⋆˙⟡ locked up feelings: dodge mason x afab!reader.
summary: maybe the feelings you have for dodge aren't hate; you simply can't accept that you like him. so sarcasm, side eyes and attitude is your way of pushing him away. until you both get locked into a room during a panic game and the tension is tight.
cw: +18. mdni. praise, slight mean!dodge, fingering, soft hair pulling, slow sex, teasing, overstimulation, unprotected PIV, nipple play, semi-public, creampie, slight AU for the games.
taglist: @nozhdyved @userhotd @artstennisracket @prismozo @bluestrd @222col @museboos @blastzachilles @yardofbrunettes @lacelottie @elsieblogs @jordiemeow @lexiiscorect @peachyparkerr @jesuistrestriste @tinythebunni @cestdommage @love-ella333 ( to be added )
Carp, Texas had a way of getting under your skin. The heat clung to you like smoke, dust wormed its way into your lungs, and the whole town felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to crack. For the seniors, that something was Panic.
And then Dodge Mason had shown up.
He wasn’t from here. Everyone knew it the second he stepped into Carp High with his too-serious eyes and that posture like he had something to prove. New blood was rare in Carp, and it wasn’t long before he got tangled in the same mess you were in: Panic.
From the very first time you locked eyes with him, you decided you didn’t like him. Not because he was dangerous, or reckless, or even annoying in the usual way people in Carp could be. No—because Dodge looked at you like he saw through you. Like he had already measured you up and found you wanting.
So, naturally, you gave it right back.
Sarcasm became your weapon of choice. Every time he opened his mouth, you had a comment sharp enough to cut him down. Every time he gave you that cool, steady look, you exaggerated a roll of your eyes or tossed a mocking little smile. And it went both ways: Dodge had perfected the art of side-eyeing you, the slow once-over that somehow managed to insult you without a single word.
By now, days into the games, your friends had noticed. You could hear the whispers sometimes, the chuckles behind you. “Just kiss already,” someone had muttered once when Dodge brushed past you too close at the diner he worked at, his voice low and sarcastic against your ear:
“Watch your step. Don’t want you tripping over your own attitude.”
It wasn’t that you couldn’t stand him—it was that you couldn’t stop noticing him. And that pissed you off even more.
Tonight, though, the air was heavy. Panic games always came with that electricity, the buzz of something dangerous thrumming beneath your skin. Everyone was gathered at the edge of an abandoned property outside town, headlights cutting through the dark. Diggins and Summer were here to announce the challenge.
“Pairs. Locked rooms. First to get out wins immunity for the next round.” Pairs. You didn’t like the sound of that. And when the names were drawn, when yours came out alongside his, the universe had officially decided to make your life hell.
Dodge Mason.
You groaned out loud, not even hiding it, and tossed your head back as if you could appeal to the stars above. “Are you kidding me?”
The smirk that tugged at Dodge’s lips was infuriating. “Guess you’re stuck with me, doll.”
“Don’t call me that,” you snapped.
“Would you rather I call you something else?” he asked smoothly, stepping just close enough that the space between you seemed to vibrate. “Because I can think of a few names.”
You rolled your eyes, brushing past him, your shoulder knocking into his deliberately hard. “Save it. Let’s just get this over with.”
But the way your pulse jumped betrayed you.
The two of you followed Diggins and Summer toward the hulking silhouette of the abandoned building, the sound of crickets cutting through the night. People watched—some laughing, some whispering. You tried to ignore the weight of their eyes. Tried to ignore the fact that you’d be stuck in a room with Dodge until one of you figured a way out.
And if you didn’t… well, Panic always had consequences.
The metal door creaked open, swallowing you both into the dark. The room they shoved you into was bigger than you expected, but that didn’t make it any less suffocating.
The hinges groaned when the heavy metal door slammed shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot. A second later, you heard the unmistakable click of a lock sliding into place. The single bare bulb overhead flickered, buzzing faintly like a dying fly, spilling just enough yellow light to show cracked plaster walls and dust crawling across the floor.
You gave it one look and crossed your arms. “Lovely. Real five-star accommodations.”
Dodge was already moving, sweeping his hand along the wall as if he could will a hidden panel or switch into existence. He didn’t spare you a glance. “Complain all you want, but standing around isn’t going to get us out of here.”
“Didn’t realize you were an expert in breaking out of places,” you shot back, leaning against the wall just to spite him. “What is it, a hobby of yours?” That earned you a look—one of his patented, coolly amused stares that made your skin prickle. “Do you ever shut up?”
“Not when I’m locked in a room with someone I can’t stand.”
He huffed out a laugh, the sound low, almost reluctant. “Figures.”
For the next few minutes, silence stretched between you, broken only by the scuff of shoes on the grimy floor and the soft hum of the bulb. Dodge tested the window (barred), the ceiling (too high), the door (solid steel). You watched, arms still crossed, fighting the urge to tap your foot.
The air grew heavier, hotter. The small room seemed to shrink, walls inching closer, and the longer you stayed in there, the more aware you became of him. The way his shirt clung to his shoulders, damp from sweat. The way a lock of his sandy hair fell into his eyes when he bent down to check the floorboards. The slow, deliberate way he moved, like he didn’t waste energy on anything unnecessary.
You hated that you noticed. Hated it even more when his voice cut through the silence.
“You could help, you know.”
“I am helping,” you said. “And I don't want to be distracted.”
He straightened, brushing dust off his hands, and turned to face you. His smirk was subtle, dangerous. “Distracted, huh? Didn’t realize I had that effect on you.”
Your pulse jumped, and you immediately snapped, “Don’t flatter yourself.”
But he stepped closer, just enough to make you feel it, that magnetic pull you’d been fighting since the second you met him. His voice was lower now, mocking but softer at the edges. “You’re not denying it.”
You scoffed and shoved past him, though your shoulder brushed his chest and left heat searing through your skin. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet…” His words followed you like smoke. “…here we are. Stuck together.”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, not with the way your heart was beating like Panic itself was happening inside your ribcage.
The minutes dragged on. Dodge eventually sat down against the wall, stretching his legs out with that maddening calm he carried everywhere. You stayed standing, arms tight around yourself, pretending you didn’t care.
But the longer you lingered in that stale room, the clearer it became: it wasn’t just tension. It wasn’t just rivalry. It was something sharp-edged and dangerous, something that had been simmering beneath every sarcastic jab, every mocking glance, every accidental brush of contact.
And locked in this room, with no escape? It was only a matter of time before it boiled over. Time inside that room stretched, thick and sticky as the air. Every second that ticked by only made you more aware of him, the way his presence filled the space.
Dodge was still settling against the wall like he owned it, legs stretched out, his head tipped back against the cracked plaster. He looked maddeningly relaxed, like he could wait here all night if he had to. You hated that he didn’t seem rattled—not by the game, not by the lock, not even by being stuck in here with you.
“You always this calm?” you muttered, pacing a line across the room.
His eyes opened lazily, finding you in the dim light. “You always this restless?” You stopped, narrowing your eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable.”
The words stung more than you wanted them to. “Predictable?”
He tilted his head, studying you. “Always ready with a sharp comment. Always pretending you don’t notice me.” A pause, and then—so casually it made your stomach flip—“Thing is, I think you notice me a little too much.”
Heat crawled up your neck. “You’re delusional.” He chuckled, low and smooth, and the sound made your insides twist. “Am I?”
Something in the way he looked at you; steady, unflinching, pinned you to the spot. You were suddenly too aware of how small the room was, how close he was even sitting down. The mocking edge in his voice wasn’t cruel, not really. It was daring.
And for some reason, you stepped closer.
Just a few inches, but it was enough for his smirk to deepen. He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep standing over me like that, I might start thinking you like being close.” You scoffed, but your voice came out thinner than you meant. “I don’t.”
“You sure?” he asked softly.
Your throat went dry. Because the truth was—you weren’t sure. Not anymore. Not with the way your pulse jumped every time his eyes lingered too long. Not with the way your skin buzzed just being near him.
When he pushed off the wall and stood, you didn’t move back. He was taller, his shadow swallowing yours, and suddenly you couldn’t seem to catch your breath. “Say it,” he murmured, voice so low it was almost a growl. “Say you don’t want me close.” Your lips parted, but no words came out.
And then his hand brushed your wrist—tentative, testing—and that was all it took for something to snap.
You shoved him. Hard. Your palms hit his chest, but instead of stumbling back, he caught your wrists with a laugh, pulling you in even closer.
“You really think you can push me away now?” he mocked, breath hot against your cheek.
“You’re infuriating,” you hissed.
“And you’re—” His voice caught, the smirk faltering just enough for something softer to break through. “God, you drive me crazy.”
It was reckless, the way you surged up and kissed him. Messy, angry, desperate—your teeth scraping his bottom lip, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. For a second, you hated yourself for wanting it.
But then Dodge kissed you back, deep and sure, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had. His free hand slid into your hair, fingers curling tight enough to make you gasp, and that was it. Every sarcastic comment, every mocking glance, every second of tension exploded into heat.
You broke the kiss with a ragged breath, but he chased it, lips brushing yours, his voice a low rasp. “Still hate me?”
“Yes,” you whispered, but your body betrayed you, leaning into him, aching for more.
“Good.” His smirk returned, softer now, almost tender. “Guess I’ll just have to change your mind.” And judging by the way your knees felt weak under his touch, he already had.
The kiss broke again, but only because Dodge’s hand tangled deeper in your hair, tugging just enough to make your lips part. His mouth hovered over yours, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, like he was drinking in the sight of you.
“Always running your mouth,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “Finally found a better use for it.”
You wanted to snap back with something sharp, but all that came out was a shaky breath. He was too close, too steady, and every nerve in your body buzzed under his touch.
His hand slid from your hair to your jaw, guiding your head back just a little, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re shaking,” he whispered, almost teasing. “Didn’t think I could get to you this easy.”
“You’re not—” The protest broke when his other hand skimmed down your side, slow and deliberate, brushing over your hip before cupping between your thighs. Your words tangled into a gasp, your knees buckling slightly.
Dodge caught you easily, guiding you back against the wall. His smirk was infuriating, but his touch was devastating. He pressed his fingers against you through your jeans, steady pressure that made heat flood your core.
“Not what?” he asked, voice mocking-soft. “Not turned on? Not desperate?” His lips ghosted over your ear, his breath hot. “Feels like you are.”
You clenched your fists against his shirt, dragging him closer without meaning to. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
And then his hand slipped past the button of your jeans, sliding into the heat of you. His fingers found you easily, parting you with a gentleness that made your head spin. When he slid one finger inside, curling just right, your breath hitched loud enough to echo in the hollow room.
“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your jaw, slow and careful even as his words mocked. “Knew you’d feel good.”
Your head tipped back against the wall when he added another finger, stretching you, moving slow but steady. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit with every thrust, building a rhythm that had you trembling already.
Dodge kissed you again—softer this time, lingering, like he wanted to savor every sound you made. His other hand slid under your shirt, palm warm against your skin until his thumb brushed over your nipple. He pinched lightly, teasing, and you broke the kiss with a gasp.
“Sensitive, huh?” His voice was a mix of awe and mockery, like he couldn’t decide whether to worship you or laugh at how undone you already were. “God, you’re perfect.”
The combination was too much—his fingers thrusting slow and deep, his thumb circling your nipple, his mouth pressing hot, desperate kisses down your neck. You could feel yourself unraveling, every nerve alight, your body clenching around him with every curl of his fingers.
“Dodge—” His name slipped out, broken, pleading.
His smirk softened, his lips brushing your ear. “Say it again.”
“Dodge,” you gasped, thighs trembling, your hips grinding down into his hand without meaning to.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he praised, his pace quickening just enough to push you higher. “Come on. I’ve got you.”
And you did. The orgasm hit hard, pulling your body tight, your voice catching as you came around his fingers. He held you steady, murmuring against your skin, kissing your temple as if he could anchor you through it.
But he didn’t stop.
Even as you shook in his arms, Dodge kept moving inside you, slower but relentless, dragging you through the high until your whimpers turned into gasps, into half-sobs. His thumb brushed your nipple again, teasing, coaxing every last shiver from you.
“Thought you hated me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your damp cheek. “Doesn’t sound like hate.”
Your nails dug into his shirt, desperate, overstimulated, and all you could do was moan against his mouth when he kissed you again, deep and consuming.
And Dodge—patient, steady Dodge—looked at you like you were the only game that had ever mattered.
You barely had time to catch your breath before Dodge pulled his hand from your jeans, slick fingers glinting in the dim light. He stared at them for a beat, almost reverent, before meeting your eyes again. The smirk on his face was softened now, something dangerous and tender all at once.
“Messy already,” he murmured. “And we’ve barely started.”
You wanted to snap at him, wanted to tell him to shut up, but your body betrayed you—arching toward him, hungry for more.
He kissed you again, slower this time, his tongue brushing yours in a rhythm that promised patience even while his hands made promises of something rougher. When he finally broke away, his forehead pressed to yours, he whispered, “Tell me you want this.”
You hated that he asked—hated that the part of him that mocked and teased could still pause for something so careful. But your answer was instant, honest. “I do.”
That was all he needed.
His hands were firm as he pushed your jeans down, your underwear following, pooling around your ankles. The cool air hit your skin for a split second before Dodge’s warmth was back, pressing against you. He tugged his own jeans low, enough to free himself, and your breath caught at the sight.
No condom. The realization sent a thrill of danger through you, sharp as the games themselves. But then his mouth was back on yours, murmuring against your lips.
“Unprotected… you trust me with this?”
Your hands curled into his shirt, dragging him closer. “Just—shut up and fuck me.”
His laugh was quiet, breathless, but full of heat. “As you wish.”
He lifted you easily, pinning you against the wall, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. The first push of him inside you was slow, careful, his forehead pressed to yours as if grounding himself as much as you.
“God—” His voice cracked on a groan. “You feel… unreal.”
The stretch burned sweet, pulling a cry from your throat. He stilled, giving you time, kissing your cheek and jaw, murmuring nonsense praise. “So tight for me. Taking me so good.”
You clenched around him, desperate, and finally gasped, “Move, Dodge.”
And he did.
Slow at first, rolling his hips into you with steady, deliberate thrusts. Every inch dragged, every retreat made you ache for more. He wasn’t rough—not yet—but the way his cock filled you so completely had your head spinning.
“Still hate me?” he rasped, pulling back enough to watch your expression.
“Yes,” you gasped, nails raking his shoulders through his shirt.
“Liar.” He kissed you, biting your lip, thrusting deeper. “You’d never let me fuck you like this if you meant it.”
His hand slid back into your hair, tugging gently, just enough to tilt your head back. The tension on your scalp sent sparks through you, making your whole body arch into him. He rewarded the sound you made with a groan, burying himself deeper, holding you there.
Each thrust was slow but powerful, the kind that dragged along every nerve, every sensitive edge. He didn’t rush. He wanted you to feel all of it—the weight of him, the stretch, the heat. And you did. God, you felt everything.
Your whimpers turned into cries when his pace built, still unhurried but relentless, grinding against your clit with every push. He kissed the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes, whispering, “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”
The orgasm built sharp and fast, your body clenching around him, your nails digging so hard into his shoulders you were sure you’d leave marks. You shattered against him with a cry, your whole body tightening as wave after wave crashed through you.
But Dodge didn’t stop.
He slowed just enough to let you breathe, but kept moving, rolling into you, pushing you through the overstimulation. His lips traced your jaw, his hand pulling your hair softer now, his voice a constant anchor.
“Good girl. Look at you. Thought you could keep hating me, but you’re melting.”
You sobbed into his neck, every nerve alight, your second orgasm hitting faster, harsher, your legs trembling around him. He held you steady, his thrusts still deliberate, savoring you, dragging it out until you thought you’d fall apart.
Finally—finally—his rhythm faltered, his forehead pressing to yours as his breath grew ragged. His thrusts turned rougher, desperate, and he groaned your name like it was being torn out of him.
“I’m—fuck, I’m close—”
“Don’t pull out,” you gasped before you could think.
His whole body shuddered at your words, a broken sound leaving his throat. And then he came inside you, hard and deep, holding you flush against him as if he could bury himself completely. The heat of it spread through you, overwhelming, leaving you trembling.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just panting, clinging, the air thick with sweat and the faint hum of the bulb.
When Dodge finally set you down, his hands were careful, steady, brushing your hair back from your damp face. He kissed your forehead, soft in a way that made your chest ache.
“Still hate me?” he murmured, mocking, but his eyes were too tender to match the bite.
You managed a weak laugh, leaning into his touch. “Ask me again tomorrow.”
His smile—small, crooked, real—was the last thing you saw before your knees gave out and he caught you, holding you against his chest like you were the only thing in this room that mattered.
And for once, maybe he was right.
