catch up.” She waved. “Thanks again!”

The second she disappeared through the doors, silence dropped like a stone. Mason turned, heart thudding. “Have you got a second?”

You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in months. Your face was perfectly made up, your lashes thick and long, but your eyes, they looked tired. Guarded. A little hollow. Still, you gave a single, slow nod. “I’ve got a second.” But your arms stayed folded tight across your chest, like you was bracing and Mason had never felt so unsure of what came next.

You were alone now, just the two of you. The sounds of the event inside were muffled, distant. Like they were on the other side of something much thicker than a wall. Mason stood there, frozen. This was the moment he’d imagined every day for the last six months. Every morning in the shower. Every night he stared at the ceiling. Every pointless scroll through your Instagram. He’d practiced the speech in his head a thousand times. Rehearsed how he’d explain. How he’d beg. How he’d promise. And now his mind was blank. His mouth was dry, his heart hammering like a kid getting told off, but when he looked at you there was only one thing he could manage. “You look incredible.”

Your cheeks flushed, not dramatically. Just that soft hint of pink dusting high on your cheekbones. And then that smile. That tiny, shy little smile that had always undone him. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Mr Mount,” you replied lightly, your voice just a touch too casual, like you was holding yourself back. You was guarding yourself, he could feel it. Your body language, your tone, even the way you angled your head slightly away from him, like proximity was dangerous.

“I saw the press release,” he said softly. “Congratulations on the promotion. And the award. I always knew you’d be destined for great things, Y/N/N. I’m… I’m so proud of you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then you murmured, “Thank you.” That was it, no elaboration, no softening. The quiet stretched out between you again like fog, thick and awkward. Mason’s throat tightened. He was about to give up, tell you he wouldn’t bother you anymore, maybe even start to walk away when you turned slightly. “How’s your family doing?”

His chest expanded with something like relief. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “They’re good,” he said, smiling faintly. “Still pissed with me, don’t get me wrong. But… they miss you. All of them do.”

Your eyes flicked toward the ground. “My mum especially,” Mason added quietly. “She keeps saying you still need to pop down and see her sometime. Says she misses your baking.”

That finally made you smile again. A real one, even if it was tinged with sadness and Mason could see it, plain as day, the memory you was drifting into. All those weekends you’d come to Portsmouth with him, always arriving with Tupperware boxes full of banana bread or rocky roads or some Pinterest recipe she’d wanted to try. His mum fussing over you, pretending she hadn’t eaten all day just to justify going back for seconds. His dad pretending not to like the sweet stuff while nicking half the tray. You looked down now, pressing your lips together. That smile fading slightly like it hurt too much to hold.

Mason swallowed. “They never stopped loving you, Y/N/N. I don’t think they ever will.” and what he didn’t say, but rang loud and clear between every word—was: Neither did I.

Mason didn’t even know how long they’d been standing outside. The streetlamps had come on. The warm buzz of the event inside felt miles away now. Everything else, every worry, every face, every thought had blurred into the background, except for you. And then “Oi,” a voice cut through the air.

Mason turned, it was Declan. He hadn’t even noticed him come out. You looked up, startled at first but the second you registered who it was, your entire face lit up. Mason’s stomach sank a little and you practically ran into Declan’s arms. That hug was long, tight, familiar. The kind of hug you only give people who’ve known your heart for years. “Better reception than I got,” Mason muttered to himself, but he knew. He knew he deserved that.

“How’s things going?” you asked, pulling back to look up at Dec. “I keep saying to Lauren I need to come down and see you guys soon, sorry work’s just been manic at the moment.”

Declan gave you a soft shake of the head. “Don’t worry about it. If I knew you were gonna be here tonight, I would’ve brought Lauren. But… unfortunately, Mason decided to leave that part out.”

He shot Mason a knowing look. “I just came out to make sure you haven’t killed him,” Dec added with a grin. “I’ll leave you both to it.” Then he pulled you into another hug, planted a kiss on your cheek, and headed back inside. Mason watched it like a man being starved, desperate for a scrap. He’d give anything for that hug, that kiss, that ease. The second Declan disappeared through the door, the spell broke.

You turned to him, the warmth on your face shifting into something much sharper, much heavier. “You knew I was going to be here Mason?” Your voice had changed now, clipped, formal, controlled. You was using his full name, and it cut. “Why would you drive all the way down here?”

He swallowed, his throat tight. “I had to talk to you. I had to see how you were doing. I saw the opportunity and… I took it.”

He could see you falter. Your breath catching in your chest, your jaw clenched just a little too tight. Tears welled in your eyes before you had a chance to blink them back. It twisted something in him, broke something old and still bleeding. “I know I fucked up, Y/N,” he said softly. “And I know you probably will never, ever forgive me. But… we haven’t spoken in six months. I needed to speak to you.”

You didn’t say anything. “So now I’m here…” he trailed off, heart pounding in his ears. This was it. He had a whole speech, every word practiced, every beat timed, a whole script memorised for this exact moment but you was standing there looking at him like that, eyes wet, arms folded around yourself like armour and his mind just went blank. “I—” he fumbled. “I had this whole thing planned. Like a proper winning-you-back speech. I swear, I had it. But now I’m just—”

He stared at you helplessly. His hands in his pockets and his voice dry. “Now I’m just standing here saying… I needed to tell you you’re beautiful.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh and looked down at the pavement. “You drove three hours and sat through a two-hour awards ceremony to tell me I’m beautiful?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I had more. I swear I did. It’s just… you’re making me nervous standing there looking like that.” Another beat and then he said it. “I guess all I can say is… I love you, Y/N.”

You look at Mason with that same quiet sadness in your eyes, the kind that used to break him even when he was the one comforting you. Only this time, it was him that caused it and now it was breaking him all over again. Your next move caught him completely off guard. Without a word, you slowly walked over to him, heels catching on the uneven gravel of the outdoor patio, making you stumble slightly. He instinctively reached out, steadying you with a hand to your elbow, but you shook your head and found your balance again. He let you go. God, he missed touching you.

You stopped just in front of him, close enough that he could smell the familiar blend of your perfume mixed with Prosecco and cigarette smoke. He always hated that habit, you only ever smoked when you were nervous or tipsy, but right now it was the most familiar part of this disorienting night. Your fingertips found his hands and slid into them gently, intertwining without hesitation, like muscle memory, like you’d never stopped. His heart was thudding so hard it made him feel dizzy and then you leaned in, eyes fluttering closed, and pressed the softest, slowest kiss to his cheek.

It lingered, long enough that he wanted to pretend, just for a second, that things were okay again. That this was normal, that you still loved him the way he remembered. When you pulled back, you didn’t let go of his hands.

You looked him straight in the eye, a little unsteady, a little broken, and said quietly, “I will always love you, Mase. No matter what.”

His breath caught. He didn’t realise how badly he’d needed to hear those words but you weren’t finished. Your voice cracked slightly. “But you broke me.” He blinked, hard. “You did the worst thing you could ever do to me,” you went on, voice quiet but laced with steel. “And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth. I had to find out the way I did. You let me spiral, lose my mind thinking I was crazy. You looked me in the eye and still lied. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

He couldn’t speak. You dropped your gaze for a second, collecting yourself before lifting your eyes again this time wet with unshed tears. “If I’d done that to you… if I’d slept with someone else behind your back and you found out from someone else, not me—how would you feel?”

It wasn’t a real question. You both knew the answer. Mason would’ve lost his mind. He would’ve shown up to the guy’s house. He wouldn’t have just cried, he would’ve broken things. He would’ve never let it go. He swallowed thickly, guilt rising like bile. He tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was, “You said you love me?”

His voice cracked. He hated how desperate it sounded. You nodded, a broken smile playing at your lips. “Yes, Mason. I always will. But getting over you…” You let out a quiet laugh, more bitter than amused. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder than losing people. Harder than leaving any of my other exs. Because with you… it felt real. It felt like forever.”

That admission undid him, you gently pulled your hands from his, like it physically hurt to keep holding him. A tear slipped down your cheek, and he fought every instinct to reach out and brush it away. You stepped back, creating a space between you that felt more final than it should’ve.

“I can’t do this right now,” you said, shaking your head softly, your voice shaking now too. “Tonight’s supposed to be a good night. I’ve worked so hard for this. I can’t let you ruin it.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came. What was there to say? “I spent enough nights crying over you,” you added, voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t do it again. Not tonight.” And there it was the final nail in the coffin.

You start to shiver as the late September evening dips into something colder, a subtle chill creeping in with the breeze. Your arms instinctively cross over your chest, rubbing at your bare skin for warmth. Mason notices immediately, he always noticed. “Did you want my jacket?” he asks softly, already starting to shrug it off his shoulders.

You shake your head quickly, half to dismiss the gesture and half to steady yourself. “No, it’s okay,” you mumble, your voice a little lighter than it was moments ago, though still raw. “I probably need to go back inside anyway. My team’s probably wondering where the hell I’ve disappeared to.”

You don’t meet his eyes when you say it, instead, you rub at your arms again and give him that same small, polite smile. The one that used to mean “I’m fine” even when you weren’t. The one he used to kiss away when he saw through it and God, does he see through it now.

“Look after yourself, Mase,” you say, voice tender. It doesn’t sound like a goodbye, not really but it doesn’t sound like a beginning either. It’s that strange purgatory between two people who used to know everything about each other and now feel like strangers with a shared history.

He drinks in the sight of you, your dress, your hair pinned back, the way your eyes catch the glow of the streetlamp. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen in months, maybe ever and then, you blow him a kiss.

It’s a soft, slow movement like muscle memory. Something you used to do when he was pulling away from your drive, or leaving for away games or standing in the tunnel before a match. Something that used to mean come home to me safe. But now, it feels like thank you for coming. Goodbye.

You turn to go and his heart panics. “Y/N, wait!” he blurts, stepping forward instinctively. You freeze, turning back around with wide, glassy eyes. His voice sounds desperate, even to his own ears, but he doesn’t care. He can’t let you walk away without one last shot.

“There’s a game next weekend,” he says quickly. “Big one. Massive, actually. It’s… it’s the kind of game that could make or break our season. Gaffer’s finally letting me start again after weeks of being benched. He’s putting faith in me.” He takes a breath. “And I could really, really do with my lucky charm.”

He gives a little smile, trying to lighten the mood, even throws in a wink, the one that always made you roll your eyes and call him cocky before kissing him anyway. But it falters, because everything still feels so delicate. He can see it in the way your fingers twitch at your sides, like they want to reach for him and don’t know how anymore.

Your expression is unreadable at first, maybe you’re confused, maybe you’re trying not to cry or maybe you’re just deciding how much of your heart you can afford to show him. You hesitate and then finally, with a slow breath, you tilt your head. “You don’t need to decide right now,” Mason adds quickly, softening. “I just… I just wanted to ask. That’s all. Just promise me you’ll think about it?”

It’s silent for a moment. The kind of silence that holds everything in it, pain and possibility, past and present. He feels like he’s balancing on a wire, afraid to breathe in case it all crashes down but then, you nod. That little smile comes back, not forced this time, not polite. But something warmer, sadder, more you. “I promise I’ll think about it, Mase,” you say quietly.

For a split second, just a second, it’s like everything slows down. Like time stops because even though it's not a yes, it’s not a no either. It’s not closure, its a maybe. A thread still connecting the two of you in spite of everything.

He watches you turn and walk back toward the building, heels clicking softly against the pavement, arms still folded against the cold. He doesn’t call after you this time. He doesn’t move, he just watches and for the first time in six months, Mason feels the tiniest flicker of hope.

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He messaged you that night, not long after getting back to the hotel. The adrenaline from the evening had worn off by then, replaced by something heavier, something that tugged on his chest and made it impossible to sleep. He’d laid on the unfamiliar mattress, tie still loose around his neck, scrolling through photos of you from earlier. You looked beautiful, painfully beautiful and not just in the way your hair curled just right or how the dress hugged your figure, it was the light in your eyes. The way you floated through the room, smiling at donors, hugging potential funders, shaking hands with MPs. You were glowing with purpose. You didn’t need him anymore but still, he messaged.

“It was amazing seeing you tonight. Well done again on winning the award—you looked absolutely incredible. Thank you for thinking about coming to the game this weekend, it’d be great to see you again. x”

He stared at the screen for a while after pressing send, thumb hovering, like maybe another message would help. Like maybe something more casual would lighten the tone but he forced himself to leave it. No double-texting not tonight. You didn’t reply. He kept checking, every time he stirred during the night. Every time his phone buzzed and it was someone else, a sponsor, a teammate, his mum but not you. It wasn’t until the following morning, just after breakfast when his nerves were fraying, that the notification finally came through.

“Hey Mase, yeah it was great seeing you too. Sorry for the late reply, I crashed last night, had too much to drink 😅 but how you doing anyway? x”

His heart actually skipped. It was stupid, but it did. That one line how you doing anyway? felt like something familiar. Like a time before everything went to shit. Like maybe, just maybe, you still cared. He wrote back instantly, and then you did too and then he couldn’t stop smiling.

By midday, he’d asked Lewis to drive so he could focus on his phone. He spent the whole journey back to Manchester in the passenger seat, grinning down at the screen like a schoolboy, completely oblivious to the fact that Lewis was ready to launch him out of the car for how loud he kept sighing or chuckling to himself. The conversation was good. It flowed. Easy, even. No fighting. No passive aggression. No mention of what had happened. You’d even flirted, lightly, sure but it was there. The old you. His you. By the time he got back, he was already trying to think how to ask you to come up. No pressure. Just a visit. Just dinner. Just… something. But the next day there was silence and the day after that, still nothing. No replies. No heart reacts. Not even a “seen” on his last message. And he waited. He waited. He told himself not to double text, to give you space, to not be that guy but by the third day, he snapped. He knew he shouldn’t have. Knew it the second his thumbs started moving. But anger felt better than heartbreak.

“So you’re just not replying to me now? I actually can’t believe you’re ignoring me.”

The second it sent, he regretted it. He sounded bitter. Needy. Like he hadn’t been the one who ruined it all in the first place. You replied quickly, which almost made it worse.

“What do you want me to say, Mase? We can’t just pretend you didn’t cheat on me and break my heart. I just need you to leave me alone. I can’t do this.”

His eyes stung, he reread it three times. His jaw clenched because the truth in those words hit harder than anything and because it wasn’t just heartbreak anymore it was shame. Deep, blistering shame that crawled up his throat and made his chest ache. But under that was rage. At himself but at you, too for opening the door and slamming it shut again all in the space of 48 hours for making him hope. Before he could stop himself, before the rational voice in his head could scream loud enough, he typed it out.

“You know what, fuck off Y/N.”

The second it went, he panicked. “No no no no,” he muttered, heart racing, fumbling to press and hold the message, hitting “unsend” with shaking fingers but it was too late.

Read. 1 min ago.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging a hand over his face. He stared at the screen, hoping and praying that maybe you didn’t see it properly. Maybe you’d skimmed, maybe you’d deleted it yourself but no reply came and he knew. He knew he’d just blown it because he hadn’t messaged you in months, not really. Not properly. He hadn’t fought for you the way he should’ve. He let his guilt fester and convinced himself you were better off without him but that night at the gala, seeing you again, hearing your voice, the way your eyes softened when you said look after yourself, Mase he let himself believe he still had a shot, but now he knows its all ruined.

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Mason stood in the tunnel at Old Trafford, the roar of the crowd muffled behind thick concrete walls. He could feel the tremble in his hands even as he clenched and unclenched them at his sides. His boots felt heavier than usual, weighed down with more than just the pressure of a Manchester derby. This wasn’t just any game, it was against City, and United had to win. The media buildup had been relentless. The fans were tense. The manager needed results but his mind wasn’t here, not really. It was in the stands or rather, in the void where you weren’t.

He’d scanned the crowd during warmups. Looked to the family box where Lewis and his sister had brought the girls. His mum and dad were sat just behind them, wrapped in their red scarves but no sign of you. You’d said you’d think about coming. You’d made no promises. Still, some stupid, aching part of him had hoped you would walk into the players’ lounge last-minute like old times, flashing that half-smile, hands tucked in your coat pockets as you tried to act like you weren’t nervous about seeing him. He could picture you doing it but when the clock ticked past kickoff and you hadn’t appeared, the hope dulled and maybe that’s why the first half went to shit.

They were 2-0 down. City were pressing high, controlling the pace. And Mason had barely touched the ball ad when he had, it ended in disaster. A careless touch, a poor decision. The first goal was on him, and he knew it. The press were going to rinse him for it and in his head, he could already hear the pundits saying it:

“Not the kind of performance you expect from Mount in a game like this.”

He slumped on the bench in the changing room while the gaffer gave his halftime talk. The usual rallying cries, the tactical shifts, the orders to wake up. Mason barely heard them. As soon as the manager stepped out of the room to give them a moment, Mason picked up his phone. He needed distraction, something, anything. There it was, a single notification across his screen.

"Y/N added to her story."

He almost dropped the phone. Since the breakup, he’d kept notifications on. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was obsessive but it helped him sleep knowing you were okay or at least, appearing okay. You rarely posted much, and when you did, it was usually work stuff or your dog. But this, this felt different. His thumb hovered for just a second before tapping the icon.  A single photo, posted less than a minute ago. Taken from behind, standing in the stands of Old Trafford. You were turned slightly, just enough to show the soft profile of your cheek and hair falling around your shoulders. But the thing that hit him like a punch to the gut was the shirt. It was shirt. A red United top with Mount 7 stretched across the back in bold white lettering.

He stared at it like it might vanish. The caption read: “Rooting for United ❤️”

His heart did something weird in his chest. Like it tripped over itself. You were here but not in the family section, he could tell that from the angle. No polished hospitality boxes or reserved WAG seats. You were in the regular stands, behind the goal. On the steps, alone or maybe with a friend, he didn’t know, but you were here after everything you came anyway. He blinked quickly, trying to shake the sudden mist that threatened his vision. One of his team mates caught the look on his face from across the dressing room.

“You alright?” his mouthed. Mason just nodded, pressing his lips together. But he wasn’t alright but Mason jogged back out onto the pitch with something he hadn’t had all game, Hope.

What a second half. We came out flying, like we had something to prove and maybe he did. He got the assist for the first goal, a clean ball across and it was buried and the minute that hit the back of the net, everything shifted. Old Trafford erupted. You could feel the belief crawl back into the stands like lightning through cables. When he got that second goal he knew he was running straight to you.

He ran, full pelt, right toward the goal where he knew you were sitting. He pointed up at the stand, heart hammering, sweat pouring, and he locked eyes with the space he hoped you'd still be. That one was for you, baby girl. He didn’t care who was watching, he didn’t care what the press would write, he needed you to know.

The clock was dying out, 95 minutes played of 5 added on. City got a last-minute corner. His stomach turned. Ball swung in and then straight out again. It landed at his feet and he didn’t think, he just ran. Everything blurred: the roar of the crowd, the pounding in his ears, the grass flying past underfoot. He had one thing in mind, score, finish it, take the glory. He reached the box, pulled his leg back but was wiped out. The whistle screamed and a penalty was awarded. He didn’t even argue, didn’t look at the ref. Just tried to catch his breath as Bruno stepped up and did what Bruno does best. He scored the pen and the whistle blew for full time, they won 3-2.

Everyone around him was celebrating, tackles, high fives, boys yelling and hugging, but he didn’t care, he barely even smiled. All he could think about was you. He bolted, straight down the tunnel, grabbing his phone from his locker like it might hold the next sign from you. He barely even showered, barely even peeled off his kit. The boys probably thought he was mad. When I got outside, his family were waiting.

Lewis was beaming, clapping him on the back, “Fucking hero today, bro.”

Mum hugged him tight. “You were brilliant, Mase.”

H enodded, trying to be present, but his eyes were already scanning and you weren’t here and that’s when his mum said it. “She didn’t want to hang around. She said it wasn’t the right environment to see each other again.”

He froze, it felt like someone had stuck a pin in him and I deflated, you were gone again just like that.  He wanted to scream, he wanted to run back into the stands and find you, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. If you left, you left. Debbie must’ve seen the devastation on his face because she quickly added, “So I gave her the key to your place. I hope that’s okay. She said she’d meet you there. That it’d be better to talk properly.”

He could’ve cried. Actually, his chest caved in with relief. He pulled her into another hug. “I fucking love you, Mum.”

She laughed. “Go on then. Go see her.”

He barely said goodbye to the rest of them. Just waved, mumbled something about seeing them at roast tomorrow. And then he drove like he was being chased. Traffic didn’t exist. Time didn’t exist. It was just him and the hope that maybe, maybe, you were waiting on the other side of that door.

He parked outside, hand gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles ached. He sat there for a second and tried to breathe. He climbed out of the car and jogged up the steps. Heart pounding again like he’d never stopped running. He fumbled with his keys. He rested his hand on the door for a second and closed his eyes. Don’t mess this up again. Whatever happens in there, be honest. Be better. Just… be what she needs. He turned the handle and walked inside.

As he walks through the door, the adrenaline from the win still humming beneath his skin, his eyes immediately land on you, curled up on the sofa like you belong there. His breath catches. God, how he’s missed this, missed you. You glance up from your phone, already smiling as you stand. “Hey, Mase… your mum gave me your key, I promise I didn’t break in.”

Your words are light, teasing, the way they used to be, and you both laugh quietly, awkwardly, maybe, but it’s a laugh all the same. He sets his bag by the wall and just takes you in. You're standing there in his shirt and he can't help but smile, wide and soft. “You played amazing today,” you tell him sincerely. “Well done. You made me so proud to wear your shirt.”

His heart clenches, those words feel like a balm he didn’t even know he needed. “You look so beautiful wearing my shirt,” he murmurs, eyes raking over you like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory in case it’s the last.

You smile, a little bashful, a little sad. “Just don’t tell my dad I wore a United shirt. He’d lose his mind thinking I’ve betrayed my team.”

He chuckles, and it's genuine and warm. “Of course not,” he says. “It’ll be our little secret. Besides… United are better than your team anyway.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, and for a brief second it feels like nothing’s changed between you. But then it hits again, that uncomfortable weight in the air.

“Are you ready to hear me out?” Mason asks, voice barely above a whisper. There’s a nervous hope behind his words, like he’s already bracing for the worst. You nod silently, your arms folding across your chest like a shield. He notices your hands trembling slightly, and it guts him. You’re nervous and scared and all he wants to do is reach out, pull you into his arms, protect you from everything but he knows he’s the reason you’re standing here like this.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, forcing himself to hold your gaze. “I’m sorry for everything, I should’ve never let us argue that night, I should’ve never let myself get that drunk, I should’ve never slept with that girl.”

You flinch, visibly, and his stomach knots. “And I should’ve told you, I should’ve come clean the second it happened and been a fucking man about it. But I didn’t because I was scared, I was scared of losing you, scared of seeing this look on your face.”

He steps forward a fraction, cautiously. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Y/N. And I swear to you, if you can find it in yourself to give me one more chance, I’ll do better. I will be better.”

Your eyes are locked with his, but you’re unreadable. No anger, no softness. Just emotion. Thick, silent emotion that tells him you’re hanging on by a thread and then, like flicking a switch, you snap. “Do better?!” Your voice cracks as it rises, your body practically shaking now. “Are you fucking serious, Mason? ‘Do better’?! What, do better at not sleeping with someone else or do better at hiding it from me?”

He winces. “No, I—”

“No, because I’d really love to know which part you plan on improving, since you’ve already nailed both.” You’re on fire now, pacing as your voice grows sharper, angrier. “You don’t get to come in here, bat your eyelashes, and say ‘sorry’ like you missed a birthday dinner. You cheated on me, Mason. You lied to me, you watched me break, and you still said nothing.”

“I didn’t know how to—”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” you yell. “You knew how to protect yourself. You knew how to keep it quiet, how to look me in the eye every single day and lie. That takes effort, Mason, that’s not a mistake. That’s a fucking choice.”

He stands there, jaw clenched, guilt written all over his face, but he doesn’t interrupt again. He knows he can’t, not now. You stop pacing, facing him again, this time closer. Tears brim in your eyes but don’t fall. “You don’t get to use fear as an excuse. I was scared too, you know. Every day. Scared of how distant you were, scared you didn’t love me anymore, scared that one day I’d wake up and you’d be gone.”

His face contorts in pain. “I never stopped loving you.”

“Then why wasn’t that enough?” you whisper.

The silence that follows is deafening. Mason doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, because he doesn’t know how to answer that. “I meant what I said,” he says softly, stepping forward. “I want to show you how much you mean to me. I’ll do whatever it takes. Be around more, be present, be someone you can actually trust again.”

You stare at him, breathing heavy, your heart breaking all over again because you want to believe him. You so badly want to believe him but you also remember the night you lay in bed, crying over him, while he was in someone else. Your voice comes quieter now, raw. “It’s not about you showing up, Mason. It’s about me knowing you won’t leave next time, or lie, or make me feel like I wasn’t enough.”

He steps closer still, just inches away now. “You were always enough, you still are. I was the one who wasn’t.”

You blink, and finally, a single tear spills down your cheek. “I don’t know if I can do this again,” you admit. “But I haven’t stopped loving you either.”

He nods, slowly, like he’s hanging on to every syllable. “Then let me prove I can be the man you deserve.”

"You were the best thing to ever happen to me..." You were crying and shouting at the same time now, and his chest physically ached hearing the heartbreak in your voice. "I loved you more than anything else in this world, Mason! I lived and breathed for you!" You were pacing now, your arms flailing as you spoke. "All day, every day, all I think about is you! And you keep fucking ruining my life. It’s not fair!"

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, you were right, it wasn’t fair. He had ruined the best thing he ever had. Then your voice changed. A little softer, sadder. “I went on a date the other day…”

It felt like someone sucker-punched him. The air was knocked right out of his lungs. “You went on a date?” he said without thinking, instantly hating himself for the question.

You blinked, disbelieving. “Are you serious, Mason?! That’s what you heard from all of that? That I went on a fucking date?! Are you freaking kidding me right now Mount?!”

You were yelling again, using your hands like you always did when you were furious, when you needed to be heard. “Yes, Mason, I went on a date! And I’m allowed, I’ve been single for nearly seven months!”

You were right again. He had no claim over you anymore, no right to feel this gutted, but he did, he fucking did. He looked down at the ground, swallowing the bile rising in his throat. During the breakup he hadn’t even looked at another girl, he just spent the time punishing himself for losing you, for fucking it all up.

You were too special to be single forever. He always knew someone would see it eventually, how incredible you are. Still, hearing that someone else got even a sliver of you made him want to rip his fucking chest open. "What was it like?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. He hated himself for asking.

Your face twisted. “It was good.”

He winced but before he could even absorb it, your expression changed. You looked down and shook your head, voice cracking. “It was shit, Mase. The whole date I was comparing him to you. I was sitting there thinking, ‘Mason wouldn’t do that,’ or ‘Mason would do this.’ It was awful, because he was a nice guy. He was sweet. He was trying. But nope you gotta fucking ruin it.”

You just kept screaming at him, words flying like daggers, every sentence laced with pain and fury. He didn’t know what else to do, he couldn’t bear to hear you say one more thing about how he’d ruined everything, about how you’d gone on a date and thought about him the whole time, it was killing him. So he panicked, he ran across the room and kissed you. It was desperate and messy, all tongue and tension, but the moment his lips crashed into yours, you didn’t push him away. You grabbed his neck, yanked him closer, like you needed it as badly as he did. You kissed him like you hated him, like you missed him, like you didn’t know what else to do either.

Your body pressed into his, as you pushed him onto the sofa and straddled his hips, grinding down hard, and fuck, he’d forgotten what you could do to me. He’d forgotten how it felt to have your lips on his neck, how you always knew the exact spot to suck and kiss until he melted under you but as much as it lit him on fire, he knew it wasn’t right. You weren’t doing this because you wanted him, you were doing it because you were angry because you were hurt, because you were trying to forget everything he did.

“Baby…” he murmured, hoping you’d slow down but you didn’t.

“Y/n…” he said again, firmer, as your lips trailed lower, but still nothing.

“Y/n, stop!” This time he pushed, too hard and you tumbled off him and hit the floor, and fuck, he didn’t mean to. He panicked and jumped up, reaching to help you, but you just rolled your eyes and stood up on your own. The look in your eyes was pure disappointment. “I don’t get you, Mason,” you snapped, your voice cracking as tears rolled down your face. “You came to my charity event. You sent all those texts, called me non-stop begging me to come back. And now I’m here, giving you exactly what you wanted, and you push me away?! What the fuck do you want, Mason? Make up your mind!”

You were crying and it was his fault. He felt the lump in his throat rise, and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I want you, Y/n.” his voice broke. “Not just to sleep with, I want all of you. I want you, I want you back to being mine.” You blinked at him, chest heaving, lips still red from our kiss. “When we get that closeness again…” he swallowed hard, stepping closer. “I want it to mean something. I want to make love to you, not just fuck you to forget. I want to feel like you’re really mine again because if we sleep together now and then you walk away after, I don’t think I’ll survive that.” His voice cracked completely then, and he could feel the tears now, hot, full of shame and desperation. “I’m not strong enough for that, Y/n. Not with you.”

You look so broken standing there, he can see the tears slipping down your cheeks, the way your chest is rising and falling too fast, like you’re trying not to fall apart in front of him. You won’t meet his eye. Just shaking your head slowly, like you’re still trying to process everything, and then, before he can say a word you turn away and walk toward the door. Your weekend bag is right where you dropped it earlier, and now you’re lifting it over your shoulder like you’ve done this before, like this is goodbye again. That same ache floods his chest, the one he’d lived with since the night you left, this is Déjà vu, but only worse. His throat is burning when he whispers, “Please don’t go.”

It barely even comes out, he is not even sure if you heard it. But you stop, right in front of the door, frozen for a few seconds. Thirty, maybe but long enough for his heart to start hammering. Then you turn to face him. Your eyes are red and glassy, your mascara smudged, your whole face flushed from crying. You look exhausted and still you’re the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. You try to speak and your voice catches, so you cough and try again. “We can try again,”

He doesn’t move. Did I hear that right? He thinks and lets you continue.

“But we’re taking it slow, Mase. I’m not moving back in. We’re not jumping back into how things used to be. I can’t go through all that again, I’m staying with my parents. We’ll do long distance for now until I know I can trust you again and I figure out what I’m doing with the company.”

He just stares at you, still trying to make sense of it. You said we can try again. All he has done for months is dream about this. Replaying the moment he’d see you again, the things he’d say, how he’d beg, how he’d never screw it up this time but he never expected this.

You raise your eyebrows and blink at him. “Are you gonna say anything?”

That pulls him out of his trance, he doesn’t say a word. He just moves across the hallway, arms open, and pulls you into the tightest hug he’d ever given you. Like he was scared you’ll vanish if he let go. You bury your face in his shoulder, and for a moment, you’re both just standing there.

You’re the first to pull back, your fingers linger at his chest. “So? What do you say, Mase?”

He smiles like a complete idiot, but he don’t care. “Of course. Of course I’ll wait. I’ll do anything, Y/N. Whatever it takes to make you mine again, I’ll do it. We’ll make it work.”

You nod slowly, he gives you that look, the playful one you haven’t seen in what feels like a lifetime.  “So does this mean I will have to wait, like… two months of texting and three dates before you put our again?”

You smirk, raising a brow. “Depends on how amazing are these dates gonna be? And depends on how good your game still is Mount.” You wink at him and for the first time in months, he feels like he can finally breathe again.

“I’m not really sure where I’m staying tonight,” you admit quietly, chin resting against his chest as you hold onto him. “I didn’t get that far in my plan, I just kind of focused on seeing you. Is it okay if I stay here? If not, I’ll get a hotel, it’s fine.”

He immediately tilts your chin up with a gentle hand, frowning like the idea alone offends him. “Are you kidding me, Y/N? You never have to ask. Whenever you want to stay, you stay, even if I’m not here.”

You smile softly, cheeks brushing his jumper as you pull back from the hug. “Okay, thank you.” You reach for your weekend bag. “I’m gonna take this upstairs and get changed into something more comfortable.”

He chuckles. “What am I cooking you for dinner? You starving or something?”

“Obviously,” you grin as you start up the stairs. “I’ve had a stressful day, Mount, I need feeding.”

He laughs again, watching you go. “Shit, I might need to order in,” he calls after you. “I haven’t exactly been cooking since you left. It’s been microwave meals and Deliveroo for months.”

You’re halfway up the spiral staircase when you suddenly pause. “Mase?” He looks up at you, still standing in the hallway. “I saw your family today,” you say softly. “It was so good to see them. They invited me over for the roast tomorrow… I just wanted to check if that’s okay. I didn’t want to make it awkward for you.”

He can’t stop the smile that breaks across his face. “Of course it’s okay. It’d be amazing to have you there. They’ve all missed you, especially Summer and Mila. They keep asking where Auntie Y/N/N is.”

You giggle at that, heart tugging. “God, I miss those girls. Your mum said I need to bring dessert, she wants my baking, apparently.”

He grins. “She’s never stopped talking about your lemon drizzle.”

You nod, already halfway to your room. “I’ll head out tomorrow morning and get ingredients.”

He watches you disappear down the landing and disappears into the living room, sinking onto the sofa with a long breath, every inch of him relaxing for the first time in what feels like months. He picks up his phone and opens the family group chat.

Mase: She came back to me, guys. She came back. Can’t wait to see you all tomorrow. ❤️

He puts the phone down, resting his head against the back of the sofa as the relief floods through him, you came back. He closes his eyes, his thoughts drifting toward the velvet box tucked in his bedside drawer. The engagement ring, still there, waiting. He bought it weeks before everything went to hell. It had been custom-made just for you, he could never bring himself to return it, but now maybe, just maybe, he’ll get to use it.

You came back to him.

[torresaul]

MANCHESTER UNITED PL SUMMER SERIES CHAMPIONSSS😭😭🫶🏾

cryinggg ruben looked pissed and the team look like they dgaf but i left with something!

[canirove]

Manchester United Vs. Everton | Premier League Summer Series | 03.08.2025

[marcusrashforddefender]

not sure what’s going on here but yes ❤️

[vroomvroommbtch]

Maybe Heaton was the answer to our problems? Maybe?

[picunha]

[enwoso]

Could you write something with Grace Clinton? Maybe where she and reader have an argument and it takes talking about it with celine for grace to realise what started the argument maybe it was like lack of communication or something and Grace apologises big time for it

unsaid | grace clinton

masterlist

it was just something small. something so minor that in hindsight, grace wouldn't even be able to remember the exact words.

she'd come home late — again. you'd been waiting up for her, eager to just spend some time together after what felt like days of barely seeing her.

but as she finally walked through the door, kicking off her shoes and sighed like she was carrying the weight of the wold on her shoulder. you tried to greet her, tried to ask her about her day.

"not now." she mumbled, heading straight for the bedroom without so much as a second glance.

and that was it, the final straw.

"not now?" you echoed, standing up from the couch. "grace, it's never now with you recently."

grace paused mid-step, her shoulders tensing as she looked at you. "come on, don't start—"

"no, actually, i think i will start," you snapped, arms crossing. your lips turning into a deep scowl "because you clearly won't."

she turned around, exhaustion evident in her features but you would having that as an excuse, again. "i'm tired. i just—can this not wait?"

"tired?" you let out a harsh bitter laugh. "i get that you're busy, but you barely talk to me anymore. do you know the last time we had an actual conversation that wasn't just me asking how your day was and you grunting in response?"

grace exhaled sharply. "this is exactly why i didn't want to do this tonight."

"oh, 'm so sorry for inconveniencing you with my emotions, grace."

her jaw clenched, frustration rising to meet yours. "that not what i meant, and you know it."

"do i?" you shot back quickly. "because from where i'm standing, it kinda feels like you don't care."

that clearly struck a nerve. grace’s eyes darkened slightly, and she scoffed moving from one foot to the other. "that's ridiculous."

"is it?" grace didn't respond. she didn't even try to argue her case. instead she just stood there, looking at you like she didn't know what to say.

and that hurt more than anything.

"forget it," you muttered, shaking your head before turning away. "just—forget it. doesn't matter anyway.

grace let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. but she didn't follow you, she didn't try to fix it and that was the problem.

—

the next day, grace sat in the locker room, aggressively untying her boots like they'd personally offended her this morning.

celine, already changed and leaning back on the bench as she fidgeted with her fitness tracking from hand to hand. recognised graces' unusual tenseness, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "alright. whose pissed in your cereal?"

grace shot her a look that told all. "no one."

celine just snorted, not believing grace for even a second. "liar. you've got that face."

"what face?"

"the 'i had a fight with my girlfriend and now i'm brooding like the main character in a bad romance novel' face."

grace groaned, sometimes she hated how well the norwegian girl knew her and could read her like a book as she let her head drop back against the locker. "it was stupid."

celine hummed. "was it, though? or are you just saying that because you don't wanna admit you were wrong?"

grace scoffed. "i wasn't—" she stopped, catching the way celine just stared at her, unconvinced.

grace sighed. "fine. maybe i was a little wrong."

celine clapped dramatically. "wow! she admits it, folks! this is a historic moment!" grace rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips.

"what happened?" celine pressed, leaning in like this was her favorite soap opera.

grace hesitated. "i... i guess i've been distant. i've just had so much going on, and by the time i get home, i just don't have the energy to talk."

celine nodded. "alright, fair. but did you tell her that?" grace blinked, hard and wide. celine smirking "yeah, that's what i thought.”

"i didn't mean to shut her out," grace mumbled as she fidgeted with her own fitness tracker. "i just figured she knew i was busy."

"yeah, because girlfriends are totally mind-readers," celine deadpanned. "you don't get to just assume she knows what's going on in your head. communication, clinton. it's this crazy thing where you talk about your feelings instead of bottling them up until they explode into a full-blown argument."

grace groaned, covering her face. "i hate when you're right.”

"i know you do," celine said smugly. "but lucky for you, i always am."

grace sighed, pushing herself up. "i should probably fix this, huh?"

celine grinned. "now you're catching on!"

—

that evening, when grace walked into the apartment, she found you curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone. you didn't even look up when she entered.

that stung more than she expected, leaving an ache in her heart even though she knew she kind of deserved it.

she hesitated before walking over, sitting down beside you. you didn't move away, but you also didn't lean into her like you normally would. that was enough to make her heart ache just that little bit more.

she reached for your hand, gently intertwining her fingers with yours.

"i'm sorry," she said softly, her voice filled with genuine regret. "i should've talked to you. i should've let you in instead of pushing you away." you didn't pull away, but you stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue.

"i never meant to make you feel like you weren't important," she murmured. "you are. more than anything to me and i know i've been distant, but it's not because i don't care. i do. so much, more than i can even put into words."

you swallowed, finally looking at her. "then why didn't you just tell me?"

grace exhaled, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. "'cause i'm an idiot?" you gave her a look not giving anything away that she was fully forgiven, and she cracked a small, sheepish smile.

"because i get caught up in everything, and sometimes i forget that i don't have to handle it all alone," she corrected. "and that's not fair to you. i should've just talked to you instead of expecting you to just know what i was thinking."

you sighed, your frustration easing just a little. "i just missed you, grace."

she shifted closer, resting her forehead against yours. "i missed you too, so much." for a moment, you just stayed like that—breathing each other in, the tension melting away.

then grace whispered, "can i kiss you now? or do i have to endure more of celine's wisdom before i'm forgiven?" a laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, and grace grinned, nudging your nose with hers.

"you're an idiot," you murmured. "but i'm your idiot," she said, before finally closing the distance.

the kiss was slow, unhurried. it wasn't rushed or desperate, but rather, full of intention. grace kissed you like she was making up for every second she had spent away, like she was trying to tell you everything she hadn't been able to put into words.

her hands cupped your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks, grounding you in her touch. you melted into her, the warmth of her body seeping into yours, chasing away any lingering doubt.

when she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you.

"i love you," she whispered, her voice barely audible but carrying the weight of everything she felt.

you smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her lips. "i love you too." and just like that, everything felt right again.

[817s]

"this bromance" whole time that's his son

[v6quewrlds]

❝ kiss me, m. mount. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: being friends with mason mount means being there with takeout and open ears after his breakups. with his latest locker room bet, he has a lot of time to think about why he's so bad at relationships. and the reason might be you.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: loved writing this, so so cute <3 day eleven of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, friends to lovers.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mason mount x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.6k.

You sat cross-legged on Mason's couch. The room smelled faintly of your favorite takeout, a mix of jerk chicken and rice and peas that filled your stomachs and warmed the air. Despite the comfort of your shared laughter, you could feel the tension coiled in Mason's demeanor, the result of a tough match and an even tougher breakup.

“So, what happened?” you asked, your voice gentle and curious.

Mason sighed, running a hand through his buzzed hair. “It was like pulling teeth. She didn't get why I had to end it. Kept saying we could work through it.”

“But you've both been miserable for weeks,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. “I thought she'd be relieved.”

Mason's eyes darted around the room before landing on his phone. “I don't know, she just... didn't take it well.”

You leaned over and plucked the phone from his hand. “Come on, spill it. What did she say?”

Mason's cheeks flushed as he recounted the teary conversation. “She said I'd never find someone who loves me like she does. It was all a bit dramatic, really.”

You rolled your eyes. “Classic breakup line.”

Mason snorted, a half-hearted smile playing on his lips. “I know, right? But it still stings a bit 'cause I know I'm the problem, not her.”

You put down your takeout container, leaning closer to him. “Mase, what do you mean?”

Mason rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I guess I'm not ready to be in a real relationship, you know? Just something I've gotta work on.”

You studied him, your brown eyes searching his. “You're not giving yourself enough credit. You're a catch, Mason. A bit of a knobhead at times,” she teased, “but you've got a heart of gold.”

Mason chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Cheers, love. Breakup came at a good time though, 'cause I've got this bet with the United lads.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow. “What bet?”

Mason's grin grew shy. “No Nut November. You know, the challenge where you don't... you know.”

Your eyes narrowed in disbelief, then you burst into laughter. “You're actually doing that?”

Mason nodded, his cheeks darkening. “Yeah, for a bit of a laugh, you know? See how long we can last without... indulging.”

You couldn't help but smirk. “So, what, you're all just walking around like a bunch of pent-up teenagers?”

“Pretty much,” Mason admitted, his smile turning into a grimace. “It's a good thing, really. Keeps my head in the game.”

You nodded, your amusement clear. “And your hands out of your pants,” you quipped.

Mason playfully slapped your arm. “You're one to talk, Miss ‘I've been single since forever’.”

You laughed, shrugging. “At least I'm not making bets about it!”

Mason rolled his eyes. “By the end of the month, I'll be the most zen person you know,” he said, puffing his chest at the thought, a boyish grin pulling at his lips.

“Mm-hmm,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what do you get if you win this challenge?”

Mason shrugged. “Bragging rights, I guess. Works for me.”

The rest of November rolled by with you keeping a close eye on Mason's mood swings. His frustration grew palpable as the days ticked away, his jokes about the challenge turned from light-hearted to desperate. Every time you saw him, you made sure to ask about his progress, enjoying the way his face contorted in an attempt to hide his growing irritation.

“How's the zen life treating you?” you teased, your eyes gleaming with amusement.

Mason groaned dramatically. “Don't even start.”

You couldn't hold back your laughter. “Seriously, though, you've got to be close to breaking point by now?”

Mason's brown eyes narrowed playfully. “Why're you so eager to see me fail? You're supposed to be supportive.”

You leaned back, your hand on your chest. “Me? I'm just an innocent bystander, observing the madness that is No Nut November.”

Mason threw a pillow at you, which you deftly caught. “You're a sadist, you know that?”

“Just keeping it real, Mase,” you said, tossing the pillow back.

The last week of November was the hardest for Mason. You noticed he'd become quieter, his laughter less frequent. It was as if he was deep in thought whenever he was off the pitch. The banter between the two of you took on an edge of tension, his jokes a little less playful, his responses a little more curt. Worried, you sent a text to Declan, who had only told you that Mason had reached an “epiphany” during their most recent chat a few nights back.

On the final day of the month, you were at your flat, expecting a typical evening of binge-watching reality TV shows and scrolling through social media. But when your doorbell rang, you were surprised to find Mason standing there, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Mason?” you asked, taking in his slightly nervous expression.

He held out the flowers, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “I know it's random, but I had to tell you something, and I figured flowers might help ease the blow if you decide to laugh in my face.”

You took the bouquet, feeling the weight of the moment. You stepped aside, inviting him in with a tilt of your head. “Alright, come in, I guess. What's going on?”

Mason shuffled his feet, his gaze darting around the room before settling on you. “I had a chat with Declan and Lauren, about, you know, relationships and stuff. And they got me thinking about what I really want.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you played it cool. “Oh?”

Mason nodded, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah, and I realized something. Every time I'm with someone, I can't help but picture you there instead. It's like you're this standard in my head, and no one ever measures up to what I think it would be like to be with you.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your grip tightening on the flowers. You didn't know what to say, your mind racing with a mix of excitement and disbelief. Before you could respond, Mason took a step closer.

“I know it's weird,” he continued, his voice low and earnest. “And I know you probably think I'm out of my mind. But I can't stop thinking about it. I've never felt this way about anyone else, not even close.”

Your throat went dry as you stared at him, the words you wanted to hear for so long finally hanging in the air between you. You parted your lips to respond, but left unable to answer, you simply closed the gap and kissed him instead.

The kiss was gentle, a soft press of your lips that grew more urgent with every passing second. Mason's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as your hand found its way to the back of his neck. The flowers fell to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Mason's breath was warm against your skin as you broke apart, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or rejection. But all he saw was the same longing that mirrored his own.

“Was that okay?” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion.

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest. “More than okay.” You stepped closer to him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I don't think I realized how much I've been waiting for this either,” you admitted.

Mason's eyes widened, and then he was kissing you again, more urgently this time. You stumbled backward, your bodies colliding with the wall of your hallway, your hands exploring each other with a newfound hunger. The tension of the past few weeks dissolved into pure passion, the air between the two of you crackling with the electricity of a year's worth of unspoken desires.

You didn't speak as you made your way to the bedroom, your kisses speaking volumes. The room was dimly lit by the flickering of the TV, casting shadows across your faces as you shed your clothes. Mason paused, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze lingering on the curves he had only ever seen hidden beneath baggy sweatshirts and jeans, except for the occasional glimpse at the pool or beach.

You felt a shy warmth up your neck, but you held his gaze, your own desire matching his. You fell onto the bed, your kisses becoming more heated as your bodies entwined. Mason's touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he explored you with his hands, his thumbs brushing over your hips and ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Your breath hitched as Mason's lips found your neck, kissing a path down to your collarbone. His hands were firm but tender as he unclipped your bra, and you felt the coolness of the room against your bare skin. You reached out to trace the tattoos scattered along his arms and the one at the nape of his neck, the one you had been surprised he got in the first place. His muscles tensed under your touch, and he let out a soft groan.

Your kisses grew more urgent as you moved together on the bed, the mattress squeaking gently beneath you. You felt your heart racing, your body responding to every touch, every caress. Mason's fingers danced over your skin, igniting a fire you had long ago convinced yourself you didn't feel. But here it was, burning bright and uncontrollable.

“Sensitive?” you teased, the words spoken softly against Mason's mouth as your fingers traced the ink on his ribs.

Mason chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Only for you, love.”

Your laughter melded into a passionate kiss as you rolled over, you now on top of him. You felt powerful and alive, every inch of your skin tingling with the anticipation of what was to come. Mason's hands slid up your back, his fingertips tracing the contours of your body as you moved against him.

You felt a sudden jolt of nerves. This was it, the moment you didn't know you longed for so much. You had always been the quiet, reserved one, content to watch from the sidelines. But here you were, the star of the show, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Mason must have noticed, because he gently cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “We can stop if you want to. I just had to tell you how I feel.”

But you were beyond the point of no return. You leaned down, your eyes searching his, and whispered, “Don't you dare stop, Mason. I want this. More than you know.”

Mason's eyes lit up, the nervousness dissipating as he rolled you two over, taking control with a gentle force. His kisses grew more demanding, his hands more insistent, and you found yourself lost in the sensation. The months of friendship had built a bond between you, and now, as you finally gave in to your desires, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Your movements grew more frantic, your breaths mingling as you raced towards something you hadn't dared hope for. You could feel the tension in Mason's body, the same tension that had been building in him all month, and you reveled in the power you had over him.

As you reached your climax, it was as if a dam had broken, releasing a flood of emotions and years of unspoken feelings. The two of you clung to each other, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating in sync.

Afterwards, you lay tangled in the mess of your passion, hands still roaming, hearts still racing. The silence was comfortable, filled with the quiet whispers of your breathing and the occasional giggle when a limb got tangled. You felt a warmth spread through you that was unlike anything you had ever felt before, a sense of belonging that you hadn't realized you had been missing. His chest, firm and warm, made a perfect pillow for your cheek, and you listened to the steady thump of his heart as it slowly returned to normal.

Mason finally broke the silence, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. “So, I guess I failed No Nut November, huh?”

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with warmth. “Epic fail, Mount. But totally worth it, if you ask me.”

Mason chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I guess that's one way to look at it. I'm just relieved it's over, to be honest. Made my head all fuzzy sometimes.”

You traced your finger along the line of his jaw, feeling the neatly groomed hair against your fingertip. “Well, you've got thirty days of freedom coming your way. What are you going to do with it?”

Mason's smile was soft, his eyes still on yours. “I'm thinking of spending it with you, if that's alright?”

You giggled softly and nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah, I think I could manage that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “What was that chat with Declan and Lauren about, though?”

Mason leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Remember when I said I needed to sort myself out before I could be in a good relationship? They just pointed out the obvious. That there was something holding me back, something I hadn't faced. Like I was holding on to some... I don't know, hope maybe?”

You felt his words resonate deep within you. You had often wondered if Mason had felt the same way you did but had been too scared to admit it. You took a deep breath, your heart racing. “And what did you tell them?”

Mason's eyes searched yours, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. “That I always hoped that I'd eventually end up with you. That every girl I've been with, it was like I was just filling the time until you and I were ready for more.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart swelling in your chest. You had felt the same way but had never had the courage to voice it. The two of you lay there, your hearts beating in time, basking in the reality of your confessions. Years' worth of tension had led you to this moment, a culmination of unspoken feelings and hidden glances.

“You know,” you began, your voice shaky as you suppressed a giggle, “I wondered if we'd ever just give up on dating and just be together. We've both been horrid partners.”

Mason chuckled, his eyes shimmering with affection. “Yeah, but I think we've found our match in each other. Besides, I've had enough drama for a lifetime with the other ones. You're the one who's always been there for me, no matter what.”

You leaned your head on his chest again, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “And I always will be,” you murmured.

Mason's hand found yours, lacing your fingers together. “My mum always said that when you know, you know. And I think I've known for a while now. I just didn't know how to tell you without messing up our friendship.”

You squeezed his hand. “I don't think much will change between us, honestly. We'll just be a bit more... affectionate in public, I guess?”

Mason nodded, his smile growing. “And I get to kiss you wherever I want,” he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “whenever I want,” he kissed your nose, “without worrying if it's too soon or if it'll ruin the friendship.” His lips found yours again.

You sighed contentedly against his mouth. “You're a really good kisser, you know that?”

Mason grinned. “Years of practice.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed your amusement. “Gross, you've been kissing a bunch of other girls to get good at kissing me?”

Mason's expression turned playfully offended. “Hey, I've been preparing for this moment my whole life. I promise it's all been worth it, though. You're officially the best kiss I've ever had.”

You giggled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I'll take it I guess.”

[useless-englandfacts]

saw that manchester united have abandoned their plans to wear a jacket on sunday in support of the lgbt community because one player didn’t want to do it and i just think it’s sooooo cool how even the most facile acts of solidarity are scrapped when there’s the slightest hint of backlash

[carlottawllms]

Last Kiss

Mason Mount x Reader Angst / Fluff Autor’s note: SURPRISE 🥳 I’m not back, I’m sorry, but this has been sitting in my drafts for way too long and I once promised @bluesmason to get it done for her, so here we are. This isn’t even close to being my best work, but I promise I tried my best and I feel like it’s on an okay-enough level to be posted.

If you feel like it, let me know what you think. Enjoy! 💕

You’d lost track of how often you’d checked the time within the past 30 minutes, but it had been often enough to realise he wasn’t coming home like he’d promised.

Sighing, you raised your gaze to the ceiling. Tears were burning behind your eyes at the thought of him having forgotten; again, but you refused to let them fall. There had been far too many times lately, that you’d cried because of that dickhead you called your boyfriend.

Not anymore though.

You’d promised yourself that. Yourself and your dignity. You were worth far more than that. You were worth someone making an effort for you. Someone keeping the promises they’d made.

You were worth being seen as an equal part of the relationship instead of just an annoying appendage that kept asking for attention and time.

Because that’s what you’d been feeling more often than not lately. Like someone who was taken for granted. Maid, cook, girlfriend when it suited him. But as soon as you asked him to show the smallest bit of effort to support you, it was too much. You were too much.

But you were done with it.

With a newfound strength, you got up from the table and grabbed the bag you’d oh so wisely packed this morning.

The whole day you’d been praying Mason would prove you wrong and be back in time for you both to leave to celebrate your promotion, but just like the 7 times before, your gut feeling hadn’t betrayed you.

“I tried.”, you whispered sadly when you placed an envelope on the kitchen counter, knowing it was where he was guaranteed to find it once he was back home. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart broke as you let your gaze wander over the kitchen and living room one last time. Many beautiful memories were attached not only to both rooms, but to the whole house that you’d called home for the last two years.

You still remembered the look on his face right before he told you he loved you for the very first time. The two of you had been cuddling on the sofa, you safely in his arms when Mason had pulled away slightly. His eyes had been the softest you’d ever seen them, the nerves evident on his features, but he’d smiled and whispered those three words.

When had he stopped?

For weeks, you’d wrecked your brain, trying to find an answer to that question, but it had been hopeless and you’d come to the conclusion that there was no reason. He’d simply stopped loving you. And you had no idea how to be something he’d miss.

You’d tried – a hell of a lot – but you couldn't do it anymore.

It was time. Time to prioritise yourself; to protect yourself.

With that thought, you hurried down the hall and closed the front door behind you. And with it a chapter of your life you’d never thought you would. There was a time before Mason and there was a time with Mason, but you’d never thought there would be a time after Mason.

You’d never imagined you’d end like this.

*

Mason was out of breath when he reached his front door. He was late, well aware of it and he hoped you wouldn’t be too mad at him, but the media team had asked him to stay back and take some trial shoots for the newest merch collection. It was his job, he couldn’t just refuse, right?

“y/n?”, he called whilst entering the house. “I’m late, I’m sorry I was held up. y/n? Love?”  

But there was no answer, just silence.

“Fuck.”, he cursed, realising you’d already left, but he knew he could still make it if he just hurried a little. You’d said you’d have to leave at 6, but the event wouldn’t start until 8. With it being 7:15 now, it would be a bit tight, but-

His thoughts came to a screeching halt the second his gaze fell on the bright white envelope sitting on his kitchen island. It wasn’t so much the envelope itself that had his heart dropping to his stomach, but the neatly folded hoodie right next to it.

It was your favourite one. The one you’d basically stolen from him the second you’d gotten into this relationship. He hadn’t seen it since…

Mason’s hands shook when he ripped the envelope open and pulled out the handwritten letter you’d left.

When his knees suddenly buckled, Mason just about managed to catch himself and sink down on the chair.

“No.”, he breathed. “No, this…this…FUCK!”

He buried his face in his hands as a sudden urge of anger rushed through him. You had been the best thing that had ever, like ever happened to him and instead of protecting you and this relationship, he’d let it slip through his fingers.

No, he’d singlehandedly fucked it up and pushed you down the cliff. Slowly but surely, he’d let go of your hand and now you’d left for good.

He should’ve seen it coming and done everything to prevent it from happening, but instead he felt as if he’d been watching his downfall from first row:

You were mad; the look on your face more than obvious when he slowly inched closer. You’d just gotten back from this thing with your friends – something he’d been meant to attend as well, but just like the last couple of times, work had held him up.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know I-”

“You promised to be there.”, you said; your voice uncharacteristically cold. “You promised Mason. And yet there I was on my own again. This was important to me. I asked you to be on time this one time cause I wanted you to be there with me, hell I told them you’d be there. And again, you just didn’t care.”

“That’s not tru-”

“Do I even matter to you? Cause right now I feel more like I'm an annoying appendage that's only good enough when it suits you.”

He’d promised it wasn’t what he felt at all. He’d told you he loved you and swore that the next time he’d be there; 100%.

“I swear, I’ll just leave if you do this again, Mason.”   

But instead of sticking to his word, he’d let you down – big time. And the worst thing was that he’d done it on multiple occasions: being late, forgetting altogether, cancelling last minute via text.

It wasn’t an excuse, but there had been so much going on lately, he’d simply struggled to set his priorities right.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”, he whispered, feeling like the worst person in the world for failing you like this. Tears pricked in his eyes, but he knew it hadn’t really sunken in yet that you’d actually left.

Not when your familiar scent was still lingering in the air, making him feel as if you’d come home any second now. But you wouldn’t.

“I really fucked this up.” Mason ran his hand over his face before grabbing the hoodie you’d left behind. It still smelled like you, making memories of the first time he’d seen you wearing it resurface:

It was raining when Mason stepped out of the plane and down the ladder, the smell of rain fresh off the pavement one of his favourites, but he didn’t even notice it this time; his mind already set on the only person he wanted to see: you.

You’d called him the night before and told him you’d pick him up so you could spend the night at his after having been apart for nearly two weeks and he’d never been happier.

After making it through passport control, he was quick in hurrying towards the exit and when the sliding doors opened his gaze flitted over the small crowd of girlfriends and wives waiting for their partners.

He knew you wouldn’t be front row jumping up and down, so he focused more on the women in the back and soon enough, his gaze fell on you. Your hair was up in a messy bun, some loose strands framing your face and a small smile on your lips, but what had his heart leaping out of his chest was the sweater you were wearing. It was one of his favourites and he wondered when you’d stolen it without him noticing, but then again, he didn’t really care.

You looked too adorable basically drowning in the fabric and you seemed cosy, with your hands disappearing in the long sleeves.

It didn’t take long for you to notice him, a brighter smile washing over your face almost immediately when your eyes locked and Mason’s heart skipped a beat. You were always beautiful to him, but in that moment dressed in his clothes and those tired eyes on him, he thought you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and he couldn’t believe his luck to have you waiting for him.

He hurried over to you, observing the way you said goodbye to Laura before turning towards him. It was obvious how you wanted to jump right into his arms, but feeling everyone’s eyes on you, you held back and waited for him to reach you before wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him close.

“Hi love.”, Mason whispered. With his nose buried in your hair, he breathed in the familiar scent of your shampoo. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”, you admitted quietly and after a second of enjoying his heartbeat against your cheek, you pulled away slightly. Head tipped back a little, you gazed into his warm brown eyes. Your fingers played with the short hair on the back of his head and when Mason finally leaned down to meet your lips in a soft kiss, you wrapped your arms back around his neck.

Mason’s heart squeezed uncomfortably in his chest. He could still feel your arms wrapped around him; the way your warm hands would hold onto his shoulders and the way it would feel to have you kissing him.

“Fuck!”

He knew it would be a futile attempt, but he still reached for his phone and tried to call you. Obviously, it went straight to voicemail – if cause you’d turned it off or simply rejected his call, he didn’t know.

But having known you for a while, he knew it would be a futile attempt to reach out to you again today. You were someone who needed time for things to settle. He’d try tomorrow.

*

There were no tears as you drove through the streets. You knew it would come crashing down on you soon enough, crushing your heart and making you hurt like never before, but in that moment, all you could feel was emptiness.

For years all you’d known was Mason right next to you; holding your hand through every storm and fighting your corner. No matter the fight, you knew at the end of the day, you’d make up and hug it out.

But this time it would be different. He wouldn’t come home and apologise quietly. He wouldn’t smile at you softly and tell you it’s okay and you’d both messed up. You wouldn’t cuddle up on the couch, holding onto each other for dear life.

This time, you were on your own.

When you arrived at the restaurant your boss had rented for this years promotion event, you felt like everything but going in. The thought of the empty seat with Mason’s name tag right next to yours made you feel sick to the stomach and you weren’t sure how to survive the evening.

You’d been looking forward to it for weeks now, excited at the prospect of finally claiming the reward you’d been working your ass off for and the idea of having Mason right beside you…

Well…it wasn’t more than a fantasy anymore.

Despite the positivity of you getting your promotion, it was an awful evening.

You weren’t sure how you’d managed to get through the evening without shedding a single tear considering how badly they’d been burning behind your eyes and threatening to spill over whenever someone asked about the empty seat next to you.

“He woke up sick this morning and couldn’t attend.”, you’d been repeating throughout the whole evening, earning pity looks and encouraging replies that he surely was proud and rooting for you from home.

It had been awful.

After driving around aimlessly for a while, trying to calm yourself down, you eventually parked your car in front of the only house you thought was appropriate.

You knew Anouska or Laura would’ve taken you in; hell you could’ve driven to London to Sophia or Ben, but putting the burden of keeping it a secret on either of Mason’s friends shoulders felt unfair and nothing you wanted to do.

This was something between you and him. His friends didn’t have to be involved.

And your best friend? Well, it was her birthday tomorrow and no matter just how much the aftermath of today would hurt you, you wouldn’t ruin the day for her. So asking her to stay was off the table.

Slowly, with your bag hanging from your shoulder, you walked up the familiar front door. You knew there was no need for it, but it still felt humiliating – having to ask your brother and his perfect family to let you stay cause yet another relationship of yours had failed.

Elliott opened the door with that radiant smile like he always would, but his expression dropped when he spotted his little sister standing in front of his door with red-rimmed eyes and a heavy looking bag in her hand.

“y/n? C’mon in.” He gently pulled you inside by your elbow and closed the door before taking another look at you. “What happened?”

“Can I stay for a while?”

Elliott was quick in nodding. “Course you can. You’re always welcome here, you know that. Do you just…want to, I don’t know, talk about it maybe?”

“I…erm…not really, to be honest.”, you whispered as you could feel the tears already brimming in your eyes again. “It’s just…I…look, Mason and I we erm…broke up and I don’t think I’m ready to…to talk about it.”

“I’m really sorry, y/n.”, he breathed before pulling you into a tight hug. “It’s okay that you don’t want to talk now, but if you ever feel like you need someone to listen, I’m here, okay?”

He kissed the top of your head and squeezed you, causing the tears to finally spill over.

“Thanks.”, you sniffed.

Elliott quickly set up the guest bedroom for you and after he handed you a cup of your favourite tea, he left you alone and when the door gently snapped closed behind him, leaving you in a safe place for the first time this night, you broke down.

It all came crashing down; the disappointment, the loss, the all-consuming pain you felt all over your body, but especially in your heart. You’d been through break-ups before, but not a single one of those had been as painful as this one.

The heartbreak over the only person you’d ever truly loved in life just hit harder.

Mason had been your everything – your best friend, your rock, your safe haven. Knowing he’d never judge you or think less of you, you’d never felt the need to pretend when you were around him. He’d made you feel safe and secure in yourself; he’d talked you up, fought your corner and showered you in as much love and care as you did him. He’d been the most perfect human being you’d ever come across.

And he’d been yours as much as you’d been his.

Sighing, you forced yourself off the bed and into the shower, convinced it would make you feel better, but when you stepped out of the steaming bathroom and rummaged through your bag for some comfortable clothes, the only thing you found was an oversized, dark-blue hoodie.

Mason’s.

Packing your bag, you hadn’t even noticed you’d grabbed it. It must’ve been out of habit really, as you never left with one of his hoodies, considering how comfy and big they were.

Sobbing quietly, you buried your nose in the fabric, hoping it would still smell like him and when it actually did, your heart clenched painfully. You tried your best to calm yourself down as you didn’t want to alert your brother or his wife, but the overwhelming sadness made it difficult to breathe.

“I miss you so much.”, you choked, sinking to your knees. You clutched the hoodie to your chest. It wouldn’t bring Mason back, but it felt a lot like keeping your heart from breaking even further apart.

With the piece of fabric in your arms, you just stared at the wall, wondering where you’d go from here. What would you do now that you’d lost him?

You felt like all of sudden you knew nothing anymore. With Mason everything had been so obvious and so easy, but now that he was gone you just felt all over the place. Should you stay in Manchester? Or go back to London?

What if he was going to fight for you? And what if he wasn’t?  

You had broken up with him, but you weren’t sure if you were ready for him to give up on you.

How could you be something he’d miss? Miss you properly, like you were missing him.

The tears had dried on your face when you eventually felt strong enough to get up and hide away under the bedsheets. Not that relocating made any difference as your thoughts still surrounded Mason and Mason only.

You wished there was a way to fix things. You wished Mason would somehow, miraculously fix it like he’d always done.

Throughout your relationship, there had hardly been anything he hadn't been able to fix. A bad mood? He’d always had a bad joke ready to cheer you up. Sadness? He’d simply taken you in his arms and held you until your heart had felt a little lighter. And whenever you’d been really down, he’d always found the right words to make you feel better.

But the one thing that would always lighten your mood? His kisses.

You were convinced they were magical and possessed the power to make everything right and you hated, how you couldn’t even remember properly the last one you’d shared.

It had been this morning. You’d been in the kitchen, preparing your lunch, when he’d joined you. He’d wrapped his arms around you, swaying you from side to side and confessed quietly how he really didn’t want to leave.

You’d laughed and started to lecture him in jest how him leaving was paying the bills, but Mason had only turned you in his arms and kissed you mid-sentence to shut you up.

He’d had a habit of doing that; kissing you when you were in the middle of saying something. It hadn’t even been long and you were missing those rude interruptions already.

You’d never thought you’d have a last kiss. And now you wished you’d focused more on how his lips had felt against yours this morning; wished you’d pulled him back in instead of ushering him out the door, thinking you’d get to kiss him again later that night.

It was like that one memory had opened the gate to hell, as memories came flooding back with no end in sight. Just like your tears.

Laughingly, you shook your head when Mason beckoned you over to him. He was the life of the party like just about always, slightly showing off without coming across as arrogant and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his antics. You hated dancing and really didn’t want to join him, but Mason being Mason, he always got what he wanted, so when you walked a little closer and he held out his hand, you took it and let yourself pull into his chest for a slow dance. “I know you hate this.”, he giggled softly, causing you to shake your head. “No, I don’t. Not when it's with you.”

-

Not long ago, you’d watched several videos on tiktok where women talked about random things they found attractive on their men. You’d struggled trying to come up with something yourself, as none of the things that made Mason attractive were random, but then one day, when you were looking at pre-game videos, it hit you. The way he was walking with his hands in his pockets was something so normal, yet insanely attractive to you and ever since you’d realised it, you hadn’t been able to forget about it or not notice it whenever it happened.

Barely breathing, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand. You knew it was a bad idea and wouldn’t do you any good, but you still opened the gallery, loosing yourself in the fond memories of happy days.

Your chest caved when realisation hit that from this point on this would be your reality. You’d have to watch his life in pictures like you used to watch him sleep peacefully right next to you.

The longer you swiped through the photos, the more rapid your breathing became. The photos turned blurry as tears you didn’t know you still had were threatening to spill over again and that’s when it hit you with full force.

You’d lost him. The best thing you’d ever had in life.

*

The next morning, you were woken up by someone gently brushing through your hair.

“y/n, love. How are you feeling?”

“Like death warmed up.”, you admitted, earning yourself a compassionate look from Maddie, your sister-in-law.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I…I don’t think so.”, you smiled sadly. “It’s…it just hurts a lot and…I have to try and keep it together for today. It’s Tamara’s birthday and I really don’t want to ruin it for her.”

“I think she would understand, you know?”

Tamara was your best friend and one of the most important people in your life. You’d met her in primary school and the two of you had been a package deal ever since.

You were in no mood to go – especially as she’d decided she wanted to go out partying – but you knew you couldn’t miss it without having an explanation and despite the fact you didn’t want to ruin her day, you also weren’t ready to talk about your break-up yet.

“Yeah, she would.”, you agreed. “But I don’t want to tell her yet. She’s going to worry like crazy and I just want her to enjoy her day, you know?”

“Okay.”, Maddie smiled. Whilst she wasn’t entirely happy with your decision, she understood. “There’s breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen. I know you don’t want anything, but you have to eat something. It’s just us two and I won’t pester you with questions, promise. Just know that if you want to talk at some point, I’m happy to listen.”

-

Tamara’s birthday was as exhausting as you’d expected it to be. Not because her and your mutual friends were, but because pretending to be happy was.

You were dancing and laughing along; trying to appear as normal as possible, but everything inside you felt like crawling into bed and crying. Your heart felt heavy and everything reminded you of Mason.

Tamara had chosen a rather posh and famous club in Manchester; one that you’d been to with Mason and some friends before. He’d sat next to you in the booth, his hand on your thigh and fingers drawing gentle shapes into your warm skin. Every once in a while, he’d kissed your cheek or forehead and whispered sweet nothings into your ear. He’d made you feel loved without doing much.

“Anyone another drink?”, Carla asked when the waiter approached. Since you’d decided to stay away from the alcohol, you ordered another virgin colada right after the others had given their orders.

In the first round, the girls had been more than confused and ready to protest when you’d given your order, but you’d brushed them off, saying you’d taken your migraine meds before and thankfully everyone had bought it.  

You would’ve loved to get drunk and try to numb your pain, but alcohol really wasn’t a good idea in the setting you were in. It wouldn't have taken long for you to spill the beans and ruin the evening for everyone.

“y/n! Photo, c’mon!”, Tamara all but screeched as she pulled you into her side rather forcefully. “Say cheese!”

Quickly, you shook yourself out of it and plastered a grin on your face and hoped it didn’t look half as fake as it felt.

-

In Luke’s living room, Mason was hoping to distract himself from everything. After barely getting any shut eye the night before and fucking up just about everything at training, he’d confided in Luke and told him you’d left him.

Luke – equally as close to you as to Mason – had been on the brink of murdering his friend for being a stupid arsehole, but Anouska being the voice of reason had calmed him down enough for a proper talk.

Mason was scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, not really looking at anything, when a post caught his eye. “Oh.”, he breathed, his heart dropping into his tummy.

“You’re okay mate?”

Wordlessly, he handed Luke his phone. He knew he had no right to be mad, as he was the one who brought himself the misery, but he was still upset to see you all smiles in a club.

He’d thought you’d be sad after having been with him for so long; after sharing what he thought was the best time of your lives together; but the way you were smiling brightly looked everything but.

He could feel the tears burning behind his eyes, but despite his best efforts to keep them in, they slowly rolled down his raw cheeks. And he deserved it; the pain, the suffering, the tears. He deserved it all, he knew.

This morning, he’d tried calling you again – a couple of times in fact – but you hadn’t answered. Not that it was surprising, but he’d wanted to make it right, to apologise and to fight for you and you not answering wasn’t helping his case at all.

Neither did the photos Tamara had posted though. It didn’t seem like you wanted him to fight for you…you seemed happy…

“Mase, it’s her best friend’s birthday. You know y/n, she’d do everything to make sure Tamara has the best day.”

Mason sighed. Luke was right, it was just who you were. You put the people you cared about first; always focused on making sure everyone was happy before thinking about yourself. It was one of the things Mason loved about you so dearly.

“I know but…I could always tell when a smile was faked or when she was pretending in front of others. This just doesn’t-”

“It’s a photo Mase. She probably plastered that smile on her face thinking about how bloody forced it must seem. I know you think you can tell 10 times out of 10, but this is her smiling for her best friend. It’s different. Give her some time and reach out again, I’m sure this is fixable.”

Luke sounded so optimistic, Mason really wanted to believe him, but all things considered, he had fucked up so badly, he wasn’t sure there was anything left to fix. Over the span of weeks, if not months, he’d made everything but you a priority and he couldn’t even begin to imagine just how much it must’ve hurt.

“I don’t know, mate.”, he sighed. “I’ll message her later to apologise and make sure she knows I respect her decision.”

“Look, that’s just stupid. Don’t make her feel like you give up on her.”

“Luke, I’ve either ignored or forgotten any of her wishes for the past week like they didn’t matter at all. The worst thing I can do right now is ignoring her request for space as well.”

Luke sighed, contemplating taking away Mason’s phone before he could fuck up things beyond repair, but he knew that his friend was enough of an adult to make his own decisions. The two of you belonged together, there was no doubt, but there was only so much he could do to try and save a relationship that wasn’t his own.

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea Mase.”

But against all warnings, he sent the message before hiding away in his bed. Not knowing that it would shatter your heart all over again.

*

The days following the break-up felt worse than your own personal nightmare. The years you’d spent by Mason’s side had made the roots of your feelings grow deep and since the finality of his text, it felt like every single root was being slowly and agonisingly pulled out of your heart. 

Your heart hurt like a little bitch, and it got worse with every passing day. After days of crying, it shouldn't be possible for a human body to produce any more tears, but your body proved you wrong.

You agonised through every day, never really sure how you’d made it through another one.

At first you’d wanted to go to work, thinking a little distraction would do you good, but on the very first day you felt so sick at the thought of work that you’d called to take sick leave for the week.

Elliott and Maddie were doing everything they could to make sure you didn’t spiral too badly, but with you shutting down basically every attempt they could only do so much.

Most of the day, you just stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling and focusing on taking deep breaths instead of looking at photos of your failed relationship all day long.

You missed him like crazy; like you’d never missed anyone before. But then again you weren’t really surprised. Mason had been your best friend, your person. You’d thought that one day you’d marry him and up until a little while ago you’d thought he wanted the same…

It was day 5 post break-up when you left the bed for the first time. Elliott had all but threatened to call your mum and since you knew she’d kick your arse for feeling sorry for yourself, you’d peeled yourself out of bed.

“Look, I know you won’t be too fond of the idea, but I really need you to pick up some pre-ordered stuff for Maddie’s birthday tomorrow.”

“El-”

“I’d do it myself, but I have a meeting in less than 10 minutes and I really don’t want Maddie to pick it up herself.”

You sighed but nodded slowly. Going out there and actually talking to people was pretty much the opposite of what you wanted to do, but your brother and his wife had been nothing short of supportive those last days and even in your current sorry state, you didn’t want Maddie to go and pick up food for her own birthday.

The short walk and breathing in some of that crisp air, as well as the thought of doing something good for someone else, made you feel a little better, but the second you stepped foot into the restaurant, you stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was. Sitting at one of the tables to your right. Your first instinct was to look who he was with and whilst it threw you off entirely to see him in the first place you were relieved to see Luke sitting opposite of him.

You realised too late that the latter had noticed you too. His eyes locking on yours with what you could only describe as a hopeful look, but you just shook your head; wordlessly telling him not to alert Mason of your presence.

He visibly sighed but returned his attention to Mason. Just like you did.

He was sitting sideways to you and you couldn't see much, but it seemed like he was just staring straight ahead and not taking in much of what Luke was saying. Slumped in his seat, his usually tamed hair was a mess on top of his head.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked sad as even from your position you could tell that his eyes looked nothing like the bright ones you were used to, but his text from a few days ago was still looming in the back of your head; painfully reminding you that he wasn’t willing to fight for you and you shook yourself out of it.

He wasn’t sad…it was just what you wanted to believe to mend your broken heart. He wasn’t missing you the way you were missing him.

Straightening up, you made your way over to the till. You chose the long way, to stay hidden away from Luke and your ex and thankfully a member of staff was already there to enter your order number into the system. With a Just a minute he went to grab it from the back.

“Hey.”

“Hi. Sorry I don’t have much time.”, you said bluntly in hopes of brushing him off, but Luke didn’t budge.

“How are you.”

You couldn’t help but make a face. Was he being serious? “Great obviously.”

“y/n.”, Luke sighed quietly. “He miss-”

“Don’t even dare going there, Luke.”, you shook your head, unwilling to hear the words missing you and have your heart breaking all over again. “He messaged me a few days ago, telling me he respects my decision. That’s quite the opposite of missing me, if you ask me.”

Luke sighed again. “I know.”, he agreed quietly. “I told him not to do it cause I knew what it would look like. It’s just…he saw the photos Tamara posted and concluded that you’re better off without him, that you’re happier without him. I…he’s a guy and…we don’t handle reaction very well, you know?”

“Wow…didn’t think you’d actually be on his side after everything.”

“I’m not trying to make up excuses here, don’t get me wrong, y/n. I’m just trying to explain what he’s going through and…he’s heartbroken. He really is.”

“Quite hard to believe.”, you dismissed, trying to avoid letting what he was saying affect you. “He never even attempted to fight for us. A very few calls and then that fucking text…and you really want me to believe he misses me?”

“Remember the photo you both had in your car? The drive safe, I love you one? His still in there.”

“He probably just forgot it’s there.”

“No, cause whilst yours is, well maybe was visible in the compartment at the front, his is dangling from the mirror.”

Unsure of what you should say, you stayed quiet.

“Look, I know it’s a shitty situation and I know I don’t really know what led to all of this, but…just…think about it, y/n. He knows he fucked up and he misses you like crazy. Please just take my word for it.”

“As much as I want to believe that, I won’t reach out Luke. I ended things because he constantly made me feel like an afterthought in his life and I’m really sick of it. It hurt, you know? If he misses me like you say he does, it’s on him.”

-

For a few days you heard nothing from Mason. No attempted calls, no messages, just a big fat nothing. After your conversation with Luke you’d thought that maybe, just maybe he’d meant it and Mason would reach out and at least attempt to fix what wasn’t more than a shattered relationship anymore, but it looked like your gut feeling had been right – once again.

You tried your best to get your life back under control. It was hard, but somehow you managed to show up in your office after taking a week off and get some actual work done without starting to cry.

Your brother and his family as well as Tamara, who you’d told eventually, were your biggest supporters and you knew if it wasn’t for them, you’d probably still be rotting away in Elliott’s guest bedroom.

Instead, with their help, you’d found a cute little flat, decorated it and made it feel like your safe space. Step one on a very long road of healing.

A knock at your door pulled you out of your thoughts. Ollie, your boss’ assistant smiled hesitantly as he came in.

“This arrived for you this morning.” You furrowed your brows as he handed you a small package. It didn’t look like something a client would send; wrapped in light green wrapping paper and a small white tulip sitting on top.

“Who sent it?”

Ollie just shrugged. “Diane didn’t say. She just said it was left for you at the reception and since I went to grab something anyway, I figured I could just take it up to you.”

“Thank you, Ollie.”, you smiled and with a shy nod, he hurried out of your room.

The tips of your fingers traced the outlines of the package. Who would send you a gift on a random Wednesday? It was far from being your birthday, definitely not Christmas and whilst Tamara was one for sending gifts you knew that right now, she preferred other ways of being there for you.

Carefully, you unwrapped it and when you came face to face with the book you’d been meaning to buy, your breath caught in the back of your throat. Not because it was something you’d been wanting for half an eternity, no, but because there was only one person, you’d told about it.  

After days of silence and the feeling that he’d given up on you without even trying, he sent you a book completely out of the blue and you weren’t sure what to feel.

It was so…unexpected. Cause whilst Mason had always been one to gift you small things, it hadn’t happened in a while.

When you eventually picked the book up, to throw away the wrapping paper, a small piece of paper fell out. You furrowed your brows at the sight of Mason’s obvious handwriting.

I know, I fucked up. Big time. And I know a book won’t make up for it, but I want you to know that you didn’t just exist in my life as a pretty sidepiece, but that I actually care about you. A lot. I know we might never be the same, but I still want to make you feel seen. Until you’ll maybe be ready to talk to me. Or tell me to stop and leave you be.

Staring at the words you’d read over and over again, you weren’t sure what to think of them. All of it was bringing up a lot of mixed emotions. Emotions you’d tried to bury six feet under.

You’d hoped they stay there. Buried in the depth of your heart, safely locked away never to surface again, but the gifts kept chipping away at the brick walls you’d built.

They weren’t big or expensive gifts by any means. No jewellery, fancy clothes or whatever Mason’s never ending money could buy. No, they were small, carefully chosen and oh so thoughtful:

A rare postcard from the small park in Portsmouth you’d spent so much time in – alone and with Mason. A box of your favourite biscuits from the bakery in London you’d always spent way to much money at. Sweets you’d stocked your shared cupboards with, bath additives with your comfort smell…

After everything you’d been through lately, you hadn’t expected him to remember such small things about you. For months you’d felt like an afterthought, but all these things made you wonder if he’d actually cared more than you’d thought.

But no matter how much these things warmed your heart, you couldn’t help but notice that the word ‘sorry’ was missing. Sure, the gifts were his way of expressing it in the most genuine way he could without saying it, but even the note in the book didn’t state those 5 letters.

And whilst you truly appreciated his attempts, they weren’t enough for you to give in and message him first.

*

With a grim expression on your face, you turned the TV off. United had lost – again – and ruined not only Mason’s first time back as a starter, but simultaneously the goal he’d worked so hard for.

You hadn’t even intended to watch the game – football not really something you were overly interested in – but Mason being back in the starting lineup after months on the sidelines had somehow managed to convince you.

Sighing, you stood up and began tidying up your living room. It wasn’t messy by any means, but you had to distract yourself from thinking about your smile that had been way too bright when you’d seen him entering the pitch and your reaction that most definitely had been more enthusiastic than you cared to admit.

You didn’t want to care anymore. Not after everything he’d put you through. But your heart was still doubling over in your chest whenever you saw that smile of his.

A little while later – you were about to start preparing your dinner – it knocked at your door.

Wiping your hands on the dishtowel, you headed to open the door, only to be met with the last face you’d expected to see.

“Mason?”

“Hi.”, he said softly, a careful half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What are you doing here?”

“I erm…” His eyes dropped to the towel now clutched tightly in your hands. “I just…wanted to see you, I guess?”

“Okay?”, you nodded slowly, not really sure what to make of the whole situation. Especially of the thought that someone from your small circle had apparently told him your new address. “Congrats on your comeback. I’m glad you’re back out there.”

“Thanks.” A small smile darted over his face. “So am I. It was…difficult.”

The following silence was awkward, definitely making you both uncomfortable, but before you could think of stepping back and closing the door on him, he sighed.

“Those gifts, I-” Mason looked pained as he was trying to explain himself. “I know they’re not…enough or remotely anything that would make any of this better. It’s just…did you like them?”

“Did I like them? I mean…yeah sure, they were thoughtful just…none of them were what I really needed, you know?”

Mason nodded, seemingly understanding what you were alluding to. “Can I…I mean, can we talk?”

After deliberately taking a few seconds to make a decision you eventually nodded and stepped aside to let him in.

Once in your living room, Mason took a moment and let his gaze sweep over your thoughtfully chosen furniture and decor. You couldn’t read him like you used to, but the sad smile darting over his face was enough to make you hope he was thinking of your once shared house. The house you’d spent a lot of time decorating and making feel like home.

Turning around slowly, he buried his hands in the pockets of his joggers. “Listen, I’m sorry, y/n.”, he said quietly.

“You never mentioned it before.” Your voice was tight, and your arms crossed defensively over your chest. Him being in your safe space and ripping down the small walls you’d so carefully built over the past few weeks made you feel a lot more vulnerable than you liked.

“Writing it down, I don’t know…it would’ve been too easy. I didn’t…I didn’t want to. I wanted to tell you, not mention it on paper like I don’t mean it.” Mason dropped his gaze to the floor in shame before taking a deep breath and forcing his eyes back on yours. “I really am sorry for everything, y/n.”

“You hurt me.”, you gulped.

“I know.”

“No, Mason, you don’t.”, you shook your head. Your voice broke slightly, and you tried your best to blink back the tears threatening to spill over, but you knew it was to no avail.  

“I know you think you do, but you really don’t. You don’t know how much it hurt feeling like everything I did and worked for didn’t matter to you at all. Your stuff, no matter what, was always more important. Yours always came first cause you’re the oh so amazing footballer and I’m just little miss corporate girly with a random boring job…or life for that matter.”

“y/n, I-” Mason looked like he was about to cry, but everything you’d been holding back for months came out all at once at full force.

“I didn’t ask for much, Mason, you know that. I supported you as much as I could. I attended those galas and events and whatever you wanted me by your side for and guess what? Every single time you asked, I could’ve burst with pride cause it was me you wanted there, not anyone else. But the very few times I asked you to be by my side, to support me, something more important came up and you stood me up.”

Angrily, you wiped at the tears rolling down your reddened cheeks.

“I’m so, so sorry, y/n.”, Mason choked. “I never meant to-”

“I just wanted to be good enough. To be more important than football. Just once.”

The admission caught Mason off guard. It cut right through his heart and made his knees buckle. “You have been more than enough, y/n. I swear, you’ve always been more than enough for me. You’ve been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Slowly, you shook your head. “It didn’t feel like it, Mason. You pushed me to the side and made me feel like I’m not worth your time, but you know what? It’s completely fucked up, but despite it all, I couldn’t help but hope that something would remind you and make you wish you’d stayed.” 

“I wish I had. I promise.”, Mason sniffed. “Not just that. I wish I’d been better, you know? Better for you, better for us. I struggled with my priorities cause so many people expected different things from me and-”

“Not me.”, you said quietly. “I never expected you to be something special or be here all the time or put football on the back burner. I just wanted to be an important part of your life too. Not just some second thought.”  

You hadn’t noticed Mason carefully stepping closer, but when he carefully grabbed your hand in his, you let him.

His fingers felt warm and familiar against yours. The touch reminding you of the good times you were missing so badly.

“You were – are – an important part of my life, y/n.”, Mason promised. It was quiet, but confident. He made it sound like it was true. “I know I wasn’t the best at showing you and for that I’m sorry. Genuinely sorry. I’m sorry for all the disappointment and hurt I caused you and…I know I don’t get to ask anything from you, but I’d love to show you that I still want you. That I’ll fight for whatever is left between us. Because I still love you, y/n.”

Staring at the way his hand was still gripping yours tightly, you took a moment to let his words sink in. To let yourself feel all the emotions bubbling up inside of you.

You were still hurt and angry, but you still appreciated everything he’d said. Especially as you knew that he wasn’t a man of many emotional words normally, but liked to use jokes for covering up deeper emotions.

“I…I can’t just go back to where we left off, Mason.”, you sighed. “This…I know you’re sorry and I believe you…it’s just…”

“You don’t trust me anymore.”, he finished for you and when you nodded, the defeated look on his face pulled at all your heartstrings at once. “I understand, y/n. I promise I do and I don’t expect this to change quickly. It’s just…if you still see a chance for us, I’d like to take the time and prove myself to you.”

Mason brushed his thumb over your knuckles. His brown eyes bore into yours, somewhat pleading for you to say yes and give him the chance he didn’t deserve.

“You have to put in the work, Mason.”, you said quietly. “I’m not expecting you to be there all the time or make me your priority. I know football will always be up there and that’s something I don’t want you to change. I just want to be equally important.”

“You always have been, y/n.”, Mason smiled sadly. “But I promise this time I’ll make you feel like it too. You deserve so much more than what you got from me, and I swear to god I’ll make it right.”

Nodding slowly, you let go of a deep breath before leaning your forehead against his chest. “You’re an idiot.”, you huffed.

“I know.”, Mason confirmed. Still a bit unsure how open you’d be for affection from him, he carefully pressed his lips to the top of your head. “But I’m an idiot who missed you a lot.”

Something inside of you cracked open slightly at his words and whilst part of you wanted to keep your distance, you wrapped your arms around his middle anyway and when he hugged you back, tiny pieces of hope fell back into place.

For a while you simply stood there, wrapped up in one another and holding on to the hope that things would get better. That not all was lost.

“I know we have to talk some more, but I really mean it when I say I’m sorry and that you’re the only one I’ll ever want. I don’t want to lose you again, y/n.”

Pulling back a little, you tipped your head back and locked your eyes on his.

“I know.”, you smiled softly. “I don’t want to lose you either, Mase.”

A warm smile spread over his face and with some newfound confidence, Mason brought one hand up to cradle your jaw. His thumb stroked right beneath your eye, making your tummy flutter.

You wanted to keep your distance, to keep your heart safe for a little while longer, but the way he was looking at you with so much love and warmth in his eyes had your walls crumbling rather easily.

“I missed you so much.”

Mason leaned in slowly, testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull back, but instead tipped your head back a little more, he closed the distance and pressed his lips against yours softly; carefully, but oh so familiar and you couldn’t help but melt into him.

Nothing was perfect and it wouldn’t be for a while, but knowing you wouldn’t have to go back to torturing yourself by watching his life in pictures and wondering how you’d ended like this was enough for now.

“I missed you, too.”, you whispered against his lips before reaching up, burying your fingers in his hair and pulling him back in for another kiss.

And another right after as you never wanted to think about having a last kiss ever again.

----------

I genuinely hope you enjoyed reading this. You'd make my day if you left a little feedback 🩷

[megs-1800]

When It Happens

Notes: I started writing my requests and then thought I could combine this into 1 fic. Let me know your thoughts and hope you enjoy! Please continue to send me requests.

Word Count: 19k

Pairings: Mason Mount x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, SMUT, mentions of miscarriages, drinking and being sick.

The ticking clock on the wall had never sounded so loud, you sat on the edge of the velvet ottoman by the bedroom mirror, one heel nervously tapping against the wooden floorboards. Your phone glowed on the dresser beside you, the last message you’d sent to Mason still marked delivered.

“When are you coming home? I’m almost ready x”

That was forty-five minutes ago. The soft rustle of your satin dress as you shifted again was the only other sound in Mason’s too-quiet house. Your makeup was done to perfection — soft champagne shimmer on your lids, lash extensions curled like butterfly wings, and a kiss of pink gloss you knew Mason liked. Your dress was new: forest green, strapless, hugging every curve, a delicate gold chain draped across your collarbones. It was the kind of dress you wore when you wanted someone to look at you like you were art- and you’d bought it for tonight.

Both yours and Mason’s friends were hosting a club night in Manchester — drinks, music, dancing. One of those rare evenings you’d actually managed to wrangle time off work and planned something. It wasn’t just a night out, it was meant to be a night together. The girls who were also attending the event were non-stop messaging you as they couldn’t wait to see you, but he wasn’t here.

The front door finally creaked open, you didn’t move — you heard him before you saw him. Keys tossed carelessly onto the hallway table. Trainers squeaking slightly against the tiled floor. The familiar rustle of his hoodie as he shrugged it off, the soft groan as he bent to untie his shoes.

“Hey, babe,” came Mason’s voice, casual. Tired. You stood slowly, heels clicking as you walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Your arms were folded tightly across your chest, like you was physically holding in the anger bubbling in your chest.

Mason looked up and froze, he was still in joggers. Hoodie creased. Hair flattened under a cap. He looked like he’d just come from training — or worse, from someone’s sofa and a FIFA binge session.

His brows furrowed when he saw you. “…You going somewhere?”

You laughed — sharp and bitter. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What?” Mason blinked, actually confused. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on,” you repeated, stepping forward, voice trembling now with fury, “is that I’ve been sitting here — waiting — for over an hour, dressed like this, while you were—what? Off on your own planet?”

Mason’s jaw twitched. “Wait—shit. Tonight. The club thing.”

“The club thing?” you mouth dropped open, incredulous. “Wow. You forgot. Again.”

“I didn’t forget,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I just—I got caught up, training overrun then some of the team went out for dinner and traffic was a nightmare--”

You shoved past him, pacing toward the kitchen, heels stomping now. “You do realise you promised me you'd come tonight? I told everyone you’d be there. You told me you’d be there.”

“I know, babe, alright? I said I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care about sorry,” you snapped, rounding on him. “It’s always ‘I got caught up’ or ‘something came up’. But this? This was important to me. Just once, I wanted to show up somewhere with you. Be the girlfriend who walks in on her boyfriend’s arm instead of making excuses for him.”

Mason ran his hand over his face, dragging his palm down his cheek with a groan. “Can we not do this now?”

“Oh, now you don’t want to talk,” you said, biting out the words. “Because it’s inconvenient for you? Must be so exhausting, being you.”

His tone hardened. “Don’t start that shit.”

“What shit? The truth?” you were seething now, eyes glistening with tears you refused to let fall. “Do you even care anymore? About me? Or am I just a convenience between your Nike shoots and night-time footie highlights?”

“That’s fucking low,” he hissed, stepping closer. “You know how hard I work—how much pressure I’m under—and you’re gonna stand there and throw that in my face?”

“I know exactly how hard you work. But maybe you forgot how hard I do too,” you snapped, chest heaving. “This wasn’t about football. This was about you showing up for me. Just once.”

The silence between you throbbed like a bruise. His jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. Your lip quivered despite you trying to hold steady.

“You look beautiful,” he said quietly, suddenly. Regret laced every word.

You flinched. “That doesn’t fix this,” you whispered.

“I know.” A pause. “I’ll get ready.”

You stared at him —arms wrapped tightly around your body like a shield. “Don’t do me any favours,” you muttered. He didn’t answer. Just turned and disappeared into the bedroom.

The car ride was silent, Mason sat beside you in the drivers seat, now dressed in all-black — crisp shirt, blazer slung over his shoulders. His hair were still slightly damp from a rushed shower. He smelled like oud and regret.

You sat with your arms crossed, facing the window, your expression unreadable, cold. The city lights flickered across your face like shadows of a fire neither of them wanted to touch. He kept stealing glances. You didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. His hand twitched once, like he might reach for you but then stopped.

Outside, the club’s neon signage was visible now — pink and blue lights pulsing with the beat from inside, the sound of laughter and bass thudding through the walls. He parked the car slowly and you straightened in your seat, staring straight ahead. You adjusted the clutch in your lap, then turned slowly toward Mason.

Your voice was soft. Detached. So quiet he almost missed it. “Put a smile on.” He blinked at you, confused. “We’re about to walk in. Everyone’s there. So whatever this is?” you gestured vaguely between you. “It’s going on pause. Just for tonight.”

Mason’s mouth opened, but you cut him off with a single, searing look. “Pretend it’s all okay.”

Then you pushed open the door and stepped out into the night — the cold air kissing your skin, the music louder now, your heels clicking with purpose against the pavement and Mason followed — jaw tight, expression unreadable — plastering a smile on his face like it was a mask he’d worn a thousand times before.

The flashbulbs started before the doors even opened, as soon as Mason stepped onto the curb beside you, the familiar sound of camera shutters filled the air. It was a private party, yes — but Manchester private meant public adjacent. Influencers. Footballers. That one guy from Love Island who always seemed to end up shirtless by midnight.

And Mason Mount? He was a known face. So was you now - charity lead turned WAG, the effortlessly cool girlfriend everyone envied, with the low heels and the loud laugh and the gorgeous green eyes. You smiled like your life depended on it.

Bright. Brilliant. Blinding.

Your hand slid into Mason’s as if nothing had happened. You tucked yourself against his side as the cameras caught the two of you — a vision in green and black. He leaned down when prompted. You angled your chin just so. You looked like a dream.

The perfect couple. The picture of happy. No one could tell that your fingers were ice-cold in his. That your jaw was clenched so tight it might shatter. That your eyes were screaming don’t touch me even as your body curved against his chest. Then the bouncers opened the doors and the music swallowed you whole.

Inside, the bass was already pounding — low and deep, vibrating through the floorboards and up through your heels. Lights spun like strobe stars across the ceiling, cutting the dancefloor into fragments of movement. It was hot. Loud. Glittery. The scent of perfume and vodka clung to the air. You didn’t wait. The second you both crossed the threshold, your hand dropped from Mason’s. You moved fast, without a glance back — weaving through the crowd like you was born to it. Champagne flute plucked from a waiter’s tray. Smile locked in place. Gone.

Mason stood there for a second — stunned. Then someone clapped him on the back.

“Mounty! Finally made it, eh?” It was Ben Chilwell. Hair slicked back, shirt two buttons too low, grinning like he hadn’t just witnessed you vanish like smoke.

“Where’s the missus?” Ben added, peering over Mason’s shoulder.

Mason gave a tight-lipped smile. “She’s—around.”

Ben smirked. “You lot are always so bloody photogenic. Like a Vogue shoot outside just now.”

Mason laughed politely, distracted. His eyes scanned the crowd. That’s when he saw you by the bar. You was leaning back against the counter, already halfway through her champagne. Your shoulders were tense, your smile tighter now — almost glassy. A group of girls you vaguely knew were clustered around you. One was showing you something on their phone, and you gave a hollow, too-loud laugh in response.

You didn’t look over once but Mason excused himself from Ben and crossed the floor. He approached carefully, hands in pockets, like you was a skittish animal he didn’t want to spook.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, leaning close to your ear.

You didn’t flinch but just took another sip, eyes fixed on the glowing cocktail menu above the bar. Then, without turning, you said: “Don’t act like you care.”

It was soft. Calm. Lethal. He exhaled through his nose. “Y/N/N—”

“Why don’t you go find your boys?” you interrupted, finally looking at him. Your eyes were sharp now, rimmed in glitter and defiance. “That’s what you wanted to do anyway, isn’t it? Talk shop. Have a laugh. Not stand here with your miserable girlfriend.”

“You’re not miserable,” he said, but it was weak.

You barked a laugh. “You sure about that?”

Before he could answer, someone called his name from across the club — a fellow player from United, already halfway through his second pint and shouting like it was the dugout. Mason glanced over, torn but you noticed. “Go,” you said, lifting her drink. “Wouldn’t want you missing another party because of me.”

“Y/N—” But you was already turning away again, your champagne flute replaced with a vodka soda. The bartender winked as he slid it across. You didn’t notice, you just drank.

The night stretched. Mason tried to keep himself distracted. He made the rounds. Said the right things. Posed for a few more photos, smiled when he was supposed to but his eyes kept drifting back across the club to you.

You had moved again — this time to the dancefloor. Your shoes were off, dress hitched slightly at the thigh. You was laughing again, but it was louder now, manic, like you had something to prove. The girls were dancing around you, carefree and loose, but you was different. Your smile was off-kilter. Your movements just slightly delayed, like you wasn’t quite in your body anymore and then you stumbled. Only slightly but just enough to catch yourself against a barstool and mumble an apology to no one.

Mason was there in three strides. “Come on,” he said under his breath, reaching for your elbow. “You need water. Or food. Something.”

But you jerked out of his grip, glass sloshing. “Don’t touch me.”

“Y/N—”

“Seriously.” Your eyes were glassy now. Your makeup smudged at the corners. “You think you can just ignore me for a week, forget about tonight, humiliate me, and then suddenly be boyfriend of the year when I’m two vodkas deep?”

“I didn’t humiliate you,” Mason snapped, his patience finally cracking.

“You didn’t show up,” you shot back. “Not just tonight — all week. I took a week off work to be here all week but you’ve been checked out, Mason. I feel like I’m sleeping next to a ghost.”

He blinked, taken aback. The music roared around them, but your voice was somehow louder in his head. “I’ve been trying,” he said, struggling. “I’ve had a lot on—”

“And I’ve been right here,” you cut in. “I’ve been here. Waiting. Planning things. Trying to make you feel like we still matter.” Your voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I didn’t want to come tonight. I wanted to stay home and fight this out. But you forgot. And I didn’t want to ruin the night for everyone else, so yeah—I smiled. I smiled so hard my face hurts.”

Mason’s heart twisted. You looked like a stranger now — jaw clenched, arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you was trying to hold in all the pieces. He stepped forward again, softer now.

“Y/N/N, please—”

But you shook your head, blinking fast. “Don’t act like you care, Mason. Not when you only do it once there’s people watching.”

He opened his mouth but you was already gone again — disappearing into the crowd, dress shimmering under the strobe lights, drink still clutched tight in your hand like it was the only thing keeping you upright and Mason stood there, watching you vanish into the blur of bodies and music and noise — wondering how the hell they come so undone.

Mason had barely looked up from his drink when Ben called across the table to you. “Oi, Y/L/N! Come keep your man company, he’s brooding over here like it’s a funeral!”

You turned, catching the eyes of everyone at Mason’s table — all mid-laugh, drinks in hand, heat from the club pulsing around them. You was mid-conversation, halfway through another drink, and already light-headed from the alcohol and the effort it took to keep your smile wide was starting to fade but you smiled. God, you smiled like you meant it.

You floated over in your heels, green dress swaying like silk around your legs, glass still in hand. Everyone made space without question, and you slid onto the bench seat beside Mason, throwing one arm around his shoulders, your hand resting lightly at the base of his neck.

“Brooding?” you laughed, voice syrup-sweet. “That’s just his sexy face.”

The table erupted with laughter. Mason forced a chuckle, his hand brushing your knee under the table out of habit. You leaned into him like you hadn’t been silently destroying each other all night. Your perfume clung to his collar, your leg was draped over his beneath the table.

“Mate, you’re punching,” someone joked. “Always has been,” you purred, raising your glass to clink it against Mason’s. He looked at you. You was good- Too good. You laughed at the right moments, squeezed his thigh just enough, flicked your hair like you hadn’t cried in a bathroom stall forty minutes ago. You was everything they expected you to be and he hated it. He hated that he’d made you this good at pretending.

You lasted another forty-five minutes. Another photo. Another drink for you and more small talk, more banter. Mason kept close, silent, one hand resting at the small of your back like a well-trained actor but when you glanced up at him, there was nothing warm in your eyes. Just calculation. Cold fury, wrapped in lace and lipstick. Eventually, you leaned up on your toes, lips brushing his ear.

“I’m happy to call it a night whenever you are.”

He nodded and just like that, the performance wrapped. They said their goodbyes — arms thrown around friends, kisses on cheeks, you joking about needing food and a face mask, Mason laughing on cue. You posed for one last photo on the way out — your head tilted into his chest, his arm around your waist like you couldn’t get enough of each other. The second the car door shut behind you, the silence dropped like a guillotine.

Mason gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The city lights flickered across the dash. You had pulled your heels off, crossing one leg under the other, staring out the window. The sharp edge of your profile was lit only by passing headlights. Neither had spoken in five full minutes. Then— “I’m ovulating.”

Mason blinked. “What?”

You turned toward him now, completely calm. Detached. “I’m ovulating and because you forgot tonight, we didn’t get a chance to do it earlier. So when we get home, we are.”

He stared at the road. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Y/N—” he shook his head, letting out a stunned laugh, “I’m not having sex with you while you’re still angry.”

“Oh,” you said, voice feather-light, “I’m not angry.” He risked a glance at you. You was smiling. Bright. Beaming. Artificial as hell. “See?” you added with a laugh, twisting to face him fully in the seat now. “I’m not angry. I’m fine. So come home and do your bit, Mount.”

He clenched his jaw. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That fake shit.” He pulled into their street, the engine a low rumble as he parked. “You’re not fine. You’re pissed off. And now you want to use sex to—what—tick a box? Punish me? Prove something?”

“It’s biology, Mason,” you snapped. “We said we were trying. Remember that conversation? Or did you forget that too?”

His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Of course I remember.”

“Then what’s the problem?” your voice rose, frustration slipping in. “You didn’t seem to mind last week when I climbed on top of you. Or the week before that when we did it in the shower. But now, because I’m not smiling sweetly and giggling in your lap, you’re not interested?”

“It’s not about being sweet,” he said sharply. “It’s about you wanting to have sex with me when you clearly can’t even look at me properly.”

“Oh, fuck off, Mason.”

“I’m serious!” He turned in his seat to face you now, the car still running. “I’m not just your sperm donor. I’m your boyfriend or at least I thought I was.”

You scoffed. “You’ve got a real nerve, you know that? Acting like I’m the problem. Like I’m the one who forgot tonight. Who checked out. Who keeps saying sorry without meaning it.”

His voice was low, furious. “I said I was sorry—”

“And it meant nothing,” shyoue hissed. “Because you only said it once you realised people were watching. You put your hand on my back when cameras were around. But when I needed you earlier—when I was sat alone in that bloody house, feeling like a bloody idiot—you were the one who weren’t there.”

Silence. Mason’s hands dropped from the wheel. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You laughed again — this time quieter. Sadder. “But you did.”

You sat in the parked car, the silence now thick and suffocating. Your makeup had smudged under your eyes. Your lips were dry from the alcohol. You looked exhausted, like all the fight had drained out of you, leaving only disappointment behind. Then, finally, you said quietly: “I’m not asking for a performance, Mason. I’m asking you to show up. For me. For us. For this… thing we keep saying we want.”

He looked over at you, jaw clenched. “I do want it. You know I do.”

She swallowed. “Then act like it when it counts.”

Another pause. Then Mason reached forward and turned off the engine. The car fell into complete silence. “Let’s go inside,” he said quietly. “And talk. Really talk.”

You hesitated and then gave a small, tired nod. The two of you stepped out of the car, not holding hands this time, not smiling, not pretending — just two people clinging to the last fragile thread between them, wondering if it would hold.

The front door slammed behind you, neither of you turned on the lights. The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow spilling in from the street through the glass panels in the door. You walked ahead first — heels dangling from one hand, clutch dropped somewhere near the stairs. Your bare feet padded across the hardwood floor with heavy steps. Mason followed a few seconds later, slower, his keys clattering on the table as he passed. The house was silent, but the air between them buzzed like static. You turned the corner into the living room, not bothering to sit. Just spun on your heel, facing him.

“We’re doing it tonight,” you said again, blunt and unapologetic.

Mason leaned against the doorway, jaw clenched. “You really think now’s the right time?”

“No,” you snapped, “but it’s the only time.” He frowned. “You leave for pre-season next week,” you continued, walking toward him slowly. “You’ll be gone what—four weeks? Five? I don’t even know anymore. And then it’ll be too late.”

“So we just… force it?” Mason’s voice rose now, sharp. “Just squeeze in sex between our latest screaming match and call it trying for a baby?”

You threw your hands up. “Yes, if that’s what it takes!”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!”

“I’m ovulating, Mason! The window is now! We said we were doing this, remember? We said we were ready—”

“I’m not ready right now!” he shouted, stepping forward, voice echoing around the room. “Not like this. Not when I can’t even look at you without wondering what version of you I’m getting tonight!”

“Oh, fuck off, Mount—”

“I don’t want my baby conceived like that!” he shouted over you, hand gesturing wildly between them. “In the middle of a row. With you pissed off and pretending to smile and me walking on eggshells!”

“Oh, who cares?!” you exploded, your voice breaking around the edges now. “No one fucking asks that, do they?! ‘Oh, how was your baby made?’ — ‘Oh, I was furious and drunk and he was exhausted and it was the last chance we had because football comes first, always!’”

Mason’s eyes blazed. “That’s not fair.”

“You forgot tonight!”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Yeah,” you spat, “and it meant nothing! Like always.”

“You don’t think I feel like shit about that?” he shouted, stepping closer. “You don’t think I see how far we’ve gone off track? But you want to slap a baby on it and call it fixed?”

“That’s not what this is about,” you hissed, fists clenched at your sides.

“Isn’t it?” His voice was quieter now. Dangerous. “Because this doesn’t feel like trying to start a family. This feels like trying to prove something.”

Your breath caught. “You think I’m doing this to trap you or something?”

“I think you’re doing it to feel something,” he shot back. “Because you’ve been so angry at me for so long and instead of talking about it, you’ve poured everything into this perfect picture of the future — baby, house, photos on the fridge. But we’re not okay, Y/N. And no baby’s gonna fix that.”

Silence. Your chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. Your eyes were rimmed red now, mouth trembling despite herself. You said nothing so Mason did. “I want this,” he said, softer now. “I do. With you. But not like this. Not when it feels like a transaction.”

You blinked at him — one slow, stunned blink — and then your voice came out like a knife: “Then why did you say yes in the first place?”

His jaw twitched. “Because I thought we were ready. Before.”

“And now?”

He hesitated. “Now I’m scared we’re already falling apart.”

There it was, the quiet truth neither of them had wanted to say. You flinched like he’d slapped you and then—because it was the only thing you had left—you scoffed, turned your back to him, and muttered: “Well, if we are… might as well get a baby out of it.”

Mason’s head snapped up. “Y/N, no.”

“Why not?” you laughed bitterly, spinning back to face him. “At least then I won’t feel like I wasted another bloody year.”

His voice cracked. “That’s what this is to you? A waste?”

“No,” you whispered, “but it will be if this all crashes and I walk away with nothing.”

He looked at you then — really looked. At the broken edges beneath all that steel. The pain beneath the sarcasm. The desperate need to cling to something because you didn’t trust it would last. He stepped toward you but you stepped back and for the first time all night, your voice wavered. “I just wanted this to be ours. Not perfect. Just… something that felt real. Something that mattered. And now it just feels like I’m begging you to love me the way I love you.”

That gutted him. He opened his mouth but there were no words big enough. Not yet. The silence was thick again, aching. Finally, you said, quieter: “You want to talk? Fine. But I’m still ovulating. So if you change your mind—bed’s upstairs.” and with that, you turned, slowly climbing the stairs — not out of seduction, not out of triumph. Just… done and Mason stood there, alone in the quiet house, staring at the space you left behind.

You was pacing the room in nothing but your bra and knickers, fuming — half from the club’s heat still clinging to your skin, half from the way rage throbbed in your chest like a second heartbeat. Your dress lay crumpled on the floor where you’d thrown it, and you hadn’t even bothered to hang it. Your heels were somewhere by the door. You was done pretending.

The bedroom door banged open behind you and Mason stormed in, the tension around his shoulders thick enough to choke the air. His jacket was already gone — ditched in the hallway. He yanked at his tie with jerky, aggressive movements, letting it drop to the floor.

“Oh, brilliant,” you snapped without turning, your tone already sharp. “Decided to join me, have you?”

“Oh, so this is what it’s really about?” Mason’s voice was already raised as he kicked off his shoes and began undoing his belt. “You’re pissed off because we didn’t have sex before we left?”

You spun on him. “Yes! Because we both said we were trying and clearly I’m the only one who cares!”

Mason let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh as he shoved his trousers down, now just in his shirt and boxers. “Are you fucking serious, Y/N?”

“Oh I’m dead fucking serious. I checked my app this morning — peak ovulation. And instead of prioritising that, you were late, you forgot, and I stood there like a mug.”

“I want a baby with you,” Mason snapped, jaw clenched. “But not like this. Not on a schedule!”

“Well when, then?!” she screamed, stepping toward him, arms out. “Next week when you’re at pre-season training? Or in two months when you’re in fucking Germany? We don’t get a normal life, Mason. This is what we have. It’s now or fucking never.”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to slow his breathing. “Y/N—”

“Don’t ’Y/N’ me.”

“Y/N/N, just listen—”

“No, you listen!” you roared, fire in her voice. “I’m trying here. I am trying so hard to not make this about everything else, but I’m tired and I’m lonely and I wanted you tonight and instead I got photos and fake smiles and you chatting shit  while I was three vodka sodas deep and fucking dying inside—”

He moved to you, fast, hands gripping your waist. You shoved him away. “Don’t touch me unless you’re going to—”

He silenced you the only way he knew how. Mason’s mouth crashed onto yours mid-sentence, catching you mid-rage. The kiss was brutal, messy, all teeth and desperation. You hit his chest once, then curled your fists into his shirt and kissed him back like she wanted to punish him.

He backed you toward the bed, breathing hard between kisses. “Say it,” he growled against your lips. “Say you still want this.”

Instead of answering, you pushed him down onto the edge of the mattress. You straddled him with zero hesitation, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other sliding down between them. You reached inside his boxers, Mason groaned, low and guttural, already hard under your touch. “Don’t think this means I forgive you,” you muttered, lining him up and sinking down onto him in one slow, agonising motion. “I just need you to cum.”

His head dropped back, mouth parted. You rocked your hips, sharp and fast. Mason’s hands landed on your thighs, gripping tight. He looked up at you like you was both the fire and the thing burning him alive.

“Y/N/N—”

“Don’t talk.”

“I want to say I’m sorry—”

“I don’t want sorry,” you snapped. “I want you to finish. So focus.”

Mason’s nostrils flared. His hands slid to your hips, holding you still. Then, without warning, he flipped you — his body pressing yours down into the mattress, his thrusts deep and merciless. You let out a gasp, arms flying up over your head as he pinned you in place. “You think this is just about a baby?” he growled, driving into you with punishing rhythm. “You think I’m doing this because you tell me to?”

“I don’t care why,” you spat back. “Just finish already.”

He reached between you to begin rubbing your clit but you grabbed his wrist and yanked it away. “I don’t need to cum,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “You do. So focus on that.”

Mason’s eyes blazed, your resistance only fuelled him. He adjusted his angle, hitting the spot that made you arch even when you didn’t want to. Again. And again. And again.  “You’re such a fucking liar,” he whispered darkly.

Your head thrashed. “I’m not—”

“Tell me you want me.”

You opened your mouth — almost said something soft but what came out was sharper. “I want you to put a baby in me.”

His whole body stiffened, he buried his face in your neck with a growl, his rhythm stuttering. “Stop saying that like it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. It’s everything,” you choked out, your legs tightening around him.

“I love you,” he gasped. “Even when you say shit like that.”

“Then finish, Mason.”

He groaned again — deeper this time, his hips snapping into yours one last time as he came with a fractured gasp, your name breaking on his lips. You lay there, still beneath him, his body covering yours. He didn’t move for a long time and neither did you, and when you finally did — when he rolled off you, breathing still shallow, eyes cast up at the ceiling — you didn’t say a word because you’d got what you wanted but it didn’t feel like a win.

The following morning the bedroom was heavy with silence, the kind that vibrated beneath the skin. The air was thick, not with heat, but something else. Something tense. Something bitter. You stirred first, sheets twisted around your legs. Your throat was dry, and chest was tight. A single glance toward Mason told you he was already awake too, lying on his back, eyes on the ceiling, jaw locked like he’d been grinding it all night.

You sat up slowly, pressing your palms to your face. Your body ached — not in the way you usually loved after being with him. This was different. Guilt-heavy. Cold.

Mason finally spoke. “You alright?”

“Do I look alright?” you muttered, voice scratchy.

He didn’t answer. Just let out a sigh and dragged a hand down his face. You stood, and stated getting dressed.

“I feel sick,” you said bluntly, not looking at him.

“You think that means something?” Mason asked. His voice was tired. Too tired for anything meaningful.

“No,” you snapped. “It’s been eight fucking hours, Mason. It doesn’t mean anything. Probably just regret.”

He sat up slowly, watching you pace across the room. “Right.”

You scoffed, grabbing your jeans. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That tone. Like I’m the one who fucked everything up.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“No,” you said, spinning to face him, “but you’re thinking it.”

Mason’s jaw twitched. “You’re the one who begged me to do it.”

You flinched. “Don’t say it like that.”

“You did,” Mason bit out. “You begged me to cum, Y/N. Told me to shut up. Told me not to touch you. Like I was just—just a fucking—tool to get you pregnant.”

Your voice cracked as you replied, “And you just let it happen.”

“Because I love you,” he shouted suddenly, standing now. “Because I thought we were in this together. Not on a fucking schedule.”

Your eyes filled, but your tone turned cold. “I didn’t want my baby like that, Mason.”

That landed like a slap. Mason’s chest heaved. “You didn’t want your baby like that? Are you fucking serious?”

You faltered, but nodded. “Yeah. That’s how it felt.”

His nostrils flared. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you stripped off and told me to finish inside you like it was some medical procedure!”

Your whole face cracked at that, and for a moment, Mason regretted it. But he couldn’t stop. The anger had cracked open now, too deep and too ugly to put back in the box. You turned away, wiping at your face roughly. “Should we do a test or something?” Mason asks.

You blinked at the sudden shift. “What?”

“I said,” he hissed, watching you tugging on your hoodie, “should we do a test?”

You blinked. “It’s… it’s been eight hours.” You snapped. “We won’t know for weeks, Mason. Congratulations — you finally paid attention to the timeline.”

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but you was already pulling your trainers on, face flushed, eyes shining and ss you reached for the door, you turned over your shoulder. Mason looked you dead in the eye and said “Next time you want to feel needed, maybe don’t turn someone into a fucking science experiment.” You couldn’t reply just turned and the door slammed behind you before Mason could even breathe and he was left alone.

You finally went back to Mason’s after hours of driving around, The house was filled with the dull thud of zippers and the rustle of fabric — the kind of silence that wasn't really silence at all. It was absence of laughter, of warmth, of ease.

You folded your clothes with mechanical precision, barely glancing at the hoodie that had been his, or the necklace you tucked into the side pocket. Mason, down the hall, packed in the same quiet way — focused, jaw locked, his boots clunking dully into his duffel.

You hadn’t spoken since that morning. Just moved around each other like polite strangers — two people who used to know every inch of one another now unsure how to share the same space. You came down the stairs as he slung his bag over his shoulder. Your car keys jangled in your hand, your other arm hugged around your holdall.

“You all packed?” Mason asked, standing by the door.

“Yeah,” you said, flat but not unkind. “Didn’t bring much.”

Mason nodded. “Right.”

You both stepped outside, and he locked the door behind you. The air was heavier out here — thick with things you weren’t saying. Mason turned to you as you opened the car door. “Let me know if you… if you find out anything, yeah?”

You nodded quickly. “I will.”

He gave a short, forced smile. “Hope work isn’t too stressful.”

“Thanks.” you paused, then added, “Good luck with training.”

“Cheers.” A beat. “Let me know when you get there?”

“I will,” she said, quieter now. “You too, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mason replied, and something flickered behind his eyes. A memory, maybe. A pang. You stood there for a moment longer — like you were waiting for something. A sign. A reason to hold on but nothing came.

Just the engine starting. The shuffle of trainers on gravel. “Drive safe,” you added, voice still soft from the open window.

“You too,” Mason said, closing his door and with that, you both pulled away — polite words echoing in place of the ones you really wanted to say. The space between you had never felt wider.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N❤️: Hope training went okay. Mason ❤️: Yeah. Long day. Hope everything's okay your end. Y/N❤️ : All fine. Mason❤️ : Still nothing? Y/N ❤️: Not yet. I’ll keep you posted. Mason ❤️: Okay.

That was it, five days into pre-season and the only messages you’d exchanged were the kind you could send to your acquaintance. No emojis. No pet names. Not even a x. It was torture. Mason dropped his phone on the bed with a soft thud and ran a hand over his jaw. His head throbbed and his body ached. The cold way you was replying made everything else feel pointless.

He could’ve called you — should have, probably — but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know how to start. So instead, he called Lewis.

His brother answered quickly, already sounding wary. “Alright?”

Mason slumped onto the edge of the hotel bed. “Not really.”

“What’s happened?”

“It’s Y/N. It’s all just… it’s fucked.”

Lewis didn’t speak, letting the silence invite Mason to pour it out. “We had a huge fight the night before I came out here,” Mason muttered. “Proper screaming match. About me being late. She’d planned the whole night — we were supposed to go to this event, all dressed up, proper photos and speeches and everything. But more than that, she wanted to have sex before we went.”

Lewis blinked. “Why?”

“Because she’s ovulating.”

“…You tracking that shit now?”

Mason gave a short laugh, bitter. “Yeah. We’ve been trying, apparently.”

“What? Since when?”

“I dunno, it kind of crept in. First it was, ‘Let’s not be careful,’ then it was the vitamins and the calendar app. And then suddenly, it was a schedule.”

Lewis exhaled. “Jesus.”

“She was angry that I was late,” Mason went on. “And when I got in, she was already dressed and pissed off. I thought we could just get ready and talk on the way — I didn’t even clock that she’d been waiting around hoping we’d… you know.”

“Did you talk about it at the time?”

“No. We fought. Like full-on. Then we pretended everything was fine and went to the event like a proper happy couple. She was smiling through gritted teeth all night.”

“And then?”

Mason let out a long sigh. “On the way home, she just turned and said, ‘We have to do it tonight.’ Like, demanded it. Said it was now or never. I told her I didn’t want to do it like that but  she lost it.”

Lewis’s voice was quieter now. “Lost it how?”

“She was shouting. Saying I didn’t care. That I was always too busy or too late. That I ruined everything. She started crying. Throwing her shoes. Screaming at me.”

There was a pause. “I didn’t even want to sleep with her,” Mason admitted. “Not like that. Not when she was crying and angry. But I just… I didn’t know what else to do. It was the only way to shut her up.”

Lewis winced. “That’s not good, mate.”

“I know. But she wasn’t listening. I told her we could wait a few hours, and she just kept going. Said it had to be then. Said it was our chance.” Mason rubbed his face. “And now we’re not talking. She’s gone back to her flat. I'm stuck out here in pre-season pretending like I’m not spiralling.”

Lewis was quiet for a moment, then asked carefully, “You think this is about something else?”

“Like what?”

Lewis hesitated. “Like maybe the miscarriage?”

Mason’s chest stilled. “What did you just say?”

“The miscarriage,” Lewis repeated slowly. “That one from a few months back.”

Mason sat forward, stunned. “How do you know about that?”

“She told me and Myles.”

“No. She wouldn’t have. She didn’t even tell her own mum.”

“She did, Mase. You were away — Spain, I think. She came round Mum and Dad’s. Was off, y’know? Quiet. Said she was tired but stayed for hours. Then after tea, when I was washing up, she just kind of… broke.”

Mason said nothing. His chest ached. “She didn’t go into detail,” Lewis added. “But enough. Said she didn’t want to talk to you in detail about it when it happened because you were getting ready for a big match. Said you had enough pressure already.”

“She should’ve spoken to me.”

“I think she wanted to but she said she couldn’t watch your face when she told you everything. Said it’d make it real.”

Mason swallowed hard, staring down at the carpet. “Fuck.”

“She was broken over it, mate. Properly. Maybe that’s why she’s acting like this. Maybe she thought you forgot. Or that you weren’t taking it seriously. If she thought this baby could somehow make up for that—”

“It wouldn’t.”

“I know that. You know that. But grief messes with your head.”

Mason’s hands were trembling now. “She always says she doesn’t need me to fix things. That she’s got it handled. That she’s strong.”

“Strong people still fall apart.”

The line went quiet. Finally, Lewis said gently, “Just… reach out to her. Not about the baby. Not about your texts. Just her. Tell her you see her. All of her. Not the planner, or the scheduler, or the girl who’s holding everything together. Just her.”

Mason nodded, even though Lewis couldn’t see. “Yeah.”

“And maybe next time, don’t wait until she’s screaming in your face to ask what’s wrong.”

Mason gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Got it.”

Mason stood on the hotel balcony, training gear still clinging to his back, phone trembling slightly in his hand. He stared at the blank voice note screen for a long time before finally pressing record.

His voice was husky, quieter than usual — not broken, but close.

“Hey. I didn’t want to send another ‘how are you’ text or… ask if you’ve heard anything yet. I just wanted to talk. Not about anything specific — not about the baby, or pre-season, or what we’re supposed to be doing right now. Just… you. I can feel the space between us. Properly feel it. And it’s killing me, Y/N/N.”

He paused, breathing out.

“I know I messed up that night. I was late. I was distracted. I didn’t see how much it mattered to you. And I hated the way we ended up in bed that night. It didn’t feel like us. I didn’t even know who we were in that moment. But I did it anyway. And that’s on me.”

His voice faltered, then steadied.

“I spoke to Lewis. He… said something that’s been ringing in my head all night. He said you told him. About the miscarriage.”

Another silence.

“I didn’t know you told anyone. I thought we were the only ones who carried that. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I left you carrying it alone for too long. I still remember the way you looked when you told me. The way your voice cracked but your face didn’t move. You didn’t even cry. Just said it like it was a line from a script you’d rehearsed. I didn’t say much back. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

His voice broke slightly here.

“But I need to say it now. I should’ve said it back then. I wanted that baby. I know it was early. I know we didn’t plan it properly or talk about it the way we should’ve. But I saw the way you smiled when you found out. And I knew, instantly, that I wanted to protect that feeling in you — that hope. That light. And when it was gone, I think I told myself you were okay. Because if you were okay, then I could be too.”

He let out a soft, shaky breath.

“But you weren’t okay, were you? And I didn’t see that. I didn’t really see you. Not the way you needed me to.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me. Or fix this. I just… I needed you to know. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. About you. About the way I showed up, or didn’t.  I’m sorry I let you carry that pain on your own. I’m sorry I made that night about schedules and pressure and getting it over with, when it should’ve been about us.  If I could go back, I would’ve stopped you in the kitchen, pulled you in, and said none of it matters. Just you. That’s all that matters. It’s still true now. Anyway. You don’t have to reply. I just needed you to hear this. Properly.”

He paused — just briefly — then added:

“I miss you, Y/N/N. I miss you so much.”

Click.

Sent.

You was curled up on the worn sofa in her old bedroom flat— hair wet from the shower, tea going cold on the windowsill — when the notification buzzed.

Voice Note from Mason 3 mins, 45 seconds

Your stomach turned instantly. You stared at it for a full minute. Just stared. Like it might explode if she pressed play but you did.

The second his voice filled the room, something in your chest cracked. His pauses. His breath. The way he kept circling back to her name like it was the only word he could cling to. By the time he got to "I wanted that baby", your hand flew to your mouth and your throat constricted, a sob you didn’t know you’d buried escaping against your palm.

You hadn’t cried like this in months, the tears came fast, bitter and hot. Not just for the words — but for the relief. The goddamn relief of finally feeling seen. For not being the only one who carried the weight of that loss. For not being alone in the memory of it. You listened to the message three times. Then again. By the fifth time, you had your phone pressed to your chest, eyes closed, breath shallow. You didn’t know what to say yet but something had shifted.

It took you almost two hours to stop crying. The voice note played on loop in your mind.  You hadn’t known how much you needed to hear that. How much you’d been carrying alone. The grief. The guilt. The weight of losing something you hadn’t even fully let yourself believe was real before it was already gone.

You sat on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the “Call” button for what felt like forever.

She hated this distance. You hated how much pride and pain had built a wall between them. And most of all, you hated how badly you still wanted him — not just physically, but there. Present. Kind. Honest.  Finally, you tapped the screen.

Calling Mason ❤️

It only rang twice before he answered — breathless, like he’d been waiting.

“Y/N?”

Your throat tightened. Just hearing his voice again — not through a screen, not filtered by text — shattered something.

“Hi,” you whispered.

There was a pause.

“I didn’t expect you to call.”

“I couldn’t text it,” you said, voice wobbling. “There’s no way I could’ve… put what I needed to say in words. Not like you did.”

He didn’t speak, just let you talk. It made it easier. “That night — I hated everything about it,” you breathed. “I hated the way I spoke to you. I hated the way I felt like I had to control it, time it, force it. Like it was a job, not something between us. Like… like we were doing it for something instead of someone.”

Mason swallowed hard, and you heard it down the line.

“You weren’t the only one who felt that way, Y/N/N.”

“But I still pushed it,” you whispered. “I was so angry. So desperate. I couldn’t even see that you were hurting too.”

A breath. “It wasn’t just about that night,” you continued. “I think it was everything. The first pregnancy. Losing it. Pretending I was fine. Pretending we were fine. And then suddenly we were back in this place where maybe it was happening again, and I… I snapped. I just snapped, Mase.”

Silence. Then his soft, broken voice: “I should’ve held you tighter that night. I should’ve said something.”

You closed your eyes. A tear slid down your cheek. “You saying it now… it means more than I can tell you.”

There was a pause, and Mason spoke again — voice low, sincere  “I meant what I said, you know. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. About us. I’ve been trying to keep it together out here but my head’s a mess.”

“Mine too,” you admitted. “I… I miss you. I miss us.”

“You’re still my us, Y/N. You always have been.”

That did it-  your breath caught. A soft sob slipped from your lips and you quickly covered the phone.

“Y/N?” Mason’s voice was instantly alert. “Are you crying?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I just—I can’t do this right now, not properly.”

“Hey,” he murmured, gentle. “It’s okay. Breathe, baby.”

“I need to see you. I need to hold you.” Your voice cracked open like glass. “Come home soon, yeah? Please. We’ll talk then.”

“I will,” he promised. “First second they let me, I’m there. I swear to you.”

You nodded, wiping at your eyes. “Okay,” you whispered. “Goodnight, Mase.”

“Goodnight, Y/N/N.”

You didn’t hang up right away you just stayed there — two hearts beating through a phone line, listening to each other breathe. It wasn’t fixed. Not yet. But it was real again and that was enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The arrivals lounge at Manchester Airport was buzzing — trolley wheels screeching across polished floors, children squealing in luggage trolleys, automated voices echoing through the concourse. You stood just outside the barriers, arms wrapped tight around yourself despite the mild air.

Your phone buzzed.

Mason ❤️ : “Just through now x”

You didn’t text back. Just lifted your gaze as the automatic doors parted — and there he was, head bowed, cap pulled low, bag slung over his shoulder. His walk was familiar, even under the weight of the last few weeks. That slight bounce. That confidence masked as nonchalance.

He saw her and slowed.  You gave a small wave.

“Hi,” he said as he reached you. His voice was quiet, cautious.

“Hey,” you replied, trying not to let too much show in your face. You wasn’t sure what you was allowed to feel anymore. You walked in silence toward the car park, the screech of his suitcase wheels the only sound between you for a beat too long.

The car ride was... surprisingly normal. You pulled out of the lot and merged onto the motorway with a practiced ease, glancing at Mason as he slouched back into the passenger seat.

“So,” you said, keeping your tone light, “your training ground smell as bad as I remember?”

“Worse,” Mason groaned. “One of the new lads forgot to put flip-flops on in the showers. Had trench foot by Wednesday.”

You burst into laughter. “You’re joking.”

“I wish. Physio had to ban him from the ice baths. Contamination risk.”

“Oh my God. See, and you make fun of my job.”

He grinned, leaning slightly toward her. “Go on then. Give me the rundown. Who’s being dramatic at the office?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Well, the microwave saga escalated.”

“No,” Mason gasped overdramatically and laughed.

“Yes,” you said, with dramatic flair. “Lisa from Reablement put up a passive-aggressive laminated sign on the staffroom door that says, and I quote, ‘This is a shared space. Not your personal fish fryer.’”

He clapped a hand to his mouth, shaking with laughter.

“Oh, and I caught Pete from HR crying in the stairwell again.”

“Aw, poor Pete,” Mason winced.

“Don’t ‘poor Pete’ him, he was crying because someone took his Diet Coke. It was labelled, Mase. Labelled.”

“I’d cry too, to be fair.”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “You’d cry if I ate the last Percy Pig.”

“I have cried over that.”

The banter was familiar, soothing. Like wrapping an old jumper around a still-tender bruise. For a few miles, it was easy to forget the tension that had buried itself beneath their skin.

When you pulled into Mason’s driveway, the sky was already turning pale gold, sunlight filtering through wispy clouds. You parked carefully and cut the engine. Neither of you moved straight away.

“Want a cuppa?” Mason asked, shifting in his seat.

You nodded, reaching for your bag. “Yeah. Please.”

Inside, the house smelled faintly of laundry detergent and that soft cologne he always wore. You paused in the hallway, breathing it in, before following him through to the kitchen.  Mason filled the kettle and leaned back against the counter, arms folded, watching you.

“Y/N/N,” he said, voice gentler now. “Can I ask something?”

You looked up, brushing a hand through your hair. “Course.”

He hesitated, then asked, “Did you find out? I mean... are you...?”

You blinked, throat tightening. “I took a test last week,” you said slowly. “It was negative.”

He nodded, jaw twitching. You continued, voice barely above a whisper. “And I started my period yesterday. So… no sorry. No baby.”

For a second, he said nothing. Just swallowed hard. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmured, like he could feel it coming before you even opened her mouth again. “Not to me.”

“I know,” you replied, forcing a small smile. “But I just… I wanted it to feel different. If it ever happened. Not like that. Not… angry.”

Mason stepped forward, brushing a hand down your arm. Your didn’t flinch this time. You let him touch you.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “We’re not broken.”

You gave a watery laugh. “We’re definitely cracked, though.”

“Yeah,” Mason said softly, “but all the best stuff is.”

Dinner was simple, Mason had pulled together pasta — the only thing he really trusted himself to cook without supervision — and you didn’t argue. You perched on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, sipping a glass of white wine while he stirred the sauce like it was the most delicate thing in the world.

It was a little awkward, but not painfully so. Just... cautious. Careful, like the aftermath of a storm. “I haven’t seen you eat this much pasta since you made me that terrible carbonara when we first started dating,” you said, raising an eyebrow as he dished it up.

“It wasn’t terrible,” Mason defended, placing your plate in front of her. “It was... overly creamy.”

“It was a bowl of beige regret,” you grinned.

He laughed, and something in the tension between you shifted. Just slightly. You sat opposite each other at the table, knees brushing occasionally beneath the wood. The silence this time felt less sharp. More comfortable. Halfway through eating, Mason looked up at you.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded, then hesitated. “I think so.”

They fell quiet again, until you spoke — barely a whisper. “I still think about it. The miscarriage.”

He looked up slowly, swallowing his mouthful before putting his fork down. “You never really said much,” he said carefully. “At the time.”

“I didn’t know how to. I was so angry at myself, at my body. Even though it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.” You stared at your glass. “I was scared to tell you how much I wanted it… how much I was already picturing things. Names. What they might have looked like. I thought if I told you, it would make it harder. Realer.”

Mason’s jaw tightened. He pushed his plate aside, arms folded on the table as he leaned closer. “I wanted it too, Y/N/N,” he said softly. “I still do. Someday.”

You blinked, lashes catching tears. “I don’t know if I can give you that,” you whispered. “What if I can’t?” Mason sat back a little, watching you carefully. “Mason,” you added, voice trembling now. “You said when we first got together that you wanted a family in the future. What if I can’t give you that? I told you… me and my ex were trying for nearly two years and nothing. What if I’m the problem?”

Your voice cracked on that last word. He was out of his chair in seconds, coming around the table and crouching beside you. He took your hand, threading your fingers together with quiet firmness. “Y/N/N,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “Do you really think I’d leave you over that?”

You didn’t say anything. Just stared at their joined hands. And then, slowly, nodded — like you hated yourself for it. Mason exhaled, heart breaking a little at the pain in her. “You didn’t get pregnant with your ex,” he said gently. “But you got pregnant with my baby. Don’t forget that. That means something.”

Your lower lip wobbled. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Miscarriages happen. More than anyone talks about. Honestly? Half the United team — the lads’ wives, girlfriends — have been through something like that. It's not rare. And it’s never your fault.”

Your eyes welled up again, but you didn’t look away. “We’ll try again,” Mason continued. “If that’s what we want. And if it doesn’t happen right away, then... we’ll try other ways. IVF. Adoption. Surrogacy. Whatever it takes.”

He paused, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “But whatever happens, Y/N... you’re not doing this alone. Ever. Not as long as I’ve got breath in my lungs.”

You gave a soft, tearful laugh. “You really know how to be dramatic, Mount.”

He grinned. “Well, I was voted Most Likely to Cry in a World Cup Final.”

You finally let out a real laugh, crumpling forward into his shoulder. He held you tight as you buried your face into his hoodie, letting your body sink into him — a sigh, a sob, a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“For what?”

“For being this person. Even when I’m not easy.”

He kissed the top of your head. “You’re never easy,” he said into your hair. “But you’re mine.” and for the first time in weeks, that felt enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three months can be a lifetime or it can pass in the blink of an eye. For Mason and you, it was a bit of both. The storm had long passed — the sharp-edged tension, the distance, the grief that clung to every quiet second. In its place came calm. Not perfect, not always easy, but calm. A rhythm they found together again, beat by beat.

Mason had returned to Manchester fully after pre-season. You, still working in Y/H/T, managed a makeshift routine: weekdays back home, weekends up north with Mason. The Friday trains became part of you thing — you coming through arrivals with your tote bag slung over one shoulder, him waiting just outside, usually holding a smoothie and a grin that still made your stomach flutter.

You didn’t talk about the miscarriage much. Not directly but the weight of it wasn’t suffocating anymore. Sometimes you would catch Mason’s gaze lingering a moment too long when a baby passed them in the street, or he’d pause over an ad for a pram on the telly. You didn’t bring it up, and neither did he.

But one night, over pizza and a Netflix film they didn’t finish, you had said simply: “Let’s stop trying.”

Mason had looked at you carefully. “You sure?”

You nodded. “I don’t want it to be a project. I want it to be… us. If it happens, it happens.”

He’d kissed you then, soft and slow. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” and since then, it had just been easy. Normal, even, they were okay, better than okay.

You both were heading to Portsmouth. You glanced up from her bag as you zipped it shut on the end of the bed. “You’ve packed your boots, right?”

Mason emerged from the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth and foam around his lips. “We’re going for two days, not pre-season.”

“Still. Your mum will ask why you haven’t done your own laundry since last summer.”

He pointed at you with his brush like you’re not wrong, disappearing back in with a spit. This weekend was the first proper family visit since everything. Jaz had been texting you all week with ideas for what to wear for their night out (“Yes I’m still stealing your denim jacket xoxo”), and Lewis had sent Mason the itinerary like he was organising a stag do.

“You ready?” Mason asked, grabbing the keys.

“Mmhm.” you pulled on your hoodie, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Let’s go survive the Mount clan.”

He grinned. “They love you more than me.”

“They should… I am better.” and as you climbed into the car — your feet up on the dash within seconds, Mason rolling his eyes — it felt, once again, like you.  Maybe not the same as before. Maybe something stronger.

By the time you and Mason pulled into the driveway, the house was already humming with life. Through the front window, you could make out blurred figures moving in the kitchen, and you could hear faint bursts of laughter even before Mason cut the engine. A toy scooter lay abandoned near the front steps, and there were at least three pairs of tiny pink trainers scattered near the door mat. From inside came the unmistakable sound of a child singing Let It Go with the unrelenting passion only a four-year-old could manage.

Mason glanced over at you and grinned. “You ready for the full Mount experience?”

You took a breath and smiled. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He leaned across the centre console to kiss your cheek before getting out and grabbing your bags from the boot. As you reached the door, it opened with a soft creak and there stood Debbie — warm smile, arms already open, apron on and flour smudged along one side.

“Y/N! Come here, love.”

She wrapped you in a hug that smelled of rosemary and lemon zest and immediately took some of your nerves with it.  Mason stepped in behind you, carrying both your bags with a dramatic huff. “Hi, Mum.”

“You can say hello after you put those down,” she teased, ruffling his hair like he was still twelve. “We’ve got a full house — you’re lucky you’ve got a bed at all.”

As she ushered you inside, the noise wrapped around you like a quilt: the kettle boiling in the kitchen, someone opening a packet of crisps too loudly, kids’ footsteps thundering up the stairs. You barely had time to take your coat off before Mila — all curls and tutu — ran full speed into Mason’s legs.

“Uncle Mase!” she shrieked.

He scooped her up in one swoop. “You got taller again.”

She nodded proudly. “I can spell my name now.”

“I’ll test you later.”

The living room was already full. Jaz and her husband were sat on the sofa, Summer curled up in her lap with a dummy hanging from her mouth. Lewis lounged in the armchair with a beer, while his partner Myles was perched on the floor helping Mila put stickers on a glittery cardboard crown.

“Y/N!” Jaz called, waving you in. “Come sit. We’ve got chaos, coffee, and cake.”

“You forgot crayons on the sofa and glitter in the biscuits,” Lewis added dryly.

You laughed and gave them both a hug. Even Myles stood to greet you with a quick kiss on the cheek. “Nice to have you back,” he said. “Brace yourself. It’s been a lively morning.”

“You alright, mate?” Mason said, finally setting the bags down by the stairs and flopping into the free space beside you on the couch.

Lewis grinned. “Better now that we’ve all got front row seats to this romantic sleepover you two are about to have.”

Myles looked up from the sticker sheet. “Wait, are you actually sharing a room? Under this roof?”

“There’s no other choice,” Mason said casually, throwing an arm across the back of the sofa behind you. “Jaz and her lot took the spare. Guest room’s full of Peppa Pig and travel cots.”

Debbie passed through the room just in time to hear him. “No funny business,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s a family house.”

Lewis snorted. “Yeah, no noise tonight, yeah? I don’t want to be traumatised at breakfast.”

Your face went hot instantly. “Oh my God.”

Myles groaned with a smile. “Lew, seriously—”

But Mason, of course, only grinned wider and added, “That might be difficult. Y/N’s really loud.”

Your jaw dropped. “Mason!”

The entire room erupted. Jaz actually choked on her tea, while Lewis cackled like he’d won the lottery. Debbie, who had returned with a tray of drinks, paused mid-step with one eyebrow raised. “Honestly,” she said, “you were quieter when you were eight and covered in mud.”

Jaz leaned forward, grinning. “Don’t worry, Y/N/N. Walls here are surprisingly thick. Just avoid the creaky floorboard near the door.”

“You’re all evil,” you mumbled, hiding your face in your hands — though you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

Mason leaned in, whispering just for you, “I love when you go pink like that.”

You nudged him hard with your elbow, trying not to grin. “Behave.”

“Never.”

Eventually, the teasing died down, and the atmosphere settled into something softer. You curled up in the corner of the sofa with a blanket thrown over your legs, Mason’s hand gently resting on your knee as the girls played dress-up in the middle of the rug. Jaz was half-watching them, half-carrying on a conversation with Myles about work stress, while Lewis occasionally chimed in from the armchair to offer very unhelpful parenting commentary.

Debbie brought in slices of warm lemon drizzle and mugs of hot chocolate topped with cream, and the sound of Summer’s giggles filled the room as she chased after Mila with a feather boa. In the middle of the chaos, Mason shifted closer to you, pressing his lips briefly to your temple.

“This is nice, yeah?”

You looked around — at the noise, the mess, the love — and then at him. “Yeah,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “Really nice.” And despite the earlier teasing, you had a feeling that, come bedtime, sharing a room wouldn’t feel awkward or nerve-wracking. It would just feel right — like this whole weekend already did.

By mid-afternoon, the kitchen was thick with the smells of roast beef, garlic rosemary potatoes, and at least three different kinds of gravy. Debbie moved between oven trays like a general commanding her troops, barking instructions with a wooden spoon in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other. Jaz was chopping carrots with one eye on Summer, who was standing on a dining chair dunking a plastic unicorn into a bowl of water. Lewis was assigned the “very important” job of peeling Yorkshire puddings from the baking tray, and Mason — who was supposed to be helping — had disappeared with Mila to “test” the chocolate pudding.

You were stirring the green beans, watching it all with a full heart. “Mum’s in her element,” Mason whispered as he reappeared beside you, sneaking a quick kiss to your temple.

“She’s terrifying,” you replied, “but like… Nigella terrifying.”

He laughed. “Better than Gordon Ramsay terrifying.”

“She did threaten to throw the peeler at Lewis.”

“Exactly.”

By the time the food was plated up, the table looked like something out of a Sunday lunch commercial — mashed potatoes whipped into soft clouds, gravy steaming in a jug, Debbie’s famous stuffing balls arranged like gold.

The girls sat at the kids’ end of the table, crowns wonky, already arguing over who got the greenest jelly bean from their reward sweets. Mason pulled out your chair like a smug Victorian gentleman, and Jaz handed you a glass of wine like it was an Olympic medal.

“Can’t lie,” Lewis said, mouth full, “I’ve had a lot of roast dinners, and this one’s elite.”

“Better say that,” Debbie muttered, though she looked pleased. “Cost me half a week’s shop.”

“Worth it,” Myles said sincerely.

Conversation came easy — football gossip, school stories, teasing Mason about an old photo Debbie had framed of him with a bowl haircut and missing front teeth. Even with all the noise and kids flinging peas, you felt like you’d been here a hundred times before. Later, when the table was cleared and Mason’s failed attempt at washing up had been gently overridden by Debbie (“Just go sit down before you break something”), the living room became games night HQ.

Pictionary, followed by Uno, followed by charades. By the second round of charades, Mila had somehow wrapped you in a pink feather boa and decided you were now Queen Elsa. She climbed onto your lap mid-game and curled against you, tiny arms looping around your neck, her glitter-smeared face nuzzled into your shoulder.

“She’s out,” Jaz whispered from across the room, watching her daughter’s eyelids droop.

“Fully asleep,” Mason added quietly, kneeling next to you.

He glanced at the way your hand was stroking Mila’s hair, the soft way your body shifted to keep her settled. You didn’t miss the look in his eyes — soft, thoughtful, a little bit glassy around the edges.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, smirking.

“What?”

“You’re thinking something broody and emotional and you’re about to say something like ‘she suits you’ or ‘imagine that being ours’.”

He laughed quietly, looking sheepish. “I mean. Kind of… yeah.”

You glanced down at Mila, fast asleep against your chest, and then back at him. “Careful, Mount. You’re dangerously close to saying something clucky.”

His smile softened. “Can’t help it. You look… good like that.”

You felt a pang — warm and weird and a little vulnerable. So instead, you kissed his temple and whispered, “We’ll table that thought till I’m not covered in glitter and unicorn stickers.”

“Deal.”

Eventually, Summer joined her sister in the Land of Nod — this time curled up in Jaz’s lap, one thumb in her mouth and the other wrapped in a sticky ring pop. Debbie ushered them both upstairs, whispering promises of bedtime stories and bubble baths, while Tony claimed the telly remote to sneak in ten minutes of football highlights before the games resumed.

The wine flowed a little freer after that. You were a glass and a half into a rosé, Myles was mixing something suspicious with orange juice, and Lewis had cracked open a bag of crisps and was eating them one by one like they were priceless artefacts.

“Right,” he declared, wobbling slightly as he stood up. “I need air before Mason tries to beat me at Uno again and ruins our sibling bond.”

Myles stood too, grabbing his jacket. “Let’s go sit out back. Take our queen with us,” he added, nodding toward you.

You blinked. “Wait, me?”

“You’re one of us now,” Lewis said dramatically. “Come on, Y/N/N. Let’s spill.”

You laughed, catching Mason’s eye — he was deep in some debate with Jaz over who cheated last round — and gave him a little shrug before slipping out through the patio doors with the boys. The garden was still, the late summer air just cool enough to make your cheeks tingle. Myles handed you a blanket from the garden bench and flopped down beside you. Lewis took the spot across from you and kicked his shoes off into the grass.

There was a soft moment of silence. Just crickets, the murmur of the telly inside, and a bottle being passed around between them.

“So,” Lewis said eventually, voice quieter now. “You alright? I mean, properly alright?”

You looked at him, a little surprised. “Yeah. I mean—yeah. It’s just been... a lot, lately. But this weekend’s been really good. Like a break from all the noise.”

Myles nodded, eyes kind. “It’s been good having you here. I know we tease, but honestly — it’s been nice seeing him like this.”

“Like what?” you asked softly.

Lewis leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Settled. Happy. Like he’s finally not trying to prove anything.”

You swallowed. That feeling was mutual. Being around Mason like this — grounded, soft, surrounded by people who loved him and now welcomed you without hesitation — made things click in a quiet, unshakeable way.

“We like you, Y/N,” Lewis added, his grin returning. “Even if you do insist on sleeping in our childhood bedrooms with my baby brother.”

You groaned. “Don’t start again.”

“No noise tonight,” Myles whispered dramatically, sending them both into muffled laughter.

You covered your face. “This is the worst heart-to-heart I’ve ever had.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. It was the best kind of heart-to-heart — tipsy, honest, surrounded by the hum of a house that felt like home, and two people who saw you as part of their circle without question.

Later, when you snuck back inside and Mason pulled you into his arms in the hallway, you whispered, “Your brother’s drunk and emotional.”

“Classic,” he murmured, tucking you closer. “What did he say?”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his chest. “That he likes us like this, that we look happy.”

Mason kissed your hair, arms warm around your waist. “Good. Because I’m completely in love with you.”

The house had settled into a gentle kind of quiet — not silent, exactly, but quieter than it had been all day. Upstairs, the girls were long tucked into bed, two princess-shaped bundles wrapped in fairy blankets, fast asleep. The soft hum of their white noise machine filtered down the staircase like a lullaby.

In the living room, the grown-ups had reclaimed the night. The telly was off, the wine had been topped up, and a battered deck of Uno cards lay in the centre of the coffee table like it was waiting to start a war. Debbie reappeared in the doorway, now in her dressing gown with her hair wrapped in a towel turban, a half-finished crossword folded under one arm.

“We’re heading up,” she said, her tone fond but weary. “Try not to burn the place down.”

“No promises,” Lewis said, holding up a glass of rosé.

“And don’t let Mason cheat,” she added, looking directly at him.

“I don’t cheat,” Mason said indignantly, already dealing out cards.

Tony chuckled behind her, slippers shuffling against the floorboards. “Let’s hope that’s the only thing you two get up to tonight.”

Your head shot up. “Oh my god,” you groaned.

Tony winked. “Night, kids.”

“Night!” everyone chorused, with varying degrees of maturity.

As the sound of their footsteps retreated upstairs, the tone shifted. You could feel it — looser, giddier, like the evening had just been given permission to unravel a bit. The adults — now just you, Mason, Lewis, Myles, Jaz, and her husband Sam — leaned in toward the coffee table like a council preparing for battle.

“Alright,” Myles said, sipping what could only be described as a suspiciously tropical cocktail. “High-stakes Uno. Winner gets bragging rights. Loser makes the tea in the morning.”

“Wait,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “When did we agree to that rule?”

“Just now,” Lewis replied cheerfully. “Democracy, babe.”

You looked over at Mason. “You’re not backing me up?”

He leaned back into the sofa, one arm draped across the back, a smug smile pulling at his lips. “I’m just enjoying how hot you get when you’re competitive.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t seen me play Uno yet.”

“That’s why I’m scared,” he whispered, then winked.

The first few rounds went off relatively peacefully, aside from Sam insisting everyone draw two for "vibes" and Lewis loudly accusing Myles of stacking reds even though it wasn’t his turn. But by round four, it was chaos.

“Reverse! Reverse!” Mason shouted, slamming his card down.

“You’re not playing the Cha Cha Slide, Mount,” Jaz said, rolling her eyes.

“You’re just mad because you’re losing,” he shot back.

“I have three cards left, you troll!”

You were down to two — one green skip, one yellow four — and trying desperately to keep a poker face when Lewis caught on. “Why are you so quiet, Y/N?” he asked, leaning forward like a detective in a true crime doc.

“I’m enjoying the carnage.”

“She’s bluffing,” Myles said. “I can see it in her face. Her eyebrow’s twitching.”

“It’s not twitching,” you said, covering your face with your hands. “You all trying to get me drunk and exposed in Uno.”

“DRUNK Y/N!” Lewis shouted.

“Oh no,” Mason groaned, already laughing.

“Drunk Y/N! Drunk Y/N!” Jaz and Myles began chanting, clapping their hands.

Sam joined in a second later, wine sloshing from his glass. “Down it, down it!”

“Guys,” you said, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “You’re trying to take me out!”

“We’re trying to elevate you,” Myles corrected. “Tipsy Y/N  is great. Drunk Y/N? Iconic.”

“Tipsy Y/N plays Uno. Drunk Y/N ends friendships,” Mason whispered into your ear, nudging your shoulder with his.

You looked at him, flushed from laughter and alcohol, eyes shining with mischief. “Are you flirting with me and trying to sabotage my game?”

He leaned in closer, voice low and teasing. “I like watching you win. I love watching you lose your mind trying not to.”

You gave him a look that said you’re dangerous — but couldn’t stop smiling. Not when his hand found yours under the table, fingers tracing soft circles against your palm. Not when he leaned in and kissed your cheek, sweet and slow, then whispered, “Still got two cards?”

“You’re a menace,” you whispered back.

“And yet,” he said, with a boyish grin, “you’re in my bed tonight.”

Jaz threw a cushion at his head. “Stop making everyone uncomfortable!”

“This is my house too,” Mason said, ducking.

“You’re 26, calm down.”

You took another sip of your wine, letting the noise of them all settle around you like a blanket. Your cheeks were sore from smiling, your head was light, and Mason’s thumb was still rubbing slow patterns into your skin like a silent metronome. By the time the final round came around, you had four cards and zero shame.

“I regret nothing,” you declared, dramatically placing a draw four onto the pile.

“You demon!” Lewis shrieked.

“She’s possessed,” Myles said, crossing himself.

“Never underestimate the quiet ones,” Mason added, grinning like he was in love with the chaos you’d caused.

You looked at him sideways. “Still love me?”

“Even more now.”

That earned you a chorus of groans.

“Oh my god,” Jaz said. “Get a room.”

“We have one,” Mason replied brightly. “Apparently it’s soundproof.”

You buried your face in your hands again as everyone cracked up. “I hate all of you,” you mumbled through laughter. But the truth was, you didn’t. You loved them — this family you were becoming a part of. You loved the noise, the teasing, the affection buried in every sarcastic jab and raised eyebrow. And most of all, you loved Mason — the way he kept looking at you when he thought no one else noticed, like the entire night was made just for you.

As the wine bottles emptied and the laughter faded into sleepy murmurs, you curled up closer to him on the sofa. Uno cards lay scattered, cushions everywhere, and Jaz was halfway asleep with her head on Rhys’s shoulder.

“Drunk Y/N,” Mason whispered against your ear.

“Hm?”

“Still my favourite.”

You smiled, sleepy and full in the best way. “Wait till you meet hungover Y/N.”

He laughed quietly. “I can’t wait.”

The living room was a mess. Abandoned cushions littered the floor, empty wine glasses perched on windowsills and coasters like forgotten party guests, and a tragic half-bag of crisps sat crushed beneath someone’s sock. The others had trickled off one by one. Jaz was the first to tap out, dragging a half-asleep Sam upstairs with promises of Calpol and Peppa Pig wake-up calls. Lewis and Myles soon followed, loudly whispering about brushing their teeth and who left glitter on the staircase. You hadn’t moved for a while, nestled on the sofa, wine glass long forgotten and Mason tucked up beside you, one arm behind your head, the other still casually stroking your knee like muscle memory. Now it was just you two.

The house felt different without the noise. Not empty — just quiet in a peaceful, end-of-a-long-day kind of way. The ticking of the kitchen clock felt louder, the creak of the old pipes beneath the floorboards more noticeable. You could hear the faint hum of the dishwasher Mason had (somehow) loaded without supervision.

You stretched, slowly, and sat up with a soft groan. “We should clean up,” you said reluctantly, eyeing the battlefield of chaos that was the coffee table.

Mason smirked. “Or…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Or?”

“We could just leave it. Blame Lewis in the morning.”

“He did spill half a bag of crisps down the radiator.”

“There you go.”

You smiled, but pushed yourself up anyway, starting to gather up glasses and stack the cards into a loose pile. “If I step on a Lego in the dark later, you’re carrying me to A&E.”

Mason stood and stretched, then walked past you to the kitchen with two glasses in hand. “Deal.”

For the next few minutes, you moved quietly around the space — him rinsing things in the sink, you tossing wrappers into the bin, bumping into each other with sleepy smiles and playful glances. At one point, he handed you a half-eaten biscuit and said, “Still fresh,” and you rolled your eyes so hard you nearly dropped a coaster.

Eventually, the room began to look vaguely normal again. Lived-in, yes. But respectable. You met him in the doorway, both of you pausing as if unsure what to do now that the last job was done. “I loved today,” you said softly.

Mason looked at you, eyes warm and soft with something unspoken. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like… all of it. The girls, the chaos, the roast, the games. Even Lewis making me blush every five minutes.”

He smiled, stepping in closer. “You were cute when you blushed.”

“I was dying when he said ‘no noise tonight’. I thought Debbie was going to have a stroke.”

“She definitely pretended not to hear,” he laughed. “You handled it well.”

“Barely.”

You were close now — just a breath between you, his arms warm on either side as he leaned against the doorframe. There was something slow and golden in the air, like the night hadn’t quite let go yet. “I love watching you here,” he said, his voice lower now. “With them. With me.”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the way his words settled somewhere deep in your chest. “Mason—”

He brushed your hair behind your ear, fingertips soft. “You just fit, babe. You slide right in like you’ve always been part of it.”

Your breath caught a little, because the truth was, it felt that way. You’d never had a weekend like this before. No pressure, no pretence — just love, loud and unfiltered. You leaned into his touch, voice just above a whisper. “I love you, you know.”

His eyes lit up, like he’d been waiting to hear it said like that. Not whispered in bed or in passing texts, but here — present, full, surrounded by his family and the echo of their laughter.

“I love you too,” he murmured.

Then he kissed you. It was soft at first — the kind of kiss that felt more like a confirmation than a question. His hands came to your waist, yours slid up around his neck, and your bodies eased together like it was second nature. But something shifted. Maybe it was the wine, or the quiet, or the way the whole day had been a slow burn of closeness. Whatever it was, the kiss deepened, hands pulled tighter, breath quickened. He backed you slowly into the wall beside the stairs, mouth trailing along your jaw, lips brushing that spot just below your ear that made you shiver.

“Mase,” you murmured, half-laughing, half-gasping. “We cannot do this here.”

He chuckled against your neck, his voice thick. “Why not?”

“Because your parents are asleep upstairs. And your niece's plastic tiara is under my foot.”

He glanced down. “Right. Fair point.”

You giggled as you stepped out of it and back into his arms. “We can’t be the people who get caught… you know… under the framed family photo wall.”

Mason looked up at the smiling black-and-white photo of him and Lewis in school uniforms above your heads. “Yeah, that would ruin it.”

You kissed him once more, softer this time, and let your forehead rest against his.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, voice gentle now.

You nodded, fingers threading through his. “No noise, though. Remember?”

He grinned, walking you toward the stairs with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, that’s difficult… you’re loud.”

You smacked his arm, stifling a laugh, and whispered, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” he said, already tugging you up the steps, quiet as shadows, hearts full, feet bare, and the kind of love that felt too good to whisper anymore.

The bedroom door clicked softly behind them. A muffled hum of laughter still echoed faintly downstairs, but it felt miles away now — sealed off behind floral wallpaper, the lingering scent of fabric softener and roast dinner, and the kind of tension that pressed close between two people who’d been holding back all day.

Mason dropped their overnight bag on the floor with a soft thud and turned to face you — a slow-burning smile curling at his lips. You barely had time to smirk before he closed the space, hands finding your waist, lips brushing yours. “Alone at last.”

You grinned against his mouth. “Only took twelve hours, five rounds of Uno and two tequila shots.”

“And every single one of them worth it.”

The kiss deepened before either of you could joke again — his lips hungry now, his hands pulling you closer, fingertips sliding beneath the hem of your jumper. You let out a soft gasp as he pushed it up, his palms dragging slowly over your skin.

“God, I’ve been wanting to touch you all day,” he murmured, mouth brushing just below your ear. “You in that stupid little jumper… teasing me with your smug Uno wins…”

“You lost on purpose,” you whispered, breath hitching as he sucked softly at the spot just below your jaw.

“I really didn’t,” he groaned. “You’re actually terrifying.”

You giggled into his neck — but the laugh turned into a sharp gasp when his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your joggers, deliberate and slow. His touch made you jolt slightly, body arching against his. You pressed your forehead to his, breath mingling.

“Mason—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, lips curling. “You’ve gotta be quiet, remember?”

You nodded, biting your lip, heart hammering. His fingers dipped between your thighs and found exactly where you were wet and aching. Your head tipped back against the wall with a soft thud, legs parting instinctively. Mason kissed you again, deeply, while his fingers worked slow, purposeful circles that made your knees weak. You tried to stay quiet — you really did — but your breathing quickened, chest rising and falling against his.

“Already so wet,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “You’ve been waiting for this too, haven’t you?”

You nodded, half-dazed, hips rocking gently against his hand as his thumb found that perfect rhythm.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed out. “God, yes.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your collarbone, his free hand cupping your breast beneath your bra as his fingers worked you faster. The tension spiralled inside you like a coil pulled too tight. Your grip found the back of his neck, your other hand scrambling for balance.

“Mason—Mase, I’m—”

“Let go, baby,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And you did. With a trembling gasp muffled against his neck, you came hard on his fingers, thighs trembling, breath catching in your throat. He held you through it, kissing you softly as you buried your face into his chest, trying not to giggle through the haze of pleasure.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, flushed and dazed. “You’re evil.”

“Yeah?” he said, grinning. “You think I’m done?”

Before you could blink, you were pushed gently backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You dropped onto it with a bounce — and immediately, the mattress let out a long, dramatic creak. Both of you froze.

Mason looked down, lips twitching. “No.”

You wiggled your hips slightly.

Creeaaak.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “This bed’s a snitch.”

You laughed into the duvet, still catching your breath. “So… Plan B?”

He stepped forward, shrugging off his hoodie and pulling off his T-shirt, revealing skin flushed from the heat between you. “Plan B is… I return the favour.” You give him a smirk.

He knelt onto the bed beside you, and his mouth found yours again. You shifted, your hand slipping down his stomach until your fingers brushed the bulge in his joggers. He hissed softly through his teeth.

“Jesus, babe…”

You eased him out of his joggers, your fingers wrapping around him, stroking him slowly. Mason groaned low in his throat, gripping the edge of the bed frame with one hand.

“You’ve gotta be quiet,” you teased, mimicking his earlier words.

“Not my fault,” he muttered, eyes fluttering closed as your hand worked him with practiced rhythm. “You’re too good at this.”

You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “You gonna cum already?”

He growled slightly, voice hoarse. “Almost.”

Then he suddenly pulled back, breath ragged. “Wait. I need to be inside you.”

You blinked, startled by the heat in his voice. “Mase…”

“Need to feel you,” he said, forehead resting against yours. “Right now.”

You shifted to lie back on the bed — but as soon as your weight hit the mattress again…

Creeeeeeak.

You both groaned — and then cracked up laughing. Mason dropped his head onto your chest. “This is honestly tragic.”

You caught his face in your hands, smiling through your giggles. “You wanna call Lewis and apologise in advance?”

He kissed you again — quick and desperate now. “No time.”

Then, without another word, he stood up, wrapped your thighs around his waist, and carried you to the wall beside the wardrobe. Your breath caught as your back pressed against it, your arms looping around his neck.

“This better not wake the whole house,” you murmured.

Mason grinned wickedly. “Then you better keep your voice down.”

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, legs still wrapped tightly around Mason’s waist. The plaster was cold, but his skin was burning against yours — and suddenly, there was no going back. He held you there easily, one arm hooked under your thigh, the other fumbling slightly between you both as he lined himself up. You kissed him again, fingers sinking into the back of his hair, trying to bite back the whimper that caught in your throat when he pressed into you — slow at first, deliberate.

Your head fell forward, burying into his shoulder.

“Oh my god,” you breathed.

“Jesus, you feel…” he groaned against your neck, unable to finish the sentence. “You’re so—”

“Don’t say it,” you hissed, laughing breathlessly. “I’ll start making noise.”

“You already are,” he smirked, hips moving again, slightly deeper this time — just enough to make your breath catch.

The stretch of him, the angle, the fact your feet weren’t even touching the floor — it was all too much. You bit into the curve of his neck to stifle the needy gasp you let out as he began to thrust slowly, the wall lightly bumping behind your back in rhythm.

“Mase,” you whispered, voice cracking with how good it felt.

“Shh,” he teased, but his own voice was broken, his breath laboured. “You���re gonna get us caught.”

He picked up the pace slightly, eyes flickering between your face and your chest as your boobs are perfectly pushed up from your bra. He ducked his head to kiss at the exposed skin, leaving soft bites and open-mouthed kisses across the curve of your breast while you squirmed and tried — really tried — not to moan too loudly.

You bit your knuckle. He swore. “Okay, you’re doing that thing where you squeeze and I nearly die.”

“I can’t help it!” you hissed, voice shrill but quiet.

The rhythm got faster, his hips snapping into you now with a desperation he couldn’t hide — not even in the gentle push of his hand between your shoulders to keep you steady. He was holding you so tight, your bodies flush, your breaths completely out of sync. You let out a tiny squeak when he hit a spot that made your stomach clench.

“Do that again and I will scream,” You shook your head rapidly.

“Then bite me or something,” he grunted, teeth clenched as he thrust harder.

You buried your face into his shoulder, trying to hold it together. But your body was trembling, tightening again already, the build-up completely overwhelming.

“I’m— I’m close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” Mason panted, jaw tight. “Come on, baby. One more for me. Be good—just—yeah, like that.”

Your whole body arched into him, the tension snapping with a quiet but intense cry that you tried to swallow. He stifled a groan into your neck, shuddering as he lost control, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, pressed tight against the wall, your legs trembling around him.

You clung to each other, breathing hard, dazed and flushed and sweaty. The silence afterward was loud — until Mason said:

“Well… I give us a seven out of ten for discretion.”

You snorted. “You were not quiet.”

“Me?” he laughed, easing you down gently until your feet hit the floor again. “You’re the one who—”

He didn’t finish his sentence because you slapped your hand over his mouth. “Don’t even think about it,” you whispered, but you were grinning, eyes sparkling.

Mason kissed your palm, then pulled it away gently and kissed you — slower this time, his lips warm and full of something softer now.

“I love you,” he whispered into the kiss, his hands framing your face.

You looked up at him, heart pounding in a completely different way now.

“I love you, too.”

You groaned again, flopping backwards onto the bed — and the mattress screeched in protest, loud enough to wake the whole house.  You both broke into panicked laughter.

“No way we’re not getting rinsed for this in the morning,” you said, throwing a pillow over your head.

Mason slid in beside you, tugging the covers up and nuzzling your shoulder. “Worth it.”

“Yeah?”

“Always,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “Absolutely always.”

You woke to the pounding thud of your own heartbeat in her skull. The curtains were drawn, but even the soft sliver of light around the edge felt offensive. Your mouth was dry, your limbs heavy, and your stomach—

Oh no. You shot upright, barely registering the tangle of bedsheets or Mason’s arm across your waist. You barely had time to gasp before you was up, sprinting barefoot toward the en-suite, one hand clutching your mouth, the other pushing the door open with a force you didn’t have time to gauge.

“Babe?” Mason’s voice croaked behind her, half-asleep and confused.

You didn’t answer. Your knees hit the cold tiles as you folded over the toilet bowl, retching violently. Everything you’d drunk and snacked on — the tequila shots Jaz had bullied her into, the leftover pizza slices, the half a chocolate orange Lewis had dared her to finish in one bite — threatened revenge.

“Shit,” Mason muttered, already moving. You heard him behind you — soft steps and the squeak of the bathroom door shutting to block out the rest of the house. Then his hand was gently sweeping your hair off your face, the other rubbing slow, careful circles on your back.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You groaned, head still over the bowl. “I think I’m dying.”

“You said that last time.”

“That’s because I thought I was dying then, too.”

Mason chuckled, though it was tight with concern. “That’s the third time this week, babe. I’m not sure this is just the hangover?”

You sat back on your heels slowly, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth and exhaling shakily. “Yeah, I— I don’t know. Maybe it’s just stress. Or the travel. Or—” Your words faltered, your eyes flicking up to his.

Mason tilted his head, reading her without needing much effort. “You don’t think you’re…?”

“No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “I can’t be.. we have barely had sex this month with your schedule there is no way… I mean there was that time a couple of weeks ago but I can’t be”. You groaned again, dropping your head into your hands. “Don’t. Just— don’t give me that look.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You were thinking it.”

He grinned, crouching down beside you and brushing his lips over your temple. “I’m thinking you look hot as hell when you’re pale and hunched over my parents’ toilet.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” You leaned into him despite yourself. “Remind me to marry you for your charm.”

“You’ll be reminded when the group chat starts up roasting us in about twenty minutes.”

You froze. “Oh God.”

“What?”

You pushed your hair back, scanning yourself — and then your eyes widened in horror as your fingers brushed your collarbone. “No, no, no. Mase—”

“What?”

You twisted to face the mirror above the sink and gasped. “Look at my neck!”

Mason blinked and stood behind you, peering over your shoulder. “Oof.”

“Oof?! There are three hickeys! And I told you to stop at one!”

“You told me to stop after the second one,” he said, smug.

“I was whisper-screaming ‘stop’, Mason. That wasn’t a green light!”

He grinned, eyes still puffy with sleep, hair flopping over his forehead. “You also told me to keep my hand over your mouth so you wouldn’t wake my family. Kind of hard to negotiate from there.”

You groaned and buried your face into his chest. “They’re all gonna know.”

“They probably already know. Jaz called us feral  last night before we even left the living room.”

“Did she?”

He nodded. “Her and Lewis were betting on whether we’d last until everyone went to bed. Myles said we wouldn’t made it halfway through his Spotify playlist”

“I want to die.”

“You were loud, baby,” Mason teased, arms tightening around your waist. “You kept doing that little whimper thing—”

“Stop!”

“—and then you were the one who said ‘fuck it, cover my mouth or I’m gonna scream’.”

You slapped his arm. “Mason!”

“I’m just saying, if we’re going to hell, at least we’re going there together.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, and leaned back slightly. He pulled you into a hug properly, wrapping his arms around you from behind and letting his chin rest on your shoulder. “Come on. It’s not that bad.”

“You have actual bite marks on your shoulder.”

He smirked against her skin. “Badge of honour.”

You let out a half-laugh, then rubbed at your eyes again. “Can we just stay in here forever?”

“You mean hide out in my parents’ en-suite bathroom while you’re hungover and covered in love bruises?”

You nodded dramatically. “Yes.”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “only if you promise to marry me someday.”

You paused, then looked at him sideways. “Is that a proposal?”

“No, that’s me trying to emotionally blackmail you into not making me face Jaz.”

You smiled for real this time, head tipping against his shoulder. “Come on,” he said, standing and holding out his hand. “Let’s face the chaos together.” And though your stomach still rolled, and your head still throbbed, there was something steady in Mason’s touch. Something safe in his sleepy grin and the warmth of his fingers wrapped around yours. Even if they were about to be roasted within an inch of their lives.

The Mount kitchen smelled like heaven and humiliation. Sausages sizzled on the hob. Toast popped up behind Debbie, who was gliding between cabinets like she ran a five-star hotel instead of a family home. At the kitchen table, the Mount siblings were already mid-banter, and you—hood up, water bottle in hand—was doing your best to appear invisible.

You slid into a chair with the grace of someone hungover and mortified. Jaz clocked you instantly.

“Morning, Miss Acoustics,” Jaz sang.

Myles added without looking up, “Hope the mattress survived the trauma.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

Lewis sipped his tea, cool as ever. “You alright, Mase? You look exhausted.”

Mason wandered in behind you with a smirk and zero shame. “Didn’t get much sleep, did I?”

That was the cue. The whole table groaned. “You two need a warning label,” Jaz said. “Or your own Airbnb.”

Mason grinned, stretching like he’d slept for twelve hours instead of four. “Don’t hate the player—”

“Shut up,” you groaned, reaching for the juice like it might save her. “I’m begging you.”

Debbie arrived at the table with a platter of sausage sandwiches and her signature mum glare. “I’ve made sausage sandwiches. Eat them. Quietly.”

Jaz leaned over to you and whispered, “That’s code for ‘I know what you did and I’m judging you’.”

“Deserved,” you mumbled.

Debbie started plating, handing sandwiches around like ammunition. She paused as she reached you, who was starting to look suspiciously pale.

“Bit of brown sauce, love?”

You blinked at the plate. “Yeah—thanks—just—”

You stood so fast your chair scraped the floor and then you was gone. Everyone froze. Lewis raised a brow. “Dramatic exit.”

“Maybe the sandwich offended her,” Myles offered, poking his.

“She’s been a bit off lately,” Mason muttered, already standing up. “She hasn’t had that much to drink in a while… but she’s been sick like this the past few days.”

That earned a pause. Lewis looked up slowly. “What, like, more than once?”

Mason nodded, distracted. “Couple times this week. Randomly in the mornings mostly.”

Jaz’s eyes lit up. “Uh-oh. Maybe she’s pregnant.”

Everyone laughed—Myles even fake-clutched his chest. “Oh god, imagine,” he wheezed. “Mini-Mount screaming through the night.”

“Terrifying,” Lewis muttered. “That kid would come out flirting.”

But Mason didn’t laugh. He stood there, still, hands on the back of the chair, staring at the doorway you had just run through.

“Wait,” Lewis said, eyeing him. “You don’t actually think—?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said, voice low. “That’s the thing.”

And with that, he walked out of the kitchen.

You was brushing your teeth in the en-suite, pale but upright when Mason stepped into the room.

“You alright?” he asked gently, leaning against the doorframe.

You gave him a watery smile through the mirror. “Yeah. That sandwich hit me like a brick. Nothing personal to your mum.”

He didn’t laugh. “You’ve been sick three times this week, babes.”

You stopped, toothbrush hovering. “I know,” you said eventually, rinsing and reaching for a towel. “It’s probably just my body catching up with me. Long hours, not eating great, and… I don’t know, hormones being messy.”

Mason stepped closer. “Could it be… something else?”

You met his eyes, and for the first time that morning, your guard dropped. Just slightly. “I’ve thought about it,” you admitted. “I haven’t said anything because I wasn’t sure. Didn’t want to freak you out.”

“You wouldn’t be freaking me out,” he said quietly. “I’d want to know.”

“I know,” you nodded. “I just… I’m not late yet. It’s too early to be sure.”

Mason reached for your hand, threading their fingers together. “You want to get a test later?”

You nodded, then smiled faintly. “When you’re off playing golf with Lewis, I’ll pop out. Quietly. No need to give your mum another reason to glare at me.”

He grinned. “She’ll get over it. Eventually.”

You leaned into him then, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying yor face in his chest. His arms slid around you instinctively.

“I’m good now,” you murmured after a long pause. “All out of my system. Let’s go back before we get accused of doing round two.”

Mason laughed softly, kissing the top of your head. “Fair enough. But just so you know… if it is something, I’m here. We’ll deal with it together, yeah?”

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah. Together.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Summer, that’s the third time you’ve put a tiara on my head,” you laughed, crouched down in the middle of the Disney section of Zara Kids. Summer beamed, adjusting the sparkly plastic crown on your bun with all the focus of a stylist on a deadline. “You’re a princess now.”

“Obviously,” Mila chimed in, arms full of glittery pink t-shirts. “Can we get these, mummy? Pleeeeease?”

Jaz narrowed her eyes at the price tag. “You two are lucky your uncle’s loaded.”

You grinned, holding out your hand. “Let me see. What are we bribing them with today?”

“They said they’d be good in the car,” Jaz muttered. “They weren’t. They said they’d walk nicely. They didn’t. They said they didn’t need a wee. They did.”

You laughed and reached for the basket. “Honestly? This is the best birth control I’ve ever had.”

Jaz gave her a look. “Please. You’re a natural with them. You’ll be a great mum one day.”

You froze—just for a second—but Jaz noticed. “What?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

You stood up, brushing glitter off your knees. “Don’t make a big deal, alright? But I need to pick something up.”

Jaz narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What kind of something?”

You hesitated, then muttered, “A test.”

Jaz’s jaw dropped. “Wait—no way?!”

“Shhhh!” you hissed, glancing at Mila and Summer, who were now very busy trying on sunglasses.

Jaz covered her mouth with her hand, still grinning. “Y/N!”

“I’m not late,” you said quickly. “And I genuinely don’t think I am. But I’ve been sick a few times this week and Mason’s got it in his head now and… it’ll just be nice to know, okay?”

Jaz was practically vibrating. “Do you want me to get it for you? Like a covert mission?”

“No, I can buy my own pregnancy test, thanks,” you smirked. “But maybe don’t let the girls run around yelling baby while we’re in Boots.”

Jaz gave her a mock salute. “Mum mode activated.”

You both laughed, and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you was holding. There was something reassuring about having someone else know—even if that someone was already planning the baby shower in her head.

“Just promise me one thing,” Jaz said as they headed toward the tills.

“What?”

“If it’s positive… I get to be the cool aunt.”

You smiled. “Of course.”

You were barely through the front door when Jaz grabbed your wrist. “Well?” she whispered urgently.

“No, I am not taking it yet,” you whispered back, tugging your hand free. “I’m waiting for Mason, chill.”

Jaz groaned dramatically. “You’ve had it for hours, Y/N/N! If it was me I’d have already bought five.”

“You probably would’ve peed on all five at once,” you muttered, dropping your bag in the hallway as the smell of dinner drifted through the house.

Mason appeared around the corner, fresh from the shower, hair still damp, cheeks slightly pink from the sun. “Alright, love,” he grinned, slipping his arm around your waist. “You have fun with the shopping spree?”

“She bought everything,” Jaz chimed in before you could answer. “Including a very special item.”

Mason blinked. “Oh?”

Jaz winked. “Ask her.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, cheeks flushing. “Subtle, thanks.”

The rest of the family filtered into the kitchen—Myles, Lewis, the girls already running around with ice lollies. Jaz wiggled her eyebrows at you and whispered, “Do it now. Before you burst.”

Mason gave you a puzzled look. “Do what now?”

“She’s being annoying,” you muttered, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the stairs. “Ignore her.”

“Ohhh, they’re going upstairs,” Myles called from the kitchen.

Lewis joined in, smirking. “Use protection this time, yeah?”

“You lot are feral,” you called over your shoulder, shaking your head.

“Don’t be too loud!” someone shouted—possibly Mason’s mum, though you really hoped not.

Once you were upstairs, the door clicked shut, muffling the laughter and clatter of plates below. Mason glanced at you, still confused. You reached into the side pocket of your tote bag and pulled out a small Boots bag.

His eyebrows lifted. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna… now?”

You nodded. “You okay with that?”

“Course.” He took a breath. “You alright?”

You looked at him for a moment, eyes soft. “I just want to know either way. And I wanted to do it with you, not alone.”

He kissed your forehead. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Two minutes later, you sat cross-legged on the bed, your fingers tapping against your thigh. Mason sat beside you, arms resting on his knees, staring at the timer on his phone.

“Longest three minutes of my life,” he muttered.

You glanced toward the bathroom counter. The stick sat face-down on the side. “I can’t look,” you whispered.

He reached for your hand. “Do you want me to?”

You nodded quickly, suddenly feeling like your throat was made of sandpaper. “You turn it over. I can’t.”

Mason stood up slowly and crossed the room. Picked up the test with a kind of reverence, like it might explode. He hesitated. Looked back at you. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He turned it over. Silence. Then: “Y/N/N…”

Your eyes flew to his face. He swallowed hard, blinking. “It says positive.”

You stared at him. “No.”

He nodded. “Positive. It says it. Right there.”

You stood up on shaky legs. Crossed to him. Looked down. There it was. Positive.

A stunned breath left your lips. “Oh my god.”

Mason wrapped his arms around you. “We’re having a baby.”

A beat passed after the words sank in—positive—and your whole body felt like it had been gently dropped into a snow globe, your mind spinning and everything else muffled. Then a voice carried up the stairs, loud and clear.

“Lunch is ready! You two better come down before it goes cold!”

You blinked. Your face broke into a dazed, slow-motion grin. You looked at Mason, “We should probably…” you gestured vaguely toward the door.

Mason smirked. “We just found out we’re having a baby and now we’ve gotta go eat lunch with my entire family.”

“We’ve got to go downstairs before they think we’re making another baby right now,” you whispered as you stepped into your slippers.

Mason laughed, bright and loud. “Too late. They already think that.”

You grabbed his hand. “Promise me we’re not saying anything yet?”

He nodded. “Not yet. Just us for now.”

But when they made it downstairs and you caught Jaz’s eyes across the table, you knew the secret was hanging by a thread. Jaz gave you a sharp, narrow-eyed stare. You simply raised your eyebrows as if to say, don’t you dare, and looked away — but the corner of your mouth twitched in a telltale smirk.

Lunch was loud and delicious and typical of a Mount family weekend. The chatter swirled around them—Summer telling a dramatic story about a boy in her class who “definitely liked her because he gave her his Fruit Shoot,” Lewis trying to convince Mila that golf was a sport, and Myles teasing Jaz about her shopping addiction. Through it all, Mason couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

He sat close, closer than usual, one hand resting lightly on your thigh under the table. His fingers traced idle circles, occasionally squeezing as if to say you okay?, I’m here, this is real. Every so often, his other hand would drift—instinctively, almost absentmindedly—to your stomach, resting there with a quiet reverence. You would shoot him a quick look, warning and affectionate all in one and if anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything. Except Jaz, who kept watching with that smug older-sister energy brewing.

After dinner, Mason was supposed to be drying up. Instead, he was leaning against the counter with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, the tea towel slung uselessly over one shoulder, gazing down at you like you was made of porcelain and moonlight.

“You’ve literally not helped at all,” you said, elbowing him gently as you scrubbed at a casserole dish.

“I am helping,” he replied, not moving. “I’m offering essential moral support.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “By staring at me like a Labrador with a crush?”

He stepped behind you, slipping both arms around your waist and resting his hands low on your stomach — again. “No. By checking on the baby. That’s my grain of rice in there.”

“You’ve got to stop calling it a grain of rice.”

He kissed the side of your neck, voice smug. “You love it.”

You huffed out a soft laugh, leaning into him just a little. “You’ve touched my stomach, like, seven hundred times since we got that test.”

“And?”

“And people will start to notice,” you said, over your shoulder.

Mason just smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Good. Let them. My child deserves a little attention.”

“You are unbearable,” you muttered through a smile.

Just then, the kitchen door creaked open, and in walked Debbie, pausing mid-step at the sight of the two of them — you still at the sink, Mason wrapped around you like a human clingfilm. Mason straightened instinctively, but it was too late.

“I knew it,” Debbie said, the softest kind of triumph in her voice. She folded her arms and gave you a look that was half maternal warmth, half I’ve been waiting for you to tell me this all weekend.

“Knew what?” You tried, feigning innocence. Debbie just gave you a look.

Mason cleared his throat, running a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s new. We just found out before lunch.”

“I had my suspicions when you arrived yesterday,” Debbie said, smiling warmly now. “You were glowing but then you drunk so I thought ‘maybe not’. Then I saw the sickness this morning, the way you picked at your food — you never leave a sausage sandwich half-eaten, Y/N. But what really gave it away…” she pointed at Mason, “…was him constantly touching your stomach like he’s trying to hatch the baby early.”

You let out a helpless laugh, caught. Then came the voice from the hall. “Wait, what’s hatching?”

Myles popped his head around the kitchen door, a packet of crisps in one hand. Lewis followed behind, eyebrows raised. There was a half-beat of silence.

“You’re pregnant?” Lewis said, eyes wide, looking between you and Mason.

Myles nearly dropped his crisps. “Is that what you were doing before dinner?! Thank God. I was genuinely concerned we were all gonna walk in on round two.”

Mason groaned, laughing. “Please shut up.”

Jaz suddenly appeared at the doorway too, arms folded and smug. “I already knew.”

You spun on her. “Jaz!”

Mason’s dad strolled in behind the chaos, drying his hands on a tea towel. “You’re pregnant?”

Debbie beamed. “You’re going to be a granddad again.”

His grin spread wide and easy. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. You two’ll be naturals.”

Mason looked around at the small crowd now gathering in the kitchen, all chattering and laughing and buzzing with the news.

He turned to you, his fingers finding yours. “Well. That lasted a whole four hours.”

You giggled, squeezing his hand. “Honestly? Better than I expected.”

Lewis pointed between the two of them. “So, this baby — planned?”

You shrugged. “We stopped trying a while ago. Kind of agreed, when it happens, it happens.”

“Well it happened,” Myles added, elbowing Mason. “Guess you two are loud and efficient.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, hiding your face in Mason’s chest as the laughter kicked off again and in the midst of it all — your face flushed, hand still protectively splayed over your stomach — Mason leaned close and whispered just for you.

“You okay?”

You looked up at him, the chaos around them softening into background noise.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, and she meant it. “I really am.”

[paucubarsisimp]

clingy

pairing: mason mount x reader

summary: in which mason can’t seem to let go of you

warnings: fluff! fluff! and more fluff!

it was a typical lazy sunday afternoon, and you were curled up on the couch, your favorite blanket wrapped snugly around you, a cup of hot chocolate resting on the coffee table. you were trying to get comfortable as you flipped through the pages of your current book, the peaceful silence of the room almost making you doze off. but before you could sink deeper into the cozy moment, the door to your apartment creaked open.

“y/n?” a familiar voice called out from the hallway.

you looked up from your book with a smile. “mase! you’re home early.”

mason mount, your incredibly adorable and equally clingy boyfriend, stepped into the living room, his face lighting up as soon as he saw you. his signature grin stretched across his face, and he practically bounced over to the couch, dropping his things carelessly on the floor.

you chuckled as he immediately plopped down beside you, his arms wrapping around you like a vice. “hey, love,” you greeted, letting out a soft laugh as he buried his face into your shoulder.

“missed you,” he mumbled into the fabric of your shirt, his hands slipping underneath the blanket to pull you closer. you could feel his body heat, the warmth of him making your heart swell with affection.

“you’ve only been gone for a few hours, mason,” you teased, your fingers playing with his messy hair.

“i know, but… i missed you,” he repeated, pulling you even closer, if that was even possible. his arms tightened around your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. his grip was so firm you couldn’t help but giggle, feeling like you were being hugged by a giant teddy bear.

“mase, i literally just saw you yesterday,” you said through a soft laugh, trying to free yourself from his affectionate hold.

he gave a pout, his lips forming a little pouty line that made you melt every time. “i know, but you’re so cozy, and i just want to be near you all the time.” he rubbed his cheek against your neck like a kitten, his warmth spreading to your skin.

you sighed, shaking your head in mock exasperation. “you’re such a cuddle bug.”

“i’m not just a cuddle bug. i’m your cuddle bug,” he said, his voice a little teasing but full of sweetness. his arms stayed wrapped tightly around you, refusing to loosen even a little bit. you couldn’t help but laugh, knowing how stubborn he could be when it came to being close to you.

after a few moments of comfortable silence, mason’s hands began to roam lazily over your back, tracing circles as he hummed contentedly. you felt his breath on your neck, his head resting there like he never wanted to move.

“how was training?” you asked, gently shifting to look down at him, but his arms remained firmly around you, not allowing you to move far.

“it was alright,” he mumbled. “but honestly, it wasn’t as fun as this… just being with you.” his eyes fluttered closed, and you could see the way his entire body relaxed, like he had found the perfect place in the world to be.

you smiled softly, your heart melting. “i’m glad you’re home. but mase, are you okay? you seem really clingy today.”

mason opened one eye to look up at you, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “clingy? me? never,” he said with mock offense. but then he added in a much quieter voice, “i just really like being close to you. more than anything.”

you brushed your hand through his hair, your thumb gently caressing the side of his face. “i like being close to you, too,” you whispered back. you felt the small, content smile tugging at your lips as he looked up at you with a soft gaze.

he leaned in to kiss your cheek, his lips lingering there longer than necessary. “good,” he said, his voice full of satisfaction. “because you’re mine. and i’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

you laughed at how possessive he sounded, though you didn’t mind one bit. mason always had a way of making you feel like the most important person in his world, even when he acted like a clingy, affectionate mess.

for the rest of the day, he barely let go of you. anytime you tried to shift, even just to grab your book or adjust the blanket, mason’s arms would instantly be around you, pulling you right back into his warm embrace. if you dared to stand up, he would dramatically roll onto the couch, throwing his arms across it as if to claim the entire space just for the two of you.

“you’re not getting away that easily,” he would whisper, his hands pulling you back down with a lighthearted chuckle.

you found yourself laughing even more at his antics. no matter how clingy he got, mason’s warmth, both physically and emotionally, made it impossible not to be entirely in love with him. he was your favorite person, and though his clinginess could be overwhelming at times, it was exactly what made him so endearing.

you both spent the rest of the afternoon in a haze of giggles, soft kisses, and gentle moments, mason’s arms never once leaving you as he soaked in every second of being close to you.

as the evening sun began to set, you found yourselves snuggled up together, the world outside fading into the background. mason’s head rested comfortably against your chest, his breathing steady and content. you couldn’t help but smile down at him, feeling a wave of love wash over you.

“mason…” you whispered, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw.

“hmm?” he hummed, his eyes barely open as he turned his face up toward you.

“you’re so clingy.”

he smirked, his arms tightening around you. “and you love it.”

you laughed softly, kissing the top of his head. “i really do.”

and in that moment, with mason all wrapped up in your arms and your heart full of warmth, you realized that his clinginess was just another way of showing how much he cared. how much he loved you.

and there was no place in the world you’d rather be than right here, in his arms, forever.

[canirove]

Manchester United Vs. Bournemouth | Premier League Summer Series | 30.07.2025

part 1 | part 2

[marcusrashforddefender]

that’s my club 😛😛😛