#Tennis Scoreboards

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[lowkeysarcasm]

Just because jannik dropped a set doesn’t mean you have to do it tooooo!?!!!

[muirneach]

do leylah and elena know how to hold serve

[castiwls]

winner - a.d

Paring; art x coach!reader

Requested; no

Synopsis; art finally won and you both couldn't be happier

Warnings; mentions of cheating (reader and art mentioned to be having an emotional affair)

Notes; i saw challengers today and oh my god I am obsessed!!! i immediately had brain rot and had to write something so here's this! (p.s the reader is like a co-coach idk tbh but she works with him :) )

reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist

The feel of your nails biting into your palm seemed muted as your eyes stayed locked on the small green ball. The world seemed to slow as you watched it soar through the air back and forth. Back and forth.

Your breath seemed to stick in your throat every time the ball soared over the court and back towards Art. You held your breath waiting for the moment he’d miss yet it never came. It was almost like watching a machine, every hit was perfect.

This seemed to go on for a lifetime. The world faded away until suddenly the crowd erupted into a sea of cheers. The sound of Tashi yelling pulled you back to reality and you shot up from your chair on autopilot. Unsure if you should cheer or begin damage control you looked down to the scoreboard, a small gasp leaving your lips.

He’d done it. He’d really won.

A laugh escaped your lips as you felt a rush of relief and excitement rush through you. Art’s eyes found yours from his spot on the court and he grinned up at you. The relief on his face was obvious as he stood taking in the sight before him. It had been so long since he’d walked away from a match feeling this good that he’d forgotten how it felt to win.

How it felt to know that no matter what Tashi scolded him for it wouldn’t take away the fact that he’d won. 

“Art!” Your voice called out from behind him, your joy seeping into your tone. His smile only seemed to widen as he turned to see you walking towards him. Your body screamed at you to move faster, but you forced that need down. As you neared closer he quickly moved to meet you halfway, his arms engulfing you as the cheers continued.

The feeling of his arms squeezing around your waist left butterflies forming in your stomach. His body shook slightly as he pressed his face into your hair. “You won.” Smiling you pulled back slightly, his arms still encircling your waist.

“I won.” He repeated grinning down at you. You nodded another laugh of joy escaping you as he pulled you back in again, his head resting in the crook of your neck.

The feeling of holding you left him even more giddy than the relief of finally winning. His wife seemed like a distant thought as you stood there, both basking in the glory of his win.

You’d always been the one who kept him going. You’d always believed that he could come back from his slump, and you were right. 

Art pulled back briefly looking over to the stands. Tashi had disappeared and he frowned slightly. “Hey.” You touched a hand to his cheek drawing his attention back to you. “She went to go deal with the winnings. She’ll be back.” You assured him.

Art nodded before another grin broke out on his face. “I really did it.” He could hardly believe it himself. Part of him had believed that maybe he’d overstayed his welcome and that he was simply no longer good enough at the thing he’d dedicated his life to.

“I told you!” You laughed moving your hand from his cheek to his shoulder. “And I’m so proud.”

He felt his cheeks heat at the praise as he tipped his chin down. “You don’t have to-”

“I mean it, Art. You deserve this.” 

He looked back up to you after a moment, his eyes locking on yours. He felt himself get lost in your eyes for a moment and he raised a hand to your cheek. You subconsciously leaned into the touch your eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

He knew it was wrong. He was married, yet when he looked at you he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. With Tashi the only thing keeping them together was tennis, but you were different.

You didn’t care about how well he played. You only cared about him and it felt so good to finally have someone who didn’t just see him as an extension of themselves and their stolen dreams.

Art had been in love with you for years and standing here now he felt it more then ever.

His thumb brushed against your lip for a moment before he took a deep breath. Drawing you into another hug he enjoyed the feeling of holding you yet again.

“Thank you.” He murmured, his lips brushing your ear causing a shiver to run through you. A slight blush grew on your cheeks at the closeness before you cleared your throat. Shaking your head you looked up at him. “You don’t have to thank me. You did this.”

He shook his head. “No. You never gave up on me. Even when she almost did.” Art dropped his voice leaning down slightly. His eyes darted down to your lips and you felt your breath catch in your throat again.

You knew it was wrong. Having a crush on a married man was bad enough but you knew your relationship with the man had passed the platonic marker months ago. Tashi was well aware of her husband's fondness for you, yet she’d never cared.

She’d openly admitted to you soon after you’d started working with them both that she couldn’t be the person to coddle him when things went wrong. And that was where you came in. 

Starting an emotional affair with the man you were meant to be training was an awful idea. But it felt so right. Art needed someone to fall back on when things went wrong, someone who would hold him and tell him it would be okay.

You’d fallen into the routine with him so effortlessly that it felt natural.

Before you could warn him of the people around you, you felt his lips press against yours. A small noise escaped your lips as one of your hands cupped the back of his head. 

One of his hands drew you closer by the waist while his other cupped your cheek. 

You both knew this was bad. Someone was bound to notice but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

All that mattered was that he’d won.  

[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[kurtcobaingirlie]

advantage, her

˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

warnings : none, first fanfic in a long time

pairings : patrick zweig x fem!reader

Patrick Zweig had everything. Money, talent, a killer forehand. And yet, the second you walked onto the courts at the academy, twirling your racket with lazy ease, he felt like he had nothing.

You weren’t some prodigy with a country club pedigree. You didn’t have a trust fund or parents who whispered about your Wimbledon potential over cocktails. You just had game—and an attitude that made people shut up when you walked past.

Patrick, golden boy of the academy, was intrigued.

"You always this cocky, or just when you're about to lose?" he asked one afternoon, leaning on the net as you bounced a tennis ball against your racket.

You smirked. "You tell me. Scoreboard says 6-4, my favor."

Patrick ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, exhaling sharply. "Lucky shots."

"You sound like a sore loser."

He looked at you, something sparking in those sharp green eyes. He wasn’t used to people—especially girls—challenging him like this. Art did, sometimes, but it was different. Art knew him too well. You? You were untouchable, effortlessly cool in your tank top and worn-out sneakers, like none of this—his world, his money, his trophies—impressed you.

And that drove him insane.

"You should come to the tournament party this weekend," he said suddenly, testing you. "Might be fun."

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. "You trying to distract me before our next match?"

"Maybe."

You chuckled, tossing the ball up and serving it without warning. He barely reacted in time, shanking it into the net.

"You’re gonna have to try harder than that, Zweig," you said, walking off the court without looking back.

And for the first time in his life, Patrick Zweig was the one chasing.

an : hiii, feedback is much appreciated and request are open

[as-is-yours]

happy 2024 summer olympics!

some tog watching the olympics hcs for the soul because i love the olympics and i decided they do too:

andy competed in the ORIGINAL greek olympics. yes she did

with the guard being as competitive as they are, the olympics are a BIG deal in the safe house - it’s like the football world cup but all day every day for three weeks straight

it’s obviously too dangerous for the guard to attend the olympics these days with all of the cameras and media, so they hunker down in a safehouse and watch as much as they can on TV

they used to go most years though, nicky even told nile that he considered competing in olympic shooting back in the mid 1900s but it was too high profile to risk it

quynh was in the ocean when they brought back the olympic games as we know them today. her first olympics year back with the guard she asks andy why everyone is clothed and where the victors wreaths are

nile LOVES the olympics so she fits right into the dynamic when the first olympics of her time with the guard roll around

she was a little nervous about coming on too strong that first year, but when she saw how hard they roast each other and how much they goaded her into being just as competitive and aggressive as they were, she settled in easily

they would later regret unlocking that part of her once they realize how painful watching the olympics with an american is

nile keeps a scoreboard on the wall next to the TV where she updates the medal counts daily and reminds everyone who’s winning (the usa)

joe, quynh, and booker prefer the summer olympics while nile and andy prefer the winter olympics. nicky is just happy to make some money off of booker when france loses, no matter the season

“andy im getting us a peacock account to watch the olympics, they’re starting next week” “peacock account? what the hell is peacock? like the bird??”

there’s ALWAYS a bet going on. for the full duration of the olympic games there is never not a bet going on

nile will be doing joe’s dishes for a month after kaylia nemour beat suni lee in the uneven bars final

booker owes nicky €300 after italy advanced out of the first round of the women’s doubles tennis tournament (france did not) and another €1000 for italy winning the gold medal

andy stays out of the betting for the most part, or just picks the best athlete rather than one representing her home nation

“andy, that’s cheating—” “the scythians were nomadic. i don’t even remember where i was born so i’ll pick whichever athlete i damn well please, and you—” “okay, fine! we get it!”

andy found quynh wandering in a desert, quynh doesn’t really remember where she’s from either so she picks her favorite athletes based on vibe and which countries were her favorites to travel around with andy

there aren’t nearly as many north african athletes as there are italian, french, and american so joe starts adopting the athletes with the most heartwarming comeback/underdog stories as his faves

i feel like nile LOVES usa gymnastics having been a teen watching gabby douglas and simone biles!

that girl was SAT for every gymnastics event cheering on team usa like it was her job

andy has broken her neck attempting to pull off the stunts she sees in olympic snowboarding, gymnastics, skateboarding, figure skating, etc…. but sometimes she nails them. and it’s sick as fuck

nile is from the midwest i know she’s an ice hockey enjoyer. she pregames the winter olympics by making the guard watch miracle (2004) (nicky cries)

booker makes a drinking game for watching the games. he prints out the rules and pins them up next to nile’s medal count. take a sip when an announcer starts yelling, a shot when a random celebrity is shown on the broadcast, and finish your drink when a medalist cries

whenever great britan places below one of the guard’s countries, copley receives a very vulgar and unsportsmanlike text from them

no, quynh does not watch swimming events. thank you for asking

the couch is NOT a safe space. anything goes during the olympics. anyone who gets too mean (or whose athlete loses) can and will be pushed off the couch and exiled to the armchair

i will surely update this as the olympics continue and my friends and i get up to more hijinks. stay tuned and enjoy the greatest sporting event ever conceived

[lifeofpriya]

“getting extremely worried when they get physically hurt” after this match for my boy Jack. Bring it on babe!!!

you got it, babes! 🤭🫶🏼 i originally intended for this to be a drabble, but i got carried away 😅

i'm always here for you

wc: 2.3k; tw: mentions of vomit

You swore you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears as you watched Jack retch on the pristine hard surface of the tennis court. The sharp contrast between the bright lights and his pale skin made the scene more disturbing. His body, usually a picture of vitality and strength, now contorted in pain and exhaustion.

Jack looked up, his eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. They found yours, and he offered a weak smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. You felt your stomach drop, knowing that smile was for you, to reassure you that everything was okay. But you'd known Jack since you were kids, and that smile was as much a cry for help as it was a promise that he'd be okay.

The match went on, and with each point, your anxiety grew. You watched as Jack's serves lost their usual bite, his forehands falling just short of the line. Jannik was relentless, capitalizing on every opportunity, but there was a part of you that couldn't help but feel guilty for watching Jack push himself like this. You knew how much this tournament meant to him, but you also knew that something wasn't right.

In between games, you saw the medical staff hover around him, whispering into his ear, checking his pulse, and passing him water bottles. His coach's face was a mask of concern, his eyes darting between Jack and the scoreboard. You bit your lip, willing Jack to recover, to find that spark that had made him a star. But as the match progressed, it was clear that Jack was fading.

The crowd grew tense, their murmurs of worry rising like a tide. You sat frozen, unable to look away, your eyes glued to the scene unfolding before you. The sound of the ball against the racket echoed through the stadium, punctuated by the occasional groan from Jack. His sweat-soaked shirt clung to his body, and you could see his muscles quiver with the effort of each movement. The scent of sweat was faintly present, even from the stands, a stark reminder of the physical toll this match was taking on him.

When Jack finally stumbled to the sidelines, you could see the desperation in his eyes as he took deep, ragged breaths, trying to keep his stomach in check. His fingers trembled as he fumbled with his towel, and you wished you could be there to help, to offer some comfort. But all you could do was sit and watch, your own stomach in knots, as the match continued. The silence was deafening, broken only by the squeak of sneakers on the court and the occasional thwack of the ball.

You watched as Jack take a seat and was handed a can of Coke he requested earlier in the third set. He took a tentative sip, hoping the sugary drink would help settle his stomach. The fizz danced in the light as the liquid passed his lips, but instead of sipping it, he threw the entire can's contents down his throat, his eyes squeezed shut in a silent prayer for relief.

The match resumed, and you held your breath with each serve, willing Jack to find his rhythm again. But it was like watching a ship slowly take on water. The points went to Jannik, one by one, and Jack's hope seemed to sink with them. You felt a tightness in your chest, a mirror of the pain etched on Jack's face. His movements grew more erratic, his breaths more labored. You'd seen Jack play through injuries before, but this was different.

Eventually, Jannik won the match and took all 3 sets. The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers for the victory and concern for Jack. As the players met at the net to shake hands, you could see the defeat in Jack's posture, his shoulders slumped, his grip on the racket loose. Jannik offered words of encouragement, but Jack's eyes remained fixed on the ground, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Jack stumbled off the court, surrounded by his team and medical staff. You made your way down to the player's exit, your heart racing. The cool evening air hit you as you stepped outside, and you felt the weight of the moment settle on your shoulders. You had to talk to him to make sure he was okay. The corridor was a blur of faces and flashing cameras as you approached the locker room.

You waited outside, leaning against the wall, trying to gather your thoughts. You could hear the muffled sounds of showers running and the distant hum of the stadium. The door swung open, and out came Jack, his eyes bloodshot, his skin pale and clammy. He saw you and managed a slight nod. "You okay?" you asked, your voice wavering slightly.

Jack took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling visibly. "Yeah, just… need some rest," he replied, his voice hoarse. You knew he was lying, but you didn't push it. You offered your arm for support, and together you made your way to the quiet solace of his hotel room. The silence between you was filled with the echoes of the match, the unspoken worry hanging heavy in the air.

Once inside, Jack collapsed onto the bed, his body a tangled mess of fatigue and pain. He closed his eyes, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness. You knew Jack was a fighter, but seeing him like this was a stark reminder of his vulnerability. You sat beside him, your hand hovering over his shoulder, unsure of what to say or do.

"You have no idea how much you worried me out there, Jack," you murmur, your voice was tinged with worry as you sat beside him. His eyes remained closed, but you knew he heard you. His breathing was still heavy, a testament to the ordeal he had just endured. "I was so scared."

Jack let out a small, defeated chuckle. "I know," he whispered, his voice barely above a croak. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "You scared the living hell out of me," you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. "What happened?"

Jack sighed, his eyes still shut. "Don't know," he said weakly. "Stomach bug, I think. Been feeling off for a couple of days, but I didn't want to… to let anyone down." His voice trailed off, and you felt a pang of guilt. You should have noticed, should have said something.

"You shouldn't have played," you said, your voice firm but gentle. "Not like this."

Jack nodded slightly, his eyes still closed. "I know," he murmured. "But it's the US Open… Can't just… not play."

You felt the weight of his words, understanding the pressure he'd put on himself. You reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Rest," you said firmly. "That's all you need to do right now."

Jack nodded again, his grip on your hand tightening briefly before he let go. You helped him get into a more comfortable position, his body still trembling slightly from the exertion. You noticed the dampness of his forehead and the cold sweat that had soaked through his hair. With a heavy heart, you went to the bathroom to get a wet cloth, the quietness of the room only emphasized by the distant sounds of the hotel's hustle and bustle.

When you returned, Jack's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. He looked at you as you approached, a sad smile playing on his lips. "Thanks," he murmured, as you gently placed the cool cloth on his forehead. He closed his eyes again, and you watched the tension in his face ease slightly.

"You have no idea how much I love you," Jack murmured drowsily as the coolness of the cloth began to soothe him. You felt your throat tighten, but you didn't say anything. Instead, you sat there, watching over him, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing as it grew more even.

He continued to confess his love for you in his sleep, words that you'd never expected to hear, not in this way, not after watching him push himself to the brink. You sat there, the wet cloth in your hand, your mind racing with thoughts. You knew Jack had always been competitive, had always been driven to win, but at what cost? You brushed a lock of hair from his face, his skin burning hot under your touch.

The room was suffused with the sterile scent of the wet cloth and the faint smell of his deodorant, a stark contrast to the sour stench of his vomit that lingered in the air. The TV played on mute, replaying the match highlights. You glanced at it, seeing the replay of the second set, feeling the same knot in your stomach that had been there since the first time you'd seen it live. You muted the TV, not wanting the visual reminder of his suffering.

Jack's eyes fluttered open again, and he looked at you, his gaze clear for the first time since the match. "You're still here," he said, his voice a mere whisper.

"Where else would I be?" you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. You gently dabbed the cloth against his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.

Jack's eyes searched yours, looking for reassurance. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "For everything."

You squeezed his hand, trying to ignore the way your heart felt like it was being wrung out. "You don't have to apologize," you said softly.

Jack swallowed, his throat dry. "I do," he insisted. "For not telling you, for pushing myself too hard… I'm sorry."

You didn't know what to say. You'd watched him grow from a promising young player to a force to be reckoned with on the international stage, and now here he was, defeated and broken. "It's okay," you murmured, "but…did you know what you said in your sleep?"

Jack's eyes widened slightly, and you could see the panic in them. "What?"

You took a deep breath, feeling your cheeks flush. "You said you love me."

Jack's expression grew serious, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. He didn't say anything for a long moment, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between you. "I do," he said finally, his voice a little stronger. "I've always loved you."

Your heart skipped a beat as the words hung in the air. You also had feelings for Jack, but you'd never dared to voice them, not when his career had taken him so far away from the quiet life you both once shared. But here he was, confessing his love in the most unguarded of moments.

"Jack," you began, but the words caught in your throat. How could you tell him that you felt the same way, that you'd been in love with him since the days when you used to hit balls together in the park, before the cameras and the fans and the pressure?

Jack looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race. "I'm not just saying it because I'm sick," he said quickly, as if reading your mind. "I've felt this way for a long time."

You felt the weight of his confession settle on your chest. You'd been Jack's rock, his confidant, his best friend, for so long. But now, in the quiet solitude of his hotel room, the lines had blurred. You didn't know how to respond, so you just sat there, the wet cloth still in your hand, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

"I know it's not the right time," Jack continued, his voice a mix of apology and hope. "But I had to tell you. I can't keep it in anymore."

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the tumult of emotions churning inside you. Love, fear, confusion—they all collided together, leaving you speechless. You'd always been there for Jack, but you never imagined that you'd be the one he'd confess his love to, not like this.

Jack reached out and took the cloth from your hand, placing it on the bedside table. His eyes searched yours, looking for a glimmer of hope. "I know this isn't the way I wanted to tell you," he said, his voice thick with regret. "But I couldn't hold it in anymore. I had to let you know how much you mean to me."

You felt your eyes well up with tears, the gravity of the situation crashing down on you. "Jack," you began, your voice barely a whisper. "I… I love you too." The words felt strange and yet utterly right as they left your lips.

Jack's expression softened, a hint of relief washing over him. He reached out and took your hand, his thumb gently stroking the back of your palm. "Really?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his touch spread through you. "Really," you confirmed, a small smile ghosting across your face.

Jack's hand tightened around yours, and you felt the energy between you shift. The air grew thick with unspoken words and the weight of the moment. He took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "Can you stay with me?" he asked, his voice hoarse from the match and the emotion.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak. You knew Jack needed you now more than ever. You slid closer to him on the bed, his body still trembling slightly. You wrapped your arm around his waist, feeling the heat from his feverish skin, and rested your head on his chest. The steady beat of his heart was a comforting rhythm that seemed to resonate throughout the entire room.

Jack's hand found yours, and he laced your fingers together, holding onto you like a lifeline. His breathing grew shallower, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly release. The room was dimly lit, the only sound the occasional cough from Jack and the muffled noises of the hotel outside. You didn't know what to say, so you just held him, letting the silence speak for you both.

[kuroppiii]

  forty, love ᵕ̈       tennis au!miya twins x gn!reader       ( pt. two ) ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : what to do when two  ⋮⋮  fellow pro tennis players are ⋮⋮  interested in you ? you compare ⋮⋮  their stats , of course !

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦❕     ♡ # 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 🥛     ♡ # ~4.1𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 ( wow )     ♡ # 𝙘𝙬 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 ( all characters are 18     or older during all events of the story !! ) ,     𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

🧺 extensions  ⋮⋮  prev  ⋮⋮  series masterlist  ⋮⋮  next ( coming soon ! )  ⋮⋮

🎶 on shuffle " yeah x10 " - trent reznor & atticus ross ( challengers movie soundtrack )

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ i locked tf in for this one ... ( also thank you ree for helping with the smau stuff i ' ve never done myself prior to this lolll ) ”

atsumu and osamu are neck-and-neck in a tie break. the crowd around you grows frustrated in a twisted type of voyeurism as the two tennis players are almost equally matched in the masterful way they return the ball to each other.

it's still only the first set but it feels like you've been sitting there watching 100 tennis matches–and in a sense, you have been.

as the ball gets traded between the miya twins on each side of the net, the countless times you've seen the two passionately rally tennis balls with their rackets cycle through your mind. they overlay the sight in front of you, almost like a flip book–one that eventually lands on a page from a long-gone time.

a time when the twins used to play alongside each other on one side of the net.

،   の   ✧   後    🌱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 …

after winning the match that made your young pro-athlete career those many years ago, you remember you took your new trophy with you to sit in on a certain mens doubles match a few hours later that same day.

there were a few hours to kill between when the cameras flashed in your face as you held your trophy and when you'd have to deal with it all over again that night for the winners' banquet. so, you decided to take up the two twin brothers' offer from the previous day to watch them in action.

slipping into a secluded corner of the stands, you were just barely able to catch the last few sets of their game since yours had overlapped slightly time-wise. but even in those few sets, you found yourself drawn to how the two ruled the court.

looking at the scoreboard, it seems like they breezed past the first set, had faltered and lost the second, but were definitely back on track to secure the third when you had arrived.

under the searing afternoon sun you noticed how atsumu always donned a certain smirk on his face before serving. this smile somehow shone brighter than the rays of light beating down on him and his sweat-drenched shirt.

and not too far from the blonde and closer to the net, osamu continuously provided ample support whenever atsumu's serves were returned, no matter how powerfully their opponents hit them back. he had a show-stopping habit of leaping into the air to reach the tennis balls whenever they were returned up high. volley after volley, osamu's usually bored expression would turn to one that was laser-focused on swatting at his neon green targets with his racket so the balls would quickly crash onto their opponents' side.

in this way, the twins weren't ones who waited for the ball to hit the court. they always had the ball in motion. it was like they were so in-tune on some deep and unspoken level, and you hadn't seen doubles partners play in any way like it.

'maybe it's because they're brothers,' you thought to yourself as you found yourself more invested watching a tennis match than you ever had before, 'maybe it's because they're twins, at that!'

either way, the miya twins secured that third set, and despite the annoyance of your manager as you were completely oblivious to their calls and texts telling you to start getting ready for the winners' banquet, you intently watched every moment and every point as they finished off their match by winning the fourth set.

you earnestly joined the audience in the stands as you applauded the two, watching them drop their rackets and excitedly embrace one another in a tight hug upon realizing the match was now over. they were winners.

the trophy gets brought out, and you get a great view of their faces lighting up in celebratory smiles, holding their shared trophy between them for the cameras.

the image of them both–hair sticking to their foreheads and dripping in sweat yet still grinning impossibly wide–as they clutch their new trophy and both kiss it at the same time, was one that would be burned into your memory for years.

but at the time, the moment passes as quickly as it came before they go to pack up their duffels on the sidelines. you take this as your queue to leave and finally catch up on the notifications from your manager. but just as you stand up from your seat, atsumu spots you in the crowd, and you see his jaw drop.

immediately and without risking to glance away from you, he aggressively swats at osamu's arm next to him to get the gray-haired one to look at where you stood, too. osamu reluctantly follows his brothers gaze, and you see the frustrated expression aimed at his brother quickly melt into one mixed with shock and admiration as he locks eyes with you.

(unable to fight the small smile that tugs at your lips upon seeing their ego-boosting reactions again) you nod at them in acknowledgment, give them a small wave, and go to pick up your trophy as you leave while they flash those winning smiles right back at you.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the banquet a few hours later was held in a classy venue, with winding spotless marble staircases and chandeliers in every room. when your ride pulled up in front of the building, you stepped out onto the ostentatious red carpet that was laid out for all the tournament's victors to waltz down. you could hear the buzz of chatter and crystal glass clinking inside. the louder it grew, the more your hands gripped at the shiny handles of your award as you entered the hall.

a worker directed you to a table where all the winners were asked to place their trophies for a round of pictures that would take place before dinner started. just as you go to set yours down, two similar and familiar faces entered through the banquet hall doors.

the voice of the tournament employee started to sound more and more tuned-out as you watched them step into the hall. the miyas were clad in clean and simple dress pants and blazers. osamu's outfit was on the more, of course, grayer side than atsumu's (and defiinitely more of atsumu's dress shirt buttons were unbuttoned than that of his brother's).

osamu held in his hands the brothers' trophy from their match earlier that day, and a different worker suddenly approached them, kindly gesturing to the table you were standing right next to. they were probably asking osamu to place the trophy down on the table–something you were still yet to do.

you quickly look back at the worker talking to you, apologizing for "spacing out" before carefully positioning your prize in the spot where they needed it. you feel a presence come up next to you, and look up to make eye contact with the two twins.

"long time no see," atsumu teases as his brother sets down their trophy next to yours.

"nice trophy ya got there," osamu adds on. a light-hearted scoff escapes you before you attempt to congratulate them on their own win.

"thanks! congrats to you t–"

"l/n! i've been looking everywhere for you!" your manager suddenly appears and interrupts you, "there are some photographers who're asking for your picture. right this way, please..."

as your manager nudges you away from the award table, you glance back to give the two brothers an apologetic smile. they wave you off and soon you lose sight of them as the crowd in the room gets between you.

and that's how it went for the first half of the evening: looks here and there exchanged between you and the miyas, but always getting whisked away by the crowd to each take pictures with so-and-so or do another interview with whatever news outlet.

until finally, all the trophy bearers are called up to take one big picture together, and you find yourself standing next to the doubles partners once again. osamu is right next to you, and atsumu next to him. the moment after all the athletes have clobbered their big trophies in their grasp to hold up for the cameras, you start getting bombarded with flashing lights.

as you try to maintain your smile for the pictures, you catch in the corner of your eye osamu leaning closer to you, and he whispers, "ya looked great out there"–he pauses and smiles again at the flash of another camera–"and you're lookin' great now, too."

"lay off the gorgeous singles winner, would'ya 'samu? you're ruinin' our photos right now," atsumu smoothly joins in on your brief hushed conversation.

your smile begins to resemble a more genuine one at the interaction, and you're hoping the photos of you don't show the blush dusted on your cheeks once they get released to the press.

again, you don't get to talk to the twins much throughout the rest of the event. but during dinner hour–while them and their team are off somewhere else in the venue doing some p.r.–you successfully managed to slip a napkin with your number scribbled on it into the cup of their trophy as you pass by.

that night at your hotel, two new numbers popped up on your phone.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the sound of tennis balls making contact with hardcourt echo through the darkness of night.

a few weeks later you're practicing late-night at a hotel court for your first grand slam appearance. for you recently, it's been nothing but nonstop training and drills. you were aiming for the final. sure, you could tell yourself to make it to at least quarter-finals, or even be satisfied at seeing yourself at semi-finals.

but no, your mind was set on the final. hell, your mindset was to win overall.

you got ready to practice your serve for another time, following the neon green ball as it went from the palm of your hand, to spinning in mid-air, to crashing against the wires of your racket–

your phone emits a small beam of light from where it laid on the bench in your peripheral vision. you wondered for a split second who could be texting you at this hour.

watching as your serve hit the exact corner you were aiming for, you decided you could give yourself a short break to check.

you reach into your duffel and fish out your towel, and you pat your neck and arms dry as you unlock your phone to open up the sudden set of notifications accruing on your homescreen,

it was the miyas.

ever since they added your number from the winners' banquet napkin, the three of you have had a shared groupchat you used to stay in touch. you had discovered pretty early on that the twins were very different, even if it's in how they text.

recently, however, on account of your intense grand slam preparations, you haven't been very active in it. but out of nowhere, here the two brothers are blowing up the chat. as you caught up on the messages, you pick up on an interesting amount of typos–more than usual...

at the mention of bottles, you immediately caught on. a small laugh escapes you as you type back to voice your suspicion, and atsumu almost instantly replies back to confirm it–that they've had a few drinks tonight.

you shake your head at the bench. it was almost midnight. and they want to see you this bad?

you debate for a moment how much you really wanted to see them again.

they were definitely staying at some different hotel than yours, as they were going to be at the upcoming tournament as well to compete in their usual doubles bracket. you had no idea where or how far their hotel might've been, though. how would they even get to your hotel from theirs anyway? how long would you have to wait for them out in the dark? you could probably fit some more drills in that time instead.

after thinking about it for another minute or two, you sigh and look up at the moon in the dark sky, too exhausted from the hours you've already spent on the hard court to really think of an excuse not to have them visit you. a small break right about now couldn't hurt.

besides–other than catching sight of them on tv or on online tennis news articles–the last time you saw them was at the winner's banquet, and you really wouldn't complain about seeing their faces in person again.

so you tell them what you're up to at your hotel, and you're met with eager replies back in the groupchat: atsumu suggesting they join you in your practice, osamu saying they have a driver that can bring them to you.

a sudden surge of energy enters your system realizing you're about to have them right in front of you again. you bounce your leg against the court impatiently to try and let some of it out.

you start thinking back to the last time you were face-to-face with them, and you can't help but cringe a little, recalling how you were more of a flustered mess than you might've wished in front of them.

you internally cursed the effect they have on you.

and yet, here you were giving in to see them. but if you were going to have to face them again, you concluded you'd need a bit of liquid courage pumping through you yourself...

around 20 minutes after you seal the deal and send your hotel's address to the two brothers, you hear footsteps approaching where you were sat at the court bench.

and then there they were–casually in t-shirts and shorts they were probably about to wear to bed–in front of you. you hear the clink of bottles as atsumu drops the duffel on his shoulder onto the court.

"be more careful with that, would'ya 'tsumu?" osamu hisses while landing a quick blow to the side of atsumu's arm.

you already find yourself giggling in their presence again and barely a minute has passed by. but what can you say? both on and off the court, the two were so interesting for you to watch.

after atsumu does in fact fail to open some more bottles with his racket and osamu instead opts to use the cap of one bottle to open two others, the three of you then start rallying in a friendly 2-v-1.

with the twins opposite you across the net, tennis balls start to get lazily passed over the net using one-handed forehands and backhands (you each had an occupied hand holding your drinks, after all). though you three aren't giving it your all, a steady and precise rhythm of clicks still start to ring out like a metronome with each pass of the ball, accompanying the catch-up conversation that you share on the court.

a few rallies in–and a drink or two more–atsumu suddenly poses a question mid-rally that catches you off-guard.

"hey, say if you had to date one of us, which one you would pick?" the blonde shouts across the court, almost causing you to miss your return on the ball. you question if this was atsumu, or the alcohol talking.

click!

skeptical, you shout back, "i'd go out with whoever actually liked me, obviously."

click!

"but what if we both did?" you barely catch osamu add on, as his words are more mumbled and almost slurred before you see him hurriedly take another swig from his bottle.

you can hear the joint-confession in his words, and your other hand goes to give you another sip from your own bottle to calm your nerves.

click!

"is it normal for you both like the same girl?" you tease.

click!

"nah, not really, actually," osamu calls back.

"so what, should i feel honored or something?" you can't help but sarcastically throw at the two.

click!

"of course. you're hot and talented," atsumu reasons, dropping his description of you like it's the most normal thing to say in that moment. you feel your face start to heat up–and it definitely wasn't the alcohol making its way through your system.

click!

"oh, is that all i am?" you feign offense, and for once both brothers mistakenly go to return the ball, when they usually are so coordinated only one ever has to take initiative. you loved messing around with them.

the ball falls between their two outstretched rackets, and atsumu curses under his breath as osamu goes after it as it starts bouncing away. after retrieving it, he tosses it to atsumu to serve it over and start up another rally.

click!

"'s not that," says osamu, "we've both gotten to know ya, you're great all-'round."

click! click! click...

"but based on what you've gotten to know 'bout us," atsumu speaks up in the pause of conversation, "who would'ya pick?"

click... click... click–

you suddenly give it your all and crash the ball hard onto their side of the court, downing the rest of your bottle right after, "let me think that over."

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the three of you had stopped rallying, opting to hanging out on the bench and just talking about life. the few bottles from the miyas' duffel were about halfway through and it was close to about 2 in the morning now.

the sound of tennis balls and rackets making contact was now replaced with hushed giggles, the sound of tennis balls lightly being dropped against the court surface and being caught again once they inevitably bounce back up, and the whirr of rackets being twirled by absent-minded hands.

all these sounds muddle together in your ears, an internal tell-tale signal to you that you were very tipsy.

since you were asked the question, the notion of getting with either of the miya twins has been floating in your mind. other thoughts came along with it, too, and the alcohol was not helping to push those curiosities of yours away.

as always, these two made it so easy to cave into your wants of selfish self-satisfaction. but this was a much-welcomed respite from the otherwise constant pressures and grueling day-to-day of going pro so young on the tennis court.

that you could be sure of, sober or not.

... so you figured your future and more sober self in the morning can't get that upset for what you were about to try.

"i think i know how i can figure out an answer to your question from earlier," you find yourself humming while atsumu was on your right, attempting a racket trick on the bench, and osamu was to your left, on the ground leaning up against the bench and bouncing a ball between the court and the palm of his hand.

"which one?" atsumu questions with a quick glance over to you as he tried balancing the middle of his racket on one finger.

"who i'd go out with," you nonchalantly shrug as you hear the wires of your racket slice through the air when you quickly spin it in your grasp.

"really?" osamu cranes his neck back to look at you, hand still trading contact with the ball between his hand and the court.

you look between them, the blush from the alcohol clearly visible on their faces–one you can certainly feel is shared on your own facial features, too–before looking back down at your racket, "i dunno, i just think i need more... stats to compare."

"what d'ya mean?" atsumu now puts down his racket in his lap and asks. you bend down and use your racket to slice the tennis ball out from under osamu's palm, directing attention to the racket by tapping it against the ground.

you ask osamu, "heads or tails?"

a beat of expectant silence passes by the three of you, as the brothers wonder what you're getting at.

"...tails," osamu finally replies, and it almost sounds like he utters his words on bated breath as he looks at you. (or maybe that was just your ego getting to your head.)

you twirl your racket one more time and let it clatter to the ground. the sound reverberates in the now completely-silent space, as the miyas are frozen in place as they scan your every move.

heads.

you look at atsumu, and mustering up all the confidence from your inebriated system, you reach your hand up to lightly hold his jawline. his skin under your fingertips runs soft as you dare to start leaning in closer, and closer, and at the moment your lips brush the slightest bit, you feel his breath hitch.

for a second, you reconsider if now was the time to settle into desire, if this may all just wind up being a big mistake–

but then atsumu quickly gets fed up, and he finally closes the gap between you. before you know it, your eyes flutter closed as you get lost in how his mouth feels on yours. his kiss is relentless, leaving no room for you to catch your breath as he constantly makes sure you can feel as much of him against your lips as you can. it's like he doesn't want you thinking about anything but him, not on his watch.

yeah, this is definitely not a mistake.

after a few moments, you hear shuffling and the bench creaks under a new weight on your left, and suddenly you feel a hand on your left thigh–osamu's, no doubt.

you carefully pull back from you and atsumu's kiss, catching how atsumu's eyes remain lidded as his body involuntarily tries chasing after you, both of you letting out soft pants to try and breathe in much-needed air.

you turn your head to face osamu, and you follow how his eyes trace over your face and his teeth subtly gnaws at the inside of his bottom lip in an anxious state of anticipation. you take it as your sign to start leaning in towards him–your fingers still lingering on atsumu's face as you do so.

osamu's kiss is much softer, but deliberate nonetheless. he isn't afraid of pulling back a little bit, but it isn't long before he takes the initiative to gently trap your bottom lip between his teeth now and then, forcing content sighs out of you–this in itself almost eggs him on further to toy with you more.

and then the skin under your right hand's finger tips disappears, a pair of lips start to kisses your jaw, and a pair of hands starting to wander along the right side of your body.

now both miyas are all over you, their possessive hands almost competing in grasping at more of you than the other. that, combined with the feeling of lips on yours at the same time as lips trailing along the side of your neck, made your head buzz.

you felt giddy–you've only ever seen them playing on the same side of the court. but right now, they were opponents, but instead of fighting over some glass trophy or medal, they were trying to win your attention.

finally needing air, you pull away from osamu. when you open your eyes to see his face, his lips are swollen and even in the dark of night you can catch a glimpse of his pupils appear blown out.

those same eyes flick over to glance at his brother on your right, and before you can follow his gaze, osamu's going in for the left side of your neck.

in the dark you can feel every touch–two varying paces of lips working against your skin, bleached and dyed hair brushing along the underside of your jaw. there's hands on your thighs, hands on your waist, hands peeking just under the hem of your shirt, hands threading through their blonde and grey hair–

your phone starts to ring.

"oh shit–" you quickly stand up from between them, stumbling a little from the imbalance that comes with your current tipsy state. you feel around for your phone on the ground and by the time you locate it among the mess of duffels and rackets and empty bottles, you see a missed call and texts from a member of your team. they're wondering where you were, and telling you to wrap up and head to bed if you haven't already.

"s-sorry," you stutter out at the two boys, picking up your racket from where you left it on the ground and fumbling with the strap of your duffel, "i gotta go–thanks for... the drinks."

and all osamu and atsumu can do is dumbly nod as you leave them at the bench–lips slightly parted and hair messes, with star-stuck looks from them that you've grown quite accustomed to.

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist (2/30 at the time of publishing) : @zumicho , @liillyliilly (just send me an ask if you’re interested! xx)

[onboardsorasora]

🎾Tennis Dan - Part 35🎾

Soooo I started writing this at the start of the year when the Australian open was actually going on and then my brain decided it needed a break. Which fair…. I'd been writing 3 Roses non-stop and then like a lot of smaller fic around that time as well. I took the break my body requested then just…. didn't have the inspiration to come back to this. I wanted to do a completely new chapter but I also really liked what I'd already written here, so I finished it. Nothing else has been written so anything after this chapter will be like, current lol

I'm so sorry for taking so long to bring our boys back, please forgive me.

Part 1 | Part 34

Max felt the roar of the Australian crowd as the set finally ended. Sustained by the announcement that the last rally surpassed the games record of 27 volleys with 31. The set had been going on for over an hour now with both players giving it their all.

Max watched as Daniel wiped at his face with the oversized towel. He was drenched in sweat, the planes of his muscles were obvious through the slicked fabric of his shirt.

This was the longest match Max had ever witnessed, Daniel and his opponent were very well matched and they each had an answer whenever the other had the upper hand. The scoreboard looked like an annoying math equation with integers and fractions.

It was clear who the crowd were behind though, the ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie oi oi oi’ chants riled the packed stadium in every break. The inflatable kangaroos waved merrily when Daniel got the advantage.

He was doing well for himself in his first big Open back from injury. Daniel had spent the Christmas break in training camp on the ranch while Max had been doted on by Grace and Daniel's grandmother.

Watching Daniel in his element would always make Max's blood simmer in his veins. Daniel was calm, focused, and fucking good. His navy shorts were short– mid thigh and shorter than he normally wore but Max wouldn't say he was complaining. Not when Daniel was lunging and stretching this way and that, Max loved watching his straining muscles.

He watched as Blake and Michael hurriedly poured packets of salt in a branded water bottle and shook it all together. Daniel had already drank all of the electrolyte drink and even the ‘just in case' pickle juice that had been packed in his gear bag. They were moving quickly, never once expecting the match to go on this long, for him to go through the back stores.

A court attendant in a white wide brimmed hat accepted the bottle and placed it by Daniel's bench. Daniel grabbed the bottle and took a sip and Max chuckled when his face involuntarily squished onto itself before he raised a thumbs up. He drank the salty water like a trooper before chasing it with some ice cold fresh water.

He made a face that was broadcast onto the screens, with his tongue out and sharp head shake, the crowd cheered and screamed. Daniel grimaced then laughed before waving to the camera goodnaturedly. He stood and wiped his face again before grabbing his racquet. The crowd swell was insane.

The next few sets went quickly after that, most into Daniel's favour. Max stopped paying attention to the clock, to the score. Instead focused on how strong and– quite frankly– fucking sexy Daniel looked below him. Panting and straining and looking positively dominant.

Grace's hand clamping onto his arm brought Max back to the present. The stadium was tense, with the sound of thousands of people gasping and holding their breaths. 

Max looked to see Daniel on the ground, on his back. His opponent returned the volley with vigor and Daniel had no time to get back up. The crowd groaned with fear and Grace seemed as if she wanted to hide her face.

Then Daniel arched up and volleyed back from his position on the ground. Then he scrambled to his feet just as the ball was returned. Daniel grinned widely and watched triumphantly as the ball went out. The stadium roared and Daniel beat his chest, then raised his hands tiredly in thanks.

— - —

Max licked his way up the planes of Daniel's back as he laid prone on bed beneath him. His arms were spread out like a cross, ice packs taped to his biceps and traps. 

Daniel was exhausted, and Max had elected to be the one in charge of his post match care. He'd say through the trophy ceremony impatiently, he couldn't wait to get his hands on Daniel.

“Mmm Max.” Daniel groaned gutterally, his face smushed into the sheets. Drool collected beneath his lips to form a wet patch.

Max had been edging him the whole time, massaging his muscles while keeping him horny as hell. Daniel's body was a livewire of pain and pleasure and his dick was hard and leaking, trapped beneath him.

“You did so well today, Daniel. You were perfect. My perfect champion.” Max cooed in Daniel's ear, pressing his hard dick between the cleft of Daniel's cheeks. Daniel shivered and whined.

Max kissed the column of Daniel's neck and rutted against him, savouring each of Daniel's breathy moans and exhales.

“You're gonna come for me baby, let me take care of you.” 

“Yeah.” Daniel panted, trying and failing to raise his head or his hips for better access to Max's roving lips and grinding hips. He wanted to do more but his energy was done. And Max felt so so so good.

“Don't worry, I'll fuck you tomorrow baby. I promise.” Max gripped Daniels hips and picked up his speed. Daniel's whines became hitched before his eyes clenched and he stiffened beneath him. Daniel choked out a moan while Max murmured praises into his ear, a soft smile on his pink lips. 

“Max, fuck.” Daniel rasped and Max came with a moan of Daniels name.

[taylorswiftandx]

Taylor Swift and Sports

Note: This post is for the name of a sport, so for example "swimming" appears here but "swam" does not. For "running," I limited what appears here to lyrics that could indicate physically running rather than "time is running out" for example.

'Taylor Swift'

(no sports)

'Fearless (Taylor's Version)'

Fifteen: But in your life, you'll do things greater than dating the boy on the football team

'Speak Now (Taylor's Version)'

Sparks Fly: You're the kind of reckless that should send me running

Mean: And I can see you years from now in a bar, talking over a football game

Innocent: Wasn't it beautiful, running wild 'til you fell asleep?

Long Live: We are the kings and the queens, you traded your baseball cap for a crown

'Red (Taylor's Version)'

All Too Well: Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well

Stay Stay Stay: That's when you came in wearing a football helmet and said, "Okay, let's talk"

Starlight: We were seventeen and crazy, running wild, wild

The Very First Night: Not trying to fall in love, but we did like children running

'1989 (Taylor's Version)'

I Wish You Would: This mad, mad love makes you come running

"Slut!": Aquamarine, moonlit swimming pool, what if all I need is you?

Is It Over Now?: I think about jumping off of very tall somethings just to see you come running

Sweeter Than Fiction: You never saw it coming, slipped when you started running

Sweeter Than Fiction: They never saw it coming, you hit the ground running

'reputation'

…Ready For It?: Stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry

Getaway Car: Well, he was running after us, I was screaming, "Go, go, go!"

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things: Jump into the pool from the balcony, everyone swimming in a champagne sea

'Lover'

The Man: I'm so sick of running as fast as I can, wondering if I'd get there quicker if I was a man

Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince: Running through rose thorns, I saw the scoreboard and ran for my life

London Boy: You can find me in the pub, we are watching rugby with his school friends

Afterglow: Fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves

'folklore'

The 1: I hit the ground running each night, I hit the Sunday matinee

Cardigan: Leaving like a father, running like water

'evermore'

Cowboy Like Me: And the tennis court was covered up with some tent-like thing

'Midnights'

Sweet Nothing: I found myself running home to your sweet nothings

You're Losing Me: Now you're running down the hallway

'The Tortured Poets Department'

But Daddy I Love Him: Now I'm running with my dress unbuttoned

Fresh Out The Slammer: Now pretty baby, I'm running back home to you

Fresh Out The Slammer: Now pretty baby, I'm running

The Alchemy: Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to me

The Albatross: Cautions issued, he stood shooting the messengers

So High School: You know how to ball, I know Aristotle

The Manuscript: Then she dated boys who were her own age with dart boards on the backs of their doors

Other Songs written by Taylor

Carolina: Oh Carolina creeks running through my veins

Official Alternate Releases

(no sports)

[muirneach]

there are 3 matches between a spaniard and an argentine happening right now which is an interesting coincidence. but check out this scoreline thus far. what are they doing in hamburg 😭

[triptychofvoids]

7-0 on the table tennis scoreboard

[horrorvisuals]

CANINE

CANINE is a first-person horror game with well-made, PSX-style wobbly visuals.

It tells the story of a boy looking for his dog kidnapped by an evil corporation running experiments on pets. In his search, he has to survive against a horrifying creature and escape.

Canine has stealth-focused gameplay where you survive against a stalker-type enemy. Think of the Xenomorph from Alien: Isolation or Mr. X from Resident Evil 2.

Surviving against this creature isn't the most complicated thing, but it can surely be tense sometimes because it can corner you quite easily.

You can use your trusty tennis ball to distract it, run, and hide in designated hiding places.

It has a B-movie type of narrative that doesn't go too much into detail while still managing to give you a compelling story.

Tomy, the boy's dog, is kidnapped by an evil corporation named Umbral. They conduct experiments on dogs to create the perfect demigod.

Throughout your survival inside this facility, you come across notes and environmental details to learn more about this harrowing story.

The game has PSX style, wibbly-wobbly visuals paired with a pretty good atmosphere. The sound design and the overall color palette really puts dread in your chest even before the game truly begins.

At its essence, the gameplay revolves around surviving against this creature while looking for switches around the facility. It's a place with smaller sub-sections that you go through while searching for these switches and other key items, of course, while also looking for Tomy.

Depending on the things you do in your playthrough, the game has two endings. It also has a scoreboard system that nudges you to try again and maybe speedrun the whole thing.

It has a generous checkpoint system, so it never gets annoying even if you're caught.

CANINE is great. I enjoyed this a lot and I'll probably go back to it to play some more, maybe go for a no-death run.

It's pretty cheap on Steam with Very Positive reviews. Confidently recommended.

Check it out here.

[vainvenus]

꒰ :: Hello! 🍂

↪My name is Venus but you can call me Vee if you'd like!

↪I use she/they pronouns!

↪ I'm currently going to school to be a journalist! Leaning towards being a sports journalist ofc lol

↪Requests are :: Open!

↪Request page is here and masterlist is below the cut! Have fun!

Cobra Kai

Miguel Diaz

Nothing yet!

Eli Moskowitz

Favorite boy in the valley Pt.2 :: Eli is feeling a bit insecure so you have to remind him that you love him and only him.

Robby Keene

Nothing yet!

Tory Nichols

Nothing ye!

Samantha LaRusso

Nothing Yet!

Anthony LaRusso

Nothing yet!

Daniel LaRusso

Nothing yet!

Johnny Lawrence

Nothing yet!

Kenny Payne

Nothing yet!

Kwon Jae-Sung

Nothing yet!

Axel Kovačević

Nothing yet!

Formula One

Max Verstappen

Nothing yet!

Sergio Perez

Nothing yet!

Lewis Hamilton

Nothing yet!

George Russell

Nothing yet!

Charles Leclerc

Game, set, mine. :: in which charles grows obsessed with a rising tennis star who didn't even know who he was.

Carlos Sainz

Nothing yet!

Lando Norris

Mind games. Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 :: Lando is obviously messing with your mind but that's hard to prove when everything he does makes you look crazy.

Oscar Piastri

Nothing yet!

Fernando Alonso

Nothing yet!

Lance Stroll

Nothing yet!

Esteban Ocon

Nothing yet!

Pierre Gasly

Nothing yet!

Yuki Tsunoda

Nothing yet!

Daniel Ricciardo

Nothing yet!

Alex Albon

Nothing yet!

Logan Sargeant

Nothing yet!

Kimi Antonelli

Nothing yet!

Ollie Bearman

Nothing yet!

Jack Doohan

Nothing yet!

Liam Lawson

Nothing yet!

OBX

John B.

Pretty please? :: OBX boys doing small acts of service for you

Pope Heyward

Pretty please? :: OBX boys doing small acts of service for you

JJ Maybanks

Pretty please? :: OBX boys doing small acts of service for you

Drunk words are just sober thoughts :: While completely wasted JJ spews his feelings for you.

Kiara Carrera

Nothing yet!

Sarah Cameron

Nothing yet!

Rafe Cameron

Pretty please? :: OBX boys doing small acts of service for you

Percy Jackson

Percy Jackson

Sweet Dreams :: Percy can't sleep, good thing he has you!

Scoreboard of embarrassment :: As Percy fights for your attention he loses against embarrassment a few times before he wins.

Annabeth Chase

Nothing yet!

Grover Underwood

Nothing yet!

Luke Castellan

Nothing yet!

Thalia Grace

Nothing yet!

Nico di Angelo

Nothing yet!

Clarisse La Rue

Nothing yet!

The Hunger Games + TBOSAS

Katniss Everdeen

Nothing yet!

Peeta Mellark

Nothing yet!

Finnick Odair

Nothing yet!

Cato Hadley

Nothing yet!

Coriolanus Snow

Nothing yet!

Sejnus Plinth

Hypnotic Pt.2 :: Like he's under a trance Sejanus is instantly drawn to the cute violin player at the performing.

Fence girl :: Sejanus is terrible at his job but at least he's a good person

Lucy-Grey Baird

Nothing yet!

The Outsiders

Ponyboy Curtis

Nothing yet!

Darry Curtis

Nothing yet!

Sodapop Curtis

Nothing yet!

Johnny Cade

Groovy :: Johnny meets one of Dally's friends who's about a little different

Dally Winston

Nothing yet!

More shows/movies will be added to the master list once I write for them lol!

[lazy-whistledown]

Australian Open Men’s Final 2012. The scoreboard: 5-7, 6-4, 6-2, 6 (5)-7 (7), 7-5 with Nole triumphing over Rafa after almost 6 hours of one of the most grueling & physically draining tennis matches. This was the match that turned me into a tennis fan.

Rafa’s retirement leaves Nole the only one left of tennis’s Big Three and this surely feels like the end of an era. With Nole winning the 2024 Olympic gold medal in tennis, the only one that escaped his cache of medals & trophies for a long while, retirement may be nipping at his heels too.

I’ve always thought that Rafa’s way of playing cannot be sustainable in the long run what with multiple injuries & aging plaguing him.

However, Rafa’s contribution to the sport of tennis & sports itself is as legendary, if not more, as his 22 grand slam titles.

Tennis pundits & fans will continue to argue who the greatest of all time is. They can argue all they want. I just feel extremely lucky to have witnessed & to have lived in the era of Fedalovic!

Thank you, Rafa! 🫶