#panic fic

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.

Heather was different from all the rest. He thought at first it was the chase...cat and mouse. Most girls would flock to him. It was easy. Predictable. But this hadn't been. This was revealed in the cornfield and the ball. She wasn't biting his bait—instead, she was pushing back with everything she had. "I'd rather fucking die," she had once affirmed to him. Heather had meant every word, and it nonplussed him. With every step he took getting further away from her in the cornfield, he wondered why he even gave a shit. Everything that had worked in the past had blown up in his face, so why bother?

Ray was a fool apparently because he had wanted to fluff her feathers more and more as time went by. There was a need of wanting to be around her at any chance he could find, and unfortunately, Ray thought about her even when he didn't want to.

It was as if Heather Nill had crawled her way into his existence—whether she wanted to or not. It bothered the hell out of him, yet, he couldn't help but get enough.

Ray had retaliated a bit at the Player's Ball, even though Heather had looked damn-near edible in that dress. No other girl at the party had held a candle in comparison. When he was feeding her lines that he had dressed up pretty, Ray unintentionally expressed the desires he had imagined late at night when she wasn't around.

His feelings were apparent again when Ray got more turned on by who was observing him kissing the random rather than who Ray was actually kissing. He had wanted to forget whatever crush this was on Heather Nill; instead, her mesmerizing eyes pulled him in to the point that he trembled nice and slow. Even though Ray had stated that the whole situation was bullshit, it felt real, denying it had been the bullshit.  

At the end of the day, Ray's attention should've been on Panic, but it was the panic Heather left inside that stirred him upside down.

The more time he spent around her, the more Ray craved it. It wasn't just their kisses they had shared, though, even though they were the sweetest type of torture, but the fact that she was honest to God good. Sarah had even warned him about it. Everyone could see it. Heather was too good for the likes of him, and he had known it from the first moment Heather gazed deeply into his eyes when he tugged her close on the plank. It was as if she saw something that he couldn't, and it unnerved him in a way no Panic challenge could.  

When Heather had accepted his invitation and had joined the group on his boat, it had been a good one, one of the best days he had had in a long time. Heather had a way of bringing his smile out to the surface like it was the easiest thing in the world. He felt as though he had been floating the entire time. She made him laugh effortlessly and also made him face demons of his past like he had the night of the Player's Ball. Always with her.

It unnerved him yet pulled him in as the current did. Ray had lost control and reached out to her as a blind man did, pulling her towards him without even meaning. When her lips had grazed his own on the boat, Ray knew he was forever lost in this beautiful, yet too good for him, girl.

Sarah was right—he would become broken from these feelings. Feeling vulnerable was clearly already on the table.

They had gone further that day, and it was like the first time being with someone, even though he had done that to countless other girls. With Heather, it was different. Everything was.

Ray had openly searched the manor to discover her at the Graybill house, creaking the floorboards as he took each step. When she jumped around, he had forgotten all about the game and wanted nothing more than to have her back into his arms. She was clearly his Kryptonite.

He had been surprised by the hunger he felt as they kissed, not for the first time. Ray was being drawn in by this girl, and it had been obvious that she didn't even realize she had that type of control over him.

Ray, himself, hadn't realized how deeply his feeling ran until Heather had stated, "You do this all the time. What's the big deal?" The words pierced him painfully, and his brain had short-circuited. Ray had wanted to scream at her, yelling, "It is a big deal to me. It is. Is it not to you?" But that wasn't fair, so Ray held it on the tip of his tongue, angrily leaving the room but not before calling it a mistake, which was a lie. That was not how he felt—she was anything but a mistake. But Heather had been right, though, and that's what pissed him off the most. All she had done was to hold up the mirror reflecting the type of person she had grown up knowing.

He had been that guy before spending time with her. He was a playboy, moving from one woman to the next, without so much as a care in his pointless world. He drank. He smoked. He had sex. He took his boat out. That was the story of his life.

But being around Heather had changed that. See, it wasn't just a random hookup—it was the conversation. From the moment Heather spoke to him, she challenged him. Heather recognized things no one else had, and she was honest with him from the very beginning. It was so real that Heather had asked him to return the favor.

That had scared him for the first time, and Ray hadn't liked it one bit. He couldn't even open up to himself, let alone the beautiful girl who flew. So Ray had hidden behind his cowardly mask, turning into the asshole she knew all too well. Even though it had pained Ray in a way, he hadn't entirely understood when she sadly and disappointedly walked away at the Player's Ball.

Bits and pieces of bravery had presented itself as Ray did start, in fact, opening up to Heather Nill. Each syllable had scared him shitless, but he found the more he opened up to her, the more it felt like breathing for the first time in his 18 years of life.

So even though he had walked away angrily, knowing what was happening between them wasn't a mistake, Ray knew she deserved better than the likes of him. The Hall men were deadweight and always would be. How could he pull down a woman with wings ready to take flight? There was a whole wide world waiting to embrace someone like her. What could he possibly be to her in comparison?

But those thoughts had no longer mattered when the house had burned in flames. His heart had burned with anxiety as he searched for the woman he was falling for. With every step he took, Ray was haunted by the last words he had said to her, "Just a mistake." Letting someone like that die before spreading her wings was a sin, and the thought of never gazing into those beautiful blue eyes felt like his own personal hell on earth.

Thank God above, Heather Nill had kicked her way out of that house like the fighter she was. Ray admired that this small girl didn't need saving, even though secretly he wanted to protect her. Seeing her lifeless on the ground edged away at his cold stone heart. Ray acknowledged that as he witnessed and felt a sudden wave of relief when Heather finally gasped for breath, he had truly fallen in love.

She had been living rent-free in Ray's mind since the moment she took flight off the cliff, and with every passing day, it had escalated to every breath and step he took.

Heather being stuck in the hospital had been a torture he'd never known. Ray had visited wanting to selfishly make sure she was okay but had seen Bishop entering her room. It had been a good reminder he did not belong in Heather's world; he'd never have a place in it, even though it killed him to admit it.

He had been surprised beyond belief that she had shown up at his house, but Ray knew it had been too good to be true as she couldn't get away from him fast enough. As she sped away, the word mistake haunted and swirled around his curls like a fucked up hangover.

Through the game's final stages, they found their way back to each other, even to the point of Ray admitting to others how he truly felt on the bridge. Diggins had blabbed that he hadn't answered the question of being in love with her, but in terms only she would understand, he had. He did love her, every part of her, but he knew he had to be selfless with Heather.

Ray had to let her go. She didn't belong in Carp. She didn't belong to him. Heather deserved what was still good in this messed-up world.

For him, though, his heart would always belong to her as he rotted away in the shithole of his hometown.

Once, he had remarked to Heather, "I don't think good things are gonna happen to me anymore," but he was so very wrong.

Heather Nill was something good that happened to him. Something amazing. Loving her came easily, like drifting down the stream with the current. It terrified him, but he was grateful. The girl that flew into his heart forever changed him for the better.

At the hospital where Luke was, Heather had all but expressed that she cared for him, too. That someone else actually gave a shit about him. It had knocked him speechless, to the point where he thought he'd join his brother on the neighboring hospital bed.

Then the thought of losing her once more at the Joust ran him ragged, but nothing would ever stop her. When he saw her standing there all but glowing on that dirt road, Ray once again saw the girl who had jumped from the drop. She took his breath away with her returning kind, brave smile, and the fear of saying goodbye felt closer than ever before.

However, it had seemed by the stream as if she had chosen him. It was a blessing and a curse that she had seen his video. He didn't want her to feel chained to Carp, but Ray couldn't deny the joy and the sense of peace he felt inside as she moved closer to him.

"We don't have to fall in love, Ray," Heather had said against his lips with a hint of a smile, a secret between the two of them.

Smiling, he had taken her into his arms, which felt so right as if it were meant to be. However, with every kiss, the words were left unspoken. Oh darlin', I've already fallen helplessly in love with you—the girl with the beautiful wings.

Losing her was what he feared now because sooner rather than later, Heather would fly away.

You tilted your chin up to look at him, shadows cutting across his sharp jaw. “Just thinking about how I should be too tired to move, but…” You let your hand trail down his chest, the ridges of his muscles sticky with heat, then lower, hovering just above the waistband of his sweats. His eyes flicked down, following the movement.

“But?” he prompted, already smirking.

“But you’re impossible to resist.”

His laugh was soft, low, and cocky all at once: so Ray. He shifted beneath you, rolling so that your back pressed to the sheets and he hovered over you, braced on his forearm. The look in his eyes was half hunger, half adoration, and it made your stomach flutter.

“Guess I’ll just have to wear you out then,” he teased, brushing his lips against yours. “See if you still feel like starting something after I’m through with you.”

You smiled into the kiss, fingers sliding into his damp hair, tugging lightly. “Is that a threat or a promise?” Ray groaned against your mouth, already pressing closer, already proving that he meant every word.

Ray kissed you hard, the kind of kiss that blurred into heat and teeth and need. His mouth was rough but steady, the sort of kiss that made you arch into him, chasing more before you even realized you were doing it. His hand slid under your tank top, calloused fingers dragging up your ribs before he tugged the fabric over your head and tossed it somewhere on the floor.

“God, look at you,” he muttered, half dazed, half cocky as he leaned back just far enough to take you in. His thumb brushed over your nipple, making you shiver. “Never gonna get over this. Over you.”

His praise lit you up, sent warmth rushing through your body that had nothing to do with the sticky heat of summer. You pulled him back down, biting his lower lip until he groaned, his hips rutting against you in a way that left no question of what he wanted.

The first round was fast. Desperate. Ray pressed you into the mattress, your legs hooked around his waist, his thrusts sharp and hungry. He kissed you through it, groaning when your nails dragged down his back, urging him harder, deeper. The fan whirred uselessly in the corner as sweat slicked your skin, every movement loud in the quiet room—the creak of the bed, the slap of his hips, the breathless way he whispered your name.

You came quickly, your body wound tight from hours of teasing touches before. Ray followed right after, burying himself deep with a broken groan, his forehead pressed to yours like he could fuse you together.

You thought that would be it; that he’d collapse and you’d both drift off. But Ray wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

Round two started with him rolling you onto your stomach, kissing down your spine as he lined himself up again. He pushed in slower this time, savoring the way you clenched around him, savoring your gasp into the pillow. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he pulled you back against him, setting a steady, relentless pace. You cried out, muffled, and he chuckled breathlessly.

“That’s it, take it for me. Doing so good.”

The second orgasm left your legs trembling, your voice broken. Ray followed not long after, collapsing against your back, his body heavy and hot. But even then, he didn’t stop.

The third time, he took it slower, softer; kissing your face, your neck, whispering how perfect you were while he rocked into you at a lazy rhythm. You held him close, nails scraping gently through his hair as he chased another release, his stamina surprising you.

By the time he came again, his body was shaking from exhaustion. He groaned into your neck, muttering something incoherent about how you were going to kill him, how he couldn’t get enough, how you ruined him in the best way. When he finally pulled back, his chest heaved with ragged breaths. His hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and he looked like the most beautiful mess you’d ever seen.

You kissed him slow, catching his bottom lip between your teeth, whispering, “Still think you can wear me out?”

Ray laughed, hoarse and breathless, collapsing onto the bed beside you. “Pretty sure I just wore myself out,” he admitted, though the way his arm immediately wrapped around your waist betrayed how unwilling he was to let go.

But you weren’t about to let him leave you empty, not yet.

Ray’s arm was still heavy across your waist when you shifted closer, kissing the damp skin of his shoulder. He hummed, half-asleep already, but his grip tightened instinctively like he wasn’t ready to let you go. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the kind that came after you’d wrung him dry, after you’d pulled three orgasms out of him like he didn’t know when to quit.

You brushed his messy hair back from his forehead. “Hey,” you whispered, a little teasing. “You tapping out on me already?” His lips curved into a lazy smirk without even opening his eyes. “Don’t… don’t push your luck,” he muttered, voice rough, slurred with exhaustion. “You wore me the fuck out, baby.”

“Mm. Maybe I just like keeping you close.”

You slid your hand down his stomach, over the trail of sweat-slick hair, until your fingers brushed him where he was still softening. He hissed quietly at the touch, eyelids fluttering open as he looked at you. His eyes were hazy but warm, that cocky edge softened by something almost tender.

“You’re insane,” he said, though his hips tilted up slightly into your hand. “Don’t tell me you want more.”

“Not more,” you admitted, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Just… this.”

Guiding him back between your thighs, you eased yourself down onto him again, slow and deliberate. He groaned low in his chest as you took him, the sound half protest, half pleasure, like he couldn’t believe you were doing this but wasn’t about to stop you. His arms tightened around you when you settled fully, his cock stretching you open even though he was softening, the sensation so deep it made you shiver.

“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead pressing to yours. “You’re—god, you’re warm. You’re crazy, but…” His words trailed off into another groan as you clenched gently around him. “...you feel too good.”

You smiled against his mouth, brushing your lips over his as you whispered, “Just stay like this. Just stay inside me, mh?”

Ray let out a shaky laugh, the kind that carried more affection than humor. He shifted enough to get comfortable, wrapping his arm tighter around your waist until your body was plastered against his chest, his cock buried deep and still.

“Guess I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, finally giving in. “You win.” You kissed his throat, feeling his pulse thrum under your lips. The intimacy of it all—the fullness, the closeness, the heat of his skin pressed to yours—made you melt. Ray sighed, the sound low and content, and within minutes, his breathing evened out.

He fell asleep inside you, still buried in your warmth, his body wrapped around yours like you were the only thing tethering him to the world. And for a while, you just stayed there; cockwarming him, feeling every slow heartbeat between you, unwilling to let the moment end. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep like that.

One minute you were tucked into Ray’s chest, his cock buried deep and heavy inside you, his arm an anchor across your waist and the next, you were blinking awake in the dark, the air heavier, quieter, the cicadas replaced by the deeper silence of the dead of night.

Ray was still out cold beneath you. His chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths, warm puffs of air ghosting across your hair. His grip had loosened just enough for you to shift without waking him, though his cock was still sheathed inside you, thick and warm and pulsing faintly even in sleep. The awareness of it made your stomach twist with a needy ache you hadn’t expected.

You should’ve left it at that. You should’ve let him rest, content with the closeness but the dull throb between your thighs made it impossible to stay still.

At first, it was small. Just a subtle roll of your hips, testing. The drag of his softened length against your walls still sparked something electric, even this slow. You bit your lip, suppressing a whimper, your hand fisting in the sheets as you rocked again, just to feel that stretch.

Ray groaned faintly in his sleep, shifting beneath you, but didn’t wake. Encouraged, you let your hips roll more steadily, a lazy grind that sent tingles up your spine. Each movement stoked the fire lower in your belly, your clit brushing against the soft curls at his base, sending sparks of pleasure through you.

You pressed your forehead to his chest, muffling the quiet moan that slipped out. God, it felt good—indulgent, selfish, the kind of pleasure that came from using him while he slept; a reminder of the talk you both had about somnophilia before and how it's something you both agreed to.

He was warm, filling, his cock dragging deliciously against sensitive walls with every roll of your hips. Your pace grew a little bolder, a little more needy, your body betraying how badly you wanted release. You circled your hips, ground down harder, the wetness between your thighs making it easier, slicker, filthier.

That’s when you heard it; a sharp inhale above you. “...Baby?”

Ray’s voice was hoarse, thick with sleep. You froze for half a second, but his cock twitched inside you, and you knew he was awake now. He shifted beneath you, his hand sliding down to your hip, holding you still for a moment before squeezing, guiding.

“You’re—fuck—” He laughed softly, breathless, still half-asleep but already turned on. “You’re using me in my sleep? That's what I woke up to?” You bit your lip, heat rushing to your face, but you didn’t stop moving; just ground down slowly, deliberately, meeting his lazy gaze in the dark. “Couldn’t help it,” you whispered, voice trembling with need. “You feel so good, Ray.”

His grip on your hip tightened, his smirk sleepy but full of praise. “Fuck, of course you couldn’t. My girl’s insatiable.”

He let you keep grinding, let you ride the half-hard stretch of him, his thumb stroking circles on your skin as if to encourage you. “Go on,” he murmured, voice rough but tender. “Use me, baby. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Ray’s palm splayed across your hip, heavy and grounding, but he didn’t stop you. He let you roll, let you grind, his body waking up to the slow rhythm of your need. His cock was swelling again inside you, stretching you tighter with every lazy rock of your hips.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his voice low, rough with sleep. “You’re really fuckin’ doing this.” His thumb brushed up your side, coaxing, encouraging. “Waking me up like this, grinding on me like you own me.”

You hid your face in his neck, whining softly as you kept moving, the drag of his length sparking all through you. “I do own you,” you whispered, muffled against his skin. Ray laughed, breathless, his hand sliding lower to grab your ass and squeeze. “Yeah, you do. You got me, baby. You can do whatever the hell you want with me.”

The praise only made you wetter, made the glide easier as you lifted yourself slightly and sank back down, slow and deliberate. He groaned at the motion, his cock now fully hard again, filling you in a way that made your toes curl. “Fuck,” Ray whispered, tilting his head back against the pillow, his jaw tight. “You’re so good, so greedy for me even after hours. Can’t even let me sleep, huh?”

“Needed you,” you admitted, your voice shaky as you rolled your hips again, finding that perfect angle that made your clit grind against him. “Couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

Ray’s eyes fluttered shut, but the way his hand guided your hips betrayed just how much he loved hearing it. “God, you’re perfect,” he groaned. “So fuckin’ perfect when you use me like this. My girl.”

You set a slow rhythm, rocking into him, drawing out every sound he gave you—low groans, half-laughs, muttered curses that melted into praise. Every thrust down stretched you, filled you, built the heat in your belly higher until you were biting back moans against his chest.

He kept his eyes on you when they finally opened, glassy with arousal but soft with something else, something tender. His thumb brushed over your hipbone as he whispered, “That’s it, take your time. Ride me slow, baby, make yourself come.”

And with his praise ringing in your ears, you ground down harder, chasing the edge with a hunger that made you shake.

The room was hushed except for the slick sound of your hips meeting his, the wet drag of his cock as you worked him slowly, deliberately. Each grind sent a pulse of pleasure through you, slow-burning but relentless, winding tighter and tighter.

Ray’s hands never left you: one gripping your hip to steady your rhythm, the other tracing lazy circles over your lower back. His eyes were half-lidded, his grin lazy and wrecked, but the words spilling from his mouth made your whole body flush hot. “God, look at you, taking me so good. So fucking greedy, baby. You like riding me half-asleep? Like using me like this?”

“Yes,” you gasped, the word breaking as you circled your hips, grinding down harder. “Needed you, Ray—needed to feel you.” He groaned, his head tipping back into the pillow, neck taut with strain as he fought not to lose it too soon. “Fuck, you’re perfect. You’re mine, all mine.”

Your nails dug into his chest as your rhythm faltered, pleasure clawing up your spine. He noticed immediately, his hand pressing your hips down harder, guiding you through it. “That’s it. Don’t stop, come on me, baby, come on my cock.” The combination of his praise, the stretch, the delicious drag against your walls pushed you over. You came with a broken cry, pussy clenching tight around him, your thighs trembling as your body shook with release.

Ray cursed low and filthy, his grip on you tightening as your spasms milked him. He thrusted up into you once, twice, then groaned deep in his chest as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, his body arching off the mattress.

The rhythm dissolved into stillness, your body collapsing against his as both of you caught your breath. His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you tight against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside, twitching with aftershocks.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered against your hair, still panting. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.” You laughed weakly, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Worth it?”

He tilted your chin up, kissed you slow and messy, his lips tasting of sweat and exhaustion and pure affection. “Always worth it. You’re the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.”

You melted into him, your body still trembling but your heart so full it nearly hurt. His hands smoothed up and down your back, grounding you, his cock still softening inside you but neither of you making a move to separate.

Eventually, Ray shifted, pulling the sheets higher over both of you, wrapping you even closer. His voice was low, tender now, stripped of all cocky edges.

“Sleep, baby,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you.”

And with him still filling you, his arms tight around you, you finally drifted off—sated, loved, and completely his.

dodge mason threw a lasso around a bull’s neck and your thighs clenched instinctively. you couldn’t pinpoint when this fascination had begun, whether it was before or after you started dating him, but you’d never had the courage to actually tell him of your fantasy until tonight. 

country music blared from the speakers of his beat up truck and your hand hung out the passenger window, catching the wind as the sun set. dodge was humming along as he drove, in a good mood after putting in a good performance at the rodeo, and catching sight of you in the crowd. 

so, it was no surprise to either of you that the minute you made it back to his place, he was dragging you into his bedroom. 

‘i’m so proud of you.’ you murmur as you capture his lips in a feverish kiss, before pressing feather light kisses to his jawline.

‘how proud?’ he purrs back, as he pulls his shirt off with ease, dark hair tousled.  

‘this proud.’ you whisper back, hands deftly finding the zipper on his jeans and unzipping, feeling his semi against the thin fabric of his boxers. 

‘oh i see.’ dodge grins, palming your ass, ‘subtle baby, real subtle.’ 

you shoot him a taunting look, ‘speak for yourself.’ 

his grin widens, ‘oh you’ve done it now sweetheart.’ he teases and within seconds, his strong arms are lifting you and tossing you onto the bed, discarding his jeans. 

you’re in fits of giggles as dodge clambers on top of you, his perfect face just inches above your own. he leans in and playfully starts to gnash his teeth, pretending to bite at your neck and collarbone and you’re practically squealing with delight. meanwhile, one of his cold hands is sliding under your shirt, splaying across your stomach and you flush. 

‘dodge!’ you squeal as his fingers start to tickle you, causing you to kick out at him reflexively and he winces when you make contact. 

‘stop wriggling!’ he grunts teasingly, firm hand grasping one of your thighs. ‘or i’m gonna have to hold you down somehow.’ he continued jokingly.

‘tie me up.’ you breathe, trying to keep the comment casual but there's an honest edge to it that causes  dodge to freeze. 

‘what?’ comes his bewildered reply, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. 

‘i- not like that- it slipped out-’  you stutter. scrambling for an excuse but it's too late, you've said it now. 

‘you want me to tie you up?’ dodge's stern voice repeated your own words back to you and despite there being no sexuality in his tone, your stomach still flips. 

‘...yes.’ you say sheepishly, averting your eyes. 

the moment of silence that fills the room feels endless before dodge finally speaks, ‘how?’ he queries. and its almost laughable how blunt it is. 

‘with your lariat…’ you answer, voice barely above a whisper with how awkward you feel. 

he looks taken aback for a second, but obliges, reaching across to his dresser where the rope lies.

‘tell me if it's too tight, okay baby?’ he murmurs gently, as he deftly ties your wrists to his headboard.

‘i'm good.’ you reply reassuringly, straining at the knots just to test. 

satisfied, he leans back, the semi trapped in his boxers rubbing against your crotch. 

‘fuck…’ he mutters, looking you up and down ravenously, but always returning to your bound wrists. 

you bite your lip, ‘well?’ you squeak. 

‘you're an absolute picture sweetheart.’ he drawls and you stifle a stupid cheer. 

with absolute care, dodge pulls down your skirt, then your thong and tosses them across his room. he pushes your shirt up to reveal your stomach and starts to press reverential kisses there, trailing lower and lower till he reaches your mound. 

his eyes flit up to admire your wanton expression as his lips dip lower again, nose inches away from your clit. without breaking eye contact, dodge’s tongue licks a long stripe up your pussy and you gasp, bucking your hips in response. 

smirk widening, dodge continues, licking another slow stripe up your cunt lips before opting for short quick ones. you’re straining against the ropes for real this time, hardly able to catch your breath at his ministrations. 

‘so pretty…’ his voice vibrates against your pussy and you throw your head back in delight. 

he presses a kiss to your clit before his tongue penetrates your hole. ‘ohhh shit- shit-’ you moan, hands balling into fists. 

dodge can barely hold back a laugh as he continues to lick at your insides, calloused hands digging into your thighs as an anchor. his tongue starts to prod at that spongy spot inside of you and you almost levitate off the bed. 

‘nghhh- dodge!’ you shriek, panting. his dark eyes find your wild ones, expression clear, do you want me to stop?, more a teasing question than a serious one and you’re frantically shaking your head no. 

slowing, dodge’s eating becomes more obsessive, as if he’s savouring every taste he can get. everytime his nose brushes your clit, your eyes squeeze shut and you yelp with pleasure. his tongue is really tasting every inch of your pussy, face firmly buried between your thighs. 

it doesn’t take long for your thighs to start shaking, but dodge only digs his nails in deeper, keeping you there.

‘please-please dodge- i’m so- ah’ you whimper, flushed red and near thrashing at the bonds. 

if he heard your pleas, he didn’t answer them. he returned to his fast pace, repeatedly hitting your g-spot till you’re convulsing as you moan his name. dodge smirked as he pulled his face away and you nearly screamed, you were so close.

his eyes roved over you, clearly enjoying seeing you so worked up. deftly, he flicked his finger against your swollen bud and uttered, ‘cum.’ 

and cum you did, the only thing louder than your garbled moans was the creaking of the bed as your back arched, thighs shaking and every muscle in your arm screaming as you fought against the bondage. dodge’s eyes lit up as he watched you, the only thing grounding you was his hand softly stroking your knee. as you came down from your high, his smirk grew again. 

‘think you can give me another?’ he said calmly and you gawped at him. 

‘dodge- i-’ you protest, still trying to catch your breath. 

‘i know you can sweetheart.’ he continued, though his expression was nonchalant, you could see the begging in his eyes, he was still hungry. ‘and it’s not you like you can go anywhere hm?’ he teased, tapping the rope rhythmically. 

you shot him a warning look before sighing, ‘i can.’ 

‘that’s my girl.’ he grinned and he dove his face back into your cunt, lapping at your juices and sucking hard. 

still sensitive, you were writhing again in seconds as he sucked your swollen lips, making sure to get every last drop of your cum. 

‘stay…’ he’d purr between licks, every time you squirmed too much, overstimulated.

it didn’t take long for your second orgasm to start to crest and you started to buck your hips in a jerky manner. you’d long since lost sense of your constant moans, most of them incoherent. dodge pulled away again and your addled brain thought he was going to pull the same trick again. 

however, all he did was lick a final long stripe up your swollen pussy and then, he nipped your clit. you were so surprised and sensitive that you orgasmed on the spot, no warning. juices sprayed out of you, soaking the sheets. your eyes squeezed shut and you thought you were seeing the pearly gates of heaven for a moment. 

‘oh! oh- ah!- dodgemmph-’ your moans were jumbled and high pitched, whole body writhing with the intensity of the squirt. 

the orgasm seemed to last forever, you were so dazed as you came down from the high, still twitching with aftershocks as dodge collected what little wetness was still on your cunt, most coating his sheets, and licked his fingers clean. 

‘you’re incredible.’ he whispered, in pure awe, as he deftly untied your wrists, running his thumb over any soreness there. 

you smile, still a little delirious, ‘you’d do it again?...with the rope?’ you murmur, hope evident in your tone. 

it started with a text. 

i need a checkup…

dodge almost dropped the glass of coke he was pouring when his phone flashed with the message. you were cruel, texting him when he still had hours left of his shift, now he had to hide the tent in his trousers at the mere thought while you lounged around.

definitely breaking the speed limit on more than one occasion, dodge made it to your house in one, horny piece. after furious knocking, you opened the door and looked him up and down, panting like a dog and sweat clinging to his work clothes. 

‘parents?’ dodge queries automatically.

‘not home.’ you shake your head. 

‘good.’

within seconds, dodge's large palms are grasping your face, pulling you into a hungry kiss. as the kiss deepens, you both make your way to your bedroom, stopping to make out every few steps. 

‘i got your text.’ he breathes between kisses, pushing you up against your wall, posters slipping. 

‘well i’d hope so.’ you smirk as you lick at the inside of his mouth, cool hands sliding up his shirt and feeling his muscled stomach. 

‘don’t be a smartass.’ he growled, pressing his forehead against yours, ‘you left me aching for hours.’ 

‘so does this mean i have an appointment with dr. mason or not?’ you taunted, batting your eyelashes exaggeratedly, thighs pressed together. 

at that name, dodge’s face shifts, hardens almost. ‘yes, you do.’ 

delighted your game worked, you peel off your clothes and lay on your bed in position, legs spread so he can get a full view. dodge pushes back his mop of dark curls in an attempt to look more formal before pulling out his cowboy leather gloves and sliding them onto his hands, making sure you can see the way his fingers flex and your head clouds with want. 

‘so this checkup…’ dodge muses as he walks around your room, and your face drops, desperately wanting him to hurry up. 

‘mmhmmm’ you grind against the bed unsubtly and dodge fixes you with a stern glare, ‘i’ve been having a lot of uh…pain…down there…’ you say unconvincingly, an attempt at flirtation. 

his expression lights up at this, walking towards you and parking himself between your open legs. ‘let’s have a look then shall we…’ he hummed. 

gloved fingers finding your folds and spreading them apart, ‘well lubricated already i see.’ he teases, sliding his index finger up your soaking slit to he reaches the sensitive bud just nestled above and you buck your hips, gasping for air. 

‘now this clit is looking a little swollen.’ dodge mock pouts, circling it and you moan high-pitched and hungry. he continues to play with the button, pinching and rolling it whilst you wriggle desperately, overstimulated. ‘ngh- please doctor-’ 

he eyes your expression, trying to decipher whether to keep teasing you like this but he sighs, ‘very well, patient is always right. would you like me to perform the internal examination?’ and you nod vigorously, eyes hazy with desire. 

‘yes doctor- pleasemmmph-’ you whimper as dodge slides one gloved finger inside, the leather feeling soft yet rough against your gummy walls. 

‘arousal prevents you from being overly tight, so that’s not the issue.’ he states casually, almost immediately adding a second finger and you inhale shakily as your hole stretches to accommodate. 

his other gloved hand pushes your legs further apart and his fingers feel deeper inside you, opening you up for him. ‘see how when we press here.’ his fingertips find your g-spot and you convulse, ‘ah- fuck-’. 

‘yes?’ he taunts, pressing that spot again and you let out a guttural moan. he hates when you swear in this roleplay, claiming it’s inappropriate. 

so, he “punishes” you by bringing his thumb back to your clit whilst plunging two fingers deep inside you, sending your pleasure into overdrive. 

your thighs are starting to shake but he doesn’t let up, continuing to narrate calmly, ‘i can you feel you clenching, what are you afraid of?’.

‘nghnothing- doctor- just-’ your forewarnings are cut off by his gloved fingers curving to hit you g-spot again, that combined with his thumb teasing your swollen nub causes your orgasm to start to crack. it’s a slow build, as he continues to relentlessly toy with your pussy, more and more juices seeping from your hole and onto his leather gloves. your moans increase in both speed and pitch, most of which incoherent, as each wave crashes over you. your limbs are flailing as you buck all over the bed. 

as you come down from your frenzied high, you realise his hand is still inside you. with care, dodge pulls his fingers out of your leaking pussy, marvelling at the continued secretion of your cum. ‘feel better?’ he smirks devilishly, proud it still worked.