#matteo berrettini fics

[lifeofpriya]

Just looking at them with adoration in their eyes as the other one rants about interests. From baby I’m yours 🫶🏽

i did not mean for the fic to go DEEP, but oh well, here we are 🤭 i'm sorry it's a bit short though 😩

My Rock, My Home

wc: 1.6k

"You just don't understand," Matteo says, his eyes alight with passion as he speaks about his love for tennis. His Italian accent lends an exotic flair to his words, each syllable rolling off his tongue with an ease that captivates you.

You watch him, your heart swelling with affection. His tanned skin glows in the warm light of the setting sun, a stark contrast to the crisp white of his practice shirt, damp with sweat from the hours he's spent on the court. The lines of his face, usually etched with focus and determination, have softened in your presence, revealing the tenderness that so few get to see. You're his escape, the calm in his storm of a life, and the simplicity of this moment feels like a luxury amidst the chaos of his career.

Matteo's dark hair sticks to his forehead as he passionately recounts his latest match. His strong hands gesture wildly, mimicking the serves and volleys that have earned him fame and fortune. You nod along, listening intently, even though the technicalities of the sport often elude you. It's not the games or the strategies that keep you enthralled, but the raw emotion he pours into every sentence. His eyes are deep pools of intensity, and you can't help but get lost in them, understanding that this is his language, his way of expressing his soul.

The scent of freshly cut grass wafts through the open window, mingling with the faint aroma of his sweat. It's a scent that's become familiar to you over the months of your relationship—part of the unique bouquet that is Matteo Berrettini. You take a deep breath, savoring it, as his words paint a vivid picture of the tension on the court, the roar of the crowd, and the silent conversation between him and his racquet. You've been to his matches, felt the thunderous applause shake the stands, but it's his voice, his unfiltered passion, that brings the game to life for you.

He pauses, catching his breath, and his gaze shifts to meet yours. He seems surprised to find you there, as if he'd forgotten you were listening. For a brief second, self-consciousness flits across his features, but then it's gone, replaced by a smile that makes your stomach flutter. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice softer now. "I know you don't care about the details. I just can't help it sometimes."

You shake your head, reaching out to lay your hand on his forearm. "I love watching you play," you say truthfully. "But I love listening to you talk about it even more." The muscles beneath your touch tense and relax as his eyes search yours for sincerity. You know he craves your understanding, your acceptance of this all-consuming part of him. It's moments like these, when you remind him that you see beyond the player to the person beneath, that your bond feels unbreakable.

Matteo's smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes, feeling the warmth of his skin and the brush of his breath. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with gratitude. You pull away slightly, taking in the sight of him: the way the light plays with the stubble on his cheeks, the way his eyes sparkle with unshed emotion. This is your Matteo, the one who lets you into his world of passion and drive.

The silence stretches out between you, filled with the quiet hum of the world outside and the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. Inside, it's just you and him, the air thick with the unspoken words of love that neither of you quite knows how to express. You've learned that with Matteo, sometimes it's the quiet moments that speak the loudest.

You sit down beside him on the couch, the cushion sinking slightly under your weight. He follows your lead, his long legs stretching out in front of him, the fabric of his shorts pulling tight across his muscular thighs. You can't help but admire the physicality of him, the way his body is a testament to the countless hours he's dedicated to his craft. But it's the mind behind those eyes that truly fascinates you—the fierce intelligence, the burning desire to win, the vulnerability that he tries so hard to hide.

As you listen to him, you stroke his arm lightly, feeling the warmth of his skin and the strength beneath. His words become a comforting melody, the rhythm of his speech as familiar to you now as the sound of your own heartbeat. You're not just hearing about tennis; you're hearing about his dreams, his fears, his triumphs and defeats. Each match is a chapter in his life story, and you're his devoted audience of one.

The room is bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the floor. You lean into Matteo, your shoulder brushing against his, feeling the comforting heat of his body.

Matteo's rant slowly morphs into a story of his early days playing on the dusty courts of Rome, his voice filled with the nostalgia of a time when the grand slams were distant dreams and the only cheers were from his parents and coach. You see the reflection of those days in his eyes, the hunger of a young boy who knew that one day, he would conquer the world with his racket. It's these stories that remind you of the man he is beyond the flashing lights and the headlines, the man you fell in love with.

The sun dips lower, painting the room in shades of gold and pink. You pull your legs up onto the couch, curling into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your side. He wraps an arm around you, his hand coming to rest on your knee. His thumb traces small circles, a silent declaration of his affection. The room is a cocoon, a haven from the outside world, and you feel an overwhelming sense of contentment.

Matteo's words become softer, his shoulders drooping slightly with the weight of his memories. You can almost see the dust rising from the old courts, feel the grit of the clay beneath his sneakers. He talks about the sacrifices he's made, the friends left behind, and the endless hours of training that have sculpted him into the athlete he is today. His passion is palpable, a living, breathing entity that fills the space around you. You understand now that tennis isn't just a game to him—it's his lifeblood, his identity.

As the sun kisses the horizon, the room cools, and you snuggle closer to him. His arm tightens around you, a silent acknowledgment of your shared warmth.

"But it's all worth it," he says, his voice filled with a determination that resonates through your core. "For moments like these, when I'm out there, and I know that I've given everything I have, that's when I truly feel alive."

You nod, your gaze never leaving his. You understand the allure of pushing oneself to the limit, of finding that perfect balance between pain and euphoria. It's a dance you've seen him perform countless times, a dance that has made you fall in love with the sport almost as much as you've fallen for him. You can't imagine the strength it takes to face that kind of pressure, the courage to confront it all with nothing but a racquet and a will to win.

Matteo's hand moves from your knee to your hand, lacing your fingers together. His thumb continues to trace circles, and you feel the warmth of his palm against yours. "I couldn't do it without you," he says, his voice barely a murmur. It's a confession that hangs in the air, a stark reminder of how much he values your presence in his life.

You squeeze his hand in return, offering a gentle smile. "You've come so far," you reply, your voice soft. "I'm just happy to be along for the ride." The truth is, you are in awe of him, of the way he's carved out a space for himself in a world that's often cruel and unforgiving. You've watched him grow from a promising young player into a formidable force in the tennis world, and you know there's so much more to come.

Matteo's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see the doubt, the fear of failure that lurks in the shadows of his soul. It's a side of him that he rarely shows, but it's one that makes you love him even more fiercely. You know that with every victory, there's a voice in his head whispering that it could all be taken away, that he's not good enough. But you also know that's what drives him, what makes him the incredible athlete that he is.

"I've had my share of setbacks," he admits, his voice dropping even lower. "Injuries, losses that felt like the end of the world. But every time, I get back up. And every time, I play for you."

You look at him, really look at him, and see the weariness etched into the lines of his face. You know the toll his career takes on him, the relentless grind of travel and training that keeps him from a normal life. But in his eyes, you also see the fire that refuses to be extinguished. The same fire that ignites your own passion for life.

"You're more than just your tennis," you say, your voice steady. "You're my rock, my home."

Matteo's gaze softens, and he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. The gesture is tender, a stark contrast to the powerhouse he is on the court. His eyes, usually so fiery, are filled with a gentle warmth that sends a shiver down your spine. For all his talk of love for the game, you know it's your love that truly fuels him.

[game-set-canet]

i love your imagines! can i get one where berrettini's gf is a tennis player and her mom is very nagging and is stressing her out and he's there for her

Tower of strength

Pairing: Matteo Berrettini x f!reader

category: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: (bit of a) toxic relationship with a family member

Author’s Note: sorry it took me so long to write it but now i'm really satisfied with the result - i hope you like it as well😊 also: English isn’t my first language, so I’m very sorry for mistakes!

* Y/N = your name * Y/M/N = your mother's name

MY MASTERLIST

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

You love your mum.

You really love her but at the same time she is one of the main reasons why you can’t sleep properly before an important match.

Because before every match she talks hours and hours about how important it is for you to win the match. She was a tennis teacher when she was younger and before she was pregnant with your older brother. She was your very first tennis coach – back when you were 5 years old. And although you have professional coach now, she doesn't stop interfering with your training schedule, your practice sessions and your match tactics.

During the last practise before the start of the Australian Open (your current tournament), there even was a very heated argument between your mother and your coach Albert. When you then took sides with your coach, your mother was quite offended.

You can really say that the overall situation in your team is tense.

You sigh and lean against one of the many chairs in the lobby of your hotel. You’re currently waiting for your boyfriend who came up with the idea of a little sightseeing tour on your day off. Although you are really sad about Matteo’s situation, his injury gave you two the time to spend even more time together. He helped you with your preparation for the AO and didn’t leave your side since you and your team came to Australia.  

“Y/N! What are you doing here?”, suddenly your mother is standing next to you and looks at you indignantly.

You blink in surprise: “Uhm…I’m waiting for Matteo?”

Your mother shakes her head: “Why aren’t you on the tennis court?! You’re supposed to practice till 11 a.m.!”, she sounds quite angry.

“Yeah, uhm…”, you shallow and bite your lip, “but Albert had the idea to end the practise session early and booked the court for tonight at 6 p.m. again, so we can practice at evening’s conditions. He-“

You don't get a chance to explain Albert's decision, your mother immediately interrupts you energetically: “He can’t just end practice early! What is he thinking?!”

The other people in the lobby start to look at you, but quickly turn away as your mother angrily glares at them.

“Mum! He is my coach!”, you try to explain in a low voice, “He knows what best for me and-“

“Pha! He doesn’t know what’s best for you! I’m your mother and I know what’s best for you!”, now she is really angry, her expression is cold, “You’ll lose your match tomorrow if you don't practise!”

“But I did practise one and a half hours and tonight another hour and-”

“Do you really care so little about your match tomorrow and the whole tournament?”

You take a deep breath and try to give your voice a conciliatory tone: “Mum, please! I did practise! And I’ll practise again in the evening! But now I’ll spend some time with Matteo in the city and-”

She laughs hysterically and throws her hand in the air: “You can’t go into the city! You have to play tomorrow!”

You know that there isn’t much missing until your mother really starts shouting at you in this hotel lobby, but you can't just give in, you were so looking forward to the sightseeing tour with Matteo.

“Yes, but no earlier than 5 p.m.! Mum, I can’t just sit in the hotel the whole time…”

Your mother rolls her eyes, suddenly sounding really disappointed: “You should spend your time with preparing your tactics for the match against Rogers! And it wouldn’t hurt to already think about your round 2 match, it’s either Mertens or Davis and-”

“No, I'm definitely not going to deal with that today! Step by step! First I have to win against Shelby and then-“

“Stop talking back to me! If you don't do it right, you will lose, just like at the US Open - you'll see!”

You just can’t take it anymore – her words are hurting you. She won’t let you forget your (quite embarrassing) first round loss during last year’s US Open. She keeps remembering you of this match again and again. And it really hurts you. Because it feels like she’s making fun of you.

You can’t stop the next words coming out of your mouth: “STOP SAYING I WILL LOSE MY MATCH!”

You were way too loud. You know that almost everyone is looking at you now. But you couldn’t care less, you are focused on your jerky breathing and the blinking away of the tears in your eyes.

Your mother looks at you with a – in your eyes - mocking smile and repeats clear and loud: “But you WILL lose because apparently you don’t care for anything and-”

Suddenly a third person steps next to you and without looking up you know who it is.

“Ok, I think that’s enough!”, Matteo’s voice sounds friendly, even though there is a certainty in it, “Y/M/N, Sarah is waiting for you upstairs to discuss the dates for the photo shoot with Adidas.”, you feel Matteo's hand reaching for yours and squeezing it gently, “Y/N and I will do some sightseeing in the city and be back in three hours. After that, Y/N and I will go over tactics for tomorrow's match and then the evening practise session and a physio session.”, he politely smiles at your mother, “I think that's a good plan for a day off in the first week of a slam, don’t you think?”

Your mother hesitates a few seconds but nods her head slowly: “Maybe. But I’ll attend the practise session as well…not that Albert decides to cancel the training again.”, she is still angry but she’s trying to cover it.

You snort and hiss at her: “Albert didn’t cancel the training! He-“, a hard squeeze of your hand makes you fall silent, and you give Matteo an uncomprehending sideways glance.

But your boyfriend doesn’t pay attention to you, instead he nods – still with a smile: “Yes, of course, that’s a great idea that you will be there as well – I’ll text you the court number in the afternoon!”

“Good…”, suddenly your mother looks soothed and content again, “I’ll go and talk with Sarah.”

“Goodbye, Y/M/N. See you later!”, he even waves at your mother as she walks to the elevator at the other side of the lobby.

You both wait until you’re sure that she is out of earshot.

Then you turn to him with a jerk and grumble in annoyance: “Why the hell did you say that?! I don’t want her to attend my practise! She won’t stop talking about how bad my stops are at the moment…”, you sigh at your last words and lean against his left shoulder.

You don’t feel angry anymore. Just tired. Tired of dealing with your mother who stresses you out like no opponent and no final ever did.

Matteo puts an arm around your shoulder and presses a kiss on your hair: “I’ll be there as well. I make sure she won’t be too tiring and annoying.”

“And how do you want to achieve that?”, your voice sounds muffled as you have buried your face in his chest by now.

“I don’t know.”, you can feel him shrug, “Maybe I asked her what I did wrong in my career so far. That should keep her busy for at least an hour.”

“You’re an idiot!”, you jerk your head up and playfully smack him on the chest, “I love you!”

“And I love you too.”, he brushes through your hair with his right hand, tames some strands of hair that have come loose from your hairdo, “I love you so so so much that I even voluntarily deal with your mother.”, he smiles down to you and tilts his head, “Who can be really nice…I’m sure she can be. I mean…if you only spend an hour a week with her, she's nice, I'm sure.”

Now you can’t help yourself but start laughing at his words.

“Ohhh, she is laughing again!”, he exclaims excited and cups your cheeks with his hands, “My darling is laughing again!”

Your laughing turns into a smile and you pull him down to you to kiss him softly.

“Thank you for helping me deal with her…I know she can be very…”, you furrow your brows while searching for the right words.

Matteo throws in a few examples: "Stressful? Annoying? Scary?"

“I was going to say “special” but I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m.”, he grins at you, loosens the embrace and reaches for your hand, “Now let’s get going, I said we will be back in three hours!”

Yes, your mother can be very stressful but at the same time you have the very best boyfriend in the world.

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tagging: @bluetackbaby @lxndonorris @fedalev

[schumi-nadal]

After today’s defeat and Matteo’s withdrawal just minutes after, I’m doubting it. 👀😩

[giveafike]

I love Game, Set, Match! If you ever continue it, since the last time y/n was struggling with her game and Ben helped her out, maybe this time we can have Ben struggling and y/n helping him out

Combining this with another prompt for part 3 of game, set match - another anon said: I dont need u to make game, set, match a whole fan fic, but i would love to see a part 3 with them as mixed doubles partners in like the us open or something!! part 2 was amazing, so exited to see your next work regardless of the plot<3

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TLDR: Tennisplayer!fem reader x Ben Shelton couple meeting up after some time for an Opens Tournament after spending time away. They're set to play mixed doubles, Ben's got issues, we're cosplaying bob the builder the way we can fix this!

Word count + info: 6.3k! A bit shorter than the other two, but I promise it's more intimate! Dialogue (lots of flirting and teasing). Mentions of Matteo Berrettini & Ajla Tomljanović.

Character Inspo: Wbk by now: cheeky n playful MC - yk just... fun! I didn't write any specifications, but in my head I was envisioning Tyla so! But put whoever you want to cast ;). She's fallen hard in love here tho

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW, this is sooo cute. There is a lot of suggestive content here 😭 but nothing NSFW, teasing, playful relationship, lwky submissive Ben, hope I make u guys giggle!

Azzie Notes ✚: HI!! Last post for a bit (I'm still writing other things! Just taking a bit longer than expected - do send more reqs tho, I'm running low!) I LOVEEE writing Game, Set, Match - I'm so proud of this baby!

Do send in blurb reqs, I can push em out quicker than these longer stories. In saying that, I do have a couple in the works rn who knows? Maybe we'll have a new baby project on our hands.

Also, for anon asks + messages that aren't directly fanfics, follow #azzie asks for stuff bc I feel bad hoarding up space on the main tags for just anon convos. Should I do more of that? Do we want me to talk? Send qs and stuff if you do, otherwise I'll carry on w the usual fanfics and AUs.

I'd love to write a fanfic (SFW or NSFW) w a name and character description, like I could do SOOO much more, someone pls req, so I can storyboard and draft up stuff!!!

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Game, Set, Match (Part 3) - B.T.S

It had been weeks since you’d seen Ben.

With the WTA and ATP tours in full swing, your schedules pulled you in opposite directions, placing you both in different cities and on different courts. Your phones had been lifelines, but they only gave you fleeting sporadic late-night texts, quick phone calls, and longing video chats to keep you in contact.

But now, the separation was over, and the moment you stepped off the plane, a familiar rush of excitement bubbled up inside you, your heart raced, already knowing Ben was somewhere waiting for you.

You pushed through the terminal tunnel-visioned and suddenly, you saw him. Even in a crowded airport, Ben stood out. Tall, with his unmistakable athletic build, the brim of his hat tilted low, his lips were bitten as he scanned the crowd, his eyes locked on you the second he saw you. The world around you blurred, and Ben made his way toward you with long, determined strides.

Before you could even fully register the relief washing over you, his arms were around you, pulling you into his chest. His familiar scent filled your senses, instantly grounding you. Your arms were thrown over his neck, your face tucked into his neck as you held him tight, wondering how you had managed to last this long without his comforting touch.

“I missed you so damn much, Y/N,” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. One hand ran through your hair, the other smoothing your back.

You sighed into him, your hands rubbing his back, curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pressed yourself closer. “I missed you so much more”.

Ben didn’t waste any time. He tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both soft and intense like he was making up for every missed kiss over the last few weeks. His hand slid up your sides, slipping under your hoodie to rest against your bare skin. His touch sent a wave of warmth through you, and you shivered slightly from how badly you had missed the feel of him.

“You have no idea how hard it’s been without you,” he breathed against your lips, his thumb stroking along the small of your back as he kissed the corner of your mouth and then down the line of your jaw.

You smiled, but your voice came out softer than you intended, already melting against him. “I think I have an idea. I was struggling too.” Your eyes fluttered open and shut with each kiss he planted, your gaze roaming over his face, boring into the kindness in his sweet eyes. You reached up to peck his cheek in slow, lasting kisses.

Ben pulled back chuckling, just enough to look at you, his thumb coming up to brush over your cheek as he drank you in, like he needed to commit every detail of your face to memory. “I’m not letting you out of my sight now. I need you close, with me, all the time,” he whispered, his eyes big and soft with affection. “Not for a second.”

His intensity sent a wave of warmth through your chest, but you still managed a smirk, raising an eyebrow. He looked like a little kid, never wanting to let you go. “Not even for a second, huh? Okay, big guy.”

Ben grinned, his hand slipping back under your hoodie, fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he pulled you in for another kiss, one that promised more than just a reunion.

“We still need to get to the hotel,” you laughed breathlessly, playfully hitting his chest.

“Hotel’s first,” he said with a mischievous grin, dipping his head to brush his lips over your ear. “But after that…” He nipped lightly at your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. His hands crept higher under your hoodie, grazing the edge of your sports bra. “I’ve got some plans for us once you settle in.”

You laughed, squealing, swatting at him playfully. “Benjamin Shelton! Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I don’t think I can,” he murmured with a smirk, his lips barely brushing yours as he leaned in. “Not when you’re finally here.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pushed him away, heat rising in your cheeks. As you wheeled your bag toward the exit, Ben caught up, a boyish, gummy smile tugging at his lips as he stole the handle from your hands. His arm slipped around your waist, resting a little lower on your hip, a teasing glint in his eyes that promised he wasn’t quite done yet.

In the taxi, Ben’s clingy neediness only seemed to intensify, and you felt it in the way his hands couldn’t stay still. He pulled you closer, nearly into his lap, making it nearly impossible to sit normally in the seat.

His hands traced delicate patterns on your back, on your sides. His lips hovered near your ear, occasionally brushing against your cheek or neck, you could feel the smirk tugging at his lips, sending tiny shivers down your spine. Every kiss, every touch, felt like a quiet declaration, he missed you, he needed you.

“You seriously have no idea how much I’ve missed you, like, really bad. Like, losing my mind, bad,” Ben whispered, his voice thick with a mix of affection and urgency. His thumb brushed along your ribcage, slow and deliberate, like he was memorising the feel of you all over again.

You couldn’t help but smile, leaning back against him, feeling the warmth of his chest against your back. “Ben, darling, I’m getting an idea, with how handsy you’re being,” you teased, giggling as you glanced up at him. “You’re being so clingy, baby.”

Ben chuckled, not the least bit embarrassed. “Can you blame me?” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “I haven’t had you in my arms for weeks. I’ve been dying just to touch you for weeks. My beautiful, gorgeous girl, the woman that I love so much…now all mine in my hands again…”

His voice trailed off while he planted kisses as your breath hitched slightly at his praise, offering him a soft hum as his hands continued their slow exploration, fingertips skimming beneath the hem of your hoodie, teasing the edge of your waistband, roaming back up to toy with your sports bra. “Weeks, huh? You're acting like it’s been years.”

“Might as well have been,” he muttered against your neck, brushing your hair to one side gently, nipping playfully at your skin. “I don’t think I’ve gone this long without touching you since we started dating. I’ve been so desperate to just touch you.”

You giggled softly, your head tilting to the side to give him better access, your fingers resting against his arm. “Maybe I book more WTA tours away if this is the welcome I get.”

Ben’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, and he pulled you even closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Don’t even joke about that.” His lips brushed against your collarbone, his breath hot and deliberate. “You have no idea what you do to me when you’re gone, baby. I’m not letting you go far from me for a long time.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, ownership laced in his words. You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze, your fingers running along the edge of his jaw. You could feel Ben slowly start to get more desperate, his playful feathering kisses turning into something more permanent, sucking and biting softly as if to leave small, subtle marks on your skin.

“Oof, someone's possessive. Guess I’m stuck having to deal with you being all over me then,” you teased, though your voice came out softer, more breathless.

Ben grinned, his eyes deep with affection as he kissed you again, plunging this time, one hand slipping further up your back, underneath your hoodie. “You’re not exactly pushing me away, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, though you leaned into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” you murmured, your fingers brushing through his hair. “You’re too tempting.”

The taxi jolted slightly as it hit a bump, and you let out a quiet giggle breaking out of your bubble and swatting at his chest lightly, clearing your throat as you sat up. “Ben, the driver’s right there.”

Ben glanced over at the driver, who was politely staring ahead, before shrugging. “Doesn’t bother me.”

You let out a laugh, pushing lightly at his chest again. “Behave,” you said, though there was no real force behind the command. You were enjoying the attention far too much.

Ben hummed softly, his lips still brushing against your skin, hands roaming even more dangerously as he cupped your breasts under your hoodie. “Can’t help it. You’re here, and I’ve been deprived for too long.”

The playful banter continued all the way to the hotel, his hands wandering and gripping and his lips stealing kisses at every opportunity. By the time you arrived, the air between you was thick with the tension of weeks spent apart, and you could barely wait to get to your room. Ben grabbed your suitcase with one hand, the other arm firmly around your waist, guiding you through the hotel lobby with an almost single-minded focus.

As soon as you were in the elevator, the doors barely closed before Ben had you pressed against the wall, his lips crashing into yours, hands gripping your waist as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance between you. Your hands pressed against the wall to soften the sudden push, before snaking up to the nape of his neck.

“Ben,” you breathed between kisses, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “We’re almost there, hold on, babe..!”

“I know,” he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands sliding lower. “But I can’t wait, baby.”

By the time you reached the room, you were both breathless, your bodies pressed tightly together as you stumbled inside. Ben closed the door behind you, immediately pulling you into his arms again, his hands slipping beneath your hoodie, lifting it slightly as his lips found yours in a kiss that was slow and needy.

You smiled against his lips, finally breaking the kiss to pull back just enough to catch your breath. “You’re insatiable..!” you teased, gasping, though your own hands were wandering, tracing the familiar lines of his strong chest and shoulders.

Ben grinned, his hands slipping down to your hips, pulling you closer. “Only when it comes to my girl.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting your forehead against his as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re sweet.”

His lips brushed against yours again, but this time the kiss was gentler, more tender. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as he pulled you even closer. “I love you so much,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart swelled at the words, and you kissed him softly, letting the moment linger. “I love you too, Ben.”

For a few moments, you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world falling away. It was about the quiet comfort of being together again, of knowing that even after weeks apart, nothing between you had changed.

Finally, Ben broke the silence, his voice soft but playful. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your fingers brushing through his hair as you smiled. “I was actually going to ask you that. You’ve been here longer than me, did you manage to set up a practice match?”

He smirked, his hands slipping down to your waist again. “I did. We’re playing against Matteo and Ajla.”

Your eyes lit up with excitement, and you raised an eyebrow. “As in Berrettini? Matteo Berrenttini? That’s quite the practice match.”

Ben’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, and you could see the playful glint in his eyes. “Yeah? You sound a little too excited about that.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile as you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Well, have you seen him?”

Ben’s eyes squinted, his hands slipping lower as he pulled you flush against him. “Oh, so that’s how it is?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, resting your hands on his chest, teasing him. “I’m just saying... he’s a little distracting.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should give you something to distract you from him.”

You grinned, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I think my boyfriend is distraction enough,” you murmured, your lips brushing his in a soft, lingering kiss. “But if you want to make sure I’m focused...”

Ben smirked playfully, his lips capturing yours again, and you let out a soft laugh as he lifted you off the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he lifted your legs around his waist. “I think I can manage that.”

As you pulled back, breathless and grinning, you whispered softly, “You know I’m teasing. I love you, Ben. Everything feels right with you.”

Ben’s expression softened, his hands gently stroking your sides. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice full of affection. “More than you know. Feels like home with you in my arms.”

You planted a few soft kisses on his face before leaning into his ear, murmuring, "I still think you owe me a distraction though, Ben."

He chuckled, kissing your cheek. "That'll you get, darlin’ " he mumbled against you, bringing you to the bedroom. That night passed by in a blur of moments of pure, genuine love and care, making up for lost time and emotion.

The next morning, the air was cool and crisp, and the sun bright as you arrived at the court. It was a perfect day for tennis the autumn breeze a welcome break from the summer heat you had both endured on the tour. You could hear the hum of early risers in the distance, but out here, it felt like the world had shrunk to just you, Ben, Matteo, and Ajla.

The warm-up with Matteo Berrettini and Ajla Tomljanović had started off with an easy-going energy, but as the sets progressed, the friendly competition turned more intense. You and Ben moved together fluidly on the court, your bodies instinctively syncing as you read each other's movements, making quick glances, wordless nods, and smooth exchanges.

There were moments of effortless coordination with Ben's power serves and your swift returns combined to win quick points. It was no surprise to anyone watching how well you complemented each other, not just as a couple but as doubles players too. But despite your solid partnership, you noticed a subtle flaw in Ben’s play, something that had escaped both his attention and the growing tension in the practice game.

Between points, you caught the way Ben’s jaw clenched when a shot didn’t go as planned, or when a well-placed return from Matteo caught him off-guard, making him shake his head. It wasn’t that he lacked the skill, Ben was as powerful and talented as they came, but there was a rush in his movement, a drive to end points too quick and fast, a desire to out-muscle rather than out-think his opponent. He was pushing too hard, chasing shots aggressively when he didn’t need to, leaving himself out of position for the next exchange.

“Ben,” you called softly during a break between serves, approaching him with a playful smile, but your eyes scanned him thoughtfully.

He tilted his head, his sweaty curls brushing his forehead, and he flashed that bright grin that always made your heart skip a beat. “Yes, babe?”

You glanced over at Matteo and Ajla who were catching their breath on the other side of the court, then back at Ben. “You’re doing great,” you said, giving him a playful nudge, “but you’re leaving yourself open. You’re trying to end the point too fast, darling.”

His smile faltered slightly, the competitive edge still buzzing in his eyes, but there was a flicker of realisation too. “What do you mean?”

You took a step closer, placing a hand on his arm, letting your fingers gently trace down his forearm as if to soothe his tension and take the edge off of your suggestions. “You don’t have to go for the big finish every time,” you said softly, your voice tinged with affection. “Trust me to set you up.”

Ben blinked at you, clearly processing what you were saying. His eyes roamed over your face, then down to the feeling of your hand on his bicep, his expression softening as he began to understand. “You think I’m overdoing it?”

You smiled, leaning up to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, studying his eyes before you answered. “Hmm, a little teensy bit, yeah. Just play it a bit smarter. You know I’ve always got your back.” Your hand slipped down to pat his chest lightly, fingers lingering on his heart.

Ben let out a slow breath, his pride unshaken but his focus shifting. “Got it,” he muttered, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “Leave the setup to you, huh? My girl’s handling business?”

“Exactly,” you teased, giving him a quick wink. “I know what I’m setting up for my man.”

That last part clearly struck something in Ben, the pride swelling in his chest as you called him your man. His grin widened, a gleam in his eyes now, not from the competition but from the quiet confidence you had in him.

“Damn right, I am,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping lower so only you could hear. “Guess I’ll have to show you what your man can really do once I’m in.”

You gave him a soft swat on the arm, giggling. “Save it for the court, Benny. Or maybe later, when we’re off it.”

Ben chuckled but pulled you into a quick, possessive kiss, his lips lingering longer than they probably should have, given that you were still mid-match.

“Later then,” he whispered against your mouth, his hands lingering at your hips before he pulled away with a playful gleam in his eye.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Matteo called from across the court, his thick Italian accent laced with amusement. “You two ready, or should we leave you alone?”

Ajla laughed, shaking her head. “Pretty sure we all know how this match ends if they keep that up.”

You shot a playful glare at them, then turned to Ben with a smirk. “Think they’re jealous?”

Ben gave a quick shrug, flashing that cocky grin that drove you wild. “Who wouldn’t be? I mean, look at my beautiful girl.” He winked at you before jogging back into position, and your heart warmed at the ease and pride in his voice when he said it, his girl.

As the next point started, the flow between you and Ben seemed smoother. You both moved like two parts of a well-oiled machine, he focused on power and strategy, and you on finesse and setting him up for those big finishing shots. You watched him settle, taking more time with his positioning, trusting you to create the opportunities for him. And when that perfect moment came, his power unleashed with precision, and you saw the change in his eyes, a new level of control starting to blossom.

Ajla returned a lob shot, and Ben waited, patient, as you volleyed it back, setting him up. The moment the ball left her racket, Ben struck, sending it down the line in a clean, blistering shot that left both Matteo and Ajla flat-footed.

“Vamos!” Ben shouted, his voice full of triumph, his fist clenched, as the ball bounced out of reach. He turned to you with wide, triumphant eyes, rushing over to scoop you up in his arms before you could even blink.

“That’s my man,” you laughed as he spun you around, both of you laughing and riding the high of the win.

Ben pressed a quick kiss to your lips, still holding you in his arms. “Told you we’d make a good team.”

You could hear Matteo clapping slowly in mock defeat behind you, and Ajla was laughing, shaking her head in amusement. “Alright, alright, we’ll give it to you guys this time.”

You beamed at Ben, his arms still tightly around you, your face inches from his. “Always knew you had it in you.”

Ben grinned, his forehead pressing against yours as his voice dropped low. “Only ‘cause I’ve got you by my side.”

You and Ben had barely finished celebrating your win when Matteo and Ajla sauntered over, shaking their heads in defeat but still smiling.

“That was impressive,” Matteo admitted, clapping Ben on the back.

“Though, if you two keep up with the lovefest on the court, you might distract yourselves one of these days.”

Ben smirked, his hand casually resting on your waist as he pulled you closer. “Nah, we’re just that good. Plus, she keeps me in check.” He winked down at you, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his cheeky confidence.

Ajla gave you a knowing smile. “You guys are impossible. But alright, a deal’s a deal. Lunch on us."

You grinned, side-hugging her over the net. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As the four of you walked off the court, lighthearted banter filling the air, your mind was still on the way Ben had adjusted his play. He’d listened to you, adapted, and it had paid off. There was no denying the satisfaction that came with seeing him execute your advice perfectly. But you also knew that some things would need a little more fine-tuning and practice, and for that, a private session was definitely in order.

Later on, after lunch with Matteo and Ajla, you found yourself back in the hotel room as the sun set, both of you a little tired but still buzzing with energy from the match and the good company. Ben was sprawled out on the bed, scrolling through his phone, while you sat on the edge, absently bouncing a tennis ball against the wall in a rhythmic thud.

“Hey,” you said after a moment, glancing over at him. “How about we hit the courts again? Just the two of us. I think we could use some more time out there.”

Ben lifted his head, one eyebrow raised, a teasing twinkle already forming on his lips. “Oh? Didn’t get enough today?”

You smiled, looking back at him. “You’re getting better, Ben, but there are a few things we should work on. You were doing great out there with Matteo and Ajla, but I think we could sharpen up your positioning a little more.”

Ben set his phone down, sitting up now, fully intrigued. “Oh? You’re offering to coach me?”

You gave him a playful nudge. “Yeah. I know you want to be the best, and I can help you with that.”

His eyes brightened with interest, and he was up in an instant, hauling himself up off the bed with a grin. “Alright, coach. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The tennis court was empty when the two of you arrived, the evening air cool and crisp under the soft glow and hum of the stadium lights. Ben took his spot across from you, bouncing lightly on his feet, his signature cocky grin in place as he spun his racket in his hand.

You and Ben had the ball bouncing back and forth in a comfortable rhythm. You enjoyed these quiet moments together, where it was less about winning and more about the two of you syncing up, even if it meant some fine-tuning in his technique.

“Alright, coach,” Ben said with a grin, settling into a more relaxed stance. His playful tone was the same as ever, but there was something softer in his gaze tonight, he was taking you seriously, eager to work, eager to show off for you. “How are we doing this? What’s the game plan to make me even better?”

You leaned back on your heels, arms crossed as you eyed him. “Footwork first. You keep rushing when you don’t need to. Relax into it, be patient, trust yourself and you’ll find your rhythm.”

Ben nodded, his eyes locked on yours as he mimicked your movements. His focus was intense, but this time it was different from how he worked with his dad. Ben had always been a little impatient with Bryan, more concerned with power and quick sets.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was all yours, giving you his full attention, which stirred something more than pride inside of you. As you demonstrated, he followed suit, his footwork and his motion becoming more controlled with each drill. Every time your hand grazed his arm or adjusted his posture, Ben listened obediently, applying your feedback without his usual back-and-forth banter. That focus on your words, the sincere look in his eyes as he perked up to listen, sent sparks through you.

“Better,” you said after a solid rally, a proud smile creeping onto your face. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

Ben wiped his brow, a hint of pride in his expression. “Guess you’re a pretty good coach, huh?”

You grinned, shaking your head as you walked past him. “I’ve always been good at keeping you in line.”

The game continued, the ball bouncing between you both, the steady rhythm soothing and familiar. You pushed Ben to focus on positioning, drilling him on staying grounded before committing to a shot.

And then, after another smooth exchange where he hit every cue perfectly, the words slipped out without warning.

“There you go! Good boy.”

It hung in the air for a second, and you froze with a shocked expression on your face, realising what you’d just said. Your cheeks burned up instantly as you glanced at Ben. He had paused too, his face lighting up mischievously with a look that told you he was absolutely not going to let this go.

“Good boy?” he repeated, his voice low and teasing. “Is that how we’re doin’ things now?”

You rolled your eyes, pointing your racket at him trying to remain serious, already feeling your face grow warmer. “Benny, don’t start.”

But Ben wasn’t backing down. He sauntered toward you, his grin spreading wider as he closed the distance between you. “Oh, I’m definitely starting. Honestly? I think I like it when you call me that.”

Your heart quickened as he moved closer, his presence as effortless and warm as it was overwhelming. Ben had always been cheeky, but this? This was something else, and the worst part was you liked it. You liked how easily he fell into his role, how willingly he listened, and how obedient he was when it was you guiding him.

“Ben,” you warned, trying to play it cool even though the heat rising in you was impossible to ignore. “We’re still practising.”

“Oh, I know,” he smiled, his voice dropping an octave, making your pulse race. “But you have to admit, I’ve been followin’ your instructions pretty well. Don’t you think?”

Your breath hitched slightly as he moved even closer, his body nearly pressing against yours, the net being your safe haven keeping your space, his eyes glinting with that familiar, playful intensity. “Maybe I should keep bein’ a good boy, hmm?”

It was that line, delivered with a perfectly raised brow, that sent a surge of heat right through you. You hadn’t meant to say it, it just slipped out, a reaction to how well he was following your guidance, but now you couldn’t take it back. And now Ben was fully leaning into the moment, clearly enjoying how flustered he was making you.

You tried to recover, taking a small step back to regain some distance.

“You’re… getting there,” you cleared your throat, attempting to steer things back to tennis, though the words came out shakier than you intended.

Ben wasn’t having it, though. “Getting there? Come on, coach, I thought I was doing great.” He reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your waist, pulling you back just a little closer. You couldn’t help but suck in a breath, your body betraying the calm front you were trying to keep.

“Am I being good now?” he asked, his voice low, filled with amusement but also something heavier, something deeper. His teasing had shifted slightly, still playful but now layered with affection, and it made your head spin.

You swallowed hard, struggling to keep your composure. “Ben, you-”

“I’m listening,” he cut in smoothly, his lips dangerously close to your ear now, his voice lilting in his drawled-out voice, oozing off his tongue like molasses. “Just like you wanted. Don’t I deserve a lil more praise, hm?”

Your stomach flipped, and you couldn’t help the rush of heat, the buzzing feeling that flooded through you. He was teasing, sure, but he was also right. He had been listening, and the way he responded to your guidance, so open, so eager to improve for you, was doing things to your heart you hadn’t anticipated.

“Okay,” you said quietly, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. “You’re doing real good, Ben.”

Ben smirked, pulling back just enough to catch your eye, and the way he looked at you, both playful and sincere, made you feel completely undone. He raised an eyebrow as he caught your eyes with his, holding your gaze, expecting a bit more.

“You're a good boy,” you added softly, almost as if you were under a spell.

His grin widened, and in that moment, it was clear that you had lost this round. Ben had flipped the dynamic entirely, and though you were supposed to be the one in charge, he was now calling the shots, and it was thrilling.

And in the comfortable quiet of the evening court, with the world fading around you, Ben leaned in and kissed you softly. It wasn’t rushed or heated, just a simple connection, an acknowledgement of the easy rhythm you’d both fallen into.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes sparkled with that same teasing glint.

"Thought you were in charge here, darlin'," he mumbled softly, his twang teasing as he stepped closer, his dark brown eyes gleaming in the dim light of the court. There was something about the way he said it, that lazy confidence mixed with an undercurrent of playfulness, that sent heat straight through you.

You bit your lip, fighting back the urge to give him a sharp retort. But the way he was looking at you, all calm and patient like he had all the time in the world to enjoy how flustered you were, made your pulse quicken, made you squirm under him. The man knew exactly what he was doing.

And then, without another word, Ben leaned in and placed his hand to rest gently at the back of your neck, his fingers slipping through your hair, and you couldn’t help but melt into his touch as you both stared into each other's eyes.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, his lips just barely curving up into a cheeky smile. “Still wanna keep goin', or you ready to call it?”

Your breath hitched, but you managed to keep your cool, meeting his gaze with a sly smile. “You’re getting cocky, Benny."

His grin widened, and his voice dropped, nice and smooth. "Can't help it when you’re lookin’ at me like that."

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. “Fine, we’ll call it. But don’t think this means I’m going easy on you next time.”

"Guess I'll have to look forward to that, then," he said, his voice lingering just enough to make you smile.

As you both gathered your things and left the court, the night air cool against your heated skin, there was a sense of ease between you. He reached over, lacing his fingers with yours as you walked, and even though the teasing had subsided, the intimacy of the moment lingered.

A few days later, the stakes were higher, the atmosphere much more intense. You and Ben had practised with Ajla and Matteo in the lead-up to this match, but the reality of the Open, the weight of it, the pressure, was different.

As you stood side by side with Ben, gazing out at the packed stadium, the noise of the crowd buzzing in your ears, you could feel the energy crackling around you. This wasn’t just any match, this was what you’d been working toward.

The first set was fast-paced and intense, Matteo’s brutal serves and Ajla’s precision giving you little room to breathe. You and Ben barely kept up though while moving in sync, feeding off each other’s energy as you fought to stay in control.

When the set finally ended, narrowly in your favour, you both collapsed onto the bench, your breaths coming hard and fast. Ben leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring out at the court with that familiar, intense focus with a gel pack in his mouth you’d seen so many times before.

His brown eyes were dark, locked onto the lines of the court like he was reading every inch of it. He wasn’t the playful, adoring Ben right now. This was the side of him you admired most, the one who studied the game like it was an art form, completely absorbed in every detail, every strategy.

The sharp angles of his face were even more pronounced as he heaved, sweat glistening along his jawline as his gaze stayed locked forward. It was that quiet intensity, the way he seemed to block out everything but the game, that made him so magnetic out here. He was in his element, and it was captivating.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, still catching your breath as you watched him. He didn’t speak at first, keeping that unwavering focus on the court, his breathing steadying. You knew better than to interrupt when he got like this when that competitive side of him came out, Ben was locked in.

But after a moment, you leaned over, your shoulder brushing his, and gave him a soft nudge. “Hey.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and just like that, the tension melted a little. He smiled, soft and small, and you could see a flicker of the playful Ben you knew so well underneath all that intensity.

“You’re playing smart, Ben. Matteo’s a powerhouse, but you’ve been nailing those returns. Keep pushing him wide, make him work for it.”

He exhaled, nodding as your words sank in. "Yeah, you’re right." His voice low and a bit raspy from the heat of the match.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his hand brush against yours on the bench. “We’ve got this, okay? Just stay in the rhythm. I’m right here with you.”

He turned to look at you fully, and there it was, that gaze, the one that made your heart race every time. Dark brown eyes locked on yours, filled with trust and something deeper. “I know," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of the moment. "Ain’t no one else I’d rather be out here with.”

Before you could respond, the whistle blew, signalling the start of the second set. Ben stood first, turning to offer you his hand, and you took it without hesitation. There was a strength in his grip that steadied you, and as you walked back onto the court together, you felt that connection between you grow stronger.

The second set was even tougher and rallies longer, each point feeling like a battle. Matteo’s serves were punishing, and Ajla was relentless, but you and Ben had found your groove. He followed your lead, trusting your instincts, and every return, every volley, felt sharper than before.

And when Ben sent a sharp forehand just past Matteo’s reach to seal the match, the roar of the crowd was deafening.

You spun around, immediately finding Ben, and before you could say a word, he was there, lifting you off your feet in a tight hug, spinning you once before setting you down gently. His eyes, still sparkling with that competitive edge, softened as he looked at you, pride radiating from every inch of him.

“You did it!” you squealed, breathless from both the match and the rush of it all.

“We did it, babe” he replied, his accent thicker now, the exhaustion and adrenaline mixing in his voice. His sweet eyes held yours for a beat longer before he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

The crowd’s cheers only seemed to fade as you kissed him back, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. It wasn’t about the victory, not really. It was about everything that had led up to this. The trust, the hard work, the way you two moved together.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was teasing. “Guess that means you’re the gonna be coaching me after all this, huh?”

You laughed, your heart swelling with affection as you pushed at his chest lightly. “Don’t hold onto that just yet, Benny.”

He grinned, that familiar playful glint back in his eyes as he laced his fingers with yours. “Too late for that.”

As you both walked off the court, hand in hand, the crowd still roaring around you, you knew that whatever came next, whether it was another match or another late-night training session, you’d face it together. And that was the real win.

[royalsunshinehotel]

Kinktober: Headcanons (Day 7: Thigh Riding with Best Friend!Ravi, 18+)

Having Ravi as a best friend would be awesome, we see this on iZombie. 

However, there’s a day when things expand. 

This thigh riding expedition begins when you and Ravi are just hanging out, watching a tennis tournament because, if he won’t say it, Ravi likes at least one (1) sport. 

He’s tall, obviously, so I firmly believe that he would have gotten bothered to join a sport as a young person. 

But what he didn’t say was how hot the players were. Like, to the point where it must be a prerequisite for joining the sport. 

You tease him about one particular player, and you don’t quite see that you’ve struck a nerve. 

“Aw, are you hard for him?”

So what if he’s looking at the handsome Italian hitting balls hard, so what if he likes the muscular calves? 

Ravi tries to bite back, declaring your hard too, pointing at your chest.

And your nipples are hard, ratting you out. However, it’s not the TV.

“Bet your fuckin’ soaked too.” 

It’s almost automatic, “you wanna find out?” 

As best friends, the two of you share a look. The only facial expression that covers about fifteen emotions. Last time you two made that face at each other Ravi got detained at the Canadian border after a midnight ride to Alaska. 

This is much better though, you stand and he pulls your sweatpants down. It makes your hair stand on end, how easy it is for him to put you where he wants you. You feel Ravi’s dick twitch the second you make contact with his thigh, and he takes a firm grip on your jaw.  

It's unnerving, intense, and absolutely hot.

“Move,” he commands, and you do. You vaguely hear him calling you 'desperate' and laughing at you just a little bit.

He talks some trash about your ex and how tragic it was that you'd been in such a 'dry spell'

You correct him, saying you've been going it alone, and he says "that doesn't count" before pinching at your exposed clit.

Ravi, your best friend, can be mean when he wants to be.

He's also having a blast watching, his hands are digging into your ass as you lose control and fall off. 

He’s a good best friend, he catches you. 

And the Italian Stallion wins the match.

[blackjacktheboss]

Sophii! Not sure if you’re still receiving messages but did you watch the men’s Wimbledon finals? Not as exciting as I hoped but after a year… oh how I missed Wimbledon (and your fic)

idk what it is about Djokovic but he bugs the crap out of me lol he's one of the greats blah blah blah whatever but Mr. Matteo Berrettini?? talk about fun to watch (also he's half of a tennis couple and I love tennis couples). BUT BARTY?! I am still so happy for her, that's so killer. The Australians haven't had a Champion since 1980 dude my home girl is going in history books you love to see it

[lifeofpriya]

it's Hammer time 🔨🔨🔨

that's right, from now until Monday night (9/23), it is Matteo weekend!

as always, leave any cute and fluffy requests--either your own or from one of the prompt lists below. like last time, please be sure to tell me which prompt list you are using if you're requesting a prompt--it really helps me out with housekeeping

Food as a Love Language

Baby, I'm Yours

New Relationship

Friends to Lovers

Sleepy Romance

[lifeofpriya]

Face It Together - Matteo Berrettini

[gif credit goes to @janniksnr]

a/n: this fic was inspired by a conversation @2manytabsopen and i were having a few days ago and....well, here we are!

summary: not even a royal romance is easy, is it...?

"You know, it's always the quiet ones," the guard murmured to his companion as the two of you strolled through the castle gardens. His voice was a gentle rumble, a stark contrast to the crunch of gravel underfoot. You threw a playful smirk over your shoulder, the corners of your eyes crinkling with amusement.

"And why's that?" You asked, plucking a blooming rose and twirling it between your fingers.

Matteo, the 28-year-old Italian prince, watched you with a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "They're the ones who listen, who understand without needing to be told. They're the ones who notice the little things, who appreciate the subtle nuances of life."

You nodded, feeling the weight of the impending decision settle heavily in your stomach. The castle loomed in the background, a majestic structure of stone and ivy that had been your home for as long as you could remember. But it was also a prison, with its expectations and responsibilities. You were royalty, and soon you would be expected to marry, to strengthen alliances and ensure the continuation of the line.

Matteo's gaze followed yours, understanding the silent conversation passing between you. His smile faded into a look of solemn concern. "You know I'll support whatever you choose," he said, his voice gentle. "But I can't help but hope…"

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt the unspoken words hang in the air. You'd known Matteo forever, his friendship a constant in your life of royal protocol and political maneuvering. He was the one person who saw you, not the title, but the person beneath the crown. The realization that you didn't just want any partner, you wanted him, had been a revelation that both thrilled and terrified you.

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. The sun cast dappled shadows through the leaves, painting intricate patterns on his handsome face. "Matteo," you began, your voice shaking slightly. "There's something I need to tell you."

He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours for a clue to the turmoil within you. "Whatever it is, I'm here."

You took a deep breath, the scent of the roses heavy in the air. "Matteo, I've been thinking a lot about what the guard said." You paused, the words catching in your throat. "I don't know how to tell you this, but I've realized something important."

Matteo's eyes searched yours, a hint of worry etching lines on his otherwise youthful face. "What is it?"

You bit your bottom lip, feeling the heat of a blush rise to your cheeks. "I don't want just any partner," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "I want you, Matteo. I've loved you for so long, and I can't imagine a life without you by my side."

Matteo's eyes widened in surprise, the color draining from his cheeks. He reached out, taking your hand in his. His touch was warm and familiar, yet it sent a thrill through your body. "You do?" he managed to ask, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, feeling the gravity of your confession. "I know it's unconventional," you continued, "but I can't deny my feelings anymore. You're the only one who truly understands me."

Matteo's grip tightened on your hand, and you could see the hope blossoming in his eyes. "But what about the alliances, the expectations?"

You squeezed back, feeling a sureness that surprised even you. "I'll deal with it. I won't marry for the sake of the crown. I want to marry for love."

Matteo's smile grew, a warmth spreading across his face like the sun breaking through the clouds. "Love," he murmured, tasting the word as if it were the sweetest fruit. He stepped closer, until there was only a breath of space between you. "I love you too," he confessed, his voice raw with emotion.

Your hearts raced in unison as he reached up and brushed a lock of hair from your face. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine. "But how can we?" he asked, the question hanging in the air like the scent of jasmine on a summer evening.

You knew the obstacles were vast. The whispers of the court, the expectations of the people, and the stern looks from advisors who had never seen the world beyond their ledgers and parchments. Yet, you felt a fierce determination stir within you. "We'll find a way," you said, meeting his gaze with a steadiness that surprised even you. "We've faced challenges before."

Matteo searched your eyes, seeking the truth in your words. "But this is different," he protested, his voice filled with doubt. "This isn't about us sneaking out for a midnight swim or stealing cookies from the kitchen."

You nodded solemnly, feeling the weight of his words. "I know," you said. "But if we don't fight for this, we'll spend our lives wondering 'what if'."

Matteo studied you for a moment, his eyes searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he leaned in and placed a soft, tentative kiss on your lips. It was the first time you had ever felt such a thing, and the sensation was overwhelming. Time seemed to slow as the world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you standing there, hands entwined, hearts beating as one.

When he pulled back, his eyes were full of hope and love. "We'll do this together," he said firmly. "We'll find a way to make it work."

You nodded, feeling a rush of emotion that brought tears to your eyes. You knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, but you were ready to face them. Together.

The two of you walked back to the castle, your hands still entwined, the weight of your decision heavy in the air. The grandeur of the building loomed before you, a symbol of the responsibilities that had been thrust upon you since birth. But today, it felt less like a fortress and more like a prison holding you back from the life you truly desired.

Matteo squeezed your hand gently, offering silent reassurance as you approached the towering doors. "We'll tell them together," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble that made your heart race. You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the cool, crisp air of the early evening. The sun was setting, casting the world in a warm glow that matched the feeling in your chest.

You stepped into the grand hall, the echoes of your footsteps bouncing off the ancient stone walls. The space was alive with the murmur of courtiers and the rustle of silk gowns. You could feel their eyes on you, assessing and judging, but for once, you didn't care. All that mattered was the warmth of Matteo's hand in yours and the love that had blossomed between you.

Together, you approached the council chamber, where your advisors awaited. The heavy wooden door creaked open to reveal a room lined with stern faces and furrowed brows. The air was thick with the scent of candle wax and aged parchment. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the storm to come.

Matteo stood tall beside you, his hand still warm in yours. He offered a brief, encouraging smile before you stepped forward to address the assembly. Your voice was clear and steady as you spoke, announcing your decision to refuse the arranged marriage and instead choose a partner of your own heart. The room fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the fireplace.

The advisors' expressions ranged from shock to outrage, their eyes darting to each other in disbelief. The head of the council, a stoic man with a thick beard, leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled before him. "Your Highness," he began, his tone measured, "you are aware of the consequences of such a choice."

You met his gaze, the warmth of Matteo's hand a reassuring presence. "I am," you said firmly. "But I cannot live a lie for the sake of political expedience."

The room remained silent, the only sound the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Each second felt like an eternity as you waited for their reaction, the air thick with tension.

Finally, the council leader spoke, his voice as cold as the stone walls surrounding you. "Your Royal Highness, this is a grave decision. The alliances we have worked so hard to forge—"

You cut him off, your resolve unwavering. "I understand the gravity of this choice," you said, "but I will not sacrifice my happiness for the sake of those alliances."

The council exchanged uneasy glances, the air in the chamber growing colder. "Your happiness is not the sole concern of this court," another advisor interjected, his voice sharp as a dagger.

You raised your chin, feeling the weight of the crown you hadn't yet claimed. "Then perhaps it's time for the court to reconsider its priorities," you said, the steel in your voice surprising even you.

Matteo's hand tightened around yours, and you felt his silent support like a bastion at your back. His love was a shield against the icy stares and the whispers of scandal that were sure to follow.

"We're willing to find another way to maintain peace," you continued, your voice strong despite the tremor in your stomach. "A union based on mutual respect and affection, rather than one forced by duty."

The room remained still, the only movement the flickering of candlelight across the advisors' stony faces. The silence was deafening, filled with the unspoken accusations of betrayal and selfishness.

The council leader leaned forward, his eyes piercing. "And what makes you believe that Prince Matteo is the one you wish to share this 'union' with?" His voice was laced with skepticism.

You swallowed hard, feeling the eyes of the room on you. "Because," you began, your voice clear and firm, "I've known Matteo all my life. He's been my closest confidant, my dearest friend, and the person who has seen me through every hardship. Our bond is strong, and I believe that together, we can rule with compassion and wisdom."

The room was a tableau of disbelief, their expressions ranging from shock to anger. But you didn't waver, holding onto the warmth of Matteo's hand like a lifeline.

"Your Highness," the council leader began, his voice laced with a warning, "you must consider the implications of such a union. This is not a decision to be made lightly."

You looked into his eyes, feeling the weight of your crown pressing down on you, but you remained steadfast. "I am fully aware of the implications," you replied, your voice unyielding. "But I am also aware of the implications of a union devoid of love and respect. I refuse to enter into a marriage that would make me a pawn in someone else's game."

Matteo squeezed your hand reassuringly, his gaze never leaving yours. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with the unspoken words and the fear of repercussions.

"I stand with my decision," you said firmly. "I choose love over duty."

The council chamber was a whirlwind of gasps and murmurs as the advisors began to argue among themselves, their voices rising like a cacophony of displeased crows. You could see the fear and anger in their eyes, but you held your ground, drawing strength from the warmth of Matteo's hand in yours.

Matteo stepped forward, his posture regal despite the lack of a crown on his head. "I stand with them," he declared, his voice cutting through the din. "I am willing to offer my hand in marriage, to support and love them, to rule alongside them with honor and integrity."

The room grew quiet again, the only sound the crackling of the fireplace echoing off the high ceilings. The advisors stared at the two of you, their expressions a mix of disbelief and disdain. The council leader's jaw tightened, his eyes flitting between you and Matteo before finally settling on you.

"Very well," he said, his voice like gravel. "We shall consider your proposal. But understand, this is not the end of the discussion. There are many factors to weigh, and the council will not be rushed."

With that, the meeting was adjourned, and the advisors filed out, their whispers a hiss of serpents in the grand hall. You and Matteo remained, the heavy silence of the chamber pressing in on you like a velvet shroud.

"I can't believe we did that," Matteo said, his voice a mix of excitement and fear.

You offered a weak smile, your stomach in knots. "Neither can I."

Matteo pulled you into a gentle embrace, the warmth of his body a comfort in the cold room. "We'll face it together," he whispered into your hair.

You nodded, taking solace in the steady beat of his heart against your chest. The reality of your situation was setting in, the gravity of your decision weighing heavily upon you. But the feeling of his arms around you made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you could navigate the stormy seas of court politics.

[lifeofpriya]

Horror movie and cuddling prompt with Matteo

omg, i'm so sorry this took a little longer than expected! i hope the vision was there 🥺🫶🏼

Horror Night of Fun

wc: 2.1k

"Why don't we do something to ease your mind from the injury?" You suggest to Matteo as you both sit on the plush couch in your shared living room, surrounded by the aroma of the lasagna he had prepared earlier, the cheese still warm and inviting. The TV flickers, casting shadows across the walls, hinting at the horror movie marathon you'd planned for the evening.

Matteo looks at you with a hint of a smile, his brown eyes reflecting the glow of the screen. "Yeah, sounds good," he agrees, his deep voice rumbling with a sigh of relief. The past few weeks of intense training and physical therapy have left him drained, and you know he's been eager to escape into a world of fiction.

You both pick out your favorite horror flicks, a mix of classics and new releases. The popcorn is popped, the lights dimmed, and the curtains drawn to create the perfect ambiance. As the first movie starts, you feel a sense of excitement and comfort intertwine, the kind that only comes from sharing a simple, yet intimate, moment like this with someone you care about deeply.

Matteo's strong arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart. The sound of his breathing is a soothing rhythm against the backdrop of the horror movie's suspenseful score. The first jump scare makes you both jump in sync, and you can't help but laugh as you bury your face into his chest. His chuckle vibrates through you, his hand gently stroking your hair.

The evening progresses with screams and gasps, the popcorn slowly diminishing as you both become more engrossed in the macabre tales unfolding before you. Matteo winces at particularly gruesome scenes, his grip tightening around you, while you watch with a mix of fascination and fear. You find yourself looking at the doorways and dark corners of the room more often than the screen, the adrenaline from the movies making you jumpy.

As the third film begins, the atmosphere shifts, the tension on the screen bleeding into the quiet moments between scenes. The air is thick with anticipation, and you notice the way Matteo's hand moves from your shoulder to clasp yours, his thumb tracing comforting circles on your skin. You squeeze back, offering silent support as the horror crescendos.

The popcorn bowl sits forgotten between you, a few unpopped kernels scattered on the floor, crunching softly underfoot as you both get up for a bathroom break. In the hallway, you catch sight of the full moon casting eerie shadows through the window. You shiver, the coolness of the hardwood floor against your bare feet a stark contrast to the warmth of Matteo's touch.

When you return, the couch seems to have shifted, the cushions now slightly askew. You sit back down, closer to him this time, and he doesn't miss a beat, his arm wrapping around you again. The next movie is a psychological horror, the kind that gets under your skin and leaves you questioning reality. You watch as the characters make poor decisions, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten with each twist.

Matteo's hand moves from yours to rest on your thigh, his thumb idly drawing patterns. You look over and see his gaze is glued to the screen, but his posture has changed, his shoulders slightly more tense than before. You wonder if he's as affected by the film as you are. The silence in the room is only broken by the occasional rustle of the bowl or a muffled scream from the TV.

As the tension in the movie reaches its peak, you feel Matteo's heart racing, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath your cheek. You look up to find his eyes wide, pupils dilated, and a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. You can't help but smile at his vulnerability in the face of fictional horrors.

The film ends with a chilling finale, and you both let out a collective sigh, the silence now feeling eerie rather than comforting. You sit there for a moment, the adrenaline still pulsing through your veins, and then decide to break the spell with a change of topic. "You know, I've always wondered how you deal with the pressure on the court," you say, shifting to face him. "It's like a real-life horror sometimes, isn't it?"

Matteo nods, his expression thoughtful. "It's all about controlling your fear," he explains, his voice a little too serious for the casual question. "You have to channel it, use it to stay sharp. But it's nothing compared to what you see in these movies." He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes still reflecting the flickering TV light.

You lean in closer, your curiosity piqued. "But what if it were real?" you ask, your voice a playful whisper. "Could you survive a horror movie scenario?"

Matteo considers your question for a moment, his gaze drifting to the TV screen where the end credits are rolling. "I'd like to think so," he says, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "I mean, I can handle high-pressure situations pretty well."

You laugh, the sound a little too loud in the quiet room. "Yeah, but could you outsmart a serial killer?" You tease, poking him in the ribs.

Matteo's smirk turns into a grin, his eyes lighting up with the challenge. "Well, I've had to outthink my opponents plenty of times," he counters, gently poking back. "And let's not forget my quick reflexes. I'd make a pretty good final girl."

The comment hangs in the air, and you can't help but laugh, the tension from the films dissipating slightly. You grab the bowl of popcorn, now mostly empty, and toss it onto the coffee table. "Alright, Mr. Berrettini, let's put those skills to the test." You stand up and make your way to the kitchen, the sound of your bare feet echoing through the hallway. "How about we play a game?"

Matteo follows you, his curiosity piqued. "What kind of game?"

"A survival horror game," you reply over your shoulder, your grin mischievous. "I'll set up some obstacles, and you'll have to make your way through them without getting caught."

Matteo's eyes spark with excitement as he nods eagerly. "I'm in," he says, his competitive spirit clearly ignited.

You set to work, turning the living room into a mini horror maze. You grab the couch cushions and arrange them into a labyrinth, strategically placing lamps and chairs to create shadowy hiding spots. The curtains are drawn tighter, allowing only slivers of moonlight to seep through. You grab a flashlight from the drawer, flicking it on and off to add an air of suspense.

Matteo watches with amusement, his tall frame hunched slightly as he navigates through the makeshift obstacle course. His athleticism is evident even in the playful stalk of a predator, his muscles rippling beneath his t-shirt with each calculated step.

"Alright," you announce, your eyes gleaming with excitement. "You start in the kitchen, and I'll be the monster." You position yourself in the corner of the living room, the shadows enveloping you. "The goal is to reach the bedroom without me catching you. Ready?"

Matteo nods, a glint of determination in his eyes. He takes a deep breath and sprints into the dark hallway, the flashlight beam bobbing wildly as he weaves through the obstacles. You follow, moving with a silent grace that belies your usual clumsiness. The game is on.

The sound of your heart pounding in your ears mingles with the distant thud of his footsteps. You listen closely, trying to predict his movements. The flashlight beam sweeps past the couch, illuminating the floor briefly before disappearing again. You hold your breath, pressing yourself against the wall, your pulse racing.

Matteo's steps falter, and you know he's heard you. You can almost feel his eyes searching for you, so you slide into the next hiding spot, your heart racing. The shadows play tricks on you, making it hard to tell if he's closer or farther away. The tension in the room is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

You wait, your breath shallow and quick, listening for any clue to his whereabouts. Suddenly, the beam of light passes over you, and you freeze, holding your breath. For a moment, you think you've been discovered, but then he moves on, the light continuing its erratic dance across the floor. You exhale slowly, a silent laugh bubbling up in your chest.

You decide to make your move, slinking through the shadows towards the bedroom. Your bare feet are silent on the cold floor, your eyes adjusted to the darkness. The flashlight beam sweeps the room in a pattern that's becoming predictable. You time your steps with his movements, using the brief moments of darkness to dart between obstacles.

As you near the bedroom door, you hear the creak of the floorboards. Matteo's turned the corner and is approaching. You dive behind the armchair, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. The flashlight beam passes over you, so close you can feel the heat. He's just a few steps away, his heavy breathing audible in the taut silence.

You wait, counting the seconds, your eyes fixed on the sliver of light under the door. The beam of light lingers for a moment before retreating, and you know he's moving away. This is your chance. With the grace of a cat, you slip from your hiding spot and sprint towards the bedroom, the darkness swallowing you whole. You can almost feel the rush of air as the beam of light sweeps back towards you, but you're too quick.

As your hand reaches for the doorknob, a floorboard squeaks beneath your weight. You freeze, holding your breath, waiting for the inevitable. But the light doesn't return; the footsteps don't come closer. You exhale slowly, turning the knob with trembling hands. The door opens a crack, and you peer through, the moonlight from the open window casting a blue hue across the room.

You tiptoe in, the game now more thrilling than any of the movies you've watched tonight. The bedroom is a minefield of potential hiding spots, and you weave through the darkness, feeling your way to the bed. You can hear the soft thud of Matteo's footsteps growing distant, and you know you're almost there.

Suddenly, the flashlight beam pierces the darkness, and you dive behind the bed. The light sweeps over the room, casting eerie shadows on the wallpaper. You hold your breath as the beam lingers on the bed for a second, expecting the mattress to depress at any moment. But the light moves on, and you let out a silent sigh of relief.

Matteo's footsteps are closer now, his heavy breathing a constant reminder that the game isn't over. You peek over the bed, watching as he checks the closet and under the bed, his face a mask of concentration. The sight of his muscular build and intense focus sends a thrill through you, blurring the lines between the game and reality.

"Got you!" You giggled as you jumped from behind the bed, throwing a pillow at Matteo. He yelped, dropping the flashlight in surprise, the room plunging back into darkness.

Matteo's hand shot out, catching the pillow mid-air, and in one swift move, he tossed it aside and grabbed you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck as he whispered, "You're not getting away that easily!" His laughter rumbled through his chest, the sound sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

You struggled playfully in his arms, your giggles bouncing off the walls. "Let me go, you big scaredy-cat!" you exclaimed, trying to wriggle free. His grip tightened, and he swung you around, spinning you in a dizzying circle before finally setting you down. The room spun for a moment, and you had to lean against the bed to steady yourself, a smile playing on your lips.

The flashlight rolled away, the beam casting erratic shadows on the ceiling. The game was forgotten, the line between horror and reality blurred by the exhilaration of the chase. In the dim light, you could see the glint of excitement in Matteo's eyes, the same look he got during a tight match. His hand found yours, his fingers warm and reassuring.

"Maybe we should call it a draw," he suggested, his breath warm against your ear. You nodded, your heart still racing from the adrenaline. "Or maybe we should just enjoy the victory," he murmured, pulling you closer.

You turned to face him, the moonlight now the only source of illumination in the room. His eyes searched yours, the playfulness of the game giving way to something more profound. He leaned in, and you could feel the anticipation of his kiss. His lips met yours, soft yet insistent, the taste of the salty popcorn lingering.

[lifeofpriya]

person A finds person B asleep at their desk, papers scattered everywhere. Smiling softly, person A drapes a blanket over person B's shoulders and places a gentle kiss on their forehead, whispering, "You need to rest more prompt with Matteo, make it cute

hopefully i delivered with the cuteness 😩

Rest More

wc: 1.7k

The room is still, save for the ticking of the antique clock hanging above the fireplace. It's late, the kind of hour where shadows play tricks on the walls, stretching and contorting into shapes that dance just beyond the periphery of your vision. The scent of old books and faint hints of vanilla from the candle you had been burning earlier fills the air, creating a cozy cocoon around the worn leather chair you've claimed as your favorite. The moon casts a soft, silvery light through the windows, illuminating the dust particles that float lazily in its path.

Matteo steps into the study, his eyes immediately drawn to you. You're hunched over the desk, papers scattered like leaves in a storm, your head cradled in your arms. The glow of the computer screen casts a bluish hue on your exhausted face. You're lost in a world of words and numbers, so engrossed that you haven't noticed him come in. He watches you for a moment, his heart swelling with affection.

He approaches you quietly, not wanting to disturb your concentration. The floorboards don't even creak under his footsteps; he's a silent spectator in the theatre of your nighttime ritual. As he gets closer, he notices the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft snore that escapes your lips every few seconds. You're asleep, a casualty of the battle against the deadline. The sight brings a smile to his face, one filled with warmth and a hint of amusement.

Matteo walks over to the sofa and picks up the blanket that you had left there earlier. It's warm from your body heat, still holding onto the faint scent of your skin. He carries it over to you, taking care not to knock over the precarious tower of books and notes that threaten to topple with the slightest disturbance. With a tender touch, he drapes the blanket over your shoulders, tucking it in around you like a cocoon. The gesture is one of protection, of care.

"You need to rest more, amore mio, you're pushing yourself too hard," Matteo whispers gently as he smooths a stray lock of hair from your forehead. His voice is like a soft breeze, a soothing balm to your weary soul. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, his warm lips lingering for a moment before retreating. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you stir slightly under the blanket.

The cool metal of the pen in your hand clatters to the desk as your grip loosens. The sudden noise jolts you awake, your eyes snapping open to find Matteo's concerned gaze. You blink a few times, the sleep slowly dissipating from your eyes. "Matteo?" you murmur, your voice thick with slumber. He chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he says, his voice low and comforting. "You were working too hard again. I just wanted to make sure you're okay." His hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. His touch is feather-light, but it grounds you, bringing you back to the present moment.

You blink up at him, your eyes adjusting to the moonlit room. The smile on his face is like a beacon in the darkness, warming your heart. "Thank you," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. The words come out as a sigh of contentment as the warmth of the blanket and his nearness envelop you.

Matteo's eyes never leave yours as he takes a step closer, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "Come to bed, tesoro. You've earned some rest," he urges, his voice a gentle coax. You nod sleepily, not quite ready to move from your makeshift nest.

With a soft groan, you sit up, the blanket sliding down to reveal the wrinkled fabric of your shirt. The room spins briefly as the blood rushes to your head, but Matteo's hand is there, steadying you, his fingers strong and reassuring against your skin. He helps you stand, your legs wobbly like a newborn fawn's. The floor seems to tilt, but his presence is an anchor, keeping you upright.

As you shuffle out of the study, the floorboards protest underfoot, a symphony of quiet creaks that echo through the silent house. The hallway is a blur of shadowy shapes, but his hand in yours is a guiding light. The soft padding of your socks against the cool wooden floor is comforting, a stark contrast to the frigid grip of the chair you had been occupying.

Matteo leads you into the bedroom, the sanctuary where the scent of your shared life mingles with the lingering aroma of freshly laundered linen. The bed, a sea of white sheets and plush pillows, beckons you with its promise of rest and reprieve. He helps you sit on the edge, the softness of the mattress a stark contrast to the unforgiving hardness of the desk you've been leaning against for hours.

You lean into him, his solid form a comforting pillar in the moonlit room. His arms wrap around you, lifting you gently, and he carries you to the center of the bed. The act is so intimate, so filled with care, that you feel a swell of emotion in your chest.

The bed envelops you as he lays you down, the sheets cool against your overheated skin. You burrow into the pillow, your eyes drifting shut once more as fatigue pulls at you like a siren's call. But you fight it for a moment, wanting to savor his presence.

Matteo pulls the blanket up to your chin, his fingers lingering for a beat longer than necessary. His gaze sweeps over you, memorizing every line and curve of your face, the way your hair fans out on the pillow. He leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his warm breath a soft whisper against your skin. "Rest now," he whispers, his voice a gentle command.

You feel the weight of his hand as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The bed dips slightly as he sits beside you, his warmth radiating through the fabric of his shirt.

"Matteo," you murmur, your eyes still closed.

He leans in closer, his breath a soft caress against your cheek. "Mm?"

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice a mere thread of sound. "For everything."

Matteo's eyes shine with affection, a smile playing on his lips. "Anything for you," he replies, his voice a soothing rumble. He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth, the gesture sweet and tender. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel the warmth spread through your chest like a warm cup of hot cocoa on a winter's day.

He stands up, and you watch him for a moment, his silhouette framed by the moonlight streaming through the window. His tall, muscular frame is a stark contrast against the softness of the bed. He reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, and the room is bathed in a soft, warm glow. The shadows retreat, but the intimacy of the moment remains.

Matteo strips off his shirt, revealing the tapestry of tanned skin and corded muscles from his day on the tennis court. You can't help but admire him, the way his shoulders taper to a narrow waist, the way his biceps flex as he folds the garment and places it on the chair. He catches your gaze and winks, a playful smirk lighting up his features as he takes his jeans off and grabs a pair of sweatpants from the dresser before pulling them on.

He slides into the bed beside you, the mattress sighing in response to his weight. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones during your vigil at the desk. His arm wraps around you, and you snuggle closer, feeling the steady thump of his heart against your back.

The room is bathed in a serene quiet, with only the sound of his breathing and the distant hum of the city outside to keep you company. His hand moves gently up and down your arm, a soothing rhythm that lulls you closer to sleep. You can feel the tension in your shoulders start to dissolve, the knots in your neck loosening their grip.

You roll over to face him, and his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until your bodies are pressed together like two pieces of a puzzle. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm that mimics the calming beat of a lullaby. You place a hand over his heart, feeling the reassuring thump beneath your palm.

His eyes are closed, his breaths deep and even, but you know he's not asleep yet. "Matteo?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. He opens one eye and looks at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"What is it, tesoro?" he responds, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through his chest and into you.

You chew on your lower lip, considering your words carefully. "I love you," you finally murmur, the words slipping out like a secret shared in a sacred place.

Matteo's smile widens, a soft light entering his eyes. He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. "And I love you," he whispers, his voice filled with sincerity that resonates through the quiet room.

The silence between you is peaceful, filled with the unspoken understanding that comes from knowing someone deeply. His hand moves to the back of your neck, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair in a way that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. "You need to take better care of yourself," he says, his voice a gentle scold.

You smile sleepily, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. "I know," you admit, the words muffled by his skin. "But the deadlines…"

Matteo's grip tightens for a moment before he sighs. "I know, amore. But your health is more important." His voice is firm, but the affection in his tone leaves no room for argument. You nod slightly, feeling the weight of his words.

He leans in to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair. "Get some sleep," he whispers. "Tomorrow is a new day, and I'll be here to help you tackle it." With that, his hand relaxes, his fingers still playing with the strands of your hair. His touch is comforting, lulling you into a state of tranquility.

[lifeofpriya]

>:) can I request ⋆ “i know you said you weren’t hungry, but i made you something anyways.” for Matteo weekend please - @berretteeny

you got it 🤭🫡🫶🏼

Italian Feast

wc: 2.2k

"You know what I could really go for right now?" you muse, idly flipping through the TV channels.

Matteo glances up from the couch, a quizzical expression playing on his handsome features. His eyes were the color of freshly brewed espresso, and the stubble was just the right amount of scruffy to be charming. "What's that?"

You laugh, a bit embarrassed by your own randomness. "Oh, nothing. Just a craving."

Matteo sets the TV remote down and leans in closer, curiosity piqued. "Come on, tell me. Maybe I can whip it up for you."

You hesitate, not wanting to be a bother. But the way his smile widens, the genuine warmth in his voice, makes it impossible to resist. "Well, if you're sure you don't mind… it's just that I've been craving some pasta. But it's not like I'm hungry or anything."

Matteo's grin turns into a full-fledged smile, his teeth gleaming in the soft light of the room. "Pasta it is," he declares, jumping up from the couch with surprising agility for someone of his size.

He's 6'5" and built like a Greek god, all muscles and power. In the kitchen, he starts rummaging through the cabinets with an ease that suggests he's done this before. You follow him, intrigued by his sudden enthusiasm.

"Do you cook often?" you ask, leaning against the counter.

Matteo looks over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling. "I enjoy cooking, yes. It's therapeutic, like a good match of tennis. Plus, growing up in an Italian household, it was a survival skill."

He pulls out a box of spaghetti and a jar of marinara sauce that looks suspiciously homemade. The kitchen is suddenly filled with the comforting aroma of garlic and basil as he starts to prep the meal. You watch as he handles each ingredient with care, his large hands moving with surprising grace.

"Why don't you sit back down and relax," he suggests, nodding towards the couch. "I've got this."

You obey, feeling a peculiar mix of excitement and anxiety. You've never seen Matteo cook before, and the idea of him preparing your favorite dish is both thrilling and slightly nerve-wracking. You watch as he fills a pot with water and sets it to boil, the flame beneath it flickering in the quiet of the apartment. The kitchen isn't large, but he moves around it with the confidence of a seasoned pro.

Matteo opens the jar of marinara sauce, and the rich scent of tomatoes and herbs fills the air. He stirs it gently in a pan, letting it heat up slowly. You can see the anticipation in his movements as he slices fresh mozzarella and chops a handful of basil leaves. The sound of the knife against the cutting board is rhythmic and soothing.

The water reaches a rolling boil, and he tosses the spaghetti in, the pasta disappearing for a moment before resurfacing. The bubbles dance around the noodles as they cook, the sound a comforting backdrop to the sizzle of the sauce.

You can't help but admire the way his forearms flex as he stirs the sauce, the muscles rippling beneath his skin. His focus is intense, yet there's a gentle rhythm to his movements that's mesmerizing. You've seen this intensity on the tennis court, but in the kitchen, it's different—it's personal, intimate.

As the pasta reaches al dente, Matteo carefully drains it, twirling the noodles in the colander with a skill that seems almost artful. The sound of the water hitting the sink is the only thing that breaks the quiet. He returns to the stove and combines the pasta with the sauce, the strands of spaghetti coating evenly in the rich, red liquid.

The aroma of the meal fills the room, and despite your earlier protests of not being hungry, your stomach starts to rumble. The sight of steaming hot pasta topped with a generous helping of cheese and fresh basil is too tempting to resist.

Matteo graciously plates your serving, the steam rising from the spaghetti creating a momentary fog around the plate. He carries it over to you, setting it down on the coffee table with a gentle thud. The rich, warm scent wafts up to your nose, making your mouth water.

"I hope you like it," he says, his voice low and a bit nervous. You can't help but smile at his earnestness.

"It looks amazing," you reply truthfully. The plate is a masterpiece, the spaghetti perfectly coated in sauce, and the cheese melted just right. You pick up your fork, twirl it around a few noodles, and take a bite. The flavors explode in your mouth, a symphony of salt, sweet, and umami. "Matteo, this is incredible," you murmur, eyes closing in pleasure.

He watches you intently, his expression a mix of relief and pride. "You really think so?"

You nod, your eyes still closed as you savor the mouthful. "It's heavenly," you manage to say before opening your eyes to find him beaming at you. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the heat of the stove or the satisfaction of your compliment, you can't tell.

Matteo sits down next to you, his own plate balanced on his lap. "It's not exactly like nonna's, but I try."

You laugh, swiping a piece of crusty bread through the sauce on your plate. "It's better than any restaurant I've been to," you assure him, taking a bite. The bread is toasted just right, the crunch giving way to a soft, warm center that soaks up the sauce.

Matteo relaxes, his shoulders dropping slightly. He takes a bite of his own pasta, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he savors the flavors. The silence between you is companionable, filled with the comforting sounds of forks clinking against plates and the occasional sigh of contentment.

The room feels cozier than ever before, the warmth from the stove mingling with the gentle glow of the pendant light above the dinner table. You can't help but notice the way his eyes light up as he watches you enjoy the meal. It's clear that cooking for you means something to him, and you appreciate the effort he's put into making your evening special.

As you continue to eat, you ask him about his day, his training, and his next match. He talks enthusiastically, gesturing with his free hand as he describes the nuances of his game, the strategies he's working on, and the rivals he's eager to face. You listen, entranced by his passion, feeling a swell of pride that this successful, charismatic man has chosen to share this quiet moment with you.

The conversation drifts to your own life, and you find yourself opening up more than you usually do. You talk about your job, the challenges you're facing, and the dreams you have for the future. He nods thoughtfully, offering advice where he can, but mostly just listening. His presence is comforting, his understanding unspoken but palpable.

As you clean up the dinner dishes together, the kitchen feels more like a shared space than it ever has before. The warm water of the sink contrasts with the cool porcelain, and you both laugh as soap bubbles tickle your hands. The air is charged with a newfound intimacy, and you find yourself stealing glances at his profile as you dry the plates.

Matteo rinses the last of the pans, his biceps flexing with the effort. He turns off the faucet and dries his hands on the dish towel, then leans against the counter, looking at you. "Would you like some gelato?"

You nod, feeling the warmth of the meal spread through your body. "That would be perfect," you say, your voice a little softer than usual.

Matteo disappears into the freezer and returns with two small cups of gelato, one mint chocolate chip and one stracciatella. He holds them out to you, his eyes questioning. "Which one?"

You choose stracciatella, the creamy vanilla base with chocolate shavings swirling through it. The coldness of the gelato feels refreshing on your tongue, the perfect ending to the hearty pasta. You sit back down at the dinner table, the remnants of your meal pushed aside to make room for dessert.

Matteo takes the mint chocolate chip and sits down opposite you. The minty scent fills the air, mixing with the lingering aroma of garlic and basil. You watch as he takes a tentative lick, his expression contemplative. "This is good," he says, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, a question in his gaze.

You smile and take a spoonful of your own gelato, the coldness a welcome shock against your taste buds. The chocolate flakes dance on your tongue, a delightful contrast to the velvety vanilla. "It's perfect," you reply, savoring the sweetness. The conversation resumes, a gentle ebb and flow of shared experiences and stories, the kind that only comes from people who are genuinely comfortable with each other.

Matteo's laughter echoes in the kitchen, his eyes lighting up as he recounts a mishap from one of his early tennis tournaments. You find yourself leaning in, hanging onto every word, the gelato forgotten for a moment. His tales of perseverance and passion resonate with you, reminding you of your own journey.

The clinking of spoons against the gelato cups brings you back to the present. The dessert is almost gone, the only evidence of your indulgence the small puddles of melted ice cream. You both sit in comfortable silence, the occasional dribble of mint or vanilla onto the table the only sound. The room feels alive with the shared warmth of good food and better company.

Matteo sets his empty cup aside, his gaze lingering on you. "Thank you for letting me cook for you," he says, his voice earnest. "It's not often I get to do something like this."

You smile back, feeling a warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with the gelato. "It was amazing," you reply. "Seriously, you should open your own restaurant."

Matteo chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Maybe one day," he says, his voice trailing off as he looks at you with a thoughtful expression. The silence stretches out, filled with unspoken meaning.

You both stand up, the chair legs scraping gently against the hardwood floor. He takes your empty gelato cup, placing it in the sink with a clink. The kitchen is a mess of pots and pans, but somehow it feels cozy, like a space well-used and loved.

"Let's leave the rest for tomorrow," Matteo says, his eyes lingering on the mess for a moment before meeting yours. "It's been a long day for both of us."

You nod, suddenly aware of the tiredness weighing down your eyelids. The intimacy of the dinner, the shared laughter and stories, have created a bond that feels fragile yet strong. You follow him into the living room, where the couch beckons like a soft cloud.

Matteo grabs a blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over your shoulders. The gesture is so natural, so caring, that it sends a shiver down your spine. He sits next to you, close but not too close, his thigh brushing against yours.

You lean into the cushions, feeling the warmth of the blanket seep into your skin.

"Would you like a movie or something?" Matteo asks, his voice low and inviting.

You shook your head slightly, the comfort of the blanket and the food making you feel more content than you had in a long time. "No, I think I'd just like to sit here with you for a bit," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Matteo nods, understanding in his eyes. He grabs the remote and turns off the TV, the room plunging into a quiet darkness that's only pierced by the faint glow of the streetlight outside. He leans back onto the couch, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, a warm presence beside you.

You both sit there, the only sound the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. The silence isn't uncomfortable; it's filled with a comfort that you haven't felt in a long time. You're aware of the rise and fall of his chest, the subtle scent of his cologne, and the way his hand rests on the arm of the couch, so close to yours.

Without a word, you reach over and take his hand, your fingers threading through his. His skin is warm, the calluses from his racket a gentle reminder of the life he leads. He looks over at you, surprise and something else—something more profound—flitting across his features before he squeezes your hand gently.

The moment stretches, filled with the quiet understanding that often comes after sharing a meal. The air feels charged with a tension that's both exhilarating and calming. You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. His arm comes around you, pulling you closer, and you let out a contented sigh.

Matteo's thumb traces circles on the back of your hand, sending little shivers down your spine. You've known him for a while, watched his matches, admired his skill, but this side of him—this gentle, nurturing side—it's like discovering a new facet of the sun. You've never felt so seen, so understood.

[lifeofpriya]

(on facetime) "i'm so lonelyyyy, i can't live the single life anymore, _____." "🙄" "DID YOU JUST ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME??" "YES." From friends to lovers bc please sassy matteo would be the death of me

aye, aye, bestie 🫡 let us begin Matteo weekend!!!!

The One in Front of You

wc: 2.2k

"Come on, you're not still hung up on that, are you?" A smirk played on Matteo's lips, his eyes sparkling with mischief as they stared at you through the screen of your phone. The background was a blur of hotel corridors and flashing lights, evidence of the glamorous tennis tournament he was currently competing in. You, on the other hand, sat on your couch, swaddled in blankets with a pint of your favorite ice cream slowly melting by your side.

You rolled your eyes, the gesture lost on the screen, but the tone of your voice made it clear. "It's just…I'm tired of being the third wheel, you know?" The words felt heavier than usual, and you weren't sure if it was because of the conversation or the coldness seeping from the ice cream onto your fingertips.

"I'm so lonely!" You drew out the last syllable for dramatic effect, pouting into the phone. Matteo's laughter bubbled through the speakers, warm and rich, a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. "Don't laugh at me, Mat! I can't live the single life anymore."

Matteo rolled his eyes, his thick dark lashes momentarily obscuring the playful twinkle in his gaze.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" You gasped, scowling at the Italian.

Matteo chuckled, leaning closer to the screen. His olive skin glowed under the harsh lights of the hotel corridor, and his curly hair looked like it had been ruffled by the wind of his laughter. "Yes. Yes, I did. But only because you're being so dramatic!"

You couldn't help but laugh too, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. "Fine, fine. But seriously, I want to find someone. Someone to share Netflix passwords with, someone to hold hands with at the movies, someone to just…be with."

Matteo's expression grew more thoughtful as he leaned against the wall, his muscular frame casting a shadow on the plush hotel carpet. "You know, you're always looking for someone to complete you, but maybe you're already whole. Maybe you're just looking for someone to complement the amazing person you already are."

You stared at him, the spoonful of ice cream halfway to your mouth, frozen in place. "Thanks, that's sweet of you to say, but I just…I want to experience love, you know?"

Matteo nodded, his smile fading a bit. "I know what you mean. But maybe you're looking in the wrong places." He paused, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "Why don't you come to one of my matches? You might just find someone in the crowd."

"Yeah, right." You chuckled, but the idea was tempting. The energy of a live tennis match could be exhilarating, and you hadn't seen Matteo play in person for a while. "But what about you? You're always traveling. How do you manage to date?"

Matteo shrugged, his eyes dancing. "I make it work when I can. But honestly, I've been too busy with the tour to focus on that kind of thing. Plus, I've got you to keep me company." His tone grew teasing again.

You felt a warmth spread through you, the kind that had nothing to do with the room's thermostat. "Yeah, I guess you do." You took a bite of your ice cream, the sweetness and coldness a pleasant contrast to the warmth in your cheeks.

Matteo's gaze grew more intense as he watched you, his thumb idly stroking the phone screen. "Why don't you let me take you out on a date?" The question hung in the air, as unexpected as a rainbow in a cloudless sky.

Your heart skipped a beat, the spoon clattering against the bowl. "What? Me?" You blurted out, the ice cream suddenly forgotten.

Matteo's eyes searched yours, his playful smile replaced by something more earnest. "Yes, you. Why not?"

You sat there, stunned. Your friendship with Matteo had always been the kind that made people question if there was something more, but you had never allowed yourself to consider it. He was your rock, your confidant, the person who knew you better than anyone else. And now he was asking you out?

"I…I don't know," you stuttered, the spoon hovering in front of your mouth. "We're friends. Best friends."

Matteo's smile grew, reaching his eyes. "And who says friends can't date?" He winked, his cheek dimpling in a way that made your stomach flip-flop. "Besides, think of it as an adventure. A break from the usual routine, and who knows? Maybe we'll find that spark we've been searching for all along."

You felt a mix of excitement and nerves. This was uncharted territory for the both of you. But the thought of spending an evening with Matteo, not just as friends but as… something more, was tantalizing. "Okay," you said slowly, your voice a little shaky. "But let's keep it low-key. Just dinner, nothing crazy."

Matteo's eyes lit up. "Deal. I'll make sure it's a night to remember." He clapped his hands together, his enthusiasm contagious. "Now, let's talk about what you're going to wear. You can't show up looking like you just rolled out of bed!"

You playfully glared at him, your cheeks growing warmer. "I do not look like that!"

Matteo raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with fake innocence. "Oh, really? Then what are those blankets doing?"

You rolled your eyes again, this time smiling. "Fine, I'll wear something nice." You took another bite of ice cream, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing.

"That's more like it," Matteo said, satisfaction lacing his words. "But don't go overboard. I want to take you somewhere special, but I don't want you to feel like you have to impress me. You already do, just by being you."

You felt a warmth in your chest, a feeling that was both comforting and exhilarating. "Okay, okay, I'll find something in between sweatpants and a full on black tie outfit," you joked, and he laughed, the sound echoing through the line.

The conversation flowed easily as you discussed the details of your upcoming date. The nervousness bubbled under the surface, but the excitement kept it from overwhelming you. Matteo suggested a quaint little Italian restaurant in the heart of the city, a place that had been his go-to spot for quiet nights out when he was in town. You had heard of it before, but never had the chance to visit.

Days passed in a whirlwind of anticipation. You found yourself scrolling through your closet, trying to decide on the perfect outfit. You wanted to look good, but not like you were trying too hard. The balance between friend and date was a delicate tightrope that you hadn't quite mastered. In the end, you settled on a simple yet elegant outfit.

The night of the date arrived, and you couldn't help but feel a knot of nervousness in your stomach. You checked your reflection in the mirror one last time before leaving your apartment. The outfit was a hit, you decided. You stepped out into the cool evening air, the anticipation making your skin tingle.

Matteo had sent you the address of the restaurant and a cheeky message: "Don't be late, I've got a surprise waiting." You hailed a cab, feeling like a movie star in the stylish ensemble.

When you arrived at the restaurant, you spotted him immediately. He was leaning against the vintage red Ferrari parked outside, wearing a tailored black suit that made his brown eyes pop. His usual playful grin was replaced with a look of admiration as he took in your outfit. You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, a strange mix of comfort and thrill that you hadn't felt with anyone else before.

Matteo opened the car door with a flourish, his hand brushing against yours as you slid into the leather seat. The scent of his cologne filled the small space, something fresh and spicy that you had always associated with him. The car's engine roared to life, and you felt a thrill of excitement as he pulled away from the curb.

The restaurant was everything you had imagined: dimly lit, with candles flickering on checkered tablecloths and the soft hum of Italian chatter in the background. The waiter, an older man with a charming accent, recognized Matteo immediately and led you to a cozy table in the corner. You felt like royalty, the kind of special treatment reserved for those in the spotlight. But as you took your seat, you realized it was the look in Matteo's eyes that made you feel truly seen.

As you perused the menu, he suggested dishes with such confidence that you let him order for both of you. You couldn't help but feel the electricity between you as you sipped on your water, his hand occasionally brushing against yours as he spoke about his latest match with such passion. His eyes never left yours for too long, and you found yourself getting lost in the depths of his gaze, wondering if this was what it felt like to be truly seen by someone who knew you so well.

The conversation flowed as naturally as it always did, but there was a new current of tension that made you aware of every inch of space between you. You talked about your job, your family, your dreams, and with each shared story, it felt like you were peeling back layers of your friendship to reveal something more intimate, something that had been hidden beneath the surface all along.

The food arrived, and you both took a moment to appreciate the artful presentation before diving in. The pasta was al dente, the sauce a perfect blend of tomatoes and basil that danced on your tongue.

Matteo leaned back in his chair, watching you with a smile as you took your first bite. "So, how is it?"

You chewed slowly, savoring the flavors before responding. "It's heavenly," you said with a sigh of contentment. "Thank you for bringing me here."

Matteo's smile grew wider. "It's my pleasure. I knew you'd love it." He took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving yours. "So, tell me, what's been going on with you?"

You took a deep breath, the comfort of the familiar question mixing with the thrill of the new context. "Well, work's been busy, but that's nothing new. I've been thinking a lot about what you said, about finding someone to complement me rather than complete me." You twirled your pasta around your fork, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders as you spoke.

Matteo's eyes searched yours, his expression earnest. "And what have you figured out?"

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. "I don't know. Maybe I've been looking for the wrong things in people. Or maybe I just haven't given the right person a chance."

Matteo's eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it felt like he was peering into the deepest parts of your soul. "Could be," he said softly. "But remember, the right person will make you feel like you're already complete."

"What if they already do?" You spoke without thinking, the words slipping past your lips like a secret you hadn't meant to share. Matteo's gaze held yours, his expression unreadable for a beat before a gentle smile graced his features.

"Could it be that person is sitting right across from you?" He reached out, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. The touch was light, almost unnoticeable, but it sent a jolt through your body.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting to where his skin met yours. "Matteo…" You didn't know what to say, the question hanging in the air like a perfectly timed serve on a tennis court.

Matteo leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What if the person you've been waiting for has been right here all along?" His thumb continued to trace circles on the back of your hand, sending shivers up your arm.

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the racing of your heart. "Matteo, we're best friends. This could ruin everything." But even as you said it, you couldn't help the flutter of hope that danced in your chest.

He leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours. "Or, it could be the start of something incredible. Something we've both been too scared to admit." His voice was steady, but you could see the vulnerability in the way his thumb paused its motion.

You felt your heart race as you studied him. The strong line of his jaw, the curve of his full lips, the way his eyes held yours with an intensity that was both comforting and thrilling. "What if we try?" you whispered, the words barely escaping.

Matteo's smile grew, his eyes shining with hope. "What if we do?" He leaned across the table, closing the distance between you, and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle, a silent promise that he would handle your heart with care.

You felt your walls crumbling, the years of friendship blurring the line between what was safe and what could be incredible. "Okay," you whispered back, your heart pounding in your chest. "Let's try."

[game-set-canet]

can you do dating headcanons for tennis players (thiem, medvedev, berrettini)

Dating Headcanons

M A S T E R L I S T

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

Dominic Thiem

for Domi, it is important that you spend time together regularly, even though the training and tournament schedule is very stressful. you try to surprise each other with romantic date ideas, like picnics in the nature, bonfires, watching sunsets together, etc.

you travelling with him to all of his tournaments.

after being together for 6 months you decided to adopt a dog. although you are away a lot, but your mother takes care of the dog

you had no idea of tennis before you met him, he showed you how to play it and explained all the rules to you; now you sometimes play with him (it’s a nice little warm up for him)

he LOVES cuddling with you on the couch together with your dog. he would wrap his arms around you, your head lying on his chest, and he would run his fingers through your hair

you rarely fight. like almost never. but WHEN you fight, you REALLY fight. Shouting, screaming, door slamming – it only happened once in your relationship so far

for your first anniversary you surprised him with learning German – or rather some German. You have your difficulties with the language, but you are determined to learn it

family time is very important for Domi. You are SO SO nervous to meet his family for the first time and Domi is trying really hard to calm you down. In the end it turns out that’s completely unnecessary. his younger brother Moritz and you get along really well – you regularly go to the cinema together because you have the same taste in films. (“Again? You always go to the cinema together! I’ll go with you!” – “No, your taste in films is awful and we don’t want to listen to you complaining the whole evening!” – “That’s mean!” – “Yeah, but Moritz is right: your taste in films IS shit, my love!”)

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

Daniil Medvedev

he loves to surprise you with lots of sweet presents. like flowers, bracelet, necklaces, and he love to buy you books! You have a very specific taste in book genres and Daniil knows exactly which books to buy and you love every single one of them!

before every match you attend live he apologizes in advance for the potential swearing he will do on court… if he yells at his box and you sit in his box, he apologizes countless times afterwards

FOREHEADKISSES (trust me)!

teasing, a lot of teasing and (a lot of) playful arguments

you’re watching F1 and football with him and sometimes you even play video games with him. You’re awful in it but it makes him happy, so you’re kinda enjoying it

he teaches you how to play chess

you think his intelligence is very sexy

you don’t have any pet names for each other

you love to listen to him speaking French - even if you have no idea what he is talking about

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

Matteo Berrettini

his brother introduced you to Matteo and it was love on the first sight

you love wearing his shirts and sweaters and he LOVES seeing you in it

partner tattoos

you have nicknames for each other…not all of them are romantic – some are just weird but still in a loving way

sharing sunglasses, caps and jewellery

you love to go shopping together! you could spend hours and hours picking out clothes for each other

he buys you flowers whenever he comes home after a tournament whenever you couldn't travel with him

dancing – you are both terrible in it, but you love dancing in the living room together

Matteo gives incredible massages

lots of (terrible) singing in the car together and you are the driver (always.)

[game-set-canet]

can i have an imagine where berrettini's girlfriend has an injury and shes out for th eseason and shes really depressed?

A little bit of sunshine

Pairing: Matteo Berrettini x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

author’s note: Sorry it took me so so long, lovely anon! but i hope you like it 💗 also: English isn’t my mother tongue, so I apologize for any mistakes.

*Y/N = your name

M A S T E R L I S T

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

You feel someone sit down next to you on the edge of the bed and feel Matteo's fingertips stroking through your hair: “Baby, time to get up!”

His voice is soft and caring and although you can’t see his face, you know he is smiling at you.

But you don’t really care.

You press your face into the pillow and keep your eyes closed: “No.”

You don’t know the exact time, but it must be around seven in the morning.

Matteo bends over you, you feel his breath on your cheek: “Baby, please, you have to get up!”

“I don’t want to!” your voice clearly shows your frustration and anger.

All you want is to be alone. You want to lie in bed all day and don’t talk with anyone. Not even Matteo. But you know he won’t back down.

“You have to!”, your boyfriend sighs softly, you have this argument every day.

Every morning you have this discussion. Sometimes you end up getting really angry, sometimes you end up crying, sometimes it turns into a serious fight.

But Matteo keeps trying. Every day.

“Why?!”, You jerk your head up and glare at him angrily, “There is no reason for me to get up!”

Matteo sits back up and looks at you – he seems a little annoyed – but his voice is calm as he says: “Y/N, you have a physiotherapy session today!”, he reaches out his hand to grab yours. Before his fingers touch your left hand, you pull it away and break the eye contact.

“I won’t go.”

Every day you have the same discussion.

“Why not?”

You almost hiss at him: “Because it’s pointless!”, your hands dig into the bedspread “I don’t want to sit there doing stupid exercises with a stupid exercise ball!”

“But you need to do it…it will help your leg to get better again…” carefully he strokes your bandaged left leg and gives your thigh a light squeeze - just above your injured knee “You need to do these exercises!”

“You sound like Éric!” you snort at the mention of your physiotherapist - a friend of your physio – and mimic (very realistically through) the voice of your physiotherapist “Come on, Y/N! These exercises will help you! Come on, Y/N! It will get better! Soon you will be back on the tennis court!”

You’re so annoyed by him. He is a nice guy, but he always so positive and optimistic and he smiles all the time. And you can’t stand all the positivity at the moment. Your world is in ruins, as is your knee.

Matteo bites his lower lip, he looks like he doesn't quite know what to say. It takes a while before he starts talking again: “But he is right…you need to-”

You get angrier with every word and suddenly you are almost screaming: “DON’T. YOU. DARE. AND. FINISH. THIS. SENTENCE! I can’t hear it anymore!” you sit up in bed and stare angrily at Matteo, “Everyone talks about it getting better, but it doesn't get better!”, you talk faster and faster, “The doctors said that there is almost NO progress! It’s been four weeks now and still no progress! So shut the fuck up with all the fucking ‘It will get better’!”

Your boyfriend tilts his head a little, on his lips is a tiny little smile: “You know I won’t. You know I’ll keep talking.”

You know he just wants to help you. He always tries to help you. And you love him for being this warm hearted person but right now his words make you even angrier.

You snap at him: “Don't you have a training session to go to? Unlike me, you don't have a torn cruciate ligament and meniscus.”, your voice is cold, “Go and have fun on the tennis court!” and you want to provoke him with it. You don’t know why you’re doing that, but you just feel so frustrated the whole time.

Every day is the same for you.

Matteo closes his eyes for a moment and sighs: “Y/N, don’t do that…”, he runs his right hand through his hair.

“What?”

“You’re trying to make me feel guilty for going to practice!”

“No, I don’t. I’m just saying that not everyone is lucky enough to be able to go and play tennis…”

Matteo tries to reach for your hand: “Y/N, honey, don’t…”

“DON’T CALL ME HONEY!”, your voice almost rolls over, and Matteo winces a little, “Do you know how frustrating it is to sit in the apartment all day and wait for you to come back? Because – surprise, surprise – an hour physiotherapy every day isn’t enough to keep you entertained!” in the end your voice gets shaky. You try to swallow the lump that has formed in your throat: “You know I’m not a person who likes to sit on the couch and watch silly series – not after four weeks of doing nothing else as watching NETFLIX and reading books! I have nothing to do the whole day. I can’t do anything I enjoy…I honestly hate my life right now.” you try to blink the tears in your eyes away.

But of course, Matteo noticed your tears, carefully he moves closer to you: “No, you don’t. You’re just angry at yourself or rather your body that doesn’t heal as fast as we hoped.”, slowly he puts his arms around you.

It takes a few seconds until you start to relax in his arms, and you lean against him: “Because I’m a nothing, Matteo…I’m…I’m a nothing without tennis. I can’t do anything except tennis…I…what happens if…if the cruciate ligament tear does not really heal? What if I can’t play tennis again? I’m…”, tears are streaming down your cheeks.

Matteo's hug becomes tighter and he leans his forehead against your temple: “Everything will be alright, Y/N.”, he is whispering now, “The muscles will heal. And they will heal the right way.”, his hand strokes slow circles over your back, “You will play tennis again. You will play amazing tennis again.”

You sob uncontrollably and wrap your arms around him as well: “How can you say that?”

“Because you are the strongest woman I know.” Matteo’s voice is full of love now, “And no matter what happens, you will make it. You can do anything.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you too. And no matter what happens, I’m here for you. We will do that together. I’m always by your side, okay?”

“Yes.”

“No, say it. I want you to say it.”

You smile a little, still sobbing a bit: “I will do it. No matter what happens, it will be okay. And you’re here for me.”

Matteo nods and presses a kiss on your forehead: “Always.”

“Thank you.”

You sit there in silence. Matteo keeps pressing little kisses on your hair and face. After some time, your boyfriend starts talking again, he turns his head to look you in the eye: “And you know what? I’ll join you in your therapy session today…I think some exercises with an exercise ball wouldn’t be bad for me either…”, he hesitates, “Okay?”

You can’t believe that you have the most amazing, caring, loving boyfriend in the world. The last few weeks since your injury were really hard. You were moody all the time and – and that’s something you really hate on yourself – you weren’t always fair and nice to Matteo. But he was there for you the whole time.

“Okay.”, you start smiling a little bit.

Matteo is also smiling now, his fingers stroke your cheek: “Good…but you have to get up for that…”

You couldn’t help but sigh as you push your legs out of bed and carefully place the injured foot on the floor.

Matteo puts an arm around your shoulder and kisses you on the right temple: “I’m proud of you, Y/N. So so proud.”

[schumi-nadal]

Matteo Berrettini & Casper Ruud - ATP Finals (2021)

Just because I miss them and I need someone to write a new Ruudettini fic 😭💔

[game-set-canet]

wwoild u write for berrettini? like his girlfeiend wins a slam

One about crying

Pairing: Matteo Berrettini x f!reader

Summary: You win your first Grand Slam and Matteo is very proud of you.

category: fluff, happiness

warnings: none

Author’s Note: i hope you like it 😊 also: English isn't my first language, so I'm very sorry for mistakes!

* Y/N = your name * Y/L/N = your last name

MY  M A S T E R L I S T

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

Matteo has never been so nervous in his entire life. Not during his very first match on the ATP, not during his first final and also not during the Wimbledon final. Never. But now he had the feeling that he would faint with nervousness at any moment. Right now, you were playing your first ever Grand Slam final. The stadium was full of cheering people watching a breath-taking tennis match. Iga Świątek vs. Y/N Y/L/N. Iga won the first set but you managed to win the second one and now you were fighting in a tight Tiebreak for the win.

“Dio mio!”, Matteo feels like he couldn’t breathe probably, “please Y/N…”

But your next return was too long and went out.

Match ball Świątek.

Matteo is shaking, clenching his hands into fists and restless sliding back and forth on the seat in the players' box. Without really realising it, Matteo's fingers wander to his right wrist to play with the fine leather bracelet you gave him for your second anniversary - you are wearing the same bracelet, Matteo can see it from where he is sitting.

This was torture. Pure hell.

Matteo wants to shout something: Tips, advice, words of encouragement, reassuring words. Anything to help you. But he couldn't make a sound.

You truly were on fire during these two weeks and watching you playing and winning made Matteo forget that he lost in the 3rd round against Alcaraz. He honestly didn’t care because it gave him the opportunity to watch your matches live.

All he wants is a win for you. You deserve to win the US Open. You deserve to win a Grand Slam. And you deserve to win it now.

Matteo played a lot of tennis matches and watched even more of them, but he doesn’t know how you managed to win the next two points.

Match ball Y/L/N.

Matteo holds his breath as you serve, his heart is pounding like mad, his head is spinning.

Iga's return lands in the net.

“Game, Set, Match Y/L/N!”

Matteo starts crying tears of happiness.

*** *** *** *** ***

Your whole team starts cheering, clapping, shouting as you enter the tunnel. Everyone is crying: your mum, your dad, your physio, even your coach had a little tear running down his face. Then your eyes fall on Matteo. He beams at you, his handsome face shows traces of tears, but he looks so happy and proud that he is the first person you run towards and let him embrace you and spin you around.  

His arms are wrapped tightly around you; you can feel him trembling slightly. He whispers something, but you only understand him when he repeats it for the third time: "Ti amo...Ti amo così tanto...Ti amo..."

You didn’t cry. Not directly after the win, not at the award ceremony and not during your speech. But now, seeing all these emotions in the faces of your team members and hearing Matteo whispering in a broken voice, you start crying too.

*** *** *** *** ***

After a long press conference and an extensive celebration with your team and your family, it is almost morning when Matteo and you arrive in your hotel room. Through the large windows of the hotel room you can already see the dawn.

Matteo’s carrying the trophy and places it on the nightstand. HIS nightstand.

“That’s my trophy”, you laugh while you kick off your shoes and throw yourself on the large bed.

“Well, technically it is but I would say I own at least 10% of it because I trained with you the last few days, I gave you an incredible massage yesterday evening and without me you’d have overslept today, so…”, your boyfriend grins at you – clearly joking – as he lies down next to you.

His face only centimetres aways from yours.

Matteo’s expression suddenly become more serious: “I’m very proud of you…”

“I know, I’ve figured it out because of the tears and the ‘ti amo’s and because you wouldn’t let me go once you started to hug me and-”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”, he shakes his head slowly, grabs your hand and intertwine your fingers, “I’m REALLY proud of you. Not only because you won your first Grand Slam today – I mean, I’m very proud because you won today – but I’m proud of you how you handled everything the last few days.”, he presses a kiss on the knuckles of your hand, “All the media, the interviews, the pressure…I…back at Wimbledon last year I was a wreck…I mean, without you I wouldn't have slept, I wouldn't have eaten...I probably would have just collapsed before the match”, he takes a deep breath, “But you…you were so calm, so collected…you didn’t get nervous when Iga had her match ball and I almost vomited right in the players box and…”, he stops, shrugs his shoulders and buries his face in your neck.

You feel tears come to your eyes again.

Wimbledon 2021 had been difficult. Matteo had been disappointed in himself and even if he had been able to suppress his disappointment with the victory of the Italian national football team, he had been dejected and disappointed in himself for a long time. It had broken your heart.

“Do you remember our talk in the locker room back then?”, you gently stroke through Matteo's hair and place a kiss on the hairline, “Where you apologised to me because you thought you had disappointed me after losing the final?”

Matteo answers nothing to this but makes an agreeing noise.

This reaction makes you smile a little, but you want to hear it from him: “What did I say to you?”

Your boyfriend exhales heavily: “That I didn’t disappoint you.”, his voice sounds muffled as his face is still buried in the crook of your neck, his breath tickles your skin, “That I could never let you down. That I gave everything on the court and could be proud of myself. That you were proud of me. That you love me.”

Matteo is almost lying on top of you (under other situations he would probably worry that he would be too heavy for you), you have your arms wrapped tightly around each other.

“And then?”

“Then I felt better.”, he slowly lifts his head to look you in the eyes.

“And do you remember what you said to me after I almost lost against Ons in the semi-final?”

“That no matter what - whether you win or lose - you are the best for me. That I love you. That I don't care if you win some stupid trophy or not”, he leans his forehead against yours, his nose brushes yours.

“See?”, you smile at him, “I mean, of course, I was nervous because of this final but having you by my side made everything easier. Because I knew…even if I had lost, we would be lying here now...you would hold me, kiss me, tell me you love me and that is all I need.”, you hesitate for a moment and you swallow, “Yes, I know you shouldn't say that as a professional athlete, but you are the most important thing to me...”, you raise a hand to stroke his cheek , “In that sense, I won my important treasure two years ago when I dared to ask you to train with me and when we had our first date because of that....”

“Oh stop this!”, Matteo blushes a little and breaks the eye contact, “I’m very emotional today and if you don’t stop saying such things I will start crying again!”

You laugh softly and wrap your arms around him even tighter: “Matteo?”

It takes a few seconds until he looks at you again: “Mh?”, his brown eyes full of love.

“Ti amo”

You melt into a soft kiss.