you should come back to our place, baby, don't be afraid of our love
ex dodge mason x reader
tw;; angst, smut, mutual pining and yearning, panic mention
you hadn’t been back to carp since you left with half a million dollars and a broken heart. the wedding invitation had come in a pale pink envelope with glitter still stuck to the inside, something so recognizably natalie. you almost didn’t open it, but something about the neat scrawl of her handwriting made your chest tighten in that old familiar way. home. you weren’t sure it even existed for you anymore. still, here you were, back under the big sky, the air thick with humidity and memory.
the reception was in a refurbished barn. string lights flickered overhead, soft music pulsing as couples swayed. you were sipping your second glass of champagne when you saw him. dodge mason. standing near the bar, hands in his pockets, the same quiet intensity in his eyes like no time had passed at all. his hair was a little longer now, falling into his eyes, and the stubble on his jaw gave him an edge he didn’t have when you last saw him, the time he let you go. he looked up, and your stomach dropped. his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. then he started walking toward you. "didn’t think i’d see you here," he said, voice low, steady, familiar. you forced a breath. "it’s natalie’s wedding. she would’ve hunted me down if i didn’t show,"
he gave a small nod. "yeah, she’s good at that," there was a pause. "so," you said, trying to keep your tone light, "still in carp?" he shrugged, eyes scanning your face, "yeah," "you could’ve come with me," his jaw tightened, "i know," you hated how much that still hurt. you had begged him, after the game, after the final challenge when he’d dropped out just to protect you. you were the last one standing. you won, but it never felt like victory, not without him. you’d offered him a plane ticket. a clean slate. a life where panic didn’t touch your every breath. but he said no. said he had roots, a family, something to prove. and maybe you were just another risk he couldn’t take.
"you look good," he said quietly. you blinked, surprised, "thanks," he hesitated. "i check social media sometimes, just to see where you are. chicago, then portland?" you raised an eyebrow, "you kept track?" "i never stopped," your throat tightened. he stepped closer, so close you could smell that cedar scent that used to cling to his t-shirts. "i thought i was doing the right thing, letting you go. figured you'd be better off without me weighing you down," you shook your head slowly. "i never wanted to win that game without you. i would’ve dropped out too if i’d known you were going to," his voice cracked slightly, "i couldn’t let them hurt you," "and i couldn’t stand losing you,"
you both stood there, two ghosts haunting each other's pasts. then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out. a plane ticket, faded. folded with care. your chest caught. "you left it on my porch," he murmured, "day you left town," "i didn’t think you kept it, i- i left it there just in case you changed your mind," he looked at you then, really looked. “i kept everything,” the music shifted. a slow song, something aching and nostalgic. "can i have this dance?" he asked. you didn’t answer right away, just stepped into his arms. he held you like something precious, something he lost and maybe, just maybe, was allowed to find again. outside, carp spun on as if no time had passed. but in that moment, it was just you and him. no Panic, no regrets. just two kids who once risked everything, and maybe, finally, were ready to stop running.
the night wound down slower than you expected. a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and bittersweet looks from old friends who didn’t quite know what to say to the girl who left and never came back. you tried to be present, tried to smile for natalie, even as your thoughts kept looping back to dodge- his hand on your waist, the ghost of a dance you used to know by heart. it was close to midnight when the last song ended. you slipped your shoes off and stepped outside the barn, heels in one hand, the cool texas air brushing against your bare shoulders. “need a ride?” came that familiar voice behind you. you turned. dodge leaned against the driver’s side of his old truck, the same beat-up chevy he had during the games, though the dent in the front bumper was finally fixed. you hesitated. "i was gonna call an uber,” he smiled faintly, “not many of those around here after ten,” you looked at him for a beat, then nodded, “alright. just to the hotel,” he opened the door for you, “just to the hotel,”
the drive was quiet at first. you sat with your legs tucked to the side, watching the sleepy roads roll past. streetlights flickered like fireflies in the distance. carp was still so small it felt like time hadn’t touched it. or maybe it had, and you were the one who changed too much. “i didn’t know if you’d still have the truck,” you murmured, finally breaking the silence. he glanced at you, “hard to let go of things that still run,” you bit your lip, unsure if he meant the truck, or something else. “i should’ve stayed,” you said after a moment, “or you should’ve come with me.” he exhaled, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “i wanted to,”
you turned your head toward him, “then why didn’t you?” “i was scared,” he said simply, “scared that if I followed you, and it didn’t work out, i’d have nothing left. not this town, not my family, not you,” your heart twisted. “i would’ve been enough,” you whispered. he pulled into the hotel parking lot but didn’t turn off the engine. “i know that now,” he said, voice low, “but back then? i was too used to losing,” the silence stretched between you, taut and aching. “do you regret it?” you asked, staring out the windshield, “letting me go?” his voice broke the dark like a confession, “every single day,”
you turned to him, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “so why did you bring me home tonight? why now?” he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time again, “because this time, i didn’t want to let the moment pass,” your hand hovered over the door handle, heart thudding. you could walk away, say goodnight, head into that sterile hotel room, cry into a pillow that smelled like nothing. that would be easier. or- “do you want to come in?” you asked, not daring to look at him. he didn’t answer right away. then, softly, “only if you want me to,” you looked at him, really looked, his jaw clenched, his eyes full of things he hadn’t said yet. and you remembered every night spent in that tiny room above your parent's garage, curled beside him, whispering about futures you weren’t sure you’d live to see. “i do,” you said softly. and he killed the engine.
the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, but neither of you moved at first. you stood there near the foot of the bed, shoes still in one hand, dress brushing mid-thigh, pulse steady but loud in your ears. dodge stepped in slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to breathe too loud. the room was dim, just one lamp casting warm amber light. outside, the town was quiet, asleep. and inside, the past lingered like smoke between you. he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, then looked at you. “you kept your key on a lanyard,” he said softly, like he was remembering aloud, “always looped it around your wrist like you’d lose it otherwise,” you laughed under your breath, “i still do,” a beat passed. then you added, “i used to wake up every night for weeks, reaching for you. just forgetting that you weren’t there anymore,” he flinched, barely, but you saw it. “i never slept well through a night,” he said, “not once,” the silence between you thickened, but it wasn’t hollow. it was heavy with everything unsaid.
“i hated you,” you whispered. he looked up, startled. “for staying behind, for making me go. for making it so hard to leave,” his throat worked, eyes shining, “i hated myself for the same reason,” you stepped closer, “then maybe we can stop doing that,” you didn’t wait for him to move. you reached up, fingers gently curling around the front of his shirt. he breathed in, sharp and uneven, and you kissed him. soft at first, then like muscle memory. his hands found your waist, pulled you closer, tentative until you pressed yourself against him fully and he stopped pretending he could keep this gentle. your back hit the door. his mouth traced the path to your jaw, your neck, reverent. hands skimming your sides like he had to relearn every inch. you tugged his jacket off, he let it fall. when you pulled back to breathe, your foreheads rested against each other, panting, smiling like it hurt. “you still smell the same,” you murmured. “you still taste like home,” he said. clothes were shed like secrets- slow at first, then quicker, more desperate. every kiss, every touch, was a reclamation. not just of bodies, but of trust, of years, of the love you’d both buried under silence and stubbornness. he laid you down gently. no rush, no games, just you and him, hearts out in the open, nothing left to lose. and when he whispered your name like a prayer, you knew this wasn’t about what had been taken. it was about what could still be given.
he worked your body like he never skipped a night, his fingers ghosting over your clit as you kissed him desperately, your hands tangled in the grown out lengths of his hair. you reached for him, taking him in the palm of your hand, stroking just slow enough to pull a tantalizing moan from his lips. “need you,” he mumbled into your lips, bucking into your hand, “can i please fuck you, baby?” “please,” you nodded eagerly, legs spread wider with anticipation, “god, missed you so much,” he slid inside of you like coming home, his forehead rested against yours, a soft gasp tearing itself from your lips. “you feel so good,” he exhaled, “god, i missed you,” one hand cradled the back of your head, his eyes on yours between kisses, and the other wrapped around you, rested on the small of your back as you arched into his touch. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, “most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen,” “so good,” you mewled, “dodge, god, right there,”
“come on, baby, come for me,” he pleaded, brows drawn together as he held back his own orgasm, “lemme feel you,” your nails scratched at his shoulder blades, thighs trembling as you came, his name falling from your lips between messy kisses. “that’s it,” he panted, his thrusts growing rougher, shakier, “oh, fuck, that’s it,” he came with a breathless moan, holding you tight like you might slip away, his thrusts slowing as he came down. “missed this,” he murmured into your sweat shining skin, pressing a kiss to your collarbone as he laid beside you, “missed you more than anything,” “missed you too, dodge,” you yawned softly, tucking yourself into his chest, beneath his arm, “you have no idea,”
later, tangled in sheets that smelled like detergent and skin, you lay with your head on his chest. his fingers brushed idle patterns across your arm. “i don’t want this to be one night,” he said quietly, almost afraid to speak it into the world. you looked up at him. “then don’t let it be,” he kissed your temple, “i think i’m ready to come with you now. if you’ll still have me,” you smiled, “i never stopped waiting,” outside, carp slept. inside, you finally woke up to the life you almost missed.
