content: ted garcia x afb/f! reader / unprotected sex (p in v) / non-consensual undertones / power dynamic / mention of anal / established relationship / degradation and humiliation / dirty talk / MDNI (+18)
summary: you're sick of fighting with ted, so you try to fuck with him and wear something that'll make his head messy and his cock hard. 💋
wc: 1.4k
notes: this is from an ask i received from the lovely @mustachepascal, requesting that i write a fic for this tweet. don't forget to let it run wild over on pp twitter ya'll. thanks to my bb @sad-bitch-disorder for always being my go-to beta reader. it feels soooo fucking good writing ted again. enjoy x
Ted slumps into his recliner, exhaustion etching across his face. He’s sick of the endless battles. Every night, you two clash, the air between you both, thick with resentment. He imagined that once Eric left for college, you’d rediscover each other, maybe reignite the passion that you both spoke about so fondly. Instead, the distance grows, emptiness taking root.
He lets out a dramatic sigh, broadcasting his frustration as your footsteps thunder upstairs. Tonight’s spat erupted over garlic bread — burnt beyond redemption, his fault, naturally. But his mind is preoccupied, tangled in the demands of his campaign, barely registering the over-toasted slices. The weight of it all presses him deeper into the chair.
You, too, are teetering at the edges, unable to bear the constant friction. Sprawled across the bed, you stare up at the ceiling, the same song and dance every night now. Downstairs, the television roars to life, Ted’s infuriating tactic to burrow under your skin. The news blares at full volume, each word a deliberate jab, a challenge to your patience.
You roll your eyes, pressing a pillow over your face to muffle the noise, but his persistence tonight is relentless. Your frustration grows, and you hurl the pillow across the room, letting out a groan loud enough to pierce the den below. When the television’s volume spikes even higher, you bolt upright, fury propelling you toward the door. You’re ready to slam it shut, to seal yourself off from him — but no. Not tonight. You refuse to let him win this round.
Ted notices the absence of your retaliation, the silence unusual. He’s grown accustomed to your fiery comebacks, not this eerie quiet. He finally decides to dial down the television, sitting there a moment, waiting for your stomping to return. Before he can call out, you appear, descending the stairs in the sheer babydoll lingerie he gifted you for your birthday. The sight steals his breath almost instantly. You glide past, the delicate fabric clinging to your curves, your bare skin teasingly visible underneath, the fabric barely covering the underside of your ass cheeks.
“What are you doing?” he growls, brows knitting together, his grip tightening on the remote. “Why are you wearing that?” His voice climbs, laced with tension.
You ignore him, sauntering into the kitchen, your movements deliberately provocative. You rummage through the cabinets, searching for a snack… or nothing at all. The act is really just secondary to your true intent, which is to make him ache, to torture him.
“Just looking…” you mumble, your tone coy.
“Liar,” he snaps, striding from the living room to the kitchen in a heartbeat. His eyes don’t leave you, like a predator stalking its prey. His knuckles blanch as he grips the counter. “Why are you wearing that?”
You turn to face him, a slow grin curling on your lips. The sheer fabric reveals the hardened peaks of your nipples, your body a tantalizing photograph of curves and shadows. “To fuck with you,” you say, your voice sharp with aggravation.
Ted steps closer, towering over you, his gaze locked on the way the lingerie molds to every dip and curve of your beautiful body. His eyes linger on your nipples, his desire for you now almost palpable.
“Is that so?” His response is low and rough as his thumb grazes one of your hardened peaks.
“It’s working…” he confesses, his breath warm against your skin as he dips in closer.
A soft sound escapes your lips, evidence that he’s making a mess of you between your thighs. But you steel yourself, keeping your back straight, refusing to let him see how his touch fucks with you.
Just when you think you have it under control, his massive hands grab your breasts, squeezing them, pushing them together so he fans his hot breath through the fabric. “You wanted to fuck with me, yeah? Win our little argument?” he teases, kissing down your breasts, pulling a nipple between his lips as he sucks on it through the fabric.
“How about I just fuck you…” he mumbles, a promise as he sinks his teeth into your skin, a teasing nip that sends shivers racing down your spine. He pulls back, eyes much darker with hunger and spins you around, pressing you forward until your hips meet the edge of the kitchen counter, your heart pounding with anticipation of what's to come next.
“I’ve been wondering when you were gonna wear this,” he groans, while his hands undo the drawstrings of his sweats. “Strutting around, teasing me, getting me so damn hard I can’t think straight — ready to fuck you senseless in it.” His sweatpants hit the floor with a soft thud, then his briefs follow. “Why do we even fight, baby? Why don’t we just… lose ourselves in this… fuck our problems away…?”
His hand slips beneath the delicate hem of your babydoll lingerie, fingers seeking your eager cunt between your thighs. He plunges two fingers into you, mapping the walls of your slick warmth. Each slow, deliberate pump draws a gasp from your lips and his satisfied hum vibrates through you. He pulls his fingers free, licking them clean with a wicked gleam in his eye, before aligning his cock at your entrance.
“Don’t hold back, baby. Scream for me.”
With those words, he thrusts deep, shoving his cock deep in one fluid motion. The shared moan that erupts is electric, a current that binds you together in the bubbling ecstasy. Ted’s hips move with relentless precision, rocking into you as he grips your waist for leverage, anchoring you to him. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through you, your body trying to match his rhythm.
Your eyes flutter, threatening to roll back as he drives into you harder, each stroke a testament to his need and… love, for you. The moans you release — sharp, desperate, echoing with every plunge into your wet mess of a pussy — are raw and unfiltered. You just wanted to provoke him, to stoke his anger with your teasing, but those plans dissolved quickly. You knew it would end this way, that the petty arguments over dishes would be forgotten, replaced by Ted’s fiery love-making.
His hand slides up to encircle your throat, firm but careful, pulling your head back just enough for his lips to graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear. His cock glides in and out with devastating accuracy, his balls slapping against your ass, the rhythmic sound of skin on skin filling the open kitchen. The air feels alive, you feel like you’re on cloud nine.
“Did you really think you… fuck— could wear this and not drive me crazy?” he growls, his voice a mix of frustration and lust, each word punctuated by a hard thrust. “That I wouldn’t take you like this, right here, right now? Goddamn, you drive me wild, you crazy fucking woman. I should fuck you in the ass just for attempting to tease me...” His filthy words cut through you, making you crave him more, making your pussy even wetter.
Ted tugs your head back further, his fingers tightening around your throat, feeling the pulse of your carotid throbbing beneath your straining neck. His gaze is wild, loving the way your heartbeat betrays your obvious surrender.
“I’m gonna cum all over your pretty little outfit, baby,” he hisses, a final wicked punishment for your attempt to win the argument with your teasing lingerie. Backfired, leaving you a trembling, aching mess, and your pussy thoroughly fucked.
With a low groan, Ted pulls out of your drenched cunt, his hand stroking himself swiftly. His grip on your neck remains firm, tilting your head back even further as he lets out a loud moan, his cum spilling hot and messy across your babydoll lingerie, staining the delicate fabric.
“B-But, I wanna cum too…” you whimper, your voice a desperate plea. But your words are ignored as Ted gazes down at you, his half-lidded eyes glinting with a mix of triumph and adoration. He leans in, pressing a teasing kiss to the tip of your nose, enjoying how miserable you look.
“Oh, you wanna cum, huh?” he laughs, his breath hot against your lips, while he wallows in mock pity. “Sorry, baby girl, you lost this round.” You nod, frantic, your body aching for his cock, his fingers — anything. But he denies you, cleaning the tip of his cock along the hem of your sheer lingerie, smearing the fabric with the last of his release.
“Now be a good girl and change out of this,” he says, commanding, “so Daddy can fuck you right.”
Thank you so much for taking time to read. Likes and comments are appreciated as always but reblogging is the best way to support my work as well as fellow creators.
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
Pairing: Mayor Ted Garcia x Female Reader
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Summary: Mayor Ted Garcia asks you to join him on the ferris wheel.
Warnings: smut, public-ish fingering, secret relationship, boss/worker dynamics, ted's kinda skeezy but also sweet, state fair vibes, bolo tie
Words: 3,300
A/N: No spoilers! I haven’t even seen Eddington. 💞
Masterlist
Your hometown isn’t what you’d call the best town, but it’s a good town. Friendly-for-the-most-part people, a vibrant culture, a storied history, and enough quirks to keep things interesting enough. Sure, there’s poverty, crime, and nothing to do at night. But it’s your town and you love it.
In fact, you love it so much, you’re willing to get your hands dirty for it. Literally dirty. Like, right now, as you stand at the edge of the recreational lake by the reservoir, wearing rubber boots and gloves, holding a trash bag.
“I promise to clean up our waterways,” Ted Garcia says, smiling his perfect politician smile at the camera. “I remember when I was a kid, and this lake was pristine. With some hard work and care, we can make it that way again.”
He gives a thumbs up to the camera before he bends down and picks up a flattened milk carton you had laid there just a few minutes ago.
“Annnd cut!” the director calls.
Ted’s smile instantly disappears, he holds the milk carton, pinching it with two fingers before he deposits it in the trash bag you’re holding.
“Eugh, sanitizer?” he asks, holding his hand out. You quickly tie up the bag filled with only one milk carton, reach into your messenger bag, going directly to the pocket that holds Ted’s sanitizer, breath mints, and Tide Stick, and pull out the bottle, squirting two drops on each hand.
“Thanks, babe,” he says low enough for only you to hear as the commercial crew begins disassembling the set.
He can’t help himself. He never can. What Ted Garcia wants, he gets. And usually what he wants is you, the young political phenom who's been his chief of staff for the past two years. You do it all… social media, event planning, speech writing, and apparently, planting trash.
“You have your appearance at the state fair at 6. Just enough time to head to the office and acquaint you with more talking points,” you say, looking down at your phone and punching in the directions to Garcia HQ.
—-
The headquarters always feels so different when it's just the two of you, as if the walls know it’s your secret place to meet, that the couch in his office isn’t just for him to catch a quick nap between events. Fluorescent lights buzz from the drop panel ceiling, framed campaign posters from previous years, and strategy boards hang all over the bright yellow walls you’ve been begging to repaint. Ted’s small office is to the side, hidden behind a glass panel door that he decided to install a curtain on the first day you started.
You’re straightening a stack of flyers when you hear Ted mutter “Damn it” from the other side of the room. He grabs the handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes at the coffee stain on his white shirt.
“Dab it softly,” you say, hurrying over and taking the handkerchief from his hand. “Don’t wipe, it moves the stain.”
You dab at the now larger coffee spot gently, feeling Ted’s eyes on you.
It’s hopeless.
“This isn’t going to do it,” you say, beginning to mindlessly unbutton his shirt. “I keep telling you to be careful when you wear white.”
He doesn’t respond, nor does he help you take his shirt off. He just stands there, a confident smile on his face, knowing he got exactly what he wanted… your hands on his body.
You take the shirt off his broad shoulders, working it down his strong arms before you remove it, revealing his worn, almost threadbare white undershirt that stretches thin across his chest and belly. You swallow at the sight of him, his deep brown eyes staring at you, the cocky look on his face replaced with a look of something sweeter. His hands plant on your hips, you flutter your eyes close and step forward–until you glance behind him at the bright red digits of the digital clock and silently curse at the time.
“Drew needs you there in thirty,” you say, pulling away, “and you haven’t even gone over the new info we compiled for you.”
He grumbles an annoyed sound, picking up the note cards your assistant wrote out this afternoon. "Got anything in the closet for me?"
"I think so." You move toward the small storage closet where you keep extra clothes for emergencies, just like this. Politics 101—the politician always has to look good and polished. No stains, no wrinkles, no blemishes.
Ted's spare shirts hang neatly in the closet: a formal white button-up, a light blue, more casual printed one, and a plaid short-sleeved button-up. You think of the fair and what type of constituents will be there tonight for the demolition derby being held in the rodeo stands.
You choose the casual shirt.
"This should work," you say. "Blue always photographs well on you."
"That's why I keep you around," he says with a wink. "You know what looks good on me."
He takes the shirt from you, buttoning and righting the collar.
He looks good, presentable even, but not hometown enough. You go back to the closet and grab a box from the upper shelf full of various flag lapel pins, backup watches, and bolo ties.
You grab a silver bolo tie accented with a turquoise bighorn sheep, one of your favorites of his.
“You need this,” you say, walking over to Ted, the bolo tie dangling from your hand.
"The tie,” he nods.
He bows his head down, allowing you to slip it on. You lean in as you tighten the silver clasp, adjusting it at his throat.
"Perfect," you whisper. Your hands remain on his collar long after you’ve adjusted it.
You’re so close now, you can smell the scent of his cologne: wood, leather, and a slight hint of smoke. You know the smell well, it’s on your skin after sneaking out of his house in the middle of the night through the back door, and you’ve watched him spray the bottle of it you hold in your messenger bag to hide the smell of your perfume.
Your eyes stare into his, dark and commanding, seeing through every single professional wall you’re constantly trying to keep up.
“Now,” he says, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “The talking points.”
You nod, shifting back to business, and retrieve your tablet from the desk. Ted picks up the cards, flipping through each one as you begin.
"The fair's attendance is up twenty percent from last year. You'll want to highlight the local business participation, especially the vendors in the market area."
Ted nods. “Twenty percent. Got it.”
"Hotels are booked, restaurants are packed, tourism is booming thanks to the fair. Adding the second week has been great for the city."
Ted mentally files away every statistic you give him, nodding his head as he listens to you and studies his cards. He repeats key phrases back to you, in the confident cadence he’s so well now for.
"You sound good," you tell him. "Really good."
There's so much potential in him, so much ambition beneath that charming exterior. Mayor is just the beginning. You see state office in his future, maybe even national. Sometimes you wonder if your attraction to him is tangled up in that potential—if you're drawn to his power as much as to his handsome face.
You glance down at your trusty gold, Swarovski watch, a gift from Ted last month, for in his words, “just because.”
“We should head out now.”
“Lead the way,” he says, placing a hand on your ass and squeezing it.
—-
Today is sweltering. It’s one of those late August days that you swear you’re going to melt away as soon as you walk outside. You don’t know how Ted can stand wearing a heavy, beige jacket over his shirt, but here he is, looking perfectly polished under the late afternoon sun. He’s smiling his usual campaign smile, nodding and waving as you weave your way through the crowd. This is his element—the annual showcase of the town he leads.
Ted walks the fair, stopping and shaking hands, laughing at jokes, high-fiving kids, and posing for the numerous photo-ops you want. Holding a baby goat? Done with a smile, even when the goat bleats so loud it scares him. Posing with the winner of the demolition derby? Ted makes sure to mention how good it is “to see Trophy City getting more business” when he helps hold up the trophy. Trying a bowl of award-winning chili from the competition? Ted keeps his cool, even when he has to clear his throat a few times, shocked at the heat of Yucca Blossom’s chili.
Ted’s the star. You watch him shine, as you utilize the small battery-powered fan from your trusty messenger bag, happy that you chose to wear a sensible, light skirt and silk blouse as the middle of the afternoon’s sun beats down on the concrete mercilessly.
Drew, Ted’s campaign manager, greets you when you finally make it to the midway as the sun begins setting. There’s a cacophony of noises and American pride that greet you, the creaks and groans of the brightly lit carnival rides mingling with their riders' screams of glee and terror. Tents full of rigged games line the middle, tricking kids into thinking they’re going to win the giant teddy bear or Minion. While food trucks dot the area, frying candy bars, corn dogs, and various cuts of potatoes.
Ted stops at the lemonade stand, talking with the owners, asking them how business is, smiling widely when they answer it’s booming. You record the interaction on your phone with one hand, while reaching into your pocket to hand him the American Express card for him to buy everyone around him “a round.”
“So, I have an idea…” Drew says, pointing to the tall ferris wheel, the centerpiece of the midway, and the state fair as a whole. “How about a photo op?” He points to the top of the ride, “We’ll get you at the peak, waving down at the crowd.”
Ted nods, his eyes staying on the ride, a look only you can recognize crosses his face—he has an idea.
"I'll do it, but I'm not getting on that thing alone." He turns to you. "You'll have to come with me. I'm… a little afraid of heights."
You know Ted, he’s not afraid of anything, certainly not heights.
“We can do that,” Drew says. “You can sit across from him, balance the cart."
"No," Ted says, too quickly. "Side by side is better. Nobody wants to see the back of a head in a campaign photo.”
Drew frowns, thinking. "But the shot—"
"Will be perfect," Ted interrupts. "Trust me on this one.”
The campaign manager sighs but acquiesces, making a note in his phone. "I'll have the photographer positioned to catch you both from below, then. We want to highlight your approachability, not the back of anyone's head."
Drew looks down at his phone, too busy texting the photographer to see Ted wink quickly towards you.
This is the Ted you know. Arrogant and playing games he knows he can win.
“The photographer’s almost here,” Drew says, directing you both towards the entrance.
"Remember, big smiles at the top," Drew instructs, checking his watch. “Wave to the crowd. When the wheel stops, that’s when we’ll get the pics.”
“Got it,” Ted responds.
He poses for a few photos at the entrance of the ferris wheel, making sure to recite the headline quote you just wrote this morning, "The state fair represents the best of our community, hardworking families coming together to celebrate our shared heritage and build toward our collective future."
When the ride operator leads you to your cart awaiting to take you up, Ted places his hand at the small of your back, guiding you forward, a proprietary and professional touch to anyone watching. To everyone else, it looks like a politician being courteous to his staff, but for you, you can feel the sear of his touch.
As you settle into the cart, you can feel the way the fabric of your skirt rides up, feeling the warm sun-baked plastic of the seat. Ted sits beside you, so close that your thighs touch. He smiles and waves at the small crowd outside as you keep your most polite and neutral face.
Ted lowers the lap bar and nods at the ride attendant. The ferris wheel begins to move, and your cart sways back and forth gently as it takes off.
Ted’s fingers brush against the exposed skin of your thigh during the first pause in rotation. A quick touch that makes heat spread through your body before the cart continues its path skywards.
With each stop, Ted’s hand brushes higher, closer and closer to where you’re already aching for him.
He waits until you're halfway up to finally keep his hand against you, gripping your upper thigh. You jump at the firm contact. "Ted!" you warn quietly, even though nobody else can hear you.
He chuckles. "Calm yourself now, just us in here right now. Nobody has to know." His hand slips underneath your skirt, making you lose your breath.
"Someone could see."
"See what?" Ted asks innocently. "From down there, we're just two people ridin’ a ferris wheel. It’s just the perfect photo op."
His finger begins to trace along the seam of your underwear. "Besides, I'm just a nervous mayor being comforted by his dedicated chief of staff."
You try to protest, but you lose yourself when his fingers slip under your underwear, a low groan leaving between his lips when he finds you already wet for him.
“So glad you wore a skirt today,” he growls with a cocky smile.
He slowly dips a thick finger into your entrance, but he doesn’t move it, instead, he lets the ferris wheel rocking in the breeze guide his soft rhythm. The metal cart tilts back and forth, the town you love shrinking down to look almost like a toy. Ted sits next to you, hand under your skirt, the other hand resting innocently on the bar.
The cart continues to rise, taking you higher as Ted's fingers move deeper. The contradiction is dizzying—his public persona intact from the waist up, waving occasionally to the people below, while beneath the safety bar, beneath your skirt, his fingers are claiming you.
He curves his finger inside you, pressing against your walls, making your vision blur as his thumb presses harder against your clit, circling insistently.
"Mr. Garcia," you breathe through a moan, stuck between chasing your pleasure and propriety. The wheel begins to slow as it approaches the summit of its journey.
"Look at them all down there," he says conversationally, as if his fingers aren't buried inside you, as if he isn't feeling the clench of your cunt around him. "Not a clue what their mayor is really doing up here."
There’s a gentle jerk when the wheel stops, and your cart hangs at the highest point. It’s golden up here, the sunset painting the sky the perfect color for the campaign photo that will likely end up in next year's reelection materials.
Ted's fingers pause inside you, but his thumb continues rubbing against your clit. "Go ahead, baby," he says through his perfect politician smile, "wave at them."
His thumb presses harder, swirling faster, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning. You reach up to wave, smiling as well as you can, as the mayor’s fingers are still buried inside you.
"That's it," he whispers, still smiling for the camera below. "Show them what a devoted staff member you are. Cum for me," he commands through his unwavering smile, flicking his thumb sharply against your clit.
Your orgasm consumes you, your cunt tightening around his fingers as your body tries to hide the pleasure radiating out of you. You lean back, letting Ted take the center stage, as he waves and smiles, his fingers deep inside you, working you through your orgasm.
You’re trying to keep your eyes open, trying not to moan loudly as the aftershocks of your orgasm make you feel like you’re on top of the world.
When the ferris wheel lurches back into motion, beginning your trip back to the ground, Ted pulls his fingers out, righting your underwear and skirt with a wink.
“You always did have a knack for political timing," he says. "Our little secret."
He brings his soaked fingers to his lips when he's certain no one can see, tasting you briefly before wiping them on the handkerchief he pulls from his jacket pocket. "Just between the mayor and his most trusted advisor."
As the cart approaches the bottom platform, Ted reaches over to grab your hand and squeezes it quickly before releasing it to wave at the waiting crowd.
The wheel stops at the platform, Ted adjusts his bolo tie, and plasters a look of mayoral dignity across his face. You envy his composure, as your thighs are still trembling, soaked from your orgasm that the mayor just gave you.
"Ready?" he asks, his public voice returned, though there's a knowing glint in his dark eyes.
You nod, he lifts the safety bar and rises smoothly, reaching his hand to help you up.
The cart rocks when you stand, and your knees, weak from your orgasm, buckle immediately. Gravity and Ted’s fingers have taken away your sense of balance. Ted grips your hand tighter, but it's not enough to stabilize you fully, and when you step out of the cart onto the metal platform, your ankle turns.
A gasp escapes your lips when you begin to fall. For a split, terrible moment, you see your definition of hell—sprawled on the platform in front of constituents and campaign staff, your professional dignity shattered as your hometown gets a look at your soaked panties. Ted’s arms save you, though, catching you against his chest in one smooth motion. His warm and solid body that smells of his cologne and a light scent of sweat, saves you.
"I've got you," he says.
It’s so intimate. It’s so romantic. It’s so… public.
But to anyone else watching, it reads as nothing more than a gallant politician saving a plain, ol’ boring staffer from embarrassment. To the onlookers and the photographer whose camera is now rapidly snapping shot after shot, Ted Garcia is the hero.
Only you know that he's the reason you fell in the first place.
The crowd gathered around breaks into applause. Ted, the always politician, offers them a smile and a small wave while his arm is still around you.
"You alright?" he asks, loud enough for those nearby to hear his concern.
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Garcia," you respond, equally as loud.
He releases you, making sure you have balance before stepping back.
Drew appears at Ted's side, practically vibrating with excitement. "That was perfect," he says, glancing at the photographer, who gives a thumbs up. "Couldn't have planned it better myself. The caring mayor, the damsel in mild distress—it's gold."
"Let's not overplay it," Ted modestly says, though you catch the satisfied glint in his eyes. "Just lending a hand to a valued staff member."
When Drew moves to look through the photographer’s camera, already assessing each shot, Ted leans close to you. "Might want to fix your lipstick. You bit it clean off up there."
"Thank you.”
“Just looking out for my most valuable asset."
Yes, your hometown is lucky to have Mayor Garcia, but you’re even luckier to have Ted.
i'm sorry this is so incredibly unspecific but asheufjekska i'd go feral for anything u write for ted garcia...... i'm so feral over him i bet he'd be chefs kiss in ur writing too.... i need gross nasty stuff with him
all quiet on the western front ~ t.g
tags: 18+ content, minors dni, old man fuckin, unspecified age gap, fingering (f receiving), orgasm (f receiving) and cum eating.
summary: ted plays with your pussy in his rocking chair while reading his book :(
masterlist
the creaking of the old rocking chair and buzzing of the cicadas pulled you into a sleepy haze, ted’s solid thighs beneath your butt as he rocked you both. you clung to his forearm, sat on him sideways comfortably as he read his newest investment, all quiet on the western front by erich maria remarque.
but of course, your body had to ruin the peacefulness of it all.
it started with a dull throbbing in your clit but progressed to barely being able to shift on ted’s lap without another drip of arousal leaving your weeping hole.
but he noticed, of course he did.
so now, with your back flush with ted’s chest and your feet atop of his thighs, you sat on top of him while he lazily curled and uncurled his fingers inside your cunt, his voice rumbling in your ear while he fucking read to you.
“we have dropped in for a good job. eight of us have to guard a village that as been abandoned because it is being shelled too heavily.” he read, finger tips putting the most delicious pressure on your g-spot.
“y’know, it’s just so raw — the writing, i mean. written so realistically, especially how they describe—” ted continued to drone on about the book. you loved when he got nerdy about stuff, but right now, you’d rather not talk about the german army when he was milking your pussy so fucking good right now. you cling to his forearm, completely sagged in his arms as he worked you open.
“what do you think of it, baby?” he cooed, using his thumb to flick your overexcited bundle of nerves.
you hiccuped through a whimper, sniffling to try and regain your bearings. “i.. god — hungh..” you dug your nails into his arm, leaving the prettiest crescent moons into his skin that you’d kiss better later. “think it’s.. it’s — real interesting.. what you said about it being real raw the — oh, fuck baby —!”
“shh, sh, i know sweetheart, i know,” he comforted, slowing down his pressure on your g-spot so you didn’t make a mess too quickly — he always knew what his girl needed. “just concentrate on the book, baby. you’re okay.”
you sniffled. “how about i keep reading to you? would you like that?” he soothed, nibbling a little on your ear lobe. you groaned, too fucked out to answer, but of course, your pussy did the talking for you, clenching around ted’s fingers in response coaxing a raspy chuckle from him.
“think she wants it anyway.” you nodded your head, not even quite sure what you were agreeing to. you always got like this when ted treated your pussy. always so compliant and eager for whatever he’d give you. that was ted’s favourite part. he wasn’t getting any younger and, surprisingly, with his good looks and occupation, he didn’t have many romantic interactions, so, when a young, pretty thing like you came along, he just couldn’t help himself.
ted’s fingers started up again — stroking the most intimate parts of you, inside and out. “mmm..” you moaned, a dumb smile appearing on your face when he touched you just right — not too fast, just enough pressure on your g-spot and the perfect circling motion on you pretty, puffed up clit.
“god, ted,” you breathed out a giggle, head falling back into the crook of his neck. “feels so good.”
“yeah, i know..” he agreed, nuzzling the top of your hair and planting a soothing kiss there. “how about you try and cum for me while I keep reading to you, sweetheart?
you nodded, hand clutching his wrist as he started to quicken his movements once more, completely milking your cunt for all its worth. your pussy spasmed and fluttered around his digits, throat tearing out a yelp. but ted just shushed you, rubbing gentle circles into your clit to soothe some of the sensations. “in particular we have to watch the supply dump as that is not yet empty. we are supposed to provision ourselves from the same store. we are just..” ted’s voice drowned into nothingness as your gut tightened up, your belly tingling with your barely contained orgasm.
as much as you tried to concentrate on the book, your orgasm completely shut your brain off, and very quickly all you could do was babble nonsense about it being “right there,” and “just like that, fuck teddyy”. your legs trembled, toes digging into Ted’s thighs as you came apart on his lap — pussy gushing a pearly white liquid onto his fingers which soon dripped down his hand.
“oookay, okay honey. it’s alright, i’ve got you, just let it all out.” he comforted, finally, fucking finally, putting the book down. you trembled and sobbed in his arms, not even enough energy in your bones to be embarrassed about the amount of cum you were leaking. you’d never even known women could make a substance like that until ted came along. the sunset painted the sky in orange and red colours, almost as if someone had painted it especially for this moment.
you sagged against his chest — your own heaving for breath as your feet trembled on his thighs. ted acknowledged it and gently lifted you by the waist and turned you around in his lap to face him, gently removing his fingers from you. when you met his face, it was nothing but gentle.
he broke the silence first, voice almost sounding a little self conscious — like he wasn’t sure if you actually enjoyed it. ted — deep down — knew that you loved the way he made you feel, but yet he still found a way to let his insecurities creep in. “how are you feeling, sweetie? are you okay — was that okay?”
you finally caught your breath, looking at him with an obvious look in your eyes. you huffed out a tired breath, bringing your arms up to loop around his neck lazily. “baby, are you serious?” you asked with a giggle. ted chuckled, looking away as if he wasn’t convinced but your hand went to his jaw, cupping it gently. “ted,” you started sternly. “it was perfect. you — you are perfect.” and just like that, he leaned in, mouth capturing yours in a slow kiss.
what do we think what do we think?! i wasn’t meant to be writing on vacation but I hate my family and decided to ghost them while literally in their company and write this ted drabble for @corpseonvinyl so.. hope this is good !! eek it’s kinda rushed tho
summary: Ted is forced to dress up as Santa for charity and children. At the end of the night, you get a ride in his sleigh.
contents/warnings: Explicit (18+ MDNI!) - this is in fact pwp... again, swearing, mention of alcohol, dirty talk, terms of endearment, riding, santa roleplay (??), power switch, unprotected piv (don't do this irl), car sex, a few ass smacks, light choking, creampie (oops), no aftercare, no description of reader, no uses of y/n. Apologies if I missed anything.
wc: 1200+
a/n: idk either lmfao. but i started something with that clint fic... @rosharanfiction i blame you for creating a monster (joke) anyway, merry christmas ya filthy animals 🤍🎄(also did not proofread this... sue me. all mistakes are my own)
It’s crazy how you even ended up here. Riding your boss in the back of his truck after the annual Christmas fundraiser for the town. Ted was forced against his will to dress up as Santa Claus for the kids since he’s mayor. He hated every second of it.
-
“Do I have to wear this shit?” Ted groans as the Santa top is buttoned up.
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Mayor,” Jake says, his clipboard held across his chest as he watches Margie button up the Santa suit with nimble fingers.
Ted sighs, rubbing his forehead before he turns to look over at you. Margie follows his movements, earning a groan from him. “Why did I agree to this again?”
“You didn’t. It was assumed that you would do it since you’re the mayor,” you pause, trying not to laugh at him in the ridiculous suit. “It’s for charity and the kids.”
“I hate kids.”
“You have a kid,” you remind him with a furrow of your brows.
“Yeah, but Eric’s a teenager. He doesn’t count.”
Now you’re really confused, “Didn’t you-”
“Forget it,” he cuts you off, waving his hand. “How many people are even here?”
“The whole town,” you grimace.
Ted’s face drops, “The whole town?!”
It’s safe to say that you nearly got fired right there. But Ted put on his best show for the children… and the money. He even went all out and wore the beard–after arguing about it for 20 minutes. Your boss wasn’t the easiest man in the world, but he had a decent reason for it.
“Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas,” he says as he sits a little girl in his lap. “What would you like for Christmas?”
“You’re supposed to know. You’re Santa Claus,” the girl giggles as she raises her arms.
Ted chuckles warmly–nearly just like Santa before he nods. “I suppose you’re right,” he pauses, pretending to think. “I got it,” he raises his pointer finger, “You want a Barbie dreamhouse. Not just the pink one, but you want the purple one. Did Santa Claus get it right?”
The little girl beams, nodding her head frantically, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Everyone around them chuckles at the little girl’s antics before Ted speaks up again. “Well, I better get that gift for you, huh?”
It’s like this all night–kids coming up to him and asking for gifts they will or won’t get. Ted gets this frown on his face after they walk away, the crease between his brows is evident to you more than anyone else.
When a little boy walks away from the stage, you lean down to speak to Ted. “Does Santa need a break?”
He rolls his eyes, shaking his head, “Don’t ever let me embarrass myself like this again.”
You chuckle quietly, “You need to decompress in your sleigh, Santa?” It’s a light tease, but when his eyes flick over to you, the fire burning behind them is evident. Either you struck a nerve or he thinks you mean something entirely different.
“Do you enjoy your job?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Nerve it is.
“Most days,” you state with a small shrug.
“Then I suggest you shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”
Oh.
Oh.
Your breath catches faintly before you avert his gaze, “You have another kid coming up, Mr. Mayor.”
He hums in acknowledgement, not taking his eyes off of your figure for a second. “Maybe I will need to decompress in my sleigh,” his voice drops lower for your ears only as he adds, “if you’re willing to take a ride.”
Suddenly the room seems too hot–too small as you stare at Ted.
Your boss.
Was he seriously implying what you thought? In a Santa suit at that.
“Santa!” A kid yells out, pulling you away from Ted’s gaze and your thoughts.
-
That’s how you ended here–with your boss rutting up into you. His hands were tight on your hips, guiding your movements as his hips snapped against yours. Your tits bounced in his face as your moans filled the cabin of his truck.
“You couldn’t shut your mouth before,” he grunts as he picks up the pace. The thick tip of his cock beautifully hitting your cervix, “Now look at you. Riding Santa’s sleigh.”
The moan you let out at that should be embarrassing, but the feral look in his eyes disappears for a split second before it’s back. He’s enjoying this too much, and he can barely hold on, is what you gather from it. The furrow between his brows deepens before he smacks your ass, earning a sharp gasp from you.
He chuckles breathlessly, raising his brows at you, “Oh, you like that, huh?” Another smack, “My filthy girl,” another smack–sharper this time and leaving a red handprint on your asscheek.
Ted calling you his filthy girl isn’t lost on you, but the obscene stretch of his thick cock pounding into you is leaving you a moaning mess. “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” he coos.
You needed to gain your bearings–and quickly. The slick walls of your cunt were affecting him, even if he wasn’t trying to show it. You’ve known him long enough to know when he’s holding back.
Slowly you inch your hand higher up his chest until it wraps around his throat lightly. He lets out a sound of surprise before he tilts his head back to give you more access. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he slows his pace to a stop, removing his hands from your body and holding them up in mock surrender.
“Do your worst.”
It was a challenge you were gladly going to take. The alcohol you had earlier was coursing through your veins, making you feel more confident as you began moving again. Your slick velvet walls tightened around his cock, pulling him in deeper and earning a series of grunts from the back of Ted’s throat.
He’s always been a man of power. But God, does he look beautiful under you now. Letting you set the pace as he’s forced to just take it.
“That feel good, Santa?” you ask, increasing the pace of your rising hips.
“Yeah,” he growls low in his throat, “C’mon keep going, baby. Choke my cock like I know you want to.”
You chuckle faintly, flexing your hand against his neck just to see his dark orbs flick to yours. “Yeah?” you coo, “You want me—fuck—to cum on your dick?”
He nods in your grip, bringing his hands up to grip your ass again to ease the pressure off your thighs. “Go ahead and give it to me. Be a good girl for Santa.”
It’s not long til you finish. Your soaked cunt tightens around his cock so hard that it rips his orgasm right out of him. The groan he lets out fills the cabin as he paints your walls white with thick ropes of his release.
The two of you fall silent, both of your frantic breaths being heard as the weight of what you just did settles between the two of you. “Goddamn,” Ted chuckles out, breaking the tension.
You chuckle along with him before you lift your hips, leaving his warmth to put your clothes back on. “Not bad, boss.”
Ted groans, rubbing his face as he sits up. His usually perfectly styled hair is unruly—wild, “We don’t talk about this, okay?” He pauses, lifting a finger, “It was a moment of weakness.”
You nod slowly, chuckling as you pull your shirt over your head, “Got it.”
