#panic (2021)

[heartsforjaelyn]

Andrew “fuckass name that everyone calls them” “last name that is also a common first name”

duo i made up

[jordiemeow]

18+ mdni

riding dodge mason is—ironically—like riding a bull. it's neither graceful nor steady, but wild and brutal. feels like he's trying to buck you off with the sheer force of thrusting his hips up into you. a hand tangled in your head, holding it back so he can look at your face while you bounce on his cock, the other firm on your waist. you're pretty sure your thighs can't take another agonisingly good second, but he won't let up. he's fucking up into you so hard you're practically bouncing from the force of gravity whether you want to or not.

he's a cowboy through and through, and he treats you like another bronc he's determined to break. "keep your balance," he teases, cocky rodeo-star grin plastered on his handsome face while your body jolts above him. "eight seconds is all takes to win."

except it's a hell of a lot more than eight seconds when you're riding a man determined to undo you. his hat's tipped off somewhere on the floor, sweat dripping down his temple while he fucks you like you're worth more than that prize buckle draped over his chair. cunt squeezing around him while your fingers dig into his back as he pounds up into you, breath stolen every time his tip nudges somewhere impossibly deep and blurs your vision. smacking your ass between world-shifting thrusts just to hear you squeal, watching the way your tits bounce in his face when you sink down onto him.

and he just laughs to himself when you falter, chest heaving, cupping your chin to keep the upper part of your body steady. the room fills with the sound of skin slapping obscenely. there's slick dripping down your thighs and your muscles burn with effort. but it's as he always says...

time to show him you can keep up with a real cowboy.

[222col]

⋮ — CRUSH .ᐟ

[ STARLING!DODGE ] && fawn!reader

♱ — BASED ON 'THE STARLING GIRL' (2023). dodge is the pastor's son, and the object of envy for every girl who grew up in the church. but you seem to have captured his attention more than any.

♱ — cw .ᐟ 3k words. smut. 18+. angst. toxic relationship. religious themes. age gap (reader is 18, dodge is 24). vomit. hint/brief mention at dub-con (?). virgin!reader. creampie.

♱ — notes .ᐟ sorry if you didn't want to be tagged on this one, just tagging anyone on challengers taglist bc i never made a dodge one </3

can you read my mind? i've been watching you...

he'd always been there, just distant.

his ghost spoke for him, fathers words preceded him. a distant memory of someone the town once knew, yet the community carried on pretending he was still there. still apart of the family, not a distant memory begging to be remembered.

no one knew he was back, thought he was still coasting along the roads of the country. you often wondered if his father's stories of his missionaries were truth, or the lies told to keep up the image.

you dared question the truth of your pastor, though. never to another hearing soul, those questions stayed buried with the lust within your mind. the few thoughts not even god could hear from your lips. thoughts so shameful you couldn't even utter in prayer.

his father stood the head of the church, only lower to the lord. preaching words of forgiveness, of judgement, of fantasy. today's lesson specific to lust. refusing to give in, not allowing satan into your psyche—to never allow your perversions to grow outside your body.

you felt as though the feelings were coming up—physically—from his words. the guilt too strong to be held in, the words too pointed to allow you calmness.

your feet let you rush through the doors in time, the perversions coming from your body as your vomit hit the ground. the illness reflecting the true sickness within your mind. the lust you were allowing yourself to dream of.

knees to your chest, back dragging down the wall of the beaten church. looking down to the physical manifestation of your unwell, eyes welling up—yet unable to draw your vision away.

"quit lookin' at it."

your head spins, eyes darting up to the man speaking over you. him. the scent from his cigarette wafting into your nose, the smoke hitting your eyes.

"didn't know you were back," you murmur, as though you weren't hyper aware this to be the first words you'd ever uttered to him without company.

"no one does," he speaks, with his final drag—throwing the butt into the pile of sick, which only now embarrasses you to be sat next to.

"don't tell my dad 'bout the smokes."

he looks like he works with his hands, and smells like marlboro reds...

andrew dodge mason.

the first crush you ever had. probably the first crush of every girl at church. the crush went away, as he did, but seemingly came back with a vengeance—in the way he did.

he was working on his father's car as you arrived, skin slightly sweaty from the bike ride over to church. cheeks stained with rosacea, bottom lip chewed—almost to the point of blood.

but there he stood, the image of unholiness to your fascination. cap on backwards, pushing away the wetness of his hair. messy shirt, and old jeans, pack of marlboros sitting in his back pocket, oiled rag in the other.

"can i help you?" he mutters, closing the hood before reaching for his pack of cigarettes. your mouth hung open slightly, before placing your bike up against the wall. hands holding behind your back, as you tentatively walked closer to him.

"guess my secret's safe with you." dodge murmurs, cigarette already placed between his lips. "my name is—"

"i know what your name is," he half laughs, shaking his head as he blows the smoke out from his mouth. "hell, i've known you since you were born."

gulping down the frog in your throat, as you attempt to regain your train of thought. "i was just gonna ask," you start, swinging softly on your heels. "if you'd be willing to lead the youth club, now you're back 'nd all."

his eyebrow raises in response, a smirk ghosting his features.

"just—your dad, he's great 'nd all—" a scoff leaves his lips. "but all he makes us do is bible study, and—and it's not that i don't like that, but—"

"alright, alright." he mutters, the cigarette resting between his lips. his hand lifts up his cap, before running his fingers through his sweat soaked hair. the cigarette moves as he speaks without removing it. "but i ain't doing those camping trips."

something's been feeling weird lately...

it was harder than he thought—ignoring the way you looked at him. not paying attention to the shorter skirts, and bite of your lip. the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, how you always held his eye.

he was older, had power over you, plus his dad would kill him. you'd been promised to his little brother, conversations had started about your courtship. dodge was to focus on his work, his missions, his commitment to god. be ready to take over his father's position when the time did come.

"that was all the wood you got for the fire?" dodge shakes his head, looking to the pitiful excuse of a pile of firewood the group of teens had collected.

pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, as he heads back into the forest. collecting branches and twigs on his pursuit.

"need to pee." you quickly mutter to the girls on your picnic table, before heading in the direction dodge had just travelled. the sun was setting, light barely peeking through the trees.

the branch beneath your foot snaps as you approach, watching the jolt of his body as your presence is announced. "scared me." he speaks, turning to face you behind him.

"sorry," you murmur softly, feet padding closer toward him.

"it's okay." dodge mumbles, his chest rising and falling, mouth parted. his eyes growing darker the closer you get to him.

the air feels heavy, his nerves feel on fire. every bone in his body is telling him to walk away. not listen to whatever it is that you need, to take off running into the forest and be able to avoid you—and his sins—for the rest of his life.

"i just wanted—"

the sound of the twigs hitting the floor seem to echo against the trees, his calloused hands feel rough against your cheeks. lips painfully soft against your own. he takes your breath, swallowing it as his own.

you're sure he could take any part of you, and you'd let him.

"fuck, i shouldn't have done that." his chest heaves, oxygen feels a foreign concept. unable to breathe if he isn't taking the air from your lungs.

"you can do it again, if you like."

i only want him if he says it first to me...

you avoided him like the plague. two whole weeks. not one word. not even a look in his direction.

only left your house for church. the guilt of your sin too heavy upon your chest. no amount of prayers could allow you to forgive yourself. down on your knees, arms rested on your bed—every morning, every night. eyes to the sky, to him. to god.

dodge felt the villain, the perverted. the man who preyed on you. kissed you in the dark. stole your lips as his own. he felt the worst knowing he'd do it again, and again, and again until you begged him to stop.

you didn't notice the note placed in your bible, only as you laid in bed later than night. the piece of paper fell down to your chest as you began to read the holy words.

'midnight. car park behind the lake.'

you trusted him, still. despite the guilt, despite the how scared you were. you trusted him.

the pillows laid cold, the soft snoring of your siblings filled the empty space you'd left behind. the window partly cracked, wind blowing through your escape route.

your feet moved themselves, walked the route when you weren't sure you could. his car the only one there as you arrived.

you couldn't stop yourself from carrying on, too late now to turn around. your hands shook as you opened the passenger door.

"i'm so glad you came." dodge spoke, like a desperate man craving comfort. his arm around the back of your head rest. surprising himself at how unlike himself he'd become.

lusting after you, yearning for the attention you'd given him. driven himself mad with want.

you couldn't speak, not at first. too scared of the words that dared fall from your lips. overcome with perversions, for the man you should never dream of indulging them with.

"you haven't spoke to me," he starts, body leaning closer to your own. "since that night in the woods."

you wince. embarrassed by yourself. how you allowed yourself to satisfy your personal needs with him. let your lips touch his, and crave more.

"i know." you whisper, eyes downcast.

"do you not like me anymore?" he murmurs back, his fingers weaving through your hair. pushing the stray strands behind your ear, coaxing your eyes back to his.

you shake your head no. but even you don't know in which way you mean it.

your eyes finally meet his. the blue of his irises pouring into your own. the fingers caressing your neck slowly move, thumb dancing across your cheek. your mouth involuntarily parting as the pad of his thumb grazes your lower lip.

"you said i could kiss you again," he whispers, face so close only his own thumb separates your lips. "do you still mean it?"

your head has barely nodded before his thumb is moved, lips on yours again. harsher this time, less patient.

"you'd let me do anything, wouldn't you?" he whispers against your lips, before his tongue pushes into your mouth. you whimper at his words, at his movements—at him.

"get in the back."

his words are strong, telling, but still kind. like he could love you, if he tried.

you do. wide eyed and skirt falling so high he could see the cotton of your panties. you're sure you've never wanted anything in your years of existing more than andrew dodge mason.

his body lays above you after climbing over the console. soft, wet kisses placed over every exposed part of your skin. fingers hooking around the sides of your underwear, awaiting your nod before discarding them to the floor.

"you are so beautiful." he whispers, as he undoes the buckle of his belt. old denim jeans pushed down his legs, along with his boxers.

your head was empty, devoid of thought that didn't relate to him. wanting nothing more than him. tonight, tomorrow, forever—you'd be content, with just andrew dodge mason and the backseat of his chevy.

dodge pushes in, gently—his tip barely there, as your eyes widen. the stretch so foreign, so unfamiliar. "you're okay, you're okay." he coos, forehead rested against yours as he slowly slides in, inch by inch.

"shit—so fuckin' tight," he groans, and you hope that's a good thing.

your breaths come out in pants, clutching tight to the fabric of his shirt. he takes that as a sign, as he rips the fabric from his body. despite the comfort the t-shirt was providing you, the feel of his skin beneath your fingers was welcomed.

"dodge, oh—"

the car rocks with his thrusts, building up his pace. his palms against the windows as they begin to fog. "atta girl." he praises, eyes unmoving from your features.

your brows furrowed, jaw slack. his name falling from your lips—like prayer. hips beginning to move in rhythm with his, the volume of his own sounds increasing as you do.

"fuck, gonna come, baby—" dodge stutters, eyes squeezed shut. but your heart skips a beat from the pet name alone. "can i? fuck—can i?"

you're not sure what he's asking. to finish, or to finish within. you'd grant him anything he ever asked.

"please, please, please."

maybe i'll just be crazy, and piss him off 'til he hates me...

every single night. like clockwork.

read your siblings their bedtime stories. shower. wash your face. brush your teeth. say goodnight to your mom and dad. lay awake for two hours. sneak out of the window to meet dodge.

you were addicted. so was he. unable to run from the obsessions clouding your minds. unwilling to see what was happening in it's true light.

your lusts and perversions were repeating every night, and you weren't willing to stop them. would never admit or acknowledge satan had worked his way into your mind, distracted you from god's plan.

11:57 PM. you arrived at the lake. no sign of his chevy nova.

perched upon a rock separating the car park and the woods surrounding, waiting.

12:24 AM. still no sign of the chevy nova.

this happened three nights on the run. he'd become a ghost, no word.

the fourth night, you skipped the lake altogether.

rode your bike over to the church, to the house next door. to his father's house. pissed off, and pent up.

his curtains were open when you arrived, there he sat. feet crossed on his bed, bible in hand. as though that book had ever meant anymore more than his father's love to him.

the vein in his forehead popped when he heard you tap against the glass of his window, jaw clenched, arms crossed against your chest.

"you can't fucking be here."

"i've been waiting for you." you mutter, still quiet despite your anger. knowing you'd be in just as much trouble as he if you were to get caught by the pastor.

"i didn't ask you to do that." the brunette spit, arms tight as he leant through the opened window.

every word he spoke cut you deep. the look in his eyes, as though you were nothing more to him than any other girl at church.

"i thought you liked me."

i owe you a black eye and two kisses...

the annual fourth of july church barbeque. three weeks since you showed up at his house.

serving his mom's potato salad, with that fake smile on his face and cigarettes hidden in his back pocket. flipping burgers on the grill as though his whole being wasn't tearing you in half.

stood with his younger brother, even if you knew it wasn't doing anything. you wanted him jealous. angry. feeling anything about you. but he simply ignored you, kept that smile of his father's on his face.

"leaving in a couple weeks—yeah, back on the road," you overheard him with some friends of his parents. "dad thinks it's time for me to carry on with my missionaries."

your plate quickly shoved into the hands of his brother, wiping your face with the back of your hand as you head straight in his direction.

"you're leaving me?" you mutter, not caring which prying ears could hear.

"not here." he mutters, jaw clenched.

"you don't talk to me for weeks, and then what? leave me without a word?" you carry on, voice only increasing in volume. he's all too aware that people can hear the words falling from your lips.

"stop it, now."

the fireworks come as a welcome distraction, his hand tight on your arm has he drags you away. toward the lake that had become your sanctuary.

"don't fuckin' talk to me like that in front of all those people." his words are harsh, so is the grip he has on your arms.

"you don't fuckin' talk to me at all!"

he wants to shake you, hit you, kiss you, fuck you—all at once.

"i can't speak to you," dodge mutters, eyes almost black as they bore into yours. "i can't be near you, i can't look at you."

you want to cry, to run away from him and this town and never look back. "why?" you dare to ask.

"because i will never leave, never let you go, if i keep doing this."

but he's always had a problem saying no...

everyone found out. his father, your parents, the entirety of the church.

he blamed you. told his father how you seduced him. how satan has worked his way into your mind, taught you his ways of lust and deception.

it was you, or him. and he chose himself.

the church made a mockery of you. forced you to apologise, in front of the whole congregation. to accept your sins, and beg for forgiveness.

before your family, his family—him. you had to stand before them, and explain your lusts. tears fell from your eyes, like a stream of shame as you did.

"i forgive you."

"i forgive you."

"i forgive you."

they all stood before you, looked into your eyes—held your hands and forgave you.

"i forgive you." he stood before you, looked into your eyes, and forgave you. forgave you for sins you both committed. that he started. that he wanted.

that he wants.

your bags were packed. ready to be shipped off to wherever it was that your mother and the pastor had decided best. your ears still ringing since the truth was revealed, no words had processed properly since.

eyes bloodshot, shoulders slumped as you waved goodbye to your siblings through the window. turning around to the yard, your mother's car waiting, and—

his chevy nova.

your mother was closing the door, the key in the lock, as dodge remained unnoticed by her.

"i'm sorry—i'm so sorry, please, baby—" he begs, out of the car and walking toward you. "let's leave, you and me—let's just go, and never come back."

your mother quickly turns, anger across her face, as your heart pounds.

the two of you rush to him together, as she heads for him—you head for the passenger side door.

the blood drips from his nose, as your bag is tossed into the backseat. your mother doesn't have time to register, your siblings still watching from the window.

he's laughing—through the blood pouring into his mouth—as his arm rests behind your head rest, reversing out of the drive. with his girl in the front seat.

your life disappears from your view, as you drive at full speed down the road. the thanks for visiting! come back soon! sign is barely a spot in your vision as dodge doesn't slow.

you don't have time to regret it. can't process it. your ears are still ringing. but his hand is in yours, and that feels enough.

taglist .ᐟ @bluestrd @pittsick @ohyouluckysaint @challengers4ev @xoxo-martina @lexiiscorect @peachyparkerr @zweigscherrypie @lacelottie @patrickzweigsdefender @dumbbandpoetic @thecontrash @emdorie @stargral @iheartrosalia @goodluckbabyyyyy @kisses4kaia @nozhdyved @vila777 @w31rd3rg1rl @paulaiguess @gf4lwt @artstennisracket @coolgrl111 @sleepyrps @i-t0ld-ya @zweiism @yardofbrunettes @maximofftwinsbitch @vinecstasy @celestial-cestlavie @blaironair @ivetteg ( to be added )

[starlinggirll]

two bad bitches at the SAME damn time !!

[pittsick]

RODEO BRUISES .ᐟ

summary: It took only a few seconds for you to fall down that horse. Legs, hips, back and the aching feeling of bruises already forming on your body. And Dodge, your boyfriend, is worried. But a massage and some fingering later, you both end up relaxed.

pairing: dodge mason x afab!girlfriend.

cw: +18. mdni. 2.8k words. praise. overstimulation. fingering. multiple orgasms. dirty-talking. aftercare.

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @museboos, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @artstennisracket, @yardofbrunettes, @hangels, @sweetheartfaist, @lacelottie

You should’ve seen the fall coming. The way your horse twitched under you, the crack of something in the trees, the second of stillness before the storm. But you didn’t. One sharp jolt and you were airborne—then earthbound. Shoulder first. Hip second. The wind punched out of your lungs like a slap to the chest.

Now you’re lying on your stomach in Dodge’s bed, your body aching in a dozen places, skin flushed warm from the hot bath he insisted on drawing for you earlier. You’re wearing only an oversized t-shirt—his—and a pair of soft cotton panties. The arnica oil sits on the nightstand beside you, and he’s rubbing it into your sore muscles with quiet, focused intensity.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, kneeling beside the bed as his hands press gentle circles into your lower back. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought. You weren’t moving.”

“I’m okay now,” you murmur, voice muffled by the pillow. “Thanks to you.”

His thumbs press along your spine, just enough to stretch out the ache without pushing too far. Dodge’s hands are warm, rough in all the right ways. You can feel the calluses catch on your skin now and then, but they don’t hurt. They remind you of who he is—of how many times those same hands have steadied you, cupped your face, tugged you close like he didn’t trust the world to keep you safe.

“Can’t believe you’re still lettin’ me touch you,” he says softly, like the guilt’s still pressing into his chest. “I should’ve kept a better eye on you.”

You exhale a sleepy sound. “You weren’t the one who spooked the horse.”

“Still.”

His touch lingers at the small of your back. The room is dim—sunlight gone, leaving only the amber glow of the bedside lamp. You hear him open the oil bottle again, feel the warmth of it as he rubs it between his hands.

He starts again, slow and purposeful. First at your shoulders, then your back, kneading the soreness from your muscles in long, deliberate strokes. But this time, he doesn’t stop there. His hands slide lower—tracing the curves of your hips, then down, until his palms are resting over the swell of your ass. He does it in a way that you know is not sexual.

You shift slightly, breath hitching, still. Because it’s Dodge, and every little attention coming from him makes your body boil. Hot like summer, heat pooling inside your stomach without permission from your brain.

“Still okay?” he murmurs, low and close to your ear.

“Yes,” you whisper, and your body betrays you by arching into his touch just a little.

His thumbs move in careful circles across the soft flesh there, rubbing out the tension like he has every right to touch you this way—and he does. It’s tender. Reassuring. But there’s something else behind it too, simmering slow. The edge of want.

“You’ve got the prettiest ass I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs like it’s a confession. “Soft, even when you’re bruised.”

You let out a shaky laugh, still face-down in the pillow. “You’re not helping me rest, you know.”

“You want me to stop?”

You shake your head. Of course you don’t.

Dodge hums like he already knew the answer. His hands glide over your thighs, up again, then closer—until his thumbs brush along the crease where your thighs meet your core. The fabric of your panties is thin, barely separating his hands from the heat of you.

“You’re warm here,” he says quietly, almost reverently. “Real warm.”

You bury your face deeper into the pillows.

“You’re blushing,” he teases softly like he knows without needing to see your face, and he’s kissing the back of your thigh. “What, just from a little massage?”

“It’s not just the massage,” you mutter, and he laughs against your skin—low and fond.

He’s careful as he touches you, rubbing slow circles over your clothed pussy. One hand slips under your shirt again to rest warm on your lower back, grounding you. The other moves between your legs, teasing along your slit through the dampening cotton.

“You’re wet already,” he murmurs, voice dipping even lower. “All this just from me touchin’ you like this?”

You nod against the pillow, your breath shuddering.

“You’re so fuckin’ soft, baby. You always get like this when I take my time with you.”

A soft whimper escapes your throat, hips twitching as he touches you through your panties with maddening patience. He presses a little harder over your clit with his thumb, the pressure slow and steady, and you make a strangled sound into the sheets.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Let me take care of you.”

He slides the fabric to the side then, baring you to the warm air of the room. His fingers glide between your folds, wet and hot and already pulsing for more. When he dips a finger just against your entrance, you whimper.

“God, you’re so ready,” he groans. “So fuckin’ wet for me.”

His fingers stroke back up, teasing around your clit again before he leans down, breath hot over the curve of your ass. “You make the sweetest sounds, you know that? Every little cry just for me.”

You cry out again as he presses a finger inside—just one, slow and steady. It slides in easy, thanks to how wet you already are. You clench around him instinctively. “There we go,” he whispers. “That feel good?”

You nod, moaning into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, Dodge—”

He adds another finger, stretching you carefully, curling just enough to make your thighs tremble. The hand on your lower back strokes comfortingly, holding you in place as he fucks you slow with his fingers.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he groans. “So fuckin’ needy tonight.”

“I c-can’t—” your voice cracks as you try to hold still. Your hips grind back into his hand on instinct. “You can,” he coaxes, voice going impossibly soft. “You always can for me, baby. Give me that first one. Let it out.”

It rises fast—so fast your breath can’t keep up. You come with a cry muffled in the pillow, your body shaking as you fall apart under his hand when his fingers hit your spongy spot multiple times. Tears slip down your cheeks and Dodge catches them with his thumb.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing the dip of your lower back. “That’s it. So fuckin’ good.”

He keeps going—slow, unrelenting—and the overstimulation hits like a wave. You whine, writhing against the bed as his fingers work your soaked cunt. “You’ve got more,” he whispers, low and certain. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I—it’s too much—Please—More…”

“It’s perfect,” he counters, and his voice is full of something warm and molten. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cry.”

The second orgasm crashes over you, harder than the first. You sob into the mattress, trembling as he talks you through it, rubbing slow circles over your clit with his free fingers as your cunt pulses around his digits.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “That’s my girl.”

You lay there panting, body shaking. He slows, finally withdrawing his fingers, and you hear the wet sound of it, slick coating his hand. He presses a kiss to the small of your back, then one to your thigh, then higher. “You alright?” he asks quietly, hand smoothing over your back.

You nod, still breathless. “I’m so good.”

He kisses your shoulder. “That was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” You let out a laugh, exhausted and floaty. “You’re gonna kill me with compliments.”

He chuckles, laying down beside you and resting a hand on your lower back. “Only if it gets you to cry like that again.”

You’re still trembling beneath him, cheek pressed into the pillow, your body limp and warm with the afterglow of two back-to-back orgasms. Your skin feels tight and glowing, like you’ve been cracked open and poured full of honey. Dodge’s hand is now resting between your shoulder blades, gentle and grounding.

“You alright, baby?” he murmurs again, his voice a little hoarse with want.

You hum a breathless yes, too gone to say much else. But your hips twitch when his palm trails back down, between your thighs again, where you’re slick and aching. He groans softly at the sight.

“Goddamn,” he says low, reverent. “You’re even more soaked.”

You bury your face deeper in the pillow, embarrassed—but it only makes him smile. He leans over you, kissing the back of your neck, your shoulder, the warm patch of skin just behind your ear. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he teases softly. “Not when your pretty pussy’s beggin’ for more.”

You shiver, and your legs part instinctively as his fingers return. He strokes along your folds again—slow, lazy, just enjoying the feel of you. You let out a soft sound, half-whimper, half-plea.

“You want more?” he asks gently. “You gotta say it.”

“Please…” Your voice is rough, sweet with exhaustion. “More.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He pushes two fingers back inside you easily, curling them deep. You gasp, your hips rolling down into the bed, your thighs twitching. “Still so fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs. “And you just came twice.” You moan, the pressure of him filling you again like a balm and a brand. He adds a third finger slowly, easing you open with care, watching your body stretch around him.

You gasp, the stretch bordering on too much—but just barely. Your muscles clench, trying to adjust, and Dodge strokes your back soothingly, kissing your spine.

“Shh, I’ve got you. Just breathe through it, baby. You’re takin’ me so well.”

He works them slowly, twisting and curling until your thighs begin to tremble again. You feel full, stuffed, stretched in the most tender way—your hips pinned to the mattress, your whole body reduced to sensation.

“Feels good,” you whisper, voice cracking. “So full, Dodge—”

“I know,” he croons. “You’re doin’ perfect. Always so sweet for me.” You sob into the pillow, overwhelmed by the heat pooling in your belly again. You didn’t think you had anything left, but the pressure’s building fast, sharp and hot and electric.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, pressing kisses between your shoulder blades. “Give me another. Come for me again. Let me see you fall apart.”

You try to hold it, just for a second longer—but it slams into you without warning. You cry out, hands clutching the sheets as your whole body tenses, shudders, and breaks. Your thighs are soaked now, his fingers working you through it until you’re gasping for air.

Tears wet your face, hot and steady. Dodge strokes your hip, coos into your ear like he’s trying to settle a wild thing.

“There she is,” he whispers. “There’s my girl.”

You don’t know how long you lie there, panting and shaking, skin flushed and nerves blazing. Dodge is still behind you, still touching you—gentle now, tracing circles into your skin with the pads of his fingers. His lips ghost along your spine, your shoulder blades, your ass.

“You still with me?” he asks finally.

You nod, still face-down in the pillow. “I’m here.”

“Did so good,” he says, voice thick with awe. “Let me fuckin’ ruin you without even movin’ you.”

You laugh weakly. “I don’t think I can walk anyway.”

He laughs too, kissing your hip. “Good. You ain’t goin’ anywhere.” You can feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh through his jeans, but he hasn’t taken his own pleasure—not yet. He’s too focused on you. Always has been. “Want me to stop?” he asks, even now. Always checking. Always careful.

You shake your head, arching weakly into his touch. “Don’t stop. Just… slower.” He hums, satisfied. “You wanna give me one more?”

You gasp, half-laughing, half-delirious. “I don’t even know if I can.”

“That’s alright, baby,” he whispers, settling back between your thighs, his hand already moving again—slow and purposeful, dragging your pleasure out like he has all the time in the world.

And Dodge?

He’s gonna make sure you remember it with every inch of your trembling body.

The room is quiet again, save for the sound of your breathing—still a little unsteady but settling, and the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you. Dodge stays close, his lips brushing your lower back, his hands warm where they rest on the swell of your hips.

You hum, soft and dazed, face still turned into the pillow. You’re boneless, stretched out and melted, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. You can feel your thighs still wet and sticky, your panties damp and clinging to the side, your body flushed with the aftershocks of everything he gave you.

But Dodge doesn’t rush. He never does.

"Alright, sweetheart," he murmurs into the small of your back. "Gonna get you cleaned up. Don't move, I’ve got it."

You feel the bed dip as he gets up, hear him padding across the room. The sound of a faucet running, a towel being wrung out. His care is quiet, reverent. Like he’s handling something precious.

When he comes back, he slides down beside you, and you flinch at the first contact—the towel is warm, wet, and soft as he eases your legs apart just enough to wipe gently between them. He murmurs something under his breath when he sees the mess, but it’s not dirty, not crude. It’s wonder. It’s pride.

“Look what you gave me,” he whispers, thumb brushing the inside of your thigh. “You were so good for me. So damn perfect.” You blink, eyes glassy from overstimulation and tears. Your lips twitch into a lazy smile.

He’s so careful as he cleans you, wiping you down with slow, tender strokes. He presses kisses to the backs of your knees, your thighs, the curve of your spine. And then, with the towel tossed aside, his fingers return—but not to tease, not to start anything new.

He starts massaging you again.

Same as before—like it’s still about your fall, still about the tight muscles and tension from the saddle and the ground. He starts at your ankles, kneading slow and steady. You sigh, letting yourself go limp all over again.

“You weren’t lyin’ earlier,” he says softly, voice full of affection. “Took a hell of a hit.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Was worth it.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Don’t say that. I’d rather you keep your pretty bones in one piece.”

His hands glide up your calves, thumbs pressing into the flesh, gentle but firm. You twitch a little when he hits a sore spot, but he kisses your ankle in apology, smoothing the tension with a few more careful passes. "You like me takin’ care of you like this?" he asks quietly.

“Mmhmm.”

“You deserve it,” he says simply, like it’s fact. “Deserve to be touched real nice. Spoken to sweet. Made to feel good.”

Your chest tightens at that. There’s so much love in his voice it makes you ache.

He continues the massage, now at your thighs, avoiding your sore hips but stroking the surrounding muscles with steady care. The sensation is grounding. His touch, worshipful. There’s no rush now—no teasing, no game. Just love.

He kneads the small of your back, gentle over the spot that took the brunt of the fall. When you flinch a little, he pauses, kisses the ache, and moves around it. “Gonna need to ice that tomorrow,” he murmurs. “But for now, I’ll be your heat pack.”

You let out a sleepy giggle into the pillow.

He eventually stops massaging and shifts up the bed beside you, slipping under the covers, arms sliding around your waist. You’re still on your stomach, too dazed to flip, but he just wraps himself around you from behind, chest to your back, one hand slipping beneath the hem of your oversized shirt to stroke your waist.

“You know I love you, right?” he murmurs.

You nod instantly. “Yeah. I know. I love you too.”

“Good,” he says, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “’Cause I do. More than I know what to do with, sometimes.” You press your hand to his forearm where it’s draped over your side, squeezing lightly.

His voice dips lower, soft and sure. “Next time you fall off a horse, don’t wait for me to come find you, alright? You come to me right away.”

You smile against the pillow. “You’d always take care of me like this?” He laughs, husky and low. “Girl, I’ll take care of you like this every night if you want.”

“You’d wear your fingers out.”

“You’re worth it,” he says without missing a beat. “Every damn second.”

You turn your head just enough to see his face—his messy hair, his sleep-heavy eyes, the soft curve of his smile. He kisses your forehead, your temple, your cheek, and finally the corner of your mouth. “Sleep now,” he whispers. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

And he is. Always.

[sincerlydonaldson]

dodge twitter links

dodge mason x reader

18+, nsfw, mdni

raw and till the neighbors complain (lowkey just put this here bc it kinda sounds like him 🫣)

dodge always calls in sick just to stay with you

he loves to take his time

save a horse, ride a cowboy

needy mornings

a/n: more of dodge per inbox requests 😌

[alicerohrwacher]

MIKE FAIST as DODGE MASON

in PANIC S01E05 ― "Phantoms"

[coolgrl111]

dodge mason x gf texts pleeeeeaaaaassseeee!!

YESSS i love dodge omg 😊😊😊