#clowrites

[livinginastory]

Off The Record Part One- O.Piastri ✨

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Engineer!Reader Word Count: 7.7k - this is a super long fic ngl, that's why it's split into two parts...I got carried away, I've been working on this for a good week or so now 😂 Warnings: Angst, forbidden love, age gap, workplace romance. Contains mentions of alcohol and some swearing. Under 18s dni. Authors Note: So this is something different...Oscar has literally been taking all my attention at the moment, ask @neverinadream she's to blame for sending me the Oscar edits and encouraging this but I love her for it 🫶🏻 Please let me know what you all think 🫣

P.S. Remember, this is all fiction, the only thing accurate in this story is the race results.

Part Two

The Melbourne air wraps around you like a warm hug the moment you step off the plane, eucalyptus, ocean salt, and that indefinable buzz of a city gearing up for chaos. Mid-March, Albert Park Circuit looming just days away, but for once you're not rushing straight to the paddock. You’d mentioned it casually on a team call a couple weeks back, how you’ve never really done Melbourne properly. No beaches, no laneways, just hotels, sims, and strategy meetings. Oscar’s response had been instant, deadpan as ever “That’s criminal. I’ll sort it. Meet me at arrivals. No excuses”

You’d laughed it off, just mates catching up, just a local showing the out-of-towner around before the weekend swallowed you both. But now, scanning the arrivals hall, your pulse kicks up anyway. And the you see him, there he is, leaning against a pillar, cap low, white oversized tee and jeans, scrolling his phone like he’s got all the time in the world. The winter break has been kind…really kind. His skin’s got that golden tan from whatever low-key beach time he stole, shoulders filling out his t-shirt a little broader, jawline sharper under a few days’ worth of stubble he hasn’t bothered shaving. He looks... rested, confident, like the guy who finished the off-season knowing exactly how good the car’s going to be.

He glances up, spots you, and that slow, lopsided grin spreads across his face, the one that always makes your brain short-circuit for half a second before you remember you’re supposed to be the calm, collected one. The responsible one.

“You actually showed up” he says, pushing off the pillar and closing the gap, taking your suitcase for you. His voice is low and amused “thought you might bail for an extra data review”

“Please, I can multitask” You tilt your head, eyeing him up and down subtly, you hope “you look like you spent the break training for a surf comp instead of sim laps. Trying to get advantage for the home race?”

He shrugs, but there’s a spark in his eyes “gotta keep the locals on their toes. Come on, car’s outside. Unless you want to stand here and critique my holiday glow all day?”

You roll your eyes but follow, falling into step beside him. His arm brushes yours once and then twice as you weave through the crowd. Accidental, totally accidental.

The SUV is plain black, nothing flashy, Oscar opens the passenger door for you with a mock bow “your chariot, engineer”

“Such a gentleman” you tease, sliding in “didn’t know Aussies did chivalry”

“Only for the important ones” He winks, quick, playful, before shutting the door and circling to the driver’s side.

The drive starts easy, Yarra River sparkling, skyline rising, him pointing out random spots like the MCG “Where real sports happen” and the botanic gardens “Better coffee than the paddock”. Conversation flows like always, car talk first, winter upgrades, how the sim felt dangerously good, then lighter stuff. He asks about your flight, ribs you about falling asleep during the safety briefing video again, but every so often, the banter tips just a little further.

You catch him glancing over when you’re looking out the window, eyes lingering on your profile before he snaps back to the road. At a red light, he turns slightly “You’re quiet, jet lag hitting?”

“Nah, just...appreciating the view.” You gesture vaguely at the city, but your eyes flick to him “Melbourne’s nicer when you’re not staring at tire deg data and got the right tour guide”

He smirks “Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Piastri, your ego’s big enough after that winter testing hype”

“Oi” He laughs, soft and genuine “I earned that hype. You were there for every lap on the data, don’t pretend you weren’t impressed”

You were, you still are, but you play it cool “Impressed enough to let you drive me around like a tourist, that’s high praise”

He pulls off toward Brighton Beach, his old stomping ground. Parks near the water, kills the engine “Come on, the real Melbourne experience starts here”

The path along the shore is quiet, waves lapping gently, colorful bathing boxes lining the sand like a postcard. Oscar walks close enough that your shoulders bump every few steps. He tells a story about sneaking out to the local kart track at thirteen, coming home with gravel rash and a trophy he hid under his bed.

You laugh at the image “Little Oscar, already breaking rules”

“Some things don’t change” His tone is light, but his gaze flicks to you, holds a beat too long “What about you? Any secret rebellious phase I should know about?”

You nudge him with your elbow “Wouldn’t you like to know”

“I would, actually” He stops walking, turns to face you fully, the wind ruffles his hair “You’re always so...composed. Makes me curious what happens when you let go a bit”

Your stomach flips. He’s close, close enough you can smell the faint sunscreen and sea-salt on him, but his expression is just friendly curiosity. Right?

You swallow and force a grin “Careful what you wish for. I might start backseat driving your life”

“I wouldn’t mind” He shrugs, casual “You already do it on track, might as well extend the service”

You both laugh, but the air feels warmer suddenly. He breaks first, nodding toward the path. “One more stop, I can’t send you back without seeing the laneways”

Hosier Lane is exactly as chaotic and beautiful as promised, walls exploding with color, murals layered over murals, tourists snapping photos. Oscar leads you through the crowd like he’s done this a hundred times, pointing out his favorites - a swirling abstract piece in reds and blacks “Reminds me of quali laps when everything’s on the limit”, and a cheeky cat mural “That’s gotta be Lando’s spirit animal”

You snap a photo of him standing in front of one, arms crossed, head tilted, that half-smile making him look unfairly good.

“Delete that,” he says when he notices, but he’s grinning.

“No chance. It’s my blackmail material for when you bin it in turn one”

He steps closer, peering at your phone screen, his shoulder presses against yours “send it to me later, I look decent in that one”

“You look decent in all of them,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

He pauses, and looks at you “Yeah?”

Heat creeps up your neck “Don’t fish for compliments”

“Not fishing” His voice drops, teasing “Just...noting it down for future reference”

You shove him lightly “Get over yourself”

He laughs, catches your wrist for a split second, thumb brushing the inside before he lets go like it never happened “Come on, we’ll get a coffee, my treat. You’ve earned it after surviving my tour-guide skills”

You end up at a tiny hole-in-the-wall cafe tucked off the lane. He orders flat whites without asking what you want, his words being “I pay attention during debriefs” when you ask how he knew your order and you sit outside on rickety stools, shoulders almost touching again.

“Thanks for this” you say quietly “Really, I needed the break before the madness starts”

He looks at you over the rim of his cup “Anytime, seriously. You’re easy to hang out with”

You meet his eyes “You too” a beat of quiet. Not awkward, just charged. Like the engine’s idling, waiting for green.

Then his phone buzzes, team group chat, probably and reality creeps back. He sighs “Duty calls. Want me to drop you at the hotel?”

“Yeah” I reply, trying to shove down the small slither of disappointment.

The drive back is quieter, city lights flickering on. When he pulls up outside your hotel, he doesn’t cut the engine right away.

“See you in the garage tomorrow?” he asks.

“Bright and early”

He smiles, small, private “good. Don’t go easy on me just because I showed you the good spots”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” you pause, hand on the door “Thanks again, Oscar. Today was nice”

“Yeah” His gaze lingers “it was”

You step out, but before you shut the door, he leans over.

“Hey?”

You duck back in.

“Off the record,” he says, voice soft, playful “you’re kinda fun when you’re not buried in telemetry”

You laugh, heart doing that stupid flutter again “Off the record? You’re not so bad yourself when you’re not trying to break lap records”

He grins “noted”

You close the door, watch his taillights disappear.

It’s just friendship. Just a good day out, but the way your pulse is racing? The way you keep replaying his thumb on your wrist? Yeah. You’re in trouble.

Qualifying Day

Qualifying day dawns bright and brutal in Melbourne. You’ve been here since dawn, buried in data, tire compounds, wind direction, anything to keep your mind off the way Oscar looked when he walked in this morning. He’d caught your eye across the garage, flashed that quick, half-smile, the one that says “morning” without saying anything at all, and disappeared into the driver’s room.

Now it’s Q3. The air crackles with tension as the clock ticks down. Lando’s already got provisional pole, Oscar’s out on track, pushing for the perfect lap. Your headset crackles to life, his private line, just the two of you.

“Alright, how’s it looking?” His voice is calm, focused, a little playful, the same tone he used when he was pointing out murals in Hosier Lane.

You glance at the timing screen “You’re half a tenth up on your personal best through sector one. Sector two’s clean, push hard in three, but don’t bin it, you’ve got this”

“Copy, and if I take pole from Lando?” a beat “Do I get a gold star from my favorite engineer?”

You bite back a smile “You get a ‘well done’ and maybe an extra data packet to review tonight. Don’t get cocky, Piastri”

“Cocky? Me?” He chuckles, low, warm, the sound filtering straight through your headphones like it’s meant only for you “thought you liked a bit of confidence”

Heat creeps up your neck. You adjust your mic, glad the garage and track noise covers the way your breath hitches “I like clean laps, confidence is a bonus”

“Challenge accepted”

He dives into sector three. The screens light up, purple in one, purple in two. The garage erupts as he crosses the line: 1:15.180. P2. Just 0.084 behind Lando. The radio lights up again, his breathing still elevated from the lap.

“P2. Lando’s got pole by eighty-four thousandths”

A pause “Damn, I was close. How’s the car looking?”

“Perfect,” you say, scanning the traces “Balance is spot-on, home crowd’s going to love that”

“Yeah?” His voice softens, almost fond “Good, means I didn’t embarrass myself in front of you”

You roll your eyes, but your chest tightens “you never embarrass yourself. Annoy me sometimes, sure”

“Annoy you?” He laughs again, breathless, delighted “that’s my specialty, keeps you sharp”

“Keeps me employed, more like” You pause, then add, softer “Seriously though, great job, Oscar. Front row at home, that’s huge”

“Thanks” A short silence, the kind that feels loaded even over radio “Couldn’t have done it without the voice in my ear telling me exactly where to go”

“Just bring it home Oscar”

“Yes boss”

You’re back in the garage, laptop open, reading the data when you notice him coming your way. He jogs over, still in his race suit, unzipped halfway, fireproofs clinging. Up close, he smells like rubber, fuel, and that faint cologne he always wears off-track. Your brain short-circuits for half a second and you curse yourself for it.

“P2,” he says, stopping just close enough that you have to tilt your head up “Not bad for a tour guide, huh?”

You laugh despite yourself “Not bad at all, you drove like you had something to prove”

“Maybe I did.” His eyes flick over your face, quick, searching, before he catches himself “Thanks for the calls. Seriously, you made it feel easy out there”

“That’s the point” You shrug, trying for casual “Good engineer, remember?”

“The best.” He says it quietly, almost like it slipped out. Then he clears his throat, steps back a fraction “debrief in ten?”

“Yeah. Don’t let Lando steal all the glory before then”

He smirks “No promises”

He turns to head toward the cooldown room, but pauses, glances back over his shoulder.

“Off the record?” he calls softly, just loud enough for you to hear over the noise “you look really pretty today”

Your mouth goes dry. He’s already walking away before you can respond, back to the team, the cameras, the chaos. You stare after him, pulse hammering. He’s just being nice. Friendly. That’s all and somewhere in the back of your mind, you know he’s wondering the same thing about that little hitch in your voice when you congratulated him.

You’ve just got back to your room when you get a text from Max Verstappen, your unlikely best friend since the Toro Rosso days when you were both rookies in different ways, you climbing the engineering ladder, him already tearing through juniors. Rival teams now, but the friendship stuck, no bullshit, brutal honesty, and the kind of loyalty that survives championships and crashes. He’s one of the few who knows about the blur with Oscar, vaguely. You’ve never spilled details, until maybe today.

Max: You around? Feel like I haven’t seen you in years. Meet you at the bar on the 12th floor?

You: Be there in 10 😌

You spot him first, he’s in a plain black hoodie, cap backwards, scrolling his phone at the far end of the bar.

“Oh my god, is that Max Verstappen?”

He looks up an his face instantly lights up, genuine, easy, the way only old paddock friends do.

Max grins, standing up to give you a quick one-armed hug “No way. Look who it is, engineer extraordinaire finally graces Melbourne with her presence”

You laugh into the hug “Shut up. I’ve been here every year, you’re the one who’s been hiding in the Red Bull fortress”

Max pulls back and gestures to the stool next to him “Sit, what are you drinking? Still pretending sparkling water is fun?”

You slide onto the stool “it’s not pretending when it’s all I’ve got energy for after quali. You?”

“Same. No point pretending I’m going to bed at 9pm if I’m just going to stare at the ceiling thinking about sector two anyway” he nods at the bartender “another round of the boring stuff, please”

The drinks arrive almost instantly, two tall glasses, lime wedges, ice clinking.

“So, a win for you tomorrow?”

Max shrugs, half-smirk on his lips “Maybe. Car’s quick but Lando’s been annoying all weekend and your boy’s defending in P2. I’m not counting anything yet”

You can’t hide the small smile that creeps onto your face, Max doesn’t miss it “he’s been flying. Winter testing paid off”

Max leans back, studying you “yeah, he looks…happy, more than usual. You got something to do with that?”

You freeze for half a second, not sure how much he knows, how much is guesswork but you tell Max nearly everything.

“I just yell at him when he’s about to bin it in turn 9, same as always”

Max laughs “sure. That’s all it is. Seriously though, you look good too, happier than last year, less stressed”

“Last year was a lot, it was a new car, new pressure, everyone watching. This year feels steadier, more controlled”

Max nods “I get it. You’ve got a good thing going at McLaren. People talk, you know, they say you and Piastri are basically telepathic on the radio”

You shrug, a small smile creeping in “We’ve been working together two years. You start to hear what someone’s not saying”

Max grins “Dangerous skill. Makes it hard to lie to you”

You raise an eyebrow “you planning on lying to me?”

Max laughs “Never, I’d get caught in two seconds”

A comfortable silence settles. The jazz piano drifts over, outside the window, Melbourne’s skyline sparkles.

“I missed this. Just talking, no strategy sheets, no data. Just us” you say looking at Max.

He looks at you, serious now “Yeah, me too. The paddock’s loud, but you’ve always been one of the few people who actually listens when I talk shit, it means something, but I’m still mad at you for not being my engineer”

“You do talk a lot of shit, someone has to listen. You know I needed to go to McLaren, we’d clash too much”

Max chuckles “True. Whatever happens this weekend, P1, P10, DNF, I’m glad you’re still here. Still doing what you love, still putting up with drivers like me and your Australian”

“Me too and for what it’s worth…I’m rooting for you tomorrow. Even if it means beating my guy, don’t tell anyone I said that”

He grins wide, holding his glass up “That’s my girl. Disloyalty looks good on you”

“Don’t get used to it” you raise your glass “to quali being over, to tomorrow being chaos, and to old friends who don’t make you explain yourself”

“To that” Max says, clinking his glass against yours.

You both drink. The ice clinks softly before he speaks again “So…tell me honestly. How much are you actually sleeping this weekend?”

“About as much as you are” you say dryly.

“Zero. Perfect. We’re still the same, at least I have someone to talk to when I’m bored at 3am” you both laugh, quiet, easy, familiar.

The night stretches on. No rush, no agenda. Just two friends, two sparkling waters, and the hum of a city that never really sleeps.

Race Day

Your phone buzzes at 6:47am, the screen lighting up the dim hotel room before your alarm even has a chance.

Oscar: Morning. Race day. Feeling a bit off. Nerves hitting harder than usual. Home crowd, front row, expectations. You know how it is

You stare at the message, thumb hovering. You type back quickly, keeping it light.

You: Hey. You’ve got this. Car’s been quick all weekend, you qualified P2 at home, most drivers would kill for that. Nerves just mean you care so channel it, and if it helps, I’ll be the one yelling strategy in your ear like always.

A reply pings almost immediately.

Oscar: Helps more than you know. Thanks.

You set the phone down, heart racing faster than it should at 7am. When you get to the track, you spot him near the McLaren motorhome, leaning against a barrier in his team kit, cap low, staring out at the track like he’s memorising every curb again. He straightens when he sees you approaching, that slow grin breaking through the tension.

“Coffee delivery” you say, holding out the cup “Extra hot, figured you’d need it”

He takes it, fingers brushing yours, lingering just a second too long before he pulls back “Legend, seriously”

“So,” you start, keeping your tone casual “How bad are the nerves on a scale of ‘pre-debut quali’ to ‘Monaco first lap’?”

He exhales a laugh, short and sharp “Somewhere in between. It’s the home thing, everyone’s watching, family, mates, the whole country. Don’t want to let them down” He glances sideways at you “or you”

Your breath catches “Me? I’m just here for the data, Piastri. You bin it, I’ll still give you a perfect race report”

“Liar” He nudges your shoulder lightly “You’d give me the disappointed-engineer look. The one where your eyebrows do that tiny thing”

You laugh, “Okay, maybe a little disappointed but only because I know what you’re capable of, just drive like you did in quali, the rest will sort itself”

He nods, but his eyes stay on you “You make it sound easy”

“It’s not, but you’ve got me on the radio”

He chuckles, softer this time “thanks for the text reply earlier. Calmed me down more than the engineers’ pep talk”

“Anytime” You meet his gaze, the air between you humming “Now go warm up”

He smirks “Speak to you on the radio?”

“Always”

The race starts under clearing skies, but the tension never lets up. Oscar launches well, holds P2 behind Lando, pressures him lap after lap. Your radio exchanges are clipped, professional, but laced with that easy rhythm you’ve built over two years.

“Box this lap for mediums” you call around lap 18.

“Copy. Feels good out here. Car’s alive”

The stint rolls on. He’s in the fight for the lead, trading fastest sectors with Lando, the crowd roaring every time he closes on his teammate, then the sky darkens, speck of rain, chaos.

Lap 44: the radio crackles “Wet in sector two, box, box for inters!”

Too late, the call comes as he’s already sliding “Shit spun!” His voice is tight, frustrated “Off at 13, back on now”

Your heart drops. The screens show him beached briefly on the grass, losing massive time. He rejoins down in 13th, the field reshuffled by the sudden shower and incidents behind. From there, it’s damage control, you push him hard “Push now, clean air, fresh inters coming. Target P10 or better. You’ve got the pace”

He fights back, aggressive, precise, clawing through the pack. Late pass on Hamilton at the chicane on the final lap seals it, P9. Two points. You press your radio “P9, Oscar. Good recovery, points at home”

A long pause, his breathing heavy “Yeah, thanks for the calls.” Flat, defeated “See you in the garage”

The line clicks off. You watch on the monitors as the cars slow. Lando pulls into parc fermé, helmet off, arms raised. Oscar’s car rolls in behind, slower, deliberate. He kills the engine, sits there a moment, head bowed, hands still on the wheel. Then he climbs out, a quick wave to the crowd, pulls off his helmet, face blank, sweat-streaked, eyes distant. He walks straight past, head down, shoulders tight, disappearing into the motorhome, toward his driver’s room.

When people start filtering out, engineers to data rigs, strategists to laptops, mechanics to the truck. You linger just long enough to pack your notes, then slip away before anyone notices you're heading toward the motorhome instead of the exit. The hallway is dim, fluorescent strips humming overhead. Most doors are closed, the place feels abandoned. You pause outside his driver's room, plain door, nameplate reading Piastri #81, and knock softly.

No answer. You knock again, quieter. "Oscar? It's me”

His voice comes out muffled “Come in”

You push the door open cautiously. He's there, alone. Showered, hair still damp and curling at the ends, back in team kit, navy McLaren hoodie and joggers. The room is sparse, a table with untouched water bottles, his helmet on a shelf, race suit hanging like a shed skin. He looks up when you step inside. His expression softens, just a fraction, but it's enough to make your chest tighten.

"Hey” he says, voice rough from hours of talking.

"Hey" You close the door behind you. You stay near the door, not moving closer yet “everyone's pretty much gone. Thought maybe you didn't want to be alone with your thoughts right now”

He exhales a short laugh, humorless "perceptive as always”

You hesitate, then cross the small space and sit on the couch next to him, close enough to talk quietly, far enough to pretend this is still professional.

"Media go okay?" you ask.

"Standard stuff. Disappointing but points are points. Learned from it. Look forward to China" He rubs a hand over his face “feels like bullshit when it's home soil and I spun like a rookie”

"You didn't spin like a rookie. Conditions were shit, call came late—"

"I should've read it better" His eyes flick to yours, sharp “should've trusted my gut instead of waiting for the box call”

You lean forward slightly “We all missed it, me included. I was the one on the radio giving the calls"

He shakes his head "I’m not blaming you y/n, I never would”

The silence stretches, not uncomfortable, just...heavy. You glance around the room, anywhere but directly at him for a second “First time I've been in here, actually"

He follows your gaze, then back to you. A small, tired smile tugs at his mouth “Yeah, it’s supposed to be off-limits to engineers. Rules and all that”

"Right, rules" You say it lightly, but the word lands like a weight between you.

His eyes hold yours a beat longer than they should "you could've just texted or waited for tomorrow's flight"

"I know" you shrug, trying for casual “but you looked off. Thought maybe you needed someone who wasn't going to analyse tire deg or strategy calls"

He leans back against the couch, stretching his legs out so his leg almost brushes yours "you always know when I'm off”

"Two years of listening to you breathe on the radio, kind of hard not to notice" you pause "and the text this morning, you don't usually do that"

"Didn't plan to” He looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers like they're still gripping the wheel "Just woke up feeling like the weight of Melbourne was already crushing me. Then you replied and it felt...lighter for a bit”

Your heart does that stupid stutter again "glad I could help, even if it didn't stick"

"It did” He meets your eyes again "you were good out there today, calm, kept me focused even when I was losing it”

"You kept yourself in it. P9 from where you were? That's not nothing”

"Feels like nothing when Lando's up there spraying champagne and I'm explaining to my mum why her son binned it on national TV”

You wince "Ouch"

"Yeah” He rubs the back of his neck "Family's probably waiting outside the motorhome with sympathetic hugs. Haven't had the energy to face them yet”

You nod, understanding more than you let on “Want me to stall them? Tell them you're in a strategy meeting?"

He chuckles, real this time, low and warm “Tempting. But nah, they'll wait" a pause "you don't have to stay, you know. You've got a flight tomorrow too”

"I know” you don't move "but I'm not in a rush”

His gaze softens further. He shifts, turning towards you, elbows back on knees, closer now. The space between you feels electric “You ever get nervous?"

"All the time" you admit it quietly "Especially when it's you out there. I hate when things go wrong and I can't fix it from the wall"

He studies you “you make it sound personal”

"It is" The words slip out before you can catch them. You backtrack quickly "I mean your performance is my performance, team thing"

"Right. Team thing" But his voice is softer, almost teasing, his hand rests on your knee gently, you don’t pull away “Still nice to know someone gives a shit beyond the points”

"Someone does" you hold his gaze "more than you think"

The air thickens, neither of you moves. The room is too quiet, too small, too private. His hoodie sleeve brushes your wrist when he shifts, barely a touch, but it sends a spark up your arm.

He clears his throat first "We should probably...not be in here too long"

"Yeah" You nod, but your voice is quieter "Rules”

"Rules" he echoes.

You both stay seated. After a long moment, he stands slowly and you follow his lead. The room forces proximity, he's right there, close enough you can smell the clean soap from his shower, see the faint red mark on his cheek from the helmet strap.

"Thanks for coming to find me" he says softly "really”

"Anytime” You mean it.

He opens the door for you, hand lingering on the handle. As you step past, your shoulder brushes his chest, just enough to make your breath catch. He doesn't step back. You pause in the doorway, turning slightly “text me when you get to the hotel? Just so I know you're okay”

His smile is small, private "Yeah, I will”

You step into the hallway and the door clicks shut behind you soft, final but the warmth of that almost-touch lingers on your skin long after you've walked away and somewhere behind that closed door, he's probably replaying it too, wondering if "team thing" still covers it.

Flight to China

The team charter lifts off from Melbourne just after midnight, the city lights shrinking beneath like scattered embers. You’re in business class, perk of being senior engineer, with most of the team scattered around the cabin. The flight is long, over ten hours with the headwind, and sleep doesn’t come easy. Jet lag looms, mixed with the lingering ache from Albert Park. You replay the driver’s room moment on loop, the brush of his sleeve, the way he didn’t step back, the door clicking shut like a promise neither of you named. Halfway through, when the cabin lights dim for “night,” you unbuckle and head to the galley for water. He’s there, standing in the narrow space, stretching his arms overhead, hoodie riding up just enough to show a strip of tanned skin above his waistband. You freeze and he notices, drops his arms slowly.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks, voice low to not wake anyone.

“Too much coffee. And...thinking” you grab a bottle from the cart “You?”

“Same. Plus legroom’s rubbish even up here” he leans against the counter, arms crossed. Close enough the air feels warmer “You replaying the spin?”

“Among other things” you meet his eyes “mostly wondering if you’re okay. You’ve been quiet since the debrief yesterday”

He exhales, rubs the back of his neck “Trying not to be the guy who sulks after P9 but yeah, still stings” A pause “but having you check in helped, though. More than the team shrink crap”

You smile despite yourself “glad I rank above the shrink”

“You always have” his tone is light, but his gaze isn’t. It lingers, steady, searching, like he’s memorizing something. The plane dips slightly with turbulence. You steady yourself on the counter, your hand ends up inches from his.

“Better head back” you murmur when your hand brushes his “before someone notices we’re both missing”

“Yeah” but he doesn’t budge, but just places his hand on yours “hey...thanks for not treating me like I’m fragile. Everyone else tiptoes, you just call it like it is”

“That’s the job” You shrug “and maybe I like the real version better than the polished one”

His mouth quirks “dangerous thing to say, engineer”

“Is it?” You tilt your head “You started it with the early morning texts”

“Guilty” He steps back first, barely, breaking the spell “Get some rest. Shanghai’s going to be brutal with the Sprint”

“You too, Oscar” you slip past him, shoulders brushing. The contact sparks, brief but undeniable.

China

Shanghai hits like a wall, humid, chaotic, neon everywhere. The team hotel is a sleek tower near the circuit. You crash for a few hours after arrival, wake up wired at 2am local time, body clock screaming.

Your phone lights up around 2:45.

Oscar: You awake? Jet lag’s winning.

You smile in the dark, thumbs flying.

You: Unfortunately. Staring at the ceiling like it owes me money.

Oscar: Same. Hotel gym’s closed, considered running laps in the hallway but security might tackle me.

You: Heroic but bad optics. Driver found sprinting at 3am, headline writes itself.

Oscar: Fair. What are you doing to kill time?

You: Scrolling bad movies on Netflix. Nothing good. You?

Oscar: Trying not to think about Melbourne, but failing.

You hesitate, thumb hovers.

You: I’ve got snacks. And that terrible action movie queued up. If you can’t sleep...door’s open. No pressure, just company.

Dots.

Oscar: You sure?

You: Yeah. Room 1428

Oscar: On my way.

You set the phone down, pulse roaring. The room suddenly feels too quiet, too small. Why did you do that? You straighten the bed, toss the snack wrappers in the bin, dim the lights a bit more. The movie’s paused on the title screen, some mindless blockbuster with explosions and zero plot. A soft knock comes ten minutes later, you hesitate and then open the door. He’s there, hoodie up, hands in pockets, looking equal parts exhausted and wired. No cap this time, hair messy from trying to sleep.

“Hey” he says quietly, stepping in when you gesture.

“Hey” You close the door behind him “Come on in, snacks are on the desk, pretzels, chocolate, some weird local crisps I grabbed at the airport”

He chuckles softly, shrugging off his hoodie and draping it over the armchair. Underneath, he’s in a plain tee, the kind that clings just enough to remind you he’s an athlete “You weren’t kidding about the snacks. This is basically a mini-pit stop”

“Gotta fuel up for the insomnia battle” You sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing to the armchair across from you “Sit. Movie’s ready if you want, or we can skip in”

He hesitates, but walks to the chair, pulling it a little closer to the bed before dropping into it “Movie sounds good, distract the brain, right?”

“Right” You hit play. The opening credits roll, bass thumping through the TV speakers. Explosions light up the screen, but neither of you really watches. Instead, you pass the pretzels back and forth, talking in low voices.

“So, what’s really keeping you up?” you ask after a few minutes, curling your legs under you “Melbourne still?”

He nods, popping a pretzel into his mouth “Partly. The spin replays like a bad highlight reel but it’s more than that” He pauses, glances at you “and honestly? Wondering how much longer I can pretend everything’s just professional”

Your breath catches “Oscar...”

“I know” He sets the snacks down, leans forward, elbows on knees “We don’t talk about it but it’s there. Has been since that tour in Melbourne”

You swallow, heart pounding “It has, but the rules—”

“Forget the rules for a second” His voice is quiet “Just...please tell me I’m not imagining it. The way you look at me sometimes, this” he gestures to the room.

You meet his eyes, they’re darker than usual “you’re not imagining it”

He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath forever “Good, because I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to stay in line”

“Me too” The words tumble out before you can stop them. He stands slowly, closing the gap. You don’t move, he sits on the edge of the bed now, right next to you, knees touching and the movie drones on, forgotten.

“Then why are we pretending?” he murmurs, hand lifting tentatively to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers trace your jawline, light as a whisper.

Your skin tingles “Because of the rules, and the age gap, team. Everything could blow up”

“I know” his thumb brushes your cheek “But right now? It’s just us, and four years isn’t a lot”

He leans in, slow, giving you time to stop it. His breath fans your lips, eyes searching yours for permission, the pull is magnetic, you tilt your head, closing the distance until your noses brush, almost. Your hand comes up to his chest, firm, stopping him inches away “We can’t”

He freezes, pulls back a fraction “Why?”

“Because if we do, there’s no going back, team rules. I’m your engineer, Oscar. Four years older, we’d lose everything”

“I don’t care about any of that” he says quietly, thumb still brushing your cheek.

You sigh and close your eyes for a split second “you don’t right now, but you will if it ruins everything”

He swallows hard, hand dropping to his side “Yeah, reality check.”

You both sit there, breathing heavy, the almost-kiss hanging like smoke in the air “Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing his face “got carried away”

“Don’t be” You touch his arm lightly “I wanted to, just not like this"

He nods, standing up “You’re right, as always” A small, rueful smile.

You stand too, walking him to the door “Get some sleep, media tomorrow, we need you sharp”

“I’ll try” at the door, he pauses “Off the record? I wouldn’t have regretted it”

“Me neither” you whisper.

He leaves, the door clicks shut. You sink back onto the bed, touching your lips where his almost were.

Qualifying

The garage erupts when the screens flash purple for the final time. 1:30.641. Pole. The mechanics cheer, fists pumping as Oscar climbs out his car. You stay at the pit wall a second longer, staring at the timing data, clean, precise, perfect. Your radio was quiet on that final lap, no calls needed, he knew exactly what to do. When he’s back in the garage, eyes lock across the chaos, his grin widens, real, unguarded, the kind that makes your chest ache. He jogs over.

“Pole,” he says, breathless “Fucking pole”

You smile “I know. I saw. That last sector...insane”

“Thanks to you” His voice drops lower, just for you “The calls, the setup, all of it”

“Team effort” you say automatically. Professional. Safe.

“Was it?” His gaze lingers. Searching. Like he’s replaying that night in his head the same way you are. The almost, the stop, the door closing. He opens his mouth, maybe to say more, but Lando barrels in, slinging an arm around his shoulders, yelling something about “front row lockout vibes.” Oscar laughs, lets himself be pulled away for photos, but he glances back once.

You exhale, turn back to your data. The paddock thins out post-quali, media scrums, strategy meetings, mechanics prepping for tomorrow’s race. You slip away early, needing air, needing distance from the garage where everything feels too close.

Race Day

Race morning in Shanghai is electric. The air hums with anticipation, fans packed into the grandstands, national flags waving, the Shanghai skyline hazy in the distance. You’re at the pit wall early, headset on, data scrolling, but your focus keeps drifting to the garage monitors where Oscar’s in his pre-race routine, suit zipped, chatting quietly with the mechanics.

The radio opens on lap 5, clean, clipped, familiar “How’s the balance?”

“Perfect,” you reply “Front end’s planted. Deg looks good, manage the rears in the low-speed stuff, you’re pulling away”

“Copy. Feels unreal out here” A short breath.

Your chest tightens “This is your race, keep it tidy, just bring it home”

“Will do”

Final lap: the radio crackles again “Last lap, Oscar. P1. Bring it home”

His breathing is steady, focused “Copy"

You smile under the headset, small, hidden “Finish strong”

Checkered flag. McLaren 1-2. The garage explodes, cheers, hugs, mechanics high-fiving. You stay seated a second longer, heart hammering, watching the screens as he slows on the cooldown lap, fist pumping inside the cockpit. He climbs out at parc ferme, helmet off, hair wild, face flushed with triumph. Cameras swarm. Lando’s there first, pulling him into a back-slap hug, then the team.

After the podium celebration, he’s back in the garage and he walks straight to you. No hesitation. He stops in front of you, too close for professional. His chest rises and falls fast, adrenaline, victory, something else. You look around hoping no one is watching and they aren’t.

“You did it,” you say, voice barely above the noise “Maiden pole to win. Incredible”

His eyes lock on yours, intense, unguarded “Couldn’t have without you”

Before you can respond, he steps forward and pulls you into a hug. It’s quick, but it doesn’t feel quick. His arms wrap around you tight, one hand at the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your head. You feel the heat of him through the fireproofs, the rapid thump of his heart against yours, the faint smell of rubber and champagne and him. You hug back, instinctively and for a second, the paddock fades, just the two of you, holding on like the win means more.

“I have to do media” he says, voice rough “But...later?”

You nod. “Later” he smiles, small, private, full of promise, then turns. You watch him go, heart still racing faster than any lap time.

Afterparty

The afterparty is low-key by F1 standards, private room at a sleek Bund club. McLaren booked the place for the team, mechanics in team polos already loosening up, engineers clinking glasses, champagne flows freely, victory bottles, not the cheap stuff.

You arrive later than most, after a quick change into something off-duty, you settle for a black dress, simple, nothing flashy. When you walk in, your eyes find him instantly. Oscar’s at a high-top table near the windows, now dressed in a white button up shirt and jacket, laughing at something a mechanic says. He looks relaxed, finally, hair still shower-damp, cheeks flushed from champagne and the win. You grab a drink from the bar, chat with a few strategists, try to blend in, but your gaze keeps drifting to him. He’s surrounded now, fans who somehow got in, a couple of girls lingering too close. One in particular, tall, confident, laughing too loud at whatever he’s saying, hand brushing his arm. Oscar’s polite, he always is, but you see the shift, smile turning tight, eyes flicking toward the exit like he’s plotting escape. He’s uncomfortable, you know that look. You don’t think, you just move which might be a bad move. Weaving through the crowd, you slide up beside him smoothly, slipping an arm around his waist like it’s the most natural thing.

“Hey, babe” you say, loud enough for the group to hear, voice sweet and casual “Sorry I took so long, got stuck talking strategy with the guys”

The girl pauses mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. Oscar freezes for half a second, then catches on. His arm comes around your shoulders instantly, pulling you closer, relief flickers in his eyes, masked by a grin.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and warm, playing along perfectly “I missed you”

The girl blinks “Oh... you two are...?”

“Together” you finish, smiling brightly “Yeah"

The girl laughs awkwardly, backs off with a “Congrats again on the win!” and drifts away. The group disperses a bit, giving you space. You start to pull away, mission accomplished, but Oscar doesn’t let go. His thumb brushes slow circles against your hip through the fabric of your dress.

“Thanks” he says quietly, mouth close to your ear “she wasn’t getting the message”

“Anytime” You glance up, his face is inches away, eyes dark in the low lights, the win still radiates off him, making him look almost dangerous “You okay?”

“Better now” His gaze drops to your lips, then back up “But...can we get some air?”

You nod “Yeah”

He gently grabs your wrist as he guides you through the crowd, casual enough to look like a couple of friends heading for drinks, but the grip is firm, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You slip past the main bar, through a side door to a small private balcony alcove, tucked away, overlooking the river. The door clicks shut behind you, finally silence, just the river and distant city hum. He turns to face you, hand sliding from your waist to your arm, gentle now, but trembling slightly.

“You didn’t have to do that” he says softly.

You shrug, trying for casual “looked like you needed an out, a cover story, easy work, pretend”

His eyes search yours “Was it pretend?”

Your breath catches and you don’t know what in you made you decide it would be a good time to be honest “No”

He steps closer, slow, and the space between you vanishes, his hand lifts to your cheek, thumb tracing the line of your jaw the same way it did in the hotel room.

“I’ve been thinking about this since Melbourne,” he whispers “since the hotel, every almost”

“Oscar—”

“I know the rules and I know the risks” His voice cracks just a fraction “But right now? I don’t care”

You don’t pull away. He leans in, slow, giving you every chance to stop him but you don’t. Your lips meet, it’s desperate and long-awaited. His mouth crashes into yours like he’s been starving for it, hands sliding into your hair to tilt your head, deepening the kiss instantly. Your fingers fist in his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s no space left. He kisses like he races, precise at first, then all instinct, tasting champagne and victory and two years of tension finally snapping. One of his hands drops to your waist, hauling you flush against him, the other cradles the back of your neck like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You arch into him, nails digging into his shoulders through the fabric. He makes a broken sound against your mouth, kissing harder, slower, deeper, like he’s trying to memorise every second.

When you finally break apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, his breathing is ragged matching yours. He doesn’t let go, just holds you there, thumb stroking your cheek, eyes locked on yours like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“That wasn’t pretend,” he rasps.

You swallow hard, your heart slamming against your chest “No, it wasn’t”

Thats when it happens, reality creeps in, slow and cold. You step back, just a fraction and his hands fall away reluctantly.

“But...we can’t” you say quietly “Not here and not like this, team’s inside”

He nods, slow but doesn’t argue “I know”

You force a small smile “Cover story worked, though, she’s gone. You’re safe”

He exhales a laugh, humourless, rough “Yeah, safe”

You both stand there a moment longer, wind off the river tugging at your dress. The kiss still burns on your lips, your skin tingling where he touched you.

“Back inside?” you ask.

He nods “Yeah, before someone notices we’re missing”

You turn toward the door first. He follows. Inside, the party carries on, laughter, clinking glasses, no one the wiser, but everything’s changed and you both know it. You suddenly aren’t in the mood for partying so you get an uber back to the hotel, texting Max on your way.

You: you up? I really need a friend right now

You get a reply instantly.

Max: always, room 1873, I’ve ordered room service, cake is on the way 🍰

To be continued…

[livinginastory]

All To Myself - O.Piastri ✨

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: Smut, established relationship. Authors Note: Its been a while since I've written smut, so sorry if it's not any good! I'll go hide now 🫣 Hope you enjoy 🤭 also, requests are open ☺️

The hotel suite in Abu Dhabi feels like a world apart from the chaos of the F1 paddock. It’s Valentine’s Day, and after a gruelling pre-season test wrapped early in Bahrain a few days ago, Oscar finally slipped away, no debriefs, no sponsor dinners, just the quiet promise of an entire night with no interruptions and flew us to Abu Dhabi. The harbour glitters far below through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but I’ve already drawn the heavy blackout curtains, leaving only the soft amber glow of a single bedside lamp.

Oscar stands by the bed in those dark jeans that have been driving me insane all evening at dinner, fitted just right, hugging his thighs and sitting low enough to show the sharp cut of his hips when he moves. He unzips his jacket, revealing the plain white shirt underneath, clinging to his chest. He looks tired in the best way, hair slightly messy from running his hands through it during strategy talks, eyes heavy-lidded but fixed on me with that quiet intensity he saves for when the cameras are gone.

I cross the room slowly, feeling the heat already building low in my belly "You’ve been everyone’s all week" I murmur, stopping close enough that my fingers can play with the buttons on his shirt "now I want you all to myself"

His lips curve, just a hint of that rare, devastating smirk "Greedy tonight?"

"Always when it comes to you"

He doesn’t argue. Instead, his hands find my waist, thumbs sliding under the hem of my silk slip dress, stroking bare skin. The touch is light at first, teasing, but it sends a shiver racing up my spine. I push the jacket off his shoulders and it drops to the floor with a soft thud. My palms glide up his arms, feeling the lean muscle under the material earned from years in the cockpit, then over his shoulders to the nape of his neck. His skin is warm, still carrying the faint scent of race-suit leather and his cologne. I tug him down for a kiss, slow, deep, claiming. His mouth opens under mine immediately, tongue sliding against mine in that unhurried way he has, like he’s memorising every second. One hand fists in my hair, tilting my head so he can kiss me harder, deeper, while the other slips lower, cupping my ass through the thin fabric and pulling me flush against him. I can feel how hard he already is, pressing insistently against my stomach through his jeans.

A low groan rumbles in his throat when I rock my hips forward, grinding just enough to make him tense "Fuck, Y/N…"

I smile against his lips "I think these jeans need to go" my fingers trace the waistband, dipping just inside to feel the heat of his skin "they’ve been holding you all night. I want them gone"

He lets out a quiet laugh, breathless, then steps back just enough to pop the button and drag the zipper down. The sound is obscene in the quiet room, he shoves the denim past his hips, kicking them aside along with his boxers in one fluid motion. He’s bare now, thick and heavy between his legs, flushed dark at the tip and my mouth waters. Before I can drop to my knees like I want to, he catches my wrists gently but firmly "not yet" his voice is rougher now, edged with want "I need to feel you first"

He walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed. I sit, then scoot up as he follows, crawling over me like a predator who’s finally caught what he’s been stalking. The lamp casts long shadows across the wall, our silhouettes merging, stretching, moving together. His mouth finds my throat, sucking a mark just below my pulse point while his hands shove the straps of my dress down my arms. The silk pools at my waist, exposing my breasts to the cool air.

Oscar’s gaze darkens as he looks down at me “God, you’re beautiful” he lowers his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, hot, wet suction that makes me arch off the bed with a gasp. His tongue circles slowly, teasing, then flicks just right until I’m whimpering, fingers twisting in his hair. The other hand slides between my thighs, pushing the dress higher, no panties...his discovery earns a choked sound from him against my skin “you planned this”

"Maybe" I spread my legs wider, inviting. His fingers glide through my slick folds, circling my clit with patience before dipping lower, pressing one long finger inside me, then two. He curls them, stroking that spot that makes my toes curl.

"Oscar—"

He kisses me again to swallow the moan, pumping slowly while his thumb works my clit in tight circles. I’m soaked, the wet sounds filling the room, obscene and perfect. My hips buck, chasing more, but he pins me down with his weight, controlling the pace.

"I want to feel you come like this first" he murmurs against my lips "then I’ll fuck you properly" The words alone nearly tip me over. He adds a third finger, stretching me, thrusting deeper while his mouth moves to my other breast, sucking hard. The coil in my belly tightens unbearably, I clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in as pleasure crashes through me, sharp, blinding. I cry out his name, clenching around his fingers as waves ripple through my body. He doesn’t stop until I’m trembling, oversensitive and limp. Only then does he pull his hand free, licking his fingers clean while holding my gaze, the sight makes fresh heat pool between my legs.

I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his cock, hot, velvet-hard, pulsing in my grip. He hisses, hips jerking forward instinctively. I stroke him slowly, thumb swiping over the leaking tip, spreading the wetness.

"Inside me" I whisper "Now" he doesn’t need telling twice. He removes his shirt as he settles between my thighs, lining himself at my entrance. The first slow push has us both groaning, me at the stretch, him at the tight heat. He sinks in inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt, hips flush against mine. For a moment we just breathe together, foreheads pressed, bodies locked. Then he starts to move, long, deep rolls that hit every sensitive spot inside me. My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him harder, deeper. The bed creaks softly under us, shadows dance wildly on the wall, his broad back, my arched form, the rhythm of our bodies. His hand slips between us again, fingers finding my clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.

"Look at me" he rasps when my eyes flutter closed.

I force them open, meeting his gaze, dark, possessive, completely undone "You’re mine" he manages between gasps "All mine"

His rhythm falters for a second, hips snapping harder "yours” I agree, voice wrecked "always yours"

I come with a broken cry, pulsing around him, nails raking down his back. He follows seconds later, thrusting deep once, twice, then burying himself as far as he can, spilling inside me with a low, guttural moan. His whole body shudders, face pressed to my neck as he rides it out. We stay like that for what feels like forever, sweaty, tangled, breathing hard. He eventually rolls to the side, pulling me with him so I’m draped across his chest, his fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare back while my hair spills over his shoulder.

"Still want me all to yourself?" he murmurs, lips brushing my temple.

I smile into his skin, already feeling him start to harden again against my thigh "Greedy, remember?"

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through me. His hand slides down to cup my ass, squeezing possessively "Good...because I’m not done with you yet"

The night is young, the door is locked, and the rest of the world can wait.

Taglist:

@neverinadream

[livinginastory]

Happy New Year - J.Hughes ✨

Pairing: Jack Hughes x Y/N

Warnings: a little angst, a little fluff

Word Count: 6k+

Authors Note: this is my first Jack Hughes fic, it’s been in the vault for ages and I finally finished it! Felt fitting to have a little Christmas/new year fic as my final fic of the year! Let me know what you think 🫣 requests are open, but might take time cos life with 3 month old twins is busy! 😅 feedback is appreciated!

I know the exact second Jack Hughes is about to walk through the front door.

It’s not the sound of his car, half the time he borrows Luke’s anyway, but it’s the shift in the air. The house changes. It always has, like it knows him.

I’m sitting cross-legged on the living room floor of my parents’ house, back against the couch, pretending to read while my mom and dad argue quietly in the kitchen. They think I can’t hear it, they’re wrong. I always know when they’re fighting, and Jack knows it too. He’s known since we were kids, when he’d show up with a hockey stick and an excuse to steal me away before voices got sharp.

The door opens, right on time.

“Y/N?” Jack calls, already halfway inside like this place belongs to him.

“It’s called knocking,” I say, not looking up.

He laughs, it’s the same as his mom’s laugh, warm and unfiltered, and drops his keys in the bowl by the door “your mom said I don’t have to”

I finally glance up, and there he is. Same boy I’ve known forever, just taller, broader, famous in ways I still can’t fully wrap my head around. His hair is messier than usual, like he’s been running his hands through it all day. His eyes, evergreen, always changing, always familiar, flick over me, quick and assessing.

“You okay?” he asks. There it is. The thing he’s always been able to do…read me without asking.

“I’m fine”

He raises an eyebrow at that answer.

I sigh “I’m fine-ish”

He nods, satisfied, and flops down next to me like this is still 2013 and we’re twelve years old and nothing complicated exists yet. His knee bumps mine, casual, unthinking. It still sends a spark up my leg, traitorous and familiar all at once.

“So,” he says, stretching the word out “you busy?”

I close my book “Depends. Are you about to ask me to help you avoid going home?”

“Wow,” he grins “you really do know me”

I’ve always known him. I know when his birthday is without checking my phone. I know Quinn’s dramatic opinions on every girl Jack’s ever dated. I know which jokes will make him laugh when he’s exhausted and which silences mean something’s wrong. I know when he’s lying, he smiles too easily, like he’s trying to convince himself. I also know he has a girlfriend, which is why I don’t say yes right away.

“Isn’t your girlfriend in town?” I ask carefully.

The smile falters, just a fraction. Most people wouldn’t catch it but I do.

“Yeah” he says “she’s… yeah, she’s around”

Around but not here and not with him.

“Then shouldn’t you be with her?” I ask, keeping my voice light, casual, like it doesn’t matter.

Jack shrugs, leaning back on his hands “she’s out with friends”

“And you’re…here?”

“With you” he says, like it’s obvious, like it’s always been obvious and my chest tightens.

Every time I try to fall for somebody else, I end up right back here. On the floor, next to Jack, looking just over the invisible fence between us and wondering if today’s the day he finally notices what’s been standing in front of him his whole life.

“Y/N,” he says softly.

I look at him. His eyes are darker now, thoughtful and serious “you know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

I swallow “I know”

Because that’s the thing about Jack Hughes, he knows everything about me too. He knows when I’m mad I can’t hide it. Knows when I’m spiralling because I get too quiet or too loud. Knows my parents’ fights, my bad habits, my soft spots. He’s seen every version of me, from scraped knees to broken hearts. And still, somehow, he doesn’t see this.

We sit there for a while, not talking, the way only people who’ve grown up together can. His shoulder presses into mine. Comfortable, familiar but dangerous.

“You wanna go for a drive?” he asks eventually.

“Where?”

He grins, that boyish grin I fell for before I knew what falling was “anywhere”

I hesitate. Just for a second and then I nod, because the truth is, I’ve always been his. I’m the girl next door and maybe, just maybe, one day he’ll finally notice.

•

The car smells like Jack. Clean laundry, winter air, and something faintly sweet I can’t identify. I’ve sat in this passenger seat a thousand times, feet on the dash when we were younger, arguing over playlists, stealing fries from his cup holder. Tonight, I keep my hands folded in my lap like this is new territory.

It’s not, but it feels like it might be.

Jack drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The streetlights flash over his face, lighting him up in pieces, jaw, cheekbones, eyes focused straight ahead. He’s quieter than usual.

“So,” I say, because silence has always made me nervous “how’s New Jersey?”

He hums “Cold, loud and busy”

“Different”

“Yeah,” he agrees “different”

We stop at a red light. He glances at me, quick, like he’s checking something. Like he’s making sure I’m still here.

“You’ve been home a lot lately” he says “didn’t you say you were thinking about moving?”

I shrug “I was”

“What changed?”

You.

Nothing.

Everything.

“I don’t know,” I say instead “this place still feels like… home.”

Jack smiles at that, a real one this time “Yeah, it does”

The light turns green. He drives on. I think about how many versions of us exist in my head. Us at eight years old, sitting on opposite sides of the fence between our houses, passing snacks back and forth like contraband. Us at thirteen, when his parents fought and he slept on my bedroom floor because neither of us wanted to be alone. Us at seventeen, when he kissed a girl at a party and came to me afterward, restless and unsure, asking why it didn’t feel like he thought it would.

“Jack” I say, then stop.

He looks over immediately “Yeah?”

I shake my head “just—are you happy?”

The question hangs between us, heavier than it should be. He exhales through his nose “that’s a loaded question”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s okay,” he cuts in gently “I just…I don’t know. Hockey’s good, life’s good, I should be, right?”

Should be

“And your girlfriend?” I ask, hating myself for it.

His jaw tightens, just a little “She’s great,” he says automatically then pauses “We’re…figuring stuff out”

I nod, staring out the window. The houses blur together, all different, all the same.

“I know Quinn doesn’t like her” I say before I can stop myself.

Jack snorts “he doesn’t like anyone I bring home”

“I know,” I say “but he really doesn’t like her”

He laughs, shaking his head “You’re unbelievable”

I smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. That’s the problem. I know too much. I know him too well. I know when he’s lying because he laughs like that, too quick, too loud. I know when something’s wrong because he fills the space instead of letting silence sit.

He pulls over without warning, parking near the old park down the street from our houses. The one with the busted swing and the faded paint. We sit there, engine idling.

“You remember,” he says suddenly, “when we used to sneak out here at night?”

“Yeah,” I say “you swore it was haunted” I tease.

“I was eight!”

“And dramatic”

He grins “Still am” The smile fades as quickly as it comes.

“Y/N,” he says quietly “can I ask you something?”

My heart stutters “sure”

“Why do you never date anyone for very long?”

The question feels like a spotlight.

“I just haven’t met the right person” I say carefully.

He nods, but his eyes stay on me, searching, like he knows there’s more.

“I always thought” he says slowly “that whoever you end up with is gonna have to be someone who already knows you, like really knows you”

I laugh softly “Good luck to them”

His gaze flicks to my mouth, then away “yeah” he murmurs “lucky guy”

Something inside me twists. I don’t want to force it. Don’t want to look desperate. Don’t want to be the girl who ruins things just because she’s tired of standing on the sidelines but sometimes I wonder what it would take. Would he have to catch me in the window changing? Would I have to spell it out? Would I have to say I’ve always been yours out loud for him to finally hear it?

Jack clears his throat “You okay? You got quiet”

I look at him, really look at him. The boy who knows my tells. The man who still doesn’t see the whole picture “I’m okay” I say “I just…throw riots sometimes in my head”

He smiles softly “yeah, I know”

And the worst part? He does.

•

The Hughes’ house at Christmas is chaos in the best way. There are lights everywhere, wrapped around banisters, lining doorframes, blinking in the windows like the house itself is breathing. Music hums low in the background, something old and cozy, and the kitchen smells like sugar cookies and whatever Ellen Hughes has had in the oven all day.

This place has always felt like home, which is why it hurts a little more tonight. I spot Jack the second I walk in. He’s across the room, unmistakable, dressed in a dark sweater I’ve definitely seen before, because I helped him pick it out. His arm is slung loosely around his girlfriend’s shoulders, and she’s laughing at something he says, head tilted up toward him like she’s earned that spot.

My chest tightens “Y/N!” Luke’s voice cuts through my spiral, and suddenly he’s right in front of me, grinning like Christmas came early “you made it”

“Like I’d miss this” I say, smiling back.

Luke pulls me into a hug, easy and familiar. He’s always been like a little brother to me, annoying, sweet, protective in his own way. He spins me once, dramatic as ever.

“You look nice” he says “Jack’s gonna—”

He stops himself. I raise an eyebrow “Jack’s gonna what?”

Luke clears his throat “Nothing, ignore me”

Too late. We drift toward the kitchen, talking over each other like we always do. Luke steals cookies off the tray, I swat his hand away, he retaliates by stealing my drink and declaring it “better now that it’s his” Normal. Easy. Safe.

I don’t notice Jack watching until I feel it. That prickle between my shoulder blades. The sense of being seen. I glance up, and there he is, eyes locked on us from across the room. His jaw is tight, his arm is still around his girlfriend, but his attention is very much not on her. Something flickers in his expression.

Good.

Then I hate myself for thinking it.

“Come on” Luke says, tugging my wrist lightly “you promised you’d help me beat Quinn at that stupid card game”

“I promised no such thing” I gasp, laughing lightly.

“You absolutely did”

He pulls me toward the living room, laughing, and I don’t resist. I’m laughing too and for a moment, I forget about the knot in my chest, forget about Jack’s girlfriend, forget about everything except the fact that this has always been my place.

That’s when I hear it.

“Luke.”

Jack’s voice. Sharp. Too sharp, making us both turn. Jack stands a few feet away, his girlfriend beside him, brows drawn together like she already knows something’s wrong but doesn’t know what to call it yet.

“What?” Luke asks “we’re busy”

Jack’s eyes flick to where Luke’s hand is still looped around my wrist.

“Do you need to be holding her like that?”

Luke blinks “dude, what?”

I gently pull my hand back, heat crawling up my neck. “it’s fine, Jack”

His eyes snap to mine “it doesn’t look fine” he says.

The room feels quieter. Or maybe it’s just me. His girlfriend shifts beside him “Jack,” she says softly, “what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer her. He’s still looking at me, like he’s trying to read something he’s suddenly afraid he’s missed.

Luke lets out a short laugh “Relax, she’s basically family”

That’s when Jack finally looks at his girlfriend and something breaks.

“I need some air,” she says, her voice tight. She steps away from him, brushing past us without another word. Jack swears under his breath.

Luke looks between us, realisation dawning “Oh,” he says. “Ohhh. That’s, yeah, I’m gonna go find Quinn”

He disappears before either of us can stop him. Now it’s just me and Jack. Christmas lights blinking. Music humming. The house that has always known us holding its breath.

“What was that?” I ask quietly.

Jack runs a hand through his hair, restless “I don’t know”

“You don’t know why you snapped at Luke when he did nothing wrong?”

He exhales sharply “I don’t know why but him touching you bothered me”

The honesty knocks the air out of my lungs.

“Jack” I say carefully “Luke and I—”

“I know,” he interrupts “I know it’s nothing”

“Do you?” I ask “because it didn’t sound like it”

He looks at me then, really looks at me. His eyes are darker, stormy, searching for answers he’s not ready to hear “I don’t like the idea of someone else—” He stops himself, jaw tightening “forget it”

“No” I say softly “finish it”

He doesn’t. Instead, he laughs under his breath, bitter. “God, I’m such an idiot”

I take a step closer before I can talk myself out of it “Jack…you have a girlfriend”

“I know,” he says immediately. Too immediately.

“And you don’t get to look at me like that,” I continue, my voice shaking just a little “if you’re choosing her”

He swallows “I didn’t choose her, not exactly”

The words hang between us, dangerous and electric.

“Then why does it feel like you’re always choosing everyone else but me?” I whisper.

His breath catches. For a second, just one, I think he might say it. Whatever it is. The thing we’ve been dancing around for half our lives but instead, his girlfriend reappears at the edge of the room, eyes glassy but composed.

“Jack,” she says “can we talk?”

He looks at her, then at me and the choice he doesn’t make tells me everything.

“Yeah,” he says quietly “ yeah, I’m coming”

He hesitates, just long enough to hurt.

“I’ll see you later” he adds.

I nod, even though my chest feels like it’s splitting open “yeah,” I say “Merry Christmas”

He watches me for another heartbeat, like he wants to memorise my face then he turns away and I’m left standing in the house that feels like home, wondering how something so familiar can suddenly feel so far away.

•

I don’t mean to be alone with her, it just…happens. The house has thinned out a little, people drifting toward the backyard fire-pit, others packed into the living room around a too-loud game. I’m in the hallway near the bathroom, staring at a framed photo of Jack and his brothers as kids, when I hear my name.

“Y/N?”

I turn. She’s standing there, hands folded in front of her like she’s trying very hard to stay calm. Up close, she looks tired, not angry, not dramatic. Just…worn.

“Hi,” I say “are you okay?”

She lets out a short breath “can we talk?”

My stomach drops “sure” I say, even though every instinct in my body is telling me to run.

She gestures toward the empty guest room, and we step inside. The door stays open and somehow that makes it worse.

“I’m not trying to start anything,” she says immediately “I just need to understand something”

I nod “okay”

Her eyes flick over my face, searching.

“How long?” she asks.

I blink “how long…what?”

She swallows “how long have you been in love with him?”

The question hits like a slap.

“I—” My voice catches. I clear my throat “I’m not”

She studies me for a long moment “Please don’t lie to me,” she says quietly “I can tell when people are lying. Jack smiles when he does, you don’t”

That almost breaks me “I would never do anything with him,” I say, too fast “I haven’t and I wouldn’t, he’s your boyfriend”

She nods “I know that, this isn’t about cheating”

“Then what is it about?” I ask.

Her shoulders slump just a little “It’s about the fact that I’ve been dating him for a year, and I still feel like I’m standing on the outside of something that’s already full”

Guilt curls in my chest, heavy and sharp.

“You know his family,” she continues “you know his moods, you know when something’s wrong before he says a word. Tonight, when he got upset…” She shakes her head “that wasn’t about Luke”

I don’t answer.

She steps closer, voice lowering “He looks at you like you’re the answer to a question he’s afraid to ask”

My throat burns.

“I didn’t ask for that” I whisper.

“I know” she says softly “that’s the worst part”

Silence stretches between us.

“I’ve tried,” she says after a moment “I really have. I told myself I was being insecure. That everyone has a girl best friend from home. But then I watched him tonight. Watched his entire mood change because of you, I can’t be with someone who’s in love with someone else” she laughs weakly “do you know how hard it is to compete with someone who feels like home?”

I shake my head “I’m not competing”

She meets my eyes “you don’t have to”

That lands harder than anything else.

“I love him,” she says “but I think he’s been loving you longer than he knows”

Tears sting my eyes, and I hate that I’m crying in front of her. Hate that this hurts her. Hate that it hurts me.

“I would step back if I could” I say “If that would fix it”

She gives a sad smile “that’s the thing, I don’t think it would”

Footsteps sound in the hall. Voices. The party creeping back in.

She straightens, wiping under her eyes “I’m not mad at you,” she says “I just needed to say it out loud, to someone who would understand.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper but it feels insufficient.

She nods “me too” before she leaves, she pauses at the door “for what it’s worth,” she says gently “if he doesn’t figure this out soon, he’s going to lose more than one of us”

Then she’s gone.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, heart pounding, hands shaking. I’ve always known Jack better than anyone else but tonight, I wonder if knowing him is the very thing that’s going to cost me everything.

I don’t realise Jack is in the hallway, not at first.

I’m still sitting on the edge of the guest bed, staring at my hands like they might explain how I ended up here, how loving someone quietly for half your life can feel louder than shouting when it finally starts to spill. The party noise swells again outside the door, laughter, music, someone yelling about dessert.

“I didn’t know she was still in there”

Jack’s voice comes through the noise making my heart stutter.

“She needed a minute” his girlfriend says. Her voice is steadier now, too steady “Jack…we need to talk”

I freeze, I shouldn’t listen to this, I should walk out.

“I know,” he says “I was gonna—”

“No,” she interrupts gently “You weren’t”

Silence.

“I saw you,” she continues “Tonight, with her. And before you say it, no, I don’t think you cheated, but I do think you’re lying to yourself”

Jack exhales sharply “She’s my best friend”

“I know,” she says “and that’s the problem”

My chest tightens. I shouldn’t be listening but I can’t move.

“You don’t look at me the way you look at her” she says “you never have. I kept waiting for it to change”

Jack doesn’t respond.

“Do you love her?” she asks.

The pause is too long.

“I—” Jack starts.

“You don’t have to say it,” she says softly “I can hear it in the silence”

I press a hand to my mouth.

“I love you,” she continues, voice breaking just a little now “but I’m not going to be the person who stands between you and the girl who already has your heart”

Jack swears under his breath “this isn’t fair”

She lets out a sad laugh “You grew up with her, your family loves her, you light up when she walks into a room. What part of that is fair?”

Another pause.

“I think,” she says quietly, “that you’ve always been hers. You just didn’t know it yet”

That’s when the door opens. I look up just in time to see her and Jack standing there, frozen, eyes wide and haunted.

Jack doesn’t move for a long moment, then he steps into the room.

“You heard that” he says.

“Yeah” I reply softly.

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once like a caged animal before stopping in front of me “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I laugh, breathless and shaky “Tell you what, Jack?”

“That you—” He stops, swallows “that I mattered like that”

“You’ve always mattered,” I say “You just never asked the right questions”

His eyes search my face, desperate now “I didn’t know”

“I know,” I whisper “That’s what hurts”

“I didn’t choose her,” he says again, like if he says it enough it might fix something.

“But you didn’t choose me either” I say. “not when it counted”

The words land.

“I needed you to notice,” I continue, standing now, voice trembling but steady. “not when you’re jealous, not when you’re losing something. I needed you to notice when choosing me was still simple”

He steps closer “I see you now”

I shake my head “that’s the problem. It’s too late for ‘now’”

His eyes shine, and it guts me that I’ve never seen him like this before. Like he’s realising the cost of something he’s taken for granted his whole life.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says.

I smile sadly “Then you should’ve stopped me from being the girl next door”

Silence stretches between us—heavy, irreversible.

“I think,” I say finally “I need space. Just for a little while”

He nods slowly, like the words physically hurt “okay”

I move past him, pausing at the door.

“Jack?” I say.

He looks up.

“I’ve always been yours,” I tell him gently “but that doesn’t mean I’m waiting forever”

Then I walk out into the cold night air and into a future that finally belongs to me. And behind me, Jack Hughes stands in the house that feels like home, realising too late that home is something you choose, every day.

Quinn finds me on the back steps. I should’ve known it would be him. If anyone in that family knows how to read a room without interrupting it, it’s Quinn Hughes. He doesn’t ask if he can sit, he just does, lowering himself onto the cold wooden step beside me like he’s done it a hundred times before. We stare out at the snow-dusted yard in silence.

“You okay?” he asks eventually.

I laugh softly “you ask that like you don’t already know the answer”

He hums “that’s fair”

Another pause. The kind that doesn’t feel awkward but the kind that feels earned.

“You know” Quinn says, hands clasped loosely between his knees “Jack’s always been bad at naming things and acknowledging his feelings”

I glance at him and offer an unamused laugh “that’s one way to put it”

“He feels first” Quinn continues “then he panics and then he pretends he doesn’t feel at all, it’s easier for him that way, he’s scared of getting hurt”

That sounds right.

“I told him once” Quinn adds “that the worst thing he could do was assume the people who love him would always stay just because they always had”

My throat tightens “I don’t want to be the reason he lost someone” I say quietly.

Quinn turns to me then, expression gentle but firm, the kind of expression an older brother would give “you’re not”

“You don’t know that”

“I do” he says “because if it wasn’t you, it would’ve been something else. A different wake-up call. You’re just the one who mattered enough to finally make him listen”

I pull my knees closer to my chest “I asked for space”

“And you deserve it”

“I meant it,” I say “I can’t be someone’s almost-choice anymore”

Quinn nods “Good”

I blink “Good?”

He smiles faintly “Y/N, you’ve been family since we were kids. I’ve watched you put Jack first in a thousand quiet ways he never noticed. You don’t owe him your patience anymore”

I swallow hard “then why does this still feel like I’m breaking something?”

“Because,” Quinn says softly “you’re not breaking it. You’re refusing to hold it together by yourself”

The back door creaks open behind us.

Jack.

I don’t turn around.

“Hey,” Quinn says easily, standing, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder “I’m gonna go check on Luke before he burns something”

He pauses, then looks at Jack “Don’t screw this up”

And just like that, we’re alone. The cold bites at my fingers, but I don’t move. I don’t give Jack the first word. If he’s going to fight for me, he’s going to do it without being invited.

“I ended things” he says finally.

I close my eyes.

“Tonight” he adds “For real. No maybes. No dragging it out”

I breathe out slowly “Okay”

“That’s not all,” he says quickly, like he’s afraid I’ll stop him “I talked to Quinn. And Luke and, God, I feel like an idiot for needing everyone else to say it before I could hear it”

I turn to face him now. He looks wrecked. Honest. Terrified.

“I’ve been choosing you my whole life” he says “I just didn’t know that choosing nothing else was still a choice”

My heart stutters.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me” he continues “Or trust this. Or even say yes. But I can’t stand the idea of not fighting anymore”

I stand. Jack steps closer immediately, hands fisting at his sides like it’s taking everything in him not to touch me.

“I don’t want you because you’re familiar” he says “Or because you feel like home. I shouldn’t want you, you’re my best friend, it’s so cliché and what happens if it doesn’t work but I do want you, I want you because when you walked away, it felt like I lost my compass”

Tears sting my eyes “Jack”

“I know your parents’ fights don’t scare you as much as silence does” he says “I know when you’re mad you go quiet, and when you’re hurt you joke. I know you throw riots in your head when you don’t know how to ask for help”

My breath catches.

“I know you” he finishes “and I want to keep knowing you. Out loud. On purpose.”

The world feels very still.

“You hurt me” I say honestly.

“I know,” he says “And I’ll spend as long as it takes proving I won’t again”

I search his face for hesitation. There isn’t any.

“For once,” I whisper “I need you to choose me even if I walk away again”

He nods immediately “Then I’ll follow”

That’s what does it. Not the words. Not the history. Not the love that’s always been there. The certainty.

I step into him. Jack exhales like he’s been holding his breath his entire life as his arms come around me, careful, reverent, like he’s afraid I might disappear if he holds too tight.

“so, I’m not the girl next door anymore?” I murmur into his chest.

He presses his forehead to mine “No,” he says softly. “You’re the one I’m choosing.”

And for the first time in half my life, I believe him.

Jack doesn’t kiss me right away. That’s how I know it matters. We’re still standing on the back steps, his arms loose around me, like he’s giving me space even now, like he understands that choosing me also means letting me choose him back. His thumb brushes my wrist, tentative, grounding.

“Can I?” he asks quietly.

The question nearly breaks me, but I nod. He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away. I don’t. When his lips meet mine, it’s soft. Unrushed. Like he’s been practicing this moment in his head for years and doesn’t want to get it wrong. His hand comes up to my cheek, warm against the cold, and something in my chest finally, finally settles.

It doesn’t feel new. It feels inevitable. I kiss him back, a little surer now, and he exhales into the space between us like he’s been waiting for this breath his whole life. The kiss deepens, not desperate, not hurried, just honest. Present. Real.

When we pull back, our foreheads rest together.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago”

“Maybe,” I say “But I needed you to do it now”

His smile is slow, reverent “I’m not going anywhere”

The back door swings open.

“OH MY GOD”

We jump apart like teenagers caught doing something illegal.

Luke stands in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth hanging open like he’s just witnessed a historical event.

“You KISSED,” he shouts “Quinn. QUINN. IT HAPPENED.”

“I hate you” Jack groans, rubbing his face.

Quinn appears behind Luke, calm as ever, until his eyes land on the two of us standing too close, smiling too much.

“Well,” he says mildly “took you long enough”

Luke spins back to me “I knew it. I’ve been saying this for years”

“You’ve also been wrong about literally everything else” Jack mutters.

Luke gasps “That hurts coming from a man who just realised he was in love with the girl next door after twenty odd years”

I can’t stop smiling.

Quinn steps outside, pulling the door closed behind him. “So,” he says, folding his arms “We good?”

Jack looks at me. I squeeze his hand “Yeah”

Quinn nods once, satisfied “Good, because I refuse to mediate another emotional disaster in this family”

Luke grins “Do I get to say ‘I told you so’?”

“No” Jack and Quinn say in unison.

Luke ignores them “I’m gonna say it anyway”

Jack turns to me, eyes soft despite the chaos “You okay with…all this?”

I glance between the brothers, the house glowing behind us, the boy I’ve loved for half my life standing right in front of me, choosing me out loud.

“I think,” I say “I’ve waited long enough”

Jack smiles, real, unguarded, and laces his fingers through mine.

“Good,” Luke says “because mom’s gonna cry about this”

Quinn sighs “she already knows”

Jack groans “of course she does”

And for the first time, instead of wondering if I belong here, I know I do.

•

Jack Hughes falls in love like he’s afraid time might run out.

I realise this on New Year’s Eve, when my phone buzzes at 11:07 p.m. with a text that simply says:

Jack: Where are you?

I smile before I even answer.

Me: At home. Why?

Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.

Jack: Don’t move.

Of course I don’t. There’s a knock on the door twenty minutes later, impatient, familiar, unmistakably Jack. I open it to find him standing there in a black coat, hair slightly damp from snow, cheeks flushed like he ran instead of drove.

“You’re insane” I say.

“Probably,” he agrees “but it’s New Year’s, and I didn’t want to start it without you”

My heart stutters “Jack, it’s almost midnight”

“I know,” he says softly “that’s kind of the point”

I grab my coat and we’re out the door before I can overthink it, the quiet street glowing with leftover Christmas lights and frost-dusted sidewalks. Somewhere down the block, fireworks crack early, impatient. We end up at the old park. Of course we do. The same one we snuck into as kids. The same broken swing still creaks in the cold wind. Jack pulls a thermos from his coat pocket like he’s been planning this for days.

“Is that…?” I ask.

“Champagne” he says proudly “Luke tried to steal it, Quinn told him to grow up”

I laugh, breath fogging in the air “You really thought this through”

He shrugs “I didn’t want this year to end without doing things right”

We sit on the hood of his car, shoulders pressed together. My phone ticks down the minutes, the seconds, the world holding its breath.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

“Always”

“I used to hate New Year’s,” he admits “It felt like pressure. Like I was supposed to be someone different by midnight”

“And now?”

“And now I just want to be honest,” he says “With you. With myself”

I turn to face him. “Okay”

“I’m not good at small gestures,” he continues “I do everything all-in or not at all and I know I messed up before. I know I took too long”

I lace my fingers through his glove-covered ones.

“But I want this year, and every year after, to be intentional,” he says. “No guessing, no almosts, no assuming you’ll wait”

My throat tightens “Jack…”

The countdown starts somewhere nearby. Voices echo through the cold.

Ten.

He shifts closer.

Nine.

“I don’t just want you,” he says “I choose you”

Eight.

“Out loud,” I whisper.

He smiles “On purpose”

Seven. Six.

My heart pounds.

Five.

He cups my face gently, like he’s still making sure I’m real.

Four.

“Can I?” he asks.

I nod.

Three. Two.

His lips meet mine right as the world erupts, fireworks cracking overhead, cheers ringing out across the neighbourhood. The kiss is warm and sure and full of everything we didn’t say for years.

One.

Happy New Year.

When we pull back, foreheads pressed together, Jack laughs softly “Wow”

“Yeah,” I breathe.

“I’m never starting a year without you again” he says.

I smile “Careful. That sounds like a promise”

“Good,” he replies “I keep those now”

“HEY!”

Luke’s voice cuts through the night.

We turn to see Luke and Quinn standing halfway down the block, champagne bottle in Luke’s hand, Quinn already shaking his head.

“You couldn’t wait twenty more seconds?” Luke yells. “I missed the kiss”

Quinn sighs, looking at us “I told you this would happen”

Jack groans “Can you not make this weird?”

Luke grins “Oh, I’m absolutely making this weird. Its romantic”

Quinn looks at us, then nods once “Feels right”

Jack squeezes my hand, unbothered now. Certain. And as fireworks fade and a new year stretches open in front of us, I realise something important: For the first time, loving Jack Hughes doesn’t feel like waiting.

It feels like beginning.

Taglist:

@neverinadream

[livinginastory]

Almost Something • Evan Buckley (9-1-1)

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: angst? Cheating, suggestive content slightly, workplace romance, I think that’s all.

Authors note: hi! This is my first fic for 911 and Buck, I’m really nervous about posting this but I hope you all like it! 😅🫶🏻 feedback is appreciated 🥹

I swear, Evan Buckley has the emotional range of a Pixar movie, equal parts chaos and comfort. He was stretched out on my couch, legs dangling off the edge, one hand balancing a slice of pepperoni pizza and the other scrolling his phone.

“Taylor said she might get off early tonight” he said casually, eyes still on the screen.

“Cool” I replied, taking a sip from my wine glass that definitely held more emotional support than it should have.

Buck grinned like a kid with a secret “she wants to catch the late showing of that documentary on wildfires. I told her I’d already seen it with you, but you know Taylor…never not working”

I hummed in response, trying not to flinch at the reminder. He had seen it with me, and not as a friend favour either, we had cried, well, I cried, when that old firefighter recounted losing his partner. Buck just sat quietly, handing me tissues, letting his shoulder be my anchor. Sometimes, with Buck, it feels like we’re almost something, but then his phone lights up and he’s smiling at her name and I’m reminded we’re not. Just best friends. Unbreakable, unshakable, completely platonic best friends, so why does my heart hurt like I’m losing something I never had?

He looks up from his phone, catching the tail end of whatever storm crossed my face “hey” he says softly “you okay?”

I nod “yeah, just tired”

He tilts his head “wanna talk about it?”

Do I want to tell my best friend that I’m slowly falling for him while he’s dating someone else? No, not tonight.

“Let’s just finish the movie” I say, curling up beside him, and he lets me, because that’s what Buck does, he lets me have pieces of him I probably shouldn’t be allowed to keep and that’s what hurts the most.

The next day.

There’s a certain sound a building makes when it’s seconds away from collapsing. It’s not the kind of thing you learn in training, it’s something you feel in your bones, like the air itself shifts. Thicker. Heavier. Holding its breath.

“Y/N! Buck! You’re with me” Bobby barked, pointing to the east stairwell “victims trapped on the third floor. Chim, Hen, Eddie, take the west side”

“Yes, Cap!” we all shouted in sync.

Buck and I didn’t need to look at each other, we already knew the drill, we’d danced this dance a hundred times. Same rhythm, same beat, like muscle memory, but deeper. Inside the building, smoke curled through the halls, making visibility near zero. The air reeked of burning insulation and scorched paint.

“I’ve got eyes on a man and a kid!” I called out through the comms, spotting shadows huddled near a collapsed beam.

“Copy that” Buck replied, already moving to lift debris off the man’s legs. I went straight for the little girl who couldn’t have been more than seven, covered in soot and trembling, but alert.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart” I whispered, hoisting her up “I’ve got you”

Behind me, Buck grunted, muscles straining as he pushed the beam just enough to let Bobby slide the man out “nice work, Buck,” Bobby said, clapping his shoulder “let’s move!”

The moment we started toward the stairs, the building shuddered “collapse incoming! Move! Now!” Hen’s voice crackled through our radios.

We sprinted, smoke thickening around us. The girl clung to me, crying now, and Buck had the man’s arm over his shoulder. The floor groaned beneath us. I didn’t hesitate, I tossed the girl into Buck’s arms mid-run “take her! go!”

“No way, I’m not leaving you!” he shouted, almost wild-eyed.

“I’m right behind you!” I lied.

He hesitated a second too long, but the building groaned again and Bobby shoved him forward “GO!”

I pivoted back to grab the oxygen mask I’d dropped, then felt the floor give way just beneath my left boot “y/n!” Buck’s voice was pure panic over the comms but I caught the edge of a doorframe, hauled myself up, and ran like hell.

Outside, the world was flashing lights and shouting voices, and Buck was waiting just beyond the tape. The second I crossed the perimeter, his arms were around me, tight and shaking “I told you I was right behind you” I murmured into his shoulder with a light laugh.

“Don’t ever do that again” he whispered, his voice raw “don’t lie to me in there, you could’ve been hurt”

I pulled back enough to look at him, just in time to see Taylor push past a paramedic and run toward us. Buck straightened instantly, pulling away, the moment snapping shut like a book someone didn’t want you reading. He turned to Taylor, brushing soot from his cheek “hey, I’m okay” his arms wrapped around her, and hers around him. She pulled away, letting her hands find his face and kissed him like he was everything…and just like that, I was back on the outside.

I headed back towards the engine and Eddie caught my eye. There was something knowing in his look, like he’d read the chapter before I ever admitted it was real “you okay?”

“Yeah why wouldn’t I be?” I asked, pushing my jacket off my shoulders and putting it in the back of the engine.

Eddie stood in front of me, a look that says don’t lie to me written across his features “I know you’re in love with him y/n”

I opened my mouth to say something but Hen passed by with a pat on my shoulder “hell of a save in there, y/n”

“Thanks” I said, forcing a smile, not taking my eyes off Eddie, “it was a team effort”

She walked off as Eddie just placed a hand on my shoulder “I’m here if you need to talk” and got to work putting everything back in the engine, not letting me respond.

Later that night

Buck sat at my kitchen island, sleeves pushed up, hands wrapped around a chipped mug of coffee like it was holding him together. I leaned against the counter across from him, my hair still damp from the shower and my body somewhere between sore and numb.

“I can still hear the beams cracking” I said softly, staring at the floor “like…in my chest”

“Yeah” Buck replied, his voice low “me too”

For a while, that was enough, just sitting there in the warm quiet of my apartment, the distant hum of the city outside. No sirens, no smoke, no radios in our ears, just us, and the space to breathe. He glanced over at me “you really weren’t gonna leave that oxygen mask, huh?”

I gave a half-smile, shrugging one shoulder “it wasn’t a big deal”

His brow furrowed “it kind of was, you could’ve died”

I walked over to the cabinet and grabbed a bag of chips, mostly to give my hands something to do “it’s the job, Buck, that little girl needed the mask, you’d have done the same thing”

“Yeah” he said, watching me closely “but if you’d fallen through that floor…”

“You would’ve pulled me out” I looked up, meeting his gaze “you always do” that got a faint smile out of him, the kind he gives when he’s feeling too much and doesn’t know where to put it.

He took a sip from his mug “Taylor texted earlier, wanted to know if I wanted to stay over tonight”

“Oh?” I said, trying to make it sound like it didn’t stick in my throat.

“I told her I needed to decompress” he added quickly “said I was coming here”

I nodded slowly “she okay with that?”

“She didn’t say anything” he said “didn’t really seem to care, honestly”

Silence again, not awkward, but not easy either “I just didn’t want to be alone” he admitted “and when I thought about where I wanted to be after today…it was here”

I looked at him for a long second, no explanations, no pressure, just truth “you’re always welcome here” I said softly “you know that”

He nodded “I know, that’s kind of the problem”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, because I knew what he meant and I didn’t know what to do with that yet so I changed the subject “do you want to watch something?” I asked instead “turn our brains off for a while?”

He smiled “only if I get to pick”

“No horror”

“No baking shows”

“You’re no fun” I teased, bumping my shoulder into his as I passed and just like that, the heaviness loosened its grip. Not gone, just…waiting, but for now, we were still us. Best friends. Partners. A team. Even if something deeper was hiding underneath it all.

A week later

The bar was loud, warm, and full of the kind of chaotic energy that only comes from surviving a hell of a day. Hen was already holding a bunch of people near the jukebox, telling some exaggerated story about a cat stuck in a tree that ended with Chimney pretending to climb the bar to “rescue” it. Eddie was at the pool table, lining up a shot and shooting a wink at Bobby, who was busy wiping down the bar, secretly nursing a scotch. Taylor had texted earlier that she was “too tired” to make it, so nobody mentioned her. Not that it stopped me from stealing glances at Buck between laughs and clinking glasses.

He looked good. That easy, just-finished-work glow with a few days’ stubble and hair still messy from the day’s sweat. He caught my eye and gave me a crooked smile, the kind that made my heart do that stupid flutter thing.

“Y/n!” Hen called, waving me over “get over here before Buck drinks all the beer”

Buck stood, stretching his arms “someone’s gotta keep up with you”

I laughed and slid onto the bench beside him “yeah, well, don’t get too cocky”

Bobby came over with a round of shots “for a job well done” he said, raising his glass. We all cheered and downed the shots in one go, the burn of whiskey making my head swim just a bit.

Later, Eddie nudged me “you and Buck made a hell of a team out there”

“Thanks” I said, cheeks flushing “same to you all”

Hen leaned in conspiratorially “you two always like that? On edge and ready to jump into the fire together?”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. Buck gave me a look that said Don’t make me answer that. The night rolled on, stories, laughter, teasing. The kind of night that makes the weight of the world lift just enough to breathe.

When I finally stood to leave, Buck was right behind me “I’ll walk you,” he said, voice low.

The walk home was quiet, the city calm now that the emergency was over. The cool air wrapped around us as we walked the streets. It was one of those late L.A. nights when the air felt soft and the streetlights buzzed like static in your chest. Buck stayed by my side, his jacket rested on my shoulders as his shoulders brushed mine every few steps. We didn’t talk much. We didn’t need to. The silence between us had always been comfortable, until lately, when it started to feel like it was hiding something heavier. His laugh from earlier still echoed in my ears, and I could feel the warmth of it lingering on my skin like an afterthought I didn’t know what to do with. We were close, too close, but neither of us moved. The sidewalk narrowed and instead of falling behind, he moved in step with me, our arms pressed together like gravity made the decision for us. I could feel his gaze flick toward me, then away, like he was working up the courage to say something but couldn’t quite let it fall “little wobbly?” Buck teased as I nearly missed a step.

“Shut up” I said, laughing.

He reached out, steadying me with a hand at my waist. The warmth of his touch sent a spark straight through me. We stopped outside my door “thanks for tonight, I think I needed it” I said softly.

“Anytime,” he replied, eyes locked on mine.

It happened so fast, and yet like it had taken years to finally fall into place. One second, we were standing at my door, and the next his hands were on my waist, pulling me in like he couldn’t hold back anymore. My back hit the door with a soft thud, and he leaned in, forehead resting against mine, eyes searching like he needed permission and forgiveness all at once. I didn’t give him either. I just closed the space, my hands slid up his chest, into his hair, then around his neck, anchoring him to me as his lips finally crashed into mine, desperate, deep, full of every moment we’d ever ignored. It shouldn’t have happened, he’s with someone else but it was fire and history and the kind of hunger that only comes from waiting too long. His grip tightened on my waist like he thought I might pull away, but I didn’t, I couldn’t, because in that kiss was everything we hadn’t said, and everything we weren’t ready to admit but felt anyway and once it started, neither of us wanted to stop. The kiss broke, but neither of us stepped back. My breath caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat as Buck’s forehead pressed gently against mine, our hands still tangled in that space between holding on and letting go.

“Buck…” I whispered, still stunned, still tasting the truth we’d just spilled between our lips “that shouldn’t have happened, you’re with Taylor” I tried to take a step back, even though my back was against the door, the try create a distance, give him the opportunity to walk away but his hands tightened on my waist, keeping me against him, like he didn’t want to let this moment pass and secretly I’m glad he didn’t want to, because neither did I, I’ve wanted this for too long, and that might sound selfish and I should know better.

He closed his eyes. Just for a moment. But it was enough, enough to know he was already somewhere else “I don’t want to think about her right now” he said, voice low and rough “not here, not with you, I just want to be with you right now”

That should’ve been a warning sign. A red flag waving in the wind. But instead, it felt honest, raw, real, it was a confession without the words. I pulled back just a little, enough to see his face and I knew we needed to end this before we crossed a line we can’t go back over, but I fear we’ve already crossed it “this isn’t nothing, Evan, you’re with her”

He let out a slow breath, one hand raking through my hair softly resting on the side of my neck, the other still ghosting against my hip as his forehead rested against mine again, before he pulled away and looked at me properly, his eyes full of guilt and need.

“I know” he said “and that kiss shouldn’t have happened, except, it did. And I’ve been trying to pretend this thing between us wasn’t real, but today? That moment we got out of that building? I couldn’t stop thinking what if I’d lost you. And I realised, Taylor wasn’t the one I was thinking about”

My chest tightened “but, she doesn’t deserve—”

“I know she doesn’t,” he cut in gently “and I’m not proud of how messy this is, but if I’m being honest with you, hell, with myself, I haven’t been with Taylor in the way that counts for a while now”

I leaned against the door, heart thudding in my ears “you think we can just cross that line and go back?”

His voice dropped to a near whisper “y/n… we crossed that line a long time ago”

Silence stretched between us, thick with everything we hadn’t said, every almost, every touch that lasted a beat too long, every time we looked at each other and quickly looked away.

“I don’t want to ruin us” I said quietly.

“You won’t” he replied “unless you keep pretending there’s nothing here”

I swallowed hard “and if this is a mistake?”

“Then it’s mine to make” he said, stepping closer again “with you”

The air shifted. I felt it in my stomach, my chest, the base of my spine, the slow, heavy pull of giving in. Not to recklessness, but to truth.

I unlocked the door, pushed it open. He hesitated on the threshold “are you sure?”

I nodded, voice barely there “yeah, I’m tired of pretending too”

So he stepped inside and when the door clicked shut behind us, everything else did too. There was no hesitation this time. No half-measures. No space between us. His hands found my face, my jaw, my waist and mine found the planes of his back, the warmth of his skin under his shirt, the steady beat of his pulse under my palms. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t drunk. It wasn’t a mistake…it was a finally. A release, a revelation, a surrender to something that had always been there. And in the quiet hours of the early morning, tangled in sheets and breathless laughter, we didn’t talk about labels, or consequences, or what happened next, we just held each other and for once, that was enough.

A week later

The bay doors were open, letting the late afternoon breeze cut through the station. Eddie and Chim were working out back. Hen was filling out a report. Buck was pretending to read the same inventory clipboard for the fifth time in ten minutes and me? I was pretending not to notice. The air between us felt tight, too still. The kind of still that comes after something catches fire, but before anyone admits they smell smoke. We haven’t really spoken since that night, we haven’t talked about it, the last conversation we had was that he was going to tell Taylor but from his current attitude towards me, I’m taking a guess that he hasn’t. And today, I finally snapped.

I found him in the locker room, alone, and waited until the door shut behind me before I said, flatly “did you tell her?”

He didn’t look surprised, just tired. Buck leaned against the bench, hands braced on the edge like he needed it to hold him up “no”

The word hit harder than I expected. One syllable and my heart dropped somewhere near my boots “are you serious?”

“I tried” he said quickly “I did. I sat her down and opened my mouth and…” he exhaled “I just couldn’t do it, she already looked hurt enough, like she knew”

My throat tightened “it’s not that you couldn’t, Buck. You chose not to”

He finally looked at me then, eyes full of guilt and frustration and something else I couldn’t name “I know it’s messed up”

“Messed up?” I laughed, but it came out sharp “you slept with me, told me you didn’t want to think about her, kissed me like you meant it, and now you’re what? Just going back to your safe little relationship?”

“I’m not trying to go back to anything!” he snapped, making me stumble back slightly “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, y/n. I just know I—”

“What?” I cut in “you want both of us? Because that’s what it feels like, Evan” I took a step back, because being this close to him hurt.

“I asked her to move in” he whispered, not daring to look up at me.

“Oh my god” the words came out with my breath, a strain.

“I didn’t mean to” he said, eyes wide “It just—she looked so sad and I panicked. I thought maybe if I could just, if things were normal again, I could—”

“Forget me?” I snapped, voice breaking “just shove me into some corner of your brain until I disappear?”

“No,” he said, stepping toward me “I could never forget you”

I took a step back, creating some distance “but you could lie to her? And to me” I said, bitter now “You don’t get to keep me in your back pocket while playing house with someone else. I’m not your backup plan”

He flinched like I’d hit him and maybe I had.

I turned, reaching for the door.

“y/n?” he said quietly “please don’t hate me”

I stopped, hand on the handle “I don’t hate you, not even close” I said, voice low and tight “but I think I might hate the version of you who doesn’t know what the hell he wants”

Then I walked out and I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to talk to anyone but when you don’t want to talk to anyone, someone always finds you and that’s what Eddie did, he found me anyway. I was outside on the back steps behind the station, sitting on the top concrete stair, legs drawn in, picking at the frayed seam of my uniform pants. The sun was low, casting long shadows, the kind that stretch the day just enough to make everything feel heavier. Eddie didn’t say anything at first. Just sat beside me in silence, like he knew that sometimes grief needed company, not conversation.

After a minute, he held out a bottle of water. “Figured you might not want to cry and dehydrate”

I huffed a half-laugh and took it “Thanks.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees “want to talk about it?”

I didn’t answer right away, and then I nodded slowly “I slept with Buck, Eddie” I didn’t want to look at him, see his reaction.

“I know, he told me” of course he did.

“But that’s the problem, he didn’t tell her” I sigh.

Eddie winced “and the move-in thing?”

My eyes snapped to his “you knew?”

He held up his hands “not from him, I heard about it from Chim who heard about it from Maddie”

I stared straight ahead “Yeah, that tracks”

Eddie was quiet for a long moment, then he said, softly “you okay?” That’s what I liked about Eddie, he was always there.

I let out a shaky breath “no, not even close and I hate it”

He nodded like he understood and he did.

“I thought it meant something” I said, holding back tears “what happened between us, the way he kissed me…how he looked at me. It wasn’t nothing, Eddie.”

“No,” he agreed “It wasn’t”

“But he’s staying with her” I whispered “because it’s easy, because it’s already built, because I’m the risk”

Eddie looked over at me “you know, Buck’s whole life, he’s been chasing things that make him feel needed. He’s scared of hurting people, so he ends up hurting everyone, including himself”

“That supposed to make me feel better?” I asked, not unkindly.

“No” he said gently “it’s supposed to remind you that this isn’t about your worth. You’re not the consolation prize, you never were”

That broke something in me. I wiped at my face with the sleeve of my hoodie “I said some awful things”

“Maybe he needed to hear them” Eddie said ”and maybe you needed to say them”

We sat in silence again, the kind that only happens when a friend sits with your heartbreak and doesn’t try to fix it.

“I don’t think he’ll even tell her” I sigh “he’s happy with her”

Eddie lets out a small laugh, not a humorous one, more like he’s laughing at the irony “you don’t see it do you?”

My eyes snap to his “see what?” I ask, barely making my voice audible.

“The difference between you and her…he looks at her like she’s the prettiest girl in the world, but the way he looks at you y/n?” he smiles before continuing “it’s like maybe you’re magic, everyone can see it”

Meanwhile after shift that day

Buck stood at the kitchen island in his, and now Taylor’s apartment, with a knot in his stomach and a truth stuck in his throat. He’d rehearsed this conversation a hundred times. And not a single one of them ended well.

Taylor looked at him from her laptop and raised an eyebrow “you just gonna hover there, or…?”

“I need to tell you something”

Taylor looked at him, standing and positioning herself at the other side of the island “sure, what’s going on?”

The air inside was tense, he took a breath “Something happened. With y/n”

Taylor’s expression didn’t change immediately. She blinked once, slowly “Something like…”

“A kiss,” he said “and more. After the rescue a week or two ago”

Silence. Long. Measured. She looked away, then back “and you’re just telling me now? A week or two after it happened? Oh my god, that’s why you asked me to move in with you isn’t it?” She was angry, he could sense it.

“I should’ve told you the second it happened” Buck admitted “but I didn’t know how, you looked so hurt already and I didn’t want to hurt you”

Taylor laughed under her breath, sharp, bitter “you know, I always wondered what you two were. Everyone said just friends, but I’ve been a reporter long enough to know a lie when I see one”

“It wasn’t a lie” he said quickly “we were friends, we are friends, but…I think I’ve been lying to myself more than anyone else”

Taylor stood up straight “so what is this? Some guilt confession so you can move on with your life and not feel so bad about it?”

“No” Buck said “this isn’t about easing my conscience. It’s about being honest, for the first time in a long time”

She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head “you know, I thought when you asked me to move in, it was because I thought maybe we were getting closer again. But you, you never really let me in, Buck”

“I tried” he said.

Taylor nodded “Yeah, you tried. But that girl? Y/N? You didn’t have to try with her”

He didn’t argue, because, well, she wasn’t wrong.

“I’ll be back later to get my stuff, you made sure I had no where else to go” she said, stepping back “but maybe take a second and ask yourself why you kissed her at all. Why it’s her you go to. Why she’s the one that shows up in every damn story you tell”

Buck’s throat went dry.

“You’re not in love with me,” Taylor said gently. Not cruel, just resigned “and maybe you never were”

“I did care about you” he said.

“I know.” She grabbed her keys from the table, like she needed space before the air closed in “but maybe you’ve always cared about her more” She looked at him one last time “Figure your shit out, Buck and maybe stop calling it friendship when it’s clearly more than that”

Then she walked past him, out the door, without slamming it, but the silence she left behind was deafening.

3 days later

I didn’t expect him to show up. I told myself I wouldn’t check my phone, wouldn’t glance out the window, wouldn’t care but when the knock came, two slow taps, the way he always did it, I froze like my body already knew it was him. I opened the door without thinking, heart stuttering when I saw him standing there like regret wrapped in skin. His eyes were red-rimmed like he hadn’t slept in days. Shoulders tense like he was carrying the weight of everything he hadn’t said.

“Hey” he said, voice quiet.

“Hey” I replied, putting my guard up and my heart beating louder than I wanted it to be.

He glanced at his shoes, then back at me “can I come in?”

I hesitated, then stepped aside. He walked in slowly, like he didn’t quite believe I’d let him. I didn’t ask him to sit, and he didn’t try.

“I told her” he said.

I blinked “you told Taylor”

He nodded “about everything, the kiss, what happened that night…us”

I swallowed “and?”

“She was angry, hurt, but mostly…she knew” he said “said she always knew there was more between you and me than either of us were willing to admit”

That cracked something in me. Something sharp and guilty “why now?” I asked “why today? After all this time, what changed?”

He met my eyes “you left”

I looked down “so you came here because you’re afraid of losing me?”

“No” he said, stepping closer “I came because I already lost you and I couldn’t live with that”

My throat tightened “Buck…”

“I’m not gonna stand here and pretend I handled this well. I didn’t. I panicked and I hurt you and other people in the process and I know saying I’m sorry doesn’t fix that”

I stayed quiet, but my arms had wrapped around my stomach like I could hold the pieces of myself together.

“I kept calling it friendship because it felt safer than admitting I was in love with you” he said, voice cracking “but I am and I’ve been in love with you longer than I want to admit”

My breath hitched.

“I tried to choose the life that looked easier on paper” he added “but I never stopped choosing you in my head or in my heart. I just didn’t have the guts to say it out loud or the eyes to really see it for myself”

The room fell silent except for the soft hum of the city outside my windows. I looked at him, really looked at him. The same man I’d run into burning buildings with, laughed with and trusted with my life. The man who kissed me like he’d finally let himself feel everything he’d been hiding “I needed you to be brave and see it before” I said quietly “not just when you thought you lost me”

“I know” he whispered, he took a step closer “I just—I didn’t know how to stop being scared until I realised what it felt like to be without you”

I exhaled shakily. Still guarded and still aching but something in me softened, just a little, I stepped closer, so close our chests were nearly brushing against each others “say it again”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“That you’re in love with me”

His eyes locked with mine, no hesitation this time, one hand rested on my hip, while the other came up to rest on my cheek, making my heart skip a beat “I’m in love with you” he said “hopelessly, and completely”

And even though part of me wanted to fight it, to protect the bruised corners of my heart, I couldn’t anymore so I kissed him. And this time, it wasn’t reckless, it wasn’t drunk or impulsive. We weren’t breaking any rules, it was quiet and healing. Like a beginning wrapped inside an apology.

When we finally pulled apart, I pressed my forehead to his and whispered “you better not run from this again Buckley, I’m too in love with you for you to leave again”

He smiled, soft and sure, placing a gentle kiss on my lips, one full of everything he needed to say “I’m not going anywhere and I can promise you that”

Taglist:

@neverinadream

[livinginastory]

Off The Record Part Two- O.Piastri ✨

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Engineer!Reader Word Count: 8.5k Warnings: Angst, forbidden love, age gap, workplace romance. Authors Note: Here's part two, its another long one and I didn't realise🤦🏻‍♀️ this has been a rollercoaster and if you have read both parts, thank you from the bottom of my heart! It has been so scary to write for a whole new fandom but for a sport I have loved for the longest time! Feedback is always appreciated ☺️

P.S. Remember, this is all fiction, the only thing accurate in this story is the race results.

Part One

You arrive at the hotel lobby in a daze, the Uber driver’s quiet “Have a good night” barely registering. The elevator ride up feels endless, mirrored walls reflecting your flushed cheeks. The doors slide open on the 18th floor, room 1873 is at the end of the corridor. You knock once, soft, and the door opens almost immediately. Max is barefoot, wearing gray sweatpants and a black Red Bull hoodie that’s two sizes too big even on him. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it. Behind him on the coffee table, a half-eaten plate of dumplings, two untouched glasses of sparkling water, and a massive slice of chocolate cake. He doesn’t say anything at first, just steps aside to let you in, closes the door, and then, without warning, pulls you into a hug. It’s not gentle, it’s the kind of hug that says I’ve got you without needing words, the kind you need right now.

“You look like you just survived a 300 km/h heartbreak" he mutters into your hair.

You laugh “feels like it”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, hands still on your shoulders. His eyes flick over your face, he doesn’t comment, he doesn’t need to.

“Sit" he says instead, steering you toward the couch “Cake first, tears second...or tears first, your call”

You sink onto the cushions. He drops down next to you as you stare at the cake infront of you “I kissed him"

Max doesn’t flinch “I figured, your mouth looks like it lost a fight with a vacuum cleaner”

You snort despite yourself “Romantic”

“Accurate, so balcony? Or did you two sneak into a closet like teenagers?”

“Balcony” Your voice is small “it was…a lot, desperate, like we’d both been holding our breath for two years and finally let go at the same time”

Max nods slowly “and then reality walked in and punched you both in the face"

“Pretty much” you drag a hand down your face “I told him we can’t, not when the team’s inside and cameras. Everything”

“And he agreed?”

“He didn’t argue” You swallow "but the way he looked at me when I stepped back…like I’d just taken something he’d waited his whole life for and then handed it back”

Max is quiet for a long moment “you’re scared” he says.

“Terrified” your voice cracks “If this gets out, if someone sees, if a photo leaks, if Zak finds out, he’ll lose sponsors, credibility, maybe even his seat. And me? I’ll be the older engineer who couldn’t keep it professional. The headlines write themselves, Max ‘Piastri’s Race Engineer: Forbidden Romance or Career Suicide?'. And the worst part?” voice barely above a whisper “I don’t regret the kiss. I’d do it again, right now, even knowing how much it could cost”

Max leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the cake like it holds answers. “I’ve watched you two dance around this for the last year" he says eventually. “The looks across the garage, the fact that he drives better when you’re the one talking to him. It’s not just chemistry, it’s trust and trust like that? Rare as hell in this circus.”

You wipe at your eyes. “So what do I do?”

“You decide what you’re willing to lose.” He meets your gaze “If you want him then you stop pretending the rules are bigger than what you feel. You get smarter. You get discreet. You build something solid before the world finds out. But if you’re not sure…if the fear is bigger than the feeling…then you walk away now, before it destroys both of you”

You stare at him “I’m not sure I know how to walk away” you admit.

Max’s mouth quirks, just a little “Then don’t but for now…eat the damn cake, you look like you haven’t eaten since Thursday.”

You laugh, real this time, and pick up the fork. He watches you take the first bite, then leans back, arms crossed “And for what it’s worth?” he adds quietly “if anyone can make a forbidden paddock romance work without imploding…it’s you two idiots"

You look at him, the way he’s still here at 1:30am with chocolate cake and no judgment shows the friendship you have “Thank you” you whisper.

He shrugs “Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when you’re both still employed next season, but listen to me, yeah? You’re one of the best engineers I’ve ever worked with. You’re brilliant, you’re tough and you deserve to be happy. If Oscar makes you happy, if he’s worth the risk, then don’t let the paddock take that from you. Just be smarter than the people who get caught”

You pick up your phone and type two words.

You: I'm safe.

Three dots appear almost instantly.

Oscar: Good.

You set the phone down and Max is watching you with the tiniest smirk.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

“Didn’t say anything”

“You didn’t have to”

He laughs, soft, easy, and steals another bite of your cake. The night stretches on and before you know it, you're back at your hotel room, asleep because the knot in you chest finally loosens, not because the problem is resolved, but because you're not facing it alone.

A few months later - Miami

The Miami win should have felt like fireworks, but instead it feels like a lit fuse. Oscar takes the checkered flag in first, clean, dominant, no mistakes. The team erupts in the garage and you stay at the pit wall long enough to hear his final radio call, “P1. Thanks for the car, thanks for everything” His voice is steady. You’ve been careful these last few months, so careful. Stolen moments in quiet corners of hospitality suites, late-night hotel room visits when the rest of the team is asleep, quick brushes of fingers during debriefs that look accidental to anyone watching. You’ve learned his tells, the way his jaw tightens when he wants to touch you in public, the half-smile he saves only for you when no cameras are around. You’ve both gotten good at this secret, but tonight the victory tastes bitter on your tongue. Every time you close your eyes you see the headlines that could come, the leaked photo, the team statement, your career in ashes. You don't think you can keep doing this.

You pull off the headset, congratulate the strategy team in a quiet voice, and slip out before the champagne starts spraying. No debrief meeting tonight, just your bag over your shoulder and a quick exit through the back gate to the waiting car. Your hotel is twenty minutes away and you ride in silence, staring out at the neon-soaked Miami streets, rehearsing the words you’ve been practicing all weekend. You get to your room, shower and change into soft leggings and an old McLaren hoodie, order room service you won’t eat, and sit on the edge of the bed staring at your phone. A single text from him lights up the screen: On my way. We need to talk.

Your stomach twist, but you don’t reply. The knock comes twenty minutes later, soft, but certain. You open the door. Oscar stands there still in team kit, hoodie up, cap low, hands in pockets, shoulders tense like he’s bracing for impact. He doesn’t wait for an invitation, just steps inside, closes the door behind him, and leans back against it.

“Oscar—”

“I don’t care about the party” he says, pushing a hand through his hair, accent clipping the words “we need to talk”

You cross your arms “I know”

He studies you for a second, then steps closer “You’ve been different all weekend, distant. Not in public, but when it’s just us. You pull away, you won’t look at me the same way, what’s going on?”

You take a breath, forcing the words out before you lose your nerve “We need to stop, this—us—it has to end”

His face changes into shock, then something sharper “What?”

“I can’t keep doing it, Oscar. Sneaking around, lying, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Today you won Miami and all I could think about was how one photo of us together could ruin everything. My job, your reputation, the team. I’m your race engineer, we can’t—”

“Fuck that,” he cuts in, voice low and rough. He steps forward again “we’ve been making it work for months, we’ve been careful, no one suspects anything. Why now?”

“Because it’s getting harder to pretend it’s nothing” Your voice cracks “Every time we’re together I want more, more than stolen nights, more than pretending we’re just colleagues in the garage. But we can’t have more, not without blowing everything up and I won’t be the reason your career gets dragged through the mud, or mine”

He lets out a humourless laugh, running both hands over his face “So that’s it? We win the race and you decide tonight’s the night to end us?”

“It’s not about the win,” you say “It’s about reality, I’m four years older, I’m the engineer. The power dynamic, the optics, if anyone finds out they’ll say I took advantage, or that I’m unprofessional, or worse. You’re the golden boy, they’ll forgive you. Me? I’ll be done”

“Four years?” He steps right into your space now, close enough that you can smell champagne and rubber and him. “That’s your line in the sand? Age? I’m not some kid, Y/N. I’m racing at 300 kph, making split-second calls that could kill me, but I’m too young to know what I want? To know who I want?”

“It’s not about you being too young,” you snap back, heat rising “it’s about me being in a position of authority. The rules exist for a reason, conflict of interest, distractions, scandals”

“Your voice on the radio is the least distracting thing in my life right now,” he fires back “if anything, knowing you’re there, it makes me sharper”

The words hit hard and your throat tightens “and what happens when it stops being enough? When one hotel security camera catches us, or a mechanic sees something, or Lando finally puts two and two together? We’ve been lucky so far, but luck runs out"

He reaches for your arms, gentle but firm “Then we stop being lucky and start being smart, we talk to someone, HR, Andrea, whoever. We figure it out properly instead of ending it because you’re scared”

“I’m not just scared,” you whisper “I’m terrified. I’ve fought too hard to get here, one mistake and I’m reduced to a tabloid story ‘The engineer who slept with her driver’”

His expression softens, but the frustration doesn’t leave his eyes “So you’d rather kill this than even try to protect it?”

You sink onto the edge of the bed, rubbing your temples “I don’t know how to protect it...not without risking everything”

Oscar kneels in front of you, hands on your knees, forcing you to meet his gaze “Then don’t do it alone. We figure it out together, or are you really ready to walk away from this?”

The silence stretches, thick and painful. He’s right, it hurts more to keep pretending it can end cleanly than to admit how much you want to stay. The rules, the age gap, the optics, they’re real barriers, but he’s here, on his knees after the biggest win of his career, asking you to crash through them with him.

You swallow “And if it blows up? If a photo leaks? If Zak calls us in? If sponsors pull? If the headlines—”

“Then we deal with it,” he says, voice steady “Together, not hiding, not running, but together" he’s close enough that you can feel the heat of him, smell the faint trace of victory on his skin “I just want you” he says quietly, no hesitation “I’m done pretending this is casual. So if you tell me to leave right now, I’ll go, but if you feel even half of what I feel...don’t make me walk out that door again”

Your heart hammers so loud you’re sure he can hear it. You reach out, hands finding his face. His slide to your waist, hesitant at first, then tight, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You kiss him, not careful, not tentative, but desperate and hungry, months of restraint snapping like a release cable. He groans into your mouth, low and broken, pulling you flush against him. One hand tangles in your hair, yours fists his hoodie.

“I want you too,” you finally breathe against his lips.

He smiles “then let’s try, let’s try to make this work”

You nod, hands reaching up to run through the hair at the back of his neck “we'll make it work"

“Deal” He reaches up and kisses you again, pushing you back gently so you’re laying on the bed as he hovers over you, pulling back to look down at you. He cupped your cheek first, studying you like he was relearning every line, every shadow.

“I missed you,” he whispered “even when you were right there, every day”

Your throat closed “I missed you too”

He lays next to you, pulling you to rest your head on his chest, you lay there in the quiet, heartbeats beating together, until sleep started to pull at the edges. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back “Tomorrow we figure out how to do this” he said quietly “rules, boundaries, whatever we need so you feel safe”

You nodded against his chest “together” he kissed the top of your head and for the first time in weeks, the silence felt like peace.

•

Sunlight sliced through the half-closed curtains in thin, golden bars across the hotel bed. You woke slowly, warm, heavy-limbed, Oscar’s arm still draped over your waist like it belonged there. His breathing was deep and even against your shoulder, face tucked into the crook of your neck. For the first time in weeks, there was no knot of dread in your stomach when you opened your eyes. You shifted just enough to look at him. Hair a mess, lashes dark against freckled cheeks, mouth soft in sleep. He looked younger like this, peaceful, and your chest ached with how much you’d almost thrown away. He stirred when you brushed a thumb over his cheekbone. His eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep, then they focused on you and softened.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice gravelly, thumb tracing lazy circles on your bare hip under the sheet.

“Morning.” You smiled “You’re still here”

“Promised I wouldn’t run” He leaned in, kissed the tip of your nose “You okay?”

“Yeah” you exhaled “better than okay”

He studied you for a second longer, like he was checking for cracks, then nodded once “Stay put, I’ll be back” He slipped out of bed, and you watched the long lines of his back, the faint red marks your nails had left on his shoulders last night after a night full of pleasure, the easy way he moved as he padded to the door after putting on his hoodie and joggers. He grabbed the Do Not Disturb sign, hung it outside, then disappeared into the hallway. When he came back he was carrying two paper cups from the hotel café downstairs, steam curling from the lids, and a small paper bag tucked under his arm. He set everything on the nightstand and climbed back under the covers.

“Coffee first,” he said “rules after” he handed you one of the cups “Black, two sugars, like always”

You took it and warmth seeped into your palms “You remembered”

“I remember everything about you” He said it simply.

You both sipped in comfortable quiet for a minute. His free hand found yours under the sheet, fingers lacing together. Eventually he set his cup down, turned to face you properly, serious now.

“Okay” he said “Ground rules, we do this right”

You nodded, your heart kicking up again.

“First,” he started “no more radio silence. I won’t freeze you out on the radio, even if we’re fighting, even if I’m pissed. I’ll still give you what you need for the car, we don’t let it bleed into work”

“Agreed” you squeezed his hand “and I won’t shut down, if something scares me, I’ll say it, out loud to you, not just in my head”

“Good” He exhaled “Second, no sneaking around like teenagers forever, we’re careful, yeah, discreet, separate flights when we can, different hotels if it’s obvious but we’re not living in paranoia. If someone suspects, we deal with it together, no running”

Your stomach twisted a little “and if it gets out?”

“Then we face it” his voice was steady “I’m not ashamed of you, I’m not ashamed of us, if the team wants to make noise, let them. I’ll handle my side, you handle yours, but we don’t end this just because someone else might not like it”

“You’re really okay with that risk?”

“I’m more okay with the risk than I am with losing you, you’re not just my engineer, you were my friend before this” He brushed hair off my forehead “Third, no more age thing, four years is nothing. You’re not my babysitter, you’re my partner, in the garage and out of it. I don’t need protecting from you, I need you, all of you, the bossy engineer and the woman who cries when I win and the one who comes apart under me”

You laugh “Bossy engineer?”

“Like her most days” He smirked, just a little “Last one, we talk, every day if we have to, even if it’s just a text saying ‘I’m freaking out’ or ‘miss you’ or ‘that quali lap was sexy as hell’ no bottling it up”

“Deal” you leaned in, kissing him softly “want to add anything else?”

He thought for a second “One more, when we’re alone like this, no holding back, no second-guessing, just us”

I set my coffee down, crawled into his lap, straddling him. Sheets pooling around us, his hands settled on my hips, gentle, possessive “Like this?” I murmured against his mouth.

“Exactly like this”

•

The next few weeks blur into a delicious, dangerous game of stolen moments. You and Oscar move like shadows through airports and hotel corridors, separate flights when you can manage it, different check-in times, different hotels sometimes. In the paddock, you’re meticulous, professional nods, clipped radio comms, data reviews that end exactly when they should, but the air between you crackles anyway.

Max knows, you had to tell someone, and he’s the only one who’d both understand and keep his mouth shut. He’s been your reluctant lookout, texting warnings when eyes linger too long, distracting team members with his usual chaos when you need a quiet corner. He lectures you both constantly, half-serious, half-exasperated “You two are playing with fire. Team rules exist for a reason, careers, reputations could all be gone with a single picture” but when push comes to shove, he’s there, blocking sightlines or pulling nosy mechanics into pointless debates. Protective big-brother energy, even if he pretends it annoys him.

Silverstone nearly undoes everything. It’s Thursday, media day chaos keeping Oscar tied up in interviews while you hole up in hospitality, laptop open, fresh coffee steaming beside race reports that need to hit Zak and Andrea’s inboxes before close of play. You’re deep in telemetry when Lando’s race engineer drops into the seat across from you, facing you like he owns the space.

“What?” you ask, forcing a polite curve to your lips. You’ve never liked him, his thinly veiled disdain for women on the pit wall has been clear since day one.

He smirks, leaning in “Nothing. Just…you and Oscar seem closer lately”

Your stomach twists, but your voice stays even “Not any closer than usual, we work well together, good professional friendship”

“This sport isn’t built for friendships, Y/N” his tone drips condescension “if there’s anything going on, I’ll find out and I’ll tell Zak. This is exactly why women don’t belong on the wall”

He stands, walks off like he’s delivered a verdict. Threat. Pure and simple. Your fingers shake as you text Oscar.

You: Lando’s engineer just cornered me. Said we seem closer than usual and threatened that if anything’s happening, he’ll find out and tell Zak.

The reply is instant.

Oscar: Where are you?

You: Hospitality

Oscar: Got a break, coming now.

Minutes later he appears, cap low, casual stride, every inch the focused driver. He slides into the seat beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours under the table, far enough that it could pass for normal.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes scanning your face “you okay?”

You exhale, managing a small smile “Unsettled, feels like he’s watching. We’ve been so careful”

His hand finds yours beneath the table, warm fingers threading through yours, thumb stroking once “We have been careful, he’s fishing, he won’t find anything”

The contact sends heat curling through you, steadying your pulse, but then you catch movement, Lando’s engineer lingering near the coffee station, gaze flicking your way.

“He’s looking,” you whisper.

Oscar squeezes your hand once, firm “Let him, there’s nothing to see” That cheeky half-smile flashes, the one that always makes your breath hitch “See you later, engineer”

He stands, gives your shoulder a brief, colleague-appropriate pat, and walks off, nothing more than a driver checking in with his race engineer from the outside but inside, your skin still burns where he touched you.

•

Summer break finally arrives like a lifeline.

The Hungarian Grand Prix wraps, the paddock empties, and you both scatter, separate flights, separate stories for anyone who asks. You land in Santorini under a blazing white sky, the salt air already loosening the knot in your chest. The taxi winds up narrow roads to the private villa Oscar booked, whitewashed walls, infinity pool spilling toward the caldera, bougainvillea spilling over every surface.

He’s waiting on the terrace when you step inside, barefoot in a faded white tee and shorts, hair still damp from a swim, looking unfairly like he stepped out of a dream you didn’t know you were having. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, he crosses the space in three strides. You drop your bag and he catches you in an instant.

“Hey,” he breathes against your hair, arms banding around your waist, pulling you in until there’s no air between you “I missed you”

Your hands slide up, fingers sinking into the soft strands at his nape “I missed you too”

He draws back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and intent, then his mouth finds yours. It’s desperate from the first brush of lips, weeks of restraint shattering in one kiss. His hand cups your cheek, thumb tracing your jaw, the other presses low on your back, arching you into him until every line of his body molds to yours. You moan softly into his mouth, tugging him closer, deeper, tasting salt and sunscreen and the faint edge of want that’s been simmering since Silverstone. He walks you backward without breaking the kiss, until your back meets the cool wall near the open terrace doors. The Aegean breeze drifts in, cooling sweat already prickling your skin. His lips trail to your jaw, your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“I’ve thought about this every day” he mutters against your pulse point, voice rougher than usual “counting down until I could touch you without looking over my shoulder”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders “We still have to be careful when we go back”

“I know” he pulls back to meet your eyes, serious for a beat “But right now? No cameras, no engineers, no rules. Just us”

He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring, like he’s memorising every second. One hand slips under your shirt, palm warm against your bare skin, tracing the line of your spine, you arch into it, heat pooling low.

“Bedroom?” you whisper, half-laughing when he nips your lower lip.

“Pool first” he decides, scooping you up effortlessly. Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct “I’ve been staring at that view for hours, waiting for you, I want to see you in it”

He carries you out to the terrace, the sun dipping toward the horizon in a riot of orange and pink. The water glitters below, he sets you on lounger at the edge of the infinity pool, stepping between your thighs, hands sliding up to frame your face again.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he says quietly, forehead resting against yours “But I really don’t want to stop”

You smile, pulling him in by the collar of his tee “Don’t you dare”

The kiss turns molten as clothes hit the tiles. The water laps at your skin as he lowers you in, cool against fever-hot bodies. His hands are everywhere, reverent, possessive, learning you like he’s been starving for it. You lose track of time, of the world beyond this villa. There’s only him: the way he groans your name like a prayer, the way his fingers grip your hips like you might disappear, the way he looks at you, older, wiser, but completely undone by you.

Later, tangled in sheets as the stars come out over the caldera, he traces lazy patterns on your bare back.

“We’ll figure it out” he murmurs “When we go back, whatever it takes”

You press a kiss to his collarbone “We will, but tonight we’re just us”

He smiles against your hair “Yeah, just us”

The months that came were more sneaking around, but even you could admit you were getting less careful. Winter Break had come around quickly, you spent a few weeks in Australia with Oscar but now you were back at the factory in Woking, but it feels colder than usual this February morning. The 2026 pre-season testing is still weeks away, but the building hums with the low buzz of simulations running, mechanics prepping components, and the faint scent of carbon fiber and coffee. You’ve been back for a few days, burying yourself in aero updates and strategy models.

Your phone had pinged with the notification at 7:14 a.m.: a gossip site headline you almost swiped away.

“McLaren Insider: Oscar Piastri’s Secret Paddock Romance Exposed—Race Engineer Y/N in Forbidden Affair”

Photos. Blurry but damning. You in hospitality at Silverstone, his hand under the table. A grainy shot from the Santorini villa terrace, someone must have been on a boat with a long lens. A photo of you both at his house in Australia, a leaked text screenshot but how did they get it? The article spins it all, power imbalance, conflict of interest, breach of FIA and team conduct policies. “Sources say the relationship has been ongoing since mid-2025, risking team integrity ahead of the new regulations” Your stomach lurches. You’d both planned to tell Zak together next week, carefully, professionally. Oscar had even drafted notes on his phone, emphasise mutual respect, no favouritism on track, but the leak beat you by days.

By 9 a.m., your inbox has a meeting invite from Zak’s assistant “Urgent discussion. Zak’s office. 10:30.” HR is cc’d. Great. You walk the corridors like you’re heading to an execution. Colleagues nod hello, you force smiles. The door is already open when you arrive, Zak Brown sits behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, expression neutral but tight. Two HR reps are sat on either side, one you recognise from onboarding, the other a senior you’ve never met.

“Sit,” Zak says quietly.

You do and he doesn’t waste time “We’ve seen the article. We’ve verified enough of it through internal channels. The photos, the timeline, it lines up”

You nod once. No point denying it at this point. HR woman speaks first, voice measured “McLaren’s code of conduct is clear on workplace relationships, particularly those involving direct reporting lines or performance influence. Race engineers and drivers fall under protected categories due to the inherent power dynamics and safety-critical nature of the role. The policy requires disclosure and, in most cases, reassignment or separation to avoid perceived or actual bias”

Zak leans forward “We can’t have this hanging over the team. Not with 2026 regs coming, not with the championship pressure. The FIA’s already sniffing around ethics complaints this off-season. One whiff of favouritism, and sponsors pull, investigations start. We lose focus, we lose performance”

Your throat is dry but you don't have the energy to fight “I understand"

The other HR rep slides a folder across “This is a mutual separation agreement. We’re releasing you from your contract effective immediately, with a generous severance package and a neutral reference. No public statement from either side, you sign today, it stays quiet. You don’t, it goes formal, investigation, potential suspension pending review. Either way, you can’t stay on the pit wall”

You stare at the papers. The words blur...four years older...race engineer...forbidden. All the things you’d used as an excuse trying to end this before it got here, now prophecy.

You sign, you have no choice. Zak exhales “I’m sorry it came to this. You’re good at your job, damn good, but we can’t risk the team"

You stand “I know"

They don’t offer hugs or handshakes, just nods. You walk out, badge still clipped to your jacket like it means something. In the corridor, Lando’s race engineer is leaning against the wall near the lifts, arms crossed, smirk already in place...he’s been waiting.

“Knew it,” he says as you pass “Told you back at Silverstone. This sport isn’t for friendships. Especially not when one’s a woman on the wall.”

You stop and look at him. No energy left for anger “Congratulations. You were right”

He shrugs, almost disappointed you didn’t bite “Shame. Could’ve been a good engineer if you’d kept it professional"

You keep walking before you do something stupid. The main exit doors are ahead when you hear footsteps behind you, quick, familiar. Oscar. He’s in team kit, hair still damp from simulator session probably, eyes wide with panic he’s trying to hide “What’s going on?” His voice is low, urgent “I just heard, Zak pulled you in? HR? Talk to me”

You stop at the doors. Cold air rushes in as someone else leaves, you turn to face him, badge already unclipped, dangling from your fingers “It blew up” you say quietly, no tears, just fact “The article leaked before we could tell him, they had no choice. I’m out”

His face drains “What? No, wait, we were going to—”

“I know, it was fun while it lasted" The words taste like ash. You force a small, sad smile “Take care of yourself out there, Oscar. Drive fast, we'll talk soon, I need to process this”

You push through the doors before he can reply. The glass doors of the McLaren Technology Centre hiss shut behind you, sealing the warmth and the hum of the factory inside. The February wind slices through your jacket as you step onto the pavement, badge still clutched in your fist like a broken promise. You don’t look back, you can’t.

“Y/N wait. Please”

Oscar’s voice cracks the cold air. You keep walking, faster now, toward the car park, but he’s longer-legged, desperate. He catches up in seconds, hand closing gently but firmly around your wrist, just stopping you. You turn, his face is pale, eyes wide and frantic, hair still messy from the sim session. No cap, no composure, just raw panic.

“They can’t do this,” he says, breath fogging between you “they can’t just fire you. I’ll talk to Zak, I’ll tell him it was mutual, no favouritism, no performance impact, none of it, I'll go-”

“Stop” Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through his rush like a knife, you pull your wrist free, gentle but hold his hand instead “It’s too late”

He blinks, stunned “It’s not, we can fix this. We go in together, we explain—”

“No” You shake your head, forcing the words out before they choke you “They already decided, papers signed, severance, neutral reference. It’s done and honestly?” You swallow hard, meeting his eyes “I'm relieved and now it can end”

“But I love you,” he says making your breath catch, you've been at this for nearly a year and this is the first time he's said it “I’ve loved you since Santorini, to be honest, probably before that and I’m not letting some leak, some policy, some bloody article take that away. Not without a fight"

Your throat burns, tears you thought you’d already spent threaten again “Oscar…”

“I know what I’m risking,” he continues, quieter now “Seat, reputation, the whole thing. But I’d rather lose all of it than lose you because I was too scared to stand up. I should’ve done it sooner, I should’ve told Zak months ago"

You stare at him, really look. The boyish hope still there under the exhaustion, the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his hand flexes around yours. “It won’t change anything,” you whisper “They won’t take me back, not now. The damage is done, headlines are out, sponsors will freak, FIA will ask questions. It’s not just us anymore"

The wind whips between you, tugging at your jacket, at his hoodie. Somewhere in the distance, a car door slams, normal life continuing while yours splinters. You step closer, close enough to see the faint tremor in his hands, the way his eyes shine with something dangerously close to tears “I don’t want you to give up everything,” you say softly “not for me”

“I’m not giving up. I’m choosing” He lifts a hand, hesitates, then brushes his knuckles along your cheek, soft, reverent “Let me fight for this, for us. Please”

The wind cuts sharper now, carrying the faint metallic tang of rain that’s about to fall. You stand there in the car park, Oscar’s hand still hovering where it brushed your cheek, his confession hanging between you like smoke. You take a slow breath, forcing your voice steady even though your heart is hammering loud enough to drown out the distant traffic on the A320. “It’s not going to work like that,” you say quietly “Zak made it clear, the optics are poison. FIA’s already twitchy about conduct this off-season. If you go in there threatening to walk, they’ll call your bluff, or worse, they’ll let you. And then what? You throw away a championship-contending seat for someone who’s already out the door? I won’t let you do that”

He opens his mouth to argue but you shake your head, cutting him off gently “But I’m not breaking up with you”

His eyes snap to yours, searching, like he’s afraid he misheard “I’m not,” you repeat, softer “I love you too. And I’m not walking away from that just because the team decided I’m a liability. We’ll…figure something else out, I'll go to a different team, different role, remote consulting, whatever it takes. Just not today, give me time to breathe, to think. And you, go back inside before someone sees us arguing in the car park and makes it worse"

He exhales shakily, nods once. His hand drops to yours, squeezes once, hard, like he’s memorising the feel, then lets go.

“Okay,” he murmurs “Okay. But we’re not done, text me when you’re home, please”

You manage a small, tired smile “I will"

He watches you walk to your car, doesn’t move until you’re behind the wheel and the engine starts. You don’t look in the rearview until you’re out of the gates. When you do, he’s still standing there, hands in his pockets, a small dark figure against the grey February sky. The drive home is a blur, Woking’s roundabouts, the A3 slip road, the quiet residential streets. Rain starts spitting against the windscreen just as you pull onto your drive. You kill the engine, sit for a minute with your forehead on the steering wheel, letting the quiet settle. Then you see him. Max is leaning against your front door, arms crossed, hoodie up against the drizzle. He straightens when he spots your car, expression unreadable from this distance.

You grab your bag, lock the car, and walk over. The rain picks up, cold drops soaking through your jacket in seconds.

“Max,” you say when you’re close enough “What are you doing here?”

He pushes off the wall, rain darkening the shoulders of his hoodie. “Oscar rang me, I figured you’d be a mess but didn’t want you coming home to an empty house"

You unlock the door without a word. He follows you in, kicking it shut behind him. You drop your keys on the side, peel off your soaked jacket, hang it on the hook. Max stays quiet for once, just watches you move through the motions. You turn to him in the living room doorway “you didn’t have to come all the way here”

“Yeah, I did” He shrugs, but his eyes are serious “you’re not doing this alone, not after everything, Oscar was panicking on the phone, he couldn’t get away so here I am”

You sink onto the edge of the sofa, elbows on knees, face in hands. Max crosses the room, drops onto the cushion beside you “Talk to me,” he says quietly “or don’t. But I’m not leaving until I know you’re not going to sit here staring at the wall all night”

You laugh, small, cracked “I told him we’re not breaking up, that we’ll figure something out”

Max nods slowly “Good. Because if you’d let that idiot throw away his seat over this, I’d have kicked both your arses”

You glance at him sideways “He offered”

“Of course he did” Max snorts softly “He’s young and in love and thinks the world bends when you want it to. But you’re smarter than that, you stopped him”

“I had to”

Silence stretches for a beat. Then Max leans back, arms spread along the sofa back “So what now? You gonna go freelance? Join Williams? Ferrari? Or are you gonna make him suffer through long-distance until one of you cracks?”

You exhale, leaning back beside him “I don’t know yet. I just…need a minute to process ”

“Fair” He bumps your shoulder lightly with his “You’ve got time. And you’ve got me, and, don’t tell him I said this, he’s not going anywhere either, kid’s stubborn as hell when he wants something”

You manage a real smile this time, small but there “Thanks, Max”

He shrugs again, casual “Anytime. Now, have you eaten? Because if the answer’s no, I’m ordering whatever greasy takeaway you want, and we’re watching something stupid until you pass out”

You nod, throat tight with gratitude you don’t quite know how to voice. Rain taps against the windows. The house feels less empty with him here and for the first time since the article dropped, the future doesn’t feel like an ending.

•

The rain has softened to a steady hush against the windows, turning the house warm and dim. Half-empty takeaway cartons sit scattered across the coffee table, and Max is mid-rant about tyre strategy in some old race replay when a knock sounds at the front door.

Max glances toward the hallway, then back at you, one eyebrow lifting. “You expecting anyone?”

Your phone lights up on the cushion beside you.

Oscar: I’m outside.

Your breath catches.

“I—” You stand so fast the blanket slides off your lap “that’ll be him”

Max doesn’t tease you for once. He just nods, already pushing himself off the sofa “go” he says quietly. You open the door before you can second-guess it. Oscar stands on the step, hoodie damp from the rain, hair falling into his eyes, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to be here.

For a moment, neither of you speak, then he exhales, relief softening his shoulders “Hi”

“Hi” you echo, voice smaller than you expect.

Behind you, Max appears in the hallway, grabbing his jacket off the hook “Alright, Romeo” he says, clapping Oscar lightly on the shoulder as he passes “She’s fed, she hasn’t cried in at least an hour, and if you break her heart I will personally ruin every race you ever do”

Oscar blinks, caught between laughter and nerves “noted”

Max gives you a quick side hug, murmuring “Text me if you need me” before heading out into the drizzle, the door clicking shut behind him.

The house goes quiet. You and Oscar stand a few feet apart in the hallway, suddenly shy after everything that happened earlier. Rainwater darkens the shoulders of his hoodie; his cheeks are flushed from the cold.

“You drove all the way here?” you ask.

He nods “couldn’t focus, kept replaying the car park in my head” His eyes search yours carefully “Can I…?”

He gestures vaguely inside. You step aside, letting him in. He toes off his shoes automatically, like he’s been here a hundred times, then hesitates again as if unsure where to stand. The nervousness is almost endearing, the usually composed driver suddenly looking like a boy asking permission.

“You didn’t have to come” you say softly.

“I wanted to” he replies “I needed to see you properly, make sure you were okay” Something in your chest melts at that. You lead him into the living room, both of you sinking onto the sofa at the same time. The space Max filled earlier feels different now, quieter and warmer. For a second, you just look at each other, then Oscar reaches out, slow and careful, and takes your hand.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs “For today, for not protecting you from all of this sooner”

You squeeze his fingers “You didn’t do anything wrong, the situation was…messy from the start”

“I still hate it” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding “walking back into the factory without you there felt wrong”

Your throat tightens “It’ll feel different eventually”

He nods, but his gaze stays fixed on you “I meant what I said earlier, about choosing you, about us”

“I know” you whisper.

Silence settles again, softer this time. Outside, rain taps against the glass like a metronome.

“So,” he says eventually, a small smile tugging at his mouth, “strategy meeting?”

You laugh quietly “Already?”

“Well, you said we’d figure it out together” he shifts closer, shoulder brushing yours “tell me what you actually want, not what’s safe, not what the paddock expects, what you want”

The question catches you off guard. You think about Zak’s office, the signed papers, the feeling of relief buried under the upset. You think about endless travel, politics, late nights at the factory.

“I think…” You hesitate, searching for the right words “I don’t want to jump straight back into another team role, not yet. I loved the work, but the environment” You gesture vaguely “It’s exhausting”

He nods slowly, listening like every word matters.

“I was thinking maybe consultancy,” you continue “Remote data strategy, working with multiple teams without…belonging to one”

Oscar’s eyes brighten “You’d be incredible at that. Half the grid already respects your calls more than their own strategists”

“That’s a bold claim” you tease.

“It’s true” he insists softly “and it means you’d have flexibility, less politics, we could actually plan time together instead of stealing hours between race weekends”

The thought sends a warm flutter through your chest “you don’t think it’s…running away?”

“I think it’s evolving” he says simply “you’re not losing your career, you’re reshaping it” his certainty steadies you more than you expect. You lean back into the cushions, still holding his hand, your knees brushing.

“And you?” you ask “you’re still chasing a championship. I don’t want to slow you down”

“You don’t,” he replies immediately “you make everything clearer, even today, you stopped me from making a stupid emotional decision” He smiles sheepishly “Well, a bigger stupid emotional decision”

You grin “You were very dramatic”

“I had a good reason,” he murmurs, eyes softening “I love you” the words land differently this time, not rushed in a cold car park, but warm and steady in the quiet living room.

“I love you too,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He shifts closer, sliding an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his side. You rest your head on him instinctively, feeling his heartbeat through the damp fabric of his hoodie.

“So,” he says after a moment “first step. Tomorrow we make a list. Contacts, ideas, what you’d actually enjoy working on. I’ll help however I can, without interfering” he adds quickly.

“You helping me brainstorm isn’t interference” you murmur.

“Good,” he says “because I already have three ideas and a spreadsheet”

You laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been all day “Of course you do.

His fingers trace slow circles against your arm, absentminded, affectionate. The exhaustion finally starts to lift, replaced by a quiet excitement, not about what you lost, but what you might build next.

“You know,” he says softly, “this doesn’t have to be a setback. Maybe this is the part where we get to design our lives a bit more"

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze “you’re surprisingly wise tonight”

“Don’t get used to it" you lean in first this time, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It’s gentle, unhurried, more reassurance than desperation. He kisses you back slowly, his hand cupping your cheek like he’s still half afraid you’ll disappear.

When you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours “We’re going to be okay” he whispers.

You nod, feeling it settle deep in your bones for the first time since the article dropped. Outside, the rain keeps falling. Inside, wrapped up together on the sofa, the future feels less like something taken from you, and more like something you’re about to write together.

The Melbourne sun is bright and unforgiving, the kind that bounces off the Albert Park lake and makes everything feel sharper, more alive. It's Thursday, March 5 2026, the official start of the season, media day chaos in full swing. The paddock smells of fresh asphalt, coffee from hospitality, and the faint salt of the bay. You've been back in the F1 bubble for a few weeks now, not as an engineer this time, but as his, public, unapologetic, no more shadows.

You're in the McLaren hospitality suite, tucked into a quiet corner with a flat white, scrolling through emails from your first couple of consultancy gigs. The work's coming in steady, remote strategy audits for a midfield team, data deep-dives for a simulator program. It's flexible, respected, and best of all, doesn't require you to sit on a pit wall every weekend. You travel when you want, stay home when you don't. And right now, you're here because Oscar asked "Come to with me today" he'd said over breakfast in the hotel that morning, kissing your shoulder. You'd rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest had betrayed you. So here you are, in jeans and a soft McLaren hoodie (his, technically, stolen from his suitcase), watching the live feed of the drivers' press conference on the big screen.

The FIA Thursday presser is the usual mix, Lando's on one side of Oscar cracking jokes, Charles Leclerc on the other, polite and measured. The moderator calls for questions. A journalist from an Aussie outlet stands up first, classic home-race energy.

"Oscar, great to have you back in Melbourne. Obviously a lot's changed since last year, new regs, new car, but also personally. You've been very open about your relationship with your partner, Y/N, who's here this weekend. How's that balance been, bringing someone into this world full-time? And any thoughts on the chatter about the age difference? Some fans online have called it...unconventional"

The room shifts slightly, murmurs, a few cameras zooming in. Oscar doesn't flinch. He just picks up the mic, voice steady and even "Balance has been good, actually" he says, simple "She's incredible at what she does, smart, sharp, knows this sport inside out. Having her around makes everything feel more...grounded. Less like I'm just chasing lap times and more like I've got someone who gets the chaos but keeps me real" He pauses, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth "As for the age thing" He shrugs, almost casual, but there's steel under it "Four years. She's older, yeah, big deal, but she's also the one who talks me off ledges when quali goes wrong, who spots things in data I miss, who makes me laugh when I'm overtired and grumpy. If that's 'unconventional,' then I'm happy being unconventional. The people who matter don't care about four years. The people who do...well, they've got better things to worry about"

Lando snorts beside him, leaning into his mic "Mate, she's basically your free strategist now. I'm jealous, if she ever wants to consult for me, tell her I'll pay double"

The room laughs, light, relieved. Oscar shoots Lando a look that's fond exasperation, then turns back to the camera "Seriously," he adds, quieter now, eyes flicking toward the side of the room where he knows you're watching from hospitality "she's the best part of my year, every year. End of story"

The moderator moves on quickly, something about tyre compounds, but the clip's already going viral. Your phone buzzes with notifications, friends texting heart emojis, a few old colleagues sending thumbs-up. You ignore the inevitable troll replies, you've learned how.

Later, after the presser wraps and quali prep starts, Oscar finds you in the garage. Mechanics are buzzing around the cars, he slips through the chaos, hoodie up, until he's right in front of you. He doesn't say anything at first, just pulls you into a quick, firm hug, chin resting on your head for a beat.

"I heard the conference" you murmur into his chest.

"Yeah?" He pulls back enough to look at you, eyes soft "You okay?"

You nod, smiling "more than okay. You were...sweet, protective, annoyingly charming"

"Annoyingly?" He raises an eyebrow, teasing.

"Very" You reach up, fix the collar of his hoodie "But thank you, for saying it out loud in front of everyone"

He shrugs, but his hand finds yours, thumb stroking over your knuckles "Meant every word. And the age thing? If anyone brings it up to your face this weekend, point them my way, I'll handle it"

You laugh softly "My knight in papaya"

"Something like that" He glances around, no cameras too close, then leans in, presses a quick kiss to your lips "Love you. Now go enjoy the sun. I'll see you after debrief. Dinner at that place you like on Chapel Street?"

"Deal"

He squeezes your hand once more, then jogs off toward the engineers for a final data check. You watch him go, focused, calm, yours, and feel the last knot of tension from last year finally loosen. Melbourne sun on your skin, him on track, the season stretching out ahead like open road. For the first time in a long time, everything feels right where it should be.

Taglist:

@neverinadream @just-emmaaaa

[livinginastory]

Red Card - M.Mount

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader Word Count: 25.2k - she's a long one 🤭 Warnings: Angst, lots of it. Smut, unprotected sex, swearing, forbidden romance, workplace drama. Mason being a dick. Authors Note: hi, so it's been a while since I've written for Mason, this wasn't supposed to be this long but well, I got carried away. I hope you all enjoy it and feedback is always appreciated 🫣 Anywho, enjoy!! 🫶🏻

"Forbidden love…you know, two people meeting and falling madly in love, despite the hate, only to discover that with time comes broken hearts. They are destined for destruction and yet they continue to cling to each other like magnets, unaware of the end-all be-all approaching. They can’t have each other, but god they want each other" 

The sun was unusually bright for a northern morning, making the pitch glow under a rare stretch of cloudless sky. I was half-distracted, trying to get clean footage of the players going through finishing drills, but someone was already looming in the corner of my frame.

Again.

“Careful” Mason said as he jogged past, deliberately slow, glancing sideways “wouldn’t want to miss my good side would you?” the cocky, unbearable smirk on his lips. 

I didn’t even bother looking up from the viewfinder “still searching for it”

He let out a short laugh, circling back after his turn “you're wound tight today, love, what’s wrong? Club coffee machine broken or just still bitter I didn’t wave in your last post?” god, even his voice is insufferable. 

I finally looked up, shielding my eyes with one hand “jesus, do you ever switch off?”

He smiled, slow and infuriating “not when you’re around, you’re too fun”

I stared at him, wishing I could just go over there and slap the smirk off his face, or choke him, either works for me “you’re insufferable”

He jogs over, getting close to the camera “and yet, here you are, filming me like I’m your muse” he tilted his head, sweat already darkening his collar “admit it, you love it”

“I love it more when you shut up” I snap, letting my eyes meet his and hating myself that I actually like the colour of those eyes that have taunted me for the last year, and before that. Before I was the media manager for Man United, I worked as media executive for Chelsea for 3 years and left there to come here 2 years ago and a year later, he decided to turn up and ruin my life, yet again. Mason and I have always hated each other, but it’s always been a thin line between hate and flirtation in a way. 

He clutched his chest like I’d wounded him “you wound me Red, you wound me” he used that stupid nickname he has for me that I don't understand.

I roll my eyes at him “If I wanted to wound you, I’d start with your ego”

He grinned, stepping closer than necessary as I adjusted the camera “that mean streak’s what keeps me going y'know, you’re like pre-match adrenaline...except constantly annoyed with me”

“Because I can’t stand you” I keep my eyes from looking up into his, his frame hovering over mine. 

“But you see me” he said, mockingly sincere “you always notice”

I finally look up from the camera to give him a flat look “you’re literally screaming at my camera lens half the time, you make your presence known”

“Just giving the people what they want” he shrugs, pulling the bottom of his shirt up to wipe sweat off his forehead, his abdomen being exposed and I try so hard, I promise, to not let my eyes wander, thankfully he doesn't notice or maybe he does, either way, that smirk is still present. 

I clear my throat “you think they want more of you?” I say with a scoff. 

“of course they do” he says with a wink “especially if it’s coming from you, there’s something about your content, all professional and the little voiceovers you do, real power-trip energy. It’s hot"

I blinked at him, hard that I felt like my eyes might just pop out of my head “I’m sorry, but did you just call my editing hot?” I could feel my cheeks burning. 

He shrugged, utterly unbothered “I call it like I see it"

I stepped back, lowering the camera “you’re a walking HR violation" I can't help but shake my head. 

He grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself “and you love the attention”

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back something cutting but Ruben shouted across the pitch "Mount, stop flirting with the staff! Over here now!" Mason gave me a cocky little salute as he jogged off and I wish I didn’t find it somewhat attractive and even as I rolled my eyes, I caught myself watching him go.

---

The sun had dipped lower, casting longer shadows across the pitch as training wrapped up. I was sat outside, soaking up the last moments of the sun for the day, scrolling through the footage on my tablet, mentally flagging which clips I could trim into a quick TikTok when a familiar voice piped up behind me “you get my good angle yet, or are you purposely making me look like I run with bricks for feet?”

I didn’t have to turn around “You run like that naturally, don't need my help for that”

“Harsh” Mason said, stepping around to face me, taking a seat across from me, he looked flushed from drills, hair damp from the shower, shirt clinging in all the right places which I definitely didn’t notice “I’d argue that I move with power and purpose"

“You move like a fridge with anger issues” I said, trying very hard to focus on the tablet and not on the way his smile crept wider at my insult.

He leans forward on his elbows, just enough to break my focus. I glanced up, only to find him already watching me. Really watching. His voice dropped, playful but low enough to catch something else beneath “you’re not as immune to me as you think, you know?” he whispers like it's some secret. 

I blink “excuse me?”

He tilted his head with a smile, not a smirk, an actual smile “you always look away when I get too close, you blush when I compliment you, like when I called your editing hot earlier”

I didn’t even realise I had until he said it, but damn it, he was right, causing my grip on the tablet to tighten, holding it to my chest "It’s not because of you” I said quickly, maybe a little too quickly “I just don’t like cocky distractions breathing down my neck”

“Mm” he hummed, eyes still locked on mine “whatever helps you sleep at night, Red”

“Why do you call me Red?” I ask, wondering why he’s been calling me this nickname for the last five years of knowing him. 

“Mase!” someone barked from a few feet away as he was about to answer, causing us both to jump slightly, turning to find Rasmus watching us with a knowing smirk. 

“You coming, mate? or are you too busy flirting with the media team?”

I felt heat rush to my face, even though I told myself I didn’t have to justify anything, nothing is happening here. Mason, on the other hand, didn’t flinch “just giving her some player insight” he called back “she needs the content, yeah?”

Rasmus snorted “right, just don’t accidentally make the club Insta your dating profile”

Mason turned back to me as Rasmus walked off, his grin smug “you’re blushing, Red”

“I’m sunburnt,” I snapped, even though it was fully clouded over now.

He leaned in slightly, voice teasing “whatever you say, but if you want to take another shot of me walking off” he turned, looking over his shoulder as he jogged back toward the locker rooms “this is the angle”

And for just a second...I did look and I hate myself for it. 

“Wait Mason?” I shout, causing him to turn to me “you never answered my question” I state.

He chuckles lightly, a smile forming on his face again “I think I’ll keep that to myself for now, Red” 

And with that, he disappears into the building while I go back to my tablet, trying to figure out where the name comes from. 

---

The next day was the Europa League semi final against Athletic Club, winning this secures a place in the final. The tunnel was electric, charged with nerves, noise, and that unbearable smell of sweat and adrenaline. Players paced, boots thudded against the concrete, staff muttered last-minute instructions. And me? I was just trying to get a clean pre-match shot for socials, my camera trained on the team, pretending not to notice him.

But of course, he noticed me first…as always. 

“Try not to post any pictures where I look half-dead this time” Mason muttered as he walked past, shrugging on his pre match jacket with that same smug half-smile he always wore around me.

I didn’t look up from my lens as I speak “try not to look half-dead then”

He stopped mid-step, turning back toward me, sweat already glistening at his temple from the warm-up “you’ve got something against me, don’t you?”

I gave him a deadpan look “just a long-standing appreciation for accuracy"

He chuckled darkly “right, because you’re totally objective, you just happened to crop me out of the last carousel post and gave Bruno a full fucking reel”

I blinked slowly “Bruno scored a hat-trick”

“And I set up the assist that started it all!” he snapped, stepping closer.

I lowered the camera “Is this seriously what you’re doing right now? Five minutes before kick-off and you’re whining about Instagram posts?”

He leaned in, voice low, jaw tight “No, I’m calling you out, because you act like this job makes you untouchable, like you’re above the rest of us”

I raised a brow “or maybe I just don’t worship the ground you walk on like everyone else, sorry if that hurts your ego.”

His eyes flared, dark, sharp, challenging “you think I care if you worship me?”

“No,” I said, letting the word drop like a stone between us “I think you care that I don’t”

He stared at me for a beat too long, the shouts from the pitch echoed down the tunnel, but for a second it felt like we were the only two people in the world. Stuck in this ridiculous, infuriating, magnetic push-pull that neither of us could seem to escape.

“You know what?” he muttered, stepping back “Forget it, I’ve got a match to win”

“Then stop wasting time talking to me” I shot back. He gave me one last look, one full of heat, anger, and something else I couldn’t name, before turning and jogging down the tunnel with the rest of the team. I exhaled through my nose, fingers tight around the camera.

God, I hated him.

But if I hated him so much, why was I still shaking?

The stands were heaving. A sea of red and sound and heart-pounding tension. Ninety minutes into a match that had been nothing but grit and frustration, and we were winning 3-0, Mason scored in the 72nd minute and was cocky about it. 

My camera was gripped tighter than usual, hands cold despite the adrenaline buzzing under my skin. I was standing just behind the advertising boards near the corner flag, watching the chaos unfold through my viewfinder, trying to keep steady while pretending not to scan for him.

And then it happened.

91st minute, Mason, number 7, their keeper tried to kick the ball away but Mason found the ball with his feet, aiming for the net, kicking it with all his might with his left foot. 

And then…boom. Back of the net. 

The stadium erupted. Fans screamed. Flares lit the air red. The bench flew up like springs had launched them. The noise was deafening, but somehow all I could hear was my own heartbeat.

And him.

Running toward the corner, arms stretched, grin breaking across his face like he couldn’t stop it even if he tried, but he didn’t celebrate with the crowd, didn’t go to his teammates. He turned, just slightly, and his brown eyes found me. A second, two…maybe more, but it was intentional.

That look. Fierce. Possessive. Quietly victorious. Like he’d done it just to prove a point, not to the fans, not to the board but to me. I felt it like a punch to the chest, and for a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

He gave the smallest nod, subtle, confident, like he already knew I got the message. I swallowed hard, lowering the camera, my hands were physically shaking.

God, I hated him.

I hated that he could score that goal and then look at me like that, like he knew…like I mattered more than the whole damn stadium.

I was brought out of my trance when the final whistle had just barely blown, the pitch was chaos, players high-fiving, coaches yelling, fans still chanting from the stands and in the centre of it all, soaked in rain and glory, was Mason bloody Mount. Shirt clinging to him, hair damp, that arrogant grin plastered across his face. 

I walked back to the bench, forcing myself to breathe. I was here for work, not to get caught up in the spectacle of him smirking at the crowd like he owned it.

“Still filming?” came a familiar voice behind me. Alex, the assistant media officer, nodded toward the tunnel “we need a post-match clip for socials,  the fans voted for Mase”

Of course they did.

“Brilliant” I muttered, because nothing made my job harder than having to point a camera at someone who sometimes treats me like dirt on his boot. I could get Alex to do it, being media manager has its perks but I’m currently holding the camera and I’ve been filming and taking pictures all game, so it’s on me. 

I found him near the dugout, taking off his shin pads and still flushed from the goal. He clocked me instantly, because of course he did, and that grin stretched even wider.

“Didn’t think you’d be the one sticking a mic in my face tonight” he said as I approached.

“Didn’t think you’d actually do something worth filming” I fired back.

That earned a laugh, low, warm, annoyingly attractive. I hated how easy it was now, how the jabs didn’t land like they used to. Mason stood up from the chair, walking over to me, towering over me just enough to be annoying “You always this happy when I score?”

I rolled my eyes and checked the mic levels “I’m just here to do my job. You know, professionalism? Might be a new concept for you”

He leaned in a little. “You used to hate me” he said, voice teasing but quieter now “what changed?”

I froze.

For a second, the noise of the pitch faded. The rain hit the pitch softly. The only thing that existed was the heat behind his eyes and the camera hanging loose in my hands.

“I still hate you” I said, but it came out too soft to be convincing.

Mason’s smile turned smug, but not cruel like it used to be “Nah, you hate that you don’t hate me anymore, and you hate that I know it”

And maybe he was right, because I used to glare at him from the sidelines, but now? Now I couldn’t look away. Especially when he looked at me like this, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Whatever” I replied smoothly, raising the mic between us “ready?”

His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth before flicking back up “always” he took the mic in his hands, his fingers brushing mine, causing a shock to vibrate up my arm and down my body. Our eyes met but I took a deep breath and hit record.

“Mason ,” I said, voice clipped, professional “you scored twice tonight, in the 72nd minute and the 91st. Walk us through that second goal, it was a beauty”

He grinned at the compliment “well, I saw a gap, timed the kick, and I just knew it was going in as soon as I hit it”

I blinked at him “Modest as ever”

He leaned a little closer, voice dropping an octave “wouldn’t need to brag if you actually gave me credit once in a while”

“Don’t mistake me tolerating your presence for admiration” I shot back, camera still rolling.

He laughed, quiet and genuine and just as I was about to cut, he looked dead into the lens and said “But she was watching, though, that’s what really counts” and I swear my stomach twisted.

I ended the clip and took a step back, heart thudding way too loudly for comfort “you’re insufferable you know?” I muttered, I will not be posting that interview. 

“And yet, here you are” He gestured to the mic and the camera “chasing me with your little camera” the look on his face was telling, a mix between attraction and cockiness. 

“I’m doing my job” I say, turning the camera off and setting it into its protective case as I’m done with this conversation. 

“Right, sure. Just a coincidence you always end up filming me, never one of your team” 

“Coincidence or punishment, if I make one of the team do it, it’s definitely punishment for them and that wouldn’t be fair” I muttered, turning away toward the tunnel to get out of here as fast as I could. I barely made it a few steps before I heard his boots on concrete behind me.

“You used to hate me Red” he said again, this time without the smirk. Just that irritating, quiet confidence that had crept in lately, ever since he started taking me seriously.

I turned to face him “I still might”

His gaze dipped, tracing over me. Not like a lad trying to score, but like a boy who suddenly realised the girl who always challenged him was the one who mattered most “nah” he said, voice low “You hate that you don’t anymore”

I didn’t answer. Mostly because I didn’t have one, because he was partially right. Somewhere in the hate between us, something else started to form but I refuse to admit it. 

He stepped a little closer “tell me you didn’t feel it, out there. That look you gave me after the goal?”

“I was filming”

“You were staring”

“Because you scored, finally”

He smirked again, but softer this time “you’ve seen me score before, but you’ve never looked at me like that”

The worst part? I didn’t have a comeback. Just the sound of rain, and the way my pulse jumped when he looked at me like he was daring me to admit it. And maybe I wanted to but I would hate myself for it. 

“I might see you at the event later” I tell him, rushing away and out of the stadium as quick as I ever have in my life. 

---

A few hours later, the stadium had emptied, and the noise inside had shifted from chants to the clink of glasses and the murmur of polite conversation. The Manchester United Awards Event was something the club held every year, inviting the under 21s, women’s team and men’s team along with sponsors, and media guests. The event talk was mostly about the win, getting to the final and of course, Mason’s brilliant last-minute goal. The coaches and back room staff laughed with board members and I was trying to act like I hadn’t just spent the last three hours obsessively replaying one very specific look from one very aggravating midfielder.

I should’ve been mingling, doing my job, getting interviews, making sure the event went smoothly. But no, instead, I was trying to avoid eye contact with Mason, who was talking to a few teammates by the drinks table. Every time I looked up, I found him staring at me across the room and in that moment there was no denying it anymore. The tension between us had gone from hatred to something…else. He was taking in every inch of my outfit, from the way the black fabric hugged my figure down to my heels, it wasn’t revealing in the slightest, just a simple black dress that I had in the closet. My hair was straightened so it sat half way down my back and I had a light make up on, my job is to turn up and do the content, not make it a fashion show, that’s the job of the players. Mason was dressed in an elegant suit, it was a black Dior suit, paired with a white shirt and black tie, he looked impeccable but he doesn’t need to know that. 

I opened my phone, going onto the Manchester United account and opening the camera to take some videos of the event. Just as I finished filming and but the phone back in my clutch bag, I felt the heat of his gaze on my back again and stiffened. It was the same damn look from earlier, I could feel it, the one that made me feel like I was caught in the spotlight of a game I didn’t know the rules to but everyone else did. 

“Still ignoring me?” His voice was suddenly behind me, soft, dangerous, the hint of a grin creeping into his words.

I turned slowly, meeting his brown eyes with a challenging look “I’m trying to work without getting interrupted”  

“Yeah” he said, stepping closer, dangerously close when we are in the same room as all the players, the sponsors, the media, the club board but he didn’t seem to care as his broad shoulders blocked the dim lights overhead “and I’m just standing here, waiting for you to look at me without pretending you’re not”

I held my ground, I’m not one to back down from a fight “I’m fine, really, there’s nothing to look at”

He chuckled, the sound low and almost intimate “Is that how it’s gonna be, then?”

“I’m just doing my job Mason” I repeated, because I had to. It was the only thing keeping me grounded. The only excuse I had left.

“Right” he said, eyes narrowing slightly, stepping closer, too close, until I could feel his chest brush mine “that’s why you looked at me like that earlier”

I felt my pulse race “like what?”

“Like you couldn’t decide whether to kiss me or punch me” he murmured, lips so close I could almost taste the words.

My breath caught, and I took a step back, trying to steady myself and to try and avoid a story circulating if someone saw “oh it was definitely the latter, what makes you think you’re that important?”

“I know I am” he said, his voice now lower, more certain, like he had a secret and he was going to make me figure it out but kept his distance, clearly sensing I was uncomfortable with him so close in public “look Red, we’ve hated each other for what? Five years? But maybe we’ve always been looking at the wrong thing” he shrugs like it’s obvious.

“Which thing would that be?” I asked, trying to keep the edge in my tone, but it was weakening. I knew it was.

His hand reached out, fingers brushing mine briefly before he moved away, leaving my fingers subconsciously reaching out for him, like he was testing the waters “maybe the thing we really couldn’t stand wasn’t each other...but the way we couldn’t stop noticing each other”

I opened my mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words, not when his gaze was that intense. Not when the space between us was shrinking, pulling me into something that felt inevitable, despite every part of me wanting to walk away.

“You think so?” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear, I wasn’t going to admit that he might be right.

“I know so” 

And then, just like that, the tension snapped, he went to walk past me but quickly leaned in, his lips barely brushing my ear “let’s go talk somewhere quiet, meet me on the balcony in a few minutes”  and he was gone, like he was never even there but I knew he was and I was left with a decision of whether to go and talk about it or ignore it and just do my job.

But no, I followed.

The door clicked shut behind me, muting the noise of the event to a distant hum. Mason was hidden, it took me a moment to find him round a corner, stood to the left by the railing, not leaning against it but hands in his pockets as he looked out, turning his head when he heard me walk towards him. Out here, the air was cool, brushing against my bare shoulders and hot skin, cursing me for not bringing a jacket. In the distance, the city lights of Manchester flickered like they didn’t care who we were or what rules we were breaking.

I leaned against the metal railing, trying to put some distance between us, but he was standing too close. I could feel the heat from his body, could sense the way he was watching me, the way he was waiting for me to do something “are you just going to stare at me all night, or are you going to say something?” I asked, crossing my arms, though the action didn’t feel as defensive as it usually did.

Mason didn’t answer immediately, he just took a step forward, his gaze intense, locking on mine as if he could see right through the walls I’d built up “Red, I don’t know what to say anymore” he admitted, his voice quiet, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t expected “I’ve spent five years thinking I hated you" he shook his head " but maybe I was wrong"

I scoffed, trying to deflect the way his words made something in my chest tighten “You’ve spent five years being a complete arse, so, forgive me if I’m not exactly thrilled to hear you’re changing your mind now"

“Is that really what you think?” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of seriousness to it that made my heart skip, his eyes narrowing in concern “you think I didn’t notice you? You think I didn’t see the way you looked at me all that time?”

I opened my mouth to say something sharp, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I just stared at him, feeling like I was caught between a thousand emotions “What do you want from me, Mason?” I let out the breath I was holding since coming out here. 

He stepped closer, so close I could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, his eyes dropped to my lips for a second, and I could swear he was holding back from something "what do I want?” He smiled, but it was softer now, not the cocky grin he’d flashed at me on the pitch but a soft, genuine smile “I want you to stop pretending you didn’t feel it”

“Feel what?” I managed to croak, but my voice betrayed me, shaking slightly as his proximity sent a jolt of heat through me. I knew what he meant, he told me inside but I was trying to pretend there was nothing here. 

“You know what I mean, you heard me in there” he closed the gap between us, his breath brushing my cheek “that thing we’ve always had. The push-and-pull. The hate, the tension...but underneath it all, there's something else, something more”

I shook my head, refusing to believe it “you're delusional, you know that" but my heart wasn’t in the denial anymore. I could feel the way my pulse was speeding up, the way his words resonated deep inside me, like I’d always known there was something else lurking beneath the surface of our animosity. I tried to turn my face from him but his hand stopped me, when he placed it gently on my cheek, making me look into those chocolate eyes. 

“I’m not delusional Red” he whispered, his voice low, almost a growl “I’m just being honest with myself and I think you should be, too"

I swallowed, my throat dry “what’s that supposed to mean?”

He took another step closer if it was possible, his chest against mine, a simple touch of our bodies, but it sent a surge of heat through me. “it means you’ve been looking at me the same way I’ve been looking at you”

I didn’t respond, but I felt it. All of it. The way the air between us had thickened, the way every word he said seemed to be pulling me closer to something I couldn’t escape…the truth.

“Tell me I’m wrong Red, tell me to stop” he breathed.

I wanted to tell him, to say we were enemies, that we hated each other, that he should stop before we cross a line we can't go back over, but the words stuck in my throat. They couldn’t come out, not when everything I’d tried to convince myself of over the past five years felt like a lie.

“I don’t want to hate you,” he said, the sincerity in his eyes making my heart ache “I never did, it was just easier" 

I didn’t know what to say and I couldn’t find the words to argue with him, especially not when everything inside me screamed that he was right. That maybe we’d never really hated each other at all. His lips were close now, just a breath away. I could feel his pulse matching mine, quick and frantic. I didn’t move, didn’t pull away, even though my body was telling me to do exactly that. The pull between us was undeniable, magnetic. And then, he kissed me.

It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t desperate, it was slow, tender, like he was testing the waters, unsure if I’d pull away or lean in. But I didn’t pull away, instead, I leaned into him, my hand reaching up to grip his jacket, as if I needed something to hold onto before I got swept away. The kiss deepened, but it was still slow, the way his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me as close as he could, the way our lips moved together, each movement deliberate, as if we were both savouring the moment, like we were both trying to figure out what this was after so long of fighting it. 

I pulled back slightly, breathless, my heart pounding “you're right,” I whispered, though I almost couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth “I didn’t hate you. I never really did”

Mason's smile was small but triumphant, like he knew all along “I know" 

His hand slid down from my cheek down my arm and his face etched with concern "Jesus Red, you're freezing, come on let's talk somewhere inside" 

We didn’t speak as we left the balcony. His hand grazed mine once, barely there, but it said everything. I followed without hesitation, without thought, adrenaline burning in my throat. What we had just done is against all company policy, against my own belief of not mixing business with pleasure but every step down the quiet corridor as I followed him was electric, praying no one had noticed that we were disappearing together once again. My team were at the event doing most of the work, I doubt anyone would miss me. Mason on the other hand? They were probably looking for him. 

He opened the door to one of the private sponsor lounges, dimly lit, quiet, forgotten now that the real party was in the main hall. The lock clicked behind us. 

“Okay,” he said finally, breaking the silence, his voice a little rough “so... now what?”

I bit my lip, avoiding his eyes for a moment “I don’t know,” I whispered, though it felt like I’d been carrying that uncertainty for so long “what does this mean?”

Mason let out a small breath and took a step back, but not entirely losing that intensity in his eyes “I'm not sure, but I’m not going to pretend it didn’t just happen. That kiss...” he paused, rubbing a hand over his jaw “it wasn’t a mistake”

“No, it wasn’t” I replied, my voice quieter now, more thoughtful, it wasn’t a mistake no, but it felt like one, like stepping into unfamiliar territory where I couldn’t be sure of the ground beneath me.

The air between us was thick with the unspoken things we hadn’t said, the things we hadn’t even acknowledged until now, all the years of hostility, the constant barbs and jabs, the moments I’d looked at him and hated myself for even thinking about him, for feeling the things I’d tried to bury "so, what do we do now?” I asked again, more pointed this time, searching for something to hold onto, anything “pretend it didn’t happen? Or do we...figure out what this is?”

Mason looked at me like he was weighing his words carefully and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to make sense of everything as much as I was “I don’t know about you,” he said slowly, his gaze softening “but I’m not really the pretending type”

His honesty was disarming, I wasn’t used to this side of him, the one who wasn’t joking, who wasn’t just being cocky or playing around. It made everything feel...real and really, that was terrifying.

“I’ve hated you for so long” I said before I could stop myself, the words were out, and they felt like the truth heavy and raw “we’ve hated each other and now you’re telling me we should just...be okay with this?”

Mason stepped closer again, his hand brushing against mine in a quiet gesture that sent another jolt through me “I don’t think we hated each other, not really” his voice was softer, but firm “I think we just didn’t know how to deal with this...tension between us, how to deal with us”

The words were starting to make sense, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear them. Us. That word hung in the air between us, heavy and uncertain, like something we’d both been too scared to admit “I don’t know what this means for us” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat “but I know it’s not simple”

“No” Mason agreed, nodding slowly “It’s not, but we don’t have to figure it all out right now. Not here and not tonight” The words were both a relief and a weight, I had been expecting some grand declaration, some certainty, but I think we both knew this wasn’t that. Not yet, anyway, if ever. 

“Can we just...not think about it?” I asked, the vulnerability in my voice surprising me “just for tonight?”

Mason's expression softened, and he smiled, genuine, unguarded, for the first time since I’d known him. It made something inside me ease, even though everything still felt complicated.

“Yeah” he said quietly, taking a step back, his hand still brushing against mine as if he couldn’t quite pull away “we don’t have to think about it, but we can talk about it later, if we need to”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for later” I admitted, feeling the weight of that truth in my chest. Mason nodded, and there was understanding in his eyes, no pressure, no expectations. Just him standing there, with that damn half-smile that still made me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

“We’ll figure it out” he said softly “I’m not going anywhere, Red”

And in that moment, I believed him. Because despite all the history, all the distance, it didn’t feel like we were falling apart. It felt like we were... starting something new. Something neither of us had expected. I took a step to him, grabbing his jacket and crashing my lips against his. The kiss wasn’t careful. It was all teeth and want and weeks of tension snapping like a cord pulled too tight. His hands framed my face, then tangled in my hair, his mouth insistent like he was trying to consume every argument I’d ever thrown at him. I shoved his jacket off unable to stop myself, something inside of me just wanting him. His hands slid up my back, carefully pulling down the zip of my dress.

“Still hate me?” he muttered against my throat as he kissed down my neck and across my collarbone.

“we've just established I don't” I breathed “shut up”

He grinned and lifted me onto the edge of a low table, mouths colliding again, his hands running up my thighs and bringing my dress with them, I could feel his nails scraping over the fabric and it make every nerve in my body explode with pleasure, all heat and friction and restraint being burned alive, he shouldn’t make me feel this way. I hate him. 

A noise outside froze us. Voices. Footsteps. We both stilled. I clutched his white shirt that I had just finished unbuttoning as we listened, two people walking down the corridor, deep in conversation, laughter erupting between them and it was close to us. 

Mason’s eyes met mine, still half-wild, lips parted, chest rising fast. His hand covered my mouth instinctively, not to silence me, but to ground us both and it was kind of hot in a way. His hand was wrapped around my waist, pulling me flushed against him like he was shielding me if someone was to come in. But as we listened, the voices passed and they were gone.

My heart thundered so hard against my chest, the reality of the situation starting to make me come to my senses, this shouldn’t, couldn’t, happen.  We stayed still for a long moment, both holding our breath, until Mason finally let out a quiet laugh “that was a close one”

I pushed him back slightly by his chest, glaring “this isn’t funny Mason”

“It kind of is” he chuckled, trying to close the space between us again.

I held my hand up as I jumped off the table, fixing my dress and zipping it back up, being single for this long will teach you to be able to do that “it’s not, what if we got caught?”

He stepped back reluctantly, dragging both hands through his hair like he needed a second to reset. “you’re right, we can’t keep doing this” he starting buttoning his shirt back up. It was like the conversation we just had never happened, his mood changing from making me think he was letting me in, to guarded and like this was a mistake. 

My face must have been shock, my pulse still everywhere “then stop looking at me like that” I said as he eyes didn’t leave me, he wasn’t looking at my body, no he was looking at me, like he really wanted me and it wasn’t just some game. 

“Like what?” he asked, his eyebrows fused together in confusion.

“Like you want me” 

For a beat, we stood there, just breathing. The heat still there, the tension was still there, feelings still there. But the consequences were waiting.

“I should go” I whispered when he didn’t say anything to that, and in the moment, I thought my hunch was wrong, it was a game, he didn’t want me, he just wanted to claim me as a prize in this game that only he is playing and for a moment, I thanked my lucky stars, that I didn’t give into him. 

He nodded, jaw tight, cold “Yeah, probably”

Just before I made it to the door, he said it “I wasn’t pretending, by the way. Everything I said before I meant and that look? The goal? It was for you. I do want you, and like I said, I'm not going anywhere unless you want me to" 

I didn’t look back. No force in me would allow me to, if I did, I would give in and I wasn’t willing to do that, so I just left. Leaving him in that room, alone while I left the party as quick as I could, not even saying goodbye to anyone, just letting the cold air hit me as I walked down the street, trying to collect my thoughts. 

---

The quiet hum of the hotel air conditioning filled the silence in the elevator as I pressed the button for his floor. I hadn’t planned on coming here. In fact, I had fought the idea all the way from the stadium to the hotel. But somehow, here I was, my mind still reeling from everything that had happened. The kiss. The way he’d looked at me after. The way I felt when his lips were on mine. It all felt like a mistake, a dangerous one, but one I couldn’t forget. His words stuck with me "I'm not going anywhere, Red" I just need to speak to him about it. And this was the hotel that the club put the players in on awards night to make sure they were all safe after a night of drinking. I didn't even think of the state Mason could be in, if he was even here, it was 1am and the event ended an hour ago so I was hoping he was. 

I knocked on the door, the sound too loud in the stillness of the night, I looked around, like this was some covert mission, my pulse racing. When the door opened, Mason was standing there, still in his black blazer from the event, hair slightly messy as if he’d just run his hands through it, his tie was discarded and his top few buttons were unbuttoned, showing a bit of his chest. His gaze immediately softened when he saw me, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes, hope and, honestly, that was the last thing I could afford to deal with right now.

"y/n, why are you here?" he asked quietly, stepping back to let me in. His voice had that undertone, the one that always made me second-guess myself, why was I here? And did he just call me by my actual name and not Red? 

I stepped inside, my arms folded defensively across my chest, I couldn’t let myself be weak now. I couldn’t let myself feel what I was starting to feel, not with him “Mason, we need to talk"

He closed the door softly behind me, but the way his eyes never left mine when he locked it and walked to stand in front of me, made my stomach twist “I know what you’re going to say. You’re here to tell me it was a mistake, that it can’t happen again"

I didn’t answer immediately, unsure if I even knew how to phrase what I felt. I couldn’t look at him as he stood there, like he was waiting for me to confirm that everything was fine, that what had happened on the balcony hadn’t changed anything. However, the issue is that it had, it had changed everything. “It was a mistake” I said finally, the words tasting bitter on my tongue “The club would never allow an employee and a player to...to do what we did” I was talking in circles, but the logic, the reality of it all, was too much but I knew I was right “this" I gestured between us "us, it can’t happen”

He took a step forward, and then another. His aftershave lingering off his skin, a mix of lavender and sandalwood "so, that’s it? You’re just going to pretend like it didn’t mean anything?” his voice was quiet, but there was anger simmering beneath it “you felt it y/n, you know you did. Don’t try to act like this was just some mistake, don't act like this is one sided, you wouldn’t have kissed me like that if it was”

“I’m not acting” I snapped, finally meeting his gaze “I’m being real. This isn’t some romance, this is my job and stake Mason, my contract clearly outlines that doing whatever the hell this is, is strictly forbidden with a player and I'm sure yours states the same with staff" I should've left it there, but I just had to take it one step too far and make sure I stopped this before it starts “and you’re a player Mason, that’s all you are to me. A player.”

He shook his head, frustration and hurt visible on his face “wow, y/n, you think I don’t know that? I’ve been the one to put this team first. I’ve always kept the right distance. But you?” He took another step forward, and I could feel the heat radiating from him, the undeniable pull that always seemed to draw me in “you've been the one acting like you didn’t care, like you hate me but I see you, I see the way you look at me, I watch the way that little vein in your neck pulses when your heart rate rises when I'm near you, I always have” 

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath as his hand raised with caution as he gently traced the small vein that he was talking about, just above where my neck meets my collarbone and I can feel it pulsing, proving him right. This wasn’t how I had planned for this to go. But now, with him this close, with that raw emotion in his voice, everything I’d been trying to suppress felt like it was threatening to spill over “you’re wrong,” I said, but it was weak, my voice trembled, and I hated myself for it. I was betraying myself. 

“No, I’m not” he said, his voice suddenly low and rough “I can feel it right now y/n, you’re just scared. Scared of what this is, of what we’ve been ignoring for so long, you're scared to admit there could be something between us" 

I couldn’t breathe properly, his hand rested there, against the side of my neck, his fingers gently stroking the back of my neck, the tension was high, it was hard to breathe “you don’t know what you’re talking about” my voice was barely above a whisper now. 

“I do know” he said, a slight edge creeping into his tone “you think you can just walk in here, say it was a mistake, and I’m supposed to let you walk out like nothing happened? Is that how it’s going to be?”

I hesitated, breath caught in my throat, as if my body was trying to resist what my heart had already surrendered to, but it rendered useless. The second his hands gripped my waist and pulled me against him, everything else, the club, the rules, the consequences, shattered like glass around us, all I could do was feel. His mouth hovered over mine, his breath ragged, warm. The tension in the air didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Every charged word from our argument now echoed in how tightly his hands held me, how his chest rose and fell like he couldn’t breathe unless he was touching me.

And then I kissed him…or maybe he kissed me. It didn’t matter, our mouths found each other in a way that felt desperate and inevitable, like we’d spent too long pretending we didn’t want this. Didn’t need this, the kiss that was sharp, urgent, angry, but also desperate, like he was trying to prove something to me, to himself. And I was trying to prove something to him, to myself.

I gasped against his lips as his hands slid up my back, pulling me even closer, his lips moving against mine in a way that sent shivers through my body. I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to stop “You can’t just leave,” he muttered between kisses, his hands  moving to cup my face as if he couldn’t get close enough “you think this is over?"

I pulled away for just a second, breathless, my eyes locking with his “you really think I can just...forget about it? About this kiss?" 

Mason's eyes, those storm-dark eyes, locked with mine, full of anger, want, and something unspoken “I’m not asking you to forget it y/n,” he said, one hand cradling my jaw like he was afraid I’d vanish “I’m asking you to feel it”

And God, I did.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, slower, like he wanted to burn the memory of this moment into every cell of my body. I felt him guiding me toward the bed, his touch reverent but unrelenting. My knees hit the edge, and still, he didn’t let me go. He placed his hands on my back, supporting me as he guided me down, hovering over me. I arched my back, not letting my lips leave his as his fingers slid along the curve of my spine, unzipping my dress like he’d been dying to do it since the first time we met. I reached for him, hands working to push his blazer off and onto the floor before unbutton his shirt, he shrugged it off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor when he sat up, his hands slid my dress down my body, his eyes focusing on the black strapless bra that covered my breasts, letting his eyes wander to the matching panties, He let out a breath, throwing my dress across the room and leaning back down, kissing me again, this time softer, deeper, like he was telling me everything without using the words. I was drinking in the heat of his skin, the way his muscles tensed under my touch as I ran my hands down his back. He used his arms to wrap them around my waist, flipping us over so I was straddling his waist. 

"We really shouldn’t do this" I whisper, trailing kisses down his neck, feeling the way his fingers sink further into my skin as I kiss certain parts. 

"No we shouldn't, but please don't stop" he practically begged. I stopped and looked into his eyes, it was full of lust and attraction, the anger fizzled away when this started, but most of all, it was genuine, he wanted this as much as I did. 

I placed my hands on his cheeks, kissing him gently "I don’t want to stop" I said against his mouth, feeling a smirk spread across his lips as I said "I'm going to make you feel good". I kissed down his chest, reaching his suit pants. 

My fingers got to work, unbuttoning them and sliding them part way down his legs with his boxers in one movement, as he pushed them off the rest of the way. He was hard, his cock tempting me to just take it, so I did. Wrapping my hand around the base, I swipe up the underside of it with my tongue, flicking the tip, feeling Mason's body stutter slightly at the sensitivity it was giving him. I do it a few times to tease him, if we are going to do this once, I want to do it right. 

"Red, please" he begged, and I felt superior having him shake under me, begging me. 

I smirk, looking up at him, his eyes already looking down at me, his hand wrapped in my hair, holding it back so he can watch "patience Mount" I tease, licking again. 

"plea-oh shit" I cut off his pleading as I wrap my mouth around him, taking it all in so it hits the back of my throat, making me gag slightly. I used my mouth the find the perfect rhythm while my hand worked on pumping the rest of his length and I could feel him getting closer to his edge. 

"you're taking it so good, y/n, just like that" he moaned, there was something about his words of approval that had me soaking at my core, making me go faster, his hand on my head also guiding the right pace for him. "right there, I'm gon-" he couldn’t even finish his sentence before his cum was warming the back of my throat, the saltiness filling my tastebuds, I swallowed as it came out, a little spilling out the side of my mouth as I ride him through his high, cleaning him up with my mouth. I pull off him with a 'pop', looking into his eyes as I wipe the bit on the corner of my mouth with my thumb, licking the rest of him off. 

"that’s so hot" he said before grabbing my wrists and pulling me back up to him, his lips attaching to mine, his hands tangled in my hair, his own tongue tasting himself as it explored my mouth. It was hot and there was something in it. Something more than what this was. We thought this was a one time thing, but there's a hint of more. 

Mason flipped us over so I was trapped under his body, his chest pressed into mine, not hard but the right pressure "now it’s my turn to make you feel good baby" his voice was raspy, low, sexy and it nearly made me come undone underneath him.  His hands unclipped my bra by the clip at the front, throwing it to one side before using one hand to guide my left boob into his mouth, licking my nipple, sending a vibration through me, while he other hand massaged the other, pinching the nipple lightly between his finger and thumb. 

My head hit the mattress, my hands in his hair, letting the feeling send lightening bolts through my body, the way he made me feel from just some boob play, made me excited for what else he could do. I didn't have to wait long before he's peppering kisses down my abdomen, licking my panty line. "Mason, I swear to god, just take them off" I lift my head to look down at him, the smirk on his face. 

"Patience baby" he winked, teasing me just like I did. He removed my panties, painfully slowly, letting them go wherever in the room. He trailed kisses up my thighs, knowing exactly what he was doing. He blew a small gust of air onto my core, making me moan loudly and but my hips up, my way of begging him to just take me there and then. "talk to me y/n, what do you want me to do?" 

I look down at him, his brown eyes baring into my own "I want you to make me feel good Mase" 

He froze for a moment "you've never called me Mase"

"and you've never called me y/n before tonight" I shoot back, causing a smile to spread across both of our lips. 

"touché, Red, touché" he winked, swiping a finger through my folds, feeling how wet I was "fuck y/n, is this all for me?" he asked, not giving me a moment to respond before slipping a finger into me, making my head throw back against the mattress and then he adds another, curling both up and moving them in a motion that hits my g-spot perfectly and it feels so bloody good. 

"fuck Mase, that’s it" I moan, my breathing picking up pace as it pounds against my chest. The breath is taken out of me when his tongue finally hits my clit, the sensitive bud of nerve endings shooting all signals across my nervous system, every single nerve feeling like it's on fire but its pure pleasure. 

I let my hands grab his hair as he licks ferociously like its his first meal in weeks, his fingers working me to make me reach a much needed orgasm against him. My hips move against him, getting the perfect pace of his tongue on my clit, and thankfully he doesn't stop me "don’t stop, don’t you dare stop" I grip his hair harder as I can feel the coil in my stomach tightening, my whole body starting to shake, chasing the release I so desperately need. "mase…" I let out as that coil finally snaps, the feeling of pure euphoria running through my body, my pussy tightening around his fingers as he laps up the rest of my cum that spills out, riding me through my hair just like I did him.

Once I finally stop shaking, he pulls his fingers out of me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning down, kissing me gently, intimately, like that was more than it was. And I kiss him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and letting his body crash down onto mine as he runs his hands up my sides, gripping my body as I taste myself on him, deepening the kiss and moaning into him as he swallows the sounds that escape my throat. 

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling away gently, pecking his lips "think you can go again? I want to feel you" I ask and his eyes darken before a look of regret fills his features. 

"I don’t have a condom, I wasn't exactly expecting to do this tonight" he sighs, his breath fanning my face as he rests his forehead against mine. 

I think for a second, it's just once right? Get it out of our systems "I'm clean if you are and I'm on the implant" I tell him, my voice quiet, I was worried he didn’t hear me. 

His brown eyes met mine, a look of shock but softness in his expression "you sure?" he askes, resting a hand on the side of my neck and rubbing his thumb across my cheek. I nod gently, closing my eyes at his touch, taking it in "you know, contrary to popular belief, I haven’t slept with someone in over a year, and yes I'm clean" he smiles down at me. 

"Oh really? Mason Mount isn't as big as a lady's man as they make out he is?" I smirk, teasing his ego as I run my hands through the back of his hair. 

He kisses my lips quickly "nar, just been waiting for this girl" and before I can even process or reply, his mouth is on mine again, the hunger of this exact moment showing in the way he kisses me and I can't help but melt into him. 

He lines himself up with my entrance, holding one of my legs around my waist to make sure he has a clear path "you 100% sure?" he asks again and if I wasn’t so horny for him, I would compliment his gentleman manners. 

"yes Mase, I'm sure" I confirm, and with that, he thrusts into me, both of us letting out a loud moan, taking in the feeling before he started thrusting with the perfect pace and rhythm that had me shuddering under him within minutes and it didn’t take long before he was cuming inside me and I was pulsing against him as we rode out our orgasms together. 

Once we both cleaned up, I was about to get dressed, when Mason pulled me into the bed, throwing the covers over my body, pulling me into him, his chest against my back and his arms wrapped around me "just stay tonight, we can face reality tomorrow" he whispered, peppering kisses on my neck, easing the anxiety in me. 

"Just this once" I whispered, turning quickly to kiss him before settling into his body, letting our naked bodies wrap together for one last night before reality sets in. And I hate that I actually like it. 

---

The morning light filtered in through the half-closed blinds, casting a soft gold over the tangled sheets and the bare stretch of his muscular back. I watched him for a moment, face relaxed, one arm tucked under the pillow, his other hand loosely resting where I’d been sleeping minutes ago. Like his body still expected me to be there. His breath was steady, his mouth slightly open as soft, gently snores would escape it every now and again. He looked perfect in a way, he was just Mason, not the hot shot midfielder, not the cocky guy I've tried to convince myself that I hate all this time, he was just Mason and something about him in that moment, made leaving so much harder but it had to be done.

Silently, I slid out of bed, my bare feet hit the cool floor as I reached for my dress, still draped over the arm of the chair from last night. I didn’t look back, I didn’t want to, not when everything about this felt like something I couldn’t keep. If I looked back, I'd be tempted to crawl back into that bed and into the warmth of him. 

I had just stepped into the fabric, halfway zipped, when his voice broke the silence, low and rough from sleep “you leaving?”

I froze “sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you" I apologise, turning and looking at him, holding my dress against my chest to cover myself, not like it mattered after he was all over me last night. 

Mason shifted in the sheets, propping himself up on one elbow, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded but sharp, he pulled the covers to make sure he was covered, but his chest on show and I looked “I was going to order room service" he said as a statement but I didn’t respond so he continued  “you hungry?” he asked casually, like this was normal. Like this happened every morning.

I hesitated, shaking my head “we shouldn’t...”

“Shouldn’t what?” he asked, his voice gentler now with a slight chuckle “eat breakfast?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, dress clutched to me like it might hold back the ache in my chest "be like this, pretend we’re normal" 

He didn’t argue. Just watched me as I scanned the room for my other items of clothing. 

Then, quietly, his voice broke through “stay, please" and there was something in the way he said it, quiet but certain, that knocked the breath from my lungs.

I exhaled, the fight in me softening “okay” I whispered. 

He stood up quickly, rushing to his suitcase and I adverted my eyes elsewhere than on his naked bum, even though I really wanted to. I heard some shuffling around before he said "here, some comfier clothes" I looked at him to see he was dressed in a pair of grey joggers, no t-shirt and was holding a pair of black joggers and one of his t-shirts out to me. I took them reluctantly, staring at him and he chuckled, holding his hands up "okay, I won't look, even though you weren't complaining last night" he smirked. 

I gasped and threw his t-shirt back in his face "jerk" I couldn’t help but laugh. 

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding" he smiled, handing me back the t-shirt and turning around, while I got changed, he was right, these clothes were comfier, the joggers were a bit long and the t-shirt was definitely oversized but it was comfy. "hey you look good in my clothes" he said like it was natural and slipped back into the bed. 

I slipped back in with him and he pulled the duvet over both of us without comment and picked up the phone to order. Eggs, bacon, coffee and toast. I didn’t even tell him what I wanted, but somehow, he got it right.

I looked at him when he put the phone down "how did you know what I wanted?" I eyed him suspiciously. 

"Red, who doesn’t like eggs, bacon, coffee and toast? Also, I know you can’t function without at least one cup of coffee" he shrugged, before continuing when he noticed I was confused "I've seen you go from grumpy first thing in the morning, to the happiest person in the building when you are holding a cup of coffee" I don’t say anything and I can't help myself when I reach over and place a quick, gentle kiss against his lips, settling myself next to him, his hand resting on my leg as we wait for food to arrive while he goes through the channels on the tv. 

When the tray arrived, we didn’t sit at the table. We ate cross-legged on the bed, plates balanced between us, my hair still messy from the night before, his smile lazy and warm.

“You ever miss it?” I asked, chewing slowly “Chelsea I mean?”

He shrugged “parts of it, the pitch, the fans, the guys like Ben and Reece” he paused, reluctant to continue “but I don’t miss the politics. They wanted to renew but wouldn’t match what I was worth, they didn’t want to agree to the terms I wanted, it was like they thought I’d just stay because I loved the badge"

I glanced at him “Didn’t you? Love the badge?”

“I did” he said “of course I did, it was my childhood club, Chelsea was everything to me, it made me who I was, but the new ownership made it really hard for a lot of us, the constant change in managers and not agreeing to simple terms, I mean, they managed to push me, Christian and Kai all out at the same time. Ben got lucky, he resigned just before they started looking at the budget, even though it didn’t exactly work out with the new gaffer but he's happy now" 

"Do you wish they had agreed?" 

He looked at me with a pained looked, but shrugging "It is what it is, I feel more appreciated at United this year than I did at Chelsea, and had I not moved, I wouldn’t have bumped into you again" he smiled, a genuine one. 

We sat in silence for a beat. A soft, fragile kind of silence.

“You’re different here” I murmured.

He glanced at me, brows raised “different how?”

“Like you’re not trying so hard to be...invincible. It feels like you're the real you, you’re vulnerable, you're not being a cocky, arrogant arse”

Mason chuckled “maybe because you’ve already seen me lose my shit. And I feel like after last night, something between us has shifted, like I don’t have to be that guy around you anymore”

I smiled, then, really smiled “Yeah and for the record, I like this version of you”

His eyes softened “you know what, me too”

For a few beautiful, fragile minutes, it was just us. Two people, no roles, no headlines. No club. No consequences. Just warmth, food, and the illusion that this could last. 

Later that day, Mason dropped me off at my apartment, parking around the corner so no one saw, the paparazzi would have a field day with this and a few hours later my thumb hovered over the message again, debating sending it. 

“last night and this morning was...something. Thank you for it. I hope you’re okay”

Simple. Casual. Safe. I hit send, my heart pounding when the dots appeared almost immediately…then vanished. And beneath my message, the quiet, gutting words…seen. 

No reply. Just silence. Just…the end of the moment that almost was, I guess he led me into a false sense of security. 

----

The physio room felt colder than usual when I walked in the next day. Maybe it was the weather or maybe it was the fact that he walked in twenty minutes ago and didn’t look at me, not once, not a single glance. He was laughing with Rasmus and Alejandro near the physio bench when I passed through with the camera. Joking, loud, easy, like nothing between us had happened. Like I hadn’t had his hands on my skin less than twenty four hours ago. I mean, why am I getting upset by it, we both knew this was a one time thing, but I thought there was something else there. 

I composed myself and I kept the camera steady. Professional. Detached. I focused the lens on training bibs, stretches, warm-ups. I interviewed a youth player about his first team call-up. I uploaded Instagram stories with breezy captions and emojis and all the while, I felt him there. I could feel him watching when I wasn’t looking and avoiding my eyes when I was.

I stayed behind the line when I followed them outside onto the training pitch, didn’t engage, didn’t linger. When he jogged past during drills, he didn’t smirk, didn’t make a snide comment. He didn’t say anything and somehow, that was worse. That was more infuriating than him being the cocky twat he's been the five years I've known him. 

“Everything alright?” Anna, one of the my comms assistants, asked as I reviewed footage beside her.

“Fine” I said too quickly and she raised an eyebrow but didn’t push.

Later, in the corridor, he brushed past me without a word. It wasn’t until I reached the equipment room to drop off the camera that I finally exhaled. My hands were shaking, stomach twisted up in knots. He wanted to pretend this didn’t happen? Fine, but I could pretend harder, even if ignoring each other felt a hell of a lot like screaming.

“Right,” Anna said brightly, clipboard in hand, completely oblivious to the fact that I was seconds away from combusting “next segment, Behind the Scenes Banter with Mason Mount”

I didn’t even flinch at his name, I’d trained myself for five years to not react to his name, Mason walked in from the hallway in full kit, hair still damp from training. He gave a lazy smile to the media intern, threw a mock salute at the video guy, and, of course, didn’t even look at me. How did he get so good at that, it was only yesterday he couldn’t keep his eyes and hands off me? 

“You’re running this bit, right?” Anna said, nudging me gently.

I didn’t let my voice falter “Yeah, got it"

We were doing player interaction reels, quick, stupid content for socials. Stupid little challenges. Stupid little grins. Stupid, perfect lighting that made him look like a bloody movie star. He dropped onto the bench set for the shoot, elbows on knees, legs wide like he owned the room. “let’s get it over with"

His tone was bored. His jaw was tight. I hated the look on his face, I hated his stupid, perfect face. 

I clicked record. “Okay, first up, Mason answers rapid-fire questions, one word only”

He arched a brow, finally meeting my eyes. It was like being punched in the gut. The feeling of finally locking eyes after an excruciating day of radio silence, was like the air was taken out of me. 

“Ready when you are, boss”

I ignored the jab “Favourite film?”

“Thor”

“Biggest fear?”

He stared at me, a slow smirk forming “Regret”

My pulse thudded, was he indicating that’s what last night was? 

“Most annoying teammate?”

“You”

A beat. Laughter from the crew. Heart pounding in my chest. 

I didn’t crack “I’m not your teammate"

“Could’ve fooled me. You spend more time here than half the bench"

The room went quiet. Anna cleared her throat, awkwardly flipping a page, like she was trying to find an out. 

“Okay, let’s, uh…do the 'guess the object' challenge?” I said, wanting out of this conversation before I got angry. 

Mason stood “need a volunteer to help with that, right?”

I hesitated but Anna smiled too brightly “y/n's already down. You two have great chemistry on camera”

My laugh was hollow, unamused “Do we?”

He stood beside me in the shot, close enough that our arms brushed. His cologne hit me like a memory I wasn’t ready to deal with “you hate this” he murmured under his breath, just for me to hear. 

“Oh, you have no idea”

“Sure about that? I might hate it just as much" he whispered. 

The camera flashed. The red light blinked and we both smiled. Fake. Bright. Furious.

-

I slammed the camera case a little too hard onto the shelf, the noise ricocheting off the walls. My heart was racing, not from the shoot, not even from the way he’d stood so close I could feel the heat through my clothes. No, it was the silence and the pretending. The fact that we were both acting like nothing had happened when it had, so much had happened yesterday and the night before, and now it was poisoning every second we spent apart.

The door creaked open behind me, I didn’t need to turn to know it was him, I could sense him. “I said I didn’t need help” I snapped, voice sharp.

Mason didn’t answer at first, just let the door swing shut, the soft click of the latch far too final. I spin to face him “what do you want?” I asked, arms crossed, heat rising to my cheeks “you ignore me for hours, and now what? you follow me in here for fun?”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak and that just pissed me off even more, I could punch him “you’re unbelievable” I snapped, trying not to let my expression show my disappointment “you can’t just disappear after that night, after yesterday morning when you opened up to me, leave me on read, then pretend like I don’t exist—”

“I’m trying, Red” he cut in, voice low and sharp “I’m trying not to make this worse for you”

“By what? ignoring me?” I laughed, bitter "you think that helps? after everything that night?" 

“I didn’t know what to say” he admitted, jaw tense “because nothing I say changes how fucked this all is"

I stepped closer before I could stop myself “so you’d rather act like I don’t exist? Is that easier for you Mason?” his name comes out like venom “I just don’t know what this is” my voice cracked “one minute you’re all over me and the next you won’t even look at me. You tell me you scored for me, you fuck me, then spent the whole morning acting like I was invisible"

His jaw clenched, he was getting angry now “Fine, you want the truth, it's because I didn’t trust myself to not drag you into a room and do exactly what I’m about to do" he crossed the space between us in two strides, his hands grabbing each side of the shelf behind me as back hit it, boxes shifting, a clatter echoing around us, eyes dark and wild “tell me to stop”

"I don’t want you to" the words are barely out of my mouth before his hands were on my waist, under my jumper, fingertips grazing my skin, the feeling sending sparks up my body and then his mouth was on mine, desperate, rough, honest. The kiss wasn’t pretty or perfect. It was everything we’d buried under fake smiles and clipped words. I gasped into his mouth and gripped the front of his shirt like I needed something to hold onto, pulling him closer like I needed to feel every inch of this mistake. Because the second his lips found mine again, I melted into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, his hands roaming like he was trying to memorise every inch of me through touch alone. It wasn’t just kissing. It was everything, anger, frustration, want, guilt, longing. We weren’t careful, boxes shifted behind us. A coat hanger crashed to the floor, somewhere down the corridor, someone walked past, their footsteps pausing causing us to break apart and listen for them walking away. He rested his forehead against mine and I whispered “this is going to ruin us”

He smiled looking through his lashes up at me “then let it, because I’d rather burn with you than pretend this doesn’t exist" that was enough to make me curl my fingers around his shirt and kiss him with all my might. 

"Right, we actually need to get back to work" I said as I adjusted my jumper in the mirror nailed to the inside of the storeroom door, cheeks still flushed, lips tingling "okay” I whispered, smoothing my hair with shaky hands “you go first”

Mason raised a brow “why me?”

“Because you’re the player” I hissed, trying to fix my jumper without looking like I’d just been thoroughly kissed in a supply closet “if anyone sees us leave together, I’m done"

He gave me that infuriating smirk “Red, you already are done”

“Mase—”

“Fine” He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair and pulling the door open a sliver. He peeked out. “coast is clear"

He kissed me quickly before he slipped out casually, like he hadn’t just backed me against a shelf and kissed me like it was the only thing keeping him alive. I waited five seconds, ten and then followed.

I barely made it three steps down the hallway before I heard my name “y/n!” I jumped, spinning around to find Jamie, one of the younger photographers from the media team, heading toward me.

“Hey” I said, my voice higher than I wanted it to be.

Jamie blinked at me. “Are you alright? You look kind of… flustered”

Shit.

I forced a smile “just dropped a box on my foot, totally fine"

He tilted his head “Weird. I thought I saw Mason come out of there a second ago”

My heart stopped “Uh, yeah" I fumbled, clutching my clipboard like it might save me “he was looking for a physio, wrong room, take a while to get used to which room is which around here”

Jamie shrugged “Right, anyway, they’re doing press shots on pitch two. Thought you’d want to be there”

I nodded, too fast “Yep, heading there now”

He walked off, and I exhaled, shoulders sagging. When I turned the corner toward the exit, Mason was leaning against the wall, arms folded, clearly having waited just out of sight.

His mouth twitched as I passed him “smooth"

I glared “shut up”

“You really told him I was looking for a physio?”

“I panicked” he leaned in, close enough for his breath to brush my cheek "next time, just admit you couldn’t keep your hands off me, come to mine tonight okay?"

I pushed him away with a roll of my eyes, before nodding to his question and kept walking, but the smile tugging at my lips? Yeah…that I couldn’t stop.

---

The early morning drills were in full swing, and the sound of boots hitting the turf, the sharp commands from Amorim, and the rhythmic passing of the ball echoed across the pitch. I stood off to the side, phone in hand, capturing content for the team’s Instagram. The club had insisted we keep the fans engaged, showing behind-the-scenes footage of the players in action, but today, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face this “behind the scenes” myself.

I hadn’t spoken to Mason in a few days, since the storeroom make out session, almost getting caught, the kiss, the explosion of emotions, we had both retreated into our own corners, pretending nothing had changed. I saw him that night and something since then has changed again, you didn’t spend hours kissing someone and then just act like it didn’t mean anything, and yet...here we were, again. No words. No explanations. Just silence. I scanned the field for him, watching as he worked with the rest of the team, his usual arrogance was back in full force, a sharp contrast to the vulnerability he’d shown me that night, but that vulnerability had only confused me further, made me question everything I thought I knew about him.

As I zoomed in to take a shot of Mason dribbling past a defender, I heard his voice, a little too loud, a little too close, call out to me “you just gonna stand there taking photos all day, or are you actually gonna do your job?”

I froze, the familiar bite of his tone hitting me right in the chest. I tried to keep my face neutral, but something about his words made my blood boil. What is his problem? He was fine with me that day but now we are back to this? I lowered my phone and looked up at him, forcing my voice to remain calm “I’m am doing my job, Mason, not that it’s any of your business"

He smirked, clearly not backing down, stepping closer with that cocky, unapologetic swagger that I had grown used to over the years “oh, it’s my business when you’re messing around with my team’s image. Maybe you should actually try working for once”

My heart started pounding, the anger I thought I’d buried for him resurfacing “maybe you should stop acting like a spoiled brat and actually appreciate the people who do their job” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended.

The atmosphere around us shifted, and I could feel the eyes of the other players starting to turn toward us, they had probably all seen us together at the awards night, hell, they were probably just waiting for us to implode in front of them. Mason's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he stepped even closer, his chest nearly touching mine “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to like that” he growled, the tension between us suddenly making the air thick and suffocating “I don’t give a shit what you think about me, but I’m done with this silent treatment bullshit”

I threw my hands up in frustration and at the audacity of him “oh, so now you want to talk? After days of avoiding me? What is it, Mason? You want to fight or you want to talk? Because right now, all I see is a player who thinks the world revolves around him. You're like a fucking yo-yo, one minute you're fine with me and the next you're avoiding me and giving me fucking attitude for no god damn reason!” I was tired of this, we spent five years hating each other, then two nights together and it's like we suddenly can’t stand each other again. 

Amorim, shouted from the pitch, trying to regain control “oi! You two! Focus on doing your jobs not on your personal drama. Not here, not now, I don’t care what drama you have but you're distracting everyone so Mason either come back to training and leave the poor girl alone or take the rest of the day off and forget about playing against Spurs in the final”

But neither of us backed down. Mason took a step forward, his tone dangerously low, filled with a mixture of anger and something else I couldn’t quite pinpoint “you think I don’t know what you’re doing? You think I don’t see the way you’ve been avoiding me too, trying to pretend that night never happened?” his eyes flicked to my lips for a second, and I felt a flicker of something between us, something neither of us could ignore.

“Don’t you dare bring that up here” I hissed, my face flushed with frustration “We can’t do this, Mason. This... this thing between us? It’s never gonna work”

"I know” His voice was now practically a whisper, but I could hear the challenge in it “because I’m a football player and you’re just some girl” 

I felt my chest tighten “no, because I work for this club, Mason. Because there are rules, whether we like that or not” my heart raced as I fought the impulse to step away from him “the club would never allow an employee and a player to be involved like that. you think I’m going to risk my career for you? After how much I've had to prove myself as a woman in sports?”

Mason's lips curled into a humourless smile, the kind that made me want to punch him. “so, that’s it? you’re just gonna use the ‘rules’ as an excuse?" 

I didn’t have an answer, not one that would make sense, but everything inside me screamed that I couldn’t ignore it. That I couldn’t deny how much I still wanted him “stop” I whispered, but the word was weak, like I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to stop or keep going.

He took a step back, exhaling sharply, his frustration boiling over “I’m sick of this, alright? sick of pretending we don’t have a connection just because you want to act like some robot who doesn’t feel anything, this, whatever the hell this is, is over”

Everyone was watching us now. The team had stopped what they were doing, and even Amorim was too silent, probably wondering if this was going to turn into an all-out disaster “I didn’t make this mess, y/n, you did,” Mason continued when he saw everyone staring, his voice thick with emotion “you walk around in here like you own the place, like you can keep everything under control, and now, then you tell me it’s nothing? You think I’m just going to forget about everything we’ve done?”

“Don’t make this about me” I shot back, my voice raw, betraying the anger and frustration that had been building up for days “this is about you, Mason. About you acting like you don’t have to follow the same damn rules that everyone else does. Like you can get away with whatever you want just because you’re a player. You think I’m going to risk my career for you? For this...whatever this is, or was?”

Mason's expression faltered for a moment, but the smirk returned almost immediately, a bitter edge to it “so, that’s it then? You’re gonna play it safe? You’re gonna follow your precious little rules and let something real slip through your fingers?” His eyes were burning with a mix of anger and something else, hurt, maybe? “you don’t even know what you want, do you?”

“I do know what I want,” I shot back, voice trembling with barely controlled emotion “and, I hate to bruise your ego but it’s not you”

He laughed bitterly, taking a step forward again, crowding my space like he always did, his breath was hot against my face “Really? Because it sure as hell looks like it’s me. You think I didn’t feel that kiss, the one you can’t pretend didn’t happen? I’m not stupid, you know, I know what you want, even if you can’t admit it” 

“I don’t want this!” I shouted, finally losing my grip on the calm facade I’d been holding “I don’t want you! I don’t want to be some dirty little secret in this club, and I sure as hell don’t want to jeopardize everything I’ve worked for just because I’m tempted by you!” there it was, I had said it out loud, and it felt like a weight had lifted off my chest, but it didn’t feel like a victory. The anger still burned in my gut and everyone around us now knew what we were doing behind closed doors, they knew and the consequences were looming. The look in Mason's eyes made my pulse race, like he was about to say something that would tear me apart.

“You think that’s what I want, huh?” Mason's voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper, and for a second, I saw something shift in him, something I hadn’t expected, hurt but sincerity  “You think I’m here for some secret fling? That I’m here to mess with you like some game? I told you, I’m done pretending"

“You think I want your attention? You think I want this mess?” I retorted, stepping back, my hands shaking, sweating “this isn’t some teenage fantasy, Mason. I’m trying to make a career for myself here, a real career which is hard as female in this sport. Not just whatever you think you can offer me" the words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating, and for a split second, I thought he might actually let it go. 

But instead, his jaw clenched, and he grabbed my wrist, firm, but not painfully, pulling me back towards him. His eyes were burning now, full of something I couldn’t quite place “then stop lying to yourself, stop pretending like you don’t want this. I’ve known you long enough to see right through you. You want me just as much as I want you, and you can’t keep pretending you don’t”

I could feel the heat of the stares of the team, all listening, the awkwardness hanging in the air like a thick fog. The tension between Mason and me had been bubbling for months, years even, and now it was spilling over for everyone to see. “I don’t need you” I hissed, taking another step back, my chest heaving with frustration, pulling my wrist from him “I don’t need your drama. I don’t need your attention. I don’t need any of it”

“Then why are you still here?” he fired back, voice rough with frustration. “If you really don’t need me, if you really think I’m just some distraction, why the hell are you still standing here, trying to act like you’re not just as caught up in this as I am?”

“I’m standing here because I have to!” I nearly yelled, but my voice faltered at the end “I have a job to do. I’m not like you, I don’t get to play by my own rules. I have to follow every rule, because one slip-up and I’m out. You get to keep playing, you get to keep doing whatever you want”

The heat between us didn’t dissipate, instead, it felt like the air around us was crackling with electricity. He was so close, his eyes narrowing with something that almost looked like regret. But that damn pride of his never let him show it "maybe you should stop letting the rules control you,” he said, his voice a little quieter now. “Maybe you should start thinking for yourself for once, but like I said, it's over. Thanks for helping me get off that night, you were alright but I've had better”

At that, something inside me cracked. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I raised my hand and slapped him, hard. Something inside of me just snapped and I couldn't stop it, he meant to say it to hurt me and hell did it hurt me. His face didn’t alter, he expected that, he did it on purpose and I hated him for it. 

Amorim’s sharp voice finally cut through the tension as he stomped across to us in a powerful walk “enough!” he barked “this has to stop. You two are adults, figure your shit out elsewhere, but not here. If this keeps up, I’ll have to take it to the board and I don’t want to do that because I like you both and I know the consequences. Whatever is happening here, stops now and I mean it. Now, both of you, get back to work. Now" 

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I turned away, trying to collect myself. Everyone was still staring, and I hated it. Hated the fact that we couldn’t keep our mess private.

Mason didn’t move at first, his eyes still fixed on me, but then he slowly turned back toward the rest of the team "don’t worry gaffer, it's already over" I heard him say. The anger still simmered in the air between us, but now it was more complicated, an undercurrent of something else. 

I didn’t say another word as I walked off, my heart still pounding in my chest. I tried to focus on the content I was supposed to be creating, but all I could think about was him and the war that was clearly far from over.

---

The sound of my heels echoed down the narrow hallway as I made my way toward Amorim’s office. The argument with Mason still echoed in my head, my mind racing with everything we had said to each other, the words I couldn’t take back, and the emotions I couldn’t suppress. I’d barely had a moment to catch my breath when Amorim had called us both in. Both of us. That meant Mason, too, which only made everything worse. I could feel the burn of humiliation, this was going to be awkward, and I had no idea how we’d manage to keep our professionalism intact after everything that had happened.

I knocked lightly, and his voice barked from inside “come in"

The door creaked open, and Mason was already sitting across from him, arms crossed, looking like a kid caught in the act. I slid into the chair next to him, my back stiff, my eyes avoiding his. The last thing I wanted to do was speak to him right now. Amorim leaned back in his chair, his expression severe, his brow furrowed “We’re going to have a little chat”

I sink into the chair, crossing my arms tightly over my chest as a way to protect myself, already preparing myself for what I knew was coming “you two are making this more complicated than it needs to be” he started, his voice firm, but tinged with disappointment “whatever the hell happened between you two outside of this club, it stays there. Understood?” He looked at both of us, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on me.

Mason didn’t even flinch “I’m not the one who made it complicated" he said, his voice still carrying that edge of defiance “she’s the one who can’t keep her head straight"

I could feel my blood boiling, but I refused to react. Instead, I turned to Amorim “It’s not like it matters, I know the rules. It won’t happen again, I’ll keep my distance"

His eyes softened, but only slightly “I’m not worried about the ‘again,’ I’m worried about what you’re both doing to this team. People are noticing, and that kind of distraction is the last thing we need right now. We’re a team, not a soap opera. This, whatever it is, cannot affect your work. You’re both professionals so act like it” His gaze flicked between the two of us “I don’t care what’s between you, honestly, you're not the right in work relationship or situationship I've had to deal with believe me, it happens more than you think, but you will keep it out of the workplace. That’s final. If the board gets word of this, I'm sorry y/n, but you'll be out on the street looking for a new job and Mase, you'll be safe but you'll be put on probation and they will forbid it, the press would have a field day and it’s something no one can afford to have right now. Is that understood?" 

He let the words sink in, and I nodded “Understood”

Mason stared at the desk in front of him, the weight of the conversation heavy on his shoulders, but his pride kept him silent. Amorim let out a sigh, rubbing his temples like this was the last conversation he wanted to have “I expect both of you to act like adults. Get back to work”

The tension in the room was palpable as we stood up, neither of us speaking a word. I could feel Mason's presence, his anger and frustration, even though we were technically just following orders. We both filed out of Amorim's office without another word, but I knew this wasn’t over. It could never be that simple. I went left towards my office and Mason went right to the changing rooms. 

I reached my car as the work day came to a close, fingers trembling as I unlocked the door. The conversation with Amorim had only made everything worse. What happened with Mason? How had everything gotten so messy so fast? I had my hand on the door handle when I heard the crunch of gravel behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“You can’t just walk away from me like that” Mason's voice cut through the stillness of the parking lot, harsh and laced with frustration.

I exhaled sharply, my back still turned to him. I didn’t want to deal with him right now. “What do you want, Mason?” I said, my voice colder than I intended “we had our talk. Amorim said it’s over, so I suggest you let it go”

Mason took a step closer, his presence filling the space between us "you think I’m just gonna walk away like it never happened? Just because he said so? Also, he said we can, just leave it out of work” His voice was tight, controlled, but there was that fire in it, his fire, the one that always got under my skin.

“You told me it's over!” I shot back, spinning around to face him, my temper flaring “That night was a mistake, and we both know it. I’m trying to keep my head in the game, and you just keep making it harder”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to explode “A mistake? You think that kiss was a mistake?” He was barely holding it together now "you keep pushing me away, and yet you’re the one acting like—”

“I’m acting like what, Mason?” I interrupted, my voice trembling with the rush of emotions I was barely containing “like I’m some other woman in your life? Because that’s how it feels right now. That’s how it feels every time you look at me like I’m just some distraction. You told me it's over and you told me that you've had better so I think I'm done here”

His eyes flashed with anger, his hands balled into fists at his sides “I lied okay? I thought making you really hate me would help, I thought being the dickhead I was back there was the best option but after thinking about it for the last few hours I realised I don’t want you to hate me”

I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping me “you don’t get it, do you? We can’t be on the same page, Mase. We’re not supposed to be, I work here. I have a career, you’re a football player. You live in a world where the rules don’t apply to you, where everything revolves around you, I can’t afford to be your whatever"

The silence between us was suffocating. He took a step forward, his chest heaving with frustration “so what, I’m not good enough for you? That’s it? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“I’m not saying that, I—”

“Then what are you saying?” His voice cracked, his anger and confusion spilling over.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, I felt something unexpected, his hand gently cupping my face, pulling me closer, his forehead resting against mine. The warmth of him, the way he smelled like sweat and cologne, pulled me in even though I knew I shouldn’t let him “we don’t have to make everything harder than it needs to be” he murmured, his voice low, vulnerable “I’m not the enemy here. You know that, right?”

The words should have made me pull away, but instead, I closed my eyes for a second, fighting the urge to lean into him but reality hit me hard “I can’t do this,” I whispered, pulling back and stepping away from him “I just... can’t, I'm sorry” I got in my car before I could say anything else, slamming the door behind me. As I drove away, the weight of everything that had just happened seemed to crash down on me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just walked away from something I wasn’t ready to leave behind.

I wasn’t expecting him. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was expecting tonight, maybe a quiet evening to sort through my thoughts and try to make sense of the mess that had become my life the last week but the knock on my door was enough to send my heart into overdrive. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I sure as hell wasn’t expecting him. I hesitated, my hand frozen above the door handle. The last time we’d seen each other, it had ended in an argument, a heated, messy fight, and I had barely been able to hold myself together in the aftermath. My nerves were still raw, my chest tight from the weight of everything that had been left unsaid, but as the knock came again, this time more insistent, I knew exactly who it was.

I opened the door with a slight hesitation, taking a deep breath to steady myself. And there he was. Mason, standing on my doorstep, hands shoved in the pockets of his Manchester United hoodie, his jaw clenched, eyes dark with that familiar intensity I couldn’t ignore. He looked like he’d been through hell, his usual confidence replaced with something I hadn’t seen before: vulnerability. And maybe, just maybe, a hint of desperation.

“You…” I started, voice shaky, but I cut myself off before I could say anything else “what are you doing here?”

“I had to talk to you,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reluctant, but there was no mistaking the determination in it “We can’t just keep doing this. We can’t keep pretending like this isn’t real, like there’s nothing between us" 

I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. Every word he spoke only seemed to fan the flames of everything I had been trying to avoid, the emotions I had buried deep down. I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out “you can’t just show up here, Mase,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. 

He stepped closer, and the space between us seemed to shrink with every step “I’m not leaving until we talk about this,” he said, his voice softer, more vulnerable now "you can’t just keep shutting me out. I won’t let you"

My heart raced as he took another step closer, his presence overwhelming me. The anger from earlier was still there, but beneath it, something else swirled, something I couldn’t name, something dangerous, something that terrified me more than anything “Mason, please,” I whispered, shaking my head “this isn’t going to work. I can’t... I can’t risk my career for this. I told you that”

He stood there, silently watching me, his eyes piercing mine. For a moment, I thought he might say something else, something that would change everything. Instead, he just took another step forward, his hand reaching out, fingers brushing mine. The touch sent a shiver through me, and I couldn’t help but inhale sharply “we’re not talking about your career, are we?” his voice was low now, rough with something that felt like restraint, like he was holding back, keeping himself under control. But it was clear, he wasn’t here for just a conversation. He wasn’t here to talk about rules or careers or the job he was supposed to keep his distance from. He was here because he wanted me and I knew I wanted him, too. As much as I hated admitting it, there was no denying it anymore.

“you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” I murmured, the words slipping out before I could stop them “I’m trying to make it easier. I’m trying to protect myself”

“I’m not asking you to risk anything,” he said quietly, his thumb tracing over the back of my hand “I’m just asking you to stop pretending you don’t feel the same way I do. Because I know you do”

I shook my head, a tear escaping before I could stop it “It’s not that simple”

His eyes softened at the sight of the tear, his thumb gently wiping it away, a tender gesture that caught me off guard “I know it’s not,” he said, his voice gentle now “but I’m not letting you push me away anymore, i’m not going anywhere”

I took a deep breath, stepping back, trying to gain control over the whirlwind of emotions inside me “you need to leave, Mase,” I said, my voice shaky, but firm.

He didn’t move. Instead, he reached out, his hand resting on my arm “I’m not leaving until you understand, really understand, that I’m not going anywhere, not this time”

Before I could protest, he closed the distance between us. His lips brushed against mine in the softest of touches, a silent plea for understanding, for something more. My breath hitched in my throat as his hands cupped my face, pulling me into him, deepening the kiss slowly, carefully. There was no urgency, just a raw, quiet intensity that spoke volumes in the space between our hearts. It wasn’t a rush or a mistake. It wasn’t the reckless kiss of frustration that had happened before. This was something different. I could feel the pull between us, the way my heart was racing, my body betraying the resolve I had tried to hold onto. I couldn’t say no to him, not when he kissed me like this, not when everything inside me screamed for more, but when I finally pulled away, breathless and with my heart hammering in my chest, I felt the weight of the world fall back onto my shoulders.

“This...this can’t happen again” I whispered, my voice barely audible, but firm.

Mason's forehead rested against mine, his breath just as ragged as mine “you can’t keep saying that,” he said, his voice low, almost a plea “because we both know it’s not true”

I didn’t answer, not right away. Instead, I took a step back, slowly pulling away from him. But the look in his eyes stayed with me like he was waiting for me to make up my mind, waiting for me to make a choice and all I could do was wonder if, maybe, I had already made it as I kissed him with urgency again, pulling him further into my apartment by his hoodie. 

The kiss had barely ended, but the tension still crackled in the air, electric and unrelenting. My heart pounded in my chest, racing at the same pace as Mason's heavy breaths. He was leaning against me by the kitchen counter, his hands either side of my body, his forehead was still pressed against mine, our lips only inches apart, and I could feel the heat radiating off of him, so close, yet there was a sense that we were both holding back. Neither of us wanting to make the next move, but both of us knowing that we couldn’t stop it anymore.

I swallowed hard, trying to push away the logical side of my brain screaming that this was a terrible idea, that I should tell him to leave, to stop this before it spiralled even further, but my body betrayed me. Every inch of me was alive with the feeling of him being so close, with the heat of his touch still lingering on my skin “I can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, my voice shaky, but my hands had already found their way to the back of his neck, fingers digging into his warm skin. It was as if my words meant nothing, my body already making the decision for me.

Mason's lips curved into a small, almost amused smile, but it wasn’t a mocking one, it was a smile filled with understanding, and something much deeper “we can” he said, his voice rough with the same hunger that mirrored my own “we both know it, we just keep it outside of work”

Before I could respond, his lips were on mine again, a more urgent kiss this time, driven by something neither of us could deny anymore. His hands slid down my sides, pulling me closer to him until there was no space between us. I could feel every inch of his body against mine, the heat of him, the firm muscles of his chest pressing against me, the tension building between us as though we were finally giving in to something that had been simmering for far too long. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t stop him. Instead, I kissed him back, deeper this time, letting myself get lost in it, in him. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, and his hands roamed down to my waist, his grip tight as if he was afraid I might pull away at any second. But I didn’t, I didn’t want to. We both knew the risks, the rules, the consequences, but at that moment, none of that mattered. It was just the two of us, finally giving into everything we’d been holding back.

“I don’t care about the rules” he muttered against my lips, his breath hot and urgent “I didn’t anyway but especially not now. I just want you, all of you”

I inhaled sharply, the words hitting me harder than I expected. But there was no fear in his voice, no hesitation. Just raw desire and I couldn’t deny the way my body reacted to it, how my skin burned where he touched me, how every nerve in my body screamed for more. I pulled back for a moment, eyes locking with his. The air was thick with unspoken words, with a hundred things we’d never said but both understood “are you sure about this?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the intensity of the moment.

He nodded, his eyes dark and full of that same fire, his hand moved to take mine, placing it against his chest so I could feel that his heart was beating just as hard as mine “you make my heart race like no one ever has, I've never been more sure of anything”

And without another word, he pulled me back to him, his lips capturing mine in a slow, deliberate kiss that was anything but tentative, his hands slid under my shirt, the cool air of the room sending a chill over my skin as his warm touch made its way up my back. The sensation of his fingers against my bare skin made me shiver, but in the best way. I responded in kind, hands moving to the hem of his hoodie and t-shirt, tugging it over his head in a swift motion. My fingertips brushed against the hard planes of his chest, the faintly defined muscles under the smooth skin making my breath catch in my throat. I couldn’t help but trace the lines of his body, feeling the strength in his arms, the way his body seemed to come alive under my touch.

He broke the kiss only to murmur “god, you’re killing me”

I smirked, my hands moving to unbuckle his jeans, not caring that it was fast, reckless even. We weren’t thinking, weren’t following any rules anymore, we were just two people, craving each other, and nothing else mattered. As his jeans fell to the floor, he took my face in his hands again, kissing me deeply, with a hunger that matched my own. Every touch, every kiss, every moment of closeness was a silent promise that we weren’t turning back. We were far beyond the point of no return now. I felt him lift me, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried me toward the couch, but we never made it there. Instead, he pressed me against the wall, the cold surface of it contrasting sharply with the heat of our bodies. His hands were everywhere, pushing my clothes off with urgent, greedy movements, but it wasn’t frantic. It was desperate, yes, but it felt so damn good to finally let go.

I gasped as his lips trailed down my neck, his hands expertly undoing the last bit of my clothing "this is all I want, just you” he muttered, his voice low and full of need.

"you have me, I'm yours" and just like that, everything else disappeared. The rules, the consequences, the world outside, none of it mattered. We moved together in perfect synchrony, a slow and steady rhythm that built to a crescendo neither of us could resist. Our kisses became deeper, more urgent, as the night wore on, our bodies united once again in a way we couldn’t take back. But even as we reached the peak, both of us tangled in the heat of the moment, I knew that this was more than just physical. It wasn’t just about breaking the rules, about giving into temptation. It was about what we were denying ourselves, about what had been there all along, buried under the surface and as the night stretched on, I couldn’t help but wonder…had we crossed a line that we couldn’t uncross? Or was this just the beginning of something much more complicated than either of us could ever imagine?

---

The morning sun felt colder than usual as I walked through the front doors of the training ground. The night had been intense, and even though everything that had happened between Mason and me was still fresh in my mind, I was trying to stay focused, to act like it was just another day but it wasn’t. The sharp, scrutinizing eyes of the press had already started to gather outside the club, their cameras and microphones pointed in my direction, snapping shots of every movement. I could feel the weight of the questions they were itching to ask before I’d even made it to the office.

And then, there he was, Mason.

We stepped out of the same car, my car, looking like nothing had happened, like everything was business as usual, but that wasn’t the case was it? Not anymore. He walked to mine last night, I couldn’t make him walk to the training ground. As we walked through the front doors together, I couldn’t ignore the hushed murmurs and the flash of cameras from all sides. I tried to keep my head down, but it was impossible, they knew. Somehow, they already knew.

“Did you see that? They arrived together this morning!” a voice from one of the reporters rang out “looks like there’s something going on between the player and the club employee…”

I could feel my heart drop. This wasn’t just a rumour, this was going to explode, and it was happening now. We made our way into the building, both of us silent, but the tension in the air between us was palpable. The eyes of the other staff were on us, whispering and speculating, and I couldn’t escape it. I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me. I told myself I had to keep going, this was my job. But deep down, I knew the consequences were coming.

The moment I sat down at my desk, my phone buzzed with notifications.

The headline hit fast and hard “Footballer’s Secret Romance: Is She Using Him for Fame?”

This morning, Mason Mount arrived at the training ground after spending the night with a Manchester United employee, we have found out from reliable sources that she is the media manager, Y/N Y/L/N. This is a brave move from him, considering this is his first season at the club. Is she using him to climb the ranks? We all know how hard it is for women in the industry? Apparently, she even worked at Chelsea FC when Mason was there, that's interesting isn't it? We have reached out to the club for a statement, we will update you on this scandal when we know more. 

My blood ran cold as I skimmed the article, my stomach churning. It was full of speculation, pictures of Mason and I getting out of the car together, barely able to hide the connection between us. There was even a picture of him outside of my apartment building and us leaving together this morning to get to my car? How did they find out? The article implied that I, a lowly employee in the media department, had been using my proximity to Mason to climb the ranks of the club. Of course, there was no mention of the truth, of the complicated, messy feelings we’d both been denying for years. Instead, it painted me as nothing more than a gold digger, someone who’d used sex and manipulation to get close to one of the club’s most prized assets.

I could feel my hands shaking as I read through it again, the venom in the article was clear. This wasn’t just about a relationship, it was about making me the villain in their story, a scandal for their website, a pawn in their game. Before I could process what was happening, I saw Mason storm up to my desk, his face tight with frustration and anger. His eyes met mine for only a brief moment, but in that moment, everything was clear, he knew. He’d read it too. I stood up to talk to him, but the door to the boardroom opened, and the Chairman's voice rang out "y/n, Mason, in here now" It wasn’t a request.

The tension in the boardroom was suffocating. The board members sat at the long table, all of them in dark suits, their expressions grim and unreadable. At the far end of the room stood Joel Glazer, the co-chairman, eyes narrowed, and beside him, Mason, his usual cocky confidence nowhere to be found. His jaw was clenched, his eyes blazing with anger and then, there was me. I felt small in front of them all, like a child being scolded for a mistake I didn’t even know I was making. I was sat at the other end of the table and it felt like everyone was fifty feet from me. 

“Let’s get this straight” the other co-chairman of the board, Avram Glazer, said, his voice cold and professional “the situation has escalated quickly. We can’t have these kinds of rumours circulating about the club. Particularly about someone from the media department and one of our players. It’s bad for business, bad for image. We heard about your little argument in front of everyone yesterday and we have no choice but to take action" 

I opened my mouth to speak, but Mason cut me off, his voice firm “No, this is on me,” he said, his eyes flicking over to me before returning to the board members “I’m not gonna sit here and let you make her the scapegoat. If anyone’s at fault, it’s me”

I wanted to argue, to say something about how we hadn’t planned this, that the relationship wasn’t fake, but the pressure in the room felt like a vice on my chest. The board members were watching us both now, their gazes sharp and judging. Older men that think it's all politics, no feel feelings involved in anything, all strictly business. 

“You both should’ve known better” Joel said, his voice tight “I expect professionalism from every single person in this organization and the rest of the board feels the same. Personal relationships between employees and players cannot happen, not without it affecting the team, it is written in both your contracts and when you break the rules, you have to face the consequences”

The words stung, it was all so cold, so calculated. They weren’t concerned about us as people, they weren't concerned that we might have actual feelings for each other, they were concerned about money. About the reputation of the club, not about us. 

“Look,” I said, finally finding my voice, though it was shaky “I don’t need you to defend me, Mason. I don’t need anyone to, actually, but the way this is going? It’s wrong. You’re treating us like we’re not part of the team, like we don’t matter, like our feelings don't matter, have you stopped to consider that maybe there is more to this than two people just messing around with each other? That actual feelings might be involved? You haven’t even asked us what happened, you are just taking the rumours and running with them, don’t we have the right to defend ourselves? I mea-”

Joel raised a hand to silence me, his face stern “We will be holding a thorough investigation into this matter. No actions will be taken until we have all the facts, but let me make this very clear, this behaviour will not be tolerated. Any further violations, and you both risk suspension or worse, consider this a warning. I'm not interested in whatever feelings you have Miss y/l/n, what I care about is the reputation of this club. You need to be mature enough to put your career before your feelings because they are irrelevant in business, this is why some women just do not succeed" oh I wanted to punch his stupid face. Misogynistic twat.

The weight of their words sank in like a stone. I saw Mason standing firm, his hand clenched at his side, but even his usual bravado seemed to be fading in the face of the cold, corporate reality. As the meeting concluded, Joel's words echoed in my mind: “Any further violations. This is why some women just do not succeed" 

But I didn’t feel guilty, I wasn’t sure I even regretted what had happened. If anything, it was the way the club saw us. like we were commodities to be controlled, that hurt the most.

It was only a few hours later that I was called back into that room. I could barely hear Joel's voice over the pounding in my ears. My vision felt blurred, my hands trembling at my sides as I tried to focus on the words being thrown at me.

“You’re fired,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering “effective immediately. This situation is far too detrimental to the club’s reputation, and you’ve clearly shown a lack of professionalism by allowing this...relationship to unfold so publicly. We value our club's reputation and you have made us look like a joke. We are classing this as gross misconduct, you may collect your belongings, return company property and leave the building immediately. We are not a dating panel, our players and our staff are to remain professional and are expected to follow all rules at all times, you have violated the contract. We will pay you three months pay to help you until you find something else”

I couldn’t breathe. My head spun as I fought to stay grounded, it was a good thing I was sat otherwise I might have just fallen to the floor. Fired. This was it. The job I’d worked so hard for, the career I’d spent years building from scratch, it was all being taken away in an instant. And for what? A single, reckless night with Mason that had somehow spiralled out of control. I just had to let my feelings get involved. My heart raced, and for a moment, I thought I might pass out. The weight of their words was suffocating. Every bit of power, every shred of control I thought I had was slipping through my fingers.

“Please,” I finally said, my voice a mixture of disbelief and desperation “you can’t do this. I didn’t…I didn’t plan for any of this to happen. This is.. personal. It’s not about the club, I never wanted to put it at risk" my mouth was dry, it was hurting to talk.

Joel's expression didn’t soften, none of the board members did, they remained cold, unaffected “we don’t tolerate these kinds of distractions here Miss y/l/n, you were an employee of the club, but you also took on a responsibility to maintain professionalism. What happened between you and Mason, regardless of the circumstances, has compromised your position" 

My pulse was deafening in my ears, but I wasn’t going to back down, not yet “you can’t just fire me over this. This is personal, and none of it has anything to do with my work. I haven't faltered in any of my work, I've seen an increase in media support and socials interaction since I started, I'm sorry sir but you’re making a mistake" 

“You’re not exactly in a position to argue,” he snapped “this is a decision that’s been made following a deep investigation. It’s final”

"what investigation? Can I see what you've looked in to? Because three hours doesn’t exactly seem like a long enough time to do a conclusive investigation, so I apologise if I don’t believe you and you're making this up" I snap back, I will not go down without a fight. 

Joel laughed "you have no authority to request that. You may go pack your things before I change my mind on paying you" 

I felt the walls closing in on me. The betrayal stung, like a thousand needles in my chest, this wasn’t just about the club's image, it was about control. They were trying to erase me, make me the scapegoat, show others what happens when you violate the rules. My mind raced, a storm of thoughts crashing through me. I wanted to scream at them, threaten them with a lawyer or something because surely what they are doing is illegal? I know it states it in my contract but surely they cant just fire you without notice? 

Just as I was about to do just that, Mason stood in the doorway, his face tight, his jaw clenched, like he was trying to contain the fury bubbling under the surface. His eyes met mine, full of regret, guilt, and something else, something I couldn’t quite read. He was here, in the room, and yet it felt like he was a thousand miles away, his eyes moved to fix on Joel “hold on,” he said, his voice firm, but laced with tension “you’re not firing her”

Joel narrowed his eyes, his tone unyielding “and what do you think you can do about it, Mason? You’re a player, you have no say in our business decisions”

Mason took a step forward, his eyes flashing with anger “Business decisions? This isn't a business decision, this is ridiculous, this is you gaining control. You want to fire her over something that’s personal? That’s not how this works. What happened between me and her wasn’t just some...office fling. She’s not just some employee, you’ve got no idea what it took for her to get here, to do her job, to prove herself every day as a woman in a male dominated industry. She fucking loves this club, she grew up watching this club with her dad, she's given everything to it, and you’re willing to just throw that away because of some tabloid drama? Are you serious?”

Joel's gaze was icy, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes “this is a professional environment, Mason. You and her have violated that.”

“And I’m taking full responsibility for it,” Mason shot back “but you’re not firing her, not because of me, not because of any mistake we made. It's not fair, she deserves better than that”

I could feel the room shifting, the balance tipping. Mason was fighting for me. He was risking his career, his reputation, everything he had in this moment, the words caught in my throat, and I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice “Mase” I said softly, but he cut me off.

“You’re not firing her,” he repeated, his voice unwavering when no one said anything “and if you do, I walk. If you can’t protect the people who are important to me, who are important to the team, everyone on that team loves her, the under 21s love her, the women's team loves her, everyone in this damn building loves her. If you can't protect that, and can't protect the one person who would do anything for this club, then I’ll walk. It’s that simple, and I'll make my reasons known to the press, fight that story” He threatened them, he actually threatened them. 

The room fell deathly silent. Every board member looked between Mason and Joel, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, for what felt like an eternity, no one spoke. But then, slowly, Joel nodded “Fine,” he said, his voice still cold but less certain now “we’ll suspend her position for the time being, until this matter is resolved”

Mason turned to me, his eyes filled with something like relief, but it was fleeting. I could see the storm brewing beneath the surface. He wasn’t done with this, and neither was I. I just sat there, trying to figure out what just happened. "you may leave now" Joel said, taking me out of my thoughts and with a stern look, that looked like he could kill me. 

As soon as I left the room and the door closed, taking me out of view from the board members, I flung my arms around Mason's neck, pulling him into me "thank you" I said into his neck, letting the tears that I was holding back in there finally fall. 

“I’ll fight for you,” he said quietly, his words just for me, his hand rubbing my back gently, a sigh of relief falling from his lips “I’ll make sure this doesn’t end here, Red, not because of me" he smirked at his nickname for me as we pulled apart, his hand coming up to brush my tears away. 

I couldn’t say anything. My head was spinning, and all I could think was that this wasn’t over, the fight had just begun but he was in my corner. 

---

Mason told me to meet him at his house when I left the office, he gave me his key, told me to get some clothes from mine and meet him at his, giving me the address with a smile. He'd met me there from training and as soon as he walked in the door, we were on each other, letting every emotion from today fall into it, showed each other how much we meant to each other. We then had a take away and now, he was lying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other stretched toward me across the sheets. His skin was still warm from the shower, damp hair curling slightly at the ends. My hair was also damp from the shower, laid on his bed with him in just his t-shirt. Neither of us had spoken in a while. The telly played softly in the background, some late-night football pundit ranting about tactics, but I wasn’t listening. My head was on his chest as I was tracing a fading bruise on his ribs, thumb slow, careful. Thinking about the day, the consequences of this, everything. 

“I hate how much I worry,” I whispered, almost to myself.

Mason stopped rubbing my back and looked down at me, quiet for a beat “I know” his fingers found mine, weaving through lazily, letting them rest on his chest “you’re reckless at work, always have to make it dramatic”

A half-smile tugged at my mouth. “You’re one to talk, Mr injury prone”

He rolled my eyes, laughing slightly, placing a kiss to my forehead. "If you hadn't turned up…” I said, finally acknowledging the event earlier. 

He reached out, cupped my jaw, tilting my face up toward his “Hey, Red” His voice dropped to a murmur “look at me”

I did, he pulled me up so I was laid on his chest, my whole body on his “I'm here,” he said simply "I won't let them terminate your job because of me”

I blinked quickly “You can’t promise that”

“No” he agreed “but I can promise this” he pulled me in, kissed me gently, no fire this time, just warmth, just truth.

“You’re such an idiot”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing his thumb over my cheek “but I’m your idiot" 

I look at him "you know this is classed as a violation? Us being here like this" I say, knowing we are treading in dangerous water. 

He held on tighter "yeah, I know, I just don’t care, we're in private away from the club, they can't get to us here" 

--

It's been two weeks since the day in the boardroom, I was still suspended, awaiting their decision. I'd been at Mason's for the majority of those weeks, me and his German Shepherd just waiting for him to get home. He used the excuse that someone needed to look after the puppy through the days and I wasn’t going to turn it down, I've always loved animals and living in an apartment kind of restricts what you can have. The morning light spilled in through the curtains, pale and soft, dust motes floating lazily in its path, Mason was asleep beside me, arm thrown across my waist, his breathing deep and even. There was a tiny crease between his brows, like even in sleep he was bracing for something. I reached out and smoothed it gently with my thumb. His skin was warm, his body heavy with sleep, the duvet tangled between our legs. It was one of those rare mornings where the world felt suspended, no training today, no matches, no cameras, no consequences.

Just us.

I pressed my face into his chest, breathing him in. Soap. Sweat. Something entirely him. His hand stirred lazily, trailing down my back before curling around my hip “you’re staring again,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“Shut up,” I whispered, smiling into his skin.

He shifted, pulled me tighter “we could stay like this, all day, pretend the real world doesn’t exist”

“For a minute, maybe,” I said “then the universe would come knocking" 

As if on cue, there was a sharp knock at the front door downstairs and I stilled. Mason groaned “you have got to be kidding me”

Another knock, louder this time. followed by a buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He reached for it blindly, squinting at the screen “Shit" 

“What?” I sat up, pulse rising.

He exhaled, ran a hand through his hair “It’s my agent, he said the club want me in now”

My stomach dropped “did he say why?”

He shrugged, “No idea, could be training or it could be…us”

He looked at me then, properly looked, the softness fading from his face as reality seeped in. I climbed out of bed, wrapping his hoodie around myself “I should go home and wait for the verdict”

“No” He swung his legs over the side, reaching for my waist, pulling me between his legs, rubbing my sides gently, soothing “not like this, stay here, if it is about us, we can talk when I'm home”

“You said we could pretend” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes “time’s up”

Another knock. Urgent now. He didn’t let go of me and in that one, heavy pause, everything we hadn’t said hung in the air, love, fear, defiance.

Then he whispered, almost a vow “whatever they say, I’m not choosing the club over you, Red” he stood up, placing a kiss on my lips "you're far to important to me" 

The mug in my hands had long gone cold, I had left Mason's house pretty much straight after he did, I came home, I needed to be home. I situated myself on the floor, hoping it would keep me grounded and I was still sitting on the floor, back against the couch, his hoodie wrapped around me like a fading memory. My phone lay on the coffee table, screen lit up, no new messages. Not a single word. He’d left in such a rush, promised he wouldn’t choose the club over me and yet, here I was. Waiting. Again. Praying for him to just tell me what happened. 

I grabbed my phone and scrolled Twitter three times in the last ten minutes, eyes darting past transfer rumours and fan edits and training pics, until I saw it…the headline.

Club Investigates Relationship Between Player and Staff Member – Source Confirms Internal Meeting Held This Morning.

My stomach twisted. I clicked the link. The article loaded slowly, agonisingly, until I saw my name. My actual name. No nicknames. No soft teasing. Just brutal, clinical exposure and the world knew about my fate before even I did. 

Y/N Y/L/N, former member of the media team, has been linked to player Mason Mount in recent rumours surrounding alleged breach of contract and ethics policy. A meeting held this morning, decided that she is to be removed of her duties immediately, the club states that they do not conduct player staff relationships in any way. Meanwhile, Mason gets away lightly, with a one game suspension that he will serve against previous team, Chelsea FC on Saturday.

Former. Removed of her duties.

My pulse pounded, I wasn’t even told. I check my emails and there it is, the 'formal decision letter' that stated it all. Cowards. 

There were pictures on the article, blurry ones, but enough to show us together outside the stadium. One of me laughing at something he said. One of us walking too close. One of me going to his house. One of me walking his dog. 

But the comments were worse.

“Figures. She probably used him to get ahead”

“This is why you don’t mix business and pleasure”

"What was he thinking? Risking his career for her?" 

I swallowed back bile. Still no message, no call. Nothing. Just silence. 

I opened our texts and sent one.

I've seen the article. I've got the email. Thanks for letting me know before it got out. 

That’s when it popped up Read. But no response.

He’d chosen silence.

It was now five o'clock and I didn’t plan to go. Honestly, I’d told myself a dozen times in the car that I was just going to drive past his house. Just...see if the lights were on, but when I saw the faint glow in the windows and his car parked out front, something inside me snapped, maybe it was desperation, maybe pride or maybe just fury that he hadn’t had the decency to call.

My knuckles hit the door before I could think, footsteps appeared and then the click of a lock. Then the door opened, and there he was, standing barefoot, in joggers and a black hoodie. His hair was a mess, but he wasn’t alone. A woman stood behind him in a blazer and heels, holding a leather-bound portfolio. Her gaze flicked from me to him and back, unreadable. My stomach dropped. My breath caught. He froze realising what this looked like “Red—”

“You didn’t call,” I said, voice thin and cold “you let me find out with the rest of the world”

His expression twisted, half-guilt, half-shock “I was going to. I—look, this isn’t what it looks like”

“No?” I took a step back “because it looks exactly like what it always is, you making promises and then choosing the version of you that I hate, the version that I thought you'd got rid off. I should go, you look busy with the next thing”

The woman behind him cleared her throat awkwardly “Should I—?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, stepping aside “just give me a second”

She nodded and walked past me without a word, her heels clicking against the tile. I barely registered her, all I could see was him. Standing there, breathing heavily, like he was the victim here.

“Who is she?” I asked.

“My PR lady,” he said. “she came to help fix this mess, for us. She’s trying to stop it from going nuclear”

My laugh was sharp and humourless “Congratulations. Seems like you’ve already lost control of the blast”

He stepped closer “I didn’t mean for it to go this way—”

“But it did,” I cut in “and you didn’t warn me. You left me alone, Mason. You left me to drown in it”

His voice rose with frustration “I was going to tell you when I got back, but you were gone! I didn’t call because I was trying to protect you! I was trying to stop it from getting out”

“No,” I snapped “you were trying to protect yourself. Your image. Your contract. You only protect me when it’s convenient”

His face fell like I’d slapped him. Silence stretched between us, thick with all the words we’d never said and the ones we’d shouted instead. He looked at me then, really looked “I was scared, scared this meant I'd lose you and I didn’t want that” he admitted, barely a whisper.

“So was I,” I said “difference is, I still showed up” and with that, I turned and walked out, not trusting myself to look back, not trusting him anymore at all.

The cold hit me the moment I stepped outside the gates of his property, sharp, sobering. My hands trembled as I shoved them into the pockets of my coat, head down, trying to walk fast to my car but not fast enough to look like I was running. Still, I was, running from him, from us, from the sinking realisation that maybe I’d let myself believe in something that was never going to be real.

Then I heard it, his voice behind me “Red, wait, please”

I didn’t, not at first anyway, but my steps then slowed as I neared my car, against my better judgement. He caught up seconds later, chest heaving, eyes wild, still barefoot, like he chased after as soon as I left “don’t do this, don’t walk away thinking that this didn’t mean anything to me"

“You’ve got a hell of a way of showing it”

“I panicked, alright? I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and everything is spiralling, my career, the press, the board. I didn’t know how to fix it”

“You don’t fix this by shutting me out,” I said, voice breaking “you fix it by calling. By showing up”

“I am,” he said, stepping closer “I’m showing up now”

I folded my arms, holding myself together “bit late for that"

He reached for my hand, gently, like he knew he had no right but needed to anyway “it’s not too late, not unless you say it is”

I looked at him, at the pain in his eyes, the desperation, the sincerity. The boy underneath the footballer. The man who’d kissed me like he was starving. The one who’d whispered promises in the dark and called me Red like it meant something only we understood “why should I trust you?”

“Because I’ve never chased anyone before,” he said. “not like this, not past my pride, not past my fear and definitely not barefoot”

“And now?”

“Now I’m out here in the freezing bloody cold, chasing after a girl who might just hate now me and looks at me like I might ruin her life, but still came to my door" 

Silence, and then I whispered “I don’t hate you”

His mouth twitched, just a little “that’s the most terrifying thing you’ve ever said”

I exhaled, shakily and then he pulled me in, slowly, like I might bolt, and kissed me like he finally understood what he stood to lose.

That night, I sat curled sideways in the passenger seat of his car, legs tucked under me, watching the rain trail slow patterns down the window. The heater hummed softly, warming the cold off my skin, but it hadn’t reached my bones yet. Mason was quiet beside me, one hand on the wheel, the other resting between us like he was debating whether to reach for me or not. We decided to go for a drive to McDonalds and go to a lookout spot near Manchester Airport and watch planes take off, something to just get away from everything. 

I turned to him "can I ask you something?”

He glanced over “sure”

“Why do you call me Red?”

His lips twitched, but the usual smugness wasn’t there “thought you figured that out already,” he said lightly.

“I have ideas,” I said “but I want to hear your reason”

He looked away, out the windshield, exhaled “you remember the first time we met?”

I chuckled “Vividly. You were an arse”

“Still am,” he said. “But that day? You walked into the media room like you owned it. You didn’t look at me twice, even though everyone else did. And you were wearing that red skirt and white jumper matched with that red lipstick, the shade that should’ve screamed don’t even try”

I blinked back the tears. 

“You challenged me without saying a word and I hated it,” he said “hated how curious you made me, how quick your mouth was but what I hated most was how I couldn’t stop looking at it, how I wanted to kiss you”

My throat tightened and he looked back at me now, softer “Red became the only word I could use around you that didn’t sound like begging"

I swallowed hard “It’s never just been about the lipstick, has it?”

He shook his head slowly “It’s about how you walk into a room like a spark with teeth. How you burn when you argue, when you care. How you set something off in me I haven’t been able to shake since. It's a reminder of how beautiful you looked that day”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Real. Earned. I reached over, fingers lacing with his “I always hated that nickname,” I whispered “because it felt like you had something of mine I hadn’t given you"

He gave me a half smile “And now?”

“Now I’m scared of how much I want you to keep saying it”

---

It's been a few months since the article came out, since I was fired. I started my own online football blog and was invited to games to do their media coverage, it felt good to not have to answer to anyone. There was still a lot of heat around the whole thing, Mason and me were good, we were still together, but the tabloids still hated us, his fans still hated me. The press couldn't stop talking about it. They were asking Mason the same question at every opportunity 'are you and y/n still together?' or 'are you mad at Manchester United for firing your girlfriend?' and every time he dodges it with such grace. 

I was sat watching the TV at Mason's house, a cup of coffee in my hands as I turn on Sky News, the press conference just starting. England have a game in two days, Mason is currently packing his bag to go down to London tomorrow. Our mutual friend, Ben Chilwell, was doing the conference with Tuchel, he volunteered as he was just happy to be back in the team. The press room buzzed with reporters, all shoving to get a question in. Ben sat calmly at the table in his England training top, fingers tapping lightly against the mic. Half the room cared about the match and the other half waited to bring up us, me and Mason, like it was everyone's business. I waited for it and then it came.

"Ben, one for you" a smug-looking tabloid reporter started "there’s been a lot of talk online these last few months regarding Mason and Y/N Y/L/N, you’ve been pictured with both of them recently. Care to comment? Especially considering the...controversy?"

Ben blinked, slow, measured. Then he leaned forward, expression unreadable “yeah, I’ve seen the articles,” he said “and I’m glad I have. They’re two of the best people I know”

Murmurs rippled through the room and Ben went on “Mase plays with more heart than most people realise. And Y/N? She’s been grinding in this sport longer than half the journalists writing headlines about her. She’s smart, she’s sharp, she works her arse off and what happened to her at her old club was...disgraceful to say the least. You all want to paint her like some career-climbing scandal, but the truth is she got fired for something that wouldn’t have made headlines if the roles were reversed. And Mase?” He shrugged “he fell in love. That’s not a scandal, that’s just life”

A pause.

“And for the record?” Ben added, smiling faintly “they never asked me to speak, but I’m speaking because someone should. Also, not to be rude, but quite frankly, it's not anyones business other than theirs. So, let's keep the questions strictly football related now” He sat back, calm as ever, like he hadn’t just flipped the whole press narrative on its head.

I couldn’t believe what I'd just heard, I don’t know how long I sat there with a smile on my face, someone stood up for us. My phone started blaring up so I picked it up, clicking on the notification, and gasping at it. 

Manchester United's Official Statement:

“After thorough review, we acknowledge that the handling of Y/N Y/L/N’s departure was not aligned with our values. We regret how the situation unfolded and extend our sincere apologies for any distress caused. We will be revisiting internal policies to prevent such incidents in the future.”

My fingers trembled, an apology. Publicly. On their page…with my name. I opened Twitter, the headline from The Athletic sat at the top, bright and bold:

“‘She Deserved Better’ — A Public Reckoning as Football Starts to Own Its Mistakes”

The articles weren’t tearing me apart anymore. They were apologising, then the clip played. Ben, at the press table, calm, direct, unshakable “He fell in love. That’s not a scandal, that’s just life”

Tears slipped down my cheeks before I realised they were even forming. I sat frozen a moment longer before launching up from the sofa.

“Mase?” I called, voice thick “Mason!”

The bathroom door swung open, towel around his waist, hair dripping. He must have been in the shower “what? what’s wrong—”

“Nothing,” I breathed, grinning through the tears “everything’s… right”

I shoved the phone at him. He watched the clip, blinked slowly, then smiled. That full, boyish smile that made my heart catch every single time.

“You knew he’d do this?”

He laughed “didn’t have a clue, but I'm thankful he did”

Then, without hesitation, he grabbed his phone off the coffee table, opened his messages, and tapped out a voice note.

“Mate. I owe you about fifty pints and a hug I’m too manly to give. You saved us. Thank you—for her. For me. You’re a legend.” He hit send and turned to me, serious now

“Look at me, Red”

I did.

“I meant it when I said I’d walk away from it all for you,” he said, stepping closer “but now I don’t have to, because we didn’t lose, we fought and we won”

I reached for his hand “you think it’s really over?”

“No,” he said, pressing a kiss to my temple “it’s just beginning” he kissed my lips gently, hands on my cheeks "I love you" 

That was the first time he'd said it, and it felt so good to hear it, it's all I've wanted to hear for so long "I love you too" I smiled, pulling him into me by the towel around his waist. 

And this time, we didn’t have to look over our shoulders. We were safe to be us, we were in love and we could finally be us. 

Taglist:

@neverinadream @lovelynikol7

[livinginastory]

3AM

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: Angst, strong language, no real ending, you decide how it ends Authors Note: This story was inspired by “3AM” by Busted. I tried to dig into that desperate, late-night ache of wanting something back even when you’re not sure it can survive the breaking. Also, this fic has no real ending, I've left it open mainly because I couldn't decide, but also so you can decide in your mind if you want a happy ending or the heartbreak. Let me know what you think!

You told yourself you were fine.

You said it so many times you almost started to believe it.

You filled your days with noise, with people, with anything that would keep you from remembering what silence felt like when his voice wasn’t in it. But every distraction was temporary. Because no matter how hard you tried, night always came and with it, the kind of quiet that made you think about him all over again.

--

You can still see it, the night it all fell apart. His phone had buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with a notification you didn’t mean to see.

Her name.

A model and a rumour that wouldn’t die. You tried to pretend you didn’t care, but the words were already spilling out before you could stop them.

“Tell me it’s not true”

Mason looked up from lacing his trainers on the sofa, confusion written across his face.

“What?”

You held up your phone, the headline you had just pulled up after seeing her name open.

‘Mount spotted with mystery blonde at London club and girlfriend Y/N is nowhere in sight.’

He sighed, running a hand over his face.

“You can’t seriously believe that”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Mason. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it”

He stood, voice low but sharp as he took a step towards you.

“Because it sells papers, because they need stories, you think I have time to sneak around when I can barely sleep between matches?”

You hated how tired he sounded, how much sense he made but the image of that photo wouldn’t leave your head.

“Then why does it look so real?”

“Because they make it look real,” he snapped, his face instantly softening when he realises he had raised his voice “because people want to believe the worst"

The silence that followed was heavy and hot. You crossed your arms, heart pounding.

“I want to believe you Mason, I just don’t know how anymore”

That’s when his expression changed, something breaking in his eyes, his hand running through his hair as he turned from you.

“If you can’t trust me, Y/N, what’s the point?”

“Don’t put this on me”

“I’m not. I’m just saying maybe we both need time to figure out if this is still worth fighting for”

“So that’s it? We’re just…done?”

He hesitated, jaw tight. “Maybe we should be if you can't trust me”

You’d waited for him to take it back, but he didn’t. He just left for training and when you walked out that night, he didn’t follow.

--

The clock on your nightstand glows 2:57 a.m. You’re staring at your phone, his name sitting there on the screen like a dare. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t but you do. The first call goes to voicemail and you hang up, the sound of the disconnect tone echoes in the dark.

But you only last a minute before calling again. The line clicks, and a groggy voice, familiar, hoarse with sleep, slips through.

“Y/N?”

“It’s three in the morning” he mumbles “what’s going on?”

You swallow, voice small “I just…I can’t stop thinking about you”

There’s a pause, a long one. Then, softly you hear his voice ask “where are you?”

"At home" you whisper scared of talking too loud.

"Come over, we'll talk" he says before hanging up the phone, so that's exactly what you do.

⸻

Ten minutes later, you’re parked outside his house, headlights cutting a crooked path across the rain-slicked street. The steering wheel is cold under your hands, you’re shaking, though you can’t tell if it’s from nerves or the chill. You barely make it up the steps before the door swings open. Mason stands there barefoot, hair messy, wearing a hoodie and joggers. His eyes are tired, but they still make your chest ache in that familiar way. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you, as if he’s trying to decide if you’re really there.

“You shouldn’t be here” he finally says.

You let out a humourless laugh “then why did you tell me to?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t trust himself to. You take a breath that doesn’t quite fill your lungs.

“You said you needed space...time. But how long does it take to realise that we were—” your throat tightens “—are more than just something temporary?”

Mason looks down, running a hand over his face.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you, not for a second but I didn’t know how to come back. You decided you can't trust me, I didn't know what else I could do to make you trust me. And I thought if I came back, what if we just end up right where we were, hurting each other all over again?”

You shake your head, tears slipping past your lashes.

“And what if we don’t? What if this —” you gesture between you, voice breaking “—is stronger than anything we could’ve broken?”

He takes a small step forward, eyes flicking to your mouth, then back up. His voice is barely a whisper “I just want it to be like it was before”

“So do I” you whisper “but I don’t think my heart can take much more”

The words hang in the air, heavy, final, tender and for a long moment, neither of you move. The rain falls harder, soaking your clothes, tracing down your skin like tears that have run out of places to hide. You turn away first and you don’t look back as you walk to your car, though your heart feels like it’s tearing in two. You slide into the driver’s seat, clothes soaking the leather seat under you, hands trembling, breath unsteady. The headlights flare, illuminating his figure still standing in the doorway, hood pulled up, water dripping off him in rivulets. You press your forehead to the steering wheel, telling yourself to stop the tears from falling and telling yourself to leave. He's made his stance clear, he doesn't want to fix this.

And then you hear it, faint at first, then clearer, cutting through the rain.

“Y/N!”

You look up and he’s running toward you, barefoot, hoodie plastered to his skin. He’s soaked, breathless, eyes wide with something raw and terrified. He stops beside the car, palms flat against the window, chest heaving.

“Please,” he says, voice breaking. “don’t go, not this time”

You stare at him through the glass, heart hammering. For a second, neither of you move, then you push the door open, he steps back just enough for you to climb out. You’re both drenched, standing in the middle of the empty driveway, rain coming down in sheets. He looks at you like you’re the only thing left in the world that makes sense.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m better off without you” he says quietly.

“Then why did you let me leave?” you ask, voice trembling.

He exhales, eyes closing like the truth hurts “because I thought I was protecting you, from the pressure, the noise, everything that comes with being with me, but all I did was protect myself from feeling like this.”

Your throat tightens “you don’t get to decide what I can handle, Mason. You don’t get to break me and call it love”

He nods, eyes glistening.

“You’re right. I was a coward, but I’m here now, and I’m asking” his voice falters “is there any part of you that still wants me?”

You don’t answer right away. The rain is relentless, washing over both of you, blurring the edges of everything sharp. Then, slowly, you step closer, until your forehead rests against his chest, his arms come around you instantly, tight, desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Neither of you speak and the world feels suspended, just rain, breath, and the quiet pulse of something fragile but real.

Later, you’re sitting together on his couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies, a towel draped haphazardly over your shoulders. The storm still rages outside and he’s watching you from across the small space, elbows on his knees, eyes heavy but softer now.

“I don’t know if I can promise I won’t screw up again,” he says finally “but I can promise I’ll stop running and I promise to do everything I can to make you trust me”

You meet his eyes, voice quiet but steady “I don’t think my heart can take losing you again”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. His voice is barely a whisper “then don’t”

⸻

The storm outside doesn’t stop, but somehow, it feels lighter. You’re still broken in places, still uncertain of what comes next, but for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest eases just enough to breathe and in that fragile, rain-soaked moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late.

TAGLIST:

@neverinadream

[livinginastory]

Thread Of Fate - B.Chilwell ✨ Chapter Eight - Feels Like Home

Pairing: Ben Chilwell x Reader Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: This is smut, that's really all! Sorry I've been gone! But this is back and nearly at the end of our little series, thank you for being here, feedback is always appreciated! ☺️

This series will include angst, fluff, smut and other themes, under 18s dni.

Chapter Seven

Two weeks later 

Time didn’t change everything at once, it was small things.

Ben started coming by in the afternoons instead, never too early, never uninvited, always with that careful balance of presence and space. He’d wait at the café when school let out, take Elijah for walks to the bakery or sit with him on the back steps of the café while I finished wiping down counters. Sometimes I’d catch them through the window, Elijah’s voice carrying as he explained his next mission idea or why slugs were misunderstood. Ben always listened, always laughed in that warm, real way that made Elijah beam.

He didn’t push, not with me, not with him. He just… stayed. One evening, he helped me restock shelves after closing, our hands brushed over a stack of takeaway cups, and I didn’t move mine right away, neither did he. We looked at each other for half a second too long. I almost said something but Elijah came running in with his new mission for Gary…his new crocodile spy idea, and we let the moment drift away. Another night, he stayed after Elijah's bedtime, too late for tea, but not quite time to leave. I offered him half a cupcake and a shared blanket on the worn loveseat in the living room. We didn’t touch but I could feel the almost pulsing between us.

When Elijah drew a picture of the three of us at the park, Ben carrying him on his shoulders, me smiling beside them, I had to excuse myself for a second, not to cry, just to breathe. Because what do you do when your child starts drawing a future you’re not sure you’re brave enough to reach for? But that’s the thing about slow burns, they don’t ask for bravery in leaps, just in inches.

Now it was that time of year again, the silence was strange, not bad, just… different. The kind of quiet you didn’t notice you missed until it came back and curled around your ankles like steam from a warm cup of tea.

Elijah had left that morning, his little suitcase wheeling behind him, already chatting away to my mum about frogs and the seaside and whether or not he could have pancakes three mornings in a row. They did this every year, a weekend at the coast, just the two of them “So you can breathe” mum always said and for the first time in a long time, I actually wanted to.

Around 4pm, I sent Ben a message, casual, friendly, safe but inviting. 

Me: Elijah’s away with mum for the weekend, annual seaside escape. I’m cooking too much pasta for one. Want to help me eat it?

His reply came fast.

Ben: Be there in 30. Should I bring wine or garlic bread?

Me:  Both, I’m not emotionally strong enough to choose. 

By 4.30pm, he was here, half an hour like he said,  jeans and a hoodie, wine in one hand, takeaway garlic bread in the other. We ate in the kitchen, no candles, no music, just plates and laughter and two people trying not to name whatever was blooming between them.

After, I loaded the dishwasher while he leaned back against the counter, sipping wine. The light was low, the kind that turned his eyes soft and shadowed, and made my stomach ache in the familiar, dangerous way it used to.

“Feels weird without him here” he said quietly.

“I know” I replied “It’s like I keep expecting to hear him yell about Gary from the other room”

Ben smiled “He’ll be home before you miss him too much”

“Too late”

There was a pause. A longer one. He looked at me then, and it wasn’t just soft. It was open, careful, watching me like he wanted to say something and wasn’t sure he should.

“I almost told you once” I said.

His head tilted “told me what?”

“About Elijah. Right after I found out I was pregnant, I wrote the message, I even had your number still saved under something stupid. ‘Captain Left Foot’”

He smiled at that, but waited.

“I just…couldn’t do it,” I admitted “I kept thinking you’d resent me, or worse, you’d come back out of obligation and I didn’t want him to be someone’s regret”

Ben’s jaw flexed, and then his voice came, low and certain “He wouldn’t have been, ever”

“I know that now”

A beat. Another sip of wine.

“I’ve been trying not to say things” I said, the words coming softer now “trying not to make this harder than it already is”

He set the glass down, taking a step towards me, careful.

“But I miss you” I whispered “not just for Elijah. I miss you and sometimes I wonder if this…thing between us, whatever it is now, if it’s just memory or if it’s real”

Ben stepped forward again, not rushed. He just moved until he was in front of me, close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off his skin. His voice was quiet, but there was no hesitation in it.

“It’s real for me”

And then he leaned in, eyes asking even if his hands didn’t. I let him. The kiss wasn’t dramatic, no fireworks, no sudden music swell, it was slower than that. Full of everything we hadn’t said, everything we used to know and all the new things still waiting.

When we pulled apart, neither of us stepped back right away.

Just stood there, breathing the same air.

He ran a hand lightly down my arm “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight"

“I know”

“But this?” he said, brushing his thumb over mine “this isn’t nothing”

I nodded, heart pounding “No, it’s not"

After that we settled on the couch, the wine growing warmer in our glasses as the room dimmed further around us. The silence between us wasn’t heavy, it was charged, expectant. The kind of quiet that pressed at your chest and made everything feel louder somehow. I could feel the heat of his leg next to mine, the occasional brush of his arm when he reached for his glass or shifted slightly. Every tiny movement was felt, registered, answered.

He turned to look at me again, that same look he’d had in the kitchen still lingering in his eyes, half steady, half unsure. Like he wanted to kiss me again but was waiting for permission. So I gave it and I leaned in first this time. His hand met my waist like it had been waiting there all night. And when his lips found mine again, it was softer than before, but deeper too, less tentative. A slow inhale of something we’d been holding our breath over for years. My fingers slid into his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, just enough to make my stomach flip. The kiss shifted, grew heavier, hungrier, but still…careful. Like neither of us wanted to break whatever this was.

His other hand slipped to the small of my back, pulling me a little closer, just enough to press our bodies together. He kissed me like he meant it, like he’d been waiting to. We shifted, I straddled his lap, my knees on either side of him, our kisses deepening by the second. His mouth left mine and found that spot beneath my jaw, and I tilted my head back with a sigh I didn’t mean to let out. He paused, pulling back to look at me, thumb grazing the edge of my cheek.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, breath warm.

“Yeah” I breathed “are you?”

“Yeah” he said “just…trying not to rush something I’ve wanted back for a long time”

I swallowed, heart in my throat.

“We can stop” he added, brushing hair from my face “or slow down. I don’t need—”

“I know,” I said, kissing him again "I don’t want to stop, unless you want to?" I ask, the expression on my face giving me away. 

Ben smirked that smile that made me fall in love with him all those years ago, his hands tightening on my waist, pulling me closer to him, fingers brushing the skin underneath my shirt, lips brushing mine "I don't ever want to stop". That did it, my hands found the back of his neck and I kissed him again, this time desperate, wanting, needing. 

I didn’t plan for tonight to go the way it was going, but I didn’t want it to end so when Ben lifted me of the couch with ease and carried me upstairs, I didn’t stop him. As we got to the top of the stairs, his lips left mine, his blue eyes looking back at me "which door is yours?" he asked, not wanting to waste a moment.

"First on the right" I replied, and that’s all he needed, his lips met mine again as he pushed the door open and closed it with his foot and laid me down gently on the bed, never breaking contact as he hovered over me. 

My hands found the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it slowly and breaking the kiss for a moment to remove it and throw it wherever it landed in the room. When I looked back at him, taking it all in, he hasn’t really changed, he's got more toned but he's still the Ben I remember. That’s when I see it, the necklace…he never wore necklaces but then I see what is being used as a pendant…the engagement ring he gave me, hanging there like a thread he can never let go of. My fingers reach up and touch it hesitantly, almost like they were scared to be burned by the memory, like I was scared of being burned by the memory. 

Ben notices, his eyes looking from me to the necklace and he places his hand on top of mine, his other hand keeping his body up "Is it weird that I wear it?" he asks, voice just above a whisper, the silence suddenly becoming so loud its overwhelming and calming all at once. 

I shake my head no but a questioned lingered "why do you wear it?" I ask before I can stop myself and instantly close my eyes in regret. 

He lets out a small laugh, letting his hand move to my cheek "y/n, look at me" I do as I'm told and let my eyes flutter open, and just looking into his does something to me, something I haven't felt with him in years…home. 

"I wear it because it's a constant reminder of you, because I still want you” he says, terrifyingly honest “I tell myself a lot of things about it, memory, growth, closure, but that’s the truth underneath all of it. I wear it because some part of me is still waiting for the day you tell me I can give it to you properly”

His voice drops “I know we broke up. I know I don’t get to expect anything from you anymore. I’m not pretending nothing happened, I know exactly why we fell apart, and I live with that every day, but I also know I didn’t stop loving you. Not for a second. I tried. God, I tried. I dated, I moved, I changed my routines, everything people say you’re supposed to do. And still, every time I imagine a future that actually feels like mine, you’re in it”

I loosen my grip, letting the ring fall back against his chest "so I keep it here, close, not because I think you owe me another chance, but because if there is even the smallest possibility that one day you might look at me and think maybe…I don’t want to be someone who gave up"

“If you tell me to take it off, I will. I swear. I don’t want to hurt you" then, barely above a whisper “but please don’t mistake this for nostalgia. I’m not missing who you were, I want who you are, still, now, always"

The air between us feels thicker now, charged, like the moment right before a storm breaks. His words hang there, raw, unguarded, and they settle somewhere deep in my chest, cracking open places I’d spent years trying to seal shut. I don’t answer right away. Instead, my fingers slide from the ring, down the warm skin of his chest, tracing the sharper lines of muscle he didn’t have the last time I touched him like this. He shivers under the slow drag of my nails, breath catching, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t push. Just watches me with those same steady eyes that used to make me feel like the only person in any room.

My palm flattens over his heart. It’s pounding, hard, fast, honest, and the rhythm answers something inside me I didn’t want to admit was still alive.

“Then don’t take it off” I whisper.

His pupils blow wide. For a second he just…stares, like he’s not sure he heard right. I lean up, closing the last few inches between our mouths, but I don’t kiss him yet. I let my lips brush his, soft, deliberate, while my other hand slips to the back of his neck, fingers threading into the short hairs there.

“Not tonight,” I murmur against his mouth “don’t take it off tonight”

A low sound rumbles in his throat, half groan, half relief, and then he’s kissing me again, deeper this time, hungrier, like a man who’s been starving and finally been told he can eat. One of his hands fists in the fabric at my hip, dragging my body flush against his. I can feel every inch of him, hard, insistent, pressing into my stomach through the thin barrier of my underwear, and the heat of it makes my thighs clench instinctively.

He breaks the kiss only long enough to drag his open mouth down the side of my neck, teeth grazing just shy of biting “say it again,” he breathes against my skin, voice wrecked “tell me to keep it on”

“Keep it on,” I gasp as his hand slides under my shirt, rough palm skating up my ribs, cupping the underside of my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple, once, twice, and I arch into the touch with a broken little sound I can’t hold back “keep it on, Ben, don’t take it off”

He growls against my throat, the sound vibrating straight through me. His necklace swings forward, cool metal and warm ring brushing my collarbone like a promise, and I swear I feel it pulse in time with his heartbeat. His hands are everywhere now, pushing my shirt up and off, mapping every curve he used to know by heart and every new one time gave me. When his mouth closes over my nipple, hot and wet, I cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders. He sucks hard, tongue flicking, then soothes it with slow circles until I’m writhing, thighs rubbing together in helpless search of friction.

“Missed this,” he mutters against my skin, voice thick “missed the way you sound when I touch you” He shifts lower, kissing a burning trail down my stomach, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin just above my hip “missed the way you taste”

My breath hitches “Ben—”

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underwear, eyes flicking up to mine, dark, questioning, giving me the out even now. I lift my hips in answer. He pulls them down slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping something fragile and priceless. When they’re gone, he settles between my thighs, broad shoulders spreading me open, and just…looks.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself “still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen”

Then his mouth is on me. The first slow drag of his tongue makes my back bow off the bed. He doesn’t rush, God, he never did, he licks me like he’s memorizing every inch, circling my clit with devastating patience until my hips are jerking, until I’m clutching at his hair and gasping his name like a prayer. He groans into me when I pull his hair harder, the vibration ripping another moan from my throat. Two fingers slide inside me, slow, curling, and I clench around them instantly, already so close it’s embarrassing.

“Look at me” he rasps, voice muffled against my skin.

I force my eyes open. The sight of him, hair messy from my hands, necklace dangling, ring glinting in the low light as he watches me fall apart, sends me right to the edge.

“Come for me" he murmurs, lips brushing my clit with every word “Let me feel it, let me have it”

I shatter. The orgasm hits like a wave I didn’t see coming, sharp, blinding, endless. I cry out his name, thighs clamping around his head, fingers twisting in the sheets as he works me through it, tongue soft now, fingers still curling inside until every aftershock has wrung me dry. When I finally go limp, panting, he crawls back up my body, kissing me deep so I can taste myself on his tongue. His erection is heavy against my thigh, leaking, desperate, but he doesn’t push.

Instead he rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard “I meant it,” he whispers “every word, but tonight…tonight can just be us. No promises, no future, no past, just this. Just you and me”

I reach up, fingers brushing the ring where it rests against his chest “then take me,” I say, voice still shaky “all of me. Right now”

His eyes flare and then he’s moving, shedding the rest of his clothes in record time, kicking them somewhere across the room. When he settles back between my thighs, bare and burning, he notches himself at my entrance and pauses. One last look. One last question in his eyes.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer “Yes,” I breathe.

He sinks in slow, inch by torturous inch, until he’s buried to the hilt. We both groan, loud and wrecked, foreheads pressed together.

“Fuck,” he chokes out “You feel…God, you feel like home”

Then he starts to move and nothing else matters. He doesn’t hesitate this time. The slow roll of his hips turns deliberate, deep, each thrust measured to hit that spot inside me that makes my toes curl and my breath fracture. The necklace swings with every movement, the ring brushing my skin like a cool, constant reminder of everything we’re choosing to ignore tonight, or maybe choosing to finally face.

I hook my ankles behind his back, pulling him impossibly closer, and he groans, low, guttural, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His teeth graze my pulse point, not quite biting, just enough to make me arch and clench around him “God, you still feel…" he drags out, voice splintering “like you were made for me”

My nails rake down his back, hard enough to leave marks he’ll feel tomorrow, and he hisses, hips snapping forward sharper, faster. The bed creaks under us, the room smells like sweat and sex and the faint cedar of his skin I used to fall asleep against.

I tilt my head back, exposing more throat, and he takes the invitation, lips and tongue tracing a wet path up to my jaw before he claims my mouth again. The kiss is messy now, all teeth and desperation, tongues sliding together like we’re trying to devour each other whole. One of his hands slides between us, thumb finding my clit with devastating accuracy. He circles it in tight, relentless little strokes that match the rhythm of his thrusts, and I’m already climbing again, too soon, too fast, but I don’t care.

“Ben—” His name comes out half sob, half plea.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my lips “I've always got you”

He shifts his angle just enough, deeper, harder, and I break. The second orgasm rips through me like fire, white-hot and blinding. My whole body locks up, thighs trembling around his waist, inner walls pulsing so hard he curses under his breath. I think I say his name again, maybe a string of broken curses too, but it’s lost in the roar in my ears. He fucks me through it, slower now, drawing it out until I’m shaking, oversensitive and whimpering into his shoulder. Only then does he let himself chase it, his rhythm stutters, breath turns ragged against my neck.

“Fuck—where do you want me?” The question is gravel-rough, urgent.

“Inside,” I gasp without hesitation “please”

That’s all it takes. His hips slam forward one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go. A choked groan tears out of him, raw, wrecked, and I feel him pulse, hot and endless, filling me in long, shuddering spurts. His whole body trembles above me, arms shaking as he holds himself up just enough not to crush me. For a long moment we stay like that, locked together, breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other. The necklace has slipped between us; the ring presses cool against my sternum like it belongs there. Slowly, he lowers himself, careful, until his weight is a comforting blanket over me. His forehead rests against mine again. Neither of us speaks for what feels like forever.

Then he says something, barely audible "Still home?”

I swallow, feeling the truth settle in my bones “Yeah,” I whisper “still home”

He exhales like he’s been holding the breath for years. His lips brush mine, soft this time, slow, almost reverent. When he finally rolls off, he pulls me with him, tucking me against his chest so the ring nestles between us again. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare back, mine find the chain around his neck, playing with the pendant without thinking.

We don’t talk about tomorrow. We don’t talk about what happens when the sun comes up. We just lie there, tangled and quiet, listening to each other breathe and for the first time in years…it feels like enough. It feels like it used to. It feels like home. 

Taglist: @neverinadream