teresa ♱

a chill you can’t seem to shake follows you from the field. 

the sky, painted with the sleepy kisses of the sun, blossoms with a pink and yellow warmth that doesn’t touch you. you hug your jacket closer as you step into the coach. 

moving briskly past the rows of seats, you pass players who’ve settled into a quieter state, mellowed out from the buzz of the game. they absently gaze out the windows with headphones on, or lie shallowly asleep, leaning stiff heads on neck pillows. just like the subdued pastels of the sky, there's a sense of peace in the air that really only comes at the end of a long day. the scene reminds you of something akin to the half-finished puzzle left on your coffee table, or the snow globe he got you, a long time before now, just as the glimmering flakes settle on picturesque gingerbread cottages.

the afternoon glow pours in from the windows, casting softened half-shadows on faces, and streaks of light, to reveal wisps of swirling dust that glimmer just so that it reminds you of glitter.

despite it all, it’s not much warmer here. but you don’t really feel its icy edges now, not when he’s on your mind.  

you scan for a figure you had watched on the pitch of the big stage, the one you had once watched play in small unmowed fields. the same figure that had just so endearingly darted around, with the grace and air of a busy honeybee, as you took the view of him from the stands, like watching your old home. the figure whose hair bounced and fell over his face as he hopped the field like a bunny. the boy whose eyes you knew like constellations, who had spotted you in the crowd like a magnet of chance, and smiled that smile that always made your knees a little weak. 

when you finally spot luka among the rows of bus seats, the whole world melts. 

the sweetest boy, small against the plush seats, stares out the window like he’s not really seeing anything. the light skims his soft hair, illuminating the golden around his head. in his hand, covered by sweater paws that almost make your heart explode, he fiddles nervously with a yellow wildflower. when you breathe his name, his wide, brown eyes, then saddened and droopy with exhaustion, lights up like sunset as he meets yours. 

your name quietly escapes his slightly parted lips like prayer, as if he can’t really believe you’re here. but you are.

finally.

luka melts into you. slotting his arms around your frame, he buries his face into your shoulder, inhaling you in. you hold him equally as tight, feeling his familiar warmth radiate your heart, lips caressing the top of his hair. 

when he peels himself from you, it’s not enough to leave the embrace, but just so for you to see his face, the dusting of pink across, and the bashful, toothy grin plastered on it. and his eyes, god, his eyes, the way they look at you makes you wish to never blink again. 

luka offers you the flower with a kind, knowing look and you almost well up from it all. the familiar little blossoms of honey bloomed around the tiny field one day, and from that day on, he’d pick one whenever he played, and offer it to you like a promise. the sweet, nostalgic smell of your summers together, and he’d found it thousands of miles away. you take it graciously, and spin it in your fingers, both watching as it becomes a little yellow, sunny blur. 

“i was scared i imagined you,” he confesses quietly. 

you turn to him slowly. he looks up from the flower to meet you, giving a soft syrupy smile that lights your own. he’s now struggling to keep his heavy eyes open though. your heart pangs. you pat your lap, and like second nature, he moves to rest on it. 

“don’t worry. i’m here.” 

you feel the weight of his world when his head falls on your lap. luka works hard, pushes hard. you know that, everyone does. but it kills you, just how much it exhausts him sometimes, how you couldn’t be there to help. you’d hold it all for him. 

“i missed you,” he whispers simply with eyes closed, right as he’s lulled to sleep by the ambience of the afternoon, the smell of the flower you spin in your hand, and the touch of warmth you bring to his face. 

yeah, you'd hold it all for him right now.

“i missed you too.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᨳଓ

the bus rocks you around softly, and you’re in love with the peace that envelops you both. 

you gently cradle his face, soaking in the syrupy warmth of the sun on his plush skin. your eyes follow the golden ring of hair around his head, admiring how it cascades perfectly and how the light so delicately catches soft, stray wisps. under your palm the contours of his cheekbones mould your soul. his skin, which you long to pepper in little kisses, is cast by a radiant yellow glow. your thumb runs along the shape of his nose, and from the open mouth from which tiny huffs of breath flow out, you can see a sliver of his front teeth. 

of anything, his softness reminds you so much of a little bunny resting in a field of plush grass, maybe a honeybee cradled in the delicate palm of a flower. you twirl a strand of his hair.  

when the coach passes through a particularly bumpy part of the road, it knocks him up from your lap a bit. luka softly groans, stirring from his sleep and you gently laugh, pulling him up. 

“oh honey, come ‘ere.” 

his sleep drowsy body falls pliant in your arms. you move him up, so that he sits in your lap, before his arms wrap around you again, and just like a complete puzzle, he nuzzles into you, mumbling something incoherent into your skin. 

at times like these, when you swear the world stops spinning, you can’t really fathom the fact that he’s real, and here. here with you. in sleep, his already soft features become even more tender, something you dare to think otherworldly. and when the glimmering dust of light hits just right, so that his lashes flutter like delicate wings, and a golden halo forms across his hair, your breath catches. 

you swear he’s an angel. 

luka slowly blinks open one eye. 

“you alright?” he mutters groggily, breaths still heavy with sleep. 

“yeah. of course,” you reply, and just like habit, it comes out. “you’re so beautiful, luka.”

in an instant your favourite bashful grin adorns his face, and he tries to hide in the crook of your shoulder. a pink tinge blossoms along his skin and makes your heart skip a beat or two. and right there, the way he looks at you comes out again and there goes any thought. you’d remember this image forever. 

you kiss his nose, lingering long enough to just feel him, and gently pull him back into you. luka doesn’t hesitate to rest once more, instantly snuggling up against you.

you’re complete. 

there’s a lot of things you love, and the thought of them makes you all fuzzy, and so incomprehensibly warm inside.

you love the way he melts into you, how warm he feels, and how soft he looks under the spell of sleep and a beautiful sunset. you love how he always found you in crowds, like magical chance or fate, if you believed in it. you love how he, no matter how torn down and exhausted, will always stop for your flower, because he knows how you love the way it turns to a little sun as you spin it. you love the way he looks at you, with those wide, sparkling eyes, whose depths you would be glad to drown in.

and it’s a given – you’re far gone, and you have been for a while. because above all else, above everything, you love luka.

“we’re almost there.” you murmur half heartedly, watching as the scenery outside slows. just pointing it out, as if a suggestion. 

luka furrows his brows slightly. gentle creases bloom on his skin, and he hums into your shoulder, eyes still shut.

“a little bit longer.” 

voice thick and honeyed with sleep, but soft. always soft. you smile. he nudges against the crook of your neck, and you run your fingers through the softness of his hair. with a pout of his lips, he kisses your shoulder. you feel the heat of it burning on your skin. 

how could you deny him this?

so there you stay, cradling him close and letting him melt into you like the sweetest syrup. the coach has stopped moving now. players start to tread off, saying muffled goodbyes, just as soft snores pour from him. 

and even though the sky has faded into a cold midnight blue and the sun has already sunken away into its bed, you realise, with a glorious leap of your heart, that the chill has disappeared, melted soft by his honey-coloured warmth and pink-tinged heat on your cheeks. so there you stay, and there you would stay forever, if he wanted. 

after all, he’s just so warm.

if you were a different woman, one content with being an accessory to his life, things might have been different. you could have stayed home, basking in the luxury his fame granted, and accompanied him on his travels, but you were not that woman. you had your own life, your own career, your own dreams that you were truly dedicated to.

you were not just jude’s girlfriend, you were your own person.

the pattern was always the same, each time, another heated disagreement about your perceived lack of support for jude, his expectation of you being his constant cheerleader, and your refusal to drop everything to attend every single one of his games. it wasn’t that you didn’t care or support him, far from it, but you were determined to maintain your own identity, not just be an extension of your famous boyfriend.

“jude, please,” you begged, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and sadness. your eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were now clouded with pitful tears. “it’s not about that. i just need— i don’t know .. some time for myself?”

the plea hung in the air between you, a fragile hope that he might understand. the room was thick with tension, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall and jude’s heavy breathing. the scent of his sweat from the game still lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of the loss that had sparked this argument.

“some ‘you’ time?” jude echoed, his voice laced with disbelief and a hint of annoyance. his brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he processed your words. “you hear how that sounds? bit selfish, yeah?”

his words were like a punch to your gut, fueled by the frustration and disappointment from his recent loss. the harsh light from the ceiling casting shadows on his face, highlighting the hardness of his jaw and the angry shine in his eyes. you could almost feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, making the room feel smaller, more suffocating.

you took a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to ward off his words, and the cold reality of his misunderstanding was like a bucket of ice water over your head. you were not just jude’s girlfriend, and it seemed like he was struggling to understand that.

jobe watched this all unfold from a distance, his heart aching for you. he never truly got it, that you wanted to do your own thing while still supporting him, and jobe always felt like you could do better. you were a wonderful woman, absolutely beautiful, and dedicated to building a future for yourself, an independent woman. he admired your strength, your toughness, and your committed dedication to your own dreams. he wished jude could see it too, wished he could appreciate you for who you truly were, not just as his girlfriend but as an individual with her own aspirations and dreams.

and jobe, he was utterly fascinated by you.

it was more than admiration, it was an obsession that chewed at him, a relentless pull that tugged at the very fabric of his body. he watched you from the background, his gaze lingering on your every move, every gesture, every smile, with his heart pounding in his chest like a drum, matching the rhythm of his thoughts that were always, always about you.

your laughter was like a tune that sang in his ears long after it had faded. the way your eyes sparkled with life and hope, the way your lips curved into a smile that could outshine the sun, the way your body moved with a grace and confidence that was uniquely yours, it all left him breathless. he admired you for who you were, not just as jude’s girlfriend but as an independent woman who longed for freedom.

but with admiration came guilt, a heavy weight that settled in his heart, he knew it was wrong to have such feelings for his brother’s girlfriend. he cursed himself for it, tried to push away the thoughts, the fantasies, but they clung to him, refusing to let go.

he thought distance would help. he thought being in germany, thousands of miles away from you, would dull the ache, would silence the whispers of his heart, but he was wrong. the distance only boosted his longing for you. it was as if his mind had a mind of its own, painting images of you at the most unexpected moments.

and when he was alone, when the world around him fell silent, you were all he could think about.

you invaded his dreams, filled his thoughts, consumed him until there was nothing left but you, and no matter how much he tried to fight it, no matter how much he tried to deny it, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. you were like a drug, mesmerizing and addictive, and he was absolutely obsessed with you.

he sat alone in the dim hotel room in berlin, the city lights oozing through the half-drawn curtains. the guilt sat heavy in his gut, twisting every time his mind drifted to you, his older brother’s girlfriend. his thoughts, always wild, and germany hadn’t helped, the distance only sharpened the hunger. his cock was already hard in his fist, thick and throbbing, pre-cum slicking his palm as he stroked slow and tight.

he closed his eyes, and you were there, standing in the doorway of his room like you’d just walked in. that short black dress you wore the last time he saw you, clinging to your tits and hips, nipples stiff against the fabric. he could almost smell your perfume, the sweetness, warmth, and with that hint of vanilla that always made his mouth water.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he muttered to the empty room, his voice a rough whisper that echoed off the cold, lonely walls. his hand moved faster, the rhythm unsteady and desperate, squeezing the head of his cock, thumb smearing the slick wetness. in his mind’s eye, you smiled at him, stepping closer in his fantasy, your figure glistening in the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. the fantasy snapped into something raw and filthy.

you dropped to your knees between his spread thighs, your dress pooling around you like a shadow. the image was so real he could almost feel the heat of your body against his skin. “you’ve been thinking about this the whole time you’ve been gone, haven’t you?” you said, your voice low and teasing, a tempting noise in the silence of the room. your fingers, so delicate yet firm, wrapped around his cock, replacing his own. the imagined touch was so realistic that he could almost feel the warmth of your hand, the perfect grip that stroked him with desire that made his heart pound in his chest.

“your brother’s girlfriend on her knees for you,” you continued, your words an evil whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “how guilty does that make you feel?” the question hung in the air, a mocking echo that tore at his mind even as his body gave in to the pleasure of your imagined touch.

“too fucking guilty,” he groaned, the words a raw confession in the silence of the room. his hips jerked forcibly into the phantom touch, a desperate plea for more, but he didn’t stop, he couldn’t. the fantasy was too real, too intoxicating, with your tongue, in his mind’s eye, tracing a slow, painful path up the underside of his shaft. it was hot and wet, a deep difference to the cool air of the room. he could almost taste the salt of his own skin on your tongue as you took the head into your mouth.

the wet heat enveloping him, the motion that pulled a groan from his lips, the way your lips stretched around him in a perfect o. he felt every detail as if it were happening right there in that lonely hotel room, your hand pumped the base of his cock while you sucked him deeper, your cheeks hollowing with effort, and your eyes, locked on his with a spark of something raw and wild.

in the midsto f his fantasy, he reached down, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you deeper, pushing until your nose brushed against his stomach. “take it all,” he urged, his voice a ragged whisper in the quiet room. “please— choke on it.” you moaned around him in response, the vibration shooting straight to his balls and making him gasp.

spit ran down your chin in his mind’s eye, dripping onto your breasts and making the fabric of your dress cling even tighter. the wet sounds filled his ears, disgustingly beautiful and real, with the scent of sex hanging heavy in the air, a detail so real that he could almost taste it on his tongue.

jobe moved faster now, chasing the high that was just out of reach. his breath hitched, his heart pounded, and the room around him seemed to fade away. all that was left was you and the addictive fantasy that had consumed him.

you pulled off with a pop, lips shiny. “you want to fuck me while he’s not here? want to bend me over and fill me up so i go back to him leaking your cum?”

the words hit him like a physical blow, a punch to the gut that stole his breath. he hoisted you up with his undeniable strength, spinning you around in a swift, dizzying motion. your back was to him now, your body bent over in a pose that was as desperate as it was vulnerable. the dress you wore was shoved up to your waist in his rush, revealing the flawless plush of your bare ass, no panties, of course not. the realization sent a jolt of lust through him, shaking and undeniable.

his hand came down on your cheek with a thunderous slap, hard enough to leave a red, stinging mark. then he was lining himself up, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, and with a few powerful thrusts, he drove himself deep inside you. your cunt was soaked, welcoming him into its soft depths, gripping him like a fist, hot, tight, and perfect, the sensation so intense it made his head spin.

“fuck— yes,” you gasped out, your voice ragged with pleasure. you pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with an eagerness that was as intoxicating as it was arousing. “come on, jobie, harder. use me.”

and he did. his hips snapped forward in a relentless rhythm, the slap of skin on skin echoing loudly in the quiet room, with one hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so he could growl in your ear. his voice was rough with need, each word highlighted by the force of his thrusts. “this pussy— it belongs to me when i’m inside it. not his, mine... oh god, please— say it.”

his whines filled the air between you, a challenge and a plea wrapped into one. the room was filled with the scent of his cologne and sweat, the atmosphere heavy with desire and anticipation. every sensation was heightened, every touch a spark that set his nerves on fire, the fantasy was consuming, a strong mix of pleasure and guilt that had him on the edge of heaven.

“yours,” you whimpered, voice breaking as he pounded into you. “only yours. fill me up, please— fuck, i can feel how thick you are.”

his hand reached around your body, fingers seeking out the sensitive bud of your clit. he began to rub tight circles, the rhythm matching the pace of his thrusts, the sensation sending shivers through you, a delicious shake that made your walls flutter around him. the scent of your juices, raw and intoxicating, mixed with the musk of his sweat. it filled his nose, a smell that drove him wild. he could taste the salt on your skin when he bit into the soft flesh of your shoulder, a sharp difference to the sweet defeat of your body.

you were the first to crumble from the pleasure, your body shaking as you cried out. your cunt pulsed around him, drenching his cock and thighs with your release. the sight and feel of it, so raw, and so real, it dragged him over the edge. he buried himself to the brim inside you, groaning your name like a secret chant as he pumped thick ropes of cum deep inside you, his hips jerking with each pulse, evidence to his pleasure.

then, as quickly as it had drowned him, the fantasy shattered. reality crashed back in, leaving him alone in the quiet hotel room. his fist was slick with his own release, his stomach streaked with evidence of his pleasure. his breath came in ragged gasps, each one echoing loudly in the silence of the room. the guilt crashed in heavier than before, thick and sour in his throat.

what the fuck is wrong with me?

his cock still twitched in his hand, sensitive and overwhelmed, but the image of you, bent over, your body glistening with sweat and dripping with his load, lingered behind his eyes. it was as if it belonged there, like a distant memory that insisted on staying.

he wiped his hand on the sheets, his chest tight with a mix of satisfaction and regret. he knew that the next time he closed his eyes, you’d be right there again, as real and irresistible as ever.

and jobe would let it happen. every single time.