Chapter 1: Small Town Lovin’
Pairing: Ted Garcia x f!Reader Warnings: (MDNI) explicit sexual content, including graphic descriptions of consensual (protected) sex (p in v), a power dynamic between a public figure and a younger professional (slight age gap [mid 40s, early 30s]), alcohol consumption, emotional isolation stemming from the pandemic and includes a light parental reference during a sex scene, dirty talk, fluff and angst!!, mild dubcon, HE'S THE MAYOR, and some sweet talk. Word Count: 5.3k
Summary: After a long week and one too many drinks, an unexpected encounter with Eddington’s enigmatic mayor, Ted Garcia, turns into something far more intimate than small talk. What begins as innocent flirting at a quiet bar unravels into a night of raw honesty, physical hunger, and surprising emotional connection. Behind his polished charm and political title lies a man longing for something real and just a little more. Notes: This is chapter one of this series! You can find the master list here to read the rest of the series as its posted. There are NO SPOILERS for the movie Eddington in this fic.
♡ MASTERLIST ♡
“Excuse me?”
His voice was low and smooth, almost velvety. The kind of voice that didn’t need to rise to command attention. It slipped beneath your skin, raising the hairs at the back of your neck. Your hand paused mid-air, fingers slowly lowering your glass to the bar top with a faint clink.
Ted Garcia.
The Mayor.
His face was impossible to miss — plastered on billboards, news articles, and the side of city buses ever since the pandemic. He was the man who’d saved Eddington, the golden boy who revived its dwindling population and breathed clean, green life back into its weary bones.
You cleared your throat, swiping your thumb across your lips to catch the last bit of gloss from your third drink. The stress of the week still sat heavy behind your eyes. New boss, more responsibilities, endless paperwork — and now a conversation with him.
“Yes?” you managed, batting your lashes with an effort that felt part instinct, part performance.
His smile came easily, comfortably, as if the bar were his living room. He took the barstool beside you without hesitation, like he’d already decided he belonged there.
“Sorry, couldn’t help but notice the pin on your bag — Clean Source Energy, right? You work for them?”
Your eyes dropped to the small enamel pin, fingertips brushing over it without thinking. It was rare you carried your work bag around after hours, but tonight you’d come straight from the office. Your hair was still pulled into a high ponytail, flyaways curling around your temples and ears, the remnants of a long shift clinging to you like static.
“Yes,” you said with a small nod. “I’m a data analyst there.”
He nodded at your words and then extended his hand. “Ted, Ted Garcia.”
You took it and shook slowly, introducing yourself.
A beat of quiet passed — just long enough to be comfortable, not long enough to escape the feeling that he was assessing you.
Then Ted lifted a hand, gave a casual wave, and as if summoned by magic, two more drinks appeared in front of you. Another for you and beer for him.
“Y’know,” he began, picking up his glass, “I was the major voice that pushed to get that center built here. Along with a few others, of course.”
He took a sip, his eyes never quite leaving yours — though they dipped, briefly, to the neckline of your blouse. The white fabric hugged your figure in a way that suddenly felt more noticeable under his gaze.
“I see a lot of promise in Eddington,” he added, his smile shifting just slightly, as the foam from the beer clung to his mustache. Something more personal began to curl at the edges. “I’d even say I’m pretty good at judging things in a general setting. Especially character.”
Was he flirting?
Surely…
You took a slow sip of your drink, the glass cool against your lips as you leaned into your elbow on the bar top. Maybe you’d entertain this just for the hell of it, or maybe out of curiosity. Ted Garcia wasn’t known for being social. He kept mostly to himself, especially after what happened with his wife. He was always juggling the impossible: running the town, raising a teenage son, keeping Eddington afloat. But still… he was the mayor. Influential. Wealthy. And, undeniably, stupidly handsome.
You let your voice dip, your tone playful. “And what does my character say, hm?”
As you spoke, your fingertip traced the rim of your glass slowly, deliberately. You saw his eyes catch the motion and then came that smile. The smile. The one splashed across campaign posters, on town hall murals, on local news segments. His signature. Practiced. Perfect.
Then his hand drifted, soft and slow, until just his fingertips brushed your thigh. Barely there. Almost polite. But you knew better. He wanted more.
“I see a woman with ambition,” he said, voice warm, confident. “A woman who keeps her cards close. Strong. Self-contained. And quite frankly…” He let out a breathless chuckle, leaning in, “…the type who wouldn’t care if I walked out of here right now.”
He paused, smirking as if reading the thoughts flickering behind your eyes.
“Hell, something tells me you kind of wish I would. Just… kind of.”
You wet your bottom lip, smoothing away the dryness as your gaze held his. You were reading him now. Every word. Every flick of tone. Every subtle challenge.
“Seems a bit unprofessional,” you mused, lifting your glass again, “to hit on a local woman in a very local bar… where anyone could see. Could be scandalous, no?”
The edge of your voice curled around the fire you were stoking, just to see how hot it could burn.
Ted finished the rest of his beer in a long, slow swallow and set the empty glass down with finality. His eyes never left yours.
“I’m a very transparent man,” he said, voice lower now, closer. “I’m a go-getter. I see something I want — and I don’t hesitate.”
He leaned in, slow and deliberate, until his face was only inches from yours. His eyes, a deep, soft brown, and entirely focused — locked with yours like he was trying to memorize every detail.
“And I don’t give a damn who spins what story,” he continued. “Right now, I’m having a conversation with a beautiful woman.”
A pause.
“That’s all they need to know.”
The jukebox hummed softly in the background, Katy Perry’s voice spilling into the corners of the dim bar like a memory half-remembered. You swirled your tongue behind your teeth, tasting the last of your drink as the tension between you and Ted thickened — taut, unspoken, electric.
Your glass hit the bar with a soft clink and your hand reached for your bag, fingers curling around the strap with casual intention.
“So… what is this, exactly?” you asked, eyes flicking to his. “You’re not really planning to take a stranger to your home, are you?”
Ted watched your every movement and just as you began to rise, his hand reached for your wrist — not forcefully, but gently, like he didn’t want to stop you so much as slow you down.
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
The question hit harder than it should have.
Your eyes widened, blinking. Was this not just a one-night thing? His intentions had seemed obvious or maybe… maybe you’d misread him completely.
“I don’t think I’m a three-star motel girl, if that’s what you’re implying,” you said, half-defensive, half-teasing. You couldn’t help but notice how warm his fingers felt against your skin, how careful he was with his touch.
Ted chuckled — a real laugh, low and warm and stood alongside you.
“Then I’ll get us a cab,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “And you can see where the Mayor lives.”
He took charge with ease, but never with arrogance. You watched the way he dialed, the way he guided you out of the bar with a hand at your back, the way he opened the cab door for you like it was second nature. Every gesture was controlled, deliberate. Gentleman-like.
The ride was quiet, but not awkward. Intimate in its restraint. He didn’t boast. Didn’t fill the silence with tales of his accolades or power. Instead, he asked about you; your job, your life, your dreams. The small things that too often got overlooked.
You could tell he wasn’t just chasing pleasure, he was chasing connection and that realization tugged at something deep in you. Something soft.
The pandemic had broken people in ways no one liked to admit. All that isolation. The loss. The quiet grief of being alone. Why deny him, deny yourself something that had been taken from so many? Something human.
The cab turned up a long dirt road, tires crunching over gravel as the landscape opened around you. Rolling desert fields stretched out beneath a lavender sky, cacti scattered like sentries across the land, and distant ridges of mountains catching the last gold of dusk. You’d forgotten how beautiful New Mexico could be when the world slowed down.
Ted stepped out first, then offered you his hand as he waved the cab off into the dark.
His home was modern, with rustic bones. Steel lines softened by weathered wood, leather furniture worn in all the right places. Campaign signs and papers were scattered across surfaces like leaves in the wind, but the mess was lived-in, purposeful. Not careless.
It felt like someone’s real home. Not a staged house for a man in power.
Not just the Mayor’s house. His.
You noticed the photos first. Frames perched along the mantle, scattered across bookshelves and side tables. Ted and his son, Eric. Smiling at baseball games, standing in front of a freshly cut Christmas tree, riding bikes on some dusty trail. It made you smile, involuntarily. There was a warmth to them. A tenderness you hadn’t expected. Even if some of them were staged.
Eric wasn’t home. Off with friends, apparently, visiting colleges out west. Ted had his own quiet reservations about it — he’d chosen a school for himself, carefully, lovingly, for his only son. But still, he let Eric go. Let him be. Maybe that was love, in its hardest form: loosening your grip even when it hurts.
He offered you a drink. You accepted.
The two of you made your way to the couch, and he settled in beside you, one arm draped easily over the back, his body turned slightly toward you. You felt his gaze, felt him taking you in.
The lighting was softer here — golden, steady so unlike the pulsing bar lights you'd just left behind. The contrast made everything feel slower, more intimate.
Ted parted his lips like he was about to speak but you beat him to it. You leaned forward, setting your beer carefully on a coaster on the coffee table, then turned to face him fully. Shoulders squared. Hands on your knees, firm.
“Okay,” you said bluntly, eyes locking with his. “So what exactly is happening here?”
Your voice was steady. Clear. This was Ted fucking Garcia — the mayor of Eddington. You were in his house. Drinking his beer. Letting him charm you like you were just another evening distraction. Surely, he wanted something. Anything.
Ted let out a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. He placed his beer beside yours, the bottles clinking gently as they touched and leaned back into the couch with a casual shrug.
“Is just having a conversation really so bad?”
Your eyes trailed over his outfit — the brown blazer, the bolo tie, the shirt patterned with tiny horses, tucked neatly into a pair of faded white-washed jeans. Scuffed Nikes on his feet. He looked like someone’s dad trying to dress up, but refusing to let go of comfort.
Fuck, you thought, biting back a smirk. He radiates Dad energy.
And somehow… that made him more dangerous. More… enticing.
You pressed your lips to the side, curious. His words echoed in your head, turning over like slow wheels on wet pavement. Maybe this was all he wanted — an empty house, a quiet evening, a little warmth to chase away the stillness. Maybe.
“Fine,” you said at last, the word slipping out with a quiet sigh as you sank deeper into the couch.
Ted nodded, mirroring your movement, his posture easing as he leaned back beside you but his gaze never strayed. He kept his eyes on you, studying you in the soft hush between sentences.
His fingers moved idly along the back cushion, slow and searching, until they found a lock of your hair spread out against the fabric. He touched it gently, his thumb brushing the strands with just enough pressure to be noticed, but not enough to cross a line. A deliberate restraint.
You crossed your arms over your chest, the motion subtle, but purposeful. The swell of your bust lifted beneath the curve of your arms, and his eyes — God, his eyes, they noticed.
Of course he did.
“It’s been a while,” Ted said finally, his voice lower now, more intimate. “Since another woman’s been here. Since I let myself…” His gaze dropped to the lock of hair he was still toying with, wrapping it slowly around his thumb, his fingers brushing it like it was something fragile.
“I’ve been so focused… on the job, on Eric. On keeping everything moving.” He paused, thumb dragging gently over the strand before letting it fall. “I think somewhere along the way… I forgot about my own happiness.”
You furrowed your brows and turned your shoulder into the cushion of the back of the couch, as if trying to hide from the truth of his words. You related a bit too much. Work had consumed you completely. These days, your life was a pattern of coming home, trading your work clothes for something soft, curling up with your cat, and binging crime shows until sleep overtook you. Love was a language you'd long forgotten how to speak. Too easily abandoned.
“Sounds like me,” you murmured, your voice low, almost ashamed of the admission.
Ted noticed the shift immediately. His hand moved from the back of the couch to your shoulder, his thumb pressing into it with quiet pressure — firm, grounding. You felt the heat of it bloom through the thin fabric of your blouse, your breath hitching ever so slightly.
“I don’t want to be that guy,” he said, voice softened, “but I think that’s why I noticed you… back at the bar. Why I couldn’t look away.”
Your pulse picked up beneath his touch and your eyes dropped to your hands folded neatly on your knees. Without thinking, you moved one to his — fingers brushing over his jean clad knee like a quiet invitation.
Ted's brows lifted, caught off guard. This was the first time you’d touched him all night, and for once, the calculated mayor — the man who always had a plan seemed to forget what came next.
You could tell.
So you took control.
You shifted, slipping off your flats beneath the coffee table. Tucking your legs beneath you, you turned toward him, elbow resting on the back of the couch as you leaned in closer — close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
“So… just conversation, huh?” you whispered, your voice velvet-smooth. Your lashes dipped low, fluttering like a spell meant to unravel him.
Ted’s hand slid from your shoulder to the curve of your jaw, thumb grazing your skin with a kind of reverence.
“I’m letting you lead this,” he said, his voice quiet, with a breath of something like need in it.
And just like that, you climbed into his lap — slow, deliberate. Straddling him, your knees sank into the couch on either side of his thighs. Ted kept his hands hovering at first, hesitant, waiting for your permission. So you guided them to your hips, settling them there, grounding him in this moment.
Neither of you broke eye contact.
“You’re even prettier up close,” he breathed, eyes fixed on yours like he was looking at something he hadn’t let himself want in a long time.
Then your lips found his.
The kiss was urgent. Starved. Like two people chasing salvation in each other’s mouths. A collision of loneliness and heat.
His hands slid beneath your blouse, fingers trembling slightly as his thumbs grazed the bare skin of your waist. The touch was tender, but desperate like he was afraid you'd vanish if he didn’t feel you properly, if he didn’t hold on.
Soon, he lifted you into his arms, the couch forgotten entirely as he held you tightly against him, lips still locked with yours — hungry, insistent, guiding you both through the quiet corridors of his home like he was following instinct alone.
In the soft hush of his bedroom, he kicked the door just barely ajar and laid you down on his perfectly made bed. For a fleeting second, you took in your surroundings — simple decor, western accents, and subtle touches of warmth that revealed more than he ever could in words.
He hovered over you, his breath warm against your neck as he found the fevered beat of your pulse and pressed his lips there, tender.
“Tell me,” he murmured, a request.
“Keep going,” you breathed, giving him permission with just those two words.
And he did.
There was no hesitation. His body molded to yours like it had been waiting — aching, for this moment. His thoughts tangled between disbelief and desire. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself be soft with someone. Or the last time someone as striking as you had found their way into his bed.
He pulled back just enough to shrug off his blazer, tossing it carelessly aside. Then came the bolo tie, slipped loose from the collar of his shirt with practiced ease. He returned to you almost instantly, his hands greedy now as they pushed your blouse up, fumbling slightly at the buttons until the lace of your bra came into view — white and delicate, the faint contrast of your areolas just barely visible at the edges.
A low, guttural sound left him — raw, unfiltered. It wasn't lust. It was awe.
His thumb traced along your exposed skin, pushing the padding of your bra aside to fully uncover your breast. But instead of diving in, he paused.
You watched him, the moment suspended between you both. His eyes lingered on you like he was seeing something sacred. Something he'd convinced himself he'd never deserve again.
His lips parted, trembling slightly like he was whispering something just for himself.
“Ted?” you said softly, trying to pull him back from whatever thought had taken him so far away.
His gaze snapped up, locking with yours. A slow smile spread across his face, and then he lowered his forehead to yours, breathing you in.
“I want to do…” he paused, a shiver in his tone, “...completely and utterly obscene things to you.”
His confession cut through the air like heat lightning. It was dirty, yes — but not careless. It was filled with longing, with desperation, with an ache.
Your breath caught.
Goosebumps chased across your skin like a ripple of electricity, and suddenly you were trembling not from fear, but from the magnitude of being wanted that deeply.
“Please.”
The word fell from your lips like a whispered prayer and it was all he needed.
Your clothes were gone in moments, stripped with aching urgency, leaving your bare body exposed to the heat of his rough, capable hands. He touched you everywhere he could — grazing, gripping, palming every inch of you, his touch alternating between reverence and hunger. His fingers mapped the curve of your hips, the softness of your thighs, the dip of your waist as if trying to make up for some kind of lost time.
Soft, breathy sounds escaped you, tiny cries that built in intensity as he revealed more of himself. His body wasn’t sculpted — he was average, but grounding. A comforting fullness to his stomach, real and warm, with a dark patch of hair just above his hardened cock. A trail of it meandered up toward his navel like a quiet invitation.
Ted paused, his chest rising and falling with restraint, his eyes clouded with lust as he looked down at you.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he murmured, almost bashful, “but I think I need to get a condom… from my son’s room.”
You blinked, then burst out laughing — genuine, unexpected. It made him snort, and with a chuckle, he buried his face between your breasts, letting the sound of your joy vibrate against your skin. “This is either going to be the most humiliating thing or the most materializing thing from tonight, because if I go in there and he has none, that means my son is having unprotected sex and I need to have a serious talk with him… thus leading to the conversation of how his Dad needed to borrow one.” He mumbled into your sweet skin. The tension between you broke, replaced by something looser, more intimate. The heat lingered, but now it was threaded with laughter.
You watched him pull back, his expression sheepish, as pressed his palms together in a mock-apology before slipping out of the room.
Propped up on your elbows, you took in the space around you — his bedroom, warm and masculine. Earthy tones, aged furniture, and just enough detail to say this is who I am. Simple. Quiet. Lived-in.
He didn’t keep you waiting long.
When he returned, the condom wrapper was already torn, dangling between his lips as he moved quickly toward you with a familiar spark in his eyes.
“Thank God I raised him right,” he mumbled through the foil, grinning as you laughed again.
He hovered over you, the tension mounting once more. With practiced ease, he stroked himself a few times, and your gaze followed the movement — mesmerized by the sight of his flushed, uncut cock, a bead of precum glistening at the tip like a drop of anticipation.
Ted let out a low moan as he rolled the condom down over his length, careful and slow. Once it was snug, he looked down at you, drinking in every detail — your tousled hair, parted lips, the look of need in your eyes.
“Can I try something?” he asked, voice barely a whisper, tremulous with need and hopefulness.
You bit your bottom lip and nodded, breath shaky. "Yes."
That single word — soft but certain — was all the permission he needed.
With a quiet groan, he shifted onto the bed and reached for you, his large hands wrapping around your arms. Gently, he tugged you down with him until he was lying flat on his back, guiding you to straddle him — not facing him, but in reverse.
“Get on top of me… backwards, baby. Backwards.”
Your brows moved in confusion, but you obeyed, shimmying your hips as you turned around. His hands were already on you, guiding you down until your back rested against his chest. You stared up at the ceiling, heart pounding, unsure of what he had in mind — until his arms slid beneath your knees.
With a sudden, skilled motion, he curled you backward, pulling your legs up and over, folding you into a full nelson.
“Ted!” you gasped, your voice part shock, part thrill. Your body arched unnaturally, your thighs parted and lifted high, your feet pointed up.
“Shh… trust me,” he whispered beside your ear, his breath warm as he blew a few strands of your hair out of his face.
He held you there, perfectly positioned — your head cradled in the flat of his palms, your legs stretched wide and drawn back. You felt the strength in his hold, the intensity in his breath, the sheer intimacy of being so utterly exposed and claimed.
All you could do was breathe and watch — while his thick cock aligned with your aching, wet pussy.
“It’s gonna feel… f-fuck, it’s gonna feel so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice trembling with anticipation. “Just trust me.”
Then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he angled his hips upward — his tip parting you, gliding in with a precision that made your body jolt.
You jolted as he entered you fully, but Ted didn’t let you go. He kept you bent, folded tight in his hold, completely at his mercy.
A deep groan spilled from his lips as his head pressed back into the pillow. He angled his hips again, digging his heels into the mattress, and drove himself to the hilt.
“God… tight — shit, you’re so tight,” he whimpered, his voice low and ragged with awe.
The praise burned through you like wildfire. You flushed, warmth rising to your cheeks, and moaned long and deep — your voice trembling with the sudden, overwhelming fullness. It had been so long since someone had filled you like this.
The bed started to creak beneath you both, the headboard tapping rhythmically against the wall. Ted held your body locked in place, his arms strong around your bent frame, while his hips moved with force and purpose, thrusting up into you again and again.
You sobbed out soft cries, your voice catching as pleasure built and your limbs trembled. Every thrust made your body jolt, and in this position, you couldn’t look away — you were forced to watch as his thick cock disappeared inside you over and over again, stretching you, owning you.
He groaned louder now, the sound guttural, primal. The veins in his neck pulsed as sweat gathered along his temple. His hips slammed upward with growing urgency, the force of each thrust making your ass ripple against him.
You gasped, struggling to speak, your voice trembling with pleasure. “W-What is this… this position — I’ve never…”
Your eyes threatened to roll back as he drove deeper still, his cock reaching spots that made your toes curl. Each push felt impossibly deeper than the last, your back beginning to ache from the tension but your body helplessly clinging to the pleasure.
Ted didn’t stop. He fucked you with reverence and ruin in equal measure, like he was trying to imprint himself into your memory forever.
One of his arms slid out from beneath your knee, letting your leg fall open at an angle. He snaked the same hand down your stomach, pressing it flat against your belly before it dipped lower, finding your clit with practiced precision.
You cried out, “Ted!” — your voice strained, overwhelmed. Every nerve in your body sparked alive, already overstimulated, but that was exactly what he wanted.
His hips kept a brutal, unwavering rhythm as his fingers began to work tight circles over your sensitive nub. The contrast between his thick thrusts and the focused, maddening pressure on your clit made you shake.
“C’mon,” he groaned, his voice cracking with need. “Need to feel you squeeze around me… please, baby.”
The plea in his tone bordered on desperation, but it still carried a raw authority. “Come for me,” he begged, breathless. “Please. Right now.”
You whimpered, trying not to throw your head back for fear of colliding with his — but it was impossible to stay still. The sensations clawed at your insides, made you writhe and squirm against him. Your toes curled so tight they cramped, and your hips bucked against the hold of his arm.
“I’m gonna… I’m gonna —” you stammered, the words tumbling out between hitched gasps, each syllable broken by his thrusts and the relentless roll of his fingers against you.
And then it hit. Your orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave, blinding and hot and earth-shaking. Your body locked tight, your breath caught in your throat, and your walls clenched down hard around him.
But Ted didn’t stop.
Even as you cried out and trembled through it, he kept moving — kept fucking you through your release like he wanted to feel every ripple of it echo inside you. His pace unrelenting, your pleasure stretched until it bordered on unbearable, and still he held you in place, moaning into your skin like he never wanted the moment to end.
With a swift, fluid motion, he rolled you onto your stomach, easing you down into the mattress. Your cheek pressed into the sheets, warm and damp from your breath, as his rhythm never faltered. Now behind you, he hovered — his body blanketing yours with heat. His thrusts came fast, rough, the slap of skin echoing off the walls like a steady drumbeat.
His hands gripped your ass, fingers sinking into the flesh as if trying to anchor himself to the moment. “F-fuck... I — oh god, I’m gonna…” he choked out, his voice a tangled mess of restraint and the raw need of release.
Sweat dripped from the ends of his curls, falling onto your spine in slow, burning trails, each drop branding you with the intensity of his need.
You gasped, eyes fluttering shut as you felt him drive deeper. So deep it felt like he was reaching places untouched, the pressure blooming in your belly. Your body, pinned beneath his, could do nothing but take it — accept every desperate, final thrust as he chased his release.
And then, with one hard thrust — then another, shorter, tighter… he let go. His body shuddered violently as he emptied into the condom, filling it to the brim. His moan was guttural, trembling with the weight of everything he’d held back until now.
A shared cry tore from your lips, the air between you charged with heat and breath and something near feral. He slumped forward, collapsing against your back with a soft, breathless grunt, his heart hammering into your ribs like a second heartbeat.
For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the soft rhythm of quickened breaths, the occasional awkward giggle, and gentle kisses pressed to your back. The atmosphere pulsed with something tender, almost shy, as Ted finally pulled away.
He stood, his movements a little unsteady, knees trembling slightly from exertion. Carefully, he removed the condom, holding it gingerly as he shuffled toward the bathroom. You heard the quiet sound of the trash can lid, the flush of water running. When he returned, he carried a warm, damp cloth and wore a boyish smile — loose curls clinging to his flushed forehead, eyes soft with something close to adoration.
“You okay?” he asked gently, his voice a low murmur as he began to clean you. The cloth was warm and soothing as he ran it along your back, across your ass, and between your legs with slow, deliberate care.
You turned your head slightly, cheek still pressed to the sheets, and gave him a small nod. Your expression was hazy with equal parts exhaustion and a deep, humming satisfaction. “More than okay,” you whispered, a soft hum escaping as he wiped away every trace of discomfort, his touch lingering in places that made you shiver.
That made him beam. Not just smile — beam. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever had the pleasure of tending to.
“Will you stay the night?” he asked, gently setting the cloth aside. “Or should I call you a cab?”
You glanced toward the digital clock on the nightstand. It read nearly midnight. Technically, you had work in the morning, but the idea of leaving — stepping out of this moment, hadn’t even crossed your mind until now.
“And if I stay?” you asked, eyes flicking back to meet his.
That same warm smile stretched across his face, unshaken.
“Then if you do stay… we can shower. I can make you the best damn late-night bologna sandwich you’ve ever had. And…” he turned toward his dresser, pulling out a large t-shirt, holding it up with a flourish, “...you can tell me if you’re a New Mexico United fan.”
He waggled the oversized t-shirt in your direction, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled from your throat. A grin tugged at your lips as you nodded, heart fluttering. There was something disarmingly tender about the idea of wearing his shirt to bed — like being claimed not by possession, but by comfort. By trust. By something unspoken but deeply felt.
“Then I’ll stay,” you said, voice quiet but sure.
His features softened instantly, the playful grin melting into something gentler — slight relief. He clutched the shirt loosely in his hands as he returned to the bed, sitting beside you with a slight sigh, as if the weight between you was finally settling into place. Something had shifted. Something real. Maybe this was what you both had unknowingly been reaching for all along.
“We could also start with just… conversation,” he murmured, voice low, a touch of vulnerability threading through it.
You swallowed, the moment delicate and full.
“Yeah,” you whispered, nodding slowly. “Let’s start there.”
------ Ugh thank you so much for reading! I can't wait to start on the other chapter already. This idea came to me randomly and I am so excited to share it with you all. Tagging requested: @iamasaddie @pokayyto @perotovar @cassiuspascal @berryispunk @chasingthepoguelife @madpanda75 @lady-artemis27 @elvenhymntoelbereth @shivispunk @cosmickid-inmotion @beezusvreeland @eviispunk @glitterspark @crumbs-from-the-algonquin @decadent-hag1 @worhols @picketniffler @la-vie-est-une-fleur29