sinnersphile

[sinnersphile]

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 build a fic! 　ﾟ･｡･

(pick a quote + a feeling + a trope ! let’s see what fic you end up with.)

author's addition: this lil build-a-fic is inspired by @scealaiscoite ’s adorable idea ! her prompt lists are literal perfection. go stalk her blog pls she’s the best ever 🧸

— a quote !

☆ “stop smiling like that. it’s distracting.”

☆ “you make it really hard to stay just friends.”

☆ “why does it feel like a goodbye?”

☆ “you’re blushing.” — “no i’m not.”

☆ “just friends don’t look at each other like that.”

☆ “i missed you. that’s all.”

☆ “you remember the little things. that’s what gets me.”

☆ “tell me to stay. and i will.”

☆ “my hand fits so perfectly in yours. it's like i'm made for you”

☆ “do you want me to leave?” — “no. i want you to stay forever.”

☆ “i think i knew it was you. even back then.” — “then stay.” — “but that's the thing. i don't know if i know you anymore.”

☆ “i don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

☆ “this means something. don’t pretend it doesn’t.”

☆ “you’re not just anyone. you’re you.”

☆ “if we kiss now, everything changes.” — “i know but that's a risk i'm willing to take.”

☆ “i’ve been in love with you since the night we met.”

☆ “tell me it meant nothing. lie if you have to.”

☆ “i was easy to leave, wasn’t i?”

☆ “you don’t get to miss me now. you lost that right when we broke up.”

☆ “say something. anything. please.”

☆ “i loved you. that should’ve been enough.”

☆ “i wish i didn’t remember everything.”

☆ “don’t look at me like you still care.”

☆ “i’m tired of pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

☆ “you said forever. i believed you.”

☆ “if you didn’t mean it, why did you say it?”

☆ “you chose them. you always do.”

☆ “i don’t hate you. i just wish i’d never met you.”

☆ “you let me go like i was nothing.”

☆ “please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

☆ “are you sure? cause whatever this is it doesn’t feel like love.”

☆ “it’s always been you. i just didn’t know how to say it.”

☆ “say that again. i dare you.”

☆ “you really don’t see it, do you?”

☆ “i think i like you. like, like like you.”

☆ “do you always look at people like that?”

☆ “you make it really hard to think straight.”

☆ “oh my god. you’re blushing.”

☆ “this means something. don’t pretend it doesn’t.”

☆ “i should’ve kissed you when i had the chance.”

☆ “you’re not helping. you’re being pretty. it's distracting.”

☆ “you make me nervous in the best way.”

☆ “every time you look at me, i forget what i was saying.”

☆ “just admit it. you like me.”

☆ “if you don’t kiss me right now, i might explode.”

☆ “you’re dangerously good at that smile.”

— a feeling !

♡ longing ♡ comfort ♡ fear ♡ hope ♡ guilt ♡ joy ♡ jealousy ♡ trust ♡ confusion ♡ safety ♡ regret ♡ tenderness ♡ ache ♡ peace ♡ want ♡ yearning ♡ hesitation ♡ betrayal ♡ relief ♡ pride ♡ vulnerability ♡ nostalgia ♡ admiration ♡ disbelief ♡ grief ♡ devotion ♡ loneliness ♡ warmth ♡ embarrassment ♡ desire

— a trope !

☾ only one bed ☾ mutual pining ☾ fake dating gone real ☾ friends to lovers ☾ strangers to almosts ☾ found family ☾ rivals with tension ☾ the “oh” moment ☾ confessions at 2am ☾ sunshine x grump ☾ forbidden ☾ hurt/comfort ☾ secretly in love ☾ reunion after years ☾ accidental domesticity ☾ slow burn ☾ “just friends” denial ☾ second chances ☾ love letters never sent ☾ childhood friends ☾ exes ☾ soulmates who don’t believe in fate ☾ enemies on the same side ☾ sleep talking confessions ☾ one falling first, the other falling harder ☾ patching up wounds with shaky hands ☾ “who did this to you?” ☾ dancing in the kitchen ☾ jealousy over nothing (but also everything) ☾ late-night phone calls ☾ caught in the rain ☾ almost kissing but someone interrupts ☾ waking up next to them ☾ fixing each other’s tie/collar ☾ taking care of them while they’re sick

GIVE CREDITS TO @iamgonnagetyouback / @fawndrip

[sinnersphile]

They think they've got jokes

[sinnersphile]

After Glory

Jannik Sinner x Pregnant!Reader

masterlist | join the tag list!

Summary: 4 moments during Y/N (and Jannik)’s pregnancy.

Genre: extremely fluff, parent-to-be couple, slight suggestive content!

WC: 5,2k

A/N: Hi! I hope you’ll enjoy this part!! Let me know what you're thinking! Oh, also, when you finish reading this, you will have read 15 PAGES! xx (There are references to Fantastic Four and Riffraff!)

Pt. 1

17th week | South Tyrol, Italy

The first thing you feel is the warmth of Jannik’s hand on your belly, fingertips gently brushing over the place where he kissed thousands of times.

One kiss, then another, and another… each one slower, lower than the last, until his face is resting fully against your stomach. He breathes there for a moment, like he’s listening, like he’s waiting…

This room—his childhood bedroom—is still half-lit by the greyish morning, quiet except for the sounds of footsteps and talking from downstairs.

However, up here, you curl up in your quiet and warm bubble.

Jannik’s voice is barely more than a whisper, “Ciao, piccolina,” his lips pressed to the curve of your belly. “Spero che tu abbia dormito bene.”

(“Hi, little one. I hope you slept well.”)

His hand slides under the hem of your —his— t-shirt, the one you started using as a pyjama.

He gives your bump the lightest squeeze, barely any pressure. “Ti senti più grande oggi.”

(“You feel bigger today.”)

You finally open your eyes, blinking against the filtered light. For a second, everything feels like a dream—the weight of the covers, the unfamiliar ceiling, scent of the man you fell in love with and the way your body no longer feels like only your own.

“Are you bonding without me again?” you murmur, voice still raspy from sleep.

Your fingers find his hair, gently massaging through the ginger strands. He’s still got the bedhead. It suits him, you thought.

He grins against your stomach. “Oh no, we’re caught.”

“What were you saying to her?” you ask, shifting your pillow a little so you can see his face better.

“Nothing important,” he murmurs, kissing the bump again, more slowly this time. “Just that she feels bigger today.”

“She’s an avocado now, thank you very much.” you snort.

He looks up at you, mock-serious. “Isn’t she still too little to look this big?”

“Wow,” you gasp dramatically. “Don’t body shame our unborn child, Sinner. She’s doing her best.”

“You’ve been stealing all my hoodies to hide her. I think she wants to be seen now.” he reasons.

“First off, don’t call her big again. She’s still growing. And second—Nike sends you thousands of clothes every year. You don’t need them anymore, they’re mine.”

“If you say so,” he says with a shrug, completely unbothered.

Before you can sass him again, he’s stretching across you toward the nightstand and grabs something small and orange—the fox plushie you found in the back of his wardrobe the first night you arrived here.

“Piccolina,” he says gently, making the fox sit upright on your bump like a tiny guard. “We have to tell them about you. You don’t want to be our little secret anymore, do you?”

He lies back beside you, one arm tucked behind his head, the other playing with the plushie, making him ‘kiss’ your belly.

You run your palm lightly over your stomach. The bump is definitely visible now—especially in this position, where you’re flat on your back. You’ve been hiding it under oversized jumpers and dresses for almost two weeks now. At first it was kind of fun, only a secret you two know, then it became suspicious because who would wear sweaters in summer?

“Preferably today,” you mutter. “Because every time I say no to espresso, your mom looks at me like I just committed a crime.”

He grins, then leans over to kiss you, “You sort of did.”

“Your mother is one more espresso offer away from figuring it out herself. She also told me I look different but you know, suspiciously.” You scowl.

“Then we tell them after breakfast?” he says, kissing you again, lips soft against your cheek. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, the word catching a little in your throat. “It’s time.”

He smiles gently and brushes the plushie across your nose.

“Oh. Okay. So I don’t get your kisses anymore?” you tease. “Now I only get Mr. Foxy’s attention?”

“Seems like he likes you,” Jannik says seriously, still trailing the toy up toward your hairline.

“Jan,” you start laughing, trying to grab the toy from him. “Don’t you dare—”

But he’s already tickling you with it, brushing it along your jaw and neck while you squirm.

“Jannik!” you shriek.

“Don’t yell in front of our child,” he says calmly, adjusting the fox’s head like it’s watching you both.

You bury your face in the pillow. “I cannot believe I’m having a baby with you.”

“Neither can I,” he says, kissing you again. This time, more slowly, more deliberately. “But look where we are!”

His hand moves carefully over your stomach again, thumb brushing the curve that can be seen now. You can feel the weight of his body hovering just above yours, carefully not to give his weight over you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. Soft at first but shortly turn into longer and deeper. His fingers make their way to your hips—

KNOCK KNOCK.

“Guys come on!” Marc’s voice comes from the other side of the door, “Stop eating each other! I heard Y/N screaming again!”

You both go completely still, your eyes snap open as Jannik lifts his head from yours.

“Did he just—?” you whisper. “Yeah.”

“He thinks we’re—” you add, still mouth wide open. “Yeah.”

You cover your face with your hands. “I hate your brother.”

-

After the talk, you don’t bother hiding the bump anymore.

Seventeen weeks in, and it’s definitely there. Still small enough to hide if you really tried, but you don’t want to. Not when you came here to give the news anyways.

So you pull on one of your softest shirts, brush your hair back, and meet the rest of the family downstairs.

The kitchen is already buzzing when you walk in, cheeks flushed, hand still linked with Jannik’s. His parents are bustling with coffee and plates. His brother Marc is already seated, looking suspiciously smug.

He sees both of you walk in and grins. “You’re late.”

Your stomach drops at his words. “Wait—what?”

“To breakfast?” Marc replies with a shrug.

Jannik chokes on air, while his mom turns around, staring back and forth between the two of you as if she’s piecing something together.

“Oh,” you mutter, then add with a laugh, “Right, breakfast! Sorry.”

Marc raises an eyebrow but shrugs again, reaching for more bread.

You sit, Jannik’s hand finds yours under the table. His thumb strokes your palm slowly.

“Espresso, tesoro?” his mom asks, already reaching for the cups.

You shake your head. “No, thank you.”

She freezes, giving her husband a look. Then slowly—very slowly—puts the cup down. “Okay.”

Jannik clears his throat, nudging his knee against yours under the table, alerting it’s time.

“Actually,” he starts, “we… have something to tell you.”

“We— Y/N actually, she’s pregnant,” Jannik says plainly.

“Seventeen weeks,” you add, voice softer. “That’s why we came. We wanted to tell you in person.”

For a second, everyone stays silent, even giving each other looks that gives you anxiety.

And then: chaos.

“Oddio!!” his mom gasps, hands flying to her mouth before rushing toward you. “Un bambino!”

She hugs you so tightly you barely have time to react before her hands find your belly and her eyes fill with tears.

“I knew something was different!” she exclaims. “You glow, tesoro!”

Jannik leans back in his chair, mock-offended. “Do I get a hug or…”

“Later,” she waves him off. “She’s carrying my grandchild.”

“So…” Marc says, blinking. “you guys are actually having a baby?”

“Yep,” Jannik replies, grinning. “You’re gonna be an uncle.”

Marc blinks again. “Wow. You’re… ahead of schedule.”

“We didn’t plan to,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“You should at least propose,” his mom says brightly, her eyes still wet with tears.

“Mamma.”

“What? You should! You live together, you cook together, you sleep in the same bed—now a baby? You’re practically married!”

Marc shrugs. “She’s not wrong.”

You nudge him under the table, and he smiles wider.

-

After breakfast, she insists you rest. You barely sit down in the living room when she returns with a thick red photo album.

“You’ll want to see this,” she says, setting it beside you with a wink.

“Oh no,” Jannik groans from the kitchen. “Not the album.”

“Yes, the album,” she says sweetly, already flipping it open.

The first few pages are harmless—baby Jannik swaddled in pale blankets, sleeping with one tiny fist curled under his chin.

“He was such a soft baby,” she says proudly. “Always smiling— look at this!”

You flip a page. He’s in a high chair, covered in probably some tomato sauce. Another page— Jannik in a sunhat three sizes too big, proudly holding a melting cone of ice-cream.

“He ate more than any child I’ve ever known,” his mom says fondly.

Then you flip again.

“Oh my God,” you say, biting back a laugh.

There he is—completely naked in a tiny plastic tub, sitting upright like he owns the world, clutching a yellow rubber duck with a grin that could blind the sun.

“Mamma, no,” Jannik says from the doorway. “Don’t—”

“She’s already seen you naked, Jannik,” his mom says without missing a beat. “She’s growing your child!”

You burst out laughing, hand flying to your mouth.

“I’m leaving,” Jannik mutters, already halfway toward the hallway.

“No you’re not,” you call after him. “You’re going to sit here while I soak in every chubby, naked baby photo your mother ever printed.”

“I can’t believe you’re enjoying this.”

“Look at your tummy!” you show another bath picture before flipping the page. “Look at this one. Is that Mr. Foxy?”

“Yup.” he proudly responds.

“It’s in his bedroom!” she says, not knowing the morning kisses you got from him. “You can take it for her.”

“Oh, we saw him! And we definitely will take him!” you confirm.

You lean back into the couch, the album resting on your knees, your hand curled over your bump. For the first time, you don’t feel the need to hide. You’re finally letting her be seen.

And somehow, with his baby photos spread across your lap and his mother humming in the kitchen.

Everything feels exactly as it should.

20th week | New York, USA

“Jannik!” the interviewer cheers, voice rising over the crowd, “Another Grand Slam, another quarterfinal! This is becoming quite the tradition for you!”

He stands tall in the center of the court, fingers anxiously threading through the damp curls, a shy smile appearing on his lips—like he wasn’t just battling an exhausting four-set match for nearly three hours.

“Hopefully,” he responds with a quiet chuckle. “Last year, I was lucky to win here.”

“Well, we’ll see how that plays out in a couple of days,” the interviewer grins widely, “but before we dive deeper into your performance—if you’ll allow me—I think there’s someone we have to mention… Someone who’s been watching you closely tonight.”

He gestures up toward the player box, driving all the attention there.

The camera finds you instantly, sitting between his team and close friends. You flash a smile, a little uncertain yet warm one. This is your first match back in the box since your baby bump started showing.

You wanted to show up, to support him as you always do in person, but the thought that people will be invested in the baby, raining questions all over you, made you hesitate. You wanted to wait until you felt completely safe and okay with the baby's presence.

And this morning he asked, softly and without any pressure, “If you feel okay, I want to see you there tonight.”

And so here you are.

“Is it safe to say,” the interviewer beams, “that another Grand Slam champion is already on the way?”

Laughter and cheers explode from the stands as Jannik grins widely, his hand instinctively rising to scratch the back of his neck– a telltale sign of flusher that he tries to hide.

His eyes flicker up toward you, there's a playful sparkle in them. “Yeah,” he replies, “If she wants to be.”

You look at him with those ‘lovey-dovey’ eyes Darren once teasingly described, filled with affection and admiration.

“Have you bought her any rackets yet? Tennis balls?”

“Nah,” he laughs again, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his tone. “Y/N—my girlfriend—doesn’t let me yet.”

The interviewer laughs with his answer and adds, “Well, I’m sure you’ll be getting plenty of nursery gear after tonight!”

“Probably,” Jannik shrugs, smiling again. “We’ll need more space.”

—

You’re already sitting on the bench eating some snacks when he walks in, a towel casually slung around his neck and a bottle of water in one hand. His match kit is gone—replaced by a soft green hoodie and black shorts—but his curls are still damp from the shower, clinging to his forehead.

The moment he spots you, it’s like something in him releases. He exhales through his nose like he’s been holding his breath since the court.

The moment his eyes find you, it’s as if a weight lifts from his shoulders. He exhales through his nose, a deep, relieved breath as though he’s been holding it in since the match ended.

“You okay?” he asks softly, stepping closer and reaching out to cradle the back of your head as he leans down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss—just one, slow and grounding.

You hum against his mouth, feeling the warmth radiating off him. “Are you okay?”

He sinks down beside you, elbows resting on his knees, a contemplative look crossing his face. “Yeah. Just… a bit surreal. They kept me longer for more questions.”

“Assuming that the little one got all the attention.” You rest your palm over your stomach with a grin.

He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head with disbelief. “Didn’t realize I was gonna get upstaged by someone who hasn’t even been born yet.”

“You’re just jealous.” you reply playfully, teasing him.

“A little,” he admits. “I mean, I won a quarterfinal at another Grand Slam, and all anyone wants to talk about is the bump.”

You tilt your head with an amused expression. “Sorry. She’s kind of a star like her daddy.”

He laughs quietly, gaze dropping for a moment. “Some guy in the tunnel stopped me to say congratulations. I said ‘thanks,’ and he said, ‘Oh, also the match was good too.’”

“No way.” Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“I swear.”

“For what it’s worth,” You reach out and place your hand on his. “I’d still watch you play even if people only come to see our baby.” You struggle to hold back the smile.

“I know.” He leans in and kisses your palm, “And I’d still play for you.”

“Also, I got congratulated five times while waiting for you, and one security guard said, ‘Hope she plays like him but looks like you.’ I didn’t know what to say at first.”

“I don’t know if I should be offended or not.” He leans back, finally letting his body rest. You shuffle closer, resting your head against his shoulder. “At least they still appreciate me a bit.”

“Tiny bit.” you correct him with a playful tone.

“I liked seeing you out there,” he adds after a moment, his voice is softer now. “I looked up and there you were and… I don’t know. Everything got easier.”

“You always say that,” you murmur.

“Because it’s always true.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, the comfort of his warmth and smell hugs you.

“I’ll come to the next one too,” you promise. “If you’re not scared she’ll outshine you again.”

“I mean,” he sighs dramatically, even though you don't see his face, you can sense the smirk on his face. “Might as well get used to it.”

Before you can reply, the door opens—and the locker room fills with celebration and chatter.

“Oi, Sinner!” Darren’s voice cuts the others immediately, followed by the loud slap of a hand against Jannik’s back. “You absolute legend. Solid win.”

“Thanks,” Jannik replies, clearing his throat and straightening up just a little. “Finally focusing on my performance.”

“But I gotta say…” Darren turns, already grinning like a Cheshire Cat. “You were only the third-most interesting thing on court tonight.”

“Wait—third?” Jannik blinks.

“Yeah. One: the baby. Two: your girlfriend. Then you.” Darren explains with a laugh.

“That crowd screamed louder for her than for your passing shot.” a voice adds.

Jannik groans, flopping back against the wall. “This is bullying now.”

Darren shrugs, not even trying to hide his smile. “Sorry, mate, once you create another you, it’s game over. You’re just the plus-one now.”

Simone adds from across the room, “Better start learning how to change diapers. Your endorsement deals are switching from espressos to diapers.”

You grin, stretching out your legs as you steal Jannik’s water bottle again. “Personally, I’m aiming for a Gucci Baby collab.”

“Why are you like this?” he asks, rolling his eyes again.

“Because it’s fun watching you slowly realize you’re not the main character anymore!”

“I’m going to another semi-final." he mutters under his breath, still trying to remind people who he is.

“And yet,” you say, taking another sip from his bottle, “The baby has a better PR.”

He sighs, tipping his head back against the locker. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Good thing you love us,” you reply, getting another bite of your snack.

He turns to look at you again, quieter now. “I do.”

30th week | Monte Carlo, Monaco

You start by folding the tiniest clothes you’ve ever seen into your baby's wardrobe.

There’s something strangely calming about it—little cotton onesies, soft long-sleeved shirts, miniature pants that could fit in the palm of your hand. Everything smells new and clean.

You pause over a pair of socks no bigger than your thumb, then reach into the next box and pull out a white cotton shirt with glittery gold writing across the chest.

“Your sponsors are so subtle,” you call out with a smile.

From the other side of the room, Jannik grunts in response. He’s kneeling awkwardly on the rug in front of the half-assembled crib, surrounded by scattered wooden panels and a not-so-helpful instruction booklet. He’s already muttered the same curse four times in the last fifteen minutes.

“They sent more?” he asks, not looking up.

“Oh yeah.” You hold up the shirt so he can see the sparkly words—Future No. 1. “Look at this.”

Jannik turns just long enough to catch it, his face twists with mock horror. “She already has sponsorships.”

You search through the next box and hold it up like treasure. “See?”

“Oh God,” He squints,“A Gucci bib?”

“For her designer spits,” you say sweetly, barely holding back a laugh.

“If she stains that, I might cry,” he says dramatically.

“She will stain it,” you reply, voice cheerful. “That’s literally the point of a bib.”

“I could stain it now and save us the emotional torture.”

You giggle, folding it neatly and tucking it into the drawer beside the absurdly tiny sneakers. You swear, those shoes could fit on two fingers. You run a thumb along the edge of the fabric. “Some of this stuff is ridiculous,” you murmur under your breath, still smiling.

A few more boxes later, you spot something tucked deeper into one of the bags, wrapped in red and black tissue paper. Your hand stills.

“What’s this?” you ask aloud, tugging it free.

Jannik immediately perks up. “Oh, you found it!”

It’s a baby-sized AC Milan home jersey—soft, tiny, and so adorable that it almost doesn’t feel real. You hold it gently between your fingers, smoothing the fabric out. On the back, in white lettering, it says: SINNER 11.

Your chest tightens instantly, the kind of sudden emotion that catches in your throat. You stare at the little shirt and feel your eyes water.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “You got her a Milan jersey.”

“Of course I did,” he says, walking over like he’s proud of himself. “You’ve got to teach them early.”

You lift it higher, compare it against your belly. It’s so small, almost doll-sized. “Wait… Why eleven?”

“I’m ten,” he says with a shrug, like it’s obvious. “And she’s my plus one.”

Your eyes snap to his, and there it is—that stupid, sweet, earnest smile that always sneaks up on you when you least expect it. You blink quickly, pushing the emotion back. Pregnancy hormones are going crazy lately and you can't believe they made you almost cry over a jersey.

“That’s actually disgustingly cute,” you mumble.

He leans in and kisses your cheek, light and sweet. “You love it.”

You don’t even hesitate. “I really do.”

You fold the jersey as carefully as if it were made of glass and place it right on top of the others. The drawer now officially contains: one Gucci bib, one Milan jersey, one very spoiled baby-to-be, and a totally unprepared pair of parents.

You reach for the next box and pull out something white and gold—and immediately freeze.

“…Wait a second,” you say, almost like a whisper.

“What?” Jannik asks, still crouched by the crib.

“A Real Madrid jersey.” You lift the new item higher. “I think you have an enemy.”

He turns his head so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “No.”

“Yup,” you say with a sincere pout on your lips. “And it has a note.”

He practically lunges across the rug to grab it from your hands. You look up at him as he reads it aloud with all the drama in him:

“Figured someone should teach her how to win Champions Leagues. Hala Madrid. — Tio Carlitos.”

You don’t even try to hold it in, your laughter echoes off the walls as Jannik stares down at the white jersey like it just insulted his mother.

“He did not just—”

“Oh, he did, baby,” you say, almost crying from laughter.

“I’m going to use this as her bib.” he finally speaks with a very serious gesture.

“Jannik.” you scold.

“Or a burp cloth.”

“Be nice,” you reply while looking inside the box for something else.

“I am being nice. I’m not setting it on fire.”

“Carlos meant well.”

“Oh, he meant war,” he mutters, throwing the jersey aside.

You keep going, digging through the last bit of the packaging until your fingers wrap around something soft and plush. You pull it out—a bright orange fox with long limbs and a stitched smile. The fur is extra soft, the ears floppy.

“Oh, wait. This is actually cute.” you chant with a smile.

Jannik gives it a side-eye. “That better be a peace offering.”

“There’s another note,” you say, unfolding the tiny card stuck beneath it.

You read it aloud: “Something to hold on to when her dad is out there playing with me.’ Wow, it sounds like a mattress to me.”

“And you told me to be nice!” he laughs.

“Whatever,” you say, holding the toy up next to him for comparison. “At least it looks like you.”

“She’s gonna think we come from foxes.”

“Oh, she’s definitely gonna think you are one.”

You cross the room and kneel beside him at the crib, the pile of wood and screws still untouched since he got distracted by baby merch. You take the manual from his lap and frown.

“This screw doesn’t go here.”

“Yes, it does.” he insists.

“Babe,” you say patiently, “It’s literally labeled for the other panel.”

He gestures vaguely at the chaos. “That’s IKEA’s fault. Their instructions are so bad. It’s sabotage.”

You snort. “You picked this crib.”

“Well, I regret it.” He drops a tiny wrench like it offended him. “This whole design is too complicated. She can just sleep with us.”

“What?”

“She’s not gonna remember it anyway,” he says with complete conviction. “Crib? Useless. She’s gonna want to be close to us. Also, skin-to-skin contact is important.”

“Is this your official parenting stance?”

He shrugs, completely serious. “She’s my daughter. I can’t just put her in a box like a cat.”

You start laughing so hard you almost tip over the parts list. “It’s a crib, not a shoebox.”

“IKEA would like us to believe that.” he reasons.

“You are insane.”

“I’m just realistic,” he replies, stretching out beside the half-built crib. “We’re gonna co-sleep. It’s bonding.”

“Or maybe,” you counter, “When Marc visits us next week, we can just ask him to help us and actually finish this thing?”

He mulls it over, eyes narrowing at the instruction booklet like it personally betrayed him. “Fine. But I still think IKEA is part of the problem.”

You roll your eyes and push yourself up from the rug. “I’m going to go get us something to eat before one of us starts chewing on crib parts.”

“You’re abandoning me?” he says, flat on his back, one hand over his heart.

“I’m going for five minutes.” You toss a baby sock at his face, yet, he doesn’t even flinch. Just mutters, “This is exactly how IKEA wins.

-

You come back twenty-ish minutes later, balancing a bottle of water, a banana, and a granola bar under your arm.

The room is quiet– Suspiciously quiet.

You expect to find Jannik hammering the last piece into place, victory in his eyes. Instead, you walk in and stop short.

He’s stretched out on the nursery rug, completely sprawled on his stomach now, one cheek pressed to the soft floor, arms splayed out like he’s been defeated in battle. The half-assembled crib still stands crooked in the background, just like you left. A lone screw rests between his fingers. His eyes are closed as he’s breathing softly.

You stare for a beat, then slowly lower the banana onto the changing table. “Oh, sweetheart,” you whisper, biting back a laugh. “You gave up.”

34th week | Monte Carlo, Monaco

It’s been a few days since he left for that one event in Milan — not long in the grand scheme of your lives, especially for two people used to airports and FaceTimes. But since the season ended, you've gotten used to falling asleep next to each other, to the luxury of each other’s presence.

He tiptoes through the front door now, suitcase dropped by the wall and coat shrugged off in the dark. The place smells faintly of baby shampoo and lavender detergent. The scent of his home.

God, he missed you.

He undresses quietly and slips under the duvet carefully, making his way behind you as his hand finds your belly instinctively. Warm and somehow bigger than even a few days ago.

“Mmh—Jan?” You stir at his touch, your voice still scratchy with sleep.

“It’s me,” he whispers through your neck, “I’m home.”

Your eyes flutter open, then turn towards him. You don’t say anything, just kiss him to welcome him.

It’s not slow or shy — it’s breathless, open-mouthed and desperate. Your fingers thread into his hair and pull him closer. His hands grip your hips, then your belly again, like he’s checking you’re real, you’re with him.

“I missed you,” you murmur between kisses. “So much.”

“I couldn’t think about anything else,” he breathes. “And it has been just three days.”

His mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, and the top of your chest. He pushes the strip of your tank top down until one of your breasts spills free for him.

“Oh god,” he whispers, cupping you reverently as his thumb brushes your sensitive nipple. “I love you.”

You smile and tug the top up yourself, exposing more of you. Bare skin warm and flushed in the dark with his hot kisses washing you all over. He kisses across your chest, sucking gently with an open mouth as his hand slides down your side to your inner thigh.

You’re already arching toward his touch, whimpering when his slim fingers find their way inside you.

“You're already ready for me, amore.” he says, his voice low and sweet, “Do you want me inside?”

“Maybe,” you whisper back teasingly.

Rocking your hips up against him and God—he’s already hard, almost throbbing against you.

“You can’t just grind on me,” he says, voice already breaking, “I’m gonna lose it.”

“I’m pregnant,” you say, kissing him again. “I’m allowed to be cruel.”

You grind again, but much slower this time as his hips buck up to your thigh without warning. “Baby—fuck—”

You giggle, lean down to kiss his reddened chest, and let your hand wander under the waistband of his boxers. He’s warm, leaking already. You stroke him once, then twice—slow, controlled, and devastating.

And then you stop.

He jerks like he’s been shocked. “Why did you stop?”

You sit up slightly, still breathless. “I gotta pee.”

There’s a pause, and you almost wanted to laugh at his expression.

“What?”

“I gotta pee,” you say again, slipping your legs out of the duvet like this isn’t the end of the world. “Like right now.”

“You’re joking.”

You slowly make your way toward the ensuite with a mutter, “Your daughter is literally tap-dancing on my bladder.”

He watches you go, absolutely wrecked. “I was about to make you see God.”

“I’m sure God will still be there when I get back,” you call from the bathroom.

He’s still lying there dramatically, half-hard and completely betrayed, when you come back a few minutes later— expression is sleepy and smug. You don’t say anything, just crawl right back into bed… and curl up to his warmth.

“No. No, you can’t do that,” he says, pulling away a bit to see your face. “Please. Are you gonna sleep now?”

“Yeah, apparently.” you giggle.

“We can do other stuff too!” he pleases.

You raise an eyebrow. “What other stuff?”

“Like…” He glances down at your mouth, and his thumb brushes your lower lip. “Your mouth?”

“I can’t even put a spoon in my mouth without gagging.” You roll your eyes.

He groans. “What about hand stuff?”

“What about you take a cold shower?” you grin, even though you do feel a little bad for him.

“Are you serious right now—?”

You lean in and kiss him again, something soft this time, and he moans into your mouth, full-body yearning.

“I’m going to cry,” he whispers against your lips.

“You’ll live,” you say, pulling the blanket over you.

You roll onto your back with a smile, and he collapses beside you, his arm wrapping dramatically across your belly.

“I hate you.”

“You said you’re in love with me like two minutes ago.” you mock him.

“That was before you tortured me. I’m in pain right now.”

“Yeah, I feel it.” You giggle, running your fingers through his curls again. His whole body softens at your touch. He turns his face and kisses your neck and chest gently, over and over.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I really did miss you. I just… I’m so tired.”

“Don’t apologize.” He gives you a peck. “You’re growing a whole person in there. You could ask me to sleep on the floor and I’d do it.”

“You say that now…”

“Shh.” He hugs you closer. “You’re still in your dreamland.”

You giggle again, already half-asleep, as he grumbles and gets up.

“Where are you going?” you mumble.

“To take the world’s coldest shower,” he mutters.

“Good luck.”

@coralsaladexpert @acrookedtree @angstynasty @mercurial-wallflower @trees-are-books @luvs4haechan @anamiad00msday @hadesnumber1daughter @hxonieverse @bloodcanbehot @tastebaldwin @pastry-cult @rebelatbay @miausworld @bwueden

[sinnersphile]

no worries if you don’t fancy answering but what time zone are you in? just trying to figure out when to expect updates :)

no trouble at all!! im at new york time currently but will be back to paris time soon lol! ill have to admit i have no right time to post 😭 but most of the time i do it really late in the night, like midnight for me or something close!!!

[sinnersphile]

completely and utterly obsessed with "Things we did when no one was looking". i hope you get everything you ever wished for in life and more. GOD I WILL BE EATING UP THE UPDATES WHEN THEY COME and i adore Vic and Coco's friendship sm; i will have ao3 opened on my tabs just incase chapter 9 comes. mwahhh <3

oh my god you're too kind!!!! thank you so much, i get really happy when people tell me that they are enjoying it!! it's super fun to write and i love that you're also having fun reading it!! im working on chapter 9 already! thank you for the words <333

[sinnersphile]

Ur ao3 fic is my current obsessionnnn vic is 😍😍😍

heyyy nony!! im glad you're enjoying it especially vic!! she's so fun to write tbh hahaha thank you for this sweet ask <3

[sinnersphile]

Hi!! Just read all 7 chapters available of things we did when no one was looking on ao3 and im just here to thank you for writing this masterpiece 🫡 seriously im obsessed with victoria and jannik and all the mutual yearning between them. Can’t wait for more!!!! And thank you one more time ☺️ your writing is amazing 👏

oh you're so so sweet!!! thank you so much for this, im blushing here hahaha made my day!!! i hope you continue to enjoy and read it <3

[sinnersphile]

[sinnersphile]

CHALLENGERS 2024 | dir. by Luca Guadagnino

[sinnersphile]

If ur not in the mood for this no worries! But if you are, could i possibly request an alcaraz/sinner reader/of love triange of sorts in an angsty way ? As much angst as possible haha xx adore ur work !

nony, there you go! not sure if it was what you had in mind or if it was angsty enought but i hope you enjoy it!!!! thank you for the request i had lots of fun writing it!! <3

[sinnersphile]

❛ midnight in paris ❜ jannik sinner  x  reader  x carlos alcaraz .

╾ you couldn’t win yours, but he would give you all of his. 

jannik sinner x fiancée!reader / carlos alcaraz x ex-girlfriend!reader warnings: the challengers wind that makes you cheat, implied sex, career ending injury, angst, roland garros 2025 final mention, heavily inspired by challengers, reader and carlos have crazy morals. synopsis... you are world nº1's fiancée and world nº2's ex-girlfriend, and every time they fight on court you wish it was you who could still play.

a/n: a very wise and kind nony requested a very angsty fic between jannik and carlos so here we are... saw that this week would be exactly six years since art played on that challenger and this got me inspired. hope you enjoy it!!

By the time he reaches the third match point, you feel like throwing up.

Oh, this is terrible. Awful. And yet, like the perfect little fiancée, gigantic diamond ring shining bright under the Parisian sun, you control your emotions pretty well for the cameras. You look worried, yes, but you don’t look pissed off like you actually are.

And Carlos takes it. In that flawless way that only he can manage. Like it’s child’s play. He smiles, he laughs, and every single person and their moms on Philippe-Chatrier is fawning over him. Your jaw is locked, sunglasses covering any passing emotion for the remainder of the trophy ceremony.

When it ends, you let Jannik crash into your arms. He doesn’t sob, but he might as well.

“I’m so so sorry.”

“Why are you saying sorry to me?” Your voice is light, but there’s an edge to it. 

“I know it’s important to win. Not just for me, but for you.” It’s impossible to give him anything other than a tight smile, your hands finding his messy, sweaty curls and playing with them.

Of course he says this. It’s exactly the kind of thing you expect from Jannik. To remember that once upon a time you were a fifteen-year-old junior champion on the court where he just had the worst heartbreak of his life. Always so thoughtful. Your heart aches in a mix of contempt and love.

“You can’t win everything for me, Jan.” His eyes are big and glossy, and when he lowers himself to kiss you, you’re glad you don’t have to talk about this anymore. You reciprocate his kiss lightly.

You love him, yes. In your own strange way. He can’t win everything for you, but you desperately, hatefully, wish he would. It’s some form of torture you can’t really explain. It was supposed to be you: not making any of his mistakes, and by now winning much more. But fate has its twisted ways. You can’t play anymore, but you can watch the love of your life do it. And how does that work out for you? Sometimes it stings so bad you need to leave his box with the excuse of nerves. Sometimes you need his skin against you as fast as possible, need him to take you whole, because you need to be him.

As you wait for the press to be done, back in your hotel room, your phone buzzes. Jannik is telling a journalist about how important it is to have his whole family there and how much calmer and grounded he is when his fiancée is watching.

“A” sent you a message.

not even a congratulations this time? 

You laugh with disdain. Of course he wouldn’t possibly let this be. It’s almost a ritual now. He plays Jannik, usually wins, and then he texts you. Sometimes dirty messages, sometimes desperate ones. But you always know it’s coming.

You actually respect his boldness. 

congratulations carlos seemed disrespectful to do so when my fiancé is in shambles 

You ignore the rest of his texts, changing into more comfortable clothes and waiting for Jannik to arrive.

He doesn’t feel like eating or talking, holding an enormous candy jar he stole from the players’ lounge, and you let him be, a little more understanding of his emotional turmoil. You almost pity him, but stop yourself because that would be the end of everything.

“You played so well. I was impressed, you’re not even this good on clay.” You whisper it softly and playfully as he lays his head on your chest, eyes closed, trying to sleep. He can’t, he tells you, and you suggest getting drunk, but the idea doesn’t entice him.

“You’re gonna win it one day, Jan. You’re gonna win it all, so many times I’ll lose count and order you to find another place at home to put all these ridiculous trophies.” As you close your eyes too, you can picture it perfectly.

Not the new Monte Carlo apartment Jannik says he’s looking into as your newlyweds’ home, but later. The secluded villa he’ll one day decide on because of the dog and then the baby. It’ll be enormous, and the hallway will look exactly like your high school one, with a long glass shelf holding all types of trophies and medals. Your junior trophies will be there too — he’ll insist on it, telling your kids that you were way better than him.

Maybe that’s true. But none of you will ever know. There’s only the ghost of the possibilities haunting you every time a girl you beat wins a new title.

Jannik is sprawled across the bed, deeply asleep, when your phone wakes you. Carlos is calling, and in some sleepy recklessness, you pick up.

“What do you want?”

“I’m at the hotel bar. Come down.” You laugh. Unbelievable. 

“Please,” he adds, and then you’re putting on one of Jannik’s hoodies and quietly closing the door, giving the ginger one last look.

Carlos is a wreck. But in the opposite way of Jannik.

There’s confetti in his hair, and the smell of vodka hits you before you even reach him.

“A hug for the champion?” He opens his arms, under the illusion you would happily jump into them and pamper him with kisses. The thought almost makes you laugh.

You walk past him and sit at the bar, ordering something for yourself before saying anything.

“Once again, what do you want, Carlos?” He hums in pleasure when you say his name, sitting down too.  

The luxury of the place is so evident it’s impossible not to remember some cheaply awful hotel you once stayed in during a junior competition when you were seventeen. Bad lighting, an elevator that didn’t work, and a bed that squeaked when Carlos sneaked in past midnight, your mother asleep just next door.

“I wanted to see you, of course.” He leans in, his hand going to your neck, thumb grazing your skin. “I’m happy. So happy.”

You use your left hand to push his away. The diamond ring is so big it shines even in the dim, intimate bar lights. Vogue Italy ran a whole article about your engagement ring — how Jannik had it custom-made, what was engraved, how much it cost.

Carlos takes your hand, looking closely at the rock.

“I could’ve given you something just as good. Bigger maybe.”

“If you wanted to finish fucking up my wrist, yes, I think you could.” You pull back, not letting him touch you. You should be pissed just seeing his face, repulsed by how much he just made Jannik suffer. “But first, you’d need to get married.”

“I want to.”

You raise an eyebrow, scoffing.

“One day.”

“And for that, you’d need to stop cheating. Or at least going to Ibiza. A married man has to have… other types of affairs. I don’t think you’re ready for this kind of commitment, Charly.”

The nickname is sour on your tongue and sweet in his ears. He stares at you in silence, shaking his head in agreement. He knows exactly what he’s done.

You were barely nineteen, he was on an island surrounded by girls, and you cracked your wrist during a clay tournament. You couldn’t even reach him and Instagram showed you all the pictures and videos you needed.

And he never changed. He liked the parties too much, the girls too much. When you disappeared into the crushing reality that you’d never play again, he didn’t stay back. He went on, won the US Open and then Wimbledon. He was seen in Ibiza and liking girls’ pictures, smiling when answering that he was single. Still too young to settle down.

You two had plans. Plans of winning Slams together, even in doubles, to establish a brand as the tennis couple. No Agassi and Graf, it would be you and Alcaraz, childhood sweethearts turned tennis legends. Oh, and you knew you could do it. Both of you. There was enough talent. There was enough drive. There was enough desire.

You screwed it up. 

He did too. 

So when, a few months later, you were hitting balls at Monte Carlo Club as part of psychotherapy, Jannik Sinner smiled and offered to hit with you — so carefully, you remember, concerned every time you flinched — you accepted his invitation to dinner. Then to other dates. Until one day you were spotted in his box, fox merch on, cheering him on with fire in your eyes at each insane, calculated point.

The broadcast named you as a former junior player, one of the commentators saying how you used to be phenomenal, a shame you sustained such a terrible injury.

So your plans changed. Mirka Federer it was. You could work with this. It wasn’t as fresh or iconic, but it was the best option. You became part of Jannik’s entourage, first as a spare partner — not really necessary, but a good excuse to have you with him all the time. Now, you have evolved to his on-site public relations manager.

A loud thunder outside snaps you out of your thoughts, the pouring rain almost calming you.

“I miss your sneaky remarks. Your fire. That’s probably the only reason he’s getting this good. Does he even realise that?”

“You miss having a girlfriend who has a functioning brain. I know it’s hard to find one.”

You hold his gaze long enough for the nearest barman to disappear and Carlos to think he can kiss you.

You let him do it. Let him lead you to the bathroom and lock the door. Let him kiss your neck, not thinking about how much practice he’d had since the first time he did it to you. It’s not sweet, tender, or even romantic. Probably hasn’t been since the messy time you both lost your virginities. It’s raw. His forehead on yours, his sweat, his hands everywhere.

It’s impossible to forget him. His body. You’ve known it since he was a boy. And you know he thinks the same. That’s probably why he keeps coming back. Probably why you let him.

You’re on top of the sink when he finally lets go, your hair a mess, barely breathing.

“I still know you.”

“You don’t, Carlos. You don’t.”

He laughs, and you try to convince yourself it’s true. If you’d really changed, why could he still have you?

“This isn’t happening again.”

“Isn’t that what you always say?” 

But this time you mean it. No more secret rendezvous. This is finally going to be over and you will move on. That childish dream of stardom that still keeps you hooked on him is never gonna happen. You have to accept it. He needs to as well.

“You’re gonna get your engagement party invitation soon. Jannik made sure you’d be invited. He’s a grown man, you know? But then, I never told him the whole story.”

“Did you tell him I was the first to make you scream? Does he make you scream?”

You laugh loudly, recomposing yourself in the mirror to try and look normal.

“I’m marrying him, Carlos.”

“You know you won’t be truly happy with him.”

“And I would be with you? You must be fucking kidding me.” 

“I could change! I told you, don’t do this.”

You stop and think about it — Alcaraz changing his ways, being a responsible man. It is hard to even imagine. And would you put on the line everything you are building with Jannik to live this old love? All those plans with Carlos, they would always hold the risk of being exposed as a fraud the minute some low-level paparazzo snapped a perfectly angled photo.

Jannik? He would never. You know this. You know by the way he holds your hand and kisses your wrist, saying he wishes he could give his to you. Would Carlos ever say this? Even if it is the most absurd blunt lie in the world? The answer is obvious. 

“I know this isn’t happening again because the next time he plays you, he’s gonna win.” Your hand is on the doorknob, your eyes on him one last time. “I’m gonna make sure of it.”

He doesn’t stop you.

When you get back, Jannik reaches for you across the mattress. His hands find your waist even with his eyes closed, and he pulls you close, tightly, his face sinking in the crook of your neck.

“Where did you go?”

“Your manager called me. I’m sorry, amore, go back to sleep.” He hums, already drifting off.

You stare at the ceiling, then your diamond ring, then at Jannik’s peaceful face. You’ve made the right choice. No doubt.

The trophy shelf feels real already. Your trophies would look tiny beside his. But when the villa day comes, there’ll be more and you’ll fight for those trophies as much as he does.

You couldn’t win yours, but he would give you all of his. 

[sinnersphile]

hi! i love your writing!! i would love jannik x famous!reader. maybe reader is cast in challengers and has to work on her tennis and meets jannik via his coach. they became friends quickly and then lovers! they support each other. jannik goes to award shows and reader goes to his matches. maybe reader is there when jannik wins a major. no pressure at all to write just a thought i had! again love your writing!!

aghhh thank you for this anon!!! challengers and jannik oh hell yes…

Love, all ; J.S

summary : when you book a dream acting role, you realized there was just one slight problem—you can't play tennis to save your life. what happens when slightly drunk you, makes a rash decision and tell a stranger—a really handsome stranger—about your dilemma? pairing : fem!reader x jannik sinner warnings : none !

you got the call on a rainy monday.

the day had began with massive grey clouds that covered your whole area in the city. it didn't make it any better than you agent has yet to call you back about your most recent casting tape submissions. submissions, plural.

here you are, sitting on the bed, patiently waiting, in a shirt two sizes too big and shorts two sizes too small.

you had contemplated cleaning your room, getting rid of the pile of clothes that sat on your chair. or getting out of bed in general.

the phone suddenly rang.

you instinctively picked up and answered. eagerly waiting for the best news of your life, or the worst, you always made sure to be open minded.

"hello?" you said immediately.

"great news! you got it!!!" your agent sang out.

"Great! awesome! which one, exactly?

"the tennis one, the lead role? it's yours!"

you blinked. completely forgetting the website mentioned needing someone experienced in the tennis world.

after a second of silence, your agent spoke up. "i wouldn't worry too much! i'm sure it would be fine."

you paused, sitting frozen for a moment.

"i don't know how to play tennis."

"you got three months to figure that part out, don't overthink!"

before you could speak up to voice your nervousness, your agent quickly sang out "bye!" and hung up the call.

dropping the phone to the far edges of your bed. you let out a long sigh. a part of you almost wanted to scream into a pillow.

the thing is, you love acting. you love portraying characters, meeting new friends, and seeing yourself on a screen. But tennis? tennis is supposed to take time, and dedication. how were you—an oscar winning actress—going to do something that seemed impossible in the span of three months?

it's not even really the tennis that scared you. it was the fact that your character wasn't just good at tennis, she was a prodigy. 'electric on and off the court' as the website described.

too much thinking leads up to more thinking. in the span of 8 minutes, you went from : hearing the best news of your life, to screaming into your pillow.

guess that part of you won.

the dinner was slightly too loud and crowded for your taste.

as an ambassador for gucci, it was bound for you to get invited to a small get together, to celebrate god-knows-who.

your agent reached out to you last minute about it, it took 30 minutes of scrambling in your closet to find the right dress, and another 30 to find a pair of matching shoes. not to mention the other 30 for you to do your hair and makeup.

timing was never really your friend.

as you arrived at the restaurant, your nerves were jumping on one another.

quickly calmed as you saw a tiny paper tent that read "unlimited drinks."

it didn't take long for you to take advantage of it.

an hour into the dinner. everyone around you had been accompanied by someone else. a fellow actress, a fellow model, etcetera. you on the other hand, by champagne glasses and the breeze on the balcony.

the quiet and peacefulness of the wind and cars below made you forget all about the tennis dilemma.

until of course, interrupted by foot steps behind you.

"pretty lonely out here, no?" the voice behind you rang out.

with a deep breath, you turned your body around to meet eyes with a very tall, handsome stranger.

"lonely is all i can ever be in this world." you let the champagne take over.

"harsh. you don't want to step inside, and maybe be lonely with jazz in the background?' he joked.

you let out a laugh, slightly amused by him.

"quite the charmer you are."

"charming is all i can ever be, in this world."

touché.

"what are you thinking about?" he questioned.

"long story—not really actually, but i just booked a dream role of mines. career changing, dream-project, that kind of thing. it's a lead in this movie called challengers, by luca guadagnino—he's a genius. it's intense, its messy in a way, romantic too." you took a deep breath before continuing the rant, noticing how hard the stranger is listening in. "im playing this girl, who's just very lovely. she's fun and also a really good tennis player. "

another pause, then a quick ship of your cup.

"i got the call, i was over the moon. and then? panic set in. like, fuck, i've never played a game of tennis before, and i swore i almost broke my wrist the other day playing ping-pong. i can't play tennis. and i'm not even joking. the racquet has something against me."

one more quick sip.

"i swear, after filming this, any tennis racquet i see? ill smash it into pieces. i mean that."

that earned a slight laugh from him.

"sorry," you said, mid rant, waving your hand, "i don't even know why im telling you all of this."

the stranger smiled—gentle, crooked, and slightly amused. "no, go on."

"it's just—" you took yet another dramatic sip. "i genuinely can't hit a ball without it, going to the moon, or something. either that, or the fence gets it. or! it injures someone!"

he laughed, low and warm. "it's not that hard, i would say."

you squinted at him. "not that hard? do you play?"

he tilted his head, making a little thinking face. "a little."

you groaned. "great. i'm venting my problems to roger federer's cousin, or something."

he laughed even harder. you furrowed your eyebrows, trying to figure out what's funny about you losing your mind.

"okay, well. anyway. i just wished someone would fix me, you know? maybe make me look not like a baby deer on the court?" you said, dramatically.

"maybe someone will." he said, smiling into his cup as he took a sip.

you raised your cup. "to not losing the role—hopefully—and portraying my character correctly."

he clicked his glass to yours. "to that."

Your first official tennis practice.

you arrive on court—slightly hungover—in a white tennis dress with your hair in a loose braid.

your agent greets you from a bench. "hope you bought water."

"hope you have a backup actor." you replied, adjusting your sunglasses. "maybe some snacks too."

"i have something, even better."

"unless it's a notice that they're doing soccer instead of tennis, i don't wanna hear it."

your agent chuckled.

"well. we got a player to come in and helped on. some real action, he was pretty happy to do it, or at least that's how the email sounded. anyway, real technique. you'll be fine."

that made you calm down a bit. slight relief is shown on your face.

"so, who is it?" you questioned, eager to know.

"sinner." your agent said, like you should know who he is. "jannik sinner."

you frown. "okay, yea. whoever that is. is there a saint too or—"

before you could finish the joke, a familiar melody of foot steps came about behind you.

he walks towards you.

white shirt, some shorts, and racquet in hand.

you freeze.

he's smiling.

"no." you say, shaking your head. "you're jannik sinner!?"

he's laughing, adjusting his hat. "yea, sorry to disappoint."

your agent gets up to shake his hand. "thank you mister sinner, truly an honor. i've gotta get somewhere so you guys," signaling and turning her hand back and forth between the two of you, "get acquainted."

and off she goes. doing god knows what.

you sprint up to jannik, closing the space. "i can NOT believe you let me tell you all of that! you let me tell you i looked like a baby deer on a court! i literally called you federer's cousin!" you were always a fast talker.

"well," he says, laughing. "i didn't have the heart to admit it."

you groan and drop your face into your hands. "i can never show my face again."

he nudges your arm, and hands you a racquet. "sure you can. just show me how much of a 'baby deer' you look like on the court, for now."

this was gonna be a long practice.

it starts at training.

he's good. like, actually really good at teaching. he never makes you feel small, even when you miss a shot five times in a row. he's patient and funny, smug sometimes too. he corrects your grip, but you're pretty sure he just likes making you flustered. especially when his hands gently rest on yours for a second when he's adjusting your wrists.

you try to act cool and calm when he adjusts your stance. his hands light on your waist.

it became a routine after that.

jannik wasn't technically your coach, but he always lingered whenever you were on court practicing. working with his team in the off season, watching you on the court. sometimes stepping in to adjust your stance, your grip, or your knees before you serve.

you were used to celebrities, co-stars, models, and writers. But jannik? he was, different. a little awkward, yes. but warm, and focused. funny in a sahara desert dry way. like everything he said could be either serious or sarcastic. you never knew.

jannik had never pretended like you were doing great when you weren't, he was honest on and off the court. he noticed what area you needed to fix and points it out.

"you're not half bad." he said, one afternoon, joining you on the bench and giving you some cold water.

you narrowed your eyes. "are you coaching or trying to flirt?"

he shrugged. "maybe both?"

the night of your first premiere for the film, you invite jannik.

he shows up in a navy suit.

a part of you wondered if he picked that color because he liked it, or if he picked that color because you sent a picture of yourself an hour before the premier.

"looking good, sinner." you whisper, posing for a picture.

"so do you," he replied, "bellissima"

"you're definitely telling me what that means later."

he turned his head to smile at you, then shrugged.

'i'll have to see about that one"

"whatever. thanks for coming," you said, "this is chaos."

"you handle things like a pro, no?"

"okay, i almost tripped on my dress getting out the car."

"i did not notice."

"you were watching?"

his lips quirked, just a little. "always."

a beat of silence. the noise around you blurred—paparazzi yelling, co-stars arriving, flashes still popping—but none of it mattered.

then finally, you leaned into his neck.

"i'm really glad you're here." you whispered.

his voice low and warm, "i wouldn't miss it for the world."

his hand resting on your waist.

before the conversation could drift farther, your agent called out your name, waiving you towards an interviewer.

you turned to go, but before you did, you looked over your shoulder and said with a grin. "don't leave before the after party."

and he, without missing a beat, replied, "only if you save me a dance.'

your cheeks flushed under the lights, your face carrying a shy smile. not from the attention, not from the crows, but from one very tall tennis player with dry humor and a better smile than anyone should be allowed to have.

you fly in for the australian open final. even though you were meant to be on set.

there was a screen mounted high on the tunnel wall, broadcasting the pre-match coverage.

he sees you on the screen from the tunnel.

seated somewhere in the crowd, laughing at something someone said off-camera. the camera caught you by surprised, catching you mid reaction, and when you saw yourself on the big screen, you tilted your head down, looking smug.

to show off the cap you were wearing.

a cream-white hat with janniks logo.

the moment was brief. barely a second. it felt like a lifetime to him.

you hadn't told him that you would wear it. you didn't say anything when he jokingly gave it to you at practice two nights ago, saying "maybe it'll bring me luck."

and now here you were—in his hat, in his crowd, at his game—quietly being his in a way no cameras would understand.

his breath hitched, just slightly. his grip on a ball loosened.

his coach glanced at him. "all good?"

jannik blinked, nodded. "yea. better than good."

then, he stepped out onto the crowd. the crowd roars in response, cheering him on. but his mind was still on the screen, on your smile, on that little tilt of your head.

on the fact that you claimed him, quietly, without asking.

and maybe he wanted to do the same to you—just not quietly at all.

when the final point came—a long rally that ended with him smashing a forehand down the line—the noise didn't hit him right away. not the roar, not even the commentators screaming his name.

because all he saw was you.

the screen caught you again, this time mid-celebration. hands to your mouth, hat nearly falling off as you jump up and down. your smile wide and eyes just a bit watery.

before his brain could catch up, his body was already moving.

he didn't wait for the umpire to come down, he didn't wait for a wave, didn't even acknowledge the match point replay on the screen.

he ran.

over the court, and into the stands—ignoring the cameraman trying to keep up with him. the crowd had blurred into the background for him, and all he could see was you.

when he reached you—breathless, still in the rush of adrenaline and disbelief—he jumped. not just up, but into the barrier, hauling himself over the railing in one smooth, wilde movement like he couldn't stand being seperated one meter more.

you barely had time to react before his arms were around you, before his mouth crashed onto yours.

it was a mess of a kiss—full of sweat and salt and everything unspoken and built up between the two of your for months. the stadium exploded even louder around you.

by janniks sudden kiss, you hat had toppled behind you, jannik catches it with his free hand mid kiss.

you gripped the collar of his shirt, burying your head into his neck when you finally broke apart.

"you're such a show off" you whispered, laughing along the way

"you wore the hat." he breathed, forehead resting against yours.

you pulled back slightly, turning your head to look up at him. "does this mean we stop pretending?"

he smiled—dazed and soft. "i just won a grand slam. i think im allowed to kiss my girlfriend."

you blinked and chuckled. "girlfriend?"

he plants a soft kiss, "yes, girlfriend." he murmured, rolling his eyes.

you laughed—grinning into his kiss—the cameras caught it all.

by the time he was handed the trophy, jannik sinner had became a grand slam champion.

and by the time the press conference rolled around, the internet had already decided.

the win was everything.

but the reveal of you and jannik was so much better.

© made by zweiism

authors note! this request is a little late cause ive been so busy sorry guys💔 hopefully this matched whatever idea you had in mind anon! sorry if its bad…. literally me🤝making jannik say ‘no?’ after asking a question!!! to note the whole melbourne part i wrote with dear god by tate mcrae on repeat in the background. thank you for reading this! hope you enjoyed :)) AND SEND REQUESTS PLEASE SO I CAN BURRY MYSELF IN WRITING BEFORE I GO BACK TO SCHOOL! and thank you for 100 too ;)

[sinnersphile]

new favorite coco picture just dropped

[sinnersphile]

We'll make it work (Jannik Sinner)

You and Jannik have noticed some changes in your friendship

Note: english is not my first language. So... This is my first big piece for a tennis player! I have written fanfiction before but it's been a while since I posted one of these, hopefully I still know how to do it 🥲 I hope this is good enough ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍

"So when are you going to be back?", you asked your best friend over the phone. The difference in timezones wasn't too bad and you both found some time that worked for both of you.

"The flight lands at fifteen past eleven, I think", Jannik mumbled, rubbing his temples as he squinted.

"You need to rest, Jannik", you said, urging him to go and sleep.

"No, I don't, I wanted to talk to you", he spoke, "my parents are having a dinner tomorrow, nothing fancy, it's just my parents, Mark, my aunt, and you of course", he smiled, "you are invited".

"Your mum called me this morning to invite me, I already told her I'd go", you confirmed.

Jannik smiled at the unfold of events - of course his mother had already invited you. In the years of your friendship, Siglinde had always referred to you as the daughter she never had. She loved her boys to pieces, but it was nice to have some female energy in the house.

"Miss me much?", the red haired man asked.

"Not really, no - your mum said your dad was making that really delicious tiramisu he makes, that's what really sold me", you stated.

"Your best friend of twenty years comes home after a hard tournament, finally has some time in our hometown when we both are there, and you're going because of dad's tiramisu?", he clarified.

"Yap", you emphasised the 'p' sound.

"Not even a little bit? Like, I don't know, maybe miss me because you don't have company for your walks, or because I wasn't there for our weekly marathon of TV shows?", he tried again.

"True, I missed you then, but only because I went to my chocolate drawer and I only have one bar left. You know, the ones you always bring me from the duty free shop?", you pulled your best puppy dog look.

"I already have a stash for you in my bag - there was a shop next to the hotel who sold them and I stocked up in case things are busy tomorrow", Jannik spoke.

With him, you never needed to pull the puppy dog look anyway. Much to his dismay, you never asked for anything fancy, you never asked him to pull strings or asked for special favours. Even these chocolates, which he had been getting you for years, were a battle at the beggining because, according to you, he didn't have to get you anything. Him coming back home and be your best friend - the one you laughed with, the one you cried with, the one you called whenever a date went wrong and the first one to know your achievements - was enough. It had always been.

"Well, then I must admit I do look forward to tomorrow", you smirked, "because how else would I fill my chocolate drawer?".

"I'm going to tell Darren and Simone about this, and any time you'll want to change my training schedule for our plans, they won't help", Jannik tutted back.

"They would never do that to me", you claimed, "they're on my side", with a big smile on your face.

Jannik's favourite smile in the world was yours, simple as that. His parents' never failed to make him feel proud, and his brother's always cheered him up, but your smile had the incomparable ability to make him giddy, butterflies in his tummy at the prospect of having you give him one of your special smiles.

"Knew I couldn't compete with you - everyone falls for you", Jannik sighed. He had, and for a long time now.

"Now seriously", you paused, "you should sleep, if you get home and you look worse than someone who just got out of a flight, I'll feel guilty".

"Night night, Y/N, sleep tight", he wished.

"Night night, Jannik, I'll see you tomorrow", you spoke quietly.

.

"Y/N, dear, you're here!", Hanspeter greeted you once he opened the door.

"Hi, how are you?", you greeted back with a hug and walked inside the Sinner household, already knowing where you could leave your things.

"Good, everyone's home", he winked as he closed the door, "the food just needs a few more minutes and then we can get to the table - Jannik is upstairs, he needed to shower after the flight, so you best be glad you arrived after that", he chuckled.

Passing by the dining room, you spotted Siglinde, "Hey, I've just arrived, do you need my help with anything?", you asked, greeting her in the same warm manner as you did with her husband.

"Darling!", she smiled, "everything is under control here, but thanks! Besides, there's someone upstairs who really wants to see you".

Walking up the familiar steps, you headed straight to Jannik's bedroom, knocking on the door and getting a hum of approval.

"I hope you're properly dressed because I don't need to get a scare right in the morning", you teased as you opened the door, finding Jannik's back to you as he put on a black t-shirt.

You hoped the gulp didn't sound as loud in the room as it did in your head, because it was there. The muscles on his back contracted beautifully as he pulled the cotton piece of clothing, adjusting it on his frame before he turned to face you.

"I'm clean, I smell good, and I haven't had time to mess up the room yet - there's nothing to see here!", your best friend argued.

Maybe you wished there was something to see, surely got a peek at something.

"It's alright", you sniffed around, "I guess it's alright", before launching yourself into his arms.

"I haven't even given you the chocolates", Jannik whispered as he squeezed you against him.

"I don't care about the chocolates, I couldn't care less about the chocolates", you mumbled, taking his scent in. He smelled of shower gel and clean clothes, but there was that eucalyptus scent that was so characteristically his and something you couldn't explain, it brought you comfort, ease and it felt like home. No matter where you were, "I missed you".

Three simple words and yet they meant the world to Jannik.

"I missed you too", he spoke against the top of your head, "are you sure you can't come with me for the next tournament?".

"I have a few things I can't move around, I'm sorry", you apoligised.

"Oh", he spoke, trying his best to not let the disappointment he felt show through.

"I might be able to make it to the ones in the winter", you attempted.

"Lunch is ready!", Hanspeter called.

"That's our cue", Jannik spoke, nudging your hips before letting you lead the way downstairs.

.

"Are you all ready?", you said as you and Lucia walked inside the room, clasping your watch on your wrist and hoping to find the guys ready to go.

Jannik invited you to the Jannik Sinner Foundation's dinner, along with his brother and some other friends.

The dress required everyone to up their usual style, hence the long dress you were wearing. Even though it was far from your usual everyday attire, you felt beautiful in the dress you ended up with after browsing the shops for a while. The cut was simple, the skirt widening from your waist down and complimenting your curves as the sheen from the emerald green fabric looked soft and sweet against your skin.

Jannik seemed to think the same, trying his best to not let his mouth hang open when you and Lucia walked inside the room where the guys were getting ready, heels clicking on the wooden floor as you hurried them, "does it really take that long to put on a suit? I had to help Lucia with all the buttons on her dress - and there are many, many buttons there -, and we still got ready faster than the four of you?", you asked, shaking your wrist to check if the dainty watch wasn't going to fall and that it wasn't too tight either.

Looking up to meet Jannik's eyes, you were sure you physically and audibly gulped. No one should look that good in a plain white shirt. The cuffs were still unbuttoned, but the shirt itself was tucked in his black pants. His curls were the perfect kind of messy for the occasion, and you swore his eyes sparkled.

"Jannik has a problem with his shirt and we are trying to solve it", Mark said, a little bit too antsy given that, at the naked eye, there wasn't that big of an issue with the piece of clothing you had been inspecting quite closely.

"There was a loose button, and I tried to fix it, but I made it worse", Jannik said as he pointed to the button on his hand, the slight movement showing you the place where it was supposed to he holding the piece together and closed.

"I mean, it's his foundation, he's giving a speech! He can't go out looking like that!", Mark spoke.

"Four people in this room and no one thought about grabbing the sewing kit from the amenities?", Lucia suggested, looking for it in the box that was the same as it was in your room, "see? Simple as that! Can you sew it, Y/N? My nails are way too big for me to fiddle with this".

None of the other guys seemed to even know how to pull the thread through the needle, so you grabbed the kit from Lucia's hand, "sure, I'll do it", you said, "Come here, Jan", you called.

"Do I keep it on or should I take it off?", he questioned, wanting to slap himself straight after at his offer. Why would he volunteer to be shirtless in front of you? Just so you could see how much his body reacted to you?

"On should be fine", you muttered, missing the snickers going on behind you as you wet the thread with your tongue, careful to not transfer any of the lipstick on it and ruining the piece without point of return for good, easily looping it through and adjusting the size of the ends.

"Button", you put your hand out so Jannik could place it in your fingers, "I will do my best not to poke you, let me know if I do so accidentally - as much as you sometimes annoy me, I don't want to injure you", you mumbled at the closeness to him you found yourself in. It was the third button from the top, and as much as you loved the sight of the shirt slightly undone, the dinner required his shirt to be done up.

Looping the thread on the button a few times, you moved to pierce the crisp white fabric so it would be secure, your hands dangerously close to his pale skin as you could hear his laboured breath.

Lately, there were lingering touches, fingers that laced together like they had a mind of their own, kisses on the cheek he wished were somewhere else and hugs that never lasted long enough.

It had always been enough, but lately it seemed it wasn't. There was something missing, a piece that didn't quite fit right.

"It's done, all good!", you exclaimed, looking up as you cut the thread and seeing Jannik's eyes on you, "you don't look so bad anymore!", you teased despite the intensity nearly throwing you off of your balance as you stood the tiniest bit crouched down on your high heels.

Scrambling to further the distance between your bodies, you smoothed out the non existent wrinkles on your dress, storing the supplies back in the kit as Jannik managed to utter out a thank you, too stunned and intoxicated by your scent to say anything else.

"I sewed a button as neither of you look any more ready that you were when we got here? We're going to be late!", you hurried, sitting next to Lucia and ignoring her smirk as you scrolled through your phone.

.

Jannik was off and everyone sensed it. Don't get him wrong, because he was still polite as ever and stopped to sign things and take photos with fans, greeting everyone warmly. But there was something there.

"Do you want to stop for a bit? Take a break?", Simone suggested.

"Are you saying I'm not doing well?", Jannik wondered as he set his racket down.

"A break is good, that's all", the trainer admitted, letting Jannik drink water and refuel.

As he walked to Darren, wanting to discuss how to proceed in the session, the Australian man had a relieved look on his face. When he showed him the text message he had just received, they both sighed, "grazie a Dio!".

.

You stepped into the grounds almost too casually for someone carrying a pass to the player's box, looking around carefully so you could find the way to where you were supposed to head and meet Darren.

"Y/N, here!", the Australian waved after you successfully turned left twice and walked along a corridor.

"Hey, finally a familiar face!", you giggled, greeting him.

"I know it's not the one you wanted to see - we're very aware of that actually", he sighed, "but we're very glad you're here! He's been... difficult".

When some meetings got pushed and some cancellations appeared out of nowhere in your schedule, you figured out you could go out and watch your bestfriend play. A few texts to Darren and he made it happen so there you were.

"Thank you for taking care of the pass - I know it must have been a hassle", you thanked.

"Trust me - through here, you first -, it was the least stressful thing I had to do. Do you know how hard it is to lie to Jannik when he's moping because he misses you?", he mused as you found your seats.

"Hi, Y/N, I'm very glad you were able to join us!", Simone smiled and greeted.

"I was just telling her how easy she's making the rest of our weekend", Darren spoke as he put on his sunglasses.

"He's not that bad, guys, give him a break", you tried to intersect for your friend.

"He's very upset you haven't been able to join us - hopefully he looks this way before the match and things might be better", Darren hoped.

You had been videochatting and you could sense the same thing from him - he seemed sad, even though he'd never say it to you because he knew you'd feel guilty, but there was something there.

Jannik looked handsome in the kit he chose for this match, the all black look elegant and accepting his features beautifully.

That your bestfriend was handsome was never something you denied, but lately it seemed you wanted more. There was a new feeling whenever someone said the same thing, or pointed out something about him you've known for much longer. Jealously seemed a far stretch you wanted to deny, but the reality seemed to indicate that that's what it was.

Jannik set his things down after the little boy sprinted off to his spot, arranging things the way he liked before he looked up at the box, expecting to see his team and finding you in the mix.

The smile that came on his lips was like no other, and everyone noticed the change.

After he waved at you, shaking his head from side to side as he understood that his team was aware of your visit, he winked at you.

And for the rest of the match, he stood taller. More assured. Calm and collected despite the fire inside of him telling him he needed to impress you. You came all this way to see him and he had to do it for you.

Once the match ended, Jannik greeted the opponent in his usual graceful manner and got on with the post match obligations as fast as he could so he could get to you.

Approaching his team, his shoulders slumped, not hiding his disappointment.

"She went to the bathroom, I'm sure she'll be here any second now", Darren teased the redhead.

"I did-', Jannik tried to justify.

"We know who you want to see, it's not like you were all happy to see Darren in his hat, was it?", Simone carried on.

"I think it suits me, actually", Darren stated but Jannik's attention was somewhere else.

He got a glimpse of your flowy dress when he saw you sat down, knowing from the detailed straps that it was one of his favourites on you, but seeing all of you got his heart racing as it was in the court moments earlier.

"You're here", Jannik sighed, hugging you tightly against him, taking in your presence in every way he could.

"I am", you reasoned, "my schedule changed a lot and I got time to come and see my favourite tennis player. I missed you a lot Jannik", you whispered, lightly kissing his neck.

"Not as much as I missed you", he looked into your eyes for a moment before some bustling down the corridor broke your bubble.

Friends didn't react this way when they were away from eachother. And certainly didn't react like this when the met up.

"Jannik, your brother said that his flight just arrived and that he's going straight to the hotel", Simone offered, "we were not able to get a room for you, Y/N, it was fully booked, so we managed to ask for an extra bed in Mark's room".

Jannik shouldn't have been so disappointed.

Arriving at the hotel, you found Mark and walked up to the rooms since they were booked in the same floor, opening the door to find that the extra bed was the sofa bed.

"I have a sofa bed in my room too", Jannik replied quickly, "we can set it up for you to sleep there".

"Are you sure?", you wondered.

"Besides, he's travelled around lot today, don't you want to rest, Mark?", he asked his brother.

"You are in the tournament, Jannik, you're the one who needs the rest", Mark argued back.

"Yes, I don’t want to disturb your night", you reasoned.

"You won't", Jannik accepted. I'll probably be more disturbed if you're not there.

"Okay", you said, not hiding the smile as you wheeled your bag into his room.

After dinner in the hotel, you retreated back to your rooms, with you quickly taking off the day's clothes and taking a shower.

The hot water was enough to let go of the tension of the past few days. Or was it Jannik's presence? To know that he was just on the other side of that door?

Wrapping the fluffy towels around your body, you wrapped your hair in a smaller one and got on with your skincare. As you were about to put on your clothes, you realized you forgot them inside the room.

Opening the door slightly, you called for Jannik, "can you get me my pyjamas, please? I left them on the bed".

Jannik got up from his spot on the bed and gave you the striped cotton set, waiting a few minutes before you opened the door completely.

He loved every version of you - all dolled up for a gala, dressed up for work or quickly put together for your workouts -, but seeing you like this was his favourite. No make-up, hair brushed and untamed, relaxed and in your comfortable element. And he specially loved that he was one of the few people who got his version of you. And he couldn't help but be proud and maybe a little smug about it.

"What is it?", you asked, "I just showered! There can't be much wrong with me!".

"Shut up with that nonsense", he tutted softly, "I'm going to get ready for bed too - pick something for us to watch".

While you picked something on the TV, you ended up sitting in the big bed, scrolling through the streaming services until you found something mindless to put on, knowing you'd end up chatting and paying very little attention to it.

As soon as Jannik came out of the bathroom, in some shorts and a t-shirt, wet curls tousled from the towell and a relaxed expression, you patted the spot next to you, getting him to join you.

"But yeah, Monaco is pretty boring when you're not there", you admitted as you adjusted your position after telling him all the gossip from the last few weeks.

"I'm very happy you're here, Y/N, I hope you know that", he spoke, letting his body slide down so he could get comfier, and close to you.

"I'm very happy I'm here too", you took the opportunity to rest your head on Jannik's arm and take it all in.

Yeah, you were falling in love with your best friend.

On his hand, Jannik was trying his hardest to resist the urge to pull you into his embrace - you looked so cosy, so at peace and he wanted to keep you both in that bubble.

The TV shows mindlessly playing was enough to lull you to sleep, letting yourself succumb to the tiredness you felt.

Jannik let himself daydream for a bit, enjoying the way your body was so close to his and how you had lightly grasped his t-shirt. He could get used to this.

When the time for him to sleep, he gently held you, transferring you to the sofa bed and pulling the covers, kissing your forehead gently before getting in his bed and lying down, wishing the stars that one day he could admit how he felt about you.

.

You were in Jannik's flat cooking dinner for the two of you on a Friday night since he didn't have any tournaments, the water on the pot on the stove already boiling as you stirred the sauce on the other pan, "I'm already out of the shower", your bestfriend yelled before you heard what you assumed was his bedroom door, giving you the timing cue like you asked so you would know when to put the pasta in. You heard his steps down the stairs and crossing the corner to meet you in the kitchen, "Thank you again for sorting dinner, I was really needing it after that workout", he said as he grabbed your hand that held the wooden spoon as to help you stir the pasta. Things had been getting more touchy with Jannik, and you can't really say you didn't enjoy it. Sure, as bestfriends you had never had a problem with spending a lot of time with eachother, but recently you felt a weird shift in the air, both of you were bolder in your greetings, kisses on cheeks and forehead were a common reoccurrence and the hugs seemed to last a bit longer. And everyone around you noticed it - parents, friends, trainers, colleagues. Hell, even Jannik's oldest neighbour, Olivia, a ninety year old woman, kept asking you when you were moving in and if you were thinking of having children soon.

"See if this tastes good", you reluctantly took your hand away from his to go and grab a spoon from the drawer so he could taste the sauce, bringing the spoon to his mouth with your other hand in a shell shape to not let anything that might drip fall on your clothes, "a little bit more of basil maybe?", he said grabbing the glass container and adding more to the sauce before you got everything set on the table and enjoyed dinner.

You were now laying on the sofa, the news on the TV screen as you both got up to what was happening the world and soon, your eyes felt droopy and you fell asleep, cuddling further into the massive blanket you were sharing with Jannik. He had been talking for a bit, giving his opinion on something one of the reporters had said and looked at you when you didn't reply, chuckling to himself as he admired your sleeping figure.

Soon, midnight was approaching and he knew better than to just let his eyes rest a bit before he would get you in his arms and tucked in the spare bedroom's bed. Five minutes turned to ten, and ten turned into hours, the sofa large and comfortable enough for the two of you to spend the night there if you wished.

The sun started flickering through the curtains when you woke up, feeling some tingles on your leg as you tried to make sense of where you were. This is not your bedroom. This isn't even a bedroom, this is Jannik's living room and that's when you felt someone next to you.

Jannik was sleeping still, although the sunlight that persisted and landed on his eyes prompted him to rustle in his sleep, "Oh, I fell asleep didn't I?", his groggy morning voice was heard as you giggled.

"Apparently, and somehow we're all tangled", you referred to your tingly right leg shin that had been caught between Jannik's thighs.

"Did you feel that shift too? Or was it just me?", Jannik said out loud, willing to take the risk, "How everything seemed deeper, more meaningful... when was it? I think I've felt it when you surprised me, I was so happy that you came to see me", he mused as his eyes focused on yours.

Looking for his hand under the blanket, your hand clasped is his as you found it, "For me, it was when I noticed Darren and Simone were purposefully making us spend time together alone", you giggled as you felt the blush of your cheeks, "it felt really nice, and I slept really good tonight".

Getting impossibly closer to you, Jannik freed his hand from yours only to place them on each of your cheeks, "what if we try something between us? Just something between us for now, see how this goes...", he said, "it's about time I show you how much you meant to me", he finished with a chaste kiss on your lips, sealing all the promised he intended to keep.

“I never told you how I felt because I didn’t want to ruin what we had… And I was scared if we got together then broke up, I’d lose you as both a friend and a lover. I don’t think I could live with myself if that ever happened", you mused, showing the small fear.

“You know me better than anyone else. You know me better than I know myself. So I hope you also know that you’re someone I’d do anything for, Y/N", Jannik held your hand and kissed your knuckles, "we'll talk and take it in our own time, but we'll work with it".

[sinnersphile]

Iga Swiatek during media day at the Cincinnati Open! (Robert Prange)

[sinnersphile]

"English isn't my-"

Hush now my friend, and let me read the absolute beauty of a fic that you have bestowed this world and humiliated the first English speakers with

[sinnersphile]

Idk what it is but every​ time he’s about to speak German he does these kind of things with his hands or mouth and I find myself drooling