#atp tennis x reader

[b0r3dtod3ath]

ooh can i request you being ben shelton’s gf and watching one of his games (and maybe your not famous at all) and idk maybe he does something or u do something that kinda outs u as a couple

sorry if this is vague, i love ur stories:)

an: Thank you for the message! Omg someone loves my stories! I'm happy you like them. Also from this place I wanna express my appreciation for each one of you. Messages from my readers always make my day! Anyway, here's what I came up with.

One of the challenges you faced together while dating Ben was keeping the relationship private. You were not used to the amount of attention the rising star of tennis got. 

It was a big day for the both of you. Ben was playing in an important match, and you sat in his box, a few rows back from the court. It was the first tournament you had joined him. You were nervous, but also incredibly proud of him. You wore a simple outfit and a baseball cap, hoping to blend in with the crowd and not draw too much attention. You watched him in awe, noticed all the changes - his eyes fierce, expression confident but still focused and almost stone cold - it was in stark contrast to his softer side that you experienced almost everyday. Each powerful serve and strategic play had the crowd on their feet, cheering him on. You were so engrossed in the game that you didn’t notice the cameras occasionally panning to the crowd, capturing the excitement of the spectators. During the most intense exchanges during the match you felt your heart pounding in your chest.

When Ben hit a stunning winner ace, the crowd erupted in applause. Without thinking, you jumped up from your seat, cheering and clapping enthusiastically. It was at that moment that he turned towards the stands, his eyes searching the crowd. He spotted you, his face breaking into a wide, triumphant smile. His softer side breaking through the hard shell built up during the match. In a spontaneous, unguarded moment, he pointed directly at you, and mouthed, “For you. I love you.”

The cameras, always quick to catch any interesting moment, zoomed in on your happily surprised expression. The commentators, noticing the exchange, began speculating about who you might be. “That’s quite a gesture,” one of them said. “It looks like Ben Shelton just dedicated that point to someone special in the audience".

After the match and the on-court interview, you walked down the stairs to get closer to Ben, ignoring the glances from the last bits of crowd. He stood on his tippy toes, pulling you into a celebratory hug. “I’m sorry if that put you in the spotlight,” he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “I just couldn’t help it”. Although from the outside it didn’t look like the best hug ever as his body was covered in sweat and you were standing over a meter above him, your heart still swelled with love. You smiled up at him “It’s okay,” you replied. “I’m proud to be with you, Ben”. 

With that, he kissed you softly, right there in front of fans and cameras. People that haven’t left yet erupted once again, this time in a mixture of cheers and awws. It seemed that your relationship was no longer a secret as clips of you two instantly went viral and people on twitter compared you to Romeo and Juliet on a balcony, but at that moment, you didn’t care. You were just happy to be with Ben, sharing his victory and his love.

June 7, 2024

[b0r3dtod3ath]

hi! my requests are open 👉👈

guys. GUYS. Where are my tennis boys fics?? Why am I not being bombarded by Carlos Alcaraz fan fics rn??? Why am I not seeing cutesy head canons about Jannik Sinner being an amazing boyfriend?? Why is Andrey Rublev and his insane humour not all over my feed?? WHERE ARE MY TENNIS FANGIRLS ATTTTT????

[alcqraz]

★ summary — after yet another tough loss in the australian open, y/n finds solace within her boyfriend. ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★★ pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★ content warnings. n/a. carlos being a cutie patootie? ˖˙ ꔫ —★★ word count. 3.2k ˖˙ ꔫ —★ genre. fluff. it's carlos. what do you expect? ★ authors note: for the girls! i really need to write some x male!reader for myself... ben drabble coming next and then we go from there. also ugh, he's so cute i love him so much. after 6 decades, 4 redbulls and 25 million complaints, you shalt recieve whatever the hell this monstrosity is... i apologize, this is terrible. ⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀ @yungbludz ; @csainzcalcaraz ; idk who else to tag.

Bitterness was an odd sort of sensation. It wrapped around the heart within a warp of seamless, thick fog- the cold tendrils seeping into the crevices of positivity that she deemed to find after such a loss. It whispered to Y/N in moments where she stood in front of the media, rumbling off a number of responses given by her public relations manager. One for which she believed to have almost no effect upon her relationship with the public. It lingered, like some sort of lurking shadow amongst the thoughts that crowded her back of mind as the reality delved deep into her bones. As the media had swooped down as vultures and ripped her performance apart with each piece of mindless critique that, most of the time, could be said to have been terribly wrong.

She’d known the drill. Exchanging hands with the devil within every turn that crossed her path, with every early round exit that haunted her presence as she packed up to head towards the next tournament. One which would lead to the abiding taste of victory or once again; bitterness. It followed her every step, with every ground stroke, with every serve missed. It was only when the umpire would shout out the words- game, set match; followed by a name that was not hers, would she realize. It settled in slowly; similar to the dust that set on the shelves after being unused for far too long, and eventually did she finally feel the truth of it all. 

Australia seemed to disdain her existence as a whole. Y/N had decidedly chosen to believe so after a handful of upsets. Within the premises of a place far too beautiful to be spiteful, does she drown within her sorrows of the match. The Australian Open always rubbed like salt within her wounds, lost matches after lost matches, and she wondered to herself what she could possibly be doing wrong with her career. It was not as if it were common. Undoubtedly, Y/N would lose; just as the greatest to ever have played the game had done so before, but within the years that passed by, it only tended to happen with a good run. Perhaps losing upon the semi-finals or the finals could be regarded as a wider received upset, however the expectation that crawled upon her skin with every waking moment only pressured her further to go for a deeper run.

And yet, as the sun dipped lower upon the evening-lit sky, it sank deep within the horizon as such a carefully crafted and cared for gold coin slipping into the darkened waves of the ocean. Casting hues of colors that in any other situation, Y/N would find extraordinary. What was not to appreciate a good sunset for? But it was not the stunning beauty of the sunset that plastered her thoughts, and to her utter surprise and relief, was also not the stalling weight of the loss. Instead, her mind subconsciously drifted to the Spaniard that she knew would be waiting upon her arrival. 

Carlos was never one short of a support system for Y/N. In a sort of way, she wonders faintly what she would do without his constant encouragement and advocacy. Who would be there for her after such a loss? Who would be the one to woefully wrap their arms around her as she doubted her ability, the one who would whisper sweet nothings into her ears until she truly believed it? Y/N knew that she couldn’t escape it again this time, despite the need to potentially be alone for multiple hours before truly being in a mindset to talk to others without resulting in a bout of tension due to snappy answers. 

She knew that he would’ve watched the match. Sitting atop his hotel room bed in which she had fallen asleep in for many days beforehand, never daring to book a shared room due to the fear of being caught by, not his team, but others. News outlets, reporters- those who would do nothing less than to dwell low for an eye-catching title. Sprawled across the sheets, she could imagine him, his mouth pursed into a tight line; not at the loss, but at the disappointed glances the camera would’ve caught with ease. He never cared for her results, not in that sense, but in the sense of that he would not judge her for an early round exit such as today. The only thing that mattered to him would’ve been what she had felt- frustration, agitated, disappointed, seemed to all be on the table on this fateful night.

And in a certain light, she looked forward to those tender moments. The feeling of a ripple of being loved and appreciated within an ocean of critical and in times, cruel comments that had been made of her. For her tennis, her looks, her image; there always appeared to be something to grumble about albeit it be for the tiniest, most inconspicuous things. Carlos always shook his head, his head of grown hair shaking in such a way that was endearing to Y/N. He’d reach over, gently plucking the phone from his hands although unable to hide his pique of interest in what his girlfriend so… encapsulated. He’d learnt quickly that it was never good in instances as such. 

There would be some form of tension as the Spaniard would look up, an odd frown stretching across his face. It never fit him right- frowning, it just didn’t feel right, like a human in an animal enclosure. Unbelonging. Conceivably, it was because she was used to his bright, joyous and up-lifting grin, that goofy smile that could assault a ray of light upon the darkest of days. Seeing the opposite of it was unfathomable. There would be a mumble of words, half mixed with Spanish as he would set the phone down, an arm slowly easing up to provide a source of comfort. 

Arguably, the drive back to the exquisite hotel in which she had been assigned could be determined to be the longest and shortest drive she’d ever experienced. The driver made no attempt to start a conversation in any variation, instead decidedly for the better, kept his mouth tightly shut. Y/N had assumed that one not so nice glance, which- for the record, she did not mean to give, shut him up real quick as from a viewpoint, he looked fairly friendly. Like the sort of person to make small talk with strangers without making either party feel vastly uncomfortable. She’d never gotten out of a place faster in her life. Mumbling out a soft thank you, because if honesty was policy, it was the least she could do after such a drive.

She was thankful that at least the hotel had a welcoming atmosphere, the constant chatter of guests that could care less of her arrival. Or even better, did not recognize her for who she was. Her team had followed back within another car, not that Y/N had requested so, but it felt more of a moral perception. They knew what to leave things at, and she could come to appreciate having a group of people that understood. Within the dynamic lighting in the building, she could vaguely make out one of the tournament cars pulling into the entrance. 

Hauling the bag that slung across a singular shoulder, and quietly adjusting the hanging strap, Y/N stumbles her way back towards her room. The hallway stood eerily silent, the usual foreigner- or group of foreigners had either disappeared into the night, taken an early exit, or drunk on a dance floor. The latter, she had assumed. Notionally, it would’ve been far better than having to be questioned by the eyes of another guest, making polite small-talk as the elevator shuddered and picked up its pace. They’d wish her luck, not knowing the slaughter that had happened on court not even hours before. 

A part of Y/N wants to immediately head over to Carlos’s room. To drop everything and melt within his strong arms, to go home. But she knew better than to show up at his front door, sweaty, pissed off and with an arm load of bags. And so she resisted, grumbling a number of curses as she punched in the floor that her suite had been on, waiting as the elevator whirred to its heart's content. It feels far too long, the walk back grudging and slow, with every drag of her foot feeling as she were walking through puddles of wet concrete. Perhaps it was the exhaustion after a match dwelling down, or perhaps it’s the mental aspect of everything- Y/N never could truly pinpoint this feeling, despite the half-hearted attempts at understanding.

Her bags are carelessly strewn across the floor, allowing her jacket to fall upon one of the unused chairs of her suite. The room is big; far too big for a single person living in it, and whilst Y/N had admired the spaciousness of the area when she had first arrived, now it had felt more despondent than ever. Even showering felt enervating, too hot for a minute, then too cold for another, and she wonders how such an expansive hotel could reserve for a lavish waterfall in its lobby, yet not have enough for a capable showerhead. She had to admit though, she’d felt better after such a shower, muscles relaxing and the stench being wafted away within a moment's notice. It feels as if she’d done it a million times, coming back after a match, trying to take a relaxing shower before she was to be grilled by her coach for the next. It felt more of a simulation, as if things were repeating itself over and over again, like a clock resetting after every twelve hours. The only time that would differ would be around Carlos, the Spaniard making time feel irrelevant to the universe, until it was only them that mattered. Nothing else, nothing more.

It’s always for that reason she found herself back in this position, new comfortable clothing that hung loosely around her shoulders, hair up for it to dry faster. There would be no makeup involved, she’d known Carlos for long enough that she knew he could not care for what she looked like in these moments. Instead, worrying about further issues. It’s almost embarrassing how many times she found solace within him, as he would finally open that god damn door to his hotel room, that stupid smile that could light up the entire town, the way he never seemed less excited to see Y/N no matter how many times he’d actually seen her. He was so… how could he be so… she never grasped at how or why, never could comprehend. It never changed. 

“Y/N?”

Carlos peers curiously, eyes glinting with a sort of inquisitiveness no one else could replicate. That look, the one that Y/N could never get used to, one that shone like the moon upon a dim evening sky. “Estas bien?”His words cut through the uttered silence, his head cocking to the side like a mackerel. For a moment, she profoundly forgot where she was, taking more than just a second to process the Spaniard’s words.

Her eyelids flutter, open and shut, shut then open, as if trying to clear a haze that had clouded her vision. Deliberately, she let her head sway from one side to another, strands of hair falling from the elastic that held her hair together. “Oh, uh-” She stumbles over her words, as if she were suddenly at a loss, a lump forming cautiously within the midsts of her throat. “Yes, yeah- I’m fine, estoy bien.” The words feel jumbled as it comes out of her mouth, as if she hadn’t spoken in many years before advancing her way towards Carlos.

He looks around, protruding his head from the frame of the wooden door, as if he were searching for something, or perchance, it was looking out for her. When he had decidedly chosen that the coast could be deemed as clear, Carlos gently ushers Y/N in, a hand swiping behind her back and brushing her into the room. It’s far messier than her room, as well, Carlos was Carlos and old habits die hard, but it feels much more of a humble abode. The smell of Carlos wafts airly within the room, like a warm, familiar embrace, dancing lightly throughout the suite. It wraps around like a fuzzy blanket, easing the tension that spooked through her veins, allowing her to sink into a contraption of intimacy. 

Carlos’s mouth opens, as if he were to say something, but he hesitates wearily. Y/N is sure that it’s because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, that would rub her in the wrong way. The thought stings a little, knowing that Carlos felt as if he couldn’t say what he truly thought to her without the fear of retaliation. “No estuvo mal.” He says the words slowly, dragging across his tongue, syllable by syllable. “Te veías bien.”

There’s a hint of truth that comes with his words, Carlos didn’t enjoy lying, especially to her, Y/N quickly realized soon into their relationship. He knew of the pain of hearing those around him lying of how he played- good or bad. He discerned, to only speak of the truth. Yet he also, deep down, fathomed that she would not believe what he said despite the sincerity. Knew that it was a battle already lost, and there was not much he could do about it other than whisper caring endearments until the discomfort of the loss passed. 

“It didn’t feel good.” She responds, not quite a snap back to Carlos, but more of a defense mechanism to protect herself. 

“Losing does not feel good ever, yes?” His words are coated with an accent, one that she found more endearing than anything else. The attempt was enough to fill a crack of her heart with warmth, and it only grows further as Carlos takes a couple steps in to enfold his arms around Y/N, in a well meant attempt to shield her from any negative critiques or thoughts. “Pero eso no significa que no fuera bueno, ¿verdad?”

She knew what was to come. Knew the little spiel of words he had crafted carefully within his mind. He would remind her of the positives. Of how it could do more good than bad, and that it was just a single tournament in an ocean of others. She would come back, win the next title, and all would be forgotten as the media turned back to the bouts of adoration for her antics and play style. 

Carlos sighs, shaking his head in such a manner of disappointment. “Ven aqui.” He mumbles softly, his words barely breaking the silence that touched the room. He takes a few purposeful steps toward the bed, tugging her alongside him. His touch lingers, a gentle pressure that presses Y/N against the comfortable mattress in a way that feels tender and intimate, exuding a warmth and familiarity that only Carlos could convey to her. It’s a moment cuddled with unspoken connection, where every brush of his hand spoke volumes of the devotion he felt.

There was nothing she would want more, nothing that could comfort her in such a way that it made the whole world feel at peace. He could make her forget in a number of ways, but this- his body pressed up against hers, breath hot against her skin as he tangled them into a spooning position. It feels as if heaven were on Earth, the sensations greater than whatever pleasure tennis could bring to her. “Todo va a estar bien, si?” Carlos whispers, carrying not only a sense of warmth but tinged with secrecy as well. A sacred space that only withled the two of them, with no allowed space for others. A fleeting moment, that has Y/N’s heart thumping within her body.

“Maybe if you’re always here after I lose in straight sets.” 

Her response isn’t biting, it’s not bitter as she would’ve expected it to be. Perhaps it was because he found it nearly impossible to act so rudely towards Carlos. He smiles though, in an answer, his lips stretching lazily into that stupid, stupid grin. “Siempre estaré aquí para ti, amor.” Carlos says, lips just tracing over the lobes of her ears, and for a moment, Y/N shuddered at the touch- so intimate and close, so indescribable. His fingers lay on her delicate skin, one that had been soaked upon sweat just hours ago, and it feels as if the area had been set on fire. His touch warm and fascinating, his lips soft and ginger as he slowly bestows a kiss on her own. 

It’s a feeling Y/N would never be able to shake off no matter how many times it happened. The elusive tingle that tinged up her spine, then throughout her bones, every nerve as if it had been lit on fire. The way his hands slowly caresses her face, not intruding and not pushing for anything further, just to have her in such a way that only the luckiest woman in the world could imagine to have. And when he pulls away, it leaves Y/N yearning for more, eyes trying to convey a message of need and desire. But Carlos is quick to shake his head, and although dismay aligns across his features, he’s firm about it. 

“Descansa un poco” He murmurs, turning so that Y/N would lay on the mattress in a manner that he knew she’d prefer to anything else. Likewise, she was tired. In spite of everything- the match, the weight of the loss, the media that gawked, their smirks playing along their faces as she spoke, every word a better headline for them, in a fashion of twisting her own words and using them to stab her against the back. It was, perhaps, the worst part of tennis, one that Y/N wished she could evaporate with a snap of her fingers. But she could not, she did not have the power to do so, and it was not as if it would be of any use if she had tried. 

With a defiant huff of a breath, she tried to ease the restlessness that lodged between her bones, letting her eyes fall shut, easing into an acquainted darkness. With the pressure of Carlos around her, the soft breathing that snuck in and out, sweeping across her right ear, Y/N mitigates into a calming state of bliss. One in which she only found moments like these, where she did not have to shine as a radiant poster boy, where she could finally just let herself be. And during that interval where she felt not quite asleep, yet not awake either, she smiles to herself, knowing that for one, she could rest easy for the time being. That she was safe, within the consolation of home. 

[rvblos]

nsfw/sfw headcanon for carlos since you have written one for jan?🥰

sfw / nsfw headcanons - carlos alcaraz

warning: this contains nsfw so if you’re not comfortable with it just don’t read it!

notes: my baby carlitos😖

sfw:

- he is the most precious guy to ever set foot on this earth UGH

- he has the biggest heart, always gifting you something (especially flowers🎀)

- he loves taking you out!! you’ve had an argument? nothing a good nice and fancy dinner can’t fix

- he’s the king of yapping change my mind, always babbling abt something whether it’d be his training or new skills he learned on his own but you find it cute so you just sit there and stare at him in awe😌

- he’s the happiest ever whenever he has you by his side, and adores when you go to his matches to show support for your bf

- very good with kids!! they all feel so safe around him and seeing him playing with children gives you baby fever😤

- he is just too funny, whenever he opens his mouth everyone is immediately laughing. he has a really good sense of humor.

- always wanna cuddle, he can’t keep his hand off of you like he’d be doing the most important thing in his life but he HAS to have your hand in his own

- he tried several times to teach you spanish but without success😅 but he looooves hearing your accent when trying to repeat what he said in his native language

- he is loved by literally ANYONE he’s so likeable it hurts

nsfw:

- GIVER GIVER GIVER GIVER

- and i stand by it✊🏻

- i think he’d be too focused on your pleasure to even think about his own

- LOVES giving you head (and it’d be the most toe-curling and back-arching head you have had in your entire life)

- you’d be literally gasping for air as his tongue worked his way into you

- he loves how his body towers over yours (size kink?🤔)

- especially when having you beneath him, your body just looks so small compared to his

- “d’you feel it, cariño?” he’d say slipping in and out of you at an unbearable pace😵‍💫

- you get so horny when he speaks spanish (me too!)

- and he loves seeing you turn all red when he’d say things like “you feel so good around me, amor” or “you’re so tight, bebe” LOCK ME

- his beard is sooo sexy, you love how it tingles your skin when he kisses you

[giveafike]

kinda obsessed with the prompt of ben x fem tennis reader being together for a lil while and being the cutest couple , breaking up bc the distance hit them too hard after two straight months of different tournaments/locations, then seeing each other for the first time at a 1000 tournament, going out to dinner with the same group of people and end up going back to bens hotel room to clear the air and obvs end up in bed together realising they’re gonna have to get thru the distance cos they can’t be without each other now 😭

TLDR: tennisplayerfem!reader and ben break up bc you can't handle being away and then surprise, you can't handle being not together. Losers.

Word count + info: 10k. Am I mentally ill? This is supposed to be a blurb.. Dialogue (angst, texts, calls, conversation).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Breakup and kinda mean stuff said (nothing physical description wise). Otherwise, it's all good! (i think)

Azzie Notes ✚: SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD. AM I OKAY??? 10K?? ON A BLURB?? idrk what angst is fr chat lmk if i did that one fr idk....im a LOVER girl ok IDK HOW TO DO THIS SAD SHIT - in saying that, was part of my dialogue in this lwky..loosely based off of my ex...........maybe...

I fear I loved this prompt so bad and like...I love to yap..so...

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike) - feel free to follow and msg me about non requests there, I'll be posting life updates, story + req updates and spoilers/teasers alongside other things, so it'd be nice to have a community over there!

————————————————————————

Shattered - B.T.S.

In the beginning, being with Ben is the kind of whirlwind you've only seen in movies, a connection that feels so natural, yet thrillingly unexpected. Well, in hindsight, that might've been a lie. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but instead, a slow, magnetic pull that drew you together, like the tension building in a long rally. You met on the circuit, both hungry, ambitious, and dedicated to your own success. But from the start, Ben had this way of getting past your disciplined, guarded exterior with that relentless charm of his.

He’s everywhere, it seems—posting highlights from your matches on his stories, sneaking your name into press conferences, tagging you in his silly “lazy Saturday” shots where your game is always playing in the background. He flirts shamelessly, flashing that grin across the court, his voice lifting over the crowd to make some cheeky comment that leaves you stifling laughter. Your friends see it before you do: Ben is crazy about you, and soon, so is everyone else.

He flirted shamelessly and relentlessly, everywhere and anywhere, often catching you off guard in ways that left you flustered despite your best efforts to stay cool and professional. With that, you started to look out for the way his eyes would find yours in a crowd while you sat in the stands during his matches or how he would nudge you at practice with that easy, casual touch like he’s done it a thousand times before; like you belong by his side.

Once, when he's asked in an interview if he’d dedicated his recent win to anyone, he grins and looks straight across the room, making everyone laugh. “There’s someone special right now, but no need to say names, she knows.”

It’s sweet, funny and more than a little bold. Later, when you called him out for it over one of your first late-night calls, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic, telling you with that stupid drawl of his, “What? Ain’t no point hidin’ it. The world knows who my lucky charm is.”

Soon, it was you reaching out for him, your hand slipping onto his arm, leaning against him during walkouts, letting your barriers fall. And every time he catches your eye, every time he manages to make you smile, he looks at you like he’s won the lottery. His heart stammers a little each time you shove him playfully or roll your eyes at his antics. Whether it was on the bench or during changeovers, Ben would rest his hand gently on your lower back, a touch that makes you feel, just for a moment, like you're the only two people in the world.

When the rare break in your schedules comes around, you steal hours together. You grab a coffee, turning a "quick run" into a day spent together and wander around a city you barely know, or stumble upon a hidden café with pastries too flowery for your tastes. He made everything feel easier, like no matter how intense life gets, you’ll always have that balance with him. Around Ben, you can be softer, and more vulnerable; he brings out a side of you that isn’t just about winning and competing but about laughing, sharing, and letting go.

People noticed the way you look at each other, the easy affection that passes between you, the more daring and intimate PDA, sharing kisses and lingering stares. Soon, fans were shipping you openly, posting photos of you courtside, or whispering to each other when you lean close and murmur something that makes him laugh. On tour, you’re one of those “it” couples, a little slice of joy in the relentless pace of your careers. And in those early days, you both believe that together, you can take on anything. In those early days, you believed you could take on anything together. You and Ben were partners, equals, and even in the midst of a gruelling season, there had always been time for him, always a reason to smile. It felt perfect, like a love story you had stumbled into but were both entirely committed to.

But that honeymoon phase comes crashing down real quick.

As seasons shift and tournaments stretch across continents, the cracks start to show. At first, it’s just a few hours difference, but then come the miles and oceans, and the texts dwindled, conversations cut short, replaced by more missed calls than made and vague apologies. You both had tried, in every way you knew how. But eventually, the memories weren’t enough to bridge the distance. You’d catch yourself staying up just to wait for his call after practice, only to fall asleep disappointed, staring at a dark screen. And every time you woke up to a hastily sent sorry, something came up text, it felt like another tiny fracture.

Ben wasn’t the only one caught up in the chaos of your schedules; you had your own demands, too. The strain went both ways. In an attempt to keep things alive, you’d push yourself to keep up with his time zone, adding another city to your Clock app, setting alarms accordingly to his lunch and dinner times, staying awake far too late, eyes heavy as you sat alone in your hotel room, scrolling through old photos just to feel closer to him. When the call finally did come, your voice was barely more than a whisper, tired and distant, and Ben couldn't bear the exhaustion in your tone, his heart aching as he hushed you to sleep, meaning neither of you would stay on long.

It all piled up slowly, almost imperceptibly, until the weight felt crushing. Conversations became one-sided, it’s like chasing the sun itself, moments of silence replacing the laughter that had once felt endless, and that spark, the one that made you feel unstoppable together, felt further away with every day that passed.

Then came the day of your match, a game that should have been easy, one you’d normally have breezed through. But you were dragging, exhaustion wrapping itself around your every heavy, drooping step, and somewhere in the depths of your mind, a bitter thought took root:

If only he cared.

You knew it wasn’t his fault, but still, the frustration boiled over. Would things have felt different if you weren’t so alone in this? If you didn’t have to wonder when, or if, he’d remember to call? If he scheduled calls to your time for once? If he could just postpone everything for 20, 20 measly minutes for you?

A ball zips right by you, snapping you back to reality.

Lying in your hotel room that night, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the best moments of your time together like an old movie reel. In those moments, it had felt perfect. You’d believed you could take on the world, side by side, partners in everything. But now, with miles and silence separating you, you wondered if those memories were all that was left of what you once had.

But even with that ache, even with the emptiness filling the room, one thing is clear as day: loving Ben, for all its messiness, for all the distance and loneliness, had never felt like a mistake but God, was it hard. You pondered on those same irritating thoughts that itched at you until your fingers found your phone and hit the FaceTime Call button. Part of you wanted him to not pick up, knowing that you had nothing kind or sweet to say, but a small part of you wanted to dish back what he deserved.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice tense, worn. His drawl feels distant like he’s talking to you from across an ocean.

“Hey.” You can feel the iciness in your voice, colder than you intended.

“Long day?” he asks, though his expression is already tense, wary.

“Yeah. Almost lost today,” you say flatly.

Ben’s gaze flicks down. “I saw the score,” he says, his voice cautious. “Guess it was a tough match, babe.”

“It shouldn’t have been,” you snap. “But maybe it’s hard to focus when I’m barely sleeping… or constantly waiting for a text that never comes.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “So this is on me?” The familiar accent is a little rougher around the edges. “You’re losin’ matches ‘cause I’m not callin’ you enough? That’s what you’re sayin’?”

“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about” You feel the bitterness twisting in your chest. ““You’re barely here, Ben. Half the time, I don’t even know if we’re still together or if we’re just two people sending pointless messages every few hours. Half the time, it feels like I’m talking to a ghost.”

He lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “You think it’s any easier for me? I’ve got my own stuff, my own schedule, darlin'. I’ve got my career to think about too, you know, this ain't just about you.”

Your jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, at least when I'm on the court, I don’t exactly have the luxury of tuning you out, Ben. I’m not the one who forgets to call after saying I would. I don’t have time for half-assed texts and waiting around for you to call when you feel like it.”

“Oh, don’t go there,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “You know what it’s like. The fans, the interviews, the time spent on court-”

“Yeah, I get it, Ben. But last week, you bailed on a call to go sign autographs. Priorities, right?”

He takes a deep breath, visibly holding back. “C’mon, babe, you don’t mean that.”

But you press on, unable to stop yourself. “You’re too busy with whatever ‘big thing’ you have going on, right? Maybe if you cared enough to focus on your game instead of your ‘commitments,’ you wouldn’t have dropped that finals match. Just maybe.”

He flinches, his expression turning dark. “Oh, that's low from you, Y/N. You really wanna go there?”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice unwavering.

He pauses, his face hardening. “If you were out here on the ATP tour, you’d understand how rough it really is. You wouldn't even get past a challenger. It ain’t the same league as the WTA.”

You laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Oh, don’t even start with that. Rougher than the WTA? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Maybe come and join WTA then, you wouldn't manage it out here either, Ben.”

He snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. “You know how much I’m fightin’ to make a name for myself out here. Just ‘cause you got a few more shiny titles doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like this.”

The sting of his words hits like a slap. Your face flushes, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling up. “So, that’s it? Just because I’ve actually earned my success, I’m some kind of… what? Nag?”

“I didn’t say that,” he shot back, voice tight, his eyes narrowing as he looked away. “But maybe you’re doin’ too much. Bein’ all… dramatic, blamin’ me for stuff I got no control over.”

“Right, okay, so I’m being dramatic,” you scoff, your voice edged with sarcasm. “I’m the one asking for too much because I want something real, something you clearly can’t give.”

He laughs, bitter and raw. “Maybe you just want too damn much.”

You feel the tears prickling behind your eyes, but you clench your jaw, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. Your voice trembles as you speak, the words thick with a pain you can’t contain. “I just want you to care, Ben, or at least pretend to care and make it believable. I want you to care enough to be here when it matters. But you’re so wrapped up in yourself, you don’t even see it.”

His face hardens, his jaw set, but his eyes hold a flicker of something unspoken. “You think I don’t care? I’m out here pushin’ myself every day, for us, for this future we’re supposed to be building 'n shit. But it’s like no matter what I do, it ain’t enough for you.”

A sharp knock sounds from his end, followed by muffled voices. He glances away, then back at you, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Look, I gotta go. Dad’s waitin’ on me; he already gave me an extra ten minutes to talk.”

You feel your heart twist, an ache of disappointment settling in. “Oh, of course,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Go ahead. I’m sure your training’s way more important than anything I have to say.”

He turns back, his eyes blazing with frustration. “Maybe it is right now,” he spits. “Talkin’ to you like this, all it’s doin’ is makin’ things worse. We're not getting anywhere like this-”

The words cut deeper than you expect, and you can barely hold back the surge of anger and heartbreak choking you. “Fine. Go, then. At least one of us can prioritise something.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away. “You’re bein’ unfair, 'n you know it.”

“Am I?” you whisper, your voice tight and choked. “Or am I just done waiting for you to show up?”

You stare at each other, an endless silence stretching between you, sharp and seething, words too heavy to be unsaid. Then, with a frustrated shake of his head, he mutters, “I can’t do this right now. I’ll talk to you later. When you’re not actin’ like this.”

Before you could respond, he hung up, his face disappearing from your screen, leaving you alone with nothing but the cold light of your phone. Your hands shook as you stared at the blank screen, tears finally spilling over.

With trembling fingers, you took a breath, letting a cold, steely calm settle over you. You typed out a simple, blunt message, leaving no room for second-guessing, no room for soft words or explanations. Just the truth, as raw as you felt.

“We’re done. I can’t do this anymore, Ben. I’m sorry.”

Your thumb lingered for a second before hitting “send,” and as soon as the message went through, you blocked him on every platform, cutting off any way for him to respond, to apologise, to convince you otherwise.

But as you tossed your phone aside, a crack appeared in the calm you’d forced on yourself. The tears came suddenly, your breath hitching as a tidal wave of heartbreak surged through you. You buried your face in your hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could somehow contain the emotions clawing their way to the surface. You tried to stay quiet, muffling the sound in the dark, but the weight was too much, every sob raw, grieving and heavy, pouring out the frustration, the loneliness, and the love you’d tried so hard to salvage.

By the time your tears subsided, you felt utterly drained, hollowed out in a way that made everything around you feel distant and surreal. The city lights flickered outside your window, the glow indifferent to the storm that had torn through you. And in that quiet, broken moment, with only the shadows as company, you lay there, letting the exhaustion seep through your bones until sleep claimed you.

When sleep finally came, it was restless, fractured. You tossed and turned, flashes of memories from better days with Ben haunting you, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d smile, gummy and wide, his nose scrunching with that easy confidence. You woke up more exhausted than when you’d closed your eyes, feeling like you hadn’t rested at all. But you forced yourself out of bed, pushing yourself through your pre-game routine, your emotions locked away, frozen under layers of determination.

As you walked onto the court, the crowd buzzed with excitement, but you barely registered it. You were a storm, calm on the surface but seething underneath. Every shot you took was hard and brutal, the ball slicing through the air with an intensity that made your opponent flinch, the impact echoing through the stadium. You played as if your life depended on it, your body moving with sharp, lethal precision.

Your serves were relentless, your groundstrokes vicious, each one faster, sharper, as if each shot were a way to expel the anger and hurt still simmering in your chest. The crowd murmured, noticing the shift in your energy, the way you were pushing yourself, almost recklessly. A couple of times, your shots zipped past your opponent’s hand, barely missing, almost daring her to try and reach for it - "try me". You were untouchable, unstoppable, playing like you had something to prove.

But there was no smile, no hint of joy in your movements, solely mechanical. The usual lightness in your footwork was gone, replaced by a cold, ruthless efficiency. You’d already decided: this match was yours. You weren’t here to give an inch, weren’t here to let any lingering emotions cloud your focus. The crowd might have wanted excitement, but you were giving them precision, a display of control and fury that left no room for doubt.

You won, of course. Your opponent barely had a chance. But as you walked off the court, sweat trickling down your brow, fists clenched, you felt no thrill in the victory. Just the dull ache that lingered, a hollow space where your lightness, your smile, used to be. The heat of the court only made your head throb. The applause faded into background noise as you strode away, head high, shoulders tense. You’d won, but it felt like a hollow victory. You had no one to text after your game, anyone to call you baby - you had done it to yourself, were you really that desperate for a man to validate you? You were sick of feeling this way, sick of the exhaustion, the anger, the loneliness that clung to you even after everything you’d given today. At least, for now, you’d proven something, to yourself, to him, even if he’d never know, or care.

In the month that followed, you threw yourself harshly into your schedule, determined to erase any trace of him from your routine, your heart. Matches, training, travel, interviews, photoshoots, more matches, each day bled into the next, filled with an almost mechanical sense of purpose. If you weren’t on the court, you were working out, perfecting your strokes, spending hours on serves and footwork. Anything to exhaust yourself to stop the thoughts from lingering too long. Your routine was relentless, your focus razor-sharp.

But even in this frenzy, despite it all, reminders of him still slipped through. You’d scroll through social media, and every so often, an ATP post would pop up: Ben at a tournament, Ben celebrating a point, Ben grinning with that easy charm that used to make your heart ache. He looked different now. His curls were longer, spilling out from over his sweaty headband, and his frame had hardened, leaner, with muscle that seemed to outline his strength in sharper lines. His chubby cheeks had slimmed down into something harder, replaced by the quiet confidence of someone who’d grown, adapted, maybe even suffered a little.

And you could almost feel it, the quaking, gaping pain of missing him, but you’d swallow it back down, pull yourself together, and look away.

Your own press conferences became something else entirely. You were more composed, a bit sharper with your words, confident in a way you hadn’t been before. Where you used to smile shyly or laugh softly, now you leaned in with humour, a hint of flirtation, your charm more self-assured. You handled reporters’ questions deftly, especially the ones that tried to pry about Ben. The same questions came up over and over:

“So, do you still keep in touch with Ben?”

Each time, you’d respond with a practised, cool smile. “Right now, I’ve got all the support I need from my team and the people I have with me.” You’d turn the conversation to your work, your skill, and your grind on the court, dismissing the topic with subtle elegance, always steering it back to your goals, your game, and your people.

Yet, away from the cameras, the facade cracked, if only slightly. Sometimes, after a long match or a particularly brutal day of training, you’d find yourself scrolling through your old photos or feeling tears prickling your eyes, this messy situation taking a bigger toll than you would like to admit.

In his hotel room, Ben watched your interviews alone, a faint crease between his brows. There you were, in all your brilliance, flashing a confident smile at the camera, handling the press with a wit and boldness that felt both familiar and strange. He could see the way you’d grown, the way you’d steeled yourself, and it stirred something in him, a pang he couldn’t ignore. It was like watching someone he knew intimately and yet… not at all. The way you answered questions about him, and your subtle redirection to your career and team, it stung. Maybe it was petty, but he missed the way you used to talk about him with such pride, with that lovestruck glow. He loved seeing how shy you would get at the sheer mention of his name. Your hair was different, your skin glowing, you had more confidence, even if it came off a bit cocky but he still felt like you were his, just as much as he was yours. Ben didn’t know how to reach out, didn’t know what he’d even say. There was a distance now, both physical and emotional, that seemed impossible to bridge. He’d scroll through his own phone sometimes, finding old messages, ones before distance got the better of you both, photos of the two of you, half-written scripts in his Notes app he couldn’t bring himself to deliver. If he flew out tonight to you, what would he even do after? He’d think of calling you, of reaching out somehow, but the memory of your last fight, the bitterness in your voice, the way you’d shut him out… it held him back.

One evening, as you sat alone in the players' lounge, your forehead pressed against the back of the sofa, you felt that familiar ache pulse through you, the one that came every time you thought of him. It was then that Coco came by, her familiar, steady presence filling the room as she settled down across from you, cross-legged on the seat in front of you. Over the past year, it was Ben that introduced you but, you and Coco had grown even closer, bound not just by shared victories and losses but by the pressures only someone like her could truly understand.

Coco tilted her head, her gaze warm but unwavering. “Alright,” she said, cutting through the silence. “What’s really going on? Are you… over him?”

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I wish I could say yes,” you murmured. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to move on, focus on the game, on everything else, but… he’s still everywhere. Even when I’m doing well, even when I’m focused, it’s like… something’s missing.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It’s like I can’t fully shake him.”

Coco nodded, her expression both sympathetic and knowing. “I get it. You two had something real, something intense. But maybe this time apart is what you both need. I mean, look at you. You’re stronger now, on and off the court. Maybe that’s part of this whole journey, you know?”

You managed a faint smile, though your heart still felt heavy. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It just… doesn’t always feel like enough.”

She reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me. If he’s the right guy, he’ll figure it out, too. Until then? Focus on your game. Focus on you.”

Her words stayed with you, offering a small but steady comfort in the days that followed. You have been throwing yourself into training, pouring everything into the sport, trying to find solace in each match and each moment of growth. Somewhere out there, he was doing the same, and maybe, just maybe, this was what was best.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t completely smother the small spark of hope, that someday, somehow, your paths might cross again.

It was similar in the men’s locker room, Ben slumped forward on the bench, his elbows propped on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor, holding an uncapped bottle of water. Frances Tiafoe, who’d been eyeing him from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with Taylor Fritz before making his way over.

“Alright, bro, spill it,” Frances said, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he leaned in. “You’ve been lookin’ like you’re living in some sad dog for weeks.”

Ben gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Taylor rolled his eyes as he joined them, settling down on the other side of Ben. “Come on, man. We’re not blind. Ever since she blocked you, you’ve been… different.”

Ben scoffed, looking away, his voice low. “She didn’t just block me, man. She… she threw down, real hard. Said some things I thought she’d never say.”

Frances let out a low whistle. “Was that rough, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, rubbing a hand over his face, his frustration mingling with regret. “It all just blew up. We were on a call, talkin’ like usual, and suddenly… it was like everything we hadn’t said just came out. She starts throwin’ things at me about how I’m not there, like… like I don’t care enough or not workin' hard enough. And it pissed me off, you know? I work just as hard, and it’s not like I’m sittin’ around, right?”

Taylor nodded, leaning back against the lockers. “So, what’d you do?”

Ben shrugged, his expression pained. “I pushed back, told her she couldn’t keep actin’ like she’s the only one workin’ for this. Told her ATP is just as tough, maybe even more competitive. Didn’t mean it that way, but she took it wrong. She thought I was tryin’ to downplay her game.”

Frances shook his head, giving Ben a sympathetic look. “Man, she must’ve felt hurt.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. “And next thing I know, I get this text. ‘This isn’t workin', we’re done.’ Blocked me on everything. Cold as ice, man. It’s like she flipped a switch, just… shut me out completely, as easy as shuttin' a door.”

Frances gave him a gentle nudge. “You still care about her?”

Ben’s gaze softened, a faint smile breaking through his frustration. “Yeah, man. She’s… she’s my girl. Even if she’s not my girl right now, you know?”

Taylor chuckled, nodding. “So, what’re you gonna do about it? Sit around here moping, or actually make a move?”

Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What am I supposed to do? She’s made it pretty clear she’s done with me.”

Frances grinned, crossing his arms. “Bro, just ‘cause she blocked you and sent a text after you called her game easy, doesn’t mean it’s over. She’s mad, yeah, but she’s probably missin’ you just as much. You just gotta show her you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

Taylor nodded in agreement, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “And it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture, man. Sometimes, it’s the small things. Something to let her know you’re still thinkin’ of her, still care. You know where we're at next, right?”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “And do what? Just show up at her hotel room? She’s liable to call cops on my ass for that shit, bro.”

Frances laughed, shrugging. “So what? At least she’ll know you tried! Don't go doin' that though. Look, I’ve been with my girl for years now, and sometimes, you gotta be willing to look like a fool to show her you care.”

Ben leaned back, their words sinking in. He could still feel the sting of the things she’d said, the accusations she’d thrown at him like he didn’t care, didn’t work just as hard. But he couldn’t deny that he’d made mistakes, too. He’d let his pride get in the way, said things he regretted, and let the frustration of it all get the better of him.

Frances nudged him again, his grin widening. “Think about it, man. You got two choices: sit here, feeling sorry for yourself until she finds some other guy, or actually do something about it and get her back, even if that means standing in the rain with a fuckin' speaker.”

Ben finally cracked a smile, looking between his friends. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“Hey, maybe,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But at least we got girlfriends. And you? You got a chance to get yours back. Just gotta decide if she’s worth it.”

Ben sat there, mulling over their words as a new determination started to burn within him. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, and maybe there was a lot he’d have to figure out. But if there was even a chance to fix things, to bridge that gap that felt so wide, he wasn’t about to let his pride hold him back.

As he left the locker room that night, he felt a resolve solidify within him. He’d find a way to reach out, to let her know that no matter how far apart they were, she was still the one he wanted. Because when it came down to it, she was worth every bit of the fight.

A week went by before a 1000 game flew in, and both ATP and WTA were present if not, nearby for the games. You couldn't care less what was at stake, anything was a win if it kept you occupied. The courts were almost empty, shadows lengthening as the sun beamed high above. You bounced the ball steadily, the rhythm calm, your focus laser-sharp. The only sounds were the muted thud of your shoes on the court, and your breath falling into sync with the beat of your earbuds. Nothing but you, the court, and the quiet.

But then, that voice broke through.

"Aw, c'mon, man!" A laugh, deep and full of that unmistakable Southern drawl. Your grip faltered, the ball hovering mid-toss. That laugh, it was a sound you hadn’t let yourself think about for months, one that held too much of him.

Ben.

Your pulse jolted, the memories flooding back, warmth and bitterness tangled in the knots of your chest. You gritted your teeth, tossing the ball high before slamming it against the court, the crack of impact sharp in the quiet. It almost felt satisfying, like you could obliterate the tension he brought, shatter it with sheer force.

Almost.

You readied another serve, the ball bouncing harder than necessary as you forced yourself not to look. But you could feel his gaze, that familiar weight of his eyes lingering on you. The pull was magnetic, almost maddening, and despite every ounce of resolve you’d built up, your gaze betrayed you, slipping over to catch a glimpse of him.

Ben, laughing with Taylor, curls tousled longer than before, his hoodie slung carelessly over those familiar, ridiculous short shorts. The same hoodie you'd worn too many times to count, drowning in its warmth during late-night snack runs and lazy Sundays. The sight tugged painfully, a cruel reminder of the little things you’d pushed down, tried to forget.

He caught you looking, and his laughter faded, his gaze holding yours for just a second too long. You gripped the ball tighter, the ache settling heavy, and forced yourself to turn away, channelling the flurry of memories into another sharp serve, a fierce crack reverberating across the court. You didn’t look back again.

Hours later, your body was tired, your mind a bit clearer. You were scrolling through your phone in the lounge, zoning out, when Coco dropped down beside you with that familiar, mischievous grin.

"Hey, you!" She nudged you, hands on her hips.

You eyed her warily. "What’s up, Coco? Awfully perky for...5:30p.m."

“We’re having dinner tonight. Big group. Wanna come?” Her tone was casual, a little too casual.

Your guard went up immediately as you dropped your phone to your lap. “Who’s ‘we all’?”

Coco shrugged, twirling a loose curl around her finger. “Me, Frances, Arthur… maybe another WTA girl or two. Just a fun little dinner. Nothing formal.”

You narrowed your eyes, reading the glint of mischief in hers. "Coco, don’t mess with me. He's not gonna be there, right?"

She tilted her head, pretending to look innocent, but the sly smile gave her away. "Well… he might show up, but that's on his own accord. I didn't mention anything to Ben and it’s not like anyone’s setting anything up! It’s just dinner."

Your stomach twisted, a sigh slipping from your lips as you looked away. “I don’t think so. Not after… everything.” Your voice softened the weight of old arguments and unsaid things hanging between the words.

Coco’s face softened, her hand finding your shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying you have to sit next to him or anything. It’s a big table. You can stay on the opposite end and ignore him if that’s what you need. But everyone misses you, it’s been ages since we all got together. We all need to see your pretty face off the court too, ya know?”

You hesitated, rolling your eyes, the ache of missing them settling somewhere deep, the sense of family you hadn’t felt in months tugging at you. After a long pause, you finally nodded, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing for a match. “Fine. But I’m serious, Coco, no funny business. If he starts anything, I’m out.”

Coco grinned, throwing her arm around you. “Girl, trust me. If anything, you’ll be giving him the funny looks. Just friends, no drama. Now, let’s go get you out of those sweats.”

Meanwhile, in the locker room across the court, Ben was doing his best to act indifferent as Frances nudged him for the third time.

"C'mon, man!" Frances said, leaning against the lockers with a knowing grin. "So you are coming to this dinner tonight, right? Don't make me beg again, I'll start singing.”

Ben tried to play it cool, leaning back with his arms crossed. “I don’t know, man. You really think it’s a good idea?”

Frances rolled his eyes. “Look, you’ve been moping for months. She’s not gonna make a scene in public, and especially not with all of us, and who knows? Maybe she’ll talk to you, be all civil. It’s worth a shot.”

Ben let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “Civil? You remember the last time we spoke, right? She has me blocked on everything.”

Taylor, stretching nearby, smirked and chimed in. “Man, you got nothin’ to lose. At the very least, you’ll see her. I saw how you were after you caught a glimpse of her training earlier. Besides, Frances and Coco will keep her from killin’ you.”

“Kay, thanks,” Ben muttered, though a flicker of hope sparked under the sarcasm. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t shake the longing to see her again, to maybe fix even a sliver of what had been broken.

Taylor nudged him, grinning. “Hey, listen, if I wasn’t taking Morgan out tonight, I’d be there just for moral support. But hey, maybe next time it’ll be a double date. Me, you, Morgan and your soon-to-be girlfriend, just like old times.”

Ben shook his head, the thought both terrifying and oddly thrilling. “You’re jokin’, right? She’d probably throw her drink at me before she’d sit through a double date.”

“Only if you act like an idiot,” Frances pointed out, laughing. “Just be yourself, man. You can handle the heat on the court, you can handle this. And maybe tonight’ll be the thing that finally breaks the ice.”

Ben sighed, running a hand over his face before finally surrendering. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll go. But Frances, don’t expect me to be all… chatty.”

Frances clapped him on the back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, you say that now. But I know how you get around her, man. Just don’t chicken out. Remember, we got your back.”

Ben couldn’t help but smile nervously, feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure if this dinner would be a chance at redemption or just a painful reminder of how far they’d drifted, but one thing was clear, he was tired of hiding from whatever was left between them.

You walk into the restaurant and let Coco lead you to a long table, feeling an odd mix of nerves and determination fluttering in your stomach. Your outfit is cute but simple, just a sweater and leggings; just enough effort to feel put together without trying too hard. You take a seat between Coco and Arthur Fils, with Frances across from you. There’s an empty chair across from Arthur, and for some reason, that empty space makes your heart beat a little faster, feeling torn between wanting and avoiding Ben there.

As everyone settles in, you catch Coco’s eye and mutter, “Please tell me he’s not actually coming.” She just shrugs with an easy smile.

Moments later, as the group banters along, about to order drinks, Ben strolls in, catching you entirely off-guard. He’s slightly out of breath, apologising to the group with that familiar grin, explaining he’s late because he’d just finished showering after practice. You can’t help it, you nudge Coco under the table, whispering through gritted teeth, a frustrated, “Great.”

Coco just gives him a casual greeting, and you force yourself to turn back to the table, focusing your attention on ordering a glass of wine, pretending not to notice him as he takes that empty seat across from Arthur, just barely within your view, diagonally. But as he sits down, you feel his eyes on you, and for a brief moment, you glance up and catch him staring, his face almost dazed.

You’re caught off-guard by the look in his eyes. His breath seems to hitch, his big brown eyes wide and you can see a faint blush creeping up his neck as he stares at you, almost like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. There’s a softness in his expression that you weren’t prepared for, a kind of awe that makes your stomach twist with memories and longing. But just as quickly, you look away, turning your attention to your wine as Frances elbows Ben with a teasing hiss, “Be normal, man.”

Throughout the night, you manage to keep to yourself, mostly talking to the other WTA players or Arthur whenever he cracks a joke. You keep Ben at the edge of your vision, resolute in ignoring the way his gaze keeps drifting back to you.

Every once in a while, Ben attempts to draw you into the conversation, maybe a lighthearted comment or a direct question, but each time, you meet his gaze with a steely look, making it clear with just one glance that you’re not interested. When he tries again, you let your eyes meet his for a moment, long enough to show him you’re serious before turning away, cutting off his effort entirely, almost to say "not interested". Across the table, Frances raises his brows, murmuring with a barely hidden smirk, “Damn, she is good at this,” as Ben slouches slightly, clearly trying not to look embarrassed.

As dinner winds down, the plates are cleared away, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. Inside, you take a deep breath, facing yourself in the mirror. You’d been bracing yourself for tonight, but nothing quite prepared you for how it would feel to see him sitting right there, looking at you with those big sweet brown eyes and a pout, filled with that same soft pleading that used to make you melt.

But tonight, all it did was remind you of those late nights waiting by your phone, checking it over and over for messages that came slower and slower until they just…stopped. It reminds you of the countless hours wondering if you mattered as much as you thought you did, replaying his empty promises and half-hearted reassurances that seemed to fade with each passing day. He couldn't expect you to take him back with a pout and some half-assed joke. But damn, was it a good attempt, he knew how to make you crumble, even if it wasn't his sole intention.

You force yourself to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you look in the bathroom mirror examining yourself with a sigh, applying a bit of lip balm with fingers that tremble just slightly. Anything to distract yourself, to remind yourself that you’re strong enough to face this without breaking, reminding yourself to keep that mask on. You straighten your posture, determined to push all those memories back down where they belong, buried.

But just as you step out of the bathroom, Ben is standing right there, leaning against the wall as if he’d been waiting for you. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours, and he opens his mouth, his voice just a whisper. “Can we…talk? Just the two of us?”

The look he gives you, hopeful, no, desperate, stirs something deep inside you, and you clench your jaw, wanting to say no, wanting to walk away without a second thought. But as much as you’d like to ignore it, part of you still aches for some kind of closure, maybe even just one honest conversation.

With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Fine. Outside.”

As you head out the restaurant’s door, you quickly fire off a text to Coco:

me n Ben talking outside. brb.

You stuff your phone back into your bag, clutching it tightly to your shoulder as you step into the cool night air. Wrapping your arms under your chest, you try to keep yourself shielded from more than just the chilling breeze.

Ben falls into step beside you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. There’s a moment of silence as you both find your footing, the quiet thick with everything that’s been left unsaid. You glance sideways, catching him opening his mouth like he’s about to say something, only to close it, his shoulders shifting awkwardly.

“So… how’s the tournament going for you?” he starts, his tone casual, a little too casual.

You blink, trying not to roll your eyes, feeling the irritation growing. Really? But you bite back and just sternly say, “Ben.”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the streetlights overhead. “Sorry, yeah, that was- uh, okay.” He lets out a breath and shuffles closer, his voice almost a murmur. “I just… I wanna make this right. Another chance- Just thought maybe… you know, talkin’ would be easier if…”

“Ben, stop.” You sigh, tightening your grip on your bag strap. “Stop being weird. Just… just say what you have to say, and let’s get this over with. Let's not make this longer than it needs to be, I've got shit to do tomorrow.”

He glances at you, brows knitting together. For a second, he looks almost frustrated, like he’s holding back something sharper, something rougher. But he lets it pass, letting out a long, resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll just ask one thing.”

You arch an eyebrow, scepticism thick in your voice. “One question. Shoot.”

His voice comes out softer, edged with a hesitant curiosity as if he knows it’s a stupid question but can’t help but ask. “What hotel you stayin’ at?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “The Merrion.”

His eyes widen slightly, a small, stupid smile breaking on his face. “No way… me too.”

You sigh, looking up at the night sky, feeling the inevitability of whatever this night is becoming. Of course, he’s at the same hotel. Only Ben could make the universe align like this. And only Ben would think of a stupid question like that. He shifts his weight, stepping closer, his gaze steady.

“Look,” he starts, “it’s just a short walk back, twenty minutes or so. Just… give me that time. Just enough to walk back. Let me talk. And then you can go to your room and go to bed. How 'bout it?”

There’s a hopeful edge in his voice that you can’t ignore, and for a moment, your resolve falters. It’s ridiculous, this is exactly the sort of thing he would come up with, some half-baked plan to get you to keep listening, to keep him around just a little longer. You want to roll your eyes, to brush him off, but something about the way he’s looking at you, those earnest, brown eyes so damn full of longing, makes you sigh.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But if you get weird again, I’m out. No small talk, you know how much I hate it.”

A small grin creeps onto his face, and he falls into step beside you, a little closer than necessary, his arm brushing against yours as you start down the quiet street. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, just walks alongside you, letting the silence settle around you both. But then, in that familiar southern drawl, his voice comes softer.

“Y’know, I've been thinkin’ ‘bout us a lot… probably more than I should.”

You keep your eyes on the sidewalk ahead, willing yourself to stay unmoved. “And?”

He swallows, his gaze tracing your profile, softening with each word. “I messed up,” he admits. “I know I did. I shoulda… been there more, answered more, I dunno. Shoulda been better at handlin’ it.”

You nod slightly, keeping your face blank. “Mhm, you should've.”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his expression, but he doesn’t let it throw him off. “You think I didn’t feel it too? That whole time, it felt like- hell, like I was losin’ you, like somethin’ was slippin’ right outta my hands, and I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”

You feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just a fraction, though you keep your arms folded as a kind of armour. His words settle into the silence, raw and rough, and you can feel him glancing over, waiting for some kind of response. But you keep your gaze forward, biting back the little stirrings of emotion that are beginning to creep in.

He keeps talking, voice low and steady, drawing you in without giving you a chance to look away. “I’m not tryin’ to make excuses, alright? I know I coulda tried harder. But it’s like… the more I tried, the harder it got. The distance, the time zones, the schedules… it all just made me feel like I couldn’t keep up. And I just didn't know how to juggle it and that's my fault.”

You shake your head slightly, finally glancing over at him, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of your mouth. “So this is your way of apologising?”

He laughs, a little sheepish. “Guess I’m not real good at it, huh?” He nudges you with his shoulder, a familiar, easy gesture that makes your arms slowly loosen. His hand brushes your arm, just for a second, and a warmth blooms where his fingers graze your skin as if your body’s memory of him can’t help but respond.

“Look,” he says, his voice dipping softer, “I just… I miss you so much. Like hell.”

The honesty in his tone hits you hard, unravelling the cold exterior you’ve worked so hard to keep up. He keeps his eyes on you, watching your face carefully as if gauging your reaction. You feel your resolve slipping even more, your arms slowly falling to your sides, your heart aching as you fight against the wave of warmth that’s threatening to break through.

“Ben…” you start, barely a whisper, but you don’t know what to say, feeling torn.

He moves a little closer, his eyes wide, pleading, like he’s trying to hold onto every inch of you he can. “I know I messed up, okay? But I don’t wanna lose you. Not for good. Please, Y/N. Give me one more chance, you won't regret it 'n if I fuck up bad, you can do whatever, however; I deserve it but please. Just one more chance.”

You press your lips tight together, feeling your heart tighten as his words sink in, as he stands there looking at you with that same vulnerability you’d once fallen in love with. For a second, you forget the hurt, the sleepless nights, and you’re left with just him, the version of him that’s open, sincere, the Ben you’d once held so close.

The walk to the hotel stretches out as he keeps talking, spilling out and laying his heart bare with that easy, boyish charm that only he can pull off, and little by little, you feel your icy exterior start to melt. He talks about his time away from you, how he admired you from videos, watched highlight reels, his endless hours at night going through photos and texts; the whole lot. He cracks a joke, and despite yourself, you smile, trying to hide it but failing. He nudges you again, grinning as he sees the hint of laughter breaking through your guard.

He apologises over and over, more earnestly each time, his voice steady and low, and you can hear the regret, the guilt, the need to make things right. By the time you reach the hotel entrance, you’re feeling something dangerously close to hope, your heart betraying you, making it harder and harder to keep up the facade.

You glance over at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he looks at you as if you’re the only thing he can see. He’s staring, the blush from earlier creeping back up his neck, and when his hand brushes yours one last time, you don’t pull away.

You stand just outside the hotel, a faint chill brushing past as the streetlights cast a warm glow around you. You shift on your feet, glancing up at him, your eyes soft but determined.

“Can I talk?” you ask, breaking the quiet, your voice barely above a whisper. The first thing you had actually said this entire time.

Ben raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a playful smirk. “Talk? What else have we been doin’ for the last twenty minutes, girl?”

You roll your eyes and reach out to smack his arm, earning a chuckle from him. “Fine then. Can we go up to your room?” you add, a small, daring smile tugging at your lips.

Ben’s eyebrow quirks higher. “My room, huh?” His gaze narrows, teasing you with that familiar glint. “What exactly ya got planned, sweetheart?”

You swat him again, harder this time, and he laughs, raising his hands in mock defence. But then you drop the smile, your voice softer. “I wanna talk about what I did, Ben. I messed up too.”

The teasing fades from his expression as he studies your face, searching. After a pause, he nods and gestures toward the lobby. “Alright, then. Let’s go talk.”

In the elevator, silence hangs thick in the air, tension as familiar as it is unspoken. You don't even notice, spending your time stilling your breath and running through everything you want to apologise for. When you reach his room, you head over to the small couch by the window and settle in, tucking your legs under you and giving him a steady look.

“Ya gettin’ comfortable already?” he jokes, leaning against the wall, his eyes dancing with that old spark that makes you ache.

You try not to smile, steeling yourself for your confessional. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

His smile fades as he walks over, sitting across from you, his gaze intense and focused. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve held back.

“I shouldn’t have put so many expectations on you,” you begin, your voice wavering. “You’ve got your own life, your own competitions, your own dreams. All this constant travelling, the different time zones… it’s not fair to expect you to be there every time I needed you at the drop of a hat. You get burnt out too- God. I never even asked how you were before I'd launch into my own day.”

You bite your lip, blinking back tears as they start to blur your vision. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been more understanding, given you more grace.” Your voice catches, barely a whisper now. “And what I said… on that call… it was cruel, Ben. I was mean and unfair, and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it. At all. I wouldn't want myself back after all I had said and done.”

As a tear slips down your cheek, Ben’s face softens, and he reaches out without hesitation, his hands cupping your face as he brushes the tear away. His thumb lingers on your skin, his gaze is unwavering, and then he leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, another to your forehead, and a final one at the crown of your head, his hand resting tenderly against your hair.

You let out a shuddered breath, your hands covering his as you finally let everything pour out. “I miss you so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I miss everything about you… the way you laugh, your ridiculous voice…” Another tear rolls down, and you don’t try to hold back. “I miss the way you’d talk about cars or food for ages, and you’d make everything feel so normal, even when my life was a mess. Without you, it’s like this haze I can’t shake. I just… I miss you. I barely recognise myself these days.”

Your body shakes with the sobs you’ve tried so hard to bury, and Ben doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he could shield you from all the pain, all the regret. He holds you there, one hand smoothing over your hair, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks, murmuring gentle words against your skin.

“S’all right, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

You cling to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, as his hands trace soothing circles along your back. Your sobs gradually quiet, but your breaths are still shaky, each exhale unsteady.

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” you manage, voice barely audible.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Hey now,” he murmurs, his tone warm and grounding. “We both made mistakes. Ain’t just on you, alright? Takes two to mess up, but it takes two to fix it too. We can fix, can't we?”

You nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling a little of the weight lift, softened by his words.

Ben tilts your head to hold your gaze, his own eyes glassy. “Can’t tell ya how many times I thought about callin’ ya or flying to ya,” he admits, his voice low. “How many times I’d pull up your name, wonderin’ what you’d say if I told ya all the things I wished I’d said. But I was… hell, I was scared, darlin’. Thought maybe I’d screwed up too bad, and you’d moved on.”

You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “I couldn’t...I could never.”

He strokes your hair gently, his lips brushing your forehead once more. “Guess we’re both a couple of fools then, huh?”

You laugh softly, the sound wet and trembling as he pulls you back into his arms. You lean into him, letting yourself feel the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, grounding you. Wrapped in the quiet, tangled together, you both hold on a little tighter, feeling the rawness of your honesty and the comfort of finally, finally being close again. In the safety of his arms, you feel, for the first time in so long, a sense of peace, letting the unspoken words settle around you like a quiet promise.

Ben’s hand rests on your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles as he learns your face all over again, making your heart flutter. His fingers move slowly, grazing down to your jaw, then up again, threading into your hair. You let your eyes close for a moment, his gentle touch working its way through the tension of the night, and a small, contented sigh escapes you. For the first time in weeks, you feel relaxed and content.

“Gettin’ comfortable, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He leans in, giving one final push to a stray strand of your hair before tilting his head toward the bed across the room. “C’mon, darlin’. This couch is barely holdin’ us together.”

You hesitate, but Ben’s already moving, holding out his hand as he stands up. His grip is strong, guiding you as you follow him to the bed, and he lets out a soft chuckle as you settle beside him. His arm drapes around you, pulling you close as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you. The warmth is so consuming, cocooning you immediately.

Ben smiles down at you, a playful glint in his eye, and as his fingers find your hair again, he starts twirling a strand between his fingers. “So,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of your head, “ya still gonna keep me blocked, huh?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Fine,” you reply, unlocking your phone with a playful huff. You find his name, well, technically his new contact name since you’d deleted him in a fit of anger, and type a single white heart emoji, pressing send.

The vibration of his phone buzzes beside him, and he pulls it out with a grin, holding up the glowing screen. “There it is. Knew ya couldn’t resist me,” he says, laughing as he pulls you in close as he kisses your temple.

But just as you relax against him, you notice a missed notification. It’s a text from Coco, her reply to your earlier message asking where she’d disappeared to after dinner. You hesitate, then, instead of texting back, you tap the Facetime icon, feeling a strange urge to share this quiet moment, finding words couldn't suffice, nor were you in the mood to type out a lengthy paragraph.

The call connects, and Coco’s face appears, a gasp escaping her as she spots you two tangled up in Ben’s bed, nestled together with his arm around you.

“Oh my god! Yes!” she cheers, loud enough to make Ben chuckle. You hear laughter and cheers in the background too, and Coco turns the camera, revealing the whole dinner table watching with knowing smiles.

"Coco, this was a set-up plan, huh?" you giggle as you see the entire friend group on the other end.

"Somewhat, but blame Morgan and Taylor, not me. They did all that," she throws the blame as she points the camera over to them. Frances, Morgan and Taylor wave and Frances yells “Look at Ben! Already got her in bed, huh?”

Ben rolls his eyes, but a faint blush colours his cheeks. He pulls you closer, his hand resting protectively around your shoulders as he grins.

“Hey now,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “This one’s special. Ain’t like any other. My lucky charm.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, and you’re so focused on him that you barely notice Coco and the others making gagging noises before Ben reaches out, ending the call on your phone with a smirk. Then he turns back to you, his eyes soft, filled with something that feels dangerously like forever.

He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, each second lingering with quiet promises. And in the warmth of his arms, your heart finally feels at home, exactly where it belongs.

[forgave-me-not]

☆ the love game ☆ b.s.

just a little blurb to clear the mind warnings: fluff, a bit suggestive

"ugh, you always kick my ass in chess," ben groaned, covering his face and falling back on the rug. you just looked at him and laughed. "and checkers and connect four and dominoes. admit it baby, I'm just too good." you crawl over and beam down at him.

ben sighs. "oh fine. you're...just too good." he mumbles the last bit, trying to get a reaction out of you. it works. "huh? i didn't hear that. could you speak up for me," you say with a smirk. ben sits up on his elbows. "you're. just. too. good. happy now?"

you smile. "happy as a clam." you lay down next to him and put a hand on his chest. "what should we do now? i'm bored," you say cuddling up against his body. "oh really? after all that action in our last game?" you can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"well, there is one game that we can play. but i only play it with a very special person." ben rolls over to face you. "and who is this person?"

you giggle at his eagerness. "well. they're tall. says they're 6'4'," you look around the living room like there could be anybody listening and then drop your voice to a whisper. "but i think they're lying." ben cocks his head to the side. you continue.

"and they smile. like a lot. and their name starts with a b." ben's eye's widen. "ends with an n." you blink sultrily.

"my dad?"

"oh my god, you're such a moron," you say laughing. ben wraps his arm around your waist. you wiggle from his grasp and shuffle to the couch. "never ever would i say something about that lovely man," you say as the first pillow lands on his face. "you're such a chi-," ben starts. he's cut off by your assault that left every pillow you owned on top of him. satisfied with your handiwork, you stand up, dust yourself off, and put away your chess board. you were just about to make it out of the room before you hear ben's muffled voice.

he moves the pillows from on top of him and places them under his head. "soo, we still gonna play that game," ben calls out from the floor. you lean against the door frame. "we'll have to see about that." a smile simultaneously spreads across both of your faces. ben scrambles to his feet as you spin around the corner and skip to your bedroom. you knew boredom wouldn't be an issue for the rest of the evening.

[saragarnier]

TENNIS LESSONS

pairing: jannik sinner x reader

Warning: none, just fluffy

Summary: Jannik teaches y/n how to play tennis

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“Come on, darling. How much time do you need to change clothes?” Jannik asked through the closed door; you two decided to play a quick game on the court even if you had never played tennis before. It was Jannik’s idea and you immediately agreed, deciding that you needed a proper outfit.

For that reason you bought a tennis uniform without his knowledge.

“I’m coming, just give me one more minute!” You said, smiling a little bit and looking at the mirror: you liked how the uniform was on you but you were also tense because you didn’t know if Jannik would have appreciated.

You sighed, then you took a deep breath and you opened the door, exiting the bathroom and looking at him.

Jan looked at you, speechless for some minutes.

“Y/n” he whispered your name, lookin at you in the new uniform. “Holy shit, you’re amazing in that uniform.”

You blushed at hsi compliment but you really appreciated it; you smiled and walked towards him.

“Do you like it?” You asked, smiling softly.

He put his hands on your hips and he smiled, leaving some kisses on your cheeks and after that on your neck.

“Do i like it? I fucking love it. God, you’re so beautiful darling, i’m the luckiest man in the world.” He said, hugging you and finally kissing you on the lips; you kissed him back and smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Now i’m properly ready for our little match.” You whispered to his ear, smiling.

The Italian smiled and kissed you again, then he took his bag and wrap the other arm on your shoulders, smiling.

“C’mon, let’s go to the court” he smiled, placing a kiss on your head before opening the door to let you pass. “Girls first.” He added, smiling.

“Are you letting me pass first just because you’re a gentleman or because you want to look at my ass?” You chuckled, biting your bottom lip.

“Maybe… you’ll never know.” He joked, taking your hand and smiling.

You two reached the court in just seven minutes by foot and you smiled when you two entered the court together, hand in hand.

“Okay, now… you never played tennis before, haven’t you?” He asked, giving you one of his rackets; you immediately took it and your eyes widened when you felt how heavy it was, more than you were expecting it to be.

“No, i never played tennis so you have to teach me everything.”

Jannik smiles at you and he gently hit the ball to pass it to you; you tried to stop it with your racket but you failed miserably. He laughed while you blushed, embarrassed by your skill in NOT hitting the ball.

“Try again love, you just have to gain some confidence with the racket. It’s like an extension of your arm and it’s difficult to train your mind in understanding it. Just keep trying and you will improve okay? Let me put my hat on and i will help you doing that.”

The Italian shook his head a little bit, then he used both his hands to adjust the hat on his head; he had so many hair that he needed some minutes to adjust everything, being sure to have a good view of the entire court. After that, he walked towards his girlfriend that was some meters away, trying to hit the ball with the racket he gave her. He perfectly knew that it was too big for her but he didn’t have any other racket, so they had to adapt to it.

“Okay, let me help you with the service.” He said, walking towards you. He put his hands on your hips, positioning you in the right place, then he helped you with the posture. “Okay, that’s better. Normally you have to hit the square that’s diagonally opposite you but this time we’ll make an exception, okay? Just try to hit the ball, we should start with that.”

You was so nervous even if you knew that the only person that could have seen your incapacity of playing tennis was your boyfriend; you knew that he wouldn’t have made fun of you, but you were nervous anyway.

You really wanted to playing tennis decently for him, you wanted to do that to make him happy. It was your boyfriend’s biggest passion and you wanted to live that too, because you wanted to know everything that could make your boyfriend happy.

Somehow you were able to hit the ball, even if it was not hard enough; the ball bounced in your side of the field but Jannik didn’t say anything, he wanted for the ball to bounce again in his side and he hit it gently, aiming at your right to be sure that you would have been able to hit it with your forehand.

Somehow you did it and you both cheered, even if the ball stopped against the net.

“Good job love! You’re doing amazing! Honestly i thought you would have missed every single ball.” He jokes, smiling at you. You looked at him and put your hands on your hips, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? It’s that so?” You joked, smiling darkly at him. “If that’s the case i think that tonight i will undress myself and I would not ask your help at all!”

Jannik widened his eyes and look at you, speechless.

He couldn’t believe you just said that in a public place, even if you two were the only ones on the court and even if no one was on the stands. He didn’t expect it but he immediately regretted making that comment.

“I’m sorry! Y/n you know that i was only joking! You’re the best tennis player i ever met in my career and i will definitely lose this game because you’re too much stronger!” He immediately said, biting his lip while saying that. “But can i took that uniform away this night? I swear that’s the only thing I thought about since i saw you with that!”

You laughed and you recovered the ball, coming back into position and trying to hit it as hard as you could while Jannik was still talking. He was so focused in trying to be forgiven about what he said that he didn’t realize you just made your service.

The ball didn’t bounce in the right square so it would definitely have been a fault in a normal match, but since he said the rules would have been different for their match, you made a point.

Jannik really tried to save the ball to the last but he couldn’t, that’s why you rejoiced, happy about the point you just made.

“That’s not fair! I was still talking!” He immediately replied, putting his hands on his hips, pouting.

“It’s not my fault if you weren’t paying any attention!” You replied, smiling. “I made a point! Ha! What were you saying, mh?” You teased him, smiling.

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble.” You said, waking towards you with an evil smile; you immediately started running away but he was much more trained than you and he immediately stopped you, wrapping his arms around you. “Where are you going darling?”

When Jannik started to tickled you, you immediately started laughing. “No, please stop!” You begged him to stop, still laughing and trying to escape from his grip. You kept laughing and laughing for minutes that seemed like hours, then he finally stopped and he just put his hands in your hips, bringing you closer to his body. He was definitely taller than you and you had to looked up to meet his eyes.

You stayed silent for some minutes, trying to catch your breath while looking at him, smiling softly.

He caressed your cheeks and smiled, then he lowered himself and left a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you so much.” He said, giving you shivers.

There’s something about his eyes that always made you feel special; you knew that you would have fallen in love with those eyes the second you saw them and the second you felt their effects on you.

“I love you too, loser.” You said, kissing him before he could reply

[gardensofbabilon]

✧all that you ever wanted was.. sweet nothing. - Ben Shelton.

☆ a/n: this is not my first language but i am sad so i think i'll juts write small stories.. promise a happy one next!

☆ summary: being together for 4 years has been nothing but a dream, of course everyone envies dating the college top player and the us tennis star.. but do they really know how hard it is for you?

The hot florida air gets into your apartment window as the sun is going down for the 237th time this year. August gets closer to an end - but for your boyfriend this is the best part of the year: flying with you to new york, playing at the center court of his home tournament, this is all he ever wanted.

You were used to be seen, ben has always attracted eyes and everyone's attention for as long as you can remember but honestly, you never cared, all you knew as that inside your small place and in your intimacy he was just another normal guy.

The truth is, being with someone for four years is almost a lifetime. That was a certificate that the two of you would be married very soon - but that was never on board for both of you, at least now that you were never encountering for more than 2 weeks, the dream of being married faded from your memory alongside the great moments you collected on the first two years of being together.

''I'm not going to the open this year'' you announce to him.

''Why? What's wrong?" he says looking into his phone.

"I told you, I'm at my last semester and the final project is due next week. I can't be at two places at the same time.''

Ben sensed the weird tone on your voice, he looked at you imediatly, the room suddenly felt smaller, both of you knew what those words meant.

"I'm sorry, it slipped my mind.. You won't make to any of the games?"

"I don't think i'll ever make to another game, sorry." The words slipped from your month when you least expected it to do so.

It was done. You said it.

A year ago you would never say such a thing, two years ago it would be insane to think like that, the only thing the both of you talked about really was how after graduating he would get you the ring you dreamed for so long and then the wedding plans would go as he played.

The real deal was that 2023 went by and he did what he knew to do best: play well and win, and you watched. You loved the thrill, the joy in witnessing his moves, his joy to be doing what he dreamed and loved, that's how you wanted to stay forever. But them the travels intensified, the distance was bigger every week, the timezone pushed him more, you watched he fade away from your life. Of course you wanted to be there, but as a foreing student with a scolarship you could not afford drop out or just leave uni for weeks to follow him around, these were the types of things that drove him apart more and more.

"What is this about? You can't walk away." he approached you at the couch.

"When was the last time we sat on the couch and actually spent some time together? Or better, when was the last time I talked and you listened when it was not about you or your tennis? Do you even remember our plans ben?"

"Of course i remember, you said that once you graduated you would be at my games.."

"No. The deal was for us to get engaged. See? You can't even recall what you promised me two years ago." You say interrupting him.

"See! We have plans. You can't quit on us, on something we have been thinking and planning for so long.." Ben put his hand over yours "If it's a ring that you want, that's what i get you, just don't.. don't go. I'm so sorry I've been away, it's just that this year has been so much to me.."

You nod, taking a step back and scooping your hand off his.

"I don't want to be a consolation prize ben. You know better than anyone that I'm the most supportive person of your future, I don't mind you playing, you focusing.. what bothers me is that this is all you ever think about. I'm never on your mind, not even when I'm here or when I'm telling you things, you just tend to zone out whenever the words that i say are not related to tennis.''

Ben froze with your words. He could not believe that's how you saw him after so long of being together "Please, don't say that, you are all that matters to me.. I need you."

"I stopped being the thing that mattered the most a long time ago, now all that you want is another huge check on your account. I will not settle for this."

"Please Y/N don't say that, give me one chance to prove you"

"Ben, just leave" I get up pointing at the door. "No more scenes, just go."

He looked at you with a deep sense of sadness in his eyes, you never saw your boyfriend with such a sorrow in his face, not even when you saw him lose the most important matches, but now there was no stepping back.

"You can't do that, I love you." Ben said as he gets closer to you, just a few steps from the door.

"We stopped loving eachother several months ago." You swallow the words as they come out of your month, it had still a sense of weirdness in accepting your fate and seeing that your destiny was not him. Not anymore.

Ben nods as a tear fell from his eyes. "I'm sorry, I really am. Do you really want me to go?"

"I do. Please." You reply looking away from him, avoiding eye contact with every strenght you still had in your body.

"Will we meet again?" He asks with his hand on the door handle.

"I have no idea." You sigh "Goodbye Benjamin."

Ben opened the door and your eyes met for the last time. It was a long time coming. Time froze around you both and the last glance went on for five minutes, the last look on the eyes of the person you spent the past four years staring into every given second. This would never happen again, not in this lifetime, and all you felt was sorry.

"I will miss you" He did not say with his voice, but he mimic with his month as he closed the door before any answer.

maybe in another lifetime. maybe in another universe all our plans would've worked out.

[kendraontmblr]

MASTERLIST

(requests are open)

────────

— [ 18+ ] most of my writing includes NSFW content. if you’re under 18, i kindly ask that you don’t read or interact with these posts. minors, please avoid sending NSFW requests or messages.

────────

BEN SHELTON

1. sweet nights sfw

2. training with benefits nsfw

JANNIK SINNER

⤷ coming up:

1. off the record nsfw - jannik sinner x skysports interviewer!reader [requested imagine]

CARLOS ALCARAZ

1. crave you nsfw

2. crave you pt. 2 nsfw

────────

with love always,

kendra

[antadogoias]

I need people to write fanfics with tennis players (especially with my beloved Andrey Rublev). Like, I see so many people obsessed with F1 and I see so many fanfics about F1 boys. I need this from tennis fans.

[b0r3dtod3ath]

yayyy ur writing for ben i luv that

can i request maybe ben dating the daughter of a famous sports journalist or something, and the media and everyone goes crazy cuz they’re so cute together

a/n: i kinda knew what i wanted to do here but also i don't know why i struggled with this fic but at the end of the day im happy it turned out like this

Taking a gap year left you with a ton of free time. Being a daughter of a tennis commentator you took advantage of it and joined him to travel, watch the sport and help him. Your father was a renowned tennis reporter whose voice was as familiar to tennis fans as the sound of a well-struck ball. 

Despite it being early morning the sun was bright and unrelenting. You wore a light pink sundress as you walked alongside your father. "Can you take these notes to the press box? I need to get ready for an interview with one of the players." he said, handing you a stack of papers. "Of course" you replied, taking the notes and turning. 

As you made your way through the building you caught a sight of Ben practicing on a nearby court. You always found him a bit intimidating - his fierce eyes, serious expression and tall, athletic frame only added to his persona. You quickened your pace, thinking you were unnoticed, but Ben glanced in your direction. Your eyes met briefly but you quickly looked away, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Later that afternoon, you found a quiet spot near an outer court to watch some of the players practice. You were busy going through photos you took that day when you felt someone sit down beside you. Glancing sideways, you were surprised to see Ben.  “Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice smooth and pleasant. “No, not at all,” you replied, trying to steady your nerves. You went back to the photos and you sat in silence for a few minutes before Ben spoke again. 

“You're Y/F/N’s daughter, right? I’ve seen you around”. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m Y/N,” you said, offering a shy smile. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Ben,” he replied, extending his hand. “I know,” you said, laughing softly as you shook his hand. “I’ve watched your matches. You’re really impressive on the court”. “Thanks,” Ben said with a heartwarming smile. “Sooo.. Do you like tennis, or is it just part of the family business?”. You chuckled at his assumption “I love it. I grew up around it, and it’s always been in my life,” you explained. You two continued chatting until your phone buzzed, displaying Dad on the screen. 

..

Over the course of the tournament the two of you kept chatting here and there. He would sit beside you at every match and if he was playing he would make sure there was a reserved seat for you where you could get the best view, of him of course.

He had a few free mornings during which he would try to find you. One morning, you were sitting in the players lounge, eyes glued to your laptop as you managed your fathers social media, when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned to see Ben with two coffee cups. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up,” he said, handing you one. “Thank you, Ben,” you replied, smiling as you took the cup. “You didn’t have to do this”.  “I wanted to,” he said, his gaze steady and sincere “Well I just wanted to wish you a good day, I have to go” he continued. You took a sip of coffee and you noticed you look pretty as always <33 written on the side of it.

..

On the final days of the tournament Ben couldn’t pay attention to how exhausted he was because his mind was filled with the thoughts of you. He remembered you had mentioned wanting to see a play that was showing in the city during the tournament. He found you amongst the organized chaos of reporters and asked to steal you for a moment.

"Oh hey, Ben. How was your day?" you said, not expecting to see him. "Good, but that's not what I want to talk about right now," Ben replied with a playful glint in his eye. "I have something for you”. He pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to you. You were quite intrigued as you opened it to find two tickets for the play you had mentioned a week ago. Your eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Oh my goodness, Ben! How did you...?" you trailed off, your heart warming at his thoughtful gesture. You swung your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.  "I remembered you mentioning it," Ben chuckled. "And I thought tonight would be the perfect opportunity to unwind and enjoy ourselves”. 

..

You found your seats, tucked away in a cozy corner with a perfect view of the stage. The lights dimmed, and the curtain rose, revealing a beautifully crafted set for the play. 

Throughout the show, Ben couldn't help but steal glances at you beside him. He admired the way your eyes sparkled with wonder and your genuine smile that lit up your face as you watched the actors bring the story to life. You were captivating and Ben found himself falling even more under your spell. 

During intermission, Ben turned to you  with a soft smile. "Are you enjoying the play?”. You turned to him "I love it! Thank you so much for bringing me here, Ben. It means a lot.". "I'm glad," Ben replied sincerely, his gaze lingering on you. "You look beautiful tonight”. You looked deeply in his eyes before smiling even more. You took his hand in yours and rested your head on his shoulder. 

..

user1: Ben Shelton spotted at the theater! Looks like he's enjoying a night out with a special someone. Who's the lucky lady? 🎭❤️

user2: Ben Shelton and Y/N (daughter of Y/D/N)  steal the spotlight at the theater! Romance off the court? 😍🌟 #BenY/N 

..

After the show the two of you headed back to the hotel. "I really like you, Y/N," Ben admitted quietly as you stood in the elevator, his voice tinged with vulnerability. You were touched by his honesty. "I like you too, Ben," you replied softly, squeezing his hand. You were practically glued to his arm as you looked up at him with big, tired, doe eyes. He smiled at the scene. 

The hotel hallway was quiet, the dim lights casting a soft glow against the carpeted floor and ornate wallpaper. Ben walked beside you as you led the way down the corridor to your room. 

"Thanks for walking me back, Ben," you  said softly, your voice with a hint of sadness as you neared your room. Ben smiled warmly. "Of course, Y/N. I had a great time tonight”. You stopped in front of your hotel room door, turning to face Ben. "I wish you could come in," you murmured, your gaze hinting disappointment. Ben reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. "I understand. Maybe next time," he replied softly, his eyes meeting yours with understanding. Ben leaned in slowly, "Can I kiss you?" he whispered. You nodded and felt his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. Your heart fluttered as you leaned into the kiss, savoring the shared warmth and closeness. 

"Thank you for tonight, Ben. I'll see you soon?" your fingers still lingered on his arm. "Definitely," Ben replied, pressing a final soft kiss to your forehead. "Goodnight, Y/N”.

..

user3: GUYS! You won’t believe, I just saw Ben kissing Y/N!!1

..

July 1, 2024

[talkteatennis]

Body

Summary: Andrey Rublev trying to get reader to go on a date.

Warnings: body conscious conversation, no smut but suggestive

“Andrey you are a twig,” y/n stated as you held his wrists in your hands as the tall lanky boy looked at you in shock.

“Am not, I am very toned” Andrey stated releasing his wrists from your grip to flex his biceps. Which made areas of your body tremble but you knew he wasn’t wrong.

All that played in your mind, was the battering you would receive from the media about not being one of those ‘twig bitch models’ he usually went for.

“Fine you are not. Now leave me alone please,” you said walking away from him trying to exit the players lounge only for him to rush in front and stop you from leaving.

“Y/N, you have been making excuses for why you can’t be with me! Why is that?” You sighed at his words. It was something he would never understand actually you thought.

“Because your not my type.” Y/N simply said, because it was easier this than to have to explain how you really felt.

“If thats so then why do you look at me as if you want to undress me?” He said getting closer and you were taken aback. You hadn’t realised Andrey had noticed your occasional glances but how could he not it’s not like you tired to hide it very well anyway.

Stammers and mutterings of words flowed out of your mouth but nothing to form coherent sentences.

“Its just dinner Y/N” he said looking at you as his hand gently caresses your cheekbones.

“No” you said again making herself clear and then leaving but once again only to be pulled back. Y/N let out a sigh of frustration as you once again you were faced with Andrey’s handsome face.

“I’m not letting you go,” he said this time his strong hands firmly placed on your waist holding you still right in front of him. He didn’t care who saw them at this point as players were just squeezing past the two of them trying to enter and exit the lounge. He wasn’t dropping the subject till you explained yourself.

“I am fat okay and I don’t want to go on a date with you because the media will rip me to shreds for not being thin and beautiful like all the models you go for!” You said eyes welling up a little. Andrey squeezed your sides tighter shaking his head before looking you in your beautiful eyes.

“Thats crazy. You are not fat you are cruvy in all the right places Y/N and I love it,” Andrey said letting his hand roam from your waist to your hips then butt which made blush, “ I don’t care what they think about you and you shouldn’t either and if they want to say stuff about the way you look I’ll put them in their place.” You smiled at his words and he leant in to kiss her but she stopped him by placing a finger on his lips just separating them.

“Okay, I will go to dinner only if you are sure that you want to date a poc, curvy woman,” you said looking him dead in the eyes.

“Oh I am sure. The things I would kill do to you right now,” he said whisperig the last part lustfully into your ear sending a warm an fuzzy feeling below your stomach.

You removed your finger slowly making sure to look him in the eye then gently placed your lips on his.

[alcqraz]

★ summary — small little drabble of spending a lazy morning with ben

˖˙ ꔫ —★★★★ pairing: ben shelton x fem!reader ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★ content warnings. n/a ˖˙ ꔫ —★★ word count. 922.... ˖˙ ꔫ —★ genre. fluff.

★ authors note: for wes because her horny ass would not let me off the hook until i finished this. shout out to the tennis groupchat that i'm in that helped me out because they're all clinically insane about ben.

❛⠀⠀ requested by anon! idk who to tag

I feel like Ben would be the type of person who enjoys sleeping in. Not all the time, obviously, definitely not during tournaments, or the days leading up to tournaments- but those days where he can have you to himself, without the worry of his coach or team barging in at any given moment. Without the worry of the upcoming match, and the result that would unfold within in.

You'd wake up next to him, the little crack from the curtain that he forgot to close entirely assaulting your vision as the sun rises from the hills above. Grumbling to yourself of your boyfriends inability to close the curtains fully, because of course he wouldn't.

Ben, however, seems not to be disrupted from his slumber by the aggravating light that danced across the warm-lit room. He's off somewhere in la-la land, sleeping on his stomach, shirt discarded carelessly upon the floor. His head is tilted to the right- looking towards you, and for once he looks... peaceful. His eyes are fluttered shut, a soft smile or sorts stretched upon his lips.

Despite it being (technically) his fault as to why you were unable to fully sleep in, you can't help but to admire the view that had been placed in front of you. He always looked good, you were very much aware of that, but now- he looked cuter, adorable even. However, you were not to suffer alone at this time of morning. If you were awake, he damn sure as well should be too.

Slowly creeping upon him, your hands gently trace amongst the muscles that lined his toned back. Fingers caressing the warm skin from being under the covers for so long. He shifts in his sleep, mumbling something incomprehensible as the movement slowly jolts him awake, like soft waves rippling throughout a greater vast of ocean.

It takes a moment, Ben ostensibly slower and unhurried during the mornings where he had no actual duties to worry of. His eyes flutter open, dark eyes adjusting to the new found lighting of the luminous morning. His eyes are hazed with a sense of blur, mind confused for a beat of a second as he blinks slowly, pushing away the daze of being woken up.

You'd whisper to him- perhaps a good morning, or a soft hello that he loved to hear more than anything, your voice a seeking comfort he enjoyed having within his presence. It's only then does he recall the situation, that he finally, finally gets to fall asleep and wake up next to you. His lips curl into a stupid grin, eyes wrinkling as he does so. He's suddenly wide awake, or at least, more coherent than he was an instance ago.

He'd mumble a good morning, baby as he always did. Pivoting himself onto his back so he can get a better look of you, features tainted with a look that could only be described as pure affection. His fingers come up to brush against the side of your face, before laying upon the soft skin that laced your jaw. Ben pulls you in, pressing a soft kiss upon your lips, before leaning in for something more. He kisses all over, as he always did when he could have you all alone. Your lips, your forehead, the spot within your neck that made you squirm. He wanted you all, and he was going to have you.

But it wasn't how it would be of the many times before. Where the desire pooled in his lower stomach, reaching between his pants. It was not rushed nor full of lust, it was not a race for the finish line, but a need to worship you because fuck, how did he ever get so lucky?

His hands would trail all over, wherever he could get you, kissing you slowly whilst his fingers tangle into your hair, another resting upon your waist. It's deliberate and languid, breathing softly when he finally pulls away for a breath of air. Ben doesn't pull far away though, his lips just barely an inch away from yours. And god, he feels as if the wind has been knocked out of his lungs, the sight of you so beautiful and intoxicating. You're like a drug, an addicting one for that fact which he could never get over. He never wanted to get over.

He gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, eyes glazy as if he were looking at the center of the universe. Perhaps, you were his universe. He'd murmur, hushed words that were only for you, ones that no one else would ever get to know. Unable to leave his touch, you lean in once again, sensually yet delicately.

On the days like these, he finds it inexplicably hard to keep his hands off of you. Needing to keep you close, touching you at least in some sort of way. You'd tease him about it, of course, as anyone would, but in all honesty, it was nice to feel so wanted by someone.

And wanted, you were. Ben had it in him, knew all the ways he could make you feel like the only woman in the world, even during the most random of situations. He'd whisper to you, lips tracing just over your ear lobe, hair tickling across the sector of your face of how lucky he was to have you.

You can't help but to think that at the end of the day; you were the lucky one all along.

[rvblos]

hope ur doing well! i love ur work, and was wondering if u could wrote a ben shelton headcanon abt what he'd be like as a bf? thank uu 🫶🏻

sfw/nsfw headcanons - ben shelton

warnings: this contains nsfw so if you're not comfortable with it just dont read it !!

notes: i literally can't stop thinking about him so here are some headcanons!

sfw:

- he's so boyfriend energy

-he's be the most romantic guy you've ever met

-he looooves to take you out on fancy dates but he enjoys even staying home to watch a movie under a cozy blanket

-he is so supportive! and adores when you'd come to see him during important matches or even during practice.

-he knows he can always count on you, even when he loses he knows that your arms would always be open for him to comfort him after a loss.

-this man always has to touch you! physical contact is his love language.

-but not always in a sexual way, sometimes he just needs to feel your skin against his yk

-he'd slip a finger underneath your shirt and he'd start to trace little circles on your skin.

-he's so cute ugh

-loves to bring you flowers!!

-sometimes even a single rose could lift your mood

-loves having you caressing his curls!

nsfw:

- lets talk about his arms

- omfg and his shoulders

- the way you'd be gripping on them during sex makes his head spin and he'd become even harder than he already is

-it's so easy for him to find your weakest spots, he know them too well

- his arms would be circled around your waist as he pounds into you omfg

- and his finger would trace circular patterns on your skin

- "shhh.. baby its okay..." PLEASE

- he has the DEEPEST voice i swear to god

- like humming and moaning in the deepest tone ever

- "take it like a big girl" murmured in your ear ARE YOU CRAZY

- also i think hed be very vocal

- he whimpers A LOT trying to to change my mind

- especially when receiving head 😃

- "mhmm... please, oh please... faster.. mhm.."

[giveafike]

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thank you for your support!

[forgave-me-not]

ROUTINE ANALYSIS ☆ J.S.

In his short life, Jannik has learned the perfect technique on how subtleties like all great observers have. And somehow, he'll always manage to use these skills on you. word count: 1.9k words - genuinely so glad someone asked for another part. had a lot of fun with this 🙏🏾 warnings: mentions of prayer/spirituality, kissing, sickeningly sweet domesticity

The day before a big match is always the most nervewracking. Excitement, combined with the everpresent fear of failure, finally settles into the pit of an athlete's stomach and waits to be cracked open like an oyster or left to fester as the pearls within those creatures do. And for you, it's no different.

So, to alleviate your very obvious unease, Jannik decided to take it upon himself, on his day off, to practice with you. Having already secured his place in the semi-final, he had decided one less day of rest would be worth it if he could help out the woman he loved.

Practice went well, by all definitions of the word. In fact, it went really well. However, Jannik's praises and your temporary feeling of contentment could not negate the fact you just might buckle underneath the pressure of the match.

The emotions showed at the end of practice when you crouched down with your forehead on the handle of your racket and prayed - aloud - out of Jannik's earshot, of course. You'd never been super big on outward displays of faith like that; you preferred a more reserved, intimate relationship with spirituality. But desperate times call for desperate measures and you had squeezed your eyes tight and prayed as hard as you could. And once you were done, you dusted yourself off, packed your racket bag, and trotted out of the facilities with your boyfriend. You tried to think nothing of it, so Jannik wouldn't notice. But he does. He always does.

Turning the shower off, you wrapped the towel tightly around yourself and opened the door exiting the bathroom. Steam and hot air billowed out around you, casting the light every which way. You looked down, hugging your torso; water drips from your elbows, and you let out a quiet sigh.

"From where I am, you look like an angelo dal cielo, dearest," Jannik says, leaning against an adjacent doorway. You turn away and smile. An angel from heaven. How classy. The Italian's charms never cease to make you blush, no matter how long you've been together. "Why thank you, Jannik," you say, walking over to your bags. You quickly found your nightclothes - one of Jannik's old t-shirts and a pair of spanx - and promptly threw them on.

"You played so well today, amore," Jannik said from behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist. You smile down at your bag. "Really now? Well, I guess I did have an amazing practice partner," you say with a smirk.

"You guess?!?" Jannik pulls away, and you turn around to see the Italian dramatically gaping at you. He faints onto your shared hotel bed with a hand on his forehead. Straight out of the opera. You roll your eyes. "Get up, you bum. We need to brush our teeth." The two of you make your way to the bathroom sink and go through the motions of a usual night. Bumping hips while brushing. Moisturizing each other's faces. Making gargling mouthwash a competition. You don't realize it, not yet, that Jannik is distracting you from the whirlwind of thoughts he knows is in your mind. And future you is already thankful.

You pad your way around the room, turning out the lights and straightening things. Jannik sits in bed rereading David Foster Wallace's String Theory for the hundredth time. He leans closer to the lamp on the nightstand. "You already wear glasses, baby. Don't hurt your eyes anymore," you call out from across the room. Jannik huffs and puts the book down. He knows I'm right, and he can't admit it. Such a man. While making your rounds, you glimpse tomorrow's outfit in the closet, and you almost forget yourself and shudder. Instead, you just close the doors and slip into bed.

Jannik notices you're not as chatty as usual. On a typical night, you'd be talking to him about your day, the funny things you saw on social media, weird texts from your siblings. But it's not a typical night, and Jannik understands.

"You are thinking about tomorrow's match, aren't you," Jannik says, looking at the ceiling. He still hasn't turned off the lamp, so the warm lighting casts half his face in shadow. You reach over and run your hand through his curls. "What makes you say that, Jan?"

"Oh, I don't know. How quiet you were at dinner—the constant sighing and staring into the distance, the praying." He says the last phrase with a sidelong glance, and you close your eyes and breathe. The jig is up. You sink into the bed and look away from him.

"Jan, do you ever get that feeling of 'I'm going to screw everything up once I get out there' before a big match? Because I sure as hell do," you whisper to him. The covers are pulled up to your chin. You're hiding. You're actually ashamed of a feeling so natural. And you aren't sure what upsets you more; the shame or the feeling itself.

Jannik mulls over your question. "No," he says flatly. You sit up straight. Jannik rises to lean on his elbow so he can look you in the eye. "For me, it's always the thought of 'the worst I can do is embarrass myself in front of millions of people.' And honestly, I think that might be worse."

You smile at him. "I think it might be the same," you whisper back at him. You huff, thinking of what to say.

"It's just... I've played countless finals and hope to play countless more, and you've invested so much time, energy, love into me and-"

"You know you can do it, but you still feel like, um, how do I put this, merda?" You've thrown your hands over your face. "Yes. Merda's the word."

Jannik smiles and pulls you into him.

"Well, I can't get rid of the feeling for you, but I can tell you one thing; you are one hell of a tennis player, and that other girl, your opponent, has nothing on you. Not your passion, not your personality, not even your attitude. None of it." He squeezes you with every compliment. A few tears prick your eyes. "So, I want you to throw away all of your doubts and worries. Win or lose, there is nothing you can do to get rid of me now. But you are not going to lose. I can feel it." His hands are on your face, forcing you to look into his dark eyes. You place your hands on his wrists and nod your head. "Okay, Jannik."

"Good," Jannik says with a small smile. And with that, he seals his words into your mind, body, and soul with a kiss on your forehead.

Jannik finally turns off the lamp, and the two of you settle into bed. There's a beat where you both just listen to the sounds of the night. The other's breathing. Cars still rushing by. The ticking of the clock on the wall.

"What did you pray about," Jannik says, breaking the silence. There was never much of it in your relationship, and Jannik knew he should probably revel in the quiet, but he needed to know one last thing before he went to sleep.

"None of your business, dork," you say, snuggling into your pillow.

"Ouch," Jannik says, putting his hand on his heart. You snort a laugh and close your eyes.

"I prayed that all your training wouldn't go to waste and that I'd win tomorrow so I can prove to myself that I am indeed that confident woman I thought...think I am. I'm usually pretty "go with the flow" but I guess someone finally got to me, you know? But overall, it was for guidance and strength."

Something in Jannik's chest tightened. Your tone and the way you described what you were feeling reminded him of himself. He leaned over and kissed your neck.

"You know what Italians call people like you?" You shake your head.

"il preoccupata. Pensatore eccessivo. The worrier. The overthinker. But to be completely honest, I think you are more of il filiosofa - the philosopher. You carefully study everything around you and try to put a name to it. And this time, you couldn't. Your, erm, what's it called when you test something over and over to see if it works?"

"Routine analysis?"

"Yes, that. Your routine analysis," Jan emphasized the phrase you just taught him. "You couldn't check the boxes, and that upset you. But dearest, you are not a robot. Feel as you feel, and don't try to explain it away. It's what makes you human; what makes you, you."

Your bottom lip began to quiver. "Oh, dispiace amore mio. I didn't mean to make you cry. Forget everything I just said.

"No, I-I'm not sad, Jan. It's quite the opposite. You're just s-so right," you blubber into his chest. "And I'm so lucky to have you."

Jannik dips down to kiss you. "Get some sleep, amore. You have a big day ahead of you." You're not sure if it was Jannik's words or all the stress leaving your body (probably both, to be frank), but you had the best night's sleep you've had in weeks.

You beamed up at the cheering crowd. It was next to impossible for you to contain your joy as you walked to the next to shake hands with your opponent. The look on her face was...kind. It was filled with a certain security that is hard to describe.

The two of you shook hands and gave each other a quick hug. "You deserve it," she says as both of you walk to the umpire. Another smile spread across your face. "Oh, stop it."

"No, really. You fought like hell," she says with a laugh. You follow suit, finally feeling the pit in your stomach be filled like a pothole in a parking lot. After hands were shaken and you waved your racket at every person in the stadium, you decided it was time to find Jannik.

You zipped your racket bag shut and weaved in and out of the people setting up cameras and ramps for the trophy presentation. Your trophy. Finally making it to the court entrance, you bounded up flights of stairs and traversed the corridors to your team box, where Jannik awaited you.

He spots you first. He always does. Jannik makes a few quick strides, scoops you up in his arms, and spins you around. You laugh into the air and place your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself.

"I knew you could do it tesoro," Jannik whispers in your ear, bringing you back down to earth. "I know, I know. Should've listened to you earlier," you say looking down at your feet, a bit embarrassed at all your worrying just for everything to turn out okay. He laughs and wraps a long arm around your shoulders.

"You'll be here for the award ceremony, right?" The answer is quite obvious, but you ask the question anyway.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world amore," he said, smiling down at you.

"Front row," you ask sarcastically as you shuffle towards the exit.

"Where else would I be, honey," Jannik smirks. You grin back at him. "Well, I'll see you down there then." And you turn to walk down the stairs.

"Oh, wait," Jannik calls after you.

"Yes, dear?"

"Ti amo bambina," Jannik says, leaning down the stairs to look you in the eye. Your heart tightens a bit.

"Anch'io ti amo, Jannik," you answer softly, closing the gap between the two of you and laying a light kiss on Jannik's lips.

author's note: as an athlete, those unshakeable feelings of imposter syndrome sneak up on you lol. even for the most laid back of us, me included. I remember this one time I got knocked out of high jump and really beat myself about it (I shouldn't have, I'd just run the 400m five minutes before and my legs were mush) but I cried for like three minutes and moved on to my next event. c'est la vie.