Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader
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The warmth of the stadium lights always felt different when you were standing beside Mason. Not because of the bright floodlights cascading over Old Trafford, but because of the easy, comfortable light he brought into your life. You’d been friends for what felt like forever, a constant in each other’s chaotic worlds. You, navigating your own demanding career, and Mason, living under the intense spotlight of professional football with Manchester United. You were his confidante, his sounding board, his escape from the incessant pressure. He was your anchor, your source of laughter, your understanding ear.
You’d share ridiculous memes over text during the day, meet for late-night takeaways when his schedule allowed, or just crash on his sofa, watching terrible reality TV until one of you fell asleep. There was a shared language, a shorthand of inside jokes and knowing glances that only the two of you understood. His arm would often rest casually around your shoulders, a gesture of pure platonic affection that you never questioned. You never had a reason to.
Then, imperceptibly, things began to shift.
It started subtly. A cancelled coffee date here, a delayed text response there. You brushed it off at first. Mason was perpetually busy, his life a whirlwind of training, travel, matches, and media duties. It was understandable. But then the cancellations became more frequent. The texts, once immediate and full of his usual rapid-fire banter, grew shorter, less enthusiastic. His voice on the phone, when he did call, held a strange edge – a hurriedness that wasn't about missing a meeting, but something else entirely.
"Hey, still good for dinner tonight?" you'd text, a casual flick of your thumbs. Hours later, a terse reply: "Nah, sorry. Too knackered. Early start tomorrow." Too knackered. He used to be too knackered to do anything but sprawl on your sofa for hours, often falling asleep with his head in your lap.
You tried to give him space, understanding that even the most extroverted people needed time to themselves. But the space started to feel like a chasm. Days bled into a week, a week into two, without a proper conversation. Your attempts to initiate plans were met with polite but firm deflections. You’d catch glimpses of him on social media, out with teammates, laughing, seemingly vibrant and full of life. It stung. A cold, sharp pang of betrayal in your chest.
“Everything alright with Mason?” your mutual friend, Chloe, asked one afternoon, catching the frown on your face as you scrolled through your phone, Mason’s last unanswered message glaring back at you. You forced a shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Yeah, just busy, I guess. You know how it is.” Chloe, however, knew you too well. “He’s been a bit quiet, hasn’t he? Even with the lads.” A flicker of hope ignited. It wasn't just you. Maybe he was genuinely going through something. You considered reaching out to him, pushing for answers, but a fragile pride held you back. If he wanted to talk, he knew where to find you. You’d always been there.
Weeks turned into a month. The silence from Mason became deafening. Your calls went straight to voicemail, your enthusiastic voice notes were met with typed, laconic replies that felt like a slap in the face. You felt abandoned, discarded. The anger simmered beneath the surface of your sadness. What had you done? Had you said something wrong? Was he upset with you? The uncertainty was a corrosive acid, eating away at the foundation of your friendship. You replayed every conversation, every interaction, searching for a clue, for a misstep, but came up empty. He was simply… gone.
You finally decided it was time to stop dwelling. You were a strong, independent person. Mason Mount, United’s golden boy, wasn't the only person in your life. You accepted an invitation from Chloe to a huge party at a swanky bar in the city centre. It was exactly what you needed: loud music, good company, and enough distractions to keep your mind from wandering back to the empty space Mason had left.
You arrived with Chloe, the bass thumping through the floor, the air thick with perfume, cologne, and the buzz of a hundred conversations. You threw yourself into it, laughing a little too loudly at Chloe’s jokes, dancing with abandon, determined to have a good time. Hours melted away, fuelled by a few too many proseccos. You were finally feeling light, almost forgetting the ache that had become a constant companion.
He was across the crowded room, leaning against a pillar, a drink in his hand, talking to a teammate. His famous smile was on display, the one that graced billboards and magazine covers, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze, restless, swept over the room, and for a split second, it landed on you. Your breath hitched. His eyes widened, a flash of something you couldn't decipher – panic? – before he quickly averted his gaze, turning his head sharply to face his friend, suddenly animated in conversation.
Your heart plunged, then soared, then plummeted again. All the anger, the hurt, the confusion, rushed back, a tidal wave threatening to drown you. He was here. He saw you. And he was still avoiding you. Even now.
A fierce resolve hardened in your chest. Not this time. Not again. You weren’t going to let him just disappear from your life without an explanation. Not after everything.
You took a deep breath, straightened your dress, and started to walk. The crowd parted around you, the music fading into a dull thrum as your focus narrowed on the figure by the pillar. When you reached him, you didn’t hesitate. You simply placed a hand on his arm, the familiar warmth of his skin sending an unexpected jolt through you.
He flinched, turning slowly. When he saw you fully, his smile faltered, replaced by a strained, almost pained expression. “Hey,” he said, his voice a little hoarse above the din. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” You pulled your hand back, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Clearly not, since you’ve been actively avoiding me for the last month.” Your voice was sharper than you intended, laced with all the hurt you’d suppressed.
He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. “What are you talking about? I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve just been busy. Training, travel, you know how it is.” The excuse was well-worn, threadbare.
You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Busy? Mason, you’ve ghosted me. For weeks. You haven’t replied to my calls, my texts barely get a word back. And now, you see me, and you turn away. Don’t lie to me. Not you. Not ever.” Your voice cracked on the last word, the vulnerability of your pain finally breaking through your anger.
His jaw tightened. He looked genuinely uncomfortable, his gaze now fixed on your face, a tortured expression in his eyes. “Look, this isn’t the place for this,” he muttered, glancing around at the milling partygoers.
“No, it’s definitely not the place for this,” you agreed, your voice low and dangerous. “But you’ve given me no other place. So, tell me, Mason. What happened? What did I do? Why have you shut me out?”
He ran a hand through his hair, his perfect quiff momentarily ruffled. He took a deep, shaky breath, and you saw the flicker of resignation in his eyes. “You didn’t do anything,” he said, his voice barely audible. “It’s me. It’s…complicated.”
“Complicated?” You laughed, a humourless sound. “Our friendship has been the least complicated thing in my life for years. And suddenly, it’s complicated, and you can’t even be bothered to explain? That’s rich, Mason.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, a raw, desperate look in their depths. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, almost lost in the music. “Because I can’t be around you right now, okay? I can’t. Every time I see you, every time you laugh, every time you touch me… it’s unbearable.”
You stared at him, utterly bewildered. “Unbearable? What are you talking about?”
He groaned, pressing his lips together tightly. “The tension, okay? The tension. It’s driving me absolutely insane. I can barely think straight when you’re around. I feel like I’m constantly on the edge, constantly trying to control myself, trying not to… to ruin everything.”
Your mind raced, trying to process his words. Tension? Control himself? Ruin everything? A faint blush crept up your neck as a different kind of understanding began to dawn on you. No. It couldn’t be.
“Mason,” you said, your voice softer now, a tremor in it. “What are you saying?”
He met your gaze, his eyes burning with an intensity you’d never seen directed at you before. They were filled with a potent mix of desperation, desire, and fear. “I’m saying I’m falling for you,” he blurted out, the words tumbling out as if torn from him. “And not just as a friend. I want you. I’ve wanted you for weeks, for months. And I’m terrified I’m going to do something stupid, going to mess this up, going to lose you. So I tried to stay away, thinking it would pass. It hasn’t. It’s only gotten worse.”
The confession hung in the air between you, heavy and unexpected. Your breath caught in your throat. Mason Mount, your best friend, the man you’d always seen as a brother, wanted you. Sexually. A shiver traced its way down your spine, not from cold, but from a sudden, dizzying jolt of realization. All those long looks, the subtle changes in his behaviour, the way his hand lingered… you’d been utterly oblivious. But now, looking at the raw desire etched on his face, you saw it all. And an equally powerful, undeniable spark, long dormant, ignited within you.
You suddenly understood the ache he spoke of, the tightness in his jaw, the frantic darting of his eyes. Because now, you felt it too. A palpable current, crackling between you, drawing you in. The air thickened, heavy with unspoken desires, weeks of repressed emotions finally bubbling to the surface.
He was waiting, his eyes pleading, terrified of your reaction. For a moment, you just stared, your mind struggling to reconcile the Mason of old with this new, intensely desirable man standing before you. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant thrum of the music.
Then, a defiant, almost reckless thought solidified in your mind. All those weeks of pain, of confusion, of feeling inexplicably cut off. All that wasted time. All that tension, now finally acknowledged.
You took a step closer, your gaze locking with his. Your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried all the weight of your newfound understanding, all the simmering heat that was now rising within you.
“So,” you said, your eyes never leaving his, a faint, dangerous smile playing on your lips. “Do something about it, Mason.”
The words hung in the air, a challenge, an invitation, a release. His eyes flared, a look of stunned disbelief, then a sudden, fierce flicker of hope and raw hunger. The air between you crackled, electric.
He didn't need to be told twice.
His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm. He didn't say a word, just dragged you through the throng of people, a man possessed. You followed, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, a thrill shooting through you. You didn't know where he was going, didn't care. All you knew was that finally, finally, the agonizing distance between you was about to close.
He pulled you through a side exit, into the cool night air. The sudden silence was a shock after the thumping bass, broken only by the distant city hum and the frantic beat of your own pulse. He didn't slow down until you were at the curb, where a sleek, black car, presumably his, was waiting. He practically shoved you into the passenger seat, then jogged around to the driver’s side, fumbling with the keys.
The tension in the confined space of the car was almost unbearable, a living entity between you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, even without touching. He started the engine with a roar, then pulled away from the curb, driving with a controlled urgency that mirrored the tempest brewing inside him. You didn't speak. Your eyes were fixed on his profile, the hard line of his jaw, the tense grip on the steering wheel. He glanced at you, a quick, hungry look, then back at the road.
He didn't drive far, pulling up outside an exclusive apartment building, quieter, more private than the bustling city centre. This was his building, you realized. His haven. His place. He turned off the engine, plunging the car into silence. The air was thick with unspoken longing.
Then he reached across the console, his hand finding your jaw, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent shivers through you. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, searched yours. “Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, a last shred of doubt, of respect, holding him back.
You leaned into his touch, your own hand instinctively reaching for the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair there. “Yes, Mason,” you breathed out, your voice barely a wisp. “More than sure.”
He crushed his lips against yours, a desperate, urgent kiss that was nothing like the gentle pecks of friendship. This was raw, hungry, utterly consuming. His mouth moved over yours with a fierce passion, tasting of desperation and long-repressed desire. You responded instantly, your lips parting under his, allowing his tongue to tangle with yours in a dance that was both familiar and exhilaratingly new.
His hand left your face, sweeping down to your waist, pulling you roughly across the gear stick, closer, until your bodies were pressed together as much as the car allowed. He groaned into your mouth, a guttural sound that vibrated through your chest. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging gently, urging him deeper.
He broke the kiss, breathless, his forehead resting against yours. “Bedroom,” he gasped, the single word laden with a desperate plea.
You nodded, equally breathless. He pulled away, scrambling out of the car. You fumbled with your seatbelt, your hands shaking, your body alight with anticipation. He was already at your door, opening it, offering his hand. You took it, stepping out, and he didn't let go, dragging you into the cool, silent lobby, then into the elevator.
The ride up was torture. His eyes never left yours, his gaze burning, promising. You leaned against the cold metal wall, your chest rising and falling rapidly. The sexual tension was so thick you could practically taste it.
When the elevator doors finally opened, he practically pulled you out, fumbling with his keys, his hands shaking slightly. He unlocked the door, pushing it open, and then, finally, you were inside.
The apartment was dimly lit, bathed in the soft glow of city lights through the huge windows. He didn't bother with the lights. He just kicked the door shut behind you, then pinned you against it, his mouth reclaiming yours with a ferocity that stole your breath.
His hands were everywhere, urgent, seeking. One threaded into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, while the other slid down your back, pulling you flush against his hard body. You could feel the undeniable evidence of his desire pressing against you, and it only intensified your own.
You broke the kiss for air, both of you gasping, foreheads touching. “Mason…” you whimpered, your fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt.
“Tell me to stop,” he challenged, his voice husky, his eyes dark with unbridled longing.
You met his gaze, shaking your head slowly. “Never.”
With a low growl, he scooped you into his arms. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, holding on tight as he carried you through the apartment. You kissed him all the way to the bedroom, your lips never breaking contact, a passionate promise sealed with every touch.
He gently lowered you onto the soft expanse of his bed. You lay there for a moment, looking up at him, your heart pounding. He stood over you, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. He looked like a man on the brink, finally unleashing weeks of pent-up desire.
He reached for the hem of your dress, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled it up and over your head. You helped, lifting your arms, the fabric a soft whisper as it came away. You were left in your lace lingerie, feeling exposed, vulnerable, and thrillingly desired. His eyes raked over your body, a slow, appreciative gaze that made a flush creep across your skin.
Then it was his turn. You reached for his shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons. He chuckled, a low, sexy sound, and helped you, shrugging out of the garment. His sculpted torso was revealed, a testament to his athletic prowess. You reached out, your fingers tracing the firm plane of his abs, the broad expanse of his chest. He gasped, a shiver running through him at your touch.
He kicked off his shoes, then unzipped his trousers, pushing them down along with his boxers. Your gaze devoured him, a potent mix of awe and hunger swirling inside you. He was magnificent, every inch of him screaming male power and raw desire. Your eyes met, and in that moment, all hesitation vanished.
He climbed onto the bed, hovering over you, his weight supported by his arms. His gaze was heated, possessive, yet reverent. Your hands found his hair, pulling him down for another kiss, slow and deep. This wasn't just lust; this was a culmination of years of unspoken affection, a friendship transformed, ignited into something fierce and undeniable.
His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a fiery path of kisses. You arched your back, desperate for more, your hands gripping his shoulders. He tasted the hollow of your throat, then moved lower, his tongue making dizzying circles around your collarbone. A gasp escaped you as his mouth found your breast, suckling gently, sending shivers through your entire body.
You whimpered his name, the sound of it a plea. He responded, his hand sliding down your stomach, deftly finding the lace barrier of your underwear. His fingers tangled in the soft fabric, teasing, stroking, until you were writhing beneath him, desperate for his touch.
“Mason…” you breathed, your hips arching, a silent demand.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his voice thick.
You looked at him, your gaze unwavering. “You,” you whispered. “All of you. Now.”
With a final groan, he shifted, positioning himself between your legs. You opened for him, your body crying out for release. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes searching yours one last time, a silent confirmation of consent, of mutual desire. You gave it to him with a hungry look and a slight nod.
Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you.
A gasp tore from your throat, a mixture of pain and exquisite pleasure. He was full, hot, stretching you in the most beautiful way. You gripped his back, your nails digging into his skin as he filled you completely. He paused, letting you adjust, his eyes watching your face for any sign of discomfort.
“Okay?” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.
You nodded, tears pricking your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, the sheer intimacy of it. “More than okay,” you whispered back.
Then he began to move. Slowly at first, a gentle rhythm that quickly built in pace and intensity. Each thrust was deeper, harder, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You met his rhythm, bucking your hips against his, desperate for more. The sounds filled the room – the soft creak of the bed, the slick sound of skin against skin, your ragged breaths, his low grunts.
He leaned down, burying his face in your neck, his lips pressing desperate kisses there. “God, I’ve wanted you,” he breathed out, his voice raw with emotion. “So bad.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, wanting to feel every inch of him. The tension that had built between you for weeks, the unspoken longing, the agonizing avoidance – it all culminated in this explosive union. It was messy, it was passionate, it was raw, and it was everything you both needed.
The world narrowed to just the two of you, a blur of sensations, of touch and taste and sound. His thrusts became frantic, desperate, pushing you higher and higher. You felt the delicious pressure building inside you, a spiralling vortex of pleasure. You cried out his name, a broken sob of pure ecstasy as your body convulsed around him, sending you spiralling into a breathless, mind-numbing orgasm.
He groaned, a primal sound of release, his body tensing, then collapsing against yours as he found his own climax, burying himself deep inside you.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. You lay entwined, hearts pounding against each other, breaths ragged, bodies slick with sweat. The silence that followed was heavy, but no longer with tension, but with satiation, with a profound sense of peace.
He finally shifted, pulling out of you with a soft sigh, then rolling onto his side, pulling you closer until your head rested on his chest. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight, as if afraid you might disappear.
You listened to the rapid thrum of his heart beneath your ear, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. His fingers gently stroked your hair, a soothing, tender gesture.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough. “For avoiding you. For everything.”
You looked up at him, your vision still a little blurry from the intensity of it all. You traced the line of his jaw with your finger. “It’s okay,” you murmured, a soft smile gracing your lips. “You know… I think it was worth the wait.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound in his chest. “Yeah?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.
“Yeah,” you confirmed, pressing a soft kiss to his chin. “Definitely worth the wait.”
The future was uncertain, a blank canvas shimmering with possibilities. But in that moment, wrapped in Mason’s strong arms, feeling the lingering warmth of his body against yours, you knew one thing for sure: the landscape of your friendship had irrevocably changed. And though it was daunting, it was also exhilarating. This new path, paved with raw honesty and undeniable passion, felt like coming home. You closed your eyes, a content sigh escaping your lips, ready to explore whatever came next.
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