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hmgt-writes · 2 months ago

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Almost, Always

Phase 5: The Fall & The Choice

Content Warnings: This chapter features some romantic moments that are heartfelt and descriptive, emphasizing the importance of consent and connection. It dives into past heartbreak and emotional struggles, discussing mental health topics like managing panic attacks and feelings of fatigue. You'll also find themes about rebuilding trust and navigating emotional distance in relationships. Don’t worry, there are plenty of light-hearted moments too, including some fun workplace gossip, dynamics of power, and warm conversations with friends. Enjoy the read, and just a friendly reminder—it's meant for older teens (18) and adults!

The office still held a faint trace of your perfume, a floral and citrus mix that wrapped around Ted like a gentle embrace as he wrestled with the temptation to retreat. His forehead rested against yours, lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary, his breath a whisper against your lips, as if he wanted to capture your essence and keep it close a little longer.

His hands were firm at your waist, fingers gently pressing into the fabric of your dress, grounding both of you in that electric moment. Meanwhile, your fingers clutched the cotton of his shirt, twisting it between your fingers as if anchoring yourself to him. A warmth enveloped you both, a cocoon of shared heat that felt impossibly perfect, urging him to stay there, to relish this connection before it could dissolve into uncertainty once more.

But you took the lead, pulling back with a deliberate slowness. Your fingers brushed lightly over his chest, a final, lingering touch that sent a shiver coursing through him. When your eyes met him, it was as if the air thickened, charged with an intense energy that left him breathless and unsteady.

Your eyes, still veiled with a heavy mix of unspoken emotions, seemed to draw him in like a magnet. Your lips, slightly parted, held a lingering taste of the bittersweet magic that shimmered in the air around you. When you finally spoke, your voice was soft and breathy, threaded with uncertainty yet edged with an urgent undertone. "You should take me home."

Ted felt his stomach tighten, not from the thought of your departure or the way you pulled away. The silence lingered between you, the absence of a heartfelt goodnight, the lack of closure in your tone. Instead, an unspoken invitation was hanging in the air, a tantalizing choice hovering between you, waiting to be made.

He exhaled with a measured intensity, his fingers twitching as if desperate to retrace the familiar contour of your skin, refusing to let the warmth of the evening dissolve into memory. In the quiet recess of his mind, a hopeful whisper wondered if the moment could stretch into infinity, suspended like the lingering scent of your perfume.

His lips parted ever so slightly as if on the verge of a playful tease meant to dissolve the charged air, yet he paused, swallowing the quip. Instead, his eyes held yours in silent agreement. At the same time, his hand slowly traced down your arm, memorizing each gentle contour before hesitating to let go.

A gravelly murmur escaped him: "Yeah, sweetheart. Let's go," each word heavy with emotions too vast to voice. The drive home was meant to be a quiet interlude for reflection. Still, every second became a deliberate throb of anticipation, the steady hum of the engine echoing the tender memory of your shared intimacy.

Seated beside him, you exuded a quiet magnetism; your hands were neatly folded in your lap, and your lips still glowed with the residual sweetness of a kiss, a vivid reminder of your undeniable passion. Every glance you offered sent electricity through the dim interior, your silence wrapping him in a comforting embrace. At the same time, your serene presence soothed and ignited him simultaneously. Beneath the intermittent glow of streetlights that painted soft, flickering patterns on your skin, you looked effortlessly captivating, a beacon of calm amid the turmoil of desire.

Ted's fingers flexed on the steering wheel as they betrayed his inner hunger, yearning to capture the heat of your touch and to pull you back into the sanctuary where your connection first ignited. The silence between you wasn't awkward; it was charged with anticipation, thick with possibilities, each moment pregnant with a decision neither dared to voice.

As the car rumbled, golden streaks from passing streetlights danced over your skin. You rested your head against the seat; your eyes fixed on him as though you already knew the night's script. And Ted, too, began piecing together the silent narrative between you.

When his car finally eased to a deliberate stop outside your building, the air was dense with unspoken tension, each heartbeat pounding in tandem with the soft click of the gear shifting into the park. He exhaled slowly, attempting to calm the storm of emotion as he turned toward you, a moment when hope soared one minute and plummeted the next.

There you sat, a mesmerizing figure under the muted glow of the streetlight, your dark, expressive eyes holding secrets and your slightly parted lips hinting at words unsaid. Your chest's rhythmic rise and fall wove a hypnotic cadence that sent Ted's thoughts into a chaotic whirlpool. In that silent tableau, you seemed to dare him to choose, to step fully into the moment's promise or retreat into the dubious realm of what might have been.

Ted swallowed hard, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as his pulse thundered unabated. This was far from a moment of dread; it was exhilarating, the most daring idea he had ever dared to entertain. Drawing a cautious breath, he locked his gaze on you, a contrast of his inner heat against the cool night air, and finally managed, steadying his voice with determination, "Do you want me to go?"

Time seemed to stretch as you held his gaze, the world outside fading into nothingness. Then, with graceful abandon, you reached for the glinting door handle, pushing it open and stepping onto the curb with measured, sure-footed steps. For one fleeting heartbeat, Ted's breath caught. Was this your final goodbye, a silent farewell to a night teeming with unsaid promises and lingering possibilities?

But no, you paused and turned back, leaning against the open door. Your eyes met his with an inviting warmth, a look so whole of tender assurance that it felt like a hug reaching across the space between you. And then, that irresistible smile began to bloom slowly across your face, soft, confident, and radiant like sunlight bursting through heavy clouds. In that smile was a whisper only for him: "Come on, Coach. What are you waiting for?"

Ted's breath left him in a sharp exhale, his jaw clenching as if to brace against the oncoming storm of emotions. Yet, in that very breath, a powerful resolve surged through his veins like a current. With one fluid motion, he silenced the engine, flung open the car door, and stepped out into the cool embrace of the night, drawn to you with a determination that had lain dormant for years. As he approached, you began to move backward, your steps light and deliberate, guiding him toward your door. That easy smile played on your lips, and your eyes sparkled with a knowing glint as if you could read every thought flickering through his mind.

And Ted? He followed, allowing himself to be swept up in the moment's tide, surrendering to the magnetic pull between you. He finally decided he wouldn't fight it anymore, not the way your gaze held such clarity, not the warmth that enveloped him when you were near, not the profound truth that this was where he was meant to be all along.

When you pushed the door open, turning to face him with that teasing glint dancing in your eyes, the air between you crackled with breathless anticipation. Ted knew there was only one choice left. He stepped inside, letting the quiet of your apartment envelop him, thick, soft, and indescribably strange, yet brimming with the promise of what lay ahead.

Ted stood just inside your apartment, his back against the door he'd closed without fully realizing it, his hand resting on the handle as if the door might swing open again if given enough time. The low and steady hum of your radiator filled the silence, offering a comforting rhythm, while, somewhere beyond, the faint echo of a city winding down whispered, tires hissing across damp pavement, a dog barking twice before quietude reclaimed the night.

And then… there was you. You didn't speak. You didn't rush to illuminate the room further. Instead, you sauntered across the living room, shedding your coat with a practiced ease and draping it over the arm of the couch. It felt natural, lived-in as if you had done this a thousand nights before. As if, perhaps, this wasn't the first time you'd hoped someone might follow you through that door and decide to stay.

Ted's throat convulsed as he struggled to capture a breath that seemed to elude him. You glanced back at him, your expression void of expectation or urgency, offering a gentle softness. The warmth in your eyes seemed to reach out, settling deep in his chest and causing a comforting and unsettling ache.

"Come sit," you invited, your voice steady and reassuring.

He complied, lowering himself onto the couch, which sagged slightly under his weight. His shoulders remained rigid beneath the fabric of his worn jacket, and his fingers twisted nervously in his lap. He perched there cautiously as if afraid to disrupt the air around him, like a man uncertain of his place in the world.

You didn't lean into him or attempt to bridge the gap between you. Instead, you turned your body toward him, legs comfortably tucked beneath you, one hand resting lightly on the decorative pillow in your lap, your gaze gentle and unwavering on his face.

Ted averted his eyes, unable to meet yours just yet. He focused on the floor, where your sock-clad feet barely grazed the edge of the patterned rug beneath you. His knee began to jitter, a restless bounce that he stilled with a purposeful hand.

"I'm scared," he confessed, his voice raw and unfiltered, the admission escaping before he could temper it. Your fingers paused their gentle motion, and the air around you seemed to thicken with unspoken tension. Yet you remained silent, offering him the space to continue.

"I've been scared since the very beginning. Of… this. You. Me." His voice dropped to a whisper, carrying a fragile vulnerability, as the radiator behind him exhaled a soft, rhythmic hiss, echoing the unease that simmered within him.

"It's not just about you. It's… it's how much this feels like it matters. Like it matters deep down to my bones, shaking up everything I thought I knew." His words tumbled out, weighted with the gravity of his admission. "I never expected to feel this way again. Not after Michelle. And definitely not after…"

He stopped abruptly, her name hanging in the air like an unwelcome specter, heavy and unspoken.

"Not after trying to weave something out of nothing, just to prove I still could. As if making something work could convince me I wasn't as broken as I felt."

Though he didn't speak Sassy's name, her presence lingered in his words, a shadow both undeniable and poignant.

"I'm not twenty-five anymore," he added, a bitter smile flickering briefly on his lips like the last glow of a dying ember. "Hell, I'm barely hanging on to forty-five. I used to think I had all the time in the world. Now I'm just hoping my knees hold out and my heart doesn't give up on me before I get it right."

You tilted your head slightly; lips pressed together in a silent promise to listen. Ted let out a long breath through his nose, leaning forward until his elbows dug into the worn fabric of his jeans, resting on his knees. His fingers were interlocked so tightly that his knuckles turned white, a physical manifestation of the truths he struggled to voice.

"I've got more baggage than Heathrow," he continued, his eyes narrowing with a piercing intensity. "A son an ocean away, whom I barely know. Panic attacks crash into my life unannounced, like an unexpected storm that refuses to pass. I've got…"

He halted, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His hand moved to his jaw, fingers rubbing against the stubble as if trying to erase the weight of his confessions with each rough swipe.

"I have nights where it feels like I'm drowning," he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. "Like I'm screaming underwater, but the sound doesn't reach the surface." The vulnerability etched into his face was impossible to miss. "I've become an expert at hiding it," he continued softly. "The jokes, the smiles, the biscuits I hand out like they're a cure-all… they're just a smokescreen. So people don't pry. So they don't ask the questions I can't answer."

"But underneath it all? I'm tired." He exhaled slowly, his palm dragging over his face as if trying to wake himself from a dream. "Not the kind of tired a nap can fix. It's in my bones, a fatigue that sleep can't touch. No matter how many cups of tea I drink or how wide I stretch my smiles, it clings to me."

You shifted slightly, not moving closer or further away, but just enough that the soft breeze of your movement brushed against him.

Finally, he lifted his eyes to yours. There was something sacred in the way you watched him, an intensity that was neither judgmental nor pitying. It was simply human, a silent acknowledgment of the raw edges of his soul, with no intention of smoothing them over.

Your voice was gentle, almost delicate, yet imbued with warmth. "Ted."

That single word hung between you, tender and profound, as though it was fragile enough to break if uttered too loudly.

You reached for him like someone approaching a skittish animal, your hand extending slowly, deliberately, as if afraid he might dart away at that moment. Your fingers slid into his, mapping the unfamiliar terrain of his weathered palm, each deep crease quietly telling the story of sorrows long kept secret. "You're not too much," you murmured with calm certainty, a steady note against the turbulent hurricane of doubts swirling behind his eyes. "You're not broken. You're not something that needs fixing. You're simply you."

He blinked, his throat constricting, not from terror this time but from an emotion raw and close to hope. With a voice that trembled with vulnerability, you added, "I want you." Your words were soft yet insistent, reaching beyond the polished version he often presented. "I want the real you, the side that doubts and fears, the one that resurfaces every day despite everything."

Ted exhaled slowly, each ragged breath released as if he'd been holding in the weight of the world since the moment he'd shut the door. The constant ache behind his ribs softened, gradually morphing from an oppressive burden into an ember of dawning truth. "I don't know how to let go of all of it," he confessed, his voice thick with raw emotion. "I don't know how to stop feeling like I'm going to mess this all up like I'm not enough. It's as if this thing... you... is slipping faster than I can hold on. I want to, God, I want to, but I'm terrified that I'm simply not built to keep anything good. That I'll lose you before I ever earn the right to have you."

You leaned in closer, offering him a silent moment to retreat if he wished, yet he chose to stay, inviting your hand to cradle his cheek. Your thumb brushed gently along the edge of his beard, and his eyes fluttered closed as he surrendered to that tender moment. Then, with a gentleness that spoke of solemn promises, you pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, not with hunger, but with the quiet strength of an anchor in a chaotic sea.

"I'll remind you," you whispered, your breath softly dancing across his skin, "as many times as you need."

Ted's forehead found solace resting against yours, his breathing slow and uneven. At the same time, your hands remained locked together as though they were crafted to fit perfectly. Without exchanging another word, you shifted to recline into the nearby cushions, curling beneath the soft embrace of a throw blanket that draped over your legs. Silently, he followed until you were nestled under his arm, your head gently settling on his chest as you both listened to the steady, grounding rhythm of his heartbeat.

For hours, your fingers wandered along his wrist, their soft, deliberate caresses crafting a silent lullaby that soothed both your souls. Tangled together on the couch, you breathed in sync, expressing volumes without uttering a syllable. And in that quiet interplay of shared silence and unspoken truth, Ted felt something rediscovered: an end to the solitude that had haunted him in the dark, the silence, and the storm of his inner battles. Because you were there, steadfast and unwavering, that truth was enough in its quiet certainty.

The morning after that unforgettable night in your apartment, when your hands had intertwined like soft secrets and the quiet between you held more meaning than any spoken confession, Ted felt a distinct lightness, not a removal of all burden, but a clarity that shimmered beneath the weight. As he strolled down Nelson Road, entering the building ahead of most of the staff, he cradled a steaming mug of coffee that sent wisps of aroma into the cool air. The memory of your head nestled against his chest still pulsed warmly beneath his ribs like a slow, steady heartbeat. There was no master plan, no label to attach to the fleeting moments, and no frantic urgency. Yet, within him, there now resided a profound stillness, as if he had quietly chosen peace over the disarray of his tangled thoughts.

He hadn't yet made it to his sleek office when he encountered Roy and Keeley stationed like silent sentinels in the hallway, guards of the treatment room with arms folded, their faces carved in stone masks of unreadable emotion. Ted eased his stride, a flicker of surprise curving his brows as he greeted them with a light, hesitant drawl, "Mornin', y'all," hoping to lace his words with enough levity to break the tension that hung like a heavy curtain.

Standing like a dark shadow in the weak morning light, Roy said nothing, his silence resounding louder than any accusation. Then Keeley's calm voice, soft but with an unmistakable urgency simmering just beneath, sliced through the quiet. "We need a word," she stated, her tone steady as it hinted at unspoken stories.

Ted's eyes darted between them, confusion wrestling with concern as he asked, "Sure. What's up?" He clung to the hope that their summons might be nothing more than an innocent interlude, an interruption from the routine.

With a slow, deliberate shake of her head, Keeley allowed the grim set of her jaw to speak volumes. "Not here. Come with us," she said, each word measured and heavy as if sealing a fate. A knot of dread tightened in Ted's stomach as he followed them into the treatment room. The door clicked shut behind him, its sound echoing with a finality that felt almost ominous. Inside, the world outside vanished, replaced by a stuttering fluorescent glow that hovered over the sparse furnishings and tension so sharp it seemed to slice through the air itself.

Roy was the first to break the strained silence. "You and her." Like a storm's warning, his rough and clipped voice cut straight to the core. "It happened." The words hit Ted like a sudden downpour, each syllable drenching him in shock until his heart almost froze in place.

Keeley moved closer, her presence both comforting and unyielding, a blend of empathy and the steely resolve of someone who had seen too much. "She didn't tell us," Keeley murmured, her voice low, almost tender. Then, with a little tilt of her head and eyes that didn't flinch, she added, "But we know."

Ted's nod was slow and burdened as if each movement weighed a thousand unspoken confessions. "Yeah, it did," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as the reality sank in.

The silence swelled again, taut and painful as an elastic band pulled too far. Roy's jaw tightened, his muscles coiling with anger, and he stepped decisively forward. His intensity matched a brewing storm. "You hurt her," he stated, the accusation coming out in a raw, uncompromising rush.

Ted's spine stiffened under Roy's seething glare, a storm of remorse and confrontation swirling in the space between them. "I know," he replied, heavy with regret and resignation.

Roy's tone sharpened, each word deliberate and laden with disapproval. "This ain't just some fuckin' ‘little guy' shit," he continued. "You didn't fuck up a little. You broke her. Bit by fuckin' bit. Spent months pullin' her in, makin' her think she mattered, then disappearin' like a coward. Not even a goddamn goodbye."

As the weight of his words sank in, Keeley's voice softened, wrapping around Ted like a gentle yet sorrowful embrace. "She kept defending you, Ted. Even when she was crying in my kitchen, mascara everywhere, heart absolutely in bits, she still wouldn't say a bad word about you." Her gaze now sharpened, piercing the carefully constructed facade he had worn so well. "But just 'cause she never made you the villain? Doesn't mean we didn't see how wrecked she was. We did. And honestly, so did you."

Ted's throat felt as if it were being squeezed by an unseen voice, constricting around a lump of something bitterly painful. His eyes locked on their unwavering stares, each look loaded with accusation. "I deserve that," he murmured, his voice trembling as he embraced the harsh truth behind their eyes.

"You fuckin' deserve worse," Roy barked, his jaw tight and his lips pressed into a thin line, the simmering frustration barely contained. "But this ain't about punishin' you. This is about her. What she needs. What she fuckin' deserves ." His words sliced through the tense air, sharp and indignant.

Ted took a cautious step back, a heavy hand rising to trace the rugged lines of his face. His eyes flicked from one companion to the next, conveying a silent plea. "I wasn't ready," he finally admitted, his voice soaked in regret. "I thought I'd mess it up. I convinced myself that if I stayed away, I'd protect her, save her the trouble of loving someone like me." As he exhaled, his breath wavered like a sigh, burdened by years of mistakes, each word a tangible weight. "But all I did… all I really did… was make her feel like she wasn't enough. And I'll never stop regretting that."

Across from him, Keeley wrapped her arms around herself, drawing them tightly as if to ward off an invisible chill. Her features softened into a mask of empathetic concern as she stepped a fraction closer, her eyes searching his soul. "Then what's different now?" she asked her tone a gentle murmur filled with cautious hope.

Ted lifted his tired eyes, sparking a newfound determination. "She let me in," he said steadily, a soft strength replacing his previous tremor. "And I finally stopped running. I don't have to be scared anymore. I just need to show up, be honest, and love her how she deserves." Each word resonated in the room's dim light, a promise growing with every beat of his heart.

Roy's eyes narrowed slightly as he continued his scrutiny. The silence between them stretched out, heavy with unspoken judgment. "You stayin' in, then?" he asked, his voice rough like gravel.

Ted's response was immediate, and his reply carried both relief and resolve. "Yes."

"You gonna stick around even when it ain't easy?" Roy pressed, not missing a beat as if he were challenging him to prove his resolve.

A calm determination filled Ted's gaze as he repeated, "Yes." His answer was a question to himself and a vow to the woman who had once made him feel whole.

Keeley moved even closer, her voice dropping into an almost conspiratorial whisper as if the fragility of their plans demanded utmost care. "She loves you, Ted. She won't say it yet; too scared, bless her. But it's there. So if you're not really in this…" Her words trailed off, heavy with the implication of risk.

"I am." Ted's reply was a fulcrum of raw, unwavering conviction, a promise that came from the core of his being. "I'm in," he repeated firmly, the commitment settling into him like a solemn oath. "All the way."

Roy leaned in subtly, his eyes lingering on Ted's face as though weighing every fiber of his resolve. After a long, heavy pause, his gaze softened ever so slightly. Then he nodded once, a brief, potent acknowledgment. "Don't fuck it up," he growled, voice like gravel. "Not this. Not her."

Keeley's fingers brushed gently against the fabric of Ted's sleeve. This tender touch served as a quiet reminder of the preciousness within his grasp. "She's softer now," Keeley said, a small smile tugging at her lips though her eyes stayed serious. "But that doesn't mean she's not still healing. Be careful with her heart, yeah?"

Ted's throat tightened once more as he swallowed hard, a searing ache igniting beneath his ribs. "I will," he vowed, sincerity shining in every syllable. "I swear."

As the echoes of their words faded into the dimly lit corridor and he was left alone, Ted's heart pounded wildly in the quiet room. Amid the disarray of his swirling thoughts, one feeling stood clear and unyielding: he had work to do, not just to earn back your trust but to hold it sacred and protect it with every breath he drew.

It was late afternoon, when the amber sunlight filtered through dusty office blinds that he finally caught sight of you again. You sat huddled in the cramped staff workroom, your eyes fixed on the glowing screen of your worn-out laptop. The room was quiet except for the soft tapping of keys and the gentle hum of machinery. With your other hand, you idly stirred a long-forgotten mug of tea, its steam swirling upward in delicate tendrils that caught the light. At the same time, the warm beam of the desk lamp traced soft, dancing shadows on your face. Every contour, the graceful curve of your cheekbone, and the subtle line of your mouth seemed illuminated by a painter's careful strokes. Though a tired weariness lingered in your gaze, your determined focus radiated an undeniable beauty that tugged at his heart with an almost physical force.

His chest tightened at this familiar sight. Throughout the day, he'd clung to Roy's unwavering assurances, Keeley's fierce protectiveness, and the heavy shadow of his lingering shame. Beneath the surface of it all, the echo of your voice from the previous night burned softly in his memory, like an ember fed by the promise in your whispered words: "I'll remind you. As many times as you need."

The gentle creak of the door announced its entrance, and your eyes lifted slowly, meeting his as if seeking and offering reassurance in a single shared look. A small, tentative smile played across your lips, delicate and hopeful, as if you were testing the air for new beginnings. In that charged moment, Ted Lasso knew he could no longer hide behind running away. He moved silently across the room, his footsteps barely whispering over the worn carpet until the door swung shut behind him with a soft, final thud.

Your smile dissolved into a softer, questioning expression; your lips parted fractionally as if you sensed that this visit carried weight far beyond a casual greeting. "Hey, Coach," you murmured, your voice a soothing hush like a lullaby whispered in the twilight.

He offered no reply, drawing ever closer instead. With a gentleness that betrayed his inner turmoil, one hand reached out to cradle your cheek; his thumb caressed the delicate skin just beneath your eye, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. At the same time, his other hand found yours resting near the abandoned mug, fingers weaving together with a reverence that spoke louder than words.

Your eyes flickered anxiously toward the slightly ajar door. With a tremor in your voice, you said, "It's unlocked," the uncertainty clear in every syllable.

His response was quiet yet resolute, "I don't care," spoken with a steady firmness that cut through the room's subdued stillness.

Your features were washed with a look of startled disbelief. "Ted…" you began, your voice catching with surprise and longing.

Stepping even closer, he let his forehead rest gently against yours, the mingling of your breaths creating a tender, intimate space where time seemed to pause. "Last night wasn't a maybe," he murmured, each word imbued with urgency and unyielding conviction. "It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't just a pause before another escape. It was real. And I'm not runnin'. Not this time. I meant every damn second of it."

A lump formed in your throat as you swallowed hard, trembling with the surge of emotions that welled up suddenly. In a soft, almost fragile tone, you confessed, "I wasn't going to ask."

He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes locking with yours as he replied, "I know," before softening his tone even further, "But I need you to know it anyway."

Your hand gripped his with an intensity that spoke of unsaid promises as his words settled between you like a fading echo. He leaned in, his breath mingling with yours as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, then softly against your temple, before finally resting his lips on the corner of your mouth. It was as though he painstakingly savored every second, sealing a bond quietly simmering deep beneath the surface.

"You're terrifying me," he murmured, his voice a husky blend of vulnerability and sincerity, his warm breath sending gentle shivers along your skin. "Not because of who you are, but because of who you make me want to be: braver, more complete. You make me want to stay for the first time in a lifetime."

His words filled the silence, heavy and resonant, leaving you momentarily unable to speak. At the same time, your heart pounded in your chest like a relentless drum. He paused, drawing a slow breath before continuing, his tone low and earnest. He finally voiced the truth he had kept hidden until now, the truth that Roy and Keeley had coaxed out of him earlier that day.

"I'm all in, sweetheart," he declared, his eyes locking with yours, unwavering and resolute. "Every inch of me. I'm yours."

As you inclined into him, your fingers instinctively found their way into the soft fabric of his shirt while your lips met his with a natural ease, as if breathing. Deep tranquility instantly washed over you, a peace far removed from a fleeting spark. Neither of you pulled away. Your hand, tightening around his unexpectedly, sent a delightful shock through him.

Without a word, you slipped off to your feet with quiet resolve. You closed your laptop with a careful motion, the soft click resonating in the hushed room, and tucked your phone into your pocket. When you turned on your heel to face him, the look in your eyes had transformed. It was no longer burdened with hesitation or uncertainty; instead, it radiated a determined decision that belonged solely to him.

You squeezed his hand in affirmation and steadily nodded toward the dim hallway. Ted followed as if compelled by an invisible magnet. Together, you navigated the vacant corridor, past a shuttered physio room, and around the corner where the final overhead lights flickered with a gentle glow, bathing the space in a warm, golden hue.

You halted before a rarely used spare office, the air inside thick with unspoken tension. With a careful push, you opened the door, ushering him into the room where soft amber light enveloped every corner. The door clicked quietly behind you, a muted barrier to the outside world.

Turning to him, a surge of warmth compelled you to lean in. Your lips met his in a kiss that unfolded with a measured grace, distinct from the feverish longing of the previous night. It was a kiss marked by clarity and calm assurance.

Your hands rose to cradle his face, fingers entangling amidst the soft curls framing his features. The kiss was slow, deliberate, with a familiar rhythm, like settling into a cherished melody that had played all along in your heart.

Ted responded as if under a gentle spell; he melted into your embrace, his hands winding around your waist as if holding a fragile, priceless treasure. At that moment, it was clear he understood the delicacy of the moment and the sacredness of the bond you shared.

When you finally drew apart, there was no rush for breathlessness; instead, you were anchored by a newfound steadiness. When it eventually broke the silence, your voice emerged as a tender whisper, laden with the truth you both craved to hear. "I believe you."

For a fleeting second, Ted's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, a glassy reflection of vulnerability that caught the room's soft light. He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against yours. His breath came out in a deep, trembling sigh that spoke of months of longing for those simple, transformative words you had shared. There was no need for him to say anything in return; the honesty of your kiss had conveyed more than words ever could, weaving a quiet promise between you.

He lingered there, forehead touching yours, his eyes closed, both of you breathing in sync within the hush of that cozy little office. Your fingers gently tangled in his soft curls, and Ted remained still, rooted in the moment. For the first time in months, his heart wasn't racing ahead, urging him to run, fix, or prove anything. He was simply... present with you. And somehow, that was more than enough.

Eventually, you pulled back, just a little, enough to see his face. You pressed your lips to his one last time, a gentle, lingering touch, before letting your hands slip away and murmuring, "We should get back." Ted nodded, but his fingers stayed entwined with yours, even as you stepped into the hallway, where the brighter lights met you with their familiar hum.

It wasn't until the next staff member passed by that you discreetly pulled your hand away. Ted didn't mind; in fact, he noticed the quiet gratitude shining in your eyes and how your pinky brushed against his as you walked side by side. It felt like a promise hidden within the silence, an unspoken assurance of what lay ahead. Everything shifted, not with grand declarations or fireworks, but with a grounded sense of presence.

Ted began to show up differently. Each morning, he brought your favorite coffee, a steaming cup of caramel latte with just the right amount of foam. No note was attached, no grand gesture, just the quiet act of leaving it at your desk and offering the most minor, warmest smile when you looked up in surprise. You, in turn, softened your teasing. The playful comments remained, but their edges were now rounded, laced with warmth rather than the armor of sarcasm.

After meetings, he lingered just long enough to brush his hand lightly against your back as he passed or to lean in, his lips close to your ear, whispering something meant only for you. When you honestly laughed, he watched you with an expression that seemed to say you had placed constellations in his heart, connecting stars only he could see.

The team began to notice certain things, subtle yet telling. Colin raised an eyebrow, a silent question on his face when Ted casually handed you your forgotten notebook before a meeting. You hadn't even realized it was missing, let alone asked for it. Standing by the conference room's glass doors, Rebecca caught sight of Ted's gaze lingering on you just a moment too long as you walked out of a press call, his eyes following your every step until you disappeared around the corner. During warmups on the field, Jamie nudged Sam with his elbow and muttered, "Oi. The gaffer's lookin' all domestic lately, isn't he?" Roy, arms crossed, simply grunted in response, a noncommittal acknowledgment. As for Keeley, she observed it all unfold like a slow-motion sunrise. One morning, she walked past the lounge, her heels clicking softly on the tiled floor, and saw Ted waiting outside your office, holding two biscuits and a napkin. His fingers tapped nervously against his leg, and she noticed how he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, energy crackling in his hands. She didn't say a word, just smiled with a knowing glint in her eyes.

The press room was thick with the aroma of bitter coffee, wafting through the air like an invisible fog, and the electric hum of static filled the background. A row of reporters occupied their seats beneath the flickering fluorescent lights, their notebooks splayed open like eager flower petals, ready to catch every word. Eyes sharp behind thick-rimmed glasses scanned the room as illuminated laptop screens cast a soft glow on their faces. Cameras perched on tripods stood like vigilant sentinels, their red recording lights pulsing softly at irregular intervals, creating a rhythm that echoed the tension in the air.

At the center table, Ted sat with his tie askew and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, fingers wrapping tightly around a bottle of unopened water as if drawing strength from its coolness. His voice flowed steady and warm, offering just enough reassurance to maintain a calm atmosphere. He handled three questions about the upcoming fixture, addressing inquiries about Jamie's recovery timeline and the new assistant trainer. Each response was delivered with his signature blend of Midwestern charm and a subdued authority that inspired confidence, his words weaving a tapestry of assurance.

Then, the room's tone changed like a sudden shift in the weather. It began with a harmless query, perhaps too self-satisfied for comfort. A voice from the second row sliced through the air, rich and British, smooth and deceptively casual. "There's been some talk around the club about your… relationship with a junior communications staffer," the reporter said, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. "She's younger and quite involved with the first team. Should we be concerned about boundaries being crossed?" The question lingered, a ripple in the otherwise calm atmosphere, as all eyes turned to Ted, waiting for his response.

Subdued laughter fluttered among the crowd, interspersed with glances of raised eyebrows as the room's energy shifted. A soft, mischievous voice interjected, its tone barely above a whisper yet dripping with implication: "Isn't it a bit of an unspoken perk to date someone who handles your press?"

At that, Ted's hand gripped his water bottle a little tighter before momentarily loosening as if trying to steady himself against an incoming storm. His face remained stoic, the slight tension at the corners of his mouth betraying nothing, while his eyes, ordinarily lively with mirth, flamed with a cold, focused intensity. He fixed his gaze on the man in the second row, his look wrapping the space in a heavy, almost palpable fog. Leaning forward deliberately, Ted folded his hands before him, each measured movement setting the stage for what was clearly about to come.

When he finally spoke, the warmth in his tone had evaporated, replaced by a rigid, steely quality that resonated with every listener. "Do you ever love your job so deeply that it feels like breathing?" he asked, his voice slicing through the expectant silence that followed, thick and weighty as a loaded pause.

He continued, his words paced deliberately, "Have you ever worked alongside someone so exceptionally skilled that they make their craft seem as natural as a born talent?" At his question, the room fell eerily quiet again, the tension hanging like an invisible thread around every person present.

Taking a slow, deliberate breath, Ted let the silence linger before launching his next point. "Now imagine someone who pours every ounce of effort, every heartbeat of dedication, into their work, only to see it reduced to a mere punchline, simply because the person behind it is a woman. A young woman, brilliant enough to unsettle those who'd rather see her diminished than recognize her raw talent. I've witnessed her commitment up close: the long hours she dedicates, the careful attention lavished on the smallest details, and how she effortlessly lifts everyone around her by managing the unnoticed minutiae. I refuse to let anyone trivialize her contributions."

The quiet in the room grew sharper and more focused, not the polite hush of routine but a tense, almost tangible pressure. Ted's jaw twitched once, a silent punctuation to his simmering determination.

"Let me be clear," he declared, his tone resonating powerfully across the room. "There is no room here, in this room or this club, for lazy insinuations masquerading as journalism. If you want to discuss strategy and injuries or even ask about my go-to conditioner, and yes, it's a blend of lavender and dreams, that's fine. But you do not get to smear someone's reputation because you're too idle or embittered to back up your claims. You can't undermine someone's credibility simply because you're intimidated by just how exceptional they are. Not here. Not on my watch."

He pushed back from the microphone, his voice dropping just enough to pull every listener closer. "She didn't claw her way up by compromising who she is. She earned her place because she outperforms most of you in every aspect: smarter, sharper, and undeniably more competent. And if that makes you squirm, perhaps it's time you took a long, hard look at yourselves before casting shade on someone who has truly earned her seat at the table."

Slowly and deliberately, Ted rose from his chair, his fingers brushing along the smooth, polished surface of the table as if he were closing the last page of a heated argument. "No more questions on that subject," he declared with a tone as firm as a steel door slamming shut, leaving no room for further discussion.

And then he exited the room. An hour later, you found him. The glow from his office spilled into the dim corridor, casting a warm, golden hue against the inky night outside. Raindrops pattered softly against the windowpanes, and the air was tinged with the scent of aged paper and fresh wood polish. The door stood ajar.

Ted was slumped at his desk, his head bowed, elbows resting heavily on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. He was still in his press clothes; his shirt slightly rumpled, but his jacket remained perfectly folded over the chair, untouched. He appeared to be caught in a moment suspended between inertia and flight.

"Ted," you spoke softly, barely disturbing the quiet.

His gaze lifted, and your heart tightened at the sight. He looked devastated, not with shame, but burdened by the enormity of having both spoken too much and perhaps too little. His eyes locked onto yours as if seeking the clarity he desperately needed.

He stood abruptly. "You heard."

Your lips parted, then closed again, as you nodded. Your voice emerged as a gentle murmur. "You didn't have to,"

"Yes," he interrupted, "I did."

His steps were deliberate, not hesitant but calculated, as though he was mindful of not startling you. He came to a stop before you, maintaining a respectful distance. "I meant every word."

You didn't reply. Your breath hitched, trapped in your throat. His voice dropped, rough with emotion. "I'm not lettin' anyone tear you down. Not while I'm standin' here."

You reached for him, not with words, but with the unspoken force of everything that had remained unsaid. Your hands found their way to his chest, and you propelled yourself into him, your lips meeting his with a fervor that echoed the intensity of the press room still pulsing in your veins.

Ted caught you, as he always did. His arms enveloped your waist, pulling you firmly against him, and he returned your kiss with the pent-up passion he had restrained for days, weeks, months. His fingers tangled in the fabric of your shirt, anchoring you to him. The kiss deepened and intensified, transforming into something not filled with anger but a fiery promise, a reclaiming, a thank you, a declaration of you.

When you finally broke apart, breathless from the intensity, your forehead gently rested against his, and his hands lingered on your back, clutching you as if afraid you might vanish into thin air. He whispered your name, his voice soft and unsteady like a fragile promise. "I," he began, but the words stuck in his throat. It wasn't because they weren't true; their weight was too immense for this moment to contain. You stayed still, not pressing him to speak because everything was already said in how he looked at you, in the press of his lips, and in the courage he showed by declaring your importance in a room full of unfamiliar faces.

Instead, you spoke for both of you. "I'm yours."

Ted just nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his jaw clenched as if to keep everything contained. There was no need for more words. Not now. Because both of you understood that the moment was approaching, and when it arrived, it would break you open most beautifully.

It began with your hands, not with a kiss. Your hands lay flat against his chest, warm through the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling slightly into the material as though you couldn't bear to part from him. Ted's heart thudded beneath your touch, still racing from the whirlwind of emotions.

You hadn't stopped trembling since that fierce, grateful kiss back in his office, a kiss that brimmed with gratitude that felt an awful lot like love. Now, you were enveloped in his embrace, neither of you willing to break the spell.

He exhaled slowly, his forehead still resting against yours, inhaling the scent of you, comforting, familiar, with a hint of untamed freedom. His hands glided over your waist, thumbs lazily sketching gentle circles on your ribs.

"I don't wanna push," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

"You're not," you whispered back. "You're holding me."

That was when he truly understood. You weren't asking for passion. You were asking for connection, for acceptance, for him.

The drive back to your place was quiet, not filled with awkwardness but thick with anticipation. Ted navigated the streets with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your knee, his thumb sweeping soft arcs over your jeans. Your fingers were entwined with his, absentmindedly tracing patterns along his knuckles. There was no music, no idle chatter, just the quiet and gentle hum of the world outside as you both savored the moment.

Upon reaching your building, you didn't spare him a glance. With a simple "Come up," you turned toward the entrance. Ted trailed behind, predictably. At your apartment door, the keys dangled from your fingers, their metallic clinks echoing softly in the hallway. A familiar heat surged within you, intense and insistent. You cast a quick, fleeting glance at him before stepping inside. Ted followed, his breaths shallow and urgent, as though drawing air from your presence alone.

You tossed your keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, the clatter piercing the quiet. Your shoes landed haphazardly on the hardwood floor, leaving you to glide into the living room's gentle, amber glow. Your movements held a deliberate, grounded elegance that always set Ted's insides twisting with anticipation.

Turning to face him, you felt a shift, an electric charge in the air. Your eyes, now shadowed with a deeper intensity, sought his. When you said, "Come here," the command was undeniable, a gravitational pull he couldn't resist.

In three swift strides, Ted closed the distance. You met him midway, your lips crashing into his with a fervor that reclaimed the morning's unspoken promises. His voice, still resonating in your bones from defending you against a room full of press, seemed to vibrate in the air around you.

Your fingers found his collar, yanking his shirt free from the confines of his trousers. He groaned into the kiss, his hands darting to your hips, fingers slipping beneath your shirt to grip the warmth of your skin. You pulled him backward, both stumbling until he fell onto the couch cushions.

"Ted," you gasped as he sank into the upholstery, "do you still mean it?"

His eyes blinked up at you, clouded with a dazed longing. "Mean what, darlin'?"

As you climbed onto his lap, straddling him, your hands deftly undid his shirt, button by button. Your palms spread over his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the heat of his skin.

"That I'm yours," you breathed. "That you'll protect me. That I'm not just a story someone gets to rewrite."

His jaw tightened, a mix of resolve and unspoken longing sculpting his features as his calloused hands began their journey higher along your back—firm yet imbued with a gentle tenderness that spoke of desire. "You're not a chapter in someone else's story," he proclaimed, his voice vibrating with unwavering certainty and a yearning to claim you. "You're the goddamn author."

Without another thought, he captured your mouth in a fiery, intense kiss, raw and unyielding, as if every cell in his body craved this union. In that passionate storm, the fabric tore amid ragged gasps and soft, muffled moans, each sound echoing a deep desire. With a swift, determined movement, he swept your shirt off your shoulders, his eyes absorbing every inch of your bare skin as if longing to commit your fierce beauty to memory. "Fuck," he murmured, voice low and dripping with desire. "You're unreal."

Your trembling hands reached for his belt, but he gently intercepted, murmuring words heavy with promise, "Let me. Let me undress you slowly, deliberately. I want to savor every second." You yielded, and he commenced his sensual ritual: unfastening your pants until they pooled at your feet, then carefully peeling away the delicate lace of your underwear, each languid tug drawing the fabric down your thighs as if etching every curve into his memory. When he knelt between your legs, still clad in his boxers, his steady hands cradled your knees as he whispered, "Open for me." You obeyed, parting slowly under his commanding invitation.

A low, impassioned groan emerged from him—a symphony of desire and heartfelt longing. "You're already dripping," he observed as he leaned forward, his lips trailing up your inner thigh with deliberate passion. "I haven't even started exploring you yet."

"Ted," you breathed, that single word a mixture of plea and longing. "Please."

That whispered plea shattered something within him. His lips sought out your most sensitive center, beginning a meticulous worship, his tongue dancing teasingly at your most responsive spot, a slow, yearning caress. Simultaneously, his lips embraced it with tender insistence, sending shudders coursing through you as your hips arched involuntarily, your fingers weaving through the soft curls of his hair in a silent plea for more.

"You taste like heaven," he growled, his voice heavy with desire. "I could lose myself in you all damn night; there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

He continued until every tremor in your body whispered surrender, until your thighs clung to him with aching need, and your voice broke into an ecstatic cry of his name. As you shivered, he trailed soft, incendiary kisses along the tender skin of your inner knee before looking up at you, his expression raw yet reverent. "I need you…" He murmured urgently, "I need to be inside you. Right now. Please… don't make me wait."

Casting aside the remnants of his boxers, he crawled over you, every inch of his heated body aching with longing. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he positioned himself with careful deliberation. Pausing to meet your gaze, his voice, saturated with raw desire, pleaded, "Still sure?"

You nodded. "Say it," he implored, desperate to hear your affirmation. Then, gently fervently, you whispered, "I want you, Ted—every single part of you. No more holding anything back."

With that, he began a slow, deliberate push, each inch of him filling you as a surge of yearning deepened the connection between you. A sharp gasp escaped you as he groaned, burying his face in the hollow of your neck. "God," he breathed, "you feel like you were made just for me as if every moment before was simply a prelude to this incendiary embrace."

He rocked into you gently at first, savoring every pull and every quiver of your body, his hands gripping your hips before sliding upward to cradle your face with tender intensity. "You're so fuckin' beautiful," he panted between deep, rhythmic movements. "So warm… so irresistible… God, you take me so damn well."

He shuddered, pressing his forehead to yours as he murmured, "Feeling you like this… it's everything, sweetheart. Absolutely everything."

Your soft whimper cut through the intensity, a plea that echoed your deepest yearnings, "Ted, faster, please."

He answered by deepening his rhythm, his thrusts intensifying as his hips pounded in a raw, desperate cadence. His hands roamed from your breast to your jaw, and then his lips captured yours in a passionate invitation. "Come with me," he whispered. "Let go, just let go with me, sweetheart."

Your climax arrived swiftly, tight, breathless, overwhelmed. At the same time, your nails clawed down his back as your body arched in a fevered surrender. He followed with his broken moan, spilling himself within you as the moment paused, every pulse of your desire captured in that heated union.

You both lay entwined for a long, lingering, breathless span, hearts beating in a shared, fierce rhythm. He remained nestled inside you; his chest pressed close as sweat shimmered over your joined skin, your breathing gradually easing into a soft cadence. Then, tenderly, he pulled back, trailing soft, lingering kisses along your temple, your cheek, and finally, the corner of your mouth, a silent promise of more blazing passion yet to come.

"I almost said it," he murmured, a gentle rumble in the dim light.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, a knowing glimmer in your eyes. "I know." Your lips curved into a serene smile. You didn't need the words yet; they were already there, woven into every touch, every kiss, and every trembling breath that mingled between your bodies.

The atmosphere in your apartment had transformed. It wasn't just the residual heat clinging to his skin or the sheen of sweat cooling on his back. It wasn't the shiver still reverberating through his thighs. The room felt quieter now, yet fuller, as though something sacred had gently descended and nestled between you.

You lay beneath him, your leg draped lazily over his hip, your chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm against his. His name still lingered in the air; a whisper barely faded from where you had breathed it into the crook of his neck.

He remained still, unwilling to break the moment. Ted's hand rested on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles over your bare skin. His other arm cradled your head, fingers tenderly grazing the edge of your hairline.

Your breaths are aligned, soft, and steady, creating a calm, tangible reality. When your hand moved to his hair, your fingertips weaving lazy paths through his curls, Ted released a deep, contented sigh against your shoulder, a low, honest sound, as if something had unknotted in his chest. He kissed your light and thoughtful collarbone to feel your presence again.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice rough, low, almost reverent as he spoke against your skin.

You shook your head, a sleepy smile playing on your lips. "No," you whispered. "You were perfect."

Ted's heart tightened with emotion. He trailed another kiss along your shoulder, then placed a lingering one on your cheek and finally on the swell of your breast. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, a silent thank you.

"I think," he murmured, his lips brushing gently against your skin, "you're gonna ruin me."

Your soft laugh, like a gentle ripple, warmed him from within.

"You already have," you whispered tenderly. And Ted? He nestled his face into the curve of your neck and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. There it was again, love, not spoken yet, but living in the quiet, sacred space between your bodies.

Ted awoke to the gentle glow of golden morning light filtering softly through the sheer, cream-colored curtains, casting warm patterns on the walls. He felt the comforting weight of your body curled against his, your skin soft and warm, your breath barely stirring as you nestled deeper into the cocoon of sleep. The moment's tranquility wrapped around him, and he imagined staying forever in that serene embrace.

But he didn't linger. Not this morning.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, mindful not to disturb your peaceful slumber, and pressed a tender kiss onto your bare shoulder, savoring the slight warmth of your skin. He scanned the cluttered nightstand, found a crumpled receipts slip, and quickly scribbled a note with a pen that had rolled to the edge.

"Stay in bed. Coffee's coming to you."

He quietly pulled on his well-worn hoodie, the fabric soft from countless washes, grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door, and left the apartment with a soft click of the latch, like the man you trusted him to be, respectful and considerate.

When he returned thirty minutes later, the apartment remained enveloped in a serene quiet. He held your favorite drink in one hand, steam curling lazily from the lid, while the other balanced a warm paper bag filled with flaky, golden pastries. Tucked under his arm was a single rose, its deep red petals vibrant against the white tissue paper. It was clumsily wrapped but carefully chosen from the flower shop two blocks over.

He nudged the bedroom door open with his elbow and found you blinking awake, your hair tousled, one arm flung over your eyes to shield them from the light, the sheet barely covering your chest. Ted's face broke into a soft smile.

"Morning, sunshine."

You lowered your arm, focusing on the tray he carried, the unexpected flower nestled beside the cup.

"Are you holding a rose?"

"I'm holding our first official date," he replied, stepping in with a confidence that seemed to draw sunlight into the room.

You pushed yourself up slowly onto your elbows, curiosity mixing with amusement in your gaze. "In bed?"

He set the tray gently on the nightstand and perched on the edge of the mattress, his hand already seeking the reassuring warmth of your knee beneath the sheets.

"Well, the coffee and pastry part is in bed," he explained with a playful glint in his eyes. "The rest? That's a surprise."

You looked at him, your face softening with a sleepy, amused expression. "Surprise?"

Ted leaned in closer, his lips brushing lightly against your forehead, lingering at the corner of your mouth.

"I wanna take you somewhere," he murmured, voice low and sincere. "Someplace real. Nothin' fancy. Just a little table, two chairs, maybe some bad lighting, and a basket of fries between us. I wanna sit across from you like a man on a date and say, 'She chose me.'"

He paused, his breath catching slightly, then added, soft and confident: "And I'd say it with pride."

You didn't answer immediately; you simply stared at him thoughtfully. Then, you reached for his hand, entwining your fingers with his, feeling the warmth and strength in his grip.

"You don't have to prove anything, Ted," you said softly, barely more than a whisper.

"I'm not," he whispered back, his eyes locked onto yours, steady as a heartbeat. "I'm showing you. That I'm in this. Not halfway, not maybe. In it. For real. For as long as you'll have me."

For a moment, your eyes held his, searching, understanding. Then, with a gentle tug, you pulled him forward, inviting him back into the bed, under the sheets, into the comforting embrace of your body.

"After breakfast in bed," you murmured against his mouth, your lips curving into a smile.

Ted laughed, a sound deep and content, filled with happiness and something tender.

"Deal."

Ted held your hand to Richmond Hill, his grip gentle yet reassuring. The journey from your flat was a bit of a walk, but the afternoon air was crisp, and the sky stretched endlessly blue above, dotted with wispy clouds. Ted's pace was leisurely as if savoring each step, and you mirrored his unhurried rhythm, content to let him lead the way. Your fingers intertwined with his, and your other hand was snugly tucked into your coat pocket to fend off the lingering chill.

Every so often, Ted would cast a sidelong glance at you, his eyes filled with wonder and disbelief, as though he feared you might vanish if he blinked too long. You caught him in the act once, his expression sheepish yet amused.

"Take a picture," you teased softly, a playful lilt in your voice. "It'll last longer."

Ted's grin spread wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "You're gonna hate how many I've already taken in my head," he confessed, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as a faint blush crept up his cheeks. "Every time you laugh and look at me like that... it's like my brain's got a whole damn photo album goin'."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled with a warmth that spread through your chest like liquid sunshine.

The atmosphere shifted as you turned onto a quiet street off King's Road. The sidewalk narrowed, and the old buildings, with their weathered brick facades and quaint charm, exuded coziness. And there, nestled between a vibrant florist bursting with colorful blooms and an elegant wine shop, stood The Alberts Deli. Its faded signage whispered tales of yesteryear, and a striped awning cast playful shadows over two little bistro tables stationed out front.

The caf��'s windows were misted with condensation from the warmth inside, offering a hazy glimpse of a welcoming interior. Through the glass, you could discern a chalkboard menu scrawled with the day's offerings, a tempting case of pastries that glistened in the light, and rows of wine bottles and local preserves neatly arranged on rustic shelves. A vintage and gleaming espresso machine hissed with steam behind the counter. Inside, someone hummed along to an old Elton John track that drifted softly from hidden speakers.

You halted, momentarily taken aback by the scene. Ted turned to face you, a hint of concern in his eyes. "Too much?" he asked, uncertainty lacing his words.

You shook your head slowly, a smile spreading across your face. "No. It's perfect."

He held the door open for you, and as you stepped inside, the bell above chimed a warm welcome. The interior was a haven of wood and warmth; narrow, timeworn floorboards creaked underfoot, and crooked picture frames adorned the walls. Shelves were crammed with jars of marmalade, assorted teas, and little bags of hand-cut fudge. The air was laced with the comforting aroma of espresso mingled with rosemary-butter toast.

The woman behind the counter looked up and immediately recognized Ted. "Back again?" she asked, a knowing smile on her lips.

Ted's blush deepened, but he nodded confidently. "Told you I'd be bringin' someone special," he replied, his voice brimming with pride.

The woman behind the counter smiled warmly and knowingly, the kind that crinkles the corners of her eyes. She said nothing more and waved you toward the small table by the front window. Sunlight streamed in gently through the glass, catching the edges of your hair, making the strands shimmer, and illuminating your lashes until they seemed to glow like golden threads.

Ever the gentleman, Ted pulled out your chair with a slight scrape against the wooden floor. He waited patiently until you settled into the seat before he took his place across from you.

"You've been here before?" you asked, your eyes wandering over the cozy, mismatched furniture and the framed photos of local landmarks scattered on the walls.

"Once," he confessed, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. "You mentioned you missed places that felt local. So I asked around. Thought I'd scope it out first. Figured if it felt right, maybe I could bring you there and pretend I just stumbled on it by accident."

Your brow arched with surprise and admiration. "Did you try the food?"

"Nope," he replied, shaking his head with a grin. "Wanted to save it."

You stared at him for a long moment, a mix of amusement and disbelief dancing in your eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm aware," Ted said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Also? Totally worth it. No regrets, 'cept maybe not doin' it sooner."

The concise yet inviting menu lay between you. You ordered toasties, the golden-brown crusts promising warmth and comfort, and shared a pot of fragrant Earl Grey. The woman returned with a slice of homemade almond cake, its surface dusted lightly with powdered sugar. "On the house," she said with a conspiratorial wink, and you took a bite, the rich, nutty flavor melting on your tongue. You swore you'd never tasted anything better.

Conversation flowed easily, like a gentle stream. You talked about nothing and everything: favorite music, the quirkiest player superstitions, and Ted's ill-fated attempt to grow a tomato plant in his kitchen window that ended in tragedy and a swarm of fruit flies. You recounted a ridiculous PR dinner where someone mistook you for the intern, and Ted nearly spat out his tea in laughter.

He watched you laugh, the sound bright and infectious. He noticed your hands, graceful and sure, as you casually broke off a piece of crust from his sandwich without asking. He observed how you looked at him when you thought he wasn't paying attention.

And then it hit him again, sudden and sharp, like a bolt of lightning.

I love you.

The words welled up in his throat, a tangle of unspoken emotions.

He opened his mouth and hesitated, the moment stretching like taffy.

You caught his gaze, eyes soft and curious. "What?"

Ted blinked and swallowed hard. "Just… thinkin' how glad I am you said yes. Feels like every good thing since started right there."

You tilted your head slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "To what?"

"To… all of this." He gestured between you, a sweep of his hand encompassing the table, the shared moments, the connection. "To me. To us. Hell, maybe even to what comes next."

You reached across the table, your fingers finding him and interlocking gently. "You didn't give me much of a choice."

Ted chuckled, a sound full of affection and self-awareness. "I really didn't, huh?"

"Nope," you said, your thumb brushing tenderly across his knuckles, a reassuring touch. "You made it too easy."

His heart thudded in his chest, not urgently, but with a profound sense of fullness and contentment.

Afterward, you ambled along the worn pathway bordering Richmond Green, balancing a takeaway coffee in each hand. The evening had cooled to a hushed serenity, the sky gradually deepening into a velvety blue that softened every detail. Ted's hand found yours, his thumb lightly pacing in small, rhythmic circles directly over your pulse point as you walked in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the gentle rustle of leaves underfoot.

Every few minutes, he stole a glance at you, his eyes warm with unspoken admiration, and you found solace in his quiet attentiveness. As you neared the worn war memorial, you leaned against him, letting your head find a temporary resting place on his broad shoulder, a silent confession of trust. When he pressed a tender kiss to your temple, a soft, appreciative sigh escaped you, carrying all the comfort and contentment of the moment.

At the doorstep of your apartment, words weren't necessary. Instead, your hand's subtle, charged tug unmistakably conveyed the message: I want to prolong this night; enjoy all of you . Without a trace of hesitation, he followed your silent invitation inside.

Later, in the intimate glow of your living room, you found yourself curled sideways against Ted's chest. His arm lay languidly over your back, and your cheek rested lightly against the steady beat of his heart. His shirt had shifted upward just enough for your hand to slip under, your fingertips quietly anchoring him as if to insist that neither of you move. In the background, an old British quiz show murmured from the television, its words blending with the night while neither of you truly listened. The room was infused with the gentle aroma of fresh laundry, warm skin, and the lingering hint of lavender oil you'd doused on your wrists earlier. In that scented cocoon, Ted's thoughts meandered: I could stay here, right now, with her, forever.

Your voice, soft and edged with the raw quality of sleep, broke the quiet as you asked, "Would you ever move back?"

Ted blinked, shifting his gaze toward you just slightly. "To Kansas?" he queried, the name filled with nostalgic familiarity.

You nodded without a word, your head settling again against his chest. He paused, his hand tenderly rising and falling along the curve of your back as he mused, "I used to think I had to. That I'd failed if I didn't." His eyes lingered on you as he continued, "But now… now I believe home is wherever you stop running. And right now?" He let out a quiet chuckle as his hand pressed more firmly, "I ain't movin' a muscle."

After his words, silence stretched between you, a serene quiet punctuated only by the slow rhythm of your breathing. Yet, without thinking, your fingers curled a little tighter against his side, a small, silent affirmation of all that was unsaid. Ted didn't prod for more conversation or rush the moment; he wrapped you in his embrace.

Later, as the night deepened into stillness, you slowly lifted your head to look at him honestly. His tousled hair framed a face softened by sleep, his jaw subtly dusted with stubble, while his eyes, though heavy with drowsiness, remained focused on you with unwavering intensity.

In a hushed tone, you asked, "You ever think about what it looks like?"

"What what looks like?" he replied in a lazy murmur.

You shrugged lightly, an intermingling of uncertainty and anticipation in your expression. "Later. After this."

Ted's smile twinkled in the dim light as he softly confirmed, "With you?"

A single nod was all the answer needed. "All the time," he said promptly, his voice steady in its sincerity.

Your breath hitched as his affirmative words washed over you. Gently, he reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "You'd love my mom's front porch," he said, his voice all warm honey and memory. "Picture it: a creaky old swing that catches the sunset just right every evenin'. I can already see you there, bare feet tucked up, big ol' glass of sweet tea in your hand, bossin' me around on my crossword like it's your God-given duty. And me? Lovin' every second of it."

A soft, tremulous laugh escaped you, its fragility belying the intensity of your feelings. "Ted," you murmured, voice thick with emotion.

"Yeah?" he prompted softly.

You almost voiced the words that echoed inside you, hovering silently in your throat. Instead, the depth of your feelings was exchanged in the way your eyes sought his, desperate to imprint every detail onto memory. Choosing a gentler expression, you leaned in deliberately and kissed him slowly, your whisper barely escaping, "Don't fall asleep yet."

Ted responded with a smile as he pressed his lips to yours, assuring you without a word that he wasn't going anywhere.

Eventually, sleep claimed him, his quiet breaths subsumed by the night as your leg intertwined with his, your palm firmly pressing over where his heartbeat pulsed, a tangible promise of safety. And just before sleep completely overtook his conscious mind, a soft, clear thought fluttered: I love her . He hadn't spoken the words yet, but he promised they would soon find their voice in the silent language of touch and shared space.

#ted lasso self insert #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #cw panic attack #cw smut #minors dni

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