#tennis fics

[lifeofpriya]

On the Case - Jack Draper

[gif credit goes to @pyotrkochetkov]

a/n: testing? testing? how have y'all been 🤭 i'm back with a fic that i wrote that has never been released for y'all to read....UNTIL NOW. i got inspired by Jack previously stating on several occasions that if he weren't a tennis player, he'd be a detective, so here we are! this is a 16k word fic filled with all of my love and determination that i put into this fic....and yeah, i hope y'all enjoy it ☺️ [everyone thank @pyotrkochetkov while you're at it for encouraging me to post it for all of y'all to read 🙂‍↕️😉]

there are some triggers of blood and such, and there are a few steamy scenes in this fic as well, so if it's not your cup of tea, i'd skip this fic. and i wrote the fic with the reader being female.

summary: two detectives who have been rivals for as long as they can remember find themselves working together...

You arrive at the dimly lit office with a steaming cup of black coffee in hand, the aroma mingling with the faint scent of rain-dampened streets that lingers in your hair. The clock on the wall ticks away the hours, each second a silent reminder of the unsolved case files piled high on your desk. Your eyes scan the room, taking in the worn leather chairs, the flickering neon sign outside the window, and the clutter of a job that never sleeps.

"The boss wants to see you," the gruff voice of your secretary, Mr. Krovik, echoes through the door. You look up from your paperwork, your heart skipping a beat. This could be it - the case that breaks your plateau.

You enter the office, the soft carpet muffling your footsteps. Behind the mahogany desk sits Captain Castellanos, his stern gaze piercing through the smoke of his cigar. He motions to the chair opposite him, and you obediently sit down, setting your coffee aside.

"You're going to be partnered with Jack Draper," he says without preamble. The name sends a jolt through you. Jack, your rival detective, the one who always seems to steal the spotlight, the golden boy, the one who was a favorite of the higher-ups because his dad is the chief of police. You bite your tongue to keep from arguing.

"Effective immediately," Castellanos continues, his eyes never leaving yours. "You two are the best we've got. And this case, it's a doozy. High profile. We need it solved."

You nod, trying to keep your emotions in check. Working with Jack Draper is the last thing you'd chosen, but orders are orders. You stand up, the chair scraping against the floor like nails on a chalkboard, and head to the door, the weight of the unspoken rivalry heavy on your shoulders.

Jack's office is a mirror image of your own, but with a stark contrast in neatness. His desk is a testament to his meticulous nature, not a single paper out of place. He looks up as you enter, his intoxicating greenish hazel eyes locking onto yours. "Partner," he says with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

His princely reddish brown hair falls in a casual wave across his forehead, a stark contrast to the crispness of his white shirt and the sharpness of his jawline. He's leaning back in his chair, arms folded, looking at you with that smug expression you've come to know so well from the many times your paths have crossed over the years.

"So, what do we have?" you ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

Jack leans forward, his smirk fading as he opens a manila folder. "A string of jewelry store heists. The thief leaves no trace, no fingerprints, no DNA. It's like they're a ghost," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and challenge.

You nod, your interest piqued despite your reservations. "What's the MO?"

Jack's smirk returns, but it's different now, a hint of respect shimmering through. "They only hit stores with the most sophisticated security systems. They're always in and out in less than five minutes, leaving behind a taunting note that says 'Merry Christmas from the December Thief.'"

You furrow your brow, intrigued despite yourself. "So, it's personal, or they just have a flair for the dramatic?"

Jack's smirk widens, and he shrugs. "Maybe a bit of both. They're not just taking the jewels, they're leaving behind a message. Like they're playing a game."

You can't help but feel a spark of excitement at the challenge. You've always loved a puzzle, and this case seems to be wrapped in enigmatic layers. "Alright, let's get to work."

Jack hands you half the files, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your arm. You ignore it and focus on the information at hand. The thief's notes are written in a flowing, almost artistic script. You trace the letters with your eyes, trying to find a pattern, a clue to their identity.

"They're taunting us," you murmur, flipping through the pages.

Jack's eyes gleam with the thrill of the chase. "Exactly. And it's our job to outsmart them."

You bite your lower lip, deep in thought. The December Thief's notes are a puzzle, a twisted game of cat and mouse. "Let's start by mapping out the locations of the heists. Maybe there's a pattern we're missing."

Jack nods, his eyes flickering with the same excitement that's bubbling in your chest. You both spread out the city map on the desk, pushing aside the clutter of files and coffee cups. The map becomes a canvas of red thumbtacks, each one a crime scene, each one a taunt from the elusive thief.

You start to see a pattern, a twisted sort of poetry in the chaos. "They're moving in a spiral," you say, your voice low and determined. "Starting at the outskirts and working their way in."

Jack's eyes narrow, scrutinizing the map. "It's like they're heading towards something. Or someone."

You lean in closer, the warmth of his body heat brushing against yours. "Maybe it's a specific date or time they're aiming for. The closer we get to Christmas, the more frequent the thefts."

Jack nods, his eyes darting around the map. "We've got to predict their next move before they strike again."

You stand back, sipping your now-cool coffee, contemplating. "They're escalating. The next heist will be the bigger than the last," you say, the caffeine buzzing in your veins.

Jack nods, his eyes never leaving the map. "And they'll be expecting us."

You look at him, the tension in the room thickening. "We need to get inside their head. Understand their motives, their thought process."

Jack's gaze snaps to you, and you can see the wheels turning in his mind. "Maybe they're not just after the jewels. Maybe they're leaving us a trail to follow."

You nod in agreement, the realization dawning on you both. "We need to think like them. Whoever this December Thief is, they're smart, meticulous, and they have an agenda."

Jack's eyes light up with the thrill of the chase. "Let's go over the notes again, line by line. Maybe there's a clue hidden in the words."

You nod, setting your coffee down and leaning over the desk. The scent of his cologne, something woody, leathery, and faintly peppery, fills the air as you both immerse yourselves in the details of the case. Your fingers trace the delicate lines of the handwriting, each curve and stroke a whisper of the thief's personality.

Jack played with his tie, one of his anxiety tics, as he studied the notes. "The December Thief," he murmured, tapping a finger against his chin. "It's like they're leaving us a breadcrumb trail, but with dynamite attached."

You couldn't help but smirk at his quip. Despite the tension between you, Jack had a way of cutting through the seriousness with his dry and witty humor. It was one of the things that made him so… infuriatingly charming.

"How about we go down to the crime scenes again?" you suggest, breaking the silence. "Maybe we'll find something we missed."

Jack nods, his eyes still glued to the notes. "Could be worth a shot. Sometimes the devil's in the details."

You both head out into the cool December evening, the streetlamps casting long shadows on the wet pavement. The rain has stopped, but the air is thick with its recent presence. You get into Jack's car, the leather seats cold against your skin, and drive to the first crime scene, a high-end jewelry store in the heart of the city.

As you step out of the car, the neon lights from the surrounding shops reflect off the puddles, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that dance under the moonless sky. You can almost feel the energy of the city pulsing around you, the unspoken whispers of secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Jack leads the way, his footsteps echoing through the deserted street. His Burberry trench coat flutters around him, the only sound in the quiet night. You follow, feeling the chill of the evening seep into your own leather jacket. The jewelry store looms ahead, its gleaming windows now dark and foreboding.

Inside, the starkness of the crime scene is a stark contrast to the festive decor that adorned it only hours ago. The shattered glass glitters on the floor like a twisted Christmas tree, the shelves are bare, and the air is thick with the acrid scent of fear and adrenaline. You both don your gloves and get to work, searching for any clue that might have been missed in the initial chaos.

Jack points to the fingerprint-free counter. "They knew exactly where to touch." His voice is a mix of admiration and determination.

You nod, kneeling down to examine the floor. "They're careful, but not infallible." You pick up a piece of glass, holding it to the light. "Look at this. It's not from the display case."

Jack's eyes widen. "What are you saying?"

"It's a clue," you murmur, turning the shard of glass over in your gloved hand. "They're leaving us more than taunts. They want us to know they're always watching, always one step ahead."

Jack's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you're not just rivals, but two detectives on the edge of a breakthrough. "We need to get this to forensics," he says, his voice tight with excitement. "See if they can trace the manufacturer or anything unique about it."

You nod, placing the shard in an evidence bag. "Good thinking."

The night stretches on as you and Jack visit each crime scene, collecting shards of glass, taking photos, and logging every detail into your report. The city is a silent witness to your dance of deduction, the buildings and streets holding their breath as you unravel the mystery before them.

In the third store, the scent of vanilla wafts through the air, a hint of something sweet amidst the bitter aftermath of crime. You frown, sniffing the air. "Do you smell that?"

Jack pauses his examination of the security footage, glancing up. "What is it?"

You close your eyes, trying to recall the exact scent. "It's faint, but it's definitely there. Vanilla."

Jack's eyebrows shoot up. "Interesting. Could be the thief's scent, or perhaps a clue they left for us on purpose." He makes a note in his leather-bound notebook, his handwriting as neat and precise as the layout of his desk.

You nod, the scent of vanilla lingering in the back of your mind as you both head back to the precinct. The car ride is quiet, filled with the hum of the engine and the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers against the remaining rain.

Once you're back at the station, you hand over the evidence to the forensics team with a sense of urgency. "We need to know everything about this glass," you tell them, your voice firm. They nod, their eyes wide with excitement at the prospect of a break in the case.

You and Jack retreat to the relative quiet of the break room, the fluorescent lights buzzing above as you both lean against the counter, sipping on fresh cups of coffee--well, coffee for you, but tea for him due to his no-ceffeine rule at work. You've learned that about him over the years, along with his penchant for neatness and his surprising love for 90s bands like Oasis, something that seems out of place in the meticulous young detective that he is.

"So, what now?" Jack asks, his voice a gentle rumble that seems to fill the small space. You look over at him, noticing for the first time the tiny flecks of gold in his greenish hazel eyes that seem to glint under the artificial light.

You take a deep breath, the steam from your coffee curling around your nose. "We wait for forensics, keep an eye on the news for any new leads, and try to predict the next hit."

Jack nods, his eyes never leaving yours. "And we watch each other's backs," he adds, his tone serious.

You swirl the liquid in your cup, contemplating his words. "We're not exactly friends," you remind him, your voice holding a hint of challenge.

Jack chuckles, a sound that's both comforting and annoying. "No, but we're not enemies either." He takes a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving yours. "We're rivals, sure, but that doesn't mean we can't look out for each other."

You consider his words, the warmth of his gaze unsettling you. "Fine," you concede. "We're partners on this case. I've got your back."

Jack's smile is small but genuine. "And I've got yours."

You spend the next few days poring over the evidence, piecing together the puzzle of the December Thief. The forensics team calls with an update - the glass is manufactured in Germany, and only a few companies use it in their security systems. It's a rare find, a clue that feels like a gift wrapped in the thief's mocking laughter.

Jack's meticulousness pays off when he finds a microscopic fiber of something on one of the shards. "Look at this, the thief left benind a strand of hair," he says, his voice filled with determination. "It's almost like they want us to catch them."

You lean in closer, examining the tiny speck with the same scrutiny he had. "Or they're just messing with us," you reply, not entirely convinced by his optimism.

Jack's eyes don't leave the fiber, but his tone is firm. "No, there's something here. We just need to find it."

You sigh, but his conviction is contagious. You pull out the case file and start going through it again, looking for any connections between the stores. The phone on the desk rings, shattering the silence like the glass from the crime scenes. You both jump, adrenaline spiking.

Jack answers, his voice calm and professional. "This is Detective Draper." His eyes widen as he listens, and he holds out the phone to you. "It's for you."

You take the phone, your heart racing. "Hello?"

On the other end is the smooth, cultured voice of the December Thief. "Good evening, Detective," they purr. "I see you've found my little present. How quaint."

Your heart races as you hold the phone tightly, trying to keep your voice steady. "What do you want?"

The December Thief chuckles, the sound like tinkling bells in the quiet of the night. "Oh, I just wanted to check in on my favorite detectives. How are you enjoying the game?"

You grit your teeth, trying not to let your annoyance show. "We're going to catch you," you reply, your voice a steely promise.

The December Thief's laugh is a tinkling melody that sends shivers down your spine. "I do hope so," they say, the playfulness in their tone unnerving. "After all, what's a game without a challenge?"

Jack's gaze is intense as he listens in, scribbling notes on a pad. You know he's thinking of the next move, trying to outsmart the thief. The call ends with a click, leaving you both in silence.

"They're playing with us," you murmur, setting the phone down with a clatter.

Jack's eyes are on the pad of paper, his hand still scribbling notes. "They're leaving us breadcrumbs," he says, his voice tight with focus. "But why? What do they want?"

You shake your head, sipping your coffee. "Maybe they're bored, maybe they want to be caught, or maybe they're just playing a twisted game."

Jack nods, his eyes never leaving the pad. "Whatever it is, we need to stay one step ahead."

You agree, feeling the pressure of the unsolved case weighing heavily on your shoulders. The December Thief is like no other criminal you've encountered. They're not just after the jewels; they're after something deeper, something that resonates with the city's very soul.

Days turn into nights, and the tension between you and Jack is palpable, but not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself stealing glances at him as he works, noticing the way the light dances across his high cheekbones, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he's lost in thought. You can't deny the attraction, but you bury it beneath the pile of case files and coffee cups.

The forensics report comes back with a hit on the hair fiber - it matches a suspect from a previous case, a master of disguise known only as "The Rat." The pieces start to fall into place, and you realize this isn't just about jewelry; it's personal. The Rat had been caught once before, but had escaped during a prison transfer. This is their vendetta, their way of saying they're back and better than ever.

You and Jack work tirelessly, sharing insights and hunches, your rivalry morphing into a strange sort of camaraderie. The smell of vanilla becomes a recurring motif, a siren's call leading you through the twists and turns of the case. You catch glimpses of the thief in the surveillance footage, but they're always just out of reach, a shadow dancing at the edge of the frame.

One evening, as you're about to call it a night, Jack's phone buzzes with a text. He reads it, his eyes going wide. "The Rat's been spotted," he says, the excitement palpable. "They're going to hit the Van Dermott Gallery tonight."

The Van Dermott Gallery is a fortress of art and opulence, boasting a collection that would make even the most stoic of thieves salivate. You and Jack exchange a knowing look. This is it, the moment you've been waiting for.

You pull on your black leather gloves, a silent promise to the December Thief that you're ready for whatever they have planned. The rain outside has picked up again, the droplets tapping a frantic rhythm against the windows, echoing the anticipation that thrums in your chest.

Jack nods, his eyes gleaming with the same mix of excitement and trepidation. "Let's go get them," he says, his voice low and steady.

You both grab your coats and head out into the rain, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the deserted parking lot. The wind whips around you, carrying the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the promise of a break in the case. The drive to the Van Dermott Gallery is tense, the wipers slapping against the windshield in a frantic rhythm that matches the racing thoughts in your mind.

As you pull up to the gallery, the grandeur of the building stands out against the backdrop of the dark, wet night. The lights are on, a beacon in the storm, but the streets are eerily empty. You can feel the anticipation building, the thief's taunting game of cat and mouse coming to a head.

Jack checks his watch, a vintage Omega that's seen more action than most people's entire lives. "We've got twenty minutes until closing time," he says, his eyes never leaving the building. "They'll strike just before then."

You nod, your eyes scanning the shadows, looking for any sign of movement. The rain has let up to a drizzle, leaving the sidewalks slick with water. The neon lights of the gallery's sign cast a rainbow of colors across the puddles, creating an otherworldly glow that seems to pulse with the heartbeat of the city.

Jack's hand brushes against yours as you both draw your weapons, a silent reminder of the partnership you've forged over the last few days. "We've got this," he says, his voice steady.

You nod, your heart racing. "Let's go," you murmur, the rain muffling your words as you sprint towards the gallery's side entrance. The alarms blare to life as you kick the door in, the sound echoing through the cavernous room. The lights flicker, casting eerie shadows across the priceless artwork.

Jack is right beside you, his gun drawn, eyes searching for any sign of the December Thief. You split up, each taking a wing of the gallery, your steps silent on the plush carpet. The tension is thick, the air charged with the electricity of the hunt.

You round a corner, and there they are. A figure in a sleek black jumpsuit, a black mask with a crimson smile painted across the face. The Rat. They're holding a diamond necklace that sparkles under the flickering lights like a serpent's eye.

"Freeze!" you shout, your hand steady as you aim your gun.

The Rat whips around, their eyes widening behind the crimson smile. The necklace swings in their gloved hand, the diamonds casting a kaleidoscope of light across the wall.

"Hello, detectives," they purr, their accent was a blend of German with the tiniest hint of Russian. The Rat's eyes gleam with mischief and a hint of something darker, something that makes your skin crawl.

Jack tenses beside you, his gaze locked on the thief. "We're not here to play games," he says, his voice a low growl.

The Rat laughs, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. "Oh, but it's such a delightful game," they say, their accent thick and playful. "But alas, all games must come to an end."

Jack's hand tightens around his gun. "This one's going to end with you behind bars," he says, his voice a deadly promise.

The Rat laughs again, the sound sending shivers down your spine. They hold up the necklace, the diamonds winking in the half-light. "Or perhaps it ends with me giving you a final present?"

Jack's eyes narrow. "You're not getting out of here," he says, taking a step closer.

The Rat tilts their head, the crimson smile never leaving their face. "Ah, but you've yet to see my grand finale," they murmur, their voice a symphony of danger and allure.

Jack takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving the thief. "You're not going anywhere," he says, his voice firm.

The Rat smiles wider, the crimson curve of their lips taunting. "You're quite the eager one," they say, their accent thickening. "But perhaps you're not quite as clever as you think."

Jack's jaw tightens, but before he can respond, the lights flicker and go out. The emergency lights kick on, casting a sickly glow across the room. The necklace vanishes into the gloom as the Rat takes advantage of the confusion and bolts.

You both give chase, your footsteps echoing through the vast space as you navigate the maze of art and shadows. The sound of breaking glass fills the air, the thief leaving a trail of chaos in their wake. You catch glimpses of their sleek form, the crimson smile of their mask taunting you from the shadows.

Jack's breathing is harsh and fast beside you, his eyes never leaving the flickering lights. "They're heading for the service exit," he shouts over the wail of the alarm.

You both sprint through the gallery, dodging statues and paintings that seem to reach out with shadowy hands. The Rat is fast, slipping through the darkness with the grace of a ghost. But you're faster, fueled by the need to catch them before they can vanish again.

Jack's hand grazes your arm as you round a corner, sending a jolt of something more than adrenaline through you. "This way," he whispers, pointing to the service exit.

You nod, the sound of the alarm a siren's call in the background. The chase is on, the December Thief's heartbeat echoing in the pounding of your own.

The Rat turned around to face you and Jack, brandishing something in their hand. "You think you're so clever," they sneered, their voice a melodious blend of mockery and challenge. Before you both could react, you heard the riccochet of a gunshot, and Jack let out a grunt of pain, clutching his shoulder.

"Jack!" you screamed, your heart in your throat as you dove for cover. The sound of the alarm grew louder, the sirens piercing the silence like a scream.

Jack's hand tightened around his shoulder, his eyes narrowing in pain. "I'm okay," he grunted, though the tightness in his voice told a different story. "You go after them."

You hesitated for a moment, torn between your duty to the case and your growing concern for your partner. But the sound of Jack's grunts of pain spurred you into action. "Are you kidding me, I'm not leaving you," you said, your voice firm.

Jack's eyes met yours, a mix of surprise and gratitude. "I can handle it," he insisted, though his face was pale. "Go get them."

You shook your head, your eyes never leaving Jack's. "No way," you said firmly, your voice echoing in the empty gallery. "We're partners in this, remember?"

Jack's smile was tight, his teeth gritted against the pain. "Fine," he murmured, his breath shallow.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "Take your shirt off, you're losing too much blood," you instructed, your voice steady despite the fear that clawed at your insides.

Jack hesitated, his eyes searching yours. "The thief—"

"Is not more important than you," you cut him off, your voice firm. You could feel the warmth of his hand as you helped him remove his shirt, revealing the crimson blossom of blood spreading on his right shoulder. Quickly, you ripped a strip of fabric from the shirt and pressed it against the wound, applying pressure. "You're going to be fine," you assured him, your voice shakier than you'd like to admit.

Jack's eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability beneath the mask of the stoic detective. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice strained.

While you tried your best to stem the flow of blood, your gaze could help but be fixed on the little birthmark on his right shoulder blade. It was something so ordinary yet so intimate, and you felt a strange sense of comfort amidst the chaos.

Jack's breathing was labored, but his voice was steady. "We can't let them get away," he murmured.

You nodded, your eyes on the blood soaking through the makeshift bandage. "Jack, I'm not going to let you bleed out for some thief," you said, your voice filled with a fierce determination that surprised even yourself.

Jack's smile was wry. "You're not letting me do anything," he countered, his eyes flickering with pain. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

The sound of sirens grew louder, the cavalry arriving to the scene of the crime. You knew you didn't have much time. "We need to get you to the hospital," you said, your voice firm despite the worry etched on your face.

Jack nodded, his eyes still on the crimson stain spreading on the fabric of his shirt. "After we catch them," he insisted.

"That's not fucking important right now," you snap, adrenaline mixing with fear for Jack's safety. "You're my utmost priority." You feel a strange warmth in your chest, something that's been building up since you first met him. He's always been the annoyingly perfect detective, the one who seemed to have an answer for everything, the one who always had to one-up you. But now, with the cold, hard reality of his blood seeping through your hands, he's just Jack, the man you're desperately trying to keep alive.

The sirens outside the gallery grow louder, the chaos of the night seeping in through the shattered glass and the open service exit. You can feel the December Thief's presence in the air, a mocking phantom that's always one step ahead. But you can't let them win, not now, not when Jack is hurt because of them.

You help Jack to his feet, his weight surprisingly heavy against you, and you both stumble towards the exit. The rain has turned into a full-blown downpour, the drops hitting the pavement with a ferocity that matches the thud of your own heart. The cold water seeps through your clothes, but you barely feel it as your focus remains on the man leaning heavily on your shoulder.

"I've got you," you murmur, your voice a gentle promise in the chaos.

Jack's eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, the world stops spinning. You're no longer rival detectives, but two people fighting for justice and each other's lives. The rain outside feels like a metaphor for the intensity of the case, the droplets a reminder of the stakes.

You help him into the backseat of the patrol car that's pulled up outside, the sirens screeching to a halt. The officers inside are all business, but their eyes widen when they see Jack's condition. "We need to get him to the hospital now," you bark at them, your voice carrying the weight of your concern.

The car takes off with a squeal of tires, the lights painting the night in a frantic red and blue pattern. You stay in the back with Jack, holding the makeshift bandage in place as he winces with each bump in the road. The rain outside is a blur, the droplets racing alongside you in a desperate dance.

"You're going to be okay," you repeat, your voice soothing despite the chaos. "We're going to catch them."

Jack's eyes meet yours, the pain in them replaced by a flicker of determination. "I know," he says, his voice a rasp. "But not until I get patched up."

The hospital is a maze of sterile corridors and worried faces. You stay by his side, filling in the paperwork with shaking hands as the nurses whisk him away for treatment. His hand finds yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze before disappearing through the double doors. The feeling of his touch lingers, warming you even as the cold reality of the case sets back in.

Days pass in a blur of hospital visits and stakeouts. The December Thief has gone quiet, their game on pause as the city holds its breath for Jack's recovery. You find yourself checking in on him more often than you should, your thoughts drifting to the moments of vulnerability you've seen in him. The way his eyes light up when he talks about his love for tennis, or the quiet pride when he speaks of his mother, Nicky, and his older brother, Ben.

"What about your dad?" you ask one evening as you sit by Jack's hospital bed, his arm in a sling and his face a map of pain and scruff.

Jack's eyes cloud over for a moment. "My relationship with him is….different," he says, his voice trailing off. "Don't worry though, we're fine now."

"You know, with your dad being the chief of police, I'd have thought you'd be the golden boy of the department," you say, trying to lighten the mood as you sit by Jack's hospital bed. The air is thick with tension and the antiseptic scent of the ward.

Jack's eyes flicker to the side, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Oh, I'm sure he's thrilled to have me out of the spotlight for a bit," he says, his voice laced with sarcasm. "But no, our relationship's a bit… complicated. We're in a good place now, but it wasn't always sunshine and rainbows."

You nod, understanding the weight behind his words. Never in a million years would you have thought that Jack had daddy issues, not with the way he held himself, so confident and sure of his place in the world. But here you are, in the throes of a case that's turned your lives upside down, and you're learning more about your rival than you ever thought you would.

As Jack's condition improves, so does your resolve to catch the December Thief. The taunts have become personal now, a challenge to not only your skills but your hearts. You're no longer just chasing a thief; you're fighting for the person who's become more than just a partner.

One evening, you're at the precinct, staring at the board with the case details, when Jack walks in. He's paler than usual, but there's a fire in his eyes that wasn't there before. He's out of the hospital, but not out of the game.

"You're back," you say, your heart doing a little flip.

Jack nods, his eyes on the case board. "The doc says I'm good to go," he says, his voice tight with pain. "But I need to be careful."

You look up at him, the concern etched on your face. "We're not going to rush into anything," you say firmly. "We've got time."

Jack's smile is a ghost of its usual self, but the spark in his eyes is unmistakable. "I'm not going anywhere," he says, a hint of challenge in his voice. "But the December Thief might."

You can't help but smile back, the tension between you two dissipating slightly. "Alright, but you're on desk duty until further notice," you tell him, trying to hide the relief in your voice.

Jack rolls his eyes. "Fine, but only if you promise not to go chasing after them without me," he says, the corners of his mouth twitching.

You smile, the warmth of it spreading through your chest like a secret. "Deal," you say, extending your hand.

Jack takes it, the grip firm and reassuring. "Deal," he echoes, a glint in his eye that tells you he's not just talking about the case anymore.

You couldn't help but find yourself staring at his lips as he talked, the way they moved, the way they curled into a smile when he teased you. It was a strange feeling, one you'd never had before with a colleague. But Jack wasn't just any colleague. He was the one who'd seen you at your worst, the one who'd held onto you when the world had seemed to collapse around you.

Before you knew it, you were on your tiptoes, unconsciously leaning in closer to Jack, drawn by the warmth in his eyes and the strength of his hand. The silence between you grew thick with unspoken words, the air in the room charged with something that was more than just friendship.

Jack's eyes searched yours, the mischief in them replaced by a softness that made your knees feel like jelly. "You know," he began, his voice a gentle rumble, "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually kind of…glad we got stuck with this case together."

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. "Yeah," you murmured, your heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the case anymore. "Me too."

Jack's gaze lingered on your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a gentle caress. The room was too quiet, too small for the feelings that seemed to be expanding between you like a balloon filling with helium.

"I know we're in the middle of a case," he began, his voice a soft murmur, "but I can't help but feel like there's something more here."

You look at him, the question in your eyes clear. "What do you mean?"

Jack swallows hard, his thumb still caressing your cheek. "I mean that…I think there's something between us, something more than just a working relationship," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You're frozen, the words hanging in the air like a question mark. You've felt it too, the tension that's been simmering just beneath the surface of your partnership. The way your hearts race when you're together, the way your hands brush against each other's during a stakeout, the way you've come to rely on each other's instincts. It's been there all along, but you've been too busy chasing shadows and dodging bullets to admit it.

Jack's thumb is still on your cheek, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the coldness of the hospital room. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the hope and fear all rolled into one. "Jack," you start, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leans closer, the air between you crackling with anticipation. "Yeah?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble that makes your heart skip a beat.

You nod, your eyes searching his, the greenish hazel depths of them holding secrets you're suddenly eager to uncover. "Kiss me," you murmur, the words slipping out before you can think better of it.

Jack's eyes widen for a moment before a soft smile graces his lips. He leans in, his good arm wrapping around your waist, and you find yourself melting into the warmth of his embrace. His kiss is gentle, a question and an answer all in one.

For a moment, the world outside the precinct walls fades away as you stand there, lost in the kiss that you've both been tiptoeing around for weeks. The sound of the rain outside is a soothing lullaby, the distant sirens a gentle reminder of the life you both lead. But in this moment, you're just two people, two hearts beating together in the quiet rhythm of a stolen kiss.

Jack's hand is warm on your waist, his other arm in a sling, a stark reminder of the danger that's always lurking around the corner. You pull away, your eyes searching his for reassurance, for a sign that this isn't just a fleeting moment of weakness.

"I mean it," he murmurs, reading your mind. "I know it's crazy, but I can't ignore this anymore."

You nod, feeling the same swirl of emotions. "Neither can I," you admit.

Jack's smile widens, the warmth in his eyes reaching out to you like a comforting blanket. "Good," he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble. He kisses you again and before you know it, you're both haphazardly trying to rip each other's clothes off, the urgency of the moment overwhelming. You're a mix of passion and fear, the need to be close to him stronger than the need for air.

Your hands are shaking as they fumble with his belt, and his are trembling as they trace the lines of your body. The sirens outside seem to echo the beating of your hearts as the rain hammers against the window like a drumroll to the crescendo of your shared desire.

Jack's eyes never leave yours, the greenish-brown pools filled with a mix of pain and passion that you never knew existed within him. You've seen the steel in his gaze when he's interrogating suspects, the smugness when he solves a puzzle before you, but this…this vulnerability is a new shade of him that you never knew existed.

You lean into him, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace, and you can feel the steady thump of his heart against your chest. The sound of the rain outside seems to crescendo with the intensity of the moment, the droplets racing down the windowpanes like a countdown to something you're both eagerly anticipating.

Jack's eyes are on you, searching, and you realize that in this moment, you're not just colleagues, not just rivals, but something more. The realization is as jolting as the bullet that had grazed his shoulder, but instead of pain, it brings a warmth that spreads through your body like a wildfire.

"I know," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the patter of the rain. "I can't ignore it either."

Jack's smile is a soft sigh of relief, his eyes never leaving yours. The room around you seems to melt away, leaving only the two of you in the warmth of your burgeoning connection. The case, the thief, the danger - it's all just a distant memory for now.

You carded your fingers through his reddish brown hair, moans muffled by his own kisses. The pain from his injury was forgotten in the passionate dance of your lips. You didn't know when you'd fallen in love with him, but as you felt his heart racing against yours, you knew it was real.

"Jack," you gasped, breaking away to catch your breath. "We can't do this here."

"I know," he murmured, his eyes dark with want. "Why don't we take this to my office?"

You nodded, the thrill of the forbidden sending a shiver down your spine. You both knew the risks, the lines you were crossing. But in that moment, it didn't matter. The pull between you was too strong to resist.

Jack's office was a sanctuary in the bustling precinct, the only place where you could be alone together without the prying eyes of your colleagues. The room was small, filled with the scent of old case files and the faint hint of Jack's aftershave. The rain outside had turned into a gentle pitter-patter, a serenade to your shared secrets.

You helped him to his desk chair, hissing in pain as he sat down. The urgency of the moment had not faded, it had only grown stronger. You took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the way Jack's eyes were devouring you made it nearly impossible.

Jack's office was a testament to his meticulous nature, the neat rows of files and the minimalistic decor a stark contrast to the passion that was now filling the room. The only light came from the flickering neon street lamp outside, casting a soft glow on his features, making him look both vulnerable and fierce.

You straddled him, his good arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close as if you were the most precious thing he'd ever had. The rain had turned into a gentle serenade, the drops whispering secrets against the windowpanes.

"I need you," you breathed, your voice trembling with a mix of desire and fear.

Jack's eyes searched yours, the intensity in them leaving no room for doubt. "You've got me," he murmured, his good hand reaching up to cradle your face.

You leaned in, closing the distance between your lips, the kiss deepening as you both lost yourself in the moment. The desk chair creaked under your weight, a testament to the passion that was building between you.

Jack's hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve with a gentle urgency. His touch was like a brand, leaving a trail of fire wherever it went. You could feel his heart beating in sync with yours, the rhythm echoing the pulse of the city outside.

The desk lamp flickered, casting shadows on the wall that danced with the rain's soft whispers. You were aware of the precinct's life continuing just beyond the door, the muffled footsteps and hushed conversations, but in this space, it was just you and Jack.

Jack's good hand slid up your back, his thumb tracing the line of your spine, sending shivers down to your toes. His mouth traveled along your jaw, peppering gentle kisses that made you gasp. You felt your own hands become more urgent, unbuttoning his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric.

"Careful," Jack murmured, wincing slightly as you accidentally brushed against his injured shoulder. The reminder of his vulnerability sent a rush of protectiveness through you, making you kiss him harder.

You felt the need to be closer to him, to erase the pain he was in. Your hands slid all over his chest, feeling the contours and ridges of his abs. He winced slightly as you touched the bandage but didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip around you, his eyes never leaving yours. The rain outside had turned into a gentle whisper, a backdrop to your newfound intimacy.

Jack's breath was warm against your skin as he trailed kisses along your neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty sweetness of you. You moaned, unable to hold back the sound. His hands found their way under your shirt, his touch setting your skin on fire.

The desk was cold against your back, but Jack's body was a furnace, keeping you warm despite the December chill. You felt the weight of the badges on your chests, a reminder of the world outside that was trying to push its way into this moment. But here, in the cocoon of his office, you were just two people with a connection that was growing stronger with every shared breath.

You kissed him like you were trying to memorize the feel of him, the taste of him. Like you were worried that if you didn't, he'd slip away again. His hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of you, as if he too was afraid that this moment would vanish.

"Jack," you whispered against his mouth, his name a plea and a promise. "Take me."

Jack's eyes searched yours for a brief moment, as if seeking confirmation that this was real. Then, with a low groan, he stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. He wrapped his good arm around your waist, lifting you off the desk. You felt weightless in his embrace, the room spinning with the intensity of your emotions.

You stumbled over to the couch in the corner of the room, Jack's mouth never leaving yours. The cushions were stiff and unwelcoming, a stark contrast to the fire in his touch. You sat down, Jack hovering over you, his eyes dark with desire.

"We're going to get fired," you murmured, but even as you said it, you didn't believe it. This was more than a fleeting affair, more than a moment of weakness. It was the culmination of a bond forged in the fire of a high-stakes case.

Jack's eyes searched yours, the corners crinkling with a smile. "Would it be so bad?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. "Probably," you admitted, but the grin on your face didn't lie.

Jack's smile grew wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Then let's make it worth it," he murmured, his voice a seductive promise.

He laid you down on the couch, his body hovering over yours. The rain had turned into a gentle lullaby, the sound of it a soothing background to the crescendo of your shared passion. His hands continued to explore, his kisses growing deeper, more urgent. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the heat of his body enveloping you.

"Jack," you whispered, your voice a breathy sigh of pleasure. His name on your lips was a prayer, a promise, a declaration of something you hadn't quite put into words yet.

He paused, his eyes searching yours, the greenish-brown pools dark with passion and a hint of something deeper. "Tell me," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble. "What do you want?"

You took a deep breath, the rain outside now a gentle serenade to your tumultuous hearts. "I want to be with you," you confessed, the words feeling like a weight lifted from your chest. "Not just for the case, but for everything."

Jack's smile grew, the warmth of it reaching into your very soul. "Me too," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

The couch creaked under the weight of your passion, the rain outside now a gentle applause to the symphony of your love. You could feel the tension in his body, the restraint he was holding onto with a thread. But you knew that thread was about to snap.

Jack's hand slid down to the hem of your shirt, his touch burning a trail along your skin. You arched into him, eager for more, for the feeling of his bare skin against yours. The couch was cold, but his kisses were hot, leaving you breathless and begging for more.

"I want you," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I want to be the one to make you feel safe, the one to make you laugh, the one to hold you when the world is too much."

You looked into his eyes, the greenish-brown depths filled with a tenderness that took your breath away. You didn't know when this had started, when the rivalry had turned into something more, but you knew you didn't want it to end.

Jack leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "I know we can't ignore this," he whispered, his voice a gentle caress. "But we have to be careful."

You nodded, the gravity of his words weighing on your heart. But you also knew that you couldn't ignore the way your heart skipped a beat every time he was near, the way your thoughts strayed to him when you were apart.

The rain outside had slowed to a whisper, the quiet a stark contrast to the tumult of emotions within the four walls of the office. You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Jack," you said, your voice barely above a murmur. "I don't want to hide my feelings for you anymore."

Jack's eyes searched yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. "Neither do I," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

The air in the room grew thick with unspoken promises, the rain outside now a gentle lullaby to the symphony playing in your hearts. You reached up, your hand tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble under your fingertips. "Jack," you whispered, the sound of your voice barely audible over the rain.

Jack leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I know we have to be careful," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble. "But I don't want to hide this anymore."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle into your bones. The rain outside had turned into a gentle whisper, a backdrop to the symphony of emotions playing out in the cramped office. You reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the scruff against your palm. "Take me, Jack. Make me forget about everything."

Jack's eyes searched yours for a moment longer before he leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that stole your breath. His hands slid to your pants, yanking them down with an urgency that matched the pounding in your chest. The couch creaked under the weight of your passion, the rain outside now a gentle applause to the symphony of your love.

You felt his bare skin against yours, the heat of him setting your nerves alight. The desk lamp cast a warm glow on his reddish-brown hair, making it look like it was on fire in the dim light. His mouth moved down your neck, his teeth nipping gently at your skin, making you gasp.

Jack's hands were everywhere, exploring your body with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying. You felt your own hands move to his belt, the leather smooth and cold under your fingertips. You yanked the zipper to his pants down, the sound echoing through the quiet room like a gunshot.

Jack's mouth moved to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, his breath hot and ragged. You moaned, arching into his touch, the heat building between your legs like a storm waiting to break. His hand slid down, his fingers finding their way to the slick warmth that was already waiting for him.

You gasped as he touched you, the sensation sending a bolt of electricity straight to your core. "Jack," you whimpered, your eyes rolling back in your head.

Jack's smile was wolfish, his eyes dark with desire. "I've wanted this for so long," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. His hand moved between your legs, his fingers deft and sure as they found their way to your clit.

You moaned, your eyes closing as you arched into his touch. "You're going to be the death of me," you gasped, your voice a plea and a prayer all rolled into one.

Jack's chuckle was low and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. "And what a way to go," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers danced over your clit, teasing and taunting, building the tension until you were on the edge.

You yanked his boxer briefs down, freeing his erection. It sprang up, proud and thick, a testament to his desire for you. The sight of him, vulnerable and wanton, made your core ache with need. You reached down, wrapping your hand around him, feeling the heat and power of him pulse in your grip.

Jack's eyes rolled back in his head, a low groan escaping his lips as you stroked him. The rain outside had turned into a gentle serenade, the drops tapping against the window in time with the beat of your hearts.

With his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, he slid your panties down your legs, leaving them in a pool of fabric on the floor. Your breath hitched as Jack kissed his way upward, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The room was a symphony of sounds - the rain's soft patter, the rustle of clothes being removed, the occasional muffled curse as one of you hit an elbow or toe on a piece of furniture.

Jack's eyes searched yours, a silent question in them. You nodded, giving him the answer he was looking for. He positioned himself over you, his body a warm weight that you welcomed. The couch was too small, the office too cold, but the heat between you could have melted the polar ice caps.

He slid into you with a gentle thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your eyes flying open, the sensation overwhelming. His eyes never left yours, the connection between you palpable, as he began to move, setting a rhythm that was as familiar as the beat of your heart.

The rain outside had slowed to a whisper, the only sound in the room the muffled slap of skin against skin, the gentle rock of the couch beneath you. You could feel the tension in his body, the restraint he was holding onto with everything he had. You reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, urging him to let go.

Jack's eyes searched yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. "You're sure?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to echo through your very soul.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his question, the gravity of what you were about to admit. "Yes," you whispered, the word a breath of warmth in the cold office.

Jack's eyes searched yours for a moment longer before he leaned in, claiming your mouth with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying. His hand slid down to cup your cheek, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the chill in the air. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, the beat matching the tempo of the rain outside.

You pushed him back gently, needing to see his face, needing to make sure this was real. "Jack," you murmured, your voice thick with desire and something else, something that felt suspiciously like love. "Make love to me."

Jack's eyes searched yours for a moment before he nodded, his movements slowing to a gentle rhythm that matched the soft patter of the rain outside. He kissed you, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as he slid into you with a slow, deliberate stroke that sent waves of pleasure rippling through your body.

The rain had turned into a gentle serenade, the drops tap dancing on the window sill to the rhythm of your passion. Your hands slid down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the power in his movements. You matched his tempo, rising to meet each of his strokes with an urgency that seemed to build with every beat of the rain outside.

Jack's breath grew ragged, his eyes never leaving yours. The room was a kaleidoscope of sensations - the scent of rain and ink from the files scattered on the floor, the sound of your muffled gasps and the soft sighs of the couch beneath you, the taste of each other on your lips.

"I can't believe this is happening," he whispered, his voice hoarse with passion.

"Believe it," you murmured back, your eyes never leaving his as the rain outside danced a seductive tango with the moonlight. The office was a mess of files and coffee cups, but all that mattered was the warmth of his body, the taste of him on your lips.

Jack's smile grew, his eyes crinkling with happiness. He kissed you again, his movements gentle, almost reverent. His hand slid down to the juncture of your thighs, his thumb teasing your clit in lazy circles that had you squirming beneath him. You moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by the cushion of his lips.

You could feel the tension in him, the desire that had been simmering for weeks, maybe even months, coming to a boil. You knew you weren't just rivals anymore; you were partners in every sense of the word. The line between work and personal had blurred, and you weren't sure you wanted to draw it back.

Jack leaned closer, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was desperate and hungry, a declaration of everything he hadn't been able to say out loud. You felt his hand slide down to the small of your back, pulling you closer, your bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces finally finding their home.

You were no longer just detectives on a case; you were two people who had found solace in each other's arms amidst the chaos of your lives. The rain outside had turned into a gentle whisper, a backdrop to the symphony of emotions playing out in the cramped office.

Jack's hands roamed over your body, his touch gentle yet firm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His mouth was hot against yours, the taste of him addictive. You could feel your body responding to him, arching into his touch, eager for more. The desire between you was palpable, a living, breathing entity that demanded to be acknowledged.

The rain had stopped, leaving the world outside the office window a quiet, peaceful canvas of wet streets and gleaming neon lights. But inside, the storm raged on. Your bodies were slick with sweat, the air heavy with the scent of lust and passion. The only sound was the ragged breathing that filled the space between you.

Jack's hand trailed up your spine, sending shivers down your back. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliment, your eyes never leaving his. "Jack, I-"

"Shh," he whispered, his thumb brushing against your lips. "Let's not spoil this with words."

You nodded, understanding. Sometimes, the things you couldn't say were louder than the ones you could. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him closer, and he complied, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm that had your eyes rolling back in your head. The couch was too small, the room too cold, but in the heat of this moment, it didn't matter.

The following days pass in a whirlwind of stolen glances and secret touches, your partnership evolving into something more than just a professional alliance. The December Thief's taunts continue, but they seem almost muted by the electric current that now crackles between you and Jack. The case is still a priority, but your personal lives are now inextricably linked.

You find yourself eagerly awaiting the moments you can be alone with Jack, even if it's just to discuss the case files. His office becomes a sanctuary, a place where the weight of your newfound feelings doesn't feel so heavy. You sit across from him, your knees brushing against his, the heat of his gaze warming you even when the December air outside is biting.

"I think we might have a lead," you murmur, sliding a folder across the desk. The name "Alexander Zverev" is scribbled across the front in your hasty handwriting.

Jack's eyes light up at the mention of the December Thief's potential identity. "Finally," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and relief. He opens the folder, his eyes scanning the information you've gathered. "This could be it," he says, his voice filled with determination.

You nod, trying to keep your thoughts on the case, but the memory of your recent intimacy keeps intruding. You can't help but remember the way his muscles tensed under your touch, the sound of his breath in your ear as he whispered sweet nothings that turned into everything.

Jack's eyes are focused on the file, his brow furrowed in concentration. The lamp casts shadows across his face, making him look like a sculpture, all sharp angles and fierce determination. You find yourself wanting to reach out, to trace the line of his jaw, to feel the warmth of his skin. But you don't. Not yet.

"Alexander Zverev," he murmurs, turning the name over in his mouth like a fine wine. "German of Russian descent… that fits the profile." His eyes flicker up to meet yours, the same spark of excitement lighting up the room as the Christmas lights outside.

"He's got a history of petty thefts in Berlin, but nothing on this scale," you add, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together. "But there's something… personal in his notes."

You nod, your gaze still on the file. "The vanilla scent, the Christmas motif… it's all a message to you, Jack."

Jack looks up, his eyes meeting yours. "To me?"

You nod, your heart racing as you remember the taunts, the personal connection. "Think about it. Your birthday is a few days before Christmas, and he always leaves rare German glass shards at the scenes. It's like he's playing a twisted game of connect-the-dots with your life."

Jack's expression darkens, the realization setting in. "But why me?" he asks, his voice tight with emotion.

"I don't know," you admit, reaching across the desk to squeeze his hand. "But we'll figure it out together."

Jack nods, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "We have to," he murmurs, his grip tightening around your hand. "This isn't just about catching a thief anymore. It's about finding out who's behind all of this, and why they're targeting me."

You nod in agreement, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The December Thief isn't just a random criminal; they have a vendetta, and you're both in the crosshairs.

"We'll need to be careful," you say, the seriousness in your tone matching the tightening grip on his hand. "We don't know who we're dealing with, but he's clever."

Jack nods, his eyes still searching yours. "We're going to get him," he says with a determination that sends a shiver down your spine. "For the case, and for us."

You smile, a hint of mischief playing on your lips. "But until then, let's not forget to enjoy the chase," you say, your voice low and teasing.

Jack grins back at you, the tension in the room shifting from intense to playful. "Oh, trust me, I plan to," he says, his eyes never leaving yours.

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "You're insufferable."

Jack laughs, squeezing your hand playfully. "You love it."

"Maybe a little," you concede, smiling despite the seriousness of the situation. You both know you make a good team, not just in the bedroom but in the thrilling dance of cat and mouse with the December Thief.

Jack's eyes light up with excitement, and you can't help but feel your own heart race at the thought of finally solving the puzzle that's been taunting you both. "Let's do this," he says, standing up and pulling you to your feet with surprising strength.

The next few days are a blur of late nights, stakeouts, and tense moments as you both dive deeper into the life of this elusive criminal. The name Alexander Zverev leads to a trail of breadcrumbs that takes you across the city, from the gleaming towers of the financial district to the shadowy alleyways of the East End.

You relegated Jack to desk duty, not wanting to risk his safety after his injury. Yet, the spark of defiance in his eyes told you he wasn't one to sit still for long. You had to admit, the sight of him, all brooding and restless, was doing things to your insides. The way his tie was slightly askew, and his hair was ruffled from your hands, made you want to drag him back into the office and kiss him until he forgot about the thief. But you had a job to do.

The rain had stopped, but the scent of damp earth and pine lingered in the air as you donned your coat and stepped out into the cold London night. Your heels clicked against the pavement as you headed to the next potential crime scene - the St. Pancras Renaissance Hotel. The grandeur of the building was lost on you as you scanned the area, looking for anything out of place.

Jack wanted to tag along, but you refused, insisting he stay behind for his own safety. His eyes searched yours, a silent plea, but you were firm. "You're not fully recovered," you reminded him, your voice gentle but firm. "We can't risk it."

He grumbled but ultimately conceded, his eyes never leaving yours as you kissed him goodbye, the warmth of his mouth a stark contrast to the cold December air that awaited you outside.

The St. Pancras Renaissance Hotel loomed before you, a grandiose structure that seemed to whisper secrets into the night. The rain had painted the cobblestones a slick black, reflecting the holiday lights like a kaleidoscope of shattered dreams. You approached the entrance, your mind racing with the possible connections to the December Thief.

Jack's absence was a constant ache, but you knew he was safe, healing back at the office. You couldn't help the pang of guilt that twisted your heart, knowing that your insistence on keeping him safe was as much about protecting your own heart as it was about his well-being. The intimacy you'd shared had left you feeling vulnerable in a way you hadn't experienced since your first case as a rookie detective.

The grandeur of the St. Pancras Renaissance Hotel did little to warm the cold dread that had settled in your stomach. The holiday lights reflected off the wet cobblestones, casting eerie shadows that danced around your feet as you approached the entrance. The air was thick with the scent of evergreens and distant chimney smoke, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of fear that lingered on your tongue.

Inside, the opulence was suffocating. The marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of the chandeliers, and the grand staircase swept upwards like a frozen waterfall of gold and white. You felt out of place in your damp coat, the gun at your side a grim reminder of the reality that lurked beyond the festive façade.

As you approached the front desk, you noticed a peculiar scent lingering in the air – a faint hint of vanilla that seemed eerily familiar. Your heart raced. Was the December Thief already here?

"Can I help you, miss?" the receptionist asked, her voice a melodic blend of British politeness and the hint of an Eastern European accent.

You flashed your badge. "I'm here to speak to Mr. Zverev. Alexander Zverev."

The receptionist's eyes widened, her manicured nails tapping a frantic Morse code on the keyboard. "One moment," she said, picking up the phone.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement - was this finally the break you needed? You glanced around the opulent lobby, eyes peeled for any sign of the elusive thief. The chandeliers cast a warm glow over the marble floors, and the evergreen garlands were a stark contrast to the cold, wet London streets outside.

The receptionist's voice brought you back to the present. "I'm sorry, but no one by the name of Alexander Zverev is currently staying with us."

Disappointment flickered across your face, but you didn't let it show for long. "Thank you for checking," you said, your tone professional despite the personal stakes. "Do you have any information on upcoming events or guests that might be of interest?"

The receptionist's eyes flickered to the computer screen, then back to you. "Well, there is a private exhibition starting tonight. It's called 'Winter's Whisper.' It's a collection of rare artworks with a Christmas theme."

Your heart skipped a beat. Could it be a coincidence? Or was the December Thief closer than you thought? "Is there a list of the pieces being displayed?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

The receptionist nodded, her eyes flicking to the screen again. "Yes, it's mostly rare German artifacts, including some ancient glassware… and there's an unusual piece called 'Vanilla's Embrace' that's generating quite the buzz."

Your heart pounded in your chest. The pieces were falling into place. "Could you give me the details for that exhibition?" you asked, your voice tight.

The receptionist nodded and handed over a brochure. "It's in the grand ballroom. Starts at 8 PM."

You thanked her, your mind racing with the possibilities. 'Vanilla's Embrace' could be the thief's next target or a clue to his identity. The exhibition's name, 'Winter's Whisper,' was too close to the thief's MO to ignore. You tucked the brochure into your pocket, the edges digging into your skin as you stepped out into the cold night, the chilly air a stark contrast to the warmth you felt at the thought of being closer to solving the case.

As you approached the grand ballroom, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air. The scent of vanilla grew stronger, mingling with the aroma of mulled wine and roasting chestnuts. You could feel your heart pound in your chest, the anticipation building like the crescendo of a symphony.

The ballroom was a vision of winter wonderland, with twinkling lights reflecting off the ice sculptures and the gleaming glassware displayed on velvet-covered pedestals. The artworks were a testament to the opulence of Christmas, but amidst the glitz, you could feel the shadow of the December Thief looming.

You mingled with the well-heeled guests, your eyes scanning the room for any sign of the thief. The conversations around you were a symphony of wealth and artifice, a stark contrast to the grim reality of the crime spree that had brought you here. You felt out of place in your sensible heels and understated dress, but the thrill of the chase had always been your most exquisite garnish.

The grand ballroom of the St. Pancras Renaissance Hotel was a vision of opulent winter, with glittering ice sculptures casting an eerie glow over the rare artworks displayed with meticulous care. Each piece was a story unto itself, but the one you sought was a ghost in the glamour - 'Vanilla's Embrace.' The air was thick with anticipation, the chatter of the well-heeled guests a cacophony of wealth and pretension that seemed almost absurd against the backdrop of your grim mission.

All of a sudden, the lights cut off, plunging the grand ballroom into darkness. Screams filled the air as the panic set in, the sound of shattering glass piercing the chaos. The room was a cacophony of fear and confusion, the only light coming from the emergency exit signs and the glow of the artworks.

You moved swiftly through the crowd, your senses on high alert. This had to be it - the December Thief's next move. Your hand found the cool, comforting grip of your gun, ready for anything.

As the lights flickered back on, you caught a glimpse of something out of place - a man dressed in black, his face obscured by a mask, holding a shattered glass sculpture that had once been 'Vanilla's Embrace.' Your heart raced as you pushed through the terrified guests, the weight of your badge a stark reminder of the responsibility you bore.

"Freeze!" you yelled, drawing your gun.

The man in black swiveled, the shard of glass glinting in his hand. His eyes met yours, and for a fraction of a second, you thought you saw a flicker of recognition. Then he was gone, weaving through the panicked crowd like a phantom.

You took off after him, heart pounding in your chest. The room was a blur of flashing lights and terrified faces, the sound of your heels echoing in the vast space. You shoved aside a screaming woman in a fur coat, her diamonds glinting in the dim light. The thief's footsteps grew fainter, but you could still hear the tap-tap of his shoes on the marble floor.

You burst through a side door and into a dimly lit corridor. The air was colder here, the sound of rain a distant whisper. You followed the sound, your instincts honed from years of chases and stakeouts. The corridor led to a service elevator, the doors just starting to close.

With a burst of adrenaline, you sprinted forward, slamming your hand against the metal just in time to stop them from shutting. You stepped inside, the stale scent of industrial cleaning supplies and the faint trace of vanilla assaulting your senses.

The elevator jolted into motion, the cables groaning as it descended into the bowels of the hotel. You knew you had to act fast before the thief slipped through your grasp. The space was tight, but you used it to your advantage, moving swiftly and silently despite your heels.

The doors slid open, revealing a stark contrast to the opulence above - a cold, industrial basement. The scent of vanilla grew stronger, almost suffocating. It led you through the labyrinth of corridors, past the kitchen's heat and the throb of the laundry machines.

You rounded a corner and saw him - the man in black, standing in the dim glow of a solitary lightbulb, the shattered remnants of 'Vanilla's Embrace' at his feet. In his hand, he held a gun, his eyes cold and calculating.

"You're a persistent one," he said, his voice a low, velvety purr that sent chills down your spine. "But I've had enough of this game."

You held your gun steady, your eyes never leaving his. "You're coming with me, Zverev," you said, your voice firm despite the tremor that threatened to overtake you.

The man in black smirked, the corners of his mouth lifting under the mask. "You know my name," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "How quaint."

You stepped closer, keeping your gun trained on him. "You've been playing games with us for too long," you said, your voice steady despite the fear coiled in your stomach. "It's time to end this."

The man in black - Zverev - tilted his head, studying you with an unsettling curiosity. "You're different from the others," he murmured, the gun in his hand not wavering. "You're not just a detective, are you?"

You didn't answer, keeping your own gun steady. "This ends now," you said, your voice echoing in the vast, empty space.

Zverev took a step closer, the shadows playing across his mask. "Or perhaps," he suggested, "it's just beginning."

Your pulse raced as you tried to read his intentions. Was he going to fight or flee? You tightened your grip on the gun, ready for either.

"I don't think you understand," Zverev said, his voice a silky threat. "This isn't just about the art, it's about the legacy. It's about the thrill of the hunt."

You studied him, his confidence unnerving. "And what legacy is that?"

"Ah, but that's for me to know and for you to find out," Zverev said, his smile taunting. "But I'll give you a hint. It has everything to do with your dear Jack."

The mention of Jack's name sent a jolt through you. Your eyes narrowed, and you took another step closer. "What do you know about him?"

Zverev chuckled, his voice echoing through the vast, empty space. "Everything," he said, his eyes gleaming. "The son of the great Chief Roger Draper. Born under a star of destiny, yet burdened with the weight of his father's expectations."

The mention of Jack's father hit a nerve, and your grip on the gun tightened. "What do you want from him?"

"What everyone wants," Zverev said, his smile widening. "Revenge."

You felt the color drain from your face. "What did Jack ever do to you?"

He chuckled coldly, "Jack Draper, the golden child, born in the shadow of greatness. That used to be me until the Drapers came in and took everything from me and my father."

Your heart raced. You didn't know what he meant, but you knew it wasn't good. "What are you talking about?"

Zverev took a step closer, his eyes gleaming. "Jack's father," he said, his voice a dangerous purr. "Chief Draper. He had quite the hand in my family's downfall."

Your mind raced as you tried to piece together the puzzle of Jack's life, the hidden pieces of his past that had led you here. "What do you mean?" you demanded.

Zverev leaned against the cold, damp wall, his eyes gleaming with spite. "Your precious Jack, the apple of his father's eye. Do you know what it's like to be cast aside? To watch as everything you've ever worked for is taken by someone who didn't even have to try?"

You felt a twist in your stomach. "What are you saying?"

Zverev took a step closer, the barrel of his gun never leaving you. "Your Jack, the golden boy," he spat. "He's the reason I am who I am. The reason my father's name was dragged through the mud."

You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold basement air. "What?"

Zverev's smile grew colder. "Ask him, detective. Ask Jack why his surname is so familiar to me."

You felt a flicker of doubt, but you couldn't let it show. You took a deep breath, your heart racing as the elevator dinged, signaling its arrival at the ground floor. "You're coming with me," he said, his voice firm but not unkind.

The man in black, now revealed to be none other than Alexander Zverev, stepped out of the elevator, the shadows playing off the sharp angles of his face. He was younger than you had expected, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to see through you. "Or what?" you challenged, your gun still trained on him, your voice a mix of anger and fear for Jack.

Zverev smirked. "Or you'll shoot me?" He waved the gun in his hand dismissively. "I've faced worse, detective. Besides, you're too much like him to pull the trigger."

You felt the truth in his words, a knot tightening in your stomach. You had grown to care for Jack, to understand the weight of his father's shadow. You knew the pain of lost potential and the rage that could drive someone to such extremes.

"You're wrong," you said, your voice firm. "Jack is nothing like you. He's dedicated, honest, and cares about justice."

Zverev's smile never wavered. "Is he now?" He took another step closer, the gun in his hand almost a casual accessory. "Tell me, detective, do you know what happened to my father?"

You felt your throat tighten. You didn't know the full story, but you knew it was something dark and twisted. "Your father was a thief," you said, trying to keep the emotion out of your voice. "He made his choices."

Zverev's smile was chilling. "Choices," he mused, "are a luxury for some. For others, they're a prison sentence."

You felt a sudden surge of anger. "You're a criminal," you spat. "Your choices are your own."

Zverev's eyes grew cold. "Ah, but the sins of the father, detective," he said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "They have a way of shaping the son, don't they?"

You felt the weight of his accusation, but you didn't waver. "Jack is his own person," you said firmly. "Whatever your vendetta with Chief Draper is, it has nothing to do with him."

Zverev's eyes narrowed, the blue irises burning with a fierce intensity. "Is he?" He took another step closer. "Or is he just playing a part, the same way you are?"

You felt your hand tremble slightly, but you didn't lower your gun. "Jack is not playing a part," you insisted. "He's a good detective."

"Is he?" Zverev's eyes narrowed. "Or is he playing the part of the hero, just like his father?"

You felt a spark of anger at the insinuation. "Jack is nothing like that," you said firmly, your voice echoing in the cold, damp basement.

Zverev chuckled, a sound that sent chills down your spine. "We'll see," he said, his eyes gleaming. "In the meantime, I think it's time for a certain detective to be taken out of commission."

You felt your heart race as he raised his gun, but before he could take the shot, the sound of footsteps echoed through the basement. You turned to see Jack, his own weapon drawn, his eyes wild with fear and anger.

"Get away from her," he bellowed, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.

Jack's sudden appearance was a whirlwind of relief and terror. The love you felt for him washed over you, but the sight of his furious eyes made you realize just how much danger you were both in.

"Jack, what the hell are you doing here?" you shouted, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Protecting what's mine," he said, his voice tight with emotion.

Zverev's smile grew wider. "Aw, the little Draper wants to play Prince Charming," he sneered, his gun still trained on you. "How predictable."

Jack took a step forward, his eyes never leaving Zverev's. "I said, get away from her," he repeated, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

You felt the tension in the room thicken, the air charged with the electricity of a storm about to break. Zverev's smirk didn't falter, his gaze flicking from you to Jack and back again. "Or what?" he taunted.

Jack took another step forward, his gun unwavering. "You don't want to do this," he said, his voice low and deadly.

Zverev's smile didn't falter. "Oh, but I do," he said, his eyes gleaming with a malicious excitement. "You see, Jack, this isn't just about you and me. It's about your legacy, about what your father did to mine."

Jack's expression grew darker, his eyes never leaving Zverev's. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

Within an instant, you felt the barrel of Zverev's gun pressed against your temple, his eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and malice. "Drop it, Draper," he hissed. "You don't want anything to happen to your pretty little detective, do you?"

Jack's grip on his weapon tightened, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of the unspoken words and the unspoken fear. "Let her go," he said, his voice low and measured.

Zverev's smile grew colder. "Or what?" he taunted, his finger playing with the trigger.

Jack took a step forward, his eyes burning with a fury that seemed to warm the chilly air. "You don't know what you're messing with," he growled, his grip on his gun tightening.

"Oh, but I do," Zverev purred, the muzzle of his weapon pressing harder against your skin. "I know all about the great Chief Draper and his perfect son. How could I not?"

Jack's jaw was set, his eyes never leaving the thief's hand. "Let her go," he repeated, his voice strained with emotion.

You felt the cold steel of the gun against your skin, the reality of the situation sinking in. The thief's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the power he held.

Without wasting another second, you used your height to your advantage against Zverev's 6'6 frame, kicking him in the shin and causing him to stumble. The gun at your temple loosened just enough for you to twist away. You heard the crack of a gunshot, and the sound of shattering glass as Jack fired a warning shot into the wall.

The basement was a flurry of movement as the two of you circled Zverev, guns drawn. His eyes darted between you, calculating his next move. The air grew colder as the rain outside pummeled the windows, the sound echoing the chaos inside.

"Why are you doing this?" you shouted over the din, desperation and anger melding in your voice.

Zverev's smile grew colder, the gun still pointed at you. "For the art, of course," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But mostly, for the legacy. A legacy that your Jack, the golden boy, stole from me."

Jack's eyes narrowed, his jaw set as he stepped closer, his own gun still trained on the thief. "You're wrong," he said, his voice low and deadly. "My father did what he had to. Your father was a criminal."

Zverev's smirk didn't falter. "Ah, but at what cost, Jack?" He gestured to you with the gun. "Would you be willing to sacrifice your love to uphold your father's legacy?"

Jack's gaze didn't waver from Zverev's. "You're insane," he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hand. "Let her go and we can end this."

Zverev's smirk grew, his eyes glinting with a malicious delight. "Ah, but where's the fun in that?"

With the gun in his hand, he whacked you on the back of the head, sending stars exploding in your vision. As you crumpled to the ground, you heard the sound of another shot, followed by the clatter of a gun hitting the concrete. You reached up, feeling the warm trickle of blood seep down your neck.

Jack was on top of Zverev in an instant, wrestling him to the ground, their grunts echoing through the basement. You tried to stand, your head spinning, but your legs refused to cooperate.

"Stay down," Jack ordered, his voice sharp with concern. "You're hurt."

You tried to protest, but the world was spinning. The pain was intense, but you could see Jack and Zverev struggling on the ground, their bodies a tangle of limbs and shadows.

"Jack, no!" you shouted, your voice echoing in the cavernous space. But the words were lost in the cacophony of grunts and scraping concrete.

Jack's eyes flicked to you briefly, a mix of anger and concern. "I've got this," he grunted, his muscles straining as he held Zverev down.

You watched, your vision blurring from the impact, as Jack managed to disarm the thief. The gun skidded across the floor, coming to rest just out of reach. Zverev snarled, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt a cold, wetness trickle down the back of your neck, and your heart sank.

Jack pinned Zverev's arms behind his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're done," he said, his voice strained with effort. "This ends now."

You tried to push yourself up, the world swimming in and out of focus. "Jack," you managed to murmur, the taste of copper in your mouth.

Jack's eyes darted to you again, his expression a mix of fear and determination. "Stay down," he repeated, his voice strained as he held Zverev's arms with one hand and reached for the cuffs with the other.

The thief bucked and twisted, trying to break free. You felt a warm trickle of blood seeping through your fingers as you reached up to touch the back of your head. The world was spinning, and the pain was a dull throb, but you knew you couldn't just sit there.

"We need backup," you meekly called out, the pain in your head throbbing with each heartbeat. The room spun around you, but you pushed through the haze, reaching for the radio on your belt. Your hand found the cold plastic, and you managed to press the call button with trembling fingers. "We have eyes on the December Thief and--"

Before you could finish, darkness closed in around you, the pain in your head becoming too much to bear. You felt Jack's firm grip on your shoulder, his voice a distant concern as he called for backup. The basement's cold concrete was a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand, the only anchor keeping you from slipping away.

As the world grew dimmer, you heard the shuffle of feet and the grunts of a struggle. You tried to fight the darkness, but it was like trying to swim against a tide pulling you out to sea. You felt a gentle pressure as Jack applied pressure to your wound, his voice a soothing murmur in your ear. "Hold on, I've got you. Help is on the way."

Your eyes fluttered close, the darkness pulling you under like a riptide. You were dimly aware of Jack's panicked voice, his hand pressing firmly against the back of your head, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the cold concrete beneath you. The sound of his grunts and the thief's struggling grew distant, until all that remained was the steady rhythm of rain outside and Jack's voice, a beacon in the storm.

"You're going to be okay," he murmured, his voice tight with fear. "Hold on, just hold on."

You felt his hands, warm and firm, pressing against the back of your head, the warmth seeping into your skin, grounding you in the cold, unforgiving reality. The darkness was like a thick fog, threatening to swallow you whole. But Jack's voice was a beacon, cutting through the haze.

"You're going to be okay," he murmured again, his words a lifeline in the chaos.

But the darkness was relentless, pulling you under, the pain in your head a crescendo of agony. You felt your consciousness slipping away, Jack's warmth the only thing keeping you tethered to the world.

"Stay with me," he pleaded, his voice a lifeline in the abyss. "You can't leave me now."

You felt yourself fading, the darkness swirling around you like a cold, unyielding fog. The pain in your head was a relentless crescendo, threatening to consume you. But Jack's voice, his touch, kept you tethered to reality.

"You can't leave me now," he whispered, his voice a desperate plea. "Not like this."

The sound of sirens grew louder, piercing the silence that had followed the echo of the gunshot. You felt yourself drifting, the cold concrete floor of the basement a distant sensation beneath you. You were aware of Jack's panic, his hands pressing against the wound at the back of your head, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he held you, as if he could keep you here with the sheer force of his will.

"You can't leave me," he repeated, his voice a desperate whisper.

The sirens grew louder, piercing the cold silence of the basement. The fog in your mind started to dissipate as the sound of running footsteps approached. You felt Jack's grip tighten, his eyes never leaving yours. "Stay with me," he murmured, his voice a lifeline in the abyss.

You tried to nod, to reassure him, but the pain was too intense. The world swirled around you, a kaleidoscope of shadows and light. Your eyes closed, unable to fight the pull of unconsciousness any longer.

When you opened them again, the basement had transformed into a sterile hospital room, the stench of antiseptic replacing the damp chill of the concrete floor. You blinked, disoriented by the sudden change.

Jack's face swam into view, his eyes bloodshot and worried. "You're okay," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Oh my god, you're okay."

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled mess. Your head was pounding, and your vision was still swimming. You reached up to feel the bandage on the back of your head, the fabric sticky with blood. "Jack," you murmured.

Jack immediately burst into tears as he brought you in for a bone-crushing hug, the kind that conveyed the depth of his relief and love. "Don't scare me like that," he murmured into your hair, his voice hoarse from the fear he'd been holding back. You felt his warmth and strength, and it was like coming home after a long, cold journey.

The hospital was a stark contrast to the basement of the St. Pancras Renaissance Hotel. The white walls and beeping monitors were a blur as Jack held you tight, his embrace the only constant in a world that had suddenly gone haywire. You could feel the tension in his body, the fear that had been his constant companion since he saw you go down.

"How long was I out?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jack's grip tightened, and you felt a warm tear drop onto your forehead. "A few days," he said, his voice thick with relief. "But you're going to be okay. The doctors said it's just a concussion."

You nodded, wincing at the pain that shot through your head. The memory of the confrontation with Zverev was fuzzy, the edges tinged with fear and confusion. "What happened to him?"

Jack's grip on you tightened for a moment before he pulled back, his eyes searching your face. "He's in custody," he said, his voice tight. "He won't be bothering us anymore."

You nodded, the relief washing over you. The pain in your head was still there, but the warmth of Jack's arms around you made it feel more manageable. The room was bustling with doctors and nurses, but they seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of you.

Jack leaned back, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand. "The case is closed," he said, his voice still thick with emotion. "Zverev confessed to everything."

You frowned, trying to sit up, but the pain in your head made you recoil. "How long have you been here?" you asked, your voice still groggy from the anesthesia.

"Since they brought you in," Jack said, his eyes never leaving yours. "I couldn't leave your side. When you went down, it was like my world stopped." His voice cracked with raw emotion, and you felt a swell of love for him that washed over the pain. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Jack," you said, your voice weak but filled with conviction, "I'm not going anywhere."

Jack's eyes searched yours, looking for the truth behind your words. "You scared me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

The room was a blur of white and beeping machines, but all you could focus on was the warmth of Jack's hand in yours. You felt a soft smile tug at your lips despite the pain. "I love you, you know," you whispered, the words barely audible.

Jack's eyes widened, and he leaned closer, his thumb brushing over your hand in gentle circles. "I love you," he said, the words rushing out in a relieved sigh. "More than anything."

The hospital room was a cocoon of warmth and love, the chaos of the outside world muffled by the thick walls. You felt a tear roll down your cheek, the pain in your head momentarily forgotten. "We're in this together," you whispered, your voice gaining strength. "No matter what."

Jack's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes searching yours. "Always," he said, his voice a promise.

The hospital room grew quiet, the only sound the steady beep of the heart monitor and the rhythmic patter of rain outside. The soft glow of the lights cast a warm hue on Jack's tired, yet relieved face. The intensity of the situation had brought you closer, the gravity of the words you'd spoken a stark contrast to the sterile setting.

He cupped your face in his calloused hands and brought you in for a passionate kiss, the warmth of his lips a stark contrast to the cold reality of the hospital. The kiss was a declaration of love and a promise of a future together, regardless of the danger that still lurked outside the hospital's walls.

[game-set-canet]

hey could you make one where the reader is also a tennis player and carlos and she are mixed doubles rivals 🫶🏻

It's Even

Pairing: Carlos Alcaraz x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

Author’s Note: ok, this turned out way different than I intended 🙈 but i hope you like it, lovely anon 🤍

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

MY MASTERLIST

(via Instagram @ carlitosalcarazz)

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

"Well...?", you look up from your phone, confused, as Grigor plops down on a chair next to you.

"Good morning, Grigor! What do you mean by 'well...'?"

"What do you think about the draw?", Grigor grins mischievously.

You raise an eyebrow, sceptical:  "What about the draw?"

The Bulgarian leans back, his grin widening: "So, you haven't seen who we're playing in the first round yet?"

Now your curiosity is piqued and you put your phone aside: "No, Dimitrov, enlighten me!"

Grigor leans in conspiratorially and shrugs nonchalantly: "Why don't you ask your boyfriend... and while you're at it, ask him what tactic he and Cristina plan to use for the match."

You feel a gentle blush spreading across your cheeks. Hearing the word "boyfriend" in connection with Carlos gives you butterflies.

You brush a strand of hair from your face and try to play it cool: "We're playing against Carlitos and Cristina?"

"Mhm...", Grigor nods slowly and meaningfully, "And don't you dare get those heart eyes again! Yesterday's practise was enough for me!", Grigor starts laughing, “As soon as Carlos started practising on the court next to ours, you couldn't hit a single serve!"

The gentle blush deepens into a rich tomato red and you shake your head vigorously: "That was because of the wind! And you know it!"

"Of course! The wind!", Grigor leaves no doubt that he doesn't believe a word you say, "Just make sure that doesn't happen during the match, whether your better half is on the other side of the net or not."

*** *** ***

"I can hardly wait for our match tomorrow!", Carlos has one arm around you while your head rests on his chest. You're both lying in the big hotel bed, eyes on the TV.

You smile and lift your head to look at your boyfriend: "You’re really excited about it, aren't you?"

Carlos beams at you and nods: "Of course! It's going to be our first time playing against each other!"

At that moment, you recall a tweet you saw during the rain delay: »Sometimes Carlitos is just like a golden retriever puppy« and the author of that tweet was obviously right.

You grin, furrowing your brow and your hand absentmindedly strokes Carlos' left side up: "But we play against each other all the time?"

"Practise doesn't count! A real match is something entirely different!", his eyes shine with excitement and you feel that special flutter in your stomach, you love him so much.

"Oh yeah, and why's that?"

Carlos makes a grand gesture with the arm that's not around your shoulders: "Because it's going to be something special! Imagine the atmosphere!"

Now you can't hold back a laugh and poke him in the chest: "Carlitos, it's a first-round match, not the Roland Garros final!"

"For me, it has the same importance!", Carlitos matches your grin and you know he's at least partially serious.

You slide away from him a bit and sit up, looking down at him: "So, to you, the Roland Garros final is the same as our first-round match?"

Carlos' grin widens: "Absolutely! Because I'm playing against you!"

"True, and that's why you should be ready for something you've never experienced in a Slam final: you're going to lose."

Your expression is triumphant as you see Carlitos clutch his chest dramatically: "Ouch! What makes you so sure?"

"Grigor and I have already won a title together, and Cristina and you are playing together for the first time."

Carlos just shrugs, the grin returning to his face: "I've achieved a lot of things that seemed unlikely."

You ignore the slight increase in your heart rate at seeing that dazzling grin and toss your hair over your shoulder: "True. But not this time. This time, you’re going to lose."

Carlos doesn't say anything in response, he just pulls you close and gives you a long kiss.

*** *** ***

"Can I give you a tactical tip?" Grigor leans over, a bit out of breath, while you take a long sip from your water bottle, "If you’d stop staring at him, maybe you could actually play tennis."

You nearly choke on your drink and throw an annoyed look at your doubles partner: "And if you’d stop making double faults, maybe we could actually win."

Grigor makes a face and nods slowly before grabbing his tennis racket again: "Well, at least he’s staring at you the whole time too, so I guess it’s even."

Thankfully, it's very hot today, so no one notices your ears turning red. The match has been pretty even so far, but definitely not a highlight reel. Internally, you have to agree with Grigor: your level today is far from outstanding - the same goes for Carlitos. Surprisingly, the stands were almost full, and the crowd is cheering loudly.

"Why do I keep playing with you?", you mutter as you get ready to head back to the court.

Grigor grins widely: "Because you can’t play with Carlos: you two would just stare at each other’s butts the whole time and instead of high-fives after winning a point, it would be a five-minute make-out session."

You have to resist the temptation to throw a tennis ball at his head.

*** *** ***

In the third set, the match finally picks up and Carlitos starts showing why he’s called the golden boy. You also begin to play up to your second-place WTA ranking. Especially the tiebreak is a hard fight, lasting almost 20 minutes.

"Game, set, match, Dimitrov and Y/L/N!"

You hear Grigor sigh in relief next to you: "I thought this match would never end!"

You start laughing as you hug each other enthusiastically.

At the net, you first shake hands with Cristina and then with Carlos.

"I told you you’d lose.", you tease and Carlos laughs softly.

"It’s okay.", he still holds your hand in his and your eyes move from your interlaced hands to his face.

"Even though you claimed yesterday that today's match was just as important as a Slam final for you?"

"I don’t mind losing to you because I’m always so proud of you when you win!"

There it is again: his beautiful smile and your heart skips a beat.

Carlos leans over the net and kisses you.

The crowd cheers.

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

tagging: @bluetackbaby @lxndonorris @fedalev @purplecloudarcade

[rafecameronssl4t]

Centre court || Tennis player!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron shines at the Australian Open, drawing strength from his girlfriend’s support, a heartfelt moment that captivates the crowd and fuels his victory.

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 1,392

A/n: the last time I wrote tennis player!rafe was early on when I first started this acc 🥲 and if you guys didn’t already know, I’m from Australia and in in honour of the Aus Open coming up (CANT WAIT) I wrote this :)

MASTERLIST

The Melbourne sun was merciless, casting a blazing glow over the Rod Laver Arena as thousands of fans packed the stands, eagerly anticipating the quarterfinal match between Rafe Cameron and his opponent, a seasoned and formidable Spaniard. The crowd buzzed with excitement, a palpable energy rippling through the stadium as both players warmed up on the court.

You sat in the player’s box, perched beside Rafe’s coach, a seasoned man with an intense focus, and his small team. Clad in a flora dress that fluttered in the occasional breeze and oversized sunglasses, you exuded effortless grace. Your presence was impossible to ignore, but you kept your attention solely on Rafe.

His golden hair was damp with sweat under his cap, and his sharp, determined expression made your heart swell with pride. This was Rafe’s moment. You could see the fire in his blue eyes, his posture taut with focus and ambition. As the match began, Rafe dominated the first set, his serves slicing through the air with precision.

You clapped politely after every point he scored, your smile soft yet brimming with pride. When he glanced up at his box after an impressive ace, you gave him a subtle nod, silently cheering him on. He didn’t smile, his game face unbroken, but you knew the gesture was his way of acknowledging you.

The second set was harder. His opponent, known for his relentless stamina, began to claw his way back into the game, chasing every ball with tireless energy. The crowd grew louder with each rally, their cheers and groans echoing through the arena. You leaned forward in your seat, gripping the armrest, willing Rafe to push through.

You couldn’t help but admire the raw power in his strokes and the elegance of his movements. He played with a passion that was magnetic, and it reminded you why you’d fallen for him in the first place—not just because he was talented, but because of his unwavering determination. Then, it happened.

During a crucial rally, Rafe hit a forehand that kissed the baseline, winning the point and earning a roar from the crowd. But as he walked back to the baseline to serve, the camera operators made a choice that would change the mood of the match entirely. The stadium’s giant screen cut to you, sitting poised and radiant, your gaze locked on Rafe with a mix of love, pride, and awe.

You weren’t even aware of the camera; your expression was natural, your emotions written all over your face. The crowd erupted. Cheers and whistles filled the air, loud and relentless, causing even the players on court to pause in confusion. Rafe stopped mid-serve, glancing around with furrowed brows. His opponent looked equally baffled, exchanging a look with the umpire, who leaned forward to figure out what had caused the commotion.

It wasn’t until Rafe turned his eyes to the big screen that he understood. There you were, larger than life, your every detail captured in high definition. The way the sun danced off your hair, the curve of your lips as you smiled slightly, the love in your eyes—it was enough to leave the crowd in awe. Rafe’s expression softened, his confusion melting into something else entirely.

His lips curved into the faintest smile, a rare crack in his composed demeanour. The crowd’s cheers only grew louder at his reaction, and even his opponent chuckled, shaking his head as if to say, Lucky guy. You finally noticed the screen and gasped, your cheeks flushing a deep pink. You turned to Rafe’s coach in embarrassment, but he laughed, patting your hand.

“Seems like you’ve stolen the show,” he teased. Rafe, ever the professional, quickly refocused, shaking his head and smirking before stepping back to serve again. But you noticed the slight extra spring in his step, the way he glanced your way more often, as though he drew strength from knowing you were there, proud and supportive.

The match ended in a nail-biting tiebreaker, with Rafe securing the final point with an overhead smash. The crowd exploded in celebration as Rafe dropped his racquet, throwing his arms into the air in victory. As he approached the net to shake his opponent’s hand, his eyes flickered up to you once more. This time, he didn’t hide his grin.

When he walked off the court, the first thing he did was head straight to you. Ignoring the cameras and the crowd, he leaned over the railing, cupped your face in his sweaty palms, and kissed you deeply. “For good luck,” he murmured, his voice husky and low. The crowd roared again, and you laughed against his lips, knowing you’d never hear the end of it.

~

The post-match interview was conducted on the court, just minutes after Rafe’s victory. He stood in front of the camera, towel draped over his shoulders, his hair damp with sweat, and his signature stoic expression softened by the occasional grin. The crowd, still buzzing with energy, cheered wildly as the interviewer, a seasoned Australian sports journalist, approached him with a microphone.

“Rafe, congratulations on an incredible match!” the interviewer began, her voice amplified through the speakers. “That was a hard-fought battle, and you showed tremendous resilience out there. How are you feeling right now?” Rafe nodded, wiping his face with the towel before speaking into the mic. “Yeah, it was a tough one,” he said, his Southern accent drawing attention.

“Credit to my opponent—he made me work for every point. But I stayed focused, trusted my game, and just tried to take it one point at a time. Feels good to come out on top.” The crowd applauded his humility, and Rafe glanced up at the stands where you were seated. You caught his gaze, smiling softly, and he looked away quickly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

The interviewer chuckled, clearly picking up on the crowd’s excitement. “Now, I have to ask—there was a moment during the second set that had everyone buzzing. The camera panned to someone special in the player’s box, and the crowd went absolutely crazy. Did you notice?”Rafe laughed lightly, his head dipping for a moment as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I noticed,” he admitted, his grin widening. “At first, I wasn’t sure what was going on. Thought maybe something happened in the stands or something. But then I saw her on the screen, and…” He paused, glancing toward you again. “…I mean, can’t say I blame them.” The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, their enthusiasm filling the arena.

You buried your face in your hands, both flattered and mortified, Rafe’s coach teasingly nudging you while Rafe smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. “She’s been with me through everything,” he continued, his voice softer now, almost tender. “Always supporting me, no matter how tough things get. It means a lot to have her here, especially on a stage like this.”

The interviewer smiled warmly. “Well, I think we can all agree she stole the show for a moment there! But back to the match—this win puts you into the semifinals of the Australian Open. How are you preparing for the next challenge?” Rafe straightened, his game face returning. “Same way I prepare for every match,” he said confidently. “Rest, recovery, and working with my team. I know it only gets tougher from here, but I’m ready for it. This is what I train for.”

“Before we let you go,” the interviewer added, “do you have a message for your fans? The support here has been incredible.” Rafe looked out at the crowd, his expression softening again. “Yeah, I just want to say thank you,” he said sincerely. “Y’all are amazing, and your energy out here makes all the difference. Can’t wait to see you all in the semis.”

The arena erupted into applause as Rafe handed the microphone back and waved to the crowd. But before he walked off, he glanced up at you one last time, giving you a subtle wink that sent the audience into yet another frenzy. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you clapped for him. This was his moment, and he owned it.

[maxivstappen]

congratulations for 1k, you really deserve It !!

for your event: can i ask for a carlos sainz fic based on "break my heart, and I swear i'm moving on with your favorite athlete" by sabrina carpenter in good graces

thanks xx and ily

౨ৎ YOUR FAVORITE ATHLETE ! ‧₊˚.

౨ৎ 1K EVENT — short n' sweet series (not posted yet) ౨ৎ

pairing — carlos alcaraz x reader / carlos sainz x reader

summary — break my heart and i swear im moving on with your favorite athlete! angst & sweet revenge (again lol)

warnings / disclaimer — none, just my not so perfect Spanish (please correct me)! hope you liked this <3 thank you lots for your support and sorry for my absence - school is really time consuming at the moment :( i'll be updating more frequently again soon — masterlist (not updated sry) / prev. work

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12th of January - TWITTER

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4th of February - @.yourusername ✓ just posted on INSTA !

liked by landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 1,723,981 others

yourusername girls just wanna have fun or whatever 😝 love ya @.alexandrasaintmleux

view all 31,821 comments

user1 omg why did she unfollow carlos?

user2 @.user1 she follows carlos wdym

user3 @.user2 no they mean carlos alcaraz the tennis player, y/n‘s boyfriend (if they’re still together). I suppose you’re an f1 fan?

user2 @.user3 yes haha sorry i didn’t know that, and I don’t watch tennis so that’s why i was confused

alexandrasaintmleux ✓ my only love🥹 never ever leave me again!!

-> ♥️ by @.yourusername ✓

charles_leclerc ✓ @.alexandrasaintmleux what do you mean ‚only love‘?? don’t you think you’re missing someone?

alexandrasaintmleux ✓ @.charles_leclerc so sorry, of course i love my baby leo just as much🥰

charles_leclerc ✓ @.alexandrasaintmleux 😔

user4 oh they’re so HOT

user5 @.user4 CARLOS FUMBLED IF WHAT I‘M THINKING IS TRUE

user6 ONE CHANCE Y/N JUST ONE

landonorris ✓you can finally focus on the better sport now 🙌

-> ♥️ by @.yourusername ✓

user7 @.landonorris WHAT DOES THIS MEANNNNN

user8 @.user7 i think carlitos and her broke up 😭

yourusername ✓@.landonorris only saying that cause i keep beating you at tennis

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5th of February - TWITTER

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5th of February - TEXTS

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6th of February - @.yourusername ✓ just posted on INSTA !

liked by carlitosalcarazz, carlossainz55 and 1,576,971 others

yourusername if i speak i am in trouble 🤭

view all 26,933 comments

landonorris ✓ AHHHHHHH

yourusername ✓ @.landonorris AHHHHHHH

user9 @.landonorris LANDO SPILL

user10 guys alcaraz liked😧

user11 @.user10 HES JELLYYYYYY

alexandrasaintmleux ✓ hope you had the best night ever☺️

yourusername ✓ @.alexandrasaintmleux wasn’t as fun as it would’ve been with you🙂‍↔️

alexandrasaintmleux ✓ @.yourusername let me take you out next time 🤭

carlossainz55 ✓ @.yourusername @.charlesleclerc they’re flirting again😞

charles_leclerc ✓ @.carlossainz55 they will never stop😞

user12 THE LAST PIC

user13 @.user12 MYSTERY GUY SPENT THE NIGHT

user14 @.user13 THATS CARLOS SAINZ

user15 @.user14 i was about to call you delulu but…. i think you’re right

user16 @.user15 guys go get some sleep it’s okay … delulu isn’t always the solulu 😚

user17 HES HOLDING HER SHOES

user18 SOFT LAUNCH BUT WHO TF IS SHE LAUNCHING 🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥

carlossainz55 ✓ ❤️

-> ♥️ by @.yourusername ✓

user19 @.carlossainz55 @.user18 WE KNOW WHO SHES LAUNCHING🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

user20 @.carlossainz55 OHMYGAWWKDKSKALSKSKS

user21 TENNIS WAG TURNED F1 WAG AND IVE NEVER BEEN HERER FOR IT

user22 @.user21 you’ve never been what?

user23 @.user22 you need to learn matching people’s freak fr😣

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A Couple Weeks Later - TEXTS

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20th of October - @.carlossainz55 ✓ just posted on INSTA !

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 3,445,912 others

carlossainz55 won the race and got the girl😉 great work from the team (and me)

view 1 comment

yourusername ✓ love you baby

- comments have been disabled -

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20th of October - @.yourusername ✓ just posted a story on INSTA !

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hope you liked it <3 guys please correct my spanish PLEASEEEEE (the question marks are weird like that on purpose because i’m a lazy bitch)

gen / sns taglist :: @norrisdriver @1655clean

[finelinefae]

the game [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's desperate to play tennis and who better to coach her than her rival

word count: 6.7k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, jealous h, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals

a/n: this is the very first part of a new series that i am soooooo beyond excited to be writing !! it will most likely have 4/5 parts <333 enjoy !!!

. . .

Crestwood Academy was a prestigious boarding school with a mission to cultivate excellence in its students, many of whom went on to achieve great success in their respective fields. Nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery, it welcomed only the most accomplished families into its esteemed halls.

Y/N had attended Crestwood Academy since she was five, thanks to her father, who owned a country club and could afford the tuition. Her parents, strict and focused on success, were determined to give her the best education possible so that she could be the very best. Her face was always buried in a book or spending her days in the library, right up until the very last minute of its opening hours. 

It was her final year at Crestwood Academy before graduation. Y/N had been set on passing all of her exams at the top of her class so had been working extra hard. She studied English, maths, all three sciences, Latin, French and History as well as tennis. 

Y/N's parents had always urged her to pursue a career in the top industries. Despite her efforts to feign interest in that direction, her heart had always belonged to tennis ever since she first took up the sport at Crestwood.

She had competed plenty, winning all the academy trophies and medals. Her parents would visit whenever she competed in finals and congratulated her on winning but saw it as nothing but a hobby to participate in when she wasn’t studying. 

However, Y/N couldn’t deny herself the rush of playing knowing she’d have to part with the sport once she graduated. The career path of becoming a doctor was already laid out for her by her parents but she felt destined to follow a different path. 

Despite the fact she had applied to dozens of schools to study medicine, she still had one more option that had nothing to do with science at all. 

Every year, the academies hosted their own version of a grand slam in which the winning player received a scholarship and three years' worth of training from one of the top tennis academies in the world. Y/N longed to be at the top with the greats and she knew that this competition was the only way she could get there. 

For the most part, Y/N had been self-taught. She watched videos online and took notes from the Wimbledon matches she’d see on the television. Crestwood only had one sports coach who focused most of their time on the football team so if she was going to win the scholarship, she needed the very best. 

She sat on the bleachers, her book open in front of her, but her attention was drawn to the man on the court. The player’s movements were fluid and powerful, each action deliberate and precise. Yet, it was another man who held her gaze—a figure with an impassive expression, focused solely on his player.

When the match was over, Y/N slammed her book shut and walked towards the court after the players shook hands. Her eyes looked down at the limp in his step as he walked towards the cooler to grab a water bottle. 

It had been a while since she had last seen him. She remembered the proud look on his parent’s faces when he was pulled out of Crestwood eighteen months ago and went on to win a grand slam in Australia. She could still feel the intense jealousy that filled her as she watched the match on television whilst studying for her chemistry test that he was also supposed to sit had he stayed. 

Now he was here, back to his roots and maybe it had been fate because what she was about to ask him would determine her own path in the tennis career she longed for. 

His hair was slightly longer now, his brunette, touseled curls were swept to the side in a loose, dishevelled manner. He wore sunglasses to cover his eyes from the sunlight and a navy tracksuit paired with white vans. 

Seeing him brought back the once competitive emotions she had whenever she’d see him strut about the courts every lunchtime but she’d have to suppress those emotions, especially for what she was about to ask him. 

“Excuse me, Harry?” Y/N called out. 

He took a water bottle from the cooler and flicked off the cap before holding it to his lips and gulping it down. Y/N waited, crossing her arms as she did. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Was the first thing he said. 

Y/N didn’t know what to say. It was unexpected to know that he had been waiting to see her, “I didn’t know you were part of the furniture on these courts,” He smirks and Y/N’s jaw ticks. “And you still sit in the exact same spot on those bleachers, to what? Admire me?”

Y/N bristled at Harry's cocky remark, her irritation bubbling to the surface. "Hardly," she retorted, her tone sharp. "I have better things to do than waste my time watching you play."

Harry chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned against the cooler. "Is that so? Then what brings you here?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “Come to get an autograph?”

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let his arrogance get under her skin. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something," she replied, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Oh? And what might that be?" he inquired, his gaze piercing as he studied her intently.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gathered her courage and suppressed her pride, "I want you to coach me," she blurted out, her words hanging in the air between them. 

Harry made no effort to hide the surprise on his face but it quickly melted into a cocky smirk, “You want me to coach you? I thought you hated me?” 

“I do,” She replies quickly. She’d hated him ever since he had humiliated her in a battle of the sexes tennis tournament when they were young despite the fact she had little chance of winning against him anyway. “But I don’t have to like you to recognise your talent and right now you're the best and only coach I can get if I’m going to win that scholarship,”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Your parents still want you to study medicine?” Something flickered in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t put her finger on. 

Y/N wasn’t going to give him an answer even though it was obvious, “This is the only chance I get to escape it,” She mutters, “I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

He glanced around before taking a step forward. She was tempted to step back at the same time but she didn’t want to seem intimidated by him so stood her ground. From this proximity, she noticed how much taller he was compared to her - almost an entire foot. 

“What’s in it for me?” He asked.

Y/N knew he’d ask which was why she spent so much time figuring out what she could tell him to make it worthwhile. “I know about your injury,” She says and he stills.

“Everyone knows about my injury.” He grumbles. 

It had been a spectacle in the world of tennis. The new grand slam winner loses out on his second after a fatal injury at the French Open. Y/N remembered seeing him rolling on the ground, holding onto his leg as paramedics ran onto the court to aid him. 

“People think you’re a one-hit wonder since you’re out for the season,” His jaw clenched as she spoke, “But if you coach me and get me to win, I guarantee you’ll be out on the court again - back where you belong,”

“You think an academy league game can get my back onto the court?”

“No, but it's a start and maybe I’ll be competing alongside you the next time you’re playing.” 

There was a moment of silence as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze searching hers for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, he let out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Fine," he relented, his voice tinged with resignation. "You want me to coach you? Prove you’re worth coaching.” 

He walked over to the barrel of tennis rackets and picked one up. Y/N narrowed her eyes, remembering the last time they had played against each other and how embarrassed she was afterwards. 

“But you’re-”

“One game won’t hurt,” He said before she could finish. 

She followed, her steps purposeful as she reached for a racket, flipping it over in her hands as she strode to the other end of the court. Despite being clad in her school uniform—a pleated skirt, white shirt with the school crest, and loafers that threatened to slide off her feet—she was determined to prove herself. She'd show him she was worth his time, that she was a far better tennis player than he gave her credit for.

As they took their positions on opposite ends of the court, the tension between them crackled in the air. Y/N gripped her racket tightly, her focus sharp as she prepared to face off against Harry once again.

The first serve sliced through the air, the sound echoing as the ball hurtled towards Y/N. She moved with fluidly, her muscles tensing as she returned the serve.

Harry's response was swift, his movements confident as he returned the ball with a well-placed shot that left Y/N scrambling to keep up. Even with his injury, he still held the precision of a professional. But she refused to back down, her determination driving her to match him shot for shot, rally after rally.

The game intensified as they traded blows, each point reflecting their skills and determination. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she fought to keep pace with Harry, her mind focused solely on the ball. Both Y/N and Harry vocally exerted their energy through grunts and cries as they hit the ball with all their energy. 

Despite her efforts, Harry seemed to anticipate her every move. But Y/N refused to be outdone, drawing on every ounce of strength and skill as she fought to gain the upper hand.

As the game progressed, Harry's skill and experience began to overthrow her. His shots were close to perfect and strategic, leaving Y/N struggling to keep up. Despite her determination, she found herself falling behind as Harry continued to dominate the match.

In the end, it was Harry who emerged victorious, his final shot landing just beyond Y/N's reach with a satisfying thud. As the ball bounced out of the court, Y/N knew that she had been outplayed.

She rested her hands on her knees, hunched over as she tried to regain her breath. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d lost despite the fact she was at a disadvantage anyway. 

Harry’s shadow fell over her but she refused to look up just yet. He spoke anyway, “You’ve gotten better since the last time I saw you,” He spoke, holding a cold water bottle in front of her face. 

She took it, the plastic crackling under her fingers, “You can just say you’re not going to do it,” She mumbled, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig of water. 

“I’ll coach you,” He says, “Meet me here at 6 pm tomorrow.” 

Y/N finally looked up, her mouth parted, only to find his back facing her as he walked away from the courts. 

. . . 

Harry had no idea what he had agreed to in coaching Y/N at tennis. 

He sat in his luxurious apartment ten minutes away from Crestwood Academy, surrounded by furniture wrapped in plastic or still in cardboard boxes. 

He sat on the couch with his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The TV was playing quietly in front of him but his mind was on the girl he had spent the majority of his life competing with. 

She had grown since the last time he had seen her before he graduated and left the country to compete in the Australian Open. Her long, tanned legs were on show beneath the grey school skirt she had been wearing. He couldn’t seem to get the image of the visible muscles in her calves out of his mind as she moved across the court to hit the ball during their impromptu tennis match. 

Despite their personal differences, Harry couldn't resist her. There was an undeniable thrill in riling her up, in watching her reactions to the smallest digs. They had once been friends, back when Y/N would trail after him on the playground, eager to understand how to hit a ball with a tennis racket. But as she began competing in school competitions, she quickly learned that beating him was an impossible feat. 

He wasn’t surprised to see her watching him on the court today, in fact, it amused him. Whether she liked it or not, he would always look out in the bleachers for her whenever he’d play during his time at the academy. Her reactions were what kept him going, some might even say made him better. 

But, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was surprised to see her so brazenly asking him to coach her. He could tell by her reaction that it was killing her inside, to be coached by him when all she’d done was pick apart his technique, but it was clear she was desperate and Harry knew it was because of her parents. 

Harry had had his fair dose of strict parentage. When he was told he could no longer play tennis for the season, his parents shipped him straight back to Crestwood to finish his final year since he never actually graduated. 

He loathed them for it, barely saying a word to them as they paid the rent in cash for his apartment and left him with boxes to unpack on his own. He knew they were disappointed in him despite the fact the injury was no fault of his own, they could barely look at him as they left, closing the door behind them. 

It was embarrassing. How could he have gone from being at the top of his game to the very bottom? Now he was back in the place he had turned his back on, feeling like he was back to square one all over again. 

Harry’s thoughts were broken by the sound of his phone ringing. The name of his best friend since he was born lit up the screen.

“What?” Harry answered the call, his train of thought forming a particular level of intolerance in him.

“Hey, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” Mitch replied along with the sound of loud chattering in the background because he always had to be somewhere with someone. 

“Sorry,” Harry huffed, “Long day.”

“Already? You’ve not even started classes yet,” Mitch chuckled.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry hadn’t even begun thinking about being back in classrooms and having to put up with kids his age berating him with questions he didn’t want to answer. Tomorrow would be his first day back and he was dreading it.

“C’mon now, don’t be too glum about it, haven’t you missed me?” 

“No,” Harry lied. 

“I know you well enough now to know when you’re lying.” Mitch laughed down the phone. 

A hint of a smile grazed Harry’s lips, "Whatever," he replied, his tone gruff but lacking conviction. Despite his attempt to feign disinterest, a part of him couldn't deny the truth in Mitch's words. There had been many moments he had experienced after leaving school when he missed the company of people his own age. Everyone around him was older than he was and spoke to him as though he was some prized trophy that needed to be handled with caution. He’d spend evenings by the pool by himself, watching the sunset and wishing his friends were there to celebrate his win with him. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Mitch teased, “I know the boys will be happy to have y’ back and I can introduce you to Sarah. I think Molly Brown still has a thing for you as well by the way, talks about you all the fuckin’ time.” Harry listened to his friend ramble about all the things he had missed in the last year or so but his mind seemed to travel elsewhere. 

His eyes wandered around the room, his ear still pressed to his phone, until they landed on an open box with a picture frame resting on top. He recognized the photo immediately, even without picking it up, because he had kept it hidden in his old dorm desk. In the picture, a group of eight students—four boys and four girls—smiled at the camera, with Harry standing at the back and Y/N right beside him.

. . . 

Y/N slammed the door of her locker shut after pulling out her workbooks for her next class. Students bustled down the hallways of Crestwood Academy, wearing their navy blazers and uniform for another week of school. 

“Have you seen him yet?” Sarah, Y/N’s best friend, came out of nowhere and stood in front of her. 

“Seen who?” Y/N remained indifferent even though she knew who Sarah was referring to. 

Everyone had been talking about Harry since she had walked into school from her dorm room this morning. It was the main topic of conversation, everyone’s eyes darting around the hallways to try and find him. 

“You know,” Sarah nudged her, “The boy you’ve spent most of your life in a one-sided rivalry with?” 

“One-sided? It’s a mutual hatred,” Y/N argued.

Sarah gave her a look before continuing, “I texted Mitch twenty minutes ago but he hasn’t replied. I know I’ve met Harry before but this is the first time I’ll be meeting him as Mitch’s girlfriend and I don’t want it to change anything.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, “Sarah, just because he’s the winner of a grand slam doesn’t make his opinion of you any more important. Whether Harry likes you or not, everyone knows you and Mitch are perfect for each other.”

Y/N remembered the first time her friend had told her she was seeing Mitch. He had taken her out to dinner a few times and Sarah had come back to their shared dorm swooning and unable to stop herself from rambling the rest of the night about how romantic and funny he was. 

Y/N had never experienced anything like that in her life, too busy focusing on tennis and academia to find herself in relationships, but she was happy her best friend was happy and that was all that mattered to her. 

“I know but he’s important to Mitch. They’ve been best friends since infants and… that’s not all I’m worried about,” Sarah looked at Y/N pointedly. 

“What?” 

“Now that Mitch and I are together, that means we’ll be spending more time around each other which also means…” Sarah didn’t have to finish her sentence for Y/N to understand what she was trying to get at. 

“Oh n-no! No way! Sarah, are you being serious right now?” Y/N whined, “You want me to get along with Harry just because you’re dating his best friend?”

“You don’t have to but it would be nice if you did,” Her voice trailed off at the end, her eyes looking at her pleadingly, “I’m not asking you to be best friends, I’m just asking you not to chew his head off when we’re all in the same room together.”

Y/N wanted to argue and tell her she wouldn’t be able to chew his head off anyway because she needed him to coach her for the scholarship but an arm slid around Sarah’s waist and interrupted their conversation. 

Sarah grinned, turning to look up at her boyfriend who was now standing beside her, “Hey babe,” Mitch smiled.

“You’re here,” Sarah craned her neck to kiss his lips, “I texted you forever ago and you never replied.

Mitch scoffed, “It was twenty minutes ago and I didn’t have time to check my phone, too busy dragging this one through the front gates.”

Out of the corner of Y/N's eye, another figure appeared. She didn’t have to look to see who it was, the sudden surge of annoyance within her already gave them away. Her head tilted to the left to look up and see Harry. 

He was wearing his school uniform, the same way he always did before he left for Australia. His shirt was untucked, and the top button was undone revealing a gold chain and a white vest underneath, his grey trousers were ironed with not a crinkle in sight and his navy blazer hung casually behind him, hooked by his middle finger.

Y/N’s eyes shifted behind him to find people whispering to each other and groups of girls giggling as they walked past. It was nothing new to see girls getting riled up over him but it had become more intensified now that he had gone abroad and made a name for himself. Despite his injury preventing him from playing, Y/N was certain that even if Harry had lost every game and embarrassed himself on live television, people would still adore him.

“Hey Harry,” Sarah offered a kind smile.

“Hi Sarah, nice to see you again. Glad to know Mitch was in good hands whilst I was away,” Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder before turning to Y/N.

“Only the very best,” Mitch pulled Sarah into his side before motioning to Y/N, “You remember Sarah’s best friend Y/N right?”

“Hmmm, aren’t you the one who lost the Junior tennis competition to me a few years ago?” Harry smirked.

Y/N's jaw clenched, but she managed to force a smile. "I could be, but aren’t you the one who they recorded rolling around on the floor like a big baby at the French Open last year?" Her retort was sharp, aimed directly at Harry.

Harry's eyes narrowed in response, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Y/N felt a sense of satisfaction at having gotten such a reaction from him. "Welcome back to Crestwood," she added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Mitch and Sarah exchanged weary glances, sensing the tension between Y/N and Harry.

"Quite a welcome. I’ve already been asked to coach someone and I’ve only been back a week," Harry remarked, his gaze still fixed on Y/N, who met his stare with a glare of her own.

"You have?" Mitch frowned, his confusion evident.

"Who?" Sarah asked, equally perplexed.

Harry's eyes remained locked on Y/N, giving them their answer. "You asked him to coach you?" Sarah questioned her confusion mirroring Mitch's.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, "Yeah, I did," she admitted reluctantly, her gaze flickering briefly to Harry before returning to Mitch and Sarah.

"Why would you ask him to coach you?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “You argue all the time,” 

Y/N hesitated, “I need to win the scholarship to the tennis academy in London and Harry’s the only person here who knows how to play the game.” 

“Glad to know I was the pick of the bunch,” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“I thought you were applying to go to UCL?” Sarah frowned. 

“I was but you know how much the game means to me and my parents refuse to believe it’s more than just a hobby. This is the only chance I’ll get to prove them wrong and the only option to get me out of studying medicine.” Y/N explained. 

Sarah’s eyes softened, she too was no stranger to how strict Y/N’s parents could be. “Which is why she needs me,” Y/N felt the weight of his arm rest across her shoulders, “Right, love?” 

Y/N spun around to face Harry, eyes sharp, “Don’t call me that,” She hissed, seeing the satisfied grin on his face. 

He shrugged, “But I always call you that,” 

Ever since they were teenagers, when the rivalry first began, Harry had opted to calling Y/N ‘love’ knowing how much it riled her up. To some, it was a term of endearment but in the world of tennis the word ‘love’ meant one thing. 

‘Nil, ‘Zero’, ‘Loser’. 

Y/N hated the way he spoke it too - accentuating each letter of the word to drag it out for as long as he could just to annoy her further. 

She stepped forward, “Call me that one more time,” She threatened.

“Or what?” He tilted his head to the side. 

“Guys seriously, break it up,” Sarah intervened, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting along if you’re going to be spending more time together.”

Y/N hated the thought of it but knew she was right. If she wanted Harry to coach her, she couldn’t go around screwing things up by arguing with him. If he was going to coach her at the sport, she’d have to coach herself in controlling her attitude around him. 

“C’mon Sarah, let’s go to class,” Y/N hooked arms with her best friend, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. 

“Oh okay, bye Mitch.” Sarah kissed her boyfriend before she was dragged down the hallway in a hurry.

Harry watched as Y/N practically sprinted down the hallway with Sarah in tow. He felt the need to call out of her for one last dig just so she would turn around and he’d see her face before she rounded the corner, “See you on the courts, love.” He called down to her. 

As he had hoped, Y/N’s head whipped around to glare at him along with her middle finger, “Asshole!” She called back.

Harry chuckled to himself, “That face,” he murmured. 

Mitch placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You’ve got it in for yourself with that one, lad.” Mitch said.

“Tell me about it,” Harry replied, his eyes still on the place he’d last seen Y/N. 

Maybe returning to Crestwood wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

. . . 

With Harry back, Y/N had suspected the day would be a drag with everyone constantly bringing him up in every conversation, but the first half of the day had gone well. Y/N was easily used to her classes by now and was still top of the class in all of them. 

During lunch period, Y/N always sat with Sarah in the library where they’d catch up on what they missed out on each other’s lives or study during exam season. It was nice to have some reprieve during the school hours and whenever she was with Sarah, Y/N could talk for hours and hours.

Now that Sarah was dating Mitch, Y/N and Sarah would spend their lunch with his friends in the lunch hall. Y/N didn’t mind it so much having grown used to being around Mitch’s friends despite their loud and boisterous personalities. 

However, today she was dreading the fact that now her lunchtimes would also include being around the person she wanted to spend as little amount of time with as possible. 

“Can’t we just eat in the library today? Please?” Y/N pulled on the sleeve of her best friend's blazer as she begged her to turn back in the direction of the library. She could already picture Harry’s annoying smirk the closer they got to the entrance of the lunch hall.

“Y/N you’re being dramatic. It’s just an hour, I’m sure you can survive being around him that long.” Sarah continued to tug her down the hallway.

“Sarah I already have to spend enough time as it is,” Now that she asked him to be her coach. The more the day went by the more she was starting to regret her decision. 

Sarah spun on her heel, “Think of this as practice then,” Her eyes looked past Y/N’s shoulder, “Look, there they are,” She moved past her and beelined towards their table where Y/N saw Mitch, Jake and Adam already sitting along with that head of brunette curls that Y/N just wanted to tear out every time she saw him. 

Sighing, she followed Sarah and approached the table responding to everyone’s friendly greetings until she got to Harry, “You’re in my seat,” She spoke after realising all the seats were taken. 

Harry didn’t bother to look around, that stupid grin plastered to his face when he looked up at her, “Am I?” 

Y/N gritted her teeth, “Yes,”

“Hmm,” He swivelled around to look at the back of the chair, “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

A wave of chuckles rippled around the table but Y/N had yet to find the amusement in it. “She does always sit there, H.” Mitch chuckles, “Just grab another chair from a different table.”

Harry leant back against the seat and crossed one leg over his thigh, “But I quite like this seat.” 

“I’m not moving until you get out of my seat,” Y/N crossed her arms, refusing to give in to him. 

“Well you’re going to be stood up for a long time and y’ need those legs for later,” Harry smirked, “Or you could just sit here,” He unfolded his legs and motioned towards his lap, “Still your seat.” 

Y/N’s jaw clenched but before she could respond, Adam chuckled and stood up, “Here,” He picked another chair up from an empty table and set it down next to him, “Y’ can sit here Y/N.” 

She was tempted to refuse and continue to nag Harry for the rest of lunch but decided against it, not wanting to waste her energy on him. Her eyes softened at Adam’s kindness, “Thanks, Adam.” She sat beside him. 

Harry���s smirk seemed to falter when Y/N sat down, watching as Adam looked at Y/N even as she turned to face the others. 

“Is that Molly Brown looking at y’ again Harry?” Jake, who Y/N considered the loudest one of Mitch’s friends, leant over the table to speak lowly to Harry even though it was impossible for him to ever be so quiet. 

Harry forced himself to look away from Adam before he burnt holes into him. “She’s been after him since fifth year,” Mitch chuckled. 

“Y’ think you’ll let her have it this year, H?” Jake takes a spoonful of his lunch and swallows it down. 

“Have what?” Sarah frowned, confused.

“Nothing you need to know about, babe,” Mitch replies, opening her waterbottle for her after she silently handed it to him. 

“I’ve never been interested in Molly,” Harry quickly replies but his ears prick when he hears Y/N laughing quietly with Adam. 

“Mind if I take my chances then?” Jake asks, “I’ve always wanted to date a cheerleader,” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry shakes him off, “What about you Adam?” He gets the attention from both Y/N and Adam as they look up, “Don’t you have a thing for Molly?”

Adam furrows his brows, “Molly Brown? Maybe in like third year,” He chuckles, “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment.”

Harry wants to laugh in his face, “Y’ sure about that?”

Adam frowns but Y/N quickly interrupts them, “People are allowed to have other interests you know.”

Harry feels that rush of excitement when she speaks run through his body, “Is this a touchy subject for you?”

Y/N scowls, “No, I’m just saying Adam doesn’t need to be interested in girl’s all the time.”

“Well maybe Adam can speak for himself,” Harry quips.

“Lord save me,” Jake mumbles and Sarah laughs.

“Well what about you? Have you managed to sink your fangs into anyone?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N gapes, “I’ve dated plenty of people,”

The image unsettles Harry but he takes the opportunity to tease Y/N further. "Plenty of people, huh?" he echoes.

Y/N's cheeks flush slightly,  "I mean... well, not plenty, but a few," she stammers.

But Harry doesn't let up, "Oh, really?" he presses, "Care to share? I'm sure we'd all love to hear about the few men who you’ve tempted."

Y/N shoots him a glare, knowing full well that Harry was onto her. "I... uh, well," she stumbles over her words, searching for a way to change the subject.

But before she can respond, Adam jumps in. "Come on, Harry, give her a break," he glowers. 

“Yeah, Y/N’s just waiting for the right guy and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sarah pipes in, always one to have her best friend’s back.

Harry raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Y/N and Adam before settling on Y/N, who shifts uncomfortably. Sensing the tension, Mitch swiftly changes the subject to something else.

. . . 

After lunch, Y/N made her way to her next class with Adam walking alongside her. Out of all of Mitch’s friends, she got on the most with Adam to the point where Sarah was constantly pestering her over considering a date with him but Y/N didn’t see him as any more than a good friend.  He was quiet and kept to himself for the most part, excelling in the arts and playing bass guitar in a band on weekends. Y/N enjoyed the calmness he brought to the group especially with the others being so loud all the time. 

“What do you think?” Adam asked, holding the strap of his backpack in one hand as it hung over his right shoulder. 

“What do I think about what?” Y/N frowned. 

“You know, Harry being back. I know you two didn’t always get along,” He explained.

Y/N scoffed, “If it weren’t for the fact he’s coaching me for the Academy Slam, I would be praying to whatever God that’d listen to send him back to Australia,” Which was also the furthest possible country he could be away from her. 

Adam chuckled, “He told us earlier he’d be coaching you,” 

Y/N scowled, “I bet he couldn’t get enough of it,” 

“Actually he seemed pretty happy about it. We haven’t seen him that happy since he got back from Australia.”

“Really? Maybe that injury did something to his head,” 

“What makes you hate him so much anyway?” Adam asked. 

Y/N sighed. It was a question she heard often but never had a solid answer for. She couldn't quite explain why she disliked Harry so much. Maybe it was because he had things she wanted, and jealousy often turned into hatred. But there was something more, something she couldn't quite pin down.

Despite her dislike, Y/N went to all of Harry's matches, and she watched them on TV too. Even when she tried to stay in her room, her legs seemed to move on their own, taking her to the courts to watch him play. She hated that part of her rooted for him, and she couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because Harry had been the first person to teach her how to play and she felt some sense of loyalty to that but she had no perfect answer even though she wished for one. 

“His face annoys me,” Y/N says.

“That’s it?” Adam snickers. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugs, “We’ve always had this rivalry that stemmed out of nowhere but I can’t even remember how it started.”

“You don’t have feelings for him do you?” The question came out of nowhere and took Y/N completely off-guard. 

"What? No!" Y/N's response came out a little too quickly, and she hoped her cheeks hadn't betrayed her by turning red.

Adam shrugged. "Just making sure," he said casually. "You know, some people get them mixed up—love and hate."

Y/N furrowed her brow, genuinely puzzled. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, they're both intense emotions, aren't they?" He mused. "And sometimes, when you feel strongly about someone, whether it's love or hate, it can blur the lines between the two."

Y/N pondered his words, a sense of unease settling in her stomach, "No way," she replied firmly, shaking her head. "I may not like him, but there's definitely no love there."

Adam chuckled, sensing her defensiveness. "Alright, that’s good," he said with a grin.

Y/N felt a hint of a smile on her lips, “What does that mean? That’s good?”

Adam shrugged, still smiling, “Jus’ saying,” He spoke and Y/N laughed. 

Her gaze flicked from Adam's to Harry, who stood in the hallway with Molly Brown, her brunette waves tied up in the perfect, slicked back ponytail. Hoping to slip by unnoticed, she quickened her pace, but it was too late. Harry's eyes locked onto hers, then shifted to Adam. She caught the subtle twitch of his jaw before he pushed off the wall, ignoring Molly, and strode toward them.

Adam must not have noticed Harry coming towards them because he quickly bid goodbye so he could rush to his literature class. Y/N picked up her pace but Harry was already by her side, “Do you like him?” Harry asked.

“Who Adam? Well let’s see, he’s nice and smart and doesn’t feel the need to open his mouth every five seconds unlike some people I know, so yeah I do like him.” 

Harry scoffed, “He’s a little boring don’t you think?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry's comment, a retort already forming on her lips. "Nice of you to say that about your own best friend," she quipped. "Makes me wonder what you say about me."

Before she could say anything more, she gasped in surprise as Harry tugged on her hand and swiftly spun her around until her back was against the row of lockers. Her heart raced as he stepped forward, blocking her in, and dipped his head closer to hers.

"I think we need some ground rules for this whole coaching thing," Harry murmured, his voice low. "If you're planning on winning, I recommend using your time more wisely instead of wasting it on nice boys."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she processed his words. "Is that a rule or are you asking me not to date anyone?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Both," Harry replied, his tone unwavering.

Her mind raced, unsure how to respond, "What about you then?" she countered.

"Is that a personal request?" Harry's smirk widened, his gaze locking onto hers. "Because I'm the coach, and I set the ground rules so anything you ask me to do is because you want me to do it."

Y/N's heart pounded louder in her ears as Harry's proximity sent heat coursing through her, "It's only fair," she replied, her voice barely audible.

Harry chuckled softly. "Fine, if it makes you happy. But I’m not interested in dating nice girls or boys anyway," he remarked with a smirk.

Y/N swallowed, her curiosity piqued. "What are you interested in?" 

He smirked, "The game," he replied cryptically.

With that, he moved away from her, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment before he turned and walked down the hallway, “See you tonight, love.” He called back. 

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Y/N stood there, stunned and unable to move. She was grateful that no one had witnessed the exchange as she pulled out her compact, trying to compose herself and hide the flush of embarrassment that coloured her cheeks.

As she hurried to class, already five minutes late, Y/N couldn't shake the intensity of her encounter with Harry. Sitting by the window, her mind wandered as the teacher lectured the class, her gaze drifting to the courts outside where she'd soon be training with him this evening.

This coach-student dynamic had unlocked a new territory between them, something unpredictable that Y/N had no choice but to delve into for the months ahead. 

Yet, it was her only choice. Harry was the only way she could win and she’d push through whatever feelings she had to get what she wanted. 

She’d play the game, just as he wanted her to. 

[ecstarry]

@jegulus-microfic / fee / 341 words / a bit of an age gap jeggy

“How much for an hour?”

Regulus was gathering his things when he heard a deep voice behind him. 

“I’m afraid my schedule is full.” His tone was dry, he didn’t care about taking on more clients and quite frankly, he was tired of the day and just wanted to go home. 

“I’ll pay double your fee.”

He paused, considering the offer. The extra cash would be helpful—he had just moved out and could use the money—but his schedule was packed. Regulus turned around to put a face to the insistent man and found himself wishing he had an available slot. The man was handsome, probably in his late thirties, with broad shoulders, beautiful skin, a few strands of gray hair in his front curls, and again, incredibly attractive.

"It doesn’t work like that." Regulus zipped up his bag, securing his racquet and tennis balls, and leaned against the table that separated him from the other man.

“What if someone cancels, will you accept me then?” 

“No one cancels on me.”

“I bet.” The man’s smirk deepened. “What about after hours practice?”

Regulus could potentially work out a late practice time for the weekend, but he already had plans—it was just too complicated. “There are other instructors who I’m sure—”

“I want you. I promise I’m a good student. So tell me, do I have to keep increasing my offer or will you find a spot for me?” The words were assertive but the tone was utterly charming. Regulus couldn’t tell if his cheeks were red from being under the sun all day or the attentive gaze of the man in front of him. 

“Okay. Friday night. Triple my normal fee.” 

“It’s a date.” The man gave him a warm smile, reached for something in his wallet, and handed it to him. “Here’s my contact.” Regulus stared at the business card with the name James Potter embossed on it.

Okay, he might be older than late thirties.

“Remember to stretch before our class, Mr. Potter. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

[hoonieyun]

score: love!

lee heeseung x reader "y/n"

summary: after 2 years off the court due to a torn acl, y/n is ready to step back into tennis and take back the years she’s lost to her injury. after vowing to never play mixed doubles tennis ever again, she’s disappointed to find that the only matchup left is mixed doubles and she doesn’t have a partner. luckily, due to a last minute dropout, the tournament director has a player in need of a mixed doubles partner, but it just so happens to be the guy y/n played against 2 years ago that caused her injury: lee heeseung.

genre: smau!! sports au-tennis, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, romance

characters: enhypen heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon - artms jinsoul - yves/sooyoung - loossemble hyeju (and randome side characters)

warnings: profanity, injuries, aggressive behavior, suggestive, drugs and alcohol, overall 18+

status: completed (nov 3 to dec 26)

reply or send message to inbox to be added to taglist!

teaser (prologue) profiles: baddiesss (and jake) pink pony tennis club

game: one set: one i. girl you're late! ii. shouldn't he be in jail?? iii. only in it for the money babyyy iv. the bow is necessary v. you think he's ever used his brain..? vi. this hoe eat like a bear vii. wait... she's kinda viii. that was so alpha of you bro ix. 9 hours on facetime??? x. what is this??? revenge of the exes???

game: two set: two xi. lord this family is cursed xii. im going to eat my racket xiii. jake spitting some wisdom xiv. secret admirer xv. hyeju on top xvi. aww brotherly love xvii. wait... baddie rizz me tonight? xviii. DISQUALIFIED xix. should i be a detective? xx. SCORE: LOVE!

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved. all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

[lifeofpriya]

Second Serve - Jack Draper

[gif credit goes to @pyotrkochetkov]

summary: years after a bittersweet breakup, two former lovers unexpectedly cross paths, only to find that time and growth have reshaped the people they once were...

You stroll down the bustling street, the rhythm of the city pulsing through your veins like a forgotten melody. It's been years since you've been back to this place where the sidewalks whisper secrets of the past with every step. The smell of freshly baked bread wafts from a nearby bakery, and you're suddenly transported to a simpler time, a time when life was a series of high school hallways and stolen glances. The sun dips behind the buildings, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone pathways, as if the world is setting the stage for a bittersweet reunion.

You turn the corner, and there he is, Jack Draper. Or rather, the man Jack has become. The boy you knew, with his shaggy hair and impish grin, is gone, replaced by a figure of muscle and poise that exudes the confidence of a seasoned athlete. His eyes, though, are the same piercing hazel that used to hold yours captive. You stop, heart racing, as a tapestry of memories unfurls in your mind. The countless hours you spent together, the sweet kisses stolen under the cover of darkness, the painful goodbye that still lingers in the back of your throat like an unshed tear.

Jack's eyes sweep over the crowd, and for a moment, you're convinced he hasn't seen you. But then, a spark of recognition flits across his face, and his gaze locks onto yours. The air seems to thicken, and the world around you slows to a crawl as the gravity of the moment sinks in. He's no longer just a memory; he's a flesh-and-blood person standing a few feet away. You're torn between the urge to rush over and throw your arms around him, and the fear of what the years might have changed in him.

Jack takes a step in your direction, his stride long and purposeful. His outfit, a blend of athletic wear and casual street style, suggests he's been working out, probably training for a match. His skin has a tan from hours spent under the unforgiving sun, and there's a sprinkle of scruff on his face, giving him a slightly rugged look. You realize you're dressed in your favorite oversized sweater and ripped jeans, not quite the picture of sophistication you had hoped to be.

As he approaches, the sound of his sneakers on the pavement echoes in the quiet space between your racing thoughts. You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself, and he breaks into a smile that makes your heart skip a beat. It's the same smile that used to melt your resolve and make you believe in the impossible. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and you notice a few faint lines that time has etched around them.

"Hey," he says, his voice a familiar timbre that resonates through you like an old song. The word hangs in the air, a greeting that somehow feels both intimate and distant at the same time.

You smile back, your voice a bit shaky as you reply, "Jack. It's been… a long time."

He nods, closing the gap between you. "Too long," he says, his eyes searching yours. "How have you been?"

You manage a shrug. "College, then work. The usual." You don't mention the heartbreak that colored your first year away, the endless nights spent wondering what could have been if he had chosen differently.

Jack's eyes hold yours for a beat too long, as if trying to read between the lines of your response. "And now?" he asks, his tone tentative.

You take a moment to consider. The years have brought you growth, new loves, and a sense of self that no longer hinges on your shared past. "Good," you say, with a nod. "Really good."

Jack nods, his expression unreadable. "That's great to hear." His gaze lingers on you, as if trying to reconcile the person before him with the one he left behind. "I've been playing," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "Professionally, for a few years now."

You force a smile, trying to ignore the sting of his words. "Yeah, I heard," you reply. "You've become quite the player."

Jack's smile broadens, a touch of embarrassment flitting across his features. "It's been a journey," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "But nothing compared to what I've missed."

You swallow hard, unsure of what to say. The unspoken words hang in the air, a web of unanswered questions and forgotten promises. "Jack," you begin, "I—"

But he cuts you off gently, raising a hand. "Look, I know it's weird, seeing each other after all this time. But can we… catch up?" His eyes are hopeful, a hint of vulnerability peeking through the armor of his success.

You hesitate, the weight of the past heavy on your shoulders. Yet, curiosity and the faint glimmer of what-ifs tug at your heartstrings. "Okay," you finally agree. "Let's grab dinner."

The restaurant Jack chooses is dimly lit, with the hum of conversation and clinking of silverware providing a comforting backdrop. As you sit across from him, you can't help but notice how his presence seems to fill the space. His eyes, though filled with a maturity that comes from navigating the world alone, still have a spark that you recognize. It's the same spark that lit up every room he entered when you were teenagers.

You both order, Jack opting for a protein-packed meal that suits his training regimen, while you go for a comforting pasta dish. As you sip on your drink, the conversation flows easily, filled with stories of your separate lives and the people you've met along the way. You tell him about the friends you made in college, the job that has consumed your time, and the hobbies that have brought you joy. He listens intently, nodding and asking questions that show he truly cares.

Jack shares tales from his tennis career, the victories and defeats, the long hours of practice, and the constant travel. You're struck by his dedication and the sacrifices he's made to chase his dream. His hands gesture animatedly, bringing his stories to life, and for a moment, you feel like you're back in the schoolyard, watching him play out his fantasies of grand slam glory.

As you both dig into your meals, the conversation drifts to your shared history. You talk about the high school drama, the laughter, and the tears that seemed so monumental back then. The awkwardness of the reunion fades as you find your rhythm, slipping back into the ease of old friendship. You tell him about the time you went to his first ATP 250 victory in Stuttgart, the excitement in the air as he played.

"You were there? In Stuttgart?" Jack's eyes softened with surprise, a hint of warmth spreading across his face.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips as you remember the nerves that had knotted in your stomach, watching him from the stands. "Yeah, I couldn't miss it. You were amazing."

Jack's cheeks redden slightly, a touch of humility in his gaze. "Thanks," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the din of the restaurant. "I wish you had come to see me afterward."

You look down at your plate, pushing the pasta around with your fork. "I wanted to, but things were complicated." You leave it at that, not willing to dredge up the mess of emotions that had swirled around your decision to leave.

Jack nods, his eyes reflecting understanding. "I get it," he says. "But I've often wondered what would have happened if I had chosen differently."

You look up, meeting his gaze. "So have I," you admit. The words hang between you, a silent confession of the paths not taken.

Jack takes a sip of his water, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "Do you ever… regret it?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You consider his question, the weight of it pressing down on your chest. "Sometimes," you admit. "But I don't think we could have had this conversation then. We've both grown, changed." You gesture to the space around you. "We're different people now."

Jack nods, his eyes lingering on yours. "I suppose we are," he says, a hint of sadness tingeing his words. "But I can't help but wonder what we could have been."

The air in the restaurant feels charged, as if the very molecules of your past are swirling around you. You take a deep breath, the scent of garlic and herbs mingling with the faint sweat from Jack's workout, a scent that was once so familiar it was like home.

You shake your head, pushing aside the nostalgia. "We had our reasons, Jack. Your career was just taking off, and I had my whole life ahead of me. We were kids. We couldn't have known."

Jack's smile turns wistful, and he nods. "I guess you're right." He pauses, a far-off look in his eyes. "But I've missed you, you know?"

Your heart skips a beat. "I've missed you too," you murmur, the confession slipping out before you can stop it.

Jack reaches across the table, his hand hovering over yours. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you, a reminder of the electricity that used to arc between you. You don't pull away, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, lost in a sea of unspoken emotions.

"It's just… seeing you here," he says, his voice thick with feeling, "it's like all these years haven't happened, and we could just pick up where we left off."

You swallow, the lump in your throat suddenly very real. "Jack, I—"

He squeezes your hand, interrupting you gently. "I know. I've missed that too." His thumb traces the outline of your hand, and for a brief second, you feel seventeen again, with the whole world laid out before you.

The rest of dinner passes in a blur of shared memories and tentative touches. The laughter is easy, but the pauses between stories are filled with the echoes of lost time. You both dance around the edges of what could have been, the unspoken question of whether you would have made it if he had chosen you over the tennis courts.

As you walk him to his hotel, the night air is cool, a stark contrast to the warmth that has built between you. The city lights cast a soft glow on Jack's features, and you can't help but think how different he looks, yet how much he's remained the same. The way he talks about his matches, the passion in his voice, it's all so familiar, yet the success he's found is like a new coat of paint on the house of your past.

"You know," you begin, your voice quiet in the night, "I always knew you'd make it big."

Jack's eyes meet yours, and there's a softness there that wasn't in the bright lights of the restaurant. "Did you?"

You nod. "You were born for this. I just didn't know how much I'd miss you when you did."

Jack's smile is a mix of happiness and pain. "I missed you too," he says, his voice low. "Every city, every court, every victory… there was always a piece of me that wondered if you were watching."

You blink back the sudden sting of tears. "I did," you admit. "As much as I could."

Jack's hand tightens around yours, and you realize you've been holding his since you left the restaurant. The sidewalks are empty now, the chilly breeze whispering through the leaves of the trees above. The world feels both vast and claustrophobically small as you stand outside the gleaming hotel lobby.

"Do you… do you want to come up?" he asks, his eyes searching yours. There's a vulnerability in his voice that you've never heard before, a crack in the veneer of the successful athlete you've watched from afar.

You hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down on you like a heavy quilt. You've moved on, built a life that doesn't have room for what-ifs and might-have-beens. But as you look into his eyes, the pull of nostalgia is too strong to ignore. You nod, and he smiles, his hand guiding you through the revolving doors and into the opulent lobby.

The elevator ride to his suite is silent, save for the ding of the ascending floors. The mirrored walls reflect the nervous energy that crackles in the space between you. When the doors slide open, Jack leads you to a room that's both luxurious and impersonal, a testament to the life he's built on the road.

You sit on the plush couch, your heart racing like the first time you kissed. He offers you a drink, his movements deliberate as he pours a glass of wine. The clink of the bottle against the glass seems to echo in the quiet space, a reminder of the distance you've traveled to get to this moment.

Jack sits beside you, the cushion dipping slightly under his weight. He's closer than he's been in years, and you can't help but feel the heat of his thigh against yours. The TV flickers in the background, but it's Jack's eyes that hold your attention, the hazel depths filled with a storm of emotions you've missed interpreting.

You take the glass of wine, the coolness of the glass a stark contrast to the warmth of your hand. "To old friends," you toast, your voice a whisper.

Jack clinks his glass against yours, his eyes never leaving yours. "And to new beginnings," he adds, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

You take a sip, the sweetness of the wine coating your tongue. It's a simple act, but it feels loaded with meaning, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension that lingers in the air. The room is suffused with a soft glow from the floor lamp, casting shadows that play across Jack's face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the softness of his lips.

Jack sets his glass down on the coffee table, his hand lingering there for a moment before it finds yours. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, a reminder of the way you used to be. You look down at your interlocked fingers, feeling the calluses from his racket, a stark contrast to the smoothness of your own skin.

"I've thought about this so many times," he says, his voice barely above a murmur. "What it would be like to see you again, to hold your hand."

Your breath hitches in your chest. The words hang in the air, a bridge built over the chasm of time. You set your glass down with trembling hands, the clink a declaration of intent. You turn to him, heart pounding like a drum in your chest. "Jack," you whisper.

He leans in, his gaze holding yours, and you see the boy you fell in love with, the one who promised you the world before it swallowed him whole. His eyes are a storm of emotions—desire, regret, hope. Your heart stutters in response, a silent confession of your own tumultuous feelings.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing. "Jack, I…" But the words are lost as he leans in, his mouth brushing yours in a kiss that's both tender and fiery. It's a kiss that speaks of years of longing and a love that never truly disappeared. Your hands come up to cradle his face, feeling the stubble of his beard, the heat of his skin. It's as if no time has passed at all, and yet everything has changed.

Jack pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for permission. You nod, the dam of your resistance crumbling under the onslaught of feelings you thought were buried. He kisses you again, deeper this time, his arms wrapping around you as you melt into the embrace. The couch cushions groan under the weight of your bodies as you move closer, the fabric of your clothes whispering secrets of the passion rekindled.

You explore his face with your fingertips, tracing the lines that time has drawn, the contours of his jaw, the softness of his hair. His hands are firm, yet gentle, as they trace the curves of your body, relearning the landscape of your soul. The kiss deepens, your tongues dancing a dance of remembered passion, a symphony of unspoken promises. The air in the room is thick with desire, a palpable force that seems to hum with the echoes of your shared past.

Jack's hand moves to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart, a mirror to your own. The couch cushions are no longer a barrier; they're a launchpad for the emotional reunion that's been building since the moment you saw him on the street. His kisses become more insistent, a silent plea for you to stay, to not let the past dictate the future.

You break the kiss, breathless, looking into his eyes. The hazel depths swirl with a mix of desire and something else—fear, maybe? Or is it hope? "Jack," you whisper, "what are we doing?"

He pulls back, a look of surprise and uncertainty flitting across his face. "I don't know," he admits, his voice ragged. "But I know I don't want this night to end without finding out."

You nod, the words a silent agreement to the unspoken question hanging in the air. You stand, Jack following suit, the space between you charged with an energy that's been building since the moment you laid eyes on each other. He takes your hand again, leading you to the bedroom, the plush carpet underfoot muffling the sound of your footsteps. The room is bathed in a soft, golden light, casting a warm glow over the pristine hotel bed.

Jack stops, looking at you with an intensity that steals your breath. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, your heart thundering in your chest. "I am," you reply, your voice steady despite the tumult of feelings raging inside you.

Jack's eyes searched yours, a silent question lingering. He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek as he whispered, "I've missed this." His hand brushed against your cheek, and you felt the warmth of his skin, the roughness of his calloused fingers a stark reminder of the life he's been living. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as he kissed you again, his lips soft and insistent, his arms wrapping around you as if he'd never let go.

The bedroom was a cocoon of soft light and luxurious fabrics. The bed looked like a cloud, inviting and warm, but the air was anything but still. It crackled with anticipation, the tension palpable. You stepped closer to him, feeling the heat of his body, the way it seemed to call to yours. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel his heart hammering against your chest, matching the rhythm of your own.

Jack's eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw the boy you knew, the one who held your hand through every first. But the man before you had seen the world, had felt the sting of victory and defeat, and had grown into someone more complex, more layered. And yet, the core of him remained the same, the person you had loved so fiercely.

You stepped closer, your heart racing like it did the first time you had danced together at prom, when the world had been so much smaller. His hand found the small of your back, guiding you closer, as if he was afraid you might vanish again. His thumb traced small circles, sending shivers down your spine, and you realized that despite the years and the miles, you still knew every inch of him, every beat of his heart.

Jack's kiss grew more urgent, his hands roaming over your body, as if he needed to relearn every curve and line. You felt the same, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, the fabric whispering sweet nothings as it fell to the floor. His skin was warm and familiar, the smell of him a comforting blanket that you hadn't realized you'd missed.

From there, it was a night filled with passion and whispers of regret. Jack's touch was a brand on your skin, a reminder of the love that had been left behind. His kisses were a declaration of everything he had felt but never said, the words lost in the roar of his applause and the echoes of his success. You gave in to the feeling, letting the tide of emotions sweep you away, the years of longing and pain washed away by the warmth of his embrace.

The bed was a haven, the sheets a soft cocoon that cradled your tangled limbs as you explored each other. Your hands traced the lines of his muscles, a map of his dedication to his sport, while his traced the soft curves of your body, as if he were rediscovering a treasure he thought lost at sea. The whispers of your names intermingled with sighs of pleasure, a sweet symphony that filled the quiet room.

Jack's touch was both tender and fierce, a dance of reacquaintance and newfound passion. His fingers danced over your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake, as if trying to etch the memory of this moment onto your very soul. You responded with equal fervor, your hands exploring the contours of his body, memorizing every inch as if you could somehow hold onto him forever.

When you wake up the next morning, the sun is streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets and Jack's sleeping form. You lay there for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, watching the play of light and shadow across his face. His hand is curled around yours, and you can't help but trace the lines of his palm with your thumb. The air in the room is thick with the scent of the night before—sweat and passion and something else, something that feels suspiciously like hope.

You ease out of bed, not wanting to wake him. Your clothes are scattered on the floor, a silent testament to the fiery reunion of the night. You gather them up, feeling both shy and empowered. As you dress, you look back at Jack, the man who once was the center of your world. You've both changed so much, and yet, in this moment, you feel like you're looking at the same person you said goodbye to all those years ago.

The sun casts a golden hue across the room, illuminating the lines on the bed where you lay entwined. You bite your lip, feeling a tug of regret for the time lost, the moments that could have been. But you push it aside, choosing instead to cherish the present, the here and now.

Jack stirs, his eyes fluttering open to reveal the warmth that never truly left them. He looks at you, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he stretches out an arm. "Don't go," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

You couldn't help but giggle at his sleepy plea, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I'm just getting dressed," you whispered, slipping your shoes on.

Jack sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sight of him, rumpled and bare-chested, made your knees feel a bit weak. "Stay," he said more insistently, his eyes searching yours.

You hesitated, the weight of the past and the uncertainties of the future pressing down on you. But then you saw the hope in his gaze, the vulnerability that had been hidden behind the glamour of his career. You felt a strange sense of responsibility, as if you could somehow make up for the lost time, the missed moments. So, you stepped closer, leaning down to kiss him gently.

"Okay," you murmured against his lips. "I'll stay a little longer."

Jack's smile grew, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you back onto the bed. The warmth of his body was like a siren's call, and you melted into it, feeling the last of your reservations slip away. You laid your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took.

For a while, you just stayed like that, not speaking, the silence between you filled with the unspoken understanding of what had just passed between you. It was a moment out of time, a pause in the chaos of your lives that you both desperately needed. You felt the warmth of the sun on your back, the softness of the sheets under you, and the steady beat of Jack's heart beneath your ear.

Jack's hand found yours again, his thumb tracing patterns on your skin. "You know," he began, his voice still thick with sleep, "I've thought about this. A lot."

You looked up at him, his eyes now clear and focused. "Me too," you admitted.

Jack leaned back against the headboard, bringing you with him. The light from the window painted the lines of his face, highlighting the growth and maturity that came with his success. "What do you think we should do?" he asked, his voice serious now.

You took a deep breath, feeling the gravity of the situation settle on your shoulders. "I don't know," you said honestly. "But I do know that I don't want to let go of this… feeling."

Jack's hand tightened around yours, his thumb continuing to draw patterns on your skin. "Me neither," he murmured.

For a few more moments, you stayed like that, basking in the warmth of each other's presence. The silence was comfortable, familiar, like slipping into an old pair of jeans that fit just right. But the ticking of the clock on the bedside table was a gentle reminder that time waited for no one, not even for lost loves rediscovered.

Jack broke the silence first. "What now?" he asked, his voice tentative, as if testing the waters.

You sat up, the soft fabric of the sheets sliding off your shoulders. "Now, we figure it out," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. The weight of the decision hung heavy in the air, a tangible force that seemed to press down on your chests.

Jack nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don't want this to be just a one-time thing," he confessed, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your hand. "We've got a second chance. I don't want to waste it."

You felt a lump form in your throat. "Me neither," you murmured, feeling the gravity of his words. The prospect of rekindling what you had was both thrilling and terrifying. You had moved on, built a life without him. But here he was, in the flesh, the man you had loved with all your teenage heart, looking at you with a love that hadn't faded.

You took a deep breath, letting the reality of the situation wash over you. "But we're not kids anymore, Jack," you reminded him gently. "We have responsibilities, lives that can't just pivot on a dime."

Jack nodded, his gaze dropping to your interlocked hands. "I know. But we owe it to ourselves to at least try." He looked back up at you, the hope in his eyes unmistakable. "To see if we can make this work."

You felt the gravity of his words, the weight of the unspoken future pressing down on you. "Okay," you whispered, the word a promise and a prayer. "Let's try."

Jack's smile was like the sun breaking through clouds, and he leaned in to kiss you, the warmth of his lips sealing the deal. You melted into the kiss, feeling a sense of homecoming that was as overwhelming as it was unexpected. For a moment, the world outside the hotel room ceased to exist.

[game-set-canet]

Hi how are U? I was wondering if, when you have time, could write something on jannik sinner x Italian reader where she's a normal girl living in a little town in northern italy( not jannik's town) and they're not public due to jannik wanting to keep his private life discrete. Well, he surprises her at her place and she introduces him to her family, which he hasn't meet it yet despite teyrebeing together for a while.

I know it's very specific, but I hope you don't mind.

Thank u 💓

The Perfect Surprise

Pairing: Jannik Sinner x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

Author’s Note: it turned out way different than I intended 🙈 but i hope you like it, lovely anon 🤗

* Y/N = your name

MY MASTERLIST

(via Instagram @ janniksin)

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You miss him.

Last time you two saw each other was almost two months ago and although you know it’s the right decision to keep your relationship out of public it kinda hurts. Text messages, phone calls and video calls are just not enough.

You sigh and close the programs on your computer. Today’s workday dragged on even more than yesterday. And even though it's finally Friday, you can’t really enjoy getting off work early. In five hours, you're supposed to be at your grandparents' place, along with your parents and your two sisters - plus their boyfriends. Usually, you love spending time with your family, but seeing your sisters with their boyfriends makes you miss Jannik even more.

Jannik has been an important part of your life for almost a year now and every day you’re really grateful that you decided to take that trip to Rome for a few days of vacation a year ago. On the evening of the day you arrived, you decided to visit the Roman Forum and asked a young man to take a photo of you in front of the illuminated sight. Jannik said yes, and although the photo turned out to be amazing and the Roman Forum looked really impressive, you couldn't take your eyes off Jannik. You spent a lot of time together and the days ended with you and Jannik as a couple.

You’ve had long talks about how to handle it, and it was especially important for Jannik to keep your relationship private. It's the right decision, but it makes things difficult.

Yeah, you’d love to be by his side more often. Go to his tournaments and cheer for him. But most of all, you’d like to introduce him to your family and friends. Even though you've been together for almost a year now, there hasn’t really been a good opportunity for Jannik to meet your family - press events and injuries have gotten in the way so far.

“Have fun at your family dinner, Y/N,” your colleague waves at you with a smile, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Thanks, that’s nice of you!”, you wave back, pack your phone into your handbag, and leave the office quickly.

On one hand, it would be fun, but on the other hand, it would remind you that Jannik is missing. Your family knows you have a boyfriend and that he’s really busy, but they don’t know who he really is. Nicolò, your older sister’s boyfriend, would lean over to you with a grin again: “Are you sure your mysterious boyfriend is real? We’ve never seen him.” He doesn’t mean any harm, he’s just a jokester, but it still bothers you a lot.

Deep in thought, you push open the main entrance door of the office and step out onto the street. You work for a great company, right in your hometown. Since you know the way home by heart, you aren’t paying attention to your surroundings and jump in surprise when you suddenly hear someone calling your name.

You look up and suddenly think you must be hallucinating.

This can’t be real, it’s completely impossible.

"Jannik?" you ask, utterly confused as the tall young man with a bright smile walks towards you, "Is it really you?"

"Hi Y/N!" he beams at you, clearly amused by your disbelief.

"But...what...why...you’re supposed to be playing tennis!"

"Should I leave and go back to playing tennis?"

"NO!", you blurt out in shock, jumping towards him to hug him, "Oh my god, Jannik!"

The South Tyrolean laughs softly and wraps his arms around you too: "I’m glad my surprise worked!"

"Worked? I can’t believe it! Oh, I’m so happy!", you have to force yourself to let go of him - there are always curious eyes around.

Jannik looks at you with his bright eyes, his hands now in his pockets, his smile a bit forced: "I’ve got a few days off and came to see you as soon as I could."

You frown, "A few days off? Why?"

"My hip's acting up again..."

You feel your stomach tighten, "How bad is it?"

Jannik tilts his head from side to side, staring straight at the street. "Just bad enough to take a break from training."

That’s an understatement."

Your boyfriend presses his lips together and lowers his head: "Can’t we just be happy we get some time together?"

"Of course," you smile at him. You know how much Jannik’s recurring hip issues bother him, but this isn’t the right time or place to talk about it. When Jannik is ready to talk, you’ll be there. You’ll wrap your arms around him, rest your head on his shoulder, and he will tell you everything.

"I’d say we go home to my place and I cook us something nice...I went to the grocery store yesterday!" you suggest as you both start the short walk to your apartment. You resist the urge to reach for Jannik's hand and intertwine your fingers.

"That sounds like a great idea. Maybe we could try your grandma’s pasta sauce again? Last time we almost got it perfect and -"

Jannik's words make you stop in your tracks: "My grandma!", you exclaim, grimacing, "I still need to call my grandparents and parents to let them know I won't be coming to the family dinner!" You can already hear your grandma's disappointed words and see your dad's disapproving frown when you cancel.

Jannik looks at you curiously: "What family dinner?", he asks.

You let out a deep sigh: "My grandparents invited the whole family over for dinner tonight. I'll call and cancel as soon as we get home."

"But... aren't you excited about the family dinner?"

"Yeah, of course!", you nod immediately but then shrug, "But I'd rather spend time with you! I've missed you so much!"

Jannik doesn’t respond immediately, but you can see he’s deep in thought. After a few seconds, he finally speaks, his voice softer than usual. "We...we could go to your grandparents' together."

You think you’ve misheard and look at him in surprise. "What?"

A small smile appears on Jannik’s face. "I’d really like to meet your family, Y/N. I think it's long overdue."

Your entire family was, of course, absolutely thrilled with Jannik.

Later, your grandma would say: "Where have you been hiding this perfect son-in-law all this time?"

The family dinner went definitely differently than planned and so much better than you could have ever imagined.

Sitting among your family, laughing at one of your dad's terrible jokes, with Jannik's arm around your shoulders, was definitely the perfect evening.

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tagging: @bluetackbaby @lxndonorris @fedalev @purplecloudarcade

[rafecameronssl4t]

I need to see reader calming Rafe down during a meltdown in a match and maybe she’s being firm and like telling him to stop and listen to her and to calm down and he shuts up because reader can get scary when mad lol 😂

Fault lines || Tennis player!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: wag!reader stands on business 😙

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,441

MASTERLIST (tennis player!rafe au masterlist)

The sun hung heavy over Sydney’s Ken Rosewall Arena, and the crowd’s energy buzzed like static electricity. Team USA’s match in the United Cup had been one of the most anticipated games of the tournament, but all eyes were on Rafe Cameron. Not just because he was one of the best players on the circuit, but because his temper had become almost as famous as his forehand.

Today, the storm brewing inside Rafe was palpable. He was down a set and struggling to keep up in the second. The opponent, an unseeded underdog from Russia, was playing like a man possessed, returning every shot with precision that only fueled Rafe’s growing frustration. The boiling point came during a controversial call.

“Are you serious? That was in!” Rafe shouted, his voice echoing across the court. The crowd’s murmurs turned to gasps. His face was red with anger as his hands rest on his hips, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The chair umpire remained stoic, unmoved by the outburst. “Out. No let, Mr. Cameron,” the umpire announced, his calm voice doing nothing to quell the fire in Rafe’s eyes.

Rafe strode to the net, pointing furiously at the spot where he was convinced the ball had landed. “Are you blind? It literally hit the fucking line!” The umpire’s expression didn’t falter. “Warning for Mr. Cameron, please return to your position.” Rafe’s jaw clenched, his grip on the racquet so tight his knuckles turned white. “This is bullshit!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the tense silence as he stormed toward the baseline.

With unrestrained fury, he slammed the racquet against the ground—once, twice, three times—until a deafening fourth strike splintered it into shards of graphite. The crowd gasped collectively, shock rippling through the stands as fragments scattered across the court. “Unbelievable!” Rafe yelled, tossing the mangled remains aside before stalking toward the Team USA bench, his frame vibrating with unspent anger.

His teammates and coach looked uneasy, unsure whether to intervene or let him vent. In the vip seats behind Team USA’s area, you sat with your arms crossed, your sharp gaze fixed on Rafe’s theatrics. Rafe threw himself onto the bench, oblivious to the camera following him as he mutters curses under his breath, ripping open a new racquet from his bag, his jaw clenched so tightly.

From your vantage point, you leaned forward, resting your arms on the barrier in front of you. You could feel the heat of his frustration from where you sat, and you knew he needed someone to pull him out of his spiral before he self-destructed.“Rafe!” you called down, your voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd and the chaos on court. He looked up, his brow furrowed, still fuming. “What?”

You didn’t flinch, meeting his glare with the same intensity. “You need to calm down. Right now.” His lips curled into a frustrated sneer. “Are you serious right now? Did you see that call? It was bullshit!” “I don’t care about the call,” you snapped, your tone sharper than the sun’s glare. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Stop acting like a child.”

Rafe blinked, letting out an exhale. The crowd had gone quiet, all eyes were on the exchange. Even the cameras were trained on the two of you, capturing every moment of the heated conversation. “I’m not—” he started, but you cut him off. “Be the bigger person,” you demanded, your voice low but commanding.

“Do you think smashing your racquet and yelling at the umpire is going to change the call? Get your head in the game.” Rafe leaned closer, his voice lowered but still defiant. “You don’t get it. That point—” “I do get it,” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes. “What I don’t get is why you’re wasting energy on this instead of focusing on winning.”

“And now you’re handing the momentum to him on a silver platter,” you shot back, your voice firm but quiet. “Do you think your opponent cares about the call? He’s focusing on the next point while you’re sitting here sulking like a brat.” His jaw worked as he struggled to find a retort, but before he could, you leaned in even closer.

“Screw your head back in, Rafe,” you hissed, your words like ice water on a fire. “And get back out there. Now.” The way you said it left no room for argument. He stared at you, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly as your words sank in. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really not letting me off the hook, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you replied, leaning back slightly but keeping your gaze locked on his. “Now shut up, get your head in the game, and play like the champion I know you are.” A flicker of something—respect, maybe even a little fear—crossed his face. He nodded, more to himself than to you, before standing and grabbing his racquet.

As he walked back onto the court, he glanced back at you over his shoulder. You raised an eyebrow, silently daring him to argue again. He didn’t. The crowd began murmuring again, their attention shifting back to the match. But you stayed still, arms crossed, shaking your head in exasperation. The cameras, however, lingered on you for a few more seconds, capturing your unimpressed expression as Rafe got into position to serve.

The commentators couldn’t resist. “Well, that was quite the reaction from Y/n,” one said, chuckling. “I don’t think Rafe’s girlfriend approved of that outburst,” the other added. “And who could blame her? That’s another fine coming his way.” The match resumed, and while Rafe’s temper was still simmering beneath the surface, your words seemed to have had the desired effect.

He channeled his frustration into his game, hitting with renewed focus and precision. Each shot landed with a ferocity that made the crowd gasp, and slowly but surely, he clawed his way back into the set. When he finally won the second set in a tiebreak, the crowd erupted into cheers. Rafe allowed himself a small smile, glancing toward your seat in the stands.

The third set was a masterclass. Rafe played like a man possessed, leaving no room for error. By the time he won the match with a blistering ace, the crowd was on its feet, applauding his comeback. As the players shook hands at the net, the commentators couldn’t help but bring up the earlier exchange.

“Well, it looks like Rafe Cameron had some help keeping his cool today,” one of them quipped. “I’d say his girlfriend’s pep talk worked wonders.” Back on the sidelines, Rafe grabbed his bag and towel, his eyes landing on you. When he reached you, he leaned against the barrier, his expression a mix of sheepishness and irritation. “Happy now?” he asked, his tone teasing but softer than before.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “I’ll be happy when you stop smashing racquets.” “Fair,” he admitted, glancing down at the broken one still lying near the bench. “I guess I owe you for that.” “You owe me a lot more than that,” you replied, your smirk turning into a genuine smile.

As the crowd began to disperse, you sat back in your seat, finally allowing yourself a small smile. Rafe might be a handful, but if anyone could handle him, it was you. And judging by the camera footage that was already going viral, the world was quickly realising the same thing.

[yoongelectric]

Up and Down - Ben Shelton

pairing: ben shelton x fem!reader

genre: super fluffy, angst, smut, exes to lovers

warnings: pet names, unprotected sex, p in v, breeding kink, fingering, nipple play, riding, i think that’s it

summary: you get stuck in an elevator with the one that got away

notes: sorry for making you wait, i ended up changing a lot of things. English isn’t my first language

It has been more than a year since your breakup with Ben, your relationship had started innocently, when he came to your house to hang out with your brother, and you stole glances at each other when he was distracted, Ben secretly looked forward to those rare occasions when you spent time with them, when you watched movies together and if he was lucky maybe you would lay your head on his shoulder, or when the three of you had to go grocery shopping and you would seat in the passenger seat next to him, or when in the middle of a conversation he made you laugh. one day he decided that he wanted to be able to experience those things every day so he asked you out, one date turned into two and soon you were inseparable, your brother used to half joke about how you had stolen his best friend and threatened Ben saying that if he ever hurt you he would beat him up.

But all good things come to an end, they say, and after two years of dating, Ben's career began to get in the way, long training sessions and constant trips made it impossible for you two see each other. On top of that, you were no longer the main priority in Ben's mind, not showing up on dates or forgetting important days became more and more usual for him. So one day with pain in your heart you decided to end things, you knew that you both loved each other, and although it was probably one of the hardest things you had ever done you knew it was the best for both of you, you didn't want him to pay less attention to his career now that it was starting to take off, but you weren't going to sacrifice your happiness just to wait for him to have time for you.

You're doing fine, you're studying the career of your dreams, you have a good job, a quiet life and wonderful friends who help you not think about Ben, and maybe that's the reason why you’re doing fine, you don't think about ben, you don't see ben, the only news you have about him is when your brother proudly tells you how well he's doing in tennis, and it makes you happy, it's what you always wanted for him, to be successful in what he loves the most, but when you're alone with your thoughts you can't help but think about how things would be if you had fought more for your love, what it would be like to live your joys together, and support each other when things were not so good, but you convince yourself that you are better off this way, because you’ll never know if you would’ve been able to overcome that rough patch in your relationship.

and here you are, getting ready for your brother's birthday, he had told you earlier that Ben was going to be there and you had psychologically prepared yourself all afternoon for the moment you would see him for the first time since you broke up, you told everyone that it was fine, you’d ended up things on good terms and you didn't hold a grudge against him, you didn't feel anything for ben other than a nice memory, but secretly you were wearing just his favorite color, you had styled your hair the way you knew he liked it and you had looked at your outfit in the mirror hundreds of times hoping ben would find you attractive, there are things that never change at the end of the day.

The night was going smoothly, when Ben arrived you greeted him politely with a slight smile and continued having small talk with your aunt, obviously the questions didn't take long to come, what happened for you to broke up? Was there anyone else? How does it feel to see him here? You avoided them as best you could but they left you feeling an uncomfortable pang in your chest. The night went by and each drink made you overthink your decisions over and over again, so you decided to say goodbye to your closest circle and return home before doing something you would regret.

When they were about to close completely, the elevator doors opened up again, letting in ben’s tall figure, who looked at you surprised, with a pleased smile, you're not sure if that was the same expression he received from you.

"Hey, y/n, leaving already? We didn't have much chance to talk there" Ben tried to break the ice.

"Yeah, I have a bit of a headache so I preferred to go home" you lied, obviously you wouldn't tell him that you couldn't stand seeing him and not being together.

"oh i understand, maybe you need some sleep"

"yeah maybe..." you tried to say something else but you didn't really know what, you fell into an awkward silence, unusual for the two of you.

and as if life was playing a joke on you, you felt the elevator stop, you pressed the button for the ground floor several times but it was useless, you wouldn’t move.

"We can't be stuck here," you said, switching between pressing the stop and go button and the one for the floor you were going to.

"Relax, I'll call your brother so he’ll tell the maintenance guys."

The call gave you two the worst news, no one would go that late at night on a saturday to fix an elevator, so you would have to wait for the system to work again.

The two of you sat on the floor in silence, looking at the ceiling, at the floor anywhere but at each other, it was strange how something as familiar as being alone together now produced such discomfort inside you.

you heard ben laugh bitterly

"What's so funny?" You asked, playing with your necklace, an old habit you had when you were nervous.

"Nothing, I just never thought I'd need to be stuck in an elevator to be alone with you."

His remark making you feel even more uneasy.

"I don't think that's the case" you avoided his comment, looking away.

"y/n, I'm not stupid, I see that you're nervous, I know it bothers you being here with me" he paused to look at you for the first time in several minutes "I'm surprised that this is what we are like now"

"It doesn't bother me being here with you, Ben, it bothers me not knowing what to do."

"what do you mean?"

"You were literally my person for two years, we always connected on another level, and now we can't have a conversation for 5 minutes, I hate feeling like I don't know you"

"y/n, you are the one who’s been avoiding me all night, pretending you don't know me when you are the person who knows me best in the world" Ben approached you trying to hold your hand gently "I know it's my fault, I was the one who lost you, but things don't have to be like this"

"but they are, there’s nothing to do" you finally looked at him "some things belong to the past"

"I miss you, Y/n, I miss us, I know I didn't take care of you like I should have, but I don't think that our relationship is something of the past, I can fix things you know."

"There is nothing to fix, you have other priorities in life and that's okay, I'm not going to get in the way of your career"

"do you ever think about me?, tell me the truth, because I think about you all the time, every time I win a match and you’re the first person i wanna call, or when I watch some movie that you like and I remember the comments you would make, specially at night when the bed feels too big" Ben moved even closer to you "please tell me you still think about me, y/n”

"i do, but that doesn't matter-" your words were cut off by ben's lips on yours

He held you by the neck, kissing you as if he’d never had to stop doing it, the kiss felt intense, full of emotions that hadn’t surfaced for a whole year.

"It does matter, Y/N, before we didn't know how to handle things, but maybe now we can" Ben murmured against your lips.

"What if we can't? I don't want to feel like someone you only remember when you have nothing else to do again" A single tear fell down your cheek, which Ben was quick to wipe away with his thumb while holding your face.

"You were never that for me, y/n, it was a difficult time and i neglected you, i admit that, but I swear that will never happen again, i know how it feels like to loose you completely". ben smiled sadly

This time it was you who leaned in to kiss him, the desperation of finding something to hold onto to believe him invading your senses, Ben grabbed your waist trying to stick you to him but the position you were in, sitting side by side, made it impossible.

"Can you come here?" He patted his lap so you sat on top of him.

When you straddled him you felt his arms wrap you in a hug, clinging you to him as if even the slightest distance hurt him. He laid his head on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your hair. You stayed like that for a while until he looked up again, his eyes full of love.

"god, you're so beautiful, i missed you"

“I missed you too, you have no idea” you pouted as you ran your hand through his brown curls, a habit that lingered over time.

You felt him reach out to kiss your neck, leaving wet kisses all over your sensitive spots, Ben's movement taking you aback momentarily but making you loose yourself in him right away, your hand in his hair caressing and gently pulling his locks as your back arched over his chest.

His hands came down to grab your hips, pressing you onto his growing erection, making you moan softly.

"Sorry, tell me to stop if you want" Ben whispered, kissing the skin the neckline of your top left visible.

"Please don't" you said looking down.

“good,” you heard ben grunt as he rolled your skirt up and grabbed your bare ass, urging you to buck your hips onto his, and again, and again, his hands guiding your movements hard onto it, his hard cock feeling so good against your clothed clit, but the friction quickly feeling too little. You gently bit his shoulder, pressing harder on him, but it was useless.

"ben, please, i need more"

Ben looked into your eyes, smiling devilishly, he raised your hips slightly to have easy access to your pussy, running a finger all over it, your hips pushed down onto his finger, your back arching, head falling back and your hands resting on his shoulders needing to grab something.

“ben, take them off” you said making him look up and kissing him again.

He pushed your panties to the side, without removing them yet, he poked a finger at your entrance trying to collect your wetness, hissing at the amount of your juices he found there.

"shit, I want to fuck you so bad"

Ben looked at you once more, lips red and swollen from his ministrations, your hair messy and a slight shine in your eyes.

"then do it, baby, I can't wait, Ben" this time you were the one who went down to kiss his neck, sucking hard, you were sure to leave marks but at this moment you didn't care, you felt Ben's hand twitch on your hip and a growl escape his mouth, it was amazing how after a year being apart you still knew all his weak points, maybe because you were one yourself

"Not yet, princess, we have to get you ready."

"Ok, but make it quick, what if the elevator starts working again?"

Ben laughed softly "we'll have to continue in my bed then."

You smiled at him but your face turned into one of pleasure when Ben began to draw figure eights on your pussy, keeping your hips still so he could please you just the way he wanted.

"Take off your top, baby" as soon as you left your breasts bare, Ben's mouth attacked them, skillfully licking your nipples, sucking and letting his teeth delicately graze that sensitive area.

Ben slid two fingers into your entrance, pumping them in and out reaching all the places inside you that made you see stars, his other hand releasing your hip as he licked his thumb to circle your clit.

You were making a mess on his fingers and you could hear the noise of your wetness getting pushed in and out of you.

"ben, it’s okay, fuck me, please, I need you, I need your cock"

ben nodded his head releasing his dick from its confinement, you suddenly remembered his size, once he was inside of you, you felt perfectly full, stretched, but it was true that it had taken you a few months during your relationship to get used to his length and girth.

"you ready, pretty?" You nodded and looked at him, legs spread, leaning back slightly, giving his member a few strokes before he grabbed you to help you sit on his cock he looked so attractive you couldn't think about anything else.

you let his dick in inch by inch, but halfway through you felt it was too much, the stretch hurting between your legs.

your face of discomfort didn’t go unnoticed by ben

"y/n are you okay? did I hurt you or something?" He spoke worriedly while holding your waist to help you support your own weight.

You nodded and rested your head on the crook of his neck before speaking, a little embarrassed

"I'm fine, it's just that, your dick is big and I haven't had..." you looked at him with reddened cheeks.

"since we broke up?" Ben asked trying to sound understanding, but the smile he had to contain was noticed by you.

"don't smile like that, I just need to adjust to the size, be a little patient with me"

"all the patience in the world, love, just tell me when you're ready" he gave a soft peck on your shoulder.

"can you take this off?" you asked as you grabbed the hem of his shirt.

Ben removed the garment in one motion allowing you to cling onto his skin, breathing through your nose and taking in the rest of him.

“you’re doing great, y/n, just tell me when you can move.”

The pain soon turned into pleasure and you soon began to feel that need for more friction in your lower stomach, you moved your hips up until only the tip was inside and you let yourself fall, Ben's deep growl making your walls tighten around his cock, you repeated your movements over and over again until your legs began to shake, his mouth changing between kissing your breasts, your neck or your lips, soon neither of you had the energy for anything but trying to reach your climaxes, holding each other and moaning into each other's mouths, you were so close but your legs had less and less strength.

"ben, can you?-"

A scream escaped your mouth when Ben placed his heels on the floor and, holding your hips, began to fuck you right in that delicious pace that he’d always known how to give you.

"Is this what you wanted, beautiful? you wanted me to fuck you good?"

"gosh, ben, so so so good, I missed this so much"

"I missed you, I love you so much"

Ben held you close, so lovingly, contrasting with the violent thrusts he was giving your pussy over and over again.

The knot in your stomach formed quickly and white spots appeared around your eyes.

"love, I'm close" your hips began to meet his movements, your clit rubbing against Ben's pelvis making your head spin.

“let go, cum for me, tell me, y/n, who makes you feel this good?”

The tension in your stomach snapped, your entire body shivered and all the nerves in your body woke up, you made a mess of juices on his dick.

"Shit, Ben you make me feel this good, there's no one like you."

You didn't know what you were saying, you were just thinking about the time you’d missed all of this, the time you lost each other.

When you came down from your high, Ben started his thrusts again, becoming more erratic and his moans less controlled.

"y/n I'm gonna cum, where do you want it?"

Your head was full of possibilities, but you felt so good like this, so comfortable, so safe, that you didn't want to move, you didn't want to lose contact.

"Finish inside, I don't want you to get out of me, Ben"

"damn, you're the best thing that ever happened to me"

Ben's hips stopped inside you, pressing hard as you felt his white seed paint your walls.

His head fell onto your shoulder with a grunt of pleasure and exhaustion, hugging you tightly, as if you were going to disappear if he didn’t hold you close. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his head, enjoying the contact that you’d only now realized how much you missed.

“I love you, Ben, i’m sorry for leaving like that,” you whispered in his ear.

"I let you go, I should have never ever taken you for granted, y/n, please be mine again."

You grabbed his head to make him look at you and you left a tender kiss on his cheek.

"I think all this shows you that my answer is yes"

"Thank you, baby, I swear you won't regret it, I'll take care of you the way you deserve"

"I know I won't regret it, love."

tiredness began to take over you, so Ben gently took you away from him, telling you to get dressed, that he would wake you up when the elevator worked again.

and you don't know when that happened, but the next morning you woke up clinging to him in his bed, right where you should have always been.

[thegirlamongthestars]

carlitos is the type to...

warnings: none

smile and make funny faces to children while walking down the street hand in hand with you

carry two passport pictures of you in his wallet, a current one and one of you as a child

pick you up on his shoulder and pulling you into the shower after a sweaty practice session because according to him "i have already spent so much time without you today"

carry your things without being asked

call you “mi amor” in the sweetest voice whenever he’s being extra soft with you

leave his hoodie draped over your chair because he knows you’ll wear it since you're obsessed with his scent

gently tuck your hair behind your ear during serious conversations, looking deep into your eyes and making you loose trail of your words

steal glances at you while driving and teasing you when he catches you looking at his hands or arms

end up adding into his day-to-day-vocabulary phrases or expressions you use frequently

kiss the back of your hand after lacing his fingers with yours

whenever he's buying clothes sending a mirror pic texting something like "do I look good enough to be your boyfriend today?"

always mention you at every chance he has, even in post-match interviews where he subtly dedicates all his victories to you

have a secret code with you so everytime he passes the water bottle playfully from one hand to another he's meaning to say "i love you"

[finelinefae]

match one [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's struggling with harry's coaching before the first tournament and harry's feelings control him more than he controls them

word count: 10.2k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals, strict parents, fluff, harry being a boy and not being able control himself around y/n

this is part 2 of the game, read part 1 here

. . .

“Again,” 

Y/N gritted her teeth and bounced the tennis ball on the ground before throwing it into the air with a straight arm and hitting it with the racket, watching as it pierced through the air to the opposite end of the court. 

She heard a sigh come from the bench on the side of the court, “Again,” 

She inhaled sharply through her nose to try and contain her temper as she repeated the same serve. 

“Again,”

Y/N spun around on the heel of her New Balance trainers, her pleated, white skort twirling as she did. She crossed her arms and glared at the boy lying on his back in his school uniform which was now crinkled and unkempt after the school day. “You’re not even watching,” She replied for the first time after having done the same serve more than ten times already. 

“I don’t need to, I know you’re not doing it correctly,” He replied, monotonously. 

She clenched her jaw, “Well as my coach, aren’t you supposed to show me how I’m meant to do it correctly?”

“I can show you but it won’t change anything,” He said. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs and sits up, “You already know how to do a flat serve, I’ve seen you do it. You’re just not hitting it hard enough. I can hear it in the way the ball lands on the other end of the court.” 

“You could have just told me to hit it harder,” She retorts. 

“Am I meant to play the game for you as well?” He quips which makes her blood boil. 

This was their third training session, and Y/N had reached her limit. With her first proper tournament just three weeks away, she had hoped that seeking help from the best tennis player at Crestwood would elevate her gameplay. 

However, Y/N was getting frustrated with each session being a monotonous repetition of drills she had already learnt herself. It grated on her nerves and she felt as though she was back to square one. 

She was beginning to regret having enlisted Harry for his mentoring in the first place. Whenever they’d try to talk mutually to each other, it would just end up in an argument of some kind where they’d end up needing ten minutes to cool off.

Y/N had already qualified for the Academy Slam before she even asked Harry to coach her. There had originally been sixteen academies from the surrounding counties competing in the games and now there were only half and Y/N was one of them. She’d passed the qualifiers all by herself and maybe she could pass the games that way too.

“Again,” He said that one word Y/N was beginning to hate. 

Who knew what she was capable of if she had to hear that word one more time. 

Feeling a surge of anger, Y/N tossed the ball into the air and hit it with all the strength she could possibly summon. She watched as the ball made a fast and straight trajectory towards her target area which just so happened to be right beside Harry’s place on the bench. 

He jumped up, a look of surprise on his face. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed, eyes following the ball as it hit the fence.

Y/N's smirk wavered as he approached her, her surprise matching his when he spoke again. "Let's move on, shall we?"

By the end of the session, every inch of Y/N's body throbbed with exhaustion. She drained an entire water bottle in one go, her fitted polo shirt clinging to her damp skin. She had thought she'd engaged every muscle in her body, but the way her calves screamed at her with every step told a different story.

“Same time tomorrow?” Harry asked, standing above her and blocking the sunlight. 

“I want to start training properly,” Y/N stated.

“We are training properly,” He argued. 

“You realize you haven’t shown me a single tactic since you started coaching me right?”

“And?” 

“How am I meant to win the first tournament if all I know how to do is basic drills?” 

“Do you know how many times my coach made me practice flat serves before we could move on?” He asks but she doesn’t answer, “A month. I went home with blisters on my hands because I was doing them non-stop six hours a day.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raise, “You think tennis is just about being tactical then you’re not playing it properly. The only way you’ll ever be a good tennis player is if you master the techniques.” He explains, “I’ve seen you play Y/N. For someone who has never had professional coaching, you are one of the best players I’ve seen but you lack confidence in your technique. That flat serve you just aimed at me? One of the best flat serves I’ve seen in a while. If you can do that in every game, you’ll have no problem winning but if you want tactics? I can draw you a diagram and it’ll save two hours of my day no problem.” 

Y/N tries not to show her surprise at his words. Instead, she takes them all in, “Shouldn’t we at least be analysing my opponent?”

She was playing against Vanya Maddison in her next game. She was tall which was a major advantage in the game but her spatial awareness wasn’t exactly on par. 

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned. 

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.” 

Y/N had no idea whether to take it as a compliment or not. She’d never heard Harry say anything good about her so was taken off guard by his words. “So are we still on for tomorrow because I have to meet Mitch in thirty minutes and if the answer is no at least I can actually plan on getting wasted tonight.” 

Y/N took a moment to think. She had never expected him to say something positive about her, especially about her anger. It was a side of herself she often struggled to control, but hearing Harry acknowledge it as a strength left her feeling conflicted.

As much as she considered training on her own which would give her some peace and quiet, she wanted to see where her training with Harry would go. If he was right, maybe she’d actually have more of a chance of winning than she did on her own. 

She stood up and put her gym bag over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow,” She walked past him, wanting to avoid the satisfied grin on his face. 

“Y/N!” Harry called, she could hear him jogging towards her before she stepped out of the courts, “I wanted to give this to you.”

He placed in her hands a cassette tape with white masking tape on it with the words ‘Y/N’s theme songs’ scribbled onto it in black ink. “What is this?” She asked, looking up at him.

“When I was in Australia, I used music to help me get in the zone before a match. My coach told me to use a cassette tape because phones were too distracting,” He explained. 

“You made this for me?” She frowned.

“What? You’ve never been given a gift before?” He chuckles. 

Y/N looks down at the plastic in her hands. It’s not that she’d never been given a gift by anyone before- she and Sarah always exchanged gifts over Christmas and for each other’s birthdays- but it was rare for her to ever receive anything from anyone else. Her parents would often give her practical things at Christmas or transfer money into her bank account on birthdays. 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed at her lack of reply but she cleared her throat, “I don’t have a cassette player,” She said but Harry quickly removed his backpack and pulled out a walkman. 

“You can borrow mine,” He handed it over to her, “I won’t be needing it anytime soon since I’m not playing,” She noticed the downcast look in his eyes as he mentioned the fact he wasn’t currently able to play with his injury. 

“Um, t-thanks?” She said, unsure of how to respond to his sudden kindness. It felt unusual. 

“I picked a few songs that reminded me of you,” He smirks, “Don’t worry, they’re not all about a girl with an attitude problem.” With that he turned back around and walked towards the other exit to head to the car park. 

She felt ease on her chest as the usual teasing remarks returned, “Asshole,” She called out to him to which he just put his middle finger up in reply. 

. . . 

After taking a long shower in the girl’s shower rooms in her dorm block, Y/N headed back to her dorm after changing into a white shirt and sweatpants. She could feel the strain in her arms and legs as she flopped down onto her bed. 

Luckily Sarah wasn’t back from spending time with Mitch, so she took in the peace and quiet which came rare to her these days as all her mind had been on recently was the Academy Slam. 

Her mind wandered off to Harry and his words from earlier. Y/N knew she was a good tennis player but it was the first time she had heard someone else tell her that. She wasn’t expecting it, especially not from her tennis rival of the past ten years. 

Her eyes glanced at the cassette tape and the walkman she had placed on her desk before she headed off to the shower. Sitting up, she grabbed it and stared down at it for a moment before putting the cassette into the player and putting the headphones on. 

She laid back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling of her room. Her fingers hit the play button and the first song began to flood her ears. The first few beats of Nelly Furtado’s ‘Maneater’ began to play and she immediately rolled her eyes. Then afterwards, ‘Fergalicious’ by Fergie. 

She wondered how many songs Harry had managed to put on the cassette and how many were female anthems of empowerment. 

The next song seemed to catch her attention even further when Gorillaz ‘She’s my collar’ began to play. The beat now permanently injected into her bloodstream along with the rest of the album from the number of times she had listened to it. 

She wondered if Harry had known he had included a song by one of her favourite bands and whether he knew the meaning behind the song too. Maybe it had been a coincidence which was a thought Y/N had decided to settle on as she listened to the rest of the song. 

‘Nothing to be justified yet

She the first I'm running with

She the one that get my collar

She the one I'm running with (she's my collar)’

. . . 

The next day at school, Y/N sat in the library during her study period to study for her biology exam at the end of the week. Even though she was set on the scholarship, she still needed something to fall back on if she lost out in the next few games so she made sure she was still getting the best grades she could. It had also been ingrained in her to be the best in every class and she didn’t think that trait of hers would ever leave her. 

“Y/N!” Sarah called, her voice echoing within the silence of the library.

Ignoring the irritated glances she received, she paced towards Y/N and sat in the empty seat beside her. Y/N smiled at her friend’s excitement. They were foils to each other and that’s what made them get on so well. Whilst Y/N had a black cat personality, Sarah was sunshine in a person which was probably why she was so perfect for Mitch who was equally as bright. “What’s up?”

“I need to ask you something and you’re probably going to hate me but Harry’s already said yes and-”

“Sarah,” Y/N placed her hands on her shoulders, “Breathe.”

Sarah did exactly that before continuing, “Would you do a feature with Harry for the school newspaper?” 

Y/N frowned, “What?”

“The school newspaper? You know the club I’ve been part of for the past two years? They want to do a feature on your training for the sports section and I told them I would ask you.” Sarah explained. 

“Oh I don’t know about that-”

“Pleeeassseee,” Sarah gripped her arm that was resting on the desk and batted her eyelashes.

“You know I’d do anything for you Sarah but I don’t know if I have the time and my focus is on my next game,” Y/N replied. 

“Harry’s already said yes to it,” Sarah interjected.

“You asked him before me?” 

“Well actually,” Sarah hesitated, “Luke, the boy who’s writing the article, asked him this morning,”

“Why didn’t he ask me?” 

Sarah gave her a pointed look, “You’re not exactly the most approachable,” Y/N’s frown deepened at her words, “So will you do it?” 

Y/N sighed, considering it before giving Sarah an answer. The last thing she wanted was for someone to be asking unnecessary questions in time that could be used to train for the first round of the competition but Sarah was her best friend and she knew how much the school newspaper meant to her and her university applications too. 

“Alright,” She relented, “I’ll do it.”

Sarah squealed, receiving another round of vicious glares from other students in the library. Her arms wrapped around her in a tight hug, “Thank you,” She pulled away, “They’ll come by tomorrow afternoon during practice, is that okay?” Y/N nodded a response.

. . . 

It was raining outside. 

Y/N’s eyes stared out the window as she bounced a tennis ball on the hard floor of the gymnasium and wondered if the weather foreshadowed the next hour. 

“Will you sit down?” Harry muttered, “You’re giving me a headache,” 

“He’s late,” Y/N says, “We could have been practising,”

“Do you ever just do anything else?” Y/N shot him a glare at his sarcasm, “I get this is important to you but don’t you just want to, I don’t know, have fun?”

Y/N walked over to her seat right next to his and straightened herself for the interview the school newspaper had organised for them. Sarah had told both her and Harry to dress smartly for the occasion which, according to Harry meant a designer sweatshirt and trousers whilst Y/N had gone for a dress and pumps. It wasn’t overly smart for either of them but enough to make it seem like they had made an effort. 

“The fact that you’re even suggesting that tells me you have no idea how important this is to me,” Y/N responds, monotonously. 

She hears a scoff from beside her, “What?” 

He turns to face her, his face rather too close, she notices three moles on his right cheek that she hadn’t ever seen before, “I think I know better than anyone how important this is to you but I also know from experience how important being in high school is with people your own age.” She forgets sometimes that even though he was whisked away to fulfil his place in the Australian Open, that his time of being a kid was cut short, “I don’t go out of my way to coach just anybody,”

“What do you mean?” She frowns but before Harry could reply, the doors to the gym open and in scrambles a sixth year with a messenger bag and a tripod with a camera dangling from his neck. 

“It means,” he leans forward, murmuring, “if you had half the belief in yourself as I have in you then you wouldn’t need me at all.” 

“Sorry I’m late,” Luke’s voice echoes as he steps towards them and places all three legs of the tripod on the ground and scrambles to screw his camera to it. 

“What’s with the camera?” Y/N asked. 

“O-oh, we’re recording the interview so I can write everything up later and we’re going to need your pictures together afterwards,” Luke explained. 

“You want us to take a photo together?” Y/N frowned.

“Did Sarah not tell you?” Luke replied. 

“Calm down, love. It’s just a photo,” Harry murmured and she tried not to react to the nickname he had used for her. 

Once everything was set up, Luke sat across from them with his laptop on his thighs, questions already typed out, “So, you two have known each other for a while now?” Luke asked as he sat across from them. 

As Y/N was about to tell him how they didn’t exactly know each other on a personal level but knew each other through tennis, Harry spoke up, “Since we were both in third year. I was eight and Y/N was seven but we’ve been in the same class since we were infants.” 

Luke nodded, “That must help a lot in your partnership,” 

Harry chuckled lowly, “Something like that,”

Luke types a few things down in his computer before turning his attention to Y/N, “Um, Y/N what made you turn to Harry for his coaching other than the fact he won the Australian Open?”

Y/N frowned, what more reason did she need to give? “Well, the fact he won is a big reason as to why I approached him,”

“But isn’t he injured?” Harry stiffened beside her. The way he asked made it sound like he was defective, unusable.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, “Yes but I’ve seen Harry play games with a dislocated shoulder. He’d just pop it right back in and start playing again. His current injury doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s one of the best tennis players I’ve seen at Crestwood.” Y/N ignored the looks from the two boys. She knew she’d have to compliment Harry at some point during this interview, especially if they needed to show a united front for the games.

“And do think the same about Y/N?” Luke asked Harry who now seemed irritated by him.

“I think,” Y/N was prepared for a backhanded compliment but what she got was something entirely different, “Y/N has all the potential in the world to go for what she dreams of and I hope to watch her do it all even if that means I’m watching from the sidelines.” This time it was Y/N’s turn to glance at Harry, taken aback by his words. 

Luke spoke again, “You know some people are calling you the underdog in this tournament?” Y/N froze, it was the first time she had heard of it, “all the other women competing have had professional coaching and the school invests heavily in their tennis players.”

Y/N cleared her throat, “I didn’t know that but I have every intention of proving them wrong,” Harry bumped his knee with hers but she ignored it. 

“And What do your parents think about you doing this before leaving exams?” Luke asked. 

Y/N ignored the sting she felt at the thought of telling her parents what she was doing and the looks of disappointment she envisioned, which had been gnawing at the back of her head since she qualified. She answered confidently, "They're happy for me and excited to see me in the final."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as Luke leaned in, his expression curious. "You think you'll get to the final?"

Harry scoffed, “Are you insinuating she won’t?” 

Luke backpedalled slightly, sensing he’d struck a nerve. "I didn't mean to suggest that at all. It's just that some people doubt the capabilities of those who haven't had professional coaching."

"Hey Luke, do me a favour and invite those people to the first game in three weeks' time. Let them witness firsthand what it's like watching a player as skilled as Y/N, without any professional coaching," Harry's frustration was palpable, catching Y/N off guard with his assertiveness. Typically, she would be the first to break in such situations but it seemed Harry already had.

Luke’s face warmed as he realised he overstepped, “R-right, let’s move on.” He scanned through his list of questions to find something more light-hearted to break up the mood, whilst Y/N straightened her shoulders, thankful they’d gotten to the final round of questions. “What do you both like to do outside of training?” 

“Together?” Y/N cringed, trying to picture spending time with Harry in a normal setting. 

“Not necessarily,” Luke shrugged. 

“My best friend is dating her best friend so we’ve been spending a lot more time together recently. Normally, I play guitar or recite poetry whenever I’m not coaching Y/N to volley properly,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the lies that left his mouth.  

“I study,” Y/N stated. 

“That’s it?” Luke’s eyebrows creased.

Her cheeks turned slightly pink, “I’m top of the class in all of my classes, that doesn’t just happen without hard work.”

She could feel Harry’s eyes on her and for the first time, she turned her head to catch his eyes. She noticed the frown on his lips and something in his eye that looked a lot more like concern or sympathy than the desire to tease her about her lack of social life. 

“Well, I think that will be enough,” Luke stood up and grabbed his camera, “Do you mind if we take a few photos now?”

Y/N and Harry stood from their seats, side by side and looked into the lens of the camera. Y/N’s cheeks hurt from forcing a smile as Harry did the same, “You’re standing too close to me,” Y/N spoke through her teeth as the camera flashed.

"Look who's talking with their giant foot squashing my shoe," Harry retorts, a playful glint in his eyes. Y/N inhales sharply, her gaze dropping to her foot to see what he's referring to. But before she can react, Harry smoothly slides his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side with practised ease. Their eyes meet, and just as the camera flashes, capturing the moment, Y/N side steps out of his grip with an annoyed huff.

“Okay, that will be all,” Luke smiled. 

As Luke packed his things away, Y/N and Harry stood awkwardly side by side without saying a word. Y/N glanced out the window and saw the sky had cleared up and the sun was setting. She needed to get back to her dorm to study for her French exam tomorrow as well as binge-watch tennis matches on YouTube which she’d been doing a lot recently. 

“Did you really mean that?” Harry asked, catching her attention, “All you do is study outside of school?”

Y/N looked at him, “I hang out with Sarah some days but yeah, I mostly study. I don’t really have a lot of choice and I’m not naturally smart.” Harry’s head tilted to the side like he was secretly questioning her in his head, “What? Aren’t you meant to crack a joke about me being stupid or something?”

Harry's eyes softened, his voice gentle. "I could never think you're stupid, love," he said, the nickname slipping from his lips with a tenderness that caught Y/N off guard. She found herself speechless, unable to figure out what had gotten into him recently. 

He pulled out his car keys from his back pocket and motioned his head towards the gymnasium exit, “C’mon,” He urged, “I wanna try something out and before you ask, it’s nothing to do with tennis or studying.”

Y/N’s feet stayed glued to the ground as he walked away and expected her to follow. She furrowed her brows and crossed her arms, wanting to refuse his invitation so she could get back to her dorm. But curiosity got the better of her and she followed a few paces behind him as he led her to the empty car park. 

Harry pressed the button on the car keys and the lights flashed on a black Audi hiding in the corner, “What are we doing?” She asked. 

“Have you ever driven a car before?” He wondered, looking at her with a hint of mischief. 

“Never,” She replied and was bewildered to see him open the door to the passenger seat instead of the driver’s seat. 

“Looks like it’s your lucky day, love,” He smirked.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “N-no! Harry, I'm not driving your stupidly expensive car.”

“C’mon,” Harry chuckled, “Don’t be chicken.”

She scoffed, “I’m not being chicken, I’m being sensible. If I crash that car, I don’t even think my parents will have enough money to fix it.”

“My parent’s will,” He grinned, cockily, “Get in,” 

“No, I’m not driving that car.” She insisted. 

Five minutes later, Y/N sat in the driver’s seat of Harry’s Audi with her fingers over her eyes as he instructed her on how to start. “Are you crazy?” She whimpers as he switches the engine on. 

“Stop worrying, I’ve got my hand on the break.” She looks down to see his hand already wrapped around the hand break, “Just stay calm and do what I told you to do. Clutch down, first gear and then ease your foot gently off the clutch.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me tennis, not driving laps around the school parking lot,” Y/N argued.

“Think of this as a team bonding exercise,” He shrugged, “Okay now foot down on the clutch,”

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” She strangled out, placing her shaky hands on the wheel.

“Relax,” Harry chuckled, “You’re being dramatic.”

“It won’t be so dramatic when we end up in a tree,” Y/N retorted as she carefully felt the pedals and pressed down slowly on the clutch. Feeling the car rise, Y/N gasped and removed her foot. 

“Calm down, it’s just because you put your foot on the clutch,” Harry was trying his best not to laugh at her, “Okay, now do it again.”

Y/N squeezed her hands on the wheel and repeated her actions, moving the gear stick “Okay, now carefully raise the clutch,” Harry instructed and as she did, he lowered the handbrake and the car slowly began to move forward. 

“Holy shit,” Y/N wailed, “We’re moving,”

This time, Harry did laugh unable to stop himself after seeing her reaction, “Make sure you turn the wheel or we really will end up in a tree,” 

Y/N did as she was told and turned the wheel slowly, “Okay, I’ll move into second,”

“Harry no!” She gasped but put the clutch down so he could move gears. 

“Atta girl,” He beamed.

Y/N’s worried expression soon turned into shock and then excitement as she moved slowly around the car park, “I’m driving Harry!” Y/N grinned and Harry swore it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“You are,” He praised, “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

After switching between first and second gear and Y/N complaining that her feet were aching from how tense she was using the pedals, Harry offered to swap places and show her what it was really like to go out on an evening drive. 

“Harry!” Y/N choked on a laugh as he went all the way up to sixth gear down the empty streets in the middle of nowhere, “Slow down,” She squealed. 

Harry glanced at her, grinning when he saw how wide the smile was on her face. He pressed his finger on the button to wind down all the windows, “Oh shit I love this song,” He turned the volume up on the stereo as Beyonce’s ‘Love on Top’ started playing, blaring loudly through the speakers of his car. 

“Baby it’s you! You’re the one I love! You’re the one I need!” Harry screamed the lyrics of the song and Y/N’s laughter sounded through the entire car as her hair blew behind her. “Sing it, baby!” He cheered, neither of them realising what he had called her. 

“I’m not gonna sing it,” She shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut as the engine revved. 

“It’s the only way I’m gonna slow down,” He teased as the build-up to the chorus played. 

Y/N giggled as Harry began to sing solo to the chorus again, giving her a look that had her rolling her eyes before she screamed out the lyrics alongside him, “When I need you, make everything stop! Finally, you put my love on top!”

Their laughter merged together as the song played out. Harry slowed down the closer they got back to town and cast a sideways glance at Y/N who was brushing her wind-swept hair with her fingers. “You okay?” He asked, seeing the glow on her face. 

“Yeah,” She bit her lip, “I’m okay. I just don’t get to do stuff like this… ever really.”

He nodded in understanding. Harry had met Y/N’s parents a few times before. His parents were frequent visitors to their country club so he knew what they were like but he had no idea of the extent of the pressures they had put on Y/N to do well. It reminded him of his own parents and the last thing he wanted to do was allow someone to feel the same way he did whenever his parents were too hard on him. 

“Wanna pull in somewhere to get something to eat?” Harry asked. It was getting late and they both had school tomorrow but he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let her go- not when she was having so much fun. 

“Okay,” Y/N nodded. 

He pulled into a dessert shop that was still open. Y/N followed him inside and to a booth in the corner. Harry ordered both of them bowls of soft-serve ice cream and Y/N even asked if she could have a strawberry milkshake to go with it. “I shouldn’t really be eating,” She told him.

“Hmm I heard drinking strawberry milkshakes improves your footwork. They served them all the time in Australia,” Y/N shot him a look that told him she knew he was bullshitting her but it made him smile. 

“Are you nervous about the game coming up?” They’d been training non-stop every evening and Y/N was quickly improving everything she had already learnt on her own. After considering Harry’s words a few days ago, she knew Harry was right. He had been good for her technique and she felt even more sure of herself than she did at the beginning. 

“No,” She said coolly, “I don’t have time to be nervous.”

Harry scoffed, “I don’t believe that for a second.” 

The waitress came over and placed their desserts in front of them, along with a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. “Mitch says he’s going to throw a party at my place if you make it through to the semi-finals.”

“A party at your place?” Y/N quirked a brow.

Harry sighs, “He came up with the idea of throwing a party and then just kind of decided it would be at mine.” He explained. 

Y/N nodded and took a sip of her milkshake. It had been so long since she had had something so sugary and sweet. She hummed before realizing she was being watched by the boy opposite her, “Just so you know, even though you bought these desserts and taught me how to drive, doesn’t mean I like you.”

Harry laughed, his eyes crinkling and dimples carving into his cheeks. Y/N’s heart stuttered but she pushed the feeling down, “Okay, tomorrow you can go back to hating me again and we’ll pretend today didn’t happen.”

“And you can do the same,” She says. 

Harry gives her a look, his eyes flashing with something she couldn’t put a label on, “I don’t hate you Y/N.” 

She frowns, “You’ve always hated me,” 

“No,” He shook his head, “Never.”

“But you’re always making fun of me,” And she always did the same. 

“Because it’s the only way I get to speak to you.” He admits. 

Y/N’s lips parted in surprise, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had always assumed Harry had hated her since their rivalry had gone on for so long. She didn’t know what to say, confused by the sudden revelation.

“Ew,” It came out before she even had time to think, “Don’t be nice to me, it’s making me uncomfortable.” 

Harry seemed to deflate but quickly placed a smile on his face, “You make me uncomfortable and you’re singing, by the way, is awful.” 

Y/N scoffed, "At least I don't sound like a dying goat." Despite the return of their familiar banter, her heart seemed to continue to flutter under Harry's earnest gaze, stirring a mix of emotions within her that she’d never felt before. 

She didn’t know what was going on with her but the last thing she needed to think about was her emotions when her biggest goal to date was right before her. 

. . .

Three weeks had gone by far too quickly for Y/N’s liking.

“Again,” Harry drawled.

Y/N gritted her teeth and repeated the backswing technique Harry had shown her but the angle was all wrong and the ball ended up going completely off court.

“Fuck,” Y/N spat, throwing her tennis racket on the floor and squatting, balling her hands into fists on her head.

Harry sighed, walking over. “You’re nervous about tomorrow,” He stated like he didn’t need her to confirm despite the fact she had constantly told everyone she wasn’t nervous about anything. 

“I just need to win,” She mumbled.

“Get up,” Harry ordered. 

Y/N did as she was told and stood up. He grabbed the racket from the floor that she’d thrown across the court like a toddler throwing their toys out a pushchair and flipped the racket between both of his hands. He handed it back to her and grabbed his own.

“I want you to mirror my actions,” He says and stands a few steps away from her. 

He steps forward, tossing the tennis ball into the air before swinging his racket with both hands, expertly landing it in the left corner of the opposing court. Y/N tracks his every move, mimicking his actions as if she were his shadow.

Y/N’s ball lands slightly off target and Harry bites his lip to stop himself from smiling at the scowl on her face. He walks towards her and comes up behind her. Y/N’s breathing hitches when she feels his fingertips press gently on her arm. 

“You need to straighten this arm more,” He advises, his fingertips sliding down her arm and leaving a trail of goosebumps as he straightens her arm out. “Calm down,” he murmurs, his mouth near her ear, “I can feel your heart beating.”

Y/N seems to lose every ounce of oxygen when he places his hand flat against her back where he can feel her heart beating, “Breathe,” He says, “You will win tomorrow, I will make sure of it.” 

The warmth that flooded Y/N’s body quickly left as Harry took a step back, “Try it again,” He nodded towards her racket.

Y/N sighed, tensing her muscles again after Harry had practically managed to turn them into liquid. She tried to ignore the flutter in all of the pulse points in her body that were screaming to make contact with that new presence and swung her racket, landing the ball exactly where she wanted. 

“There y’ go,” He murmurs, almost as if he was saying it to himself. “I think we should call that it for today,”

“What?” Y/N frowned, “The game is tomorrow, I need to practice.”

“Y/N, we’ve been practising for half the day already. You’re going to wear yourself out if you carry on,” Harry tells her.

“Fine,” She huffed but Harry gave her a knowing look.

“Come to my place,” He offers.

“Why would I do that?” She goes to grab her sweatshirt on the bench and pulls it over her head. It was getting colder now that the sun was going down. 

“Because I know you’re just going to come back here once I leave and trust me, you don’t want to do that.” She opened her mouth to refuse but he continued, “We can watch Wimbledon on TV and order pizza.”

She wondered how he knew that Wimbledon was one of her favourite movies and pizza was her favourite food. “Is it the DVD exclusive?” Y/N asked.

Harry’s lips tilted upwards, “Of course,” Y/N nodded, following him to his car so he could drive them to his apartment. 

Y/N remembered the last time she was in Harry's car three weeks ago. It was the first time Y/N truly enjoyed being in his company and the first time she had allowed herself to have fun and relax. 

The day after,  they resumed their usual arguing as if the previous night hadn't occurred. However, Y/N found herself overwhelmed by a surge of unfamiliar emotions swirling within her.

Despite the bickering, she kept noticing things about Harry—like the way he smiled and talked. It made her feel weird like there was something more between them that she hadn't noticed before.

The air was silent between them as the radio played lowly in the background. Harry turned into a block of apartments that looked far too expensive for a student to afford all by themself. “This is where you live?” Y/N asked, her eyes widening as he pulled into a spot. 

“For now,” He says. 

Y/N trailed behind Harry as they rode the elevator to the fifth floor and made their way to his apartment. When he swung open the door, flooding the space with light, Y/N couldn't help but notice the spaciousness of the apartment, as well as its emptiness.

“I haven’t had time to unpack,” Harry said, walking to the kitchen after kicking his shoes off, “Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll just take a glass of water,” Y/N’s eyes darted to all of the boxes that covered the floor. 

She walked to the kitchen area and leaned against the counter, “Are those your trophies?” She asked, seeing the metal cups in an open box.

Harry smiled, “Yeah, I’ve kept all of mine even the ones that didn’t count.” 

“They all count,” Y/N grins, walking over and pulling one out, “The battle of the sexes trophy.” 

Harry smirked, walking round to stand beside her, “I still remember the look on your face when they handed me that trophy. If looks could kill, love, I don’t think I would be here.” 

“It was a big deal to me okay?” Y/N replies, “I seemed to blame you for all my losses when I was a kid.” 

Harry’s expression softens and his head turns to look at her, “Will you blame me if you don’t win tomorrow?” 

Y/N’s smile falters, “No, I’d blame myself. I think if I lost this, I don’t know who I would be anymore. Tennis is my life.”

Harry’s eyes glint underneath the soft lighting of the kitchen, “God,” He whispers, “You drive me crazy y’ know that?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Do you think you could love anything more?” He asks, ignoring her question. 

“I can’t think of anything, if I did I’d have to love it an awful lot.”

“Okay,” He nods like he’s accepting a challenge. 

Y/N narrows her eyes, “What are you thinking?” 

“Nothing,” He shrugs, “But I want you to know-”

Before Harry could finish his sentence, the door swings open and the shrill sound of his mother’s voice fills the air. Y/N stands straight and she notices Harry tense up, taking a step in front of her, he pushes her behind him.

“Harry,” His mother sighs, “How are you darling?” 

“Mum,” He replies, curtly, “What are you doing here?”

“Your father’s running late home so I thought I would come by to see how you were,” She says and then looks behind him.

Y/N doesn’t need Harry to introduce her as she steps forward and holds out a hand, “Hi Mrs Styles, it’s nice to see you again.” 

"Y/N?" Anne gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. "You've grown so much, you're beautiful." She reached out, taking both of Y/N's hands in hers and giving her an appraising look.

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Mrs. Styles," she stammered, feeling a mixture of nerves and warmth.

Anne smiled warmly. "Oh, call me Anne," she insisted before turning her attention to Harry. "I didn't know you two were such good friends."

Y/N and Harry exchanged a quick glance, both unsure of how to respond.

"I'm her coach," they both blurted out simultaneously, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Anne's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" she exclaimed, her gaze flitting between them. "You're coaching?"

Harry nodded, his expression serious. "Yes," he confirmed quietly.

"But Harry, your injury," Anne interjected, concern evident in her voice as she glanced down at his leg. "You're not meant to be—"

"I'm fine, Mum," Harry interrupted sharply, his tone making no room for argument.

"Harry, you know you can’t be playing-"

"I said I'm fine," Harry's voice rose, his frustration evident as he cut her off, causing Y/N to jump at the sudden outburst.

Anne's concern softened into a resigned sigh, her eyes reflecting a mixture of worry and understanding. "Alright, Harry," she relented, her tone gentler now. "Just promise me you're taking care of yourself."

Harry's features softened, a hint of remorse flickering in his eyes. "I promise, Mum," he said, his voice softer now, more subdued.

Anne nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good. That's all I ask."

As the atmosphere relaxed, Anne turned her attention back to Y/N, her smile warm and welcoming. "Well, it's lovely to see you again, Y/N," she said kindly. “Tell your parents we’ll be stopping by in the spring.”

Y/N returned the smile, her earlier nervousness dissipating in the warmth of Anne's acceptance. "It was nice to see you too, " she replied sincerely.

Harry glanced at Y/N, a softness in his gaze that made her heart skip a beat. After seeing his mother out following her very brief visit, Y/N finally mustered the courage to ask, "What was she talking about?"

Harry's expression turned grave, his features shadowed by a sense of burden. "It was nothing," he replied.

"Why can't you play?" Y/N pushed, her concern evident in her voice.

"Y/N, I'm telling you to leave it alone," Harry warned, his tone firm.

But Y/N couldn't let it go. "If it's nothing, then why can't you tell me?" she insisted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Because it's none of your business, that's why," Harry snapped, his words cutting like a knife. 

"Nothing I do or say has anything to do with you, so go back to hating me because it's a hell of a lot easier than what I have to deal with."

Y/N's heart sank at his harsh words. With a deep breath, she crossed her arms, her resolve hardening. "You know, now I remember why we never got along in the first place," she retorted, her voice laced with bitterness. With a sharp turn on her heel, she made her way to the front door. "You're such an asshole, Harry."

"Y/N," Harry called out, his voice tinged with regret as she stormed out of his apartment towards the elevator. "Y/N, come on, don't be like that."

"Go suck a dick," she shot back, stepping into the elevator before Harry could stop her.

As the doors closed, Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Let me drive you back, at least," he pleaded, his voice barely audible over the sound of the closing doors.

"Fine," Y/N huffed, her tone clipped with annoyance.

The car ride back to her dorm was tense and silent. When Harry pulled into the front of her dormitory, Y/N moved to open the door finding the silence far too uncomfortable. Then, out of nowhere, Harry's voice broke the silence. "I can't play tennis anymore," he confessed, his words heavy.

Y/N's heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat. "What do you mean you can't play anymore? That's ridiculous," she exclaimed, her disbelief evident in her voice.

Harry's hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I mean I can't ever play tennis again," he admitted, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Are you serious?" Y/N asked, her voice trembling with shock.

"I tore my ACL during practice for the French Open. I—" Harry's voice trailed off, unable to continue, “It was so bad Y/N and I was in so much fucking pain and no one would listen to me. I went through multiple surgeries and rehab but the doctors sat me down and said I couldn’t play unless I wanted to fuck up my leg for the rest of my life.” 

“Harry…” Y/N’s eyes glistened with tears. 

Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of Harry's words sank in. She glanced over at him, seeing the pain etched in his features, and felt a surge of empathy wash over her. It was a devastating blow for someone who had dedicated their life to the sport they loved.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Y/N whispered, her voice filled with genuine sadness for the boy beside her.

Harry managed a small nod, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, “That’s why I had to come back here. My father can barely look at me and my mother won’t leave me alone. At least here I can be around people my own age but when I’m at home, it’s fucking suffocating Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine losing the one thing she loved above anything else in the world and have to re-construct everything she had ever known to find something else to love just as much. 

“I don’t expect you to say anything but I’d appreciate it if you showed me a little mercy,” He spoke. 

“Why would you offer to coach me then? Would that not make things worse?” She asked.

He looks at her, really looks at her, like there was something on the tip of his tongue he wanted to say but couldn’t, “I figured it would alleviate the pain.” 

“But I saw you play, I watched you and you beat me,” She exclaimed.

“Yeah and it hurt like a bitch afterwards,” He shook his head.

Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wondered why Harry had been unwilling to play against her during the training sessions and now she knew why. She felt awful, her heart was hurting for him. 

“I don’t want you to feel pity for me and I don’t want this to change anything between us. I’m tired of being treated like a broken toy and I think it would kill me inside if you looked at me differently.” 

Y/N stayed quiet, facing forward and collecting her thoughts before saying, “Thank you for telling me,” She murmured, “And it doesn’t change anything. You’re still an asshole,”

Harry laughed and then his pinky brushed the side of her hand, “You will be everything tomorrow.” He whispered.

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the soft edge of his words, “You think so?”

His eyes softened, “I believe in you, more than anyone in the entire world.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath and looking out the window. The tension had settled and now a newfound respect lingered between them. 

She would win tomorrow, for herself and for him. 

. . . 

It had been a while since Harry had been to a tennis tournament. The last time he was on a court for an official match was well over six months ago, it was a challenger match he participated in during his training for the French Open before his life took a vast turn. 

He sat in the stands with everyone else from Crestwood who had come to watch the first game. Although Crestwood Academy invested more in the football team than any other sport, the turnout had been pretty good and nearly every seat was occupied by a student or teacher. 

On the opposite side was Eaststone Academy who seemed to have invested heavily in their merchandise for Y/N’s opponent. Everyone was either wearing a t-shirt with Vanya’s name on it or carrying a sign with supportive catchphrases written in bold marker. 

Harry craned his neck in hopes of seeing Y/N preparing herself somewhere outside of the court but couldn’t find her anywhere. He’d sent her a quick message this morning and asked her if she needed anything but she insisted she wanted to be alone. 

“Fuck, it’s good we got in the queue early,” Mitch came by with an anxious Sarah, holding two cokes in his hand. They were both wearing navy shirts and sweatbands around their heads, Sarah was holding a sign that had Y/N’s name on it. 

“She’s gonna hate you for that,” Harry tried not to smile.

“Oh I already know,” Sarah said, “She watched me make it last night and then almost ripped in half when I asked her if I should bedazzle it.”

Harry’s expression changed into one of concern, “How was she?”

“She’s nervous but she insisted she was okay,” Sarah rolled her eyes, “You know how she is.”

He did, which was why he was willing to accept the fact she wanted to be by herself even though he was desperate to drive over there with strawberry milkshakes just so he could see that smile he had been dreaming about for the past three weeks. 

Suddenly, Eaststone Academy stood from their seats and cheered as Vanya Maddison came onto the court. “I’ve never seen such long legs,” Sarah gasped, saying what both Harry and Mitch were thinking. 

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as the people around him stood on their feet. He glanced down to the court and his eyes fell on Y/N as she walked onto the court with a dip between her brows and her tennis bag over her shoulder. 

She was wearing a white, pleated skort and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Her hair was slicked back as tightly as possible into a braid and her white runners were tied up on her feet. He noticed she was wearing earbuds in her ears and then found the walkman he had given her clipped to her skort. He smiled at that, wondering which of the many songs he had put together she was listening to. 

“There she is,” Sarah pointed and then waved to get her attention. 

Y/N held a hand over her face to block the sun and looked up at the crowd. When she caught sight of Sarah, she offered a friendly wave before her eyes landed on Harry. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement and then walked to her seat on the other side of the umpire. 

“C’mon,” Harry murmured, feeling his palms sweating at the sight of her. 

“She’s got this in the bag, H.” Mitch puts a hand on his shoulder. 

Through the speakers, the umpire calls out the start of the match and everyone falls silent as both players walk to opposing sides of the court. Y/N bounces on her feet and swings her racket backwards and forwards as though warming herself up before the match starts.

When the first serve came, Y/N's reflexes kicked in. She returned the ball swiftly, keeping the rally going with her quick movements, remembering what Harry had taught her. Each exchange became more intense, but Y/N stayed determined, chasing down every ball.

When Vanya hit the ball for the other corner, Y/N ran towards it and returned the ball swiftly, earning the first point with a well-placed shot. The crowd erupted into cheers as Y/N gained an early lead.

“That’s my girl!” Harry clapped his heart in his throat. 

But Vanya wasn't about to let up. With determination in her eyes, she fought back, winning the next two points with powerful serves and precise shots. The score was now in Vanya's favor, and the pressure was on for Y/N.

“Fuck!” Y/N released a growl and hit her racket against the floor before storming off to her seat. Harry was tempted to walk down and help her but he needed to let her see what she was capable of on her own. 

Her anger was radiating from her, “I’d hate to get on her bad side,” Mitch said. 

Harry couldn’t seem to reply as he leant forward with both his elbows on his knees. “C’mon, c’mon, you can do it.” He mutters, thinking of the first bit of advice he had given her. 

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned. 

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.” 

Y/N rolled her shoulders back and stood on her feet. She walked back to her line on the court and bounced the ball up and down on the ground before throwing it up in the air and hitting it with a flat serve, exactly the way Harry had taught her. Her anger radiated from her as she slammed the ball with her racket and hit it with such force it went flying to the other end of the court but not before bouncing inside the square right by Vanya’s foot. 

Harry stood to his feet and pumped his fist into the air, “Holy shit!” Mitch exclaimed as Sarah cheered beside him. 

They were now at match point and Y/N had to win this next round if she wanted to win the entire game.

The tension thickened in the air as people sat on the edge of their seats to see who would come out on top. This time, it was Vanya’s turn to serve as she launched the ball into the air and hit it with her racket to Y/N’s side of the court.

As Y/N unleashed powerful serves and precise shots, Harry found himself captivated by her every move. With each grunt of exertion, each flex of her muscles, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Despite the shifting heads of the spectators around him as they followed the ball back and forth, his gaze remained fixed solely on her.

Every aspect of Y/N's play had him in a trance—the way her muscles rippled as she sprinted across the court, the intensity in her expression as she anticipated Vanya’s next move, the graceful sway of her hair with each swing of her racket.

But as Harry watched, something stirred within him. A warmth spread through his veins, igniting a fire deep within him. Suddenly, he felt a tightness in his shorts, a physical reaction to the raw power and determination radiating from Y/N on the court.

"Oh, fuck," Harry muttered under his breath, his heart racing as he glanced down and saw the undeniable bulge in his shorts. Panic surged through him, his mind reeling with embarrassment.

"What's wrong?" Mitch's voice cut through his thoughts, and Harry quickly lowered his drink to conceal his arousal.

“N-Nothing,” Harry forces a smile, “I need to use the bathroom.” He doesn’t wait for Mitch to respond as she pushes past everyone to get away from the crowd.

He walks quickly over to his car and jumps into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was thirteen years old after experiencing girls for the first time again. Was it wrong to rub himself off in the middle of a tennis match when all he was looking at was the girl who played his favourite sport better than anyone he had ever seen, dominating the game with her anger and intensity like she was a complete animal?

He couldn’t shake the image of her from his mind and his cock seemed to ache the more he thought about how beautiful she was on the court, completely in her element, anger and passion emitting from her. Every grunt and groan she made as she hit the ball with so much fervor had his head spiralling. 

He looked down and tried to will it away, he needed to get back out there to see her win the game. He thought of every disturbing thing he could possibly think of and even took out his phone to google the quickest way to get rid of an erection.

The excited yells of the crowd told him someone had won and he prayed he would return and see Y/N with the medal around her neck. 

After about ten minutes of taking deep breaths, he finally felt composed enough to leave his car. With a flustered face, he made his way back toward the court, silently praying for some kind of cosmic intervention to erase the embarrassing moment from his memory.

As he turned the corner, he spotted Mitch and Sarah engaged in conversation with Y/N, who was proudly wearing the gold medal around her neck. She had won - he knew she would. 

Y/N's eyes lit up as she noticed him, a wide smile spreading across her face as she proudly displayed her medal. Unable to resist, he grinned back in response.

Sweat glistened on her skin, her cheeks flushed with exertion, and delicate strands of hair framed her face. At that moment, she radiated beauty, and he couldn't deny the sudden surge of emotions that had slowly been weaving themselves into the fabric of his feelings ever since he had returned to Crestwood. 

If the past fifteen minutes were anything to go by, Harry knew this was more than just a game of tennis. 

He was in trouble.

. . .

People cheered as Y/N entered Harry’s apartment with Sarah at her side, holding beer cans in the air and patting her on the shoulder as she sifted through the crowds of people. S&M by Rhianna played over the speakers as the apartment that was previously empty was now filled up with student’s from Crestwood. 

“There she is,” Mitch’s voice yelled over the music, “Crestwood’s very own Serena Williams,”

“I wouldn’t go that far Mitch,” She chuckled, unable to stop herself from smiling so hard after the excitement of her first win. 

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room as she went in search of the one person she wanted to see whilst everyone fell into conversation around her. 

That’s when she saw him, leaning against the wall with a red solo cup in his hand. His hair was a tangled mess, and his body was adorned in a loose, white shirt, its u-neck revealing the inked pair of swallows beneath his collarbones and gold chain around his neck. On his legs, he wore a loose pair of black trousers.

Y/N held back a smile as she made her way over to him until she realised who he was talking to. 

Her face fell as she saw the angelic blonde, tanned and glowing like she’d just come back from a holiday somewhere south of the equator. 

Harry’s face lit up as Y/N approached until he realised what was going on.

“Hey,” He smiled, trying to distract her. 

“Where were you?” Y/N snapped her gaze towards him. 

“What do y’ mean? M right here,” He spoke, “You were incredible out there.”

“Who’s this?” Y/N ignored him, folding her arms and looking at the girl he was speaking to. Y/N knew exactly who she was but felt the need to act as though she had never seen her before. 

Harry hesitated for a moment before introducing her. “Y/N, this is Astrid.”

Astrid flashed a dazzling smile at Y/N, her demeanour friendly yet confident. “Congratulations on the win today, Y/N. I’m looking forward to our match in the semifinals.”

Harry's reaction was immediate. “What?” he stammered, clearly taken aback.

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, surprised. “Y/N and I will be facing off in the semifinals.”

Y/N grit her teeth and forced a smile, the two girls eyeing each other up and down as Harry’s eyes darted anxiously between them.

Now that Y/N was into the semi-finals her next opponent was Astrid Anderson, one of the best junior, female tennis players in the county. 

Who just so happened to be Harry’s ex-girlfriend.

[thecuriousbeauty]

One-Love! (Harry Styles Oneshot- Tennis player! Harry x Tennis Player y/n)

Synopsis:- This is a one shot inspired by Paris Olympics Gold medalists Katerina Siniakova and Tomas Machac, a beautiful couple who broke up before the olympics to focus on their game, and teamed up in the mixed doubles event to win the gold for their country. They shared a sweet kiss after their victory.

Word Count: 4,219

Warnings: Smut. Some sweet sex, a little bit of angst, and lots of fluff.

_______________________________________________

The sun was bright, warm, and not harsh, falling over y/n’s face through the small gaps of her window blinds. The alarm goes off and she wakes up with a soft groan, expertly reaching out a hand to silence it, without having to look. 

“Wakey wakey, it’s a beautiful morning!”She hears her boyfriend, Harry, and curls up on her side, hiding further under her blankets and acting like she’s still sleeping as she hears his footsteps coming towards her.

She feels the bed dip down with Harry’s weight as he climbs on, and leans over her, his breath fanning her face. “Aw, look at you, my sleepy head.”

y/n has to trap in her smile as she feels his gentle fingers stroke over her hair, moving the strands away from her face. “What am I gonna do to wake her up?”Harry wonders, smiling as he knows she’s playing with him. “Maybe I should go with a tickle attack.”

y/n gasps as his arms wrap around her waist, and hands sneak up to his oversized shirt she was wearing. “You can’t wake people up with tickle attacks!”, she says.

He laughs, pulling her so her back is to his chest. “You’re awake then?”

“No.”, she grumbles, turning around in his arms, and resting her forehead on his shoulder blade.”Why is it morning so fast?”

“Well, we did stay up till late. You wanted to go another round and then-”

“-Oh shut up.”, she cuts him off, and opens her eyes, meeting the forest green ones staring back at her. Harry’s face splits into a big smile as he rubs his nose with hers, something they always do. “There’s my girl.”

y/n has known Harry since years. They grew up in the same neighborhood, and their parents are friends. y/n and Harry didn’t get off to a great start though. Harry and his friends were playing football when y/n and her friend were walking by, and one of them kicked the ball towards them, making it splash onto a puddle right in front of them. The murky brown water fell on y/n’s friend’s new white top. Of course the boys didn’t mean to and they apologized, but since then, her friends wouldn’t look eye to eye with those boys. It seemed like a good grudge to keep at their young age.

y/n had a love for tennis. She loved watching the matches with her dad, and her dad even set up a net for her in the backyard so they could play. He enrolled her in the nearest coaching academy, where she didn’t know that Harry was training as well. 

“Oh Harry! It’s her first day today. Good that you have a friend already, eh?”Her dad smiles as he pats little Harry’s shoulder. The older curly haired boy smiled at y/n, a little smile playing on his lips. y/n tells her dad that she would be okay, and he leaves, promising to come pick her up after two hours. 

“So, you like tennis?”Harry asks, looking sideways at her as they walk inside. 

“Yes. You too?”, she asks, and he nods, putting out a hand. “Friends then?”

y/n smiles, shaking his hand. “Friends.”

“Someone once told me that mornings are the best time to train.”, Harry tells her as he brings his hands up to cup her face. 

“Must be a crazy person.”, she smiles, admiring how some of his brown curls fell over his face. “Yes, she is quite crazy. But I love her.”, he smiles back, dimples popping as his thumb stroked over her bottom lip. “Let’s go, sunshine. Made our smoothies ready.”

“Kiss?”, y/n puckers her lips. Harry looks at her fondly, before pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. “I love you too.”, she says, ruffling his hair when they pull away and sits up, stretching her arms above her head. 

Harry and y/n get into their training clothes, after y/n freshens up and they get going to the court where they practice. They did their warm ups, and ran some rounds around the court first. Harry and y/n had different coaches, but they train together a lot of times.

“You’re going down, Styles.”, y/n says, pushing her hair back with her head band before picking up her racket.

“You can try, y/n.”, Harry grins, who was jumping on his toes on the opposite side. 

Harry was easily the best player she had played with, and played against. He was quick on his toes, his eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s, and he moved on the court like a panther. He was something you would call a mastermind, he had moves saved until the last moment and surprised his opponent when they least expected it. Harry had the saddest time of his life when he failed to qualify for the Tokyo Olympics. He got injured during the qualifying match, and he couldn’t be at his best.

“One- Love!", Harry smirks, as he gets a point. 

y/n’s coach thought she wasn’t ready yet during Tokyo, so she was now looking at the Paris Olympics. Winning a medal for her country was her dream and she would do anything to get that. 

“Yess!”, y/n cheers as she gets the match winning point to beat Harry. They always get so close, and playing against y/n sends the gears in Harry’s head turning, and he has to be at the top of his game. y/n walks to the bench, sitting down tiredly and Harry walks to her, giving her a fist bump. “Nice one, babe.”

“Thanks.”, she smiles, taking her water bottle out of her bag and pouring some over her face before chugging it down. “Wanna go again?”

“I’d like to, but I’ve got a session with the coach in the evening, don’t wanna over work myself.”, Harry tells her and she nods. “Shall we go grab breakfast?”, he asks her.

“Sure.”

Harry and y/n get some breakfast, then spend the day with each other before they part for training with their coaches in the evening. 

“y/n, you have six months from now for the qualification rounds.”, her coach tells her. “We have to make a game plan for that soon.”

“I’m at the top of my game right now coach, I just have to keep doing what I’m doing, right?”, she asks. She had won silvers, and golds in the previous tournaments. She was one of the country’s best at the moment. 

“This is the Olympics, y/n, it’s not going to be easy.”, he tells her. “You have to work double as hard.”

“I will. I’m gonna go to Paris this time.”

He smiles at her, keeping his hands together over his knees as he leans to talk to her. She was sitting on the court, arms around her knees. “You know you have to let go of all distractions, right?”

“My social media and stuff? Yeah, I can do that.”

“I’m talking about Styles.”

She raises her eyebrows. “What about him? He isn’t a distraction coach, we make each other better. Besides, we’re competing in different categories, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I want your focus to be on Tennis completely, y/n.”, he stresses. “You can’t do that if you’ve got a love life. And you know as well I do, that Harry will do anything to get this win. He needs it. He’s getting older, and he’s under a lot of pressure. It’s good for both of you to stop dating for a while, at least until this gets over.”

y/n opens her mouth and closes it. “You’ve got what it takes y/n, you are so talented. Isn’t this your dream?”

“Yes..”, she whispers. 

“Then you have to let go of everything and give me your best in these next few months.”

Harry was fed the same things from his coach, and they both stopped seeing each other so frequently. They stayed over less, and there was this air of tension around them as the days grew closer. 

“Babe..”, Harry says. He pauses the show they were watching, making y/n turn to look at him. “Hm?”

“W-We, um, we need to talk.”

y/n nods, sitting up, and Harry takes her hand. He didn’t want to tell her this, but he had to. Tennis was important to him. This could be his last chance to finally make it. He had to make sacrifices. 

“I think we should stop seeing each other.”, he murmurs. “They’re right, we have to focus on the sport. It’s our dream.”

y/n’s heart squeezes in her chest. “Y-You’re just as important to me, Harry.”

Harry quickly looks up to her eyes, squeezing her hand. “y/n, you mean the world to me. You’re my person, and my everything. Trust me, I thought about this a lot.”

“Me too.”, she agrees quietly. “This is it, then?”

“No. No, please, don’t say that.”, he shakes his head, leaving her hand to scoop her into his lap. One of his hands cups her cheek, while the other lays at her hip. “We can get back together..when things are not so hectic.”

“So..we break up for a few months to focus on Tennis?”, she asks, tears springing in her eyes, and Harry’s heart breaks as he sees that. He nodded. “M-My dad..he wanted me to win in the Olympics, it was his dream. He even told me about it before he d-died. I-I have to do this, y/n.”

She nods, understanding. She had the same love for the sport. An Olympic medal is the best achievement for any sports person.

“I love you.”, she whispers, her forehead touching his. 

“I love you too.”, he whispers back, kissing her. His tongue strokes over her bottom lip and she opens up, to let his tongue explore her mouth. Her fingers play with the curls at the back of his head, as his hands run up and down her sides. “One last time?”, he whispers against her lips, eyes looking at hers. 

“One last time.”, she agrees, joining their lips again. Harry’s lips trail down her neck, and her jawline, leaving his marks. “N-No seeing anyone else, right?”, she asks.

“Do you want to?”, he asks, slipping his hand under her shirt to grope at her breast. She moans, pressing closer to him as she feels his boner through her shorts. “No..n-no one’s as good as you, Harry.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”, he smirks, rubbing her nipple between his fingers. “Let me see you, baby.”, he whispers, tugging her shirt off her body. y/n does the same to him, and continues to straddle his lap as he marks her up.

She runs her hands over his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and over his inked chest. “Just like that baby, go down on me, just like that.”, he murmurs, hands moving to her hip to get her into a rhythm. He plays with her breasts and showers her in kisses, groaning against her skin. 

“H-Harry I need you.”, she moans softly. “Please.”

“Anything for you, baby.” Harry picks her up, hands under her ass as he takes them to the bedroom, their lips connecting again. He lets her back hit the bed softly, before hovering over her. “You are so beautiful.”, he punctuates each word with a kiss down to her stomach, while his hand moves to her core, feeling the sleekness of her wet folds. 

“Right back at ya, Styles.”, she says, pulling him closer as she runs her hands down his back. Harry groans, not able to hold on any longer. “Let me get inside you, darling.”

She spreads her legs, and he pushes his dick inside her. She moans at the feeling of being full. Harry fills her up so well. He starts moving in and out of her, his eyes looking at hers. “You feel so g-good, y/n.”, he moans. “So perfect for me.”

y/n looks at the love of her life, her chest bursting with emotions. She wished they could be here like this, with only the two of them in their own world forever.

“H-Harry?”, she asks, opening her palm, wanting him to hold her hand while he fucked her. Harry looks at her, also brimming with emotions. He tangles his hand with hers immediately, squeezing it tight. “I-I love you y/n. I love you so much.”

“I-I love you too.”, she smiles, her body starting to shake as she feels her orgasm coming. She clenched around his dick, and he brought his other hand to rub her clit. Her eyes roll back in her head as she whispers his name, again and again, as she reaches her high. Harry cums after she does, and he lays on top of her, exhausted.

“We’ll be fine, love.”, y/n whispers, running her hand through her favorite head of curls. 

Harry smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “We will.”

_____________________________________________

y/n and Harry hadn’t seen each other, or talked to each other for months. Harry missed y/n so much that he felt a constant tugging in his heart. He trained alone with his coach, and he missed the times when they would mess around with each other. He missed her laugh, the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, he missed her scent in his room, on his clothes, he missed everything about her. The only thing that kept him going was his game.

y/n wasn’t any better. She was alright for the first few weeks, but then the empty space next to her on the bed, the lack of warmth when she woke up in the mornings, and the lack of cheesy jokes made her think about Harry. She was on a strict diet, and her coach put her on a different workout regime. It was so extreme that after a while, the only thing on her mind was Tennis. Her mind was trained. 

Over the months, y/n’s agility improved along with other aspects, and she became great at reading the game. She was beating everyone she played against. Finally, it was time for the qualification rounds. 

Harry had finished his match, and he had won, so he had booked his spot in Paris, representing Britain. 

“Back to the hotel now?”, his friend, who’s also under the training of his coach asks him. 

“Next match in court number five! y/n y/l/n versus Yasmin Reinardo!”, Harry hears the announcement and his eyes widen. He wanted to go see her.

“Um, you go ahead.”, he told his friend, before rushing off to court five. He joined the audience, making it just in time.

He felt so many emotions when he saw her. It had been six months. His sunshine, his baby, his love. She looked incredible. Gorgeous as always, and she had gained some muscle around her arms. Her hair was tied into a high pony, and she wore her favorite white head band which she thinks is her lucky charm. 

Harry was so proud as he watched his girl on the court, she was on fire. Her opponent was good, but not good enough. 

y/n won the game, and the other girl broke into tears. After all, she also had the dream for representing her country at the Olympics. y/n pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back as she mumbled something Harry couldn’t hear, but he smiled. He quickly went down to meet her, as she wiped the sweat off her body with a towel.

“Congratulations, love.”

She spins around so quickly when she hears his voice, and her eyes melt. She was overjoyed with emotion because of the win. She was going to compete in the Olympics for the first time! And the first person that she wanted to see was Harry, who was right in front of her.

“Harry.”, she gushes, before throwing her arms around him. Harry didn’t mind the sweat, he needed the hug just as much as she did. He squeezed her to her chest, holding her close. “O-Oh my god, I can’t believe it.”, she shakes in his arms.

“You made it love, you’re going to Paris!”, he rubs her back, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He heard the camera click, and knew their photos were being taken. Oh well. He couldn’t worry about that now.

“Y-You?”, y/n pulls back to look at him. Harry grinned at her, dipping his head down to rub his nose with hers. “I’m coming along too.”

She grins back and squeezes him. “I would have been so mad if we broke up for no reason. We get a free ticket to Paris!”

________________________________________

The Olympics will be held in another four months.. They caught up that day during the qualifications, grabbed a dinner together to celebrate, and then they were back to training. 

They would see each other more often now, because all the British representatives trained together. Harry and y/n were both in better spirits now that they could see each other frequently, even if it was strictly during practice. 

They would exchange subtle glances, touch hands when they exchanged things, and talk when they got time, but it was mostly about the game. One month before the Olympics, their team was yet to decide who would play for the mixed doubles. 

“You both have played together before, right?”, one of the coaches asked Harry. “y/n and I? Yeah, in the commonwealth, we won bronze.”

“I think they’re our best shot.”, the guy says, looking at the other coaches and the players. 

“What do you guys think?”

Harry looks at y/n, from across the room, like I’m okay if you’re okay.

Yes, there was their break up thing, they hadn’t kissed in months, there would be sexual tension having to play right next to him as his team member, and she couldn’t let that affect the event she was competing for. But it was an amazing opportunity, she had two chances to get a medal.

“Yes, that’s a good idea. We’ve played together the most, and we make a good team.”, y/n said, and Harry smiled. 

So that’s how they started preparing together, for the mixed doubles along with their own events. 

“Are you nervous?”, y/n asks one night, as she sits on the floor stretching. “We’re flying to Paris tomorrow, Harry.”

“I’m excited about going to Paris, but am I nervous about the actual reason we’re going? Yes.”, he says, making her chuckle. They were the only ones there, and Harry was putting his racket into its case. “It’s gonna be unreal. I mean, we’re getting a step closer to our dreams.”

y/n nods, stretching her legs out. “Any tips from your experience? About the whole adjusting to playing in the world’s biggest tournament thing.”

Harry laughs lightly, turning to her. “Babe, this is my first time too.” He crouches down so he’s looking at her. “But I’d say just focus on your game. You are the best, believe only that. Tune out everything else. You might feel like listening to the crowd who’s cheering for you, but tune that out too. You focus on doing what you’re good at. You’ve sacrificed so much for this, and you deserve to win. Play with that feeling.”

y/n looks into his eyes, and nods as his words seep into her brain. Her eyes moved to his lips, he was so close. Just one kiss. 

Harry leaned closer, but it was to grab her leg. “Let me stretch you out.”

“Y-Yeah..”, she looks away from him. Harry had only gotten more attractive, and she loved seeing him in his short tennis shorts and a loose shirt. His tattoo covered muscular arms made her go weak in the knees.

“Lay back.”, Harry says and she does. Harry’s hands slowly lift up her leg, one of his hands on the back of her thigh and the other on her foot as he applies some pressure to it. She can’t stretch herself out so well. 

“Other leg.”, Harry smiles, keeping that leg down and his hands reaching for her other leg. She lifts it up, and he stretches it out like he did with the other. He was on his knees in front of her. Then he folds her leg, making her knee touch her chin.

“Hold it for another second..”, he hums, counting down. He did the same for the other leg, and she feels like her muscles are dissolving under her touch. 

“Pancake time.”, Harry pats her thigh, and she sits up, leaning over with her hands on the floor, going into something called the pancake stretch. Harry goes behind her, and applies pressure to her back. “Head down..that’s it, hold it there.”

She groans, feeling the stretch. Harry can’t help but smile, she can’t see his face anyway. “Alright, arms up.”

He stretches her arms, holding them above her head, and when he’s done, he kisses the top of her head. “All done.”

“Thanks, H.”, she smiles. “I’m gonna get going, make sure I’ve packed everything.”

“Mhm.” He wishes he could go with her. 

“Soon.”, she promises, like she read his mind, and he smiles as she kisses his cheek before walking away with her bag.

_____________________________________________________

It was crazy. Harry and y/n were in the Olympic Village, competing in the Paris Olympics. It was unbelievable. y/n had to pinch herself when she got there. It was every sports lover’s dream. They got a little tour when they arrived, and she was awed by all the different areas for the numerous sports competitions. 

She stood beside Harry for the opening ceremony, along with their other team members as they were welcomed. She was overwhelmed, thinking about how hard she had worked to get there. 

Her own event was going to be after a few days, the first event was her mixed doubles with Harry. They knew very well each other’s strengths and weaknesses, who should cover what, and everything else. They were well prepared and planned.

They won every game they played, and made it to the finals. 

y/n wanted to win this for Harry. She was going to give it her best. 

“We got this.”, Harry squeezes her hand as she jumps around, minutes before the match. “y/n, we got this.”

She nods, taking a deep breath and looking at him. A medal was sure. If not gold, silver. But their eyes were on the gold. Everyone wants to win.

She walks to Harry, and hugs him. “We’ve gotten this far love, this is the final stretch.”, Harry whispers against her hair. “I am so fucking proud of you.”

“I-I’m proud of you too.”, she pulls back to hold his face. “A-And I can’t do it anymore. I-I can’t live without you, Harry.”

“Neither can I, baby. I need you in my life, I can’t fucking breathe if I think about losing you, ever.”, Harry squeezes her tight. “Now, it’s time to win a medal. What do you say?”

“I say yes.”, she grins. 

Everyone cheers as Harry and y/n enter the court, shaking hands with their opponents. The fans loved to cook up theories about Harry and y/n, being seen out a lot of times with each other and their chemistry on the court is just magical to watch. Harry and y/n give cheeky responses when they're asked about it during interviews. They never confirmed their relationship, but their fans think it's obvious.

“One- Love!”

They score a point, and grin at each other before their hands meet for a fist bump. It was a tight game, keeping the people watching at the edge of her seats. They won the first set.

y/n and Harry are seen whispering to each other and their coaches as they drink their water and electrolytes during the break. They knew where their opponents were weak and just how to win the second set just like they had won the first.

And they do.

y/n screams in joy and astonishment. The fact that she just won an Olympic Gold Medal for her country felt so unreal! Harry was going through the same emotions. He made his father proud, he achieved what he had been working towards for years. 

The whole world was looking at them, but Harry could only see one person. His partner and the love of his life. 

“We won Harry! We won!”, she jumps high into the air, before wrapping her arms around his neck and clinging to him. Harry laughs as he lifts his girl up, spinning her around. They were laughing and crying at the same time. When Harry lets her feet touch the ground, she grins at him through her tears, and he cups her face. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Harry.”, she chokes back, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. He kissed her. He kissed her like he didn’t for 10 months, he kissed her like he couldn’t breathe, and he kissed her like they just became World Champions.

Kateřina Siniaková and Tomáš Macháč- Gold medlists, Mixed Doubles. Paris Olympics, 2024.

[not-magdi]

-by your side / ben shelton

Warnings: None ;)

Words: 946

Reading Time: 3min 42sec

Request: Hii could you an imagine where reader and Ben are at a family gathering/party with Ben family and he is very clingy (not in a bad way obviously) and reader is kinda shy cause his family is there but that doesn’t stop him from being attached to her (can you make it extra cute pleaseee) that would be very great thanks

Thank you for requesting !

MASTERLIST

The evening was warm, the golden hues of the setting sun casting a soft glow over the backyard. Laughter echoed through the air, mixing with the distant sound of a grill sizzling and the faint melody of music playing from a speaker on the patio. Ben’s family was in their element—talking over one another, swapping stories, and passing around plates of food as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

Y/N loved these gatherings. She had always admired the way Ben’s family made her feel welcome from the very first barbecue she attended, treating her like she had always belonged. Over the years, she had grown more comfortable, even picking up on the inside jokes and family traditions. But despite how much she enjoyed being here, she still wasn’t quite used to one thing.

Ben’s absolute refusal to leave her side.

She wasn’t complaining—not really. She loved being with him, loved the way he could turn any situation into something lighthearted and fun. But tonight? He was extra clingy.

“Ben,” she whispered, nudging him with her elbow.

He barely reacted, his arm still wrapped firmly around her waist as he stood beside her. He had been glued to her like this all night, holding onto her like she might disappear at any moment.

He let out a hum of acknowledgment but made no move to step away.

She tilted her head to look up at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Are you planning on letting me breathe at some point tonight?”

Ben gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Wow. So ungrateful.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “I’m not ungrateful. I just think your family might want some of your attention.”

“They can have my attention anytime,” he said with a smirk, pulling her a fraction closer. “You, on the other hand? I only get to see you in this dress for one night.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm at his words. She had put in a little extra effort tonight—just a simple sundress, nothing too fancy—but Ben had been subtly (and not-so-subtly) complimenting her all evening, making it very clear how much he appreciated the look.

“Ben,” she muttered, glancing around as if someone might overhear.

“What?” he said, feigning innocence. “It’s not my fault you look really, really good tonight.”

She shook her head with a quiet laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he countered smoothly.

Before she could respond, a voice called out from across the yard.

“Ben, stop clinging to Y/N and come help with the drinks!”

It was his cousin, Jake, standing by the cooler with an exasperated expression. A few other family members snickered, clearly entertained by Ben’s refusal to let go of her.

Ben groaned dramatically, as if he were being asked to do something truly unbearable. “You see what I have to deal with?” he muttered to Y/N, tightening his grip for just a second before sighing heavily.

Y/N chuckled, nudging him playfully. “Go, before they start plotting ways to drag you over there.”

Ben narrowed his eyes at her. “You just want me to leave so you can flirt with my family while I’m gone.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’ve seen the way my grandma looks at you,” he said, voice low and conspiratorial. “I leave for one second, and suddenly you’re her new favorite grandchild. I’m being replaced before my very eyes.”

Y/N let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Or correct?”

“Go,” she said, giving him a gentle shove in the direction of his cousin.

He sighed heavily, as if it physically pained him to step away. But before he left, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her temple. “Don’t move,” he murmured. “I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

Y/N fought the warmth creeping up her neck as he finally walked away, shaking her head as she watched him go.

God, he was impossible.

And yet, she did love it.

A few minutes passed, and Y/N found herself seated at one of the patio tables, sipping on a cold drink as she chatted with Ben’s aunt. The conversation was light and easy—until a familiar presence settled beside her, pressing against her side once again.

“See? Told you I wouldn’t be gone long,” Ben said, as if he had just survived some grueling separation.

Y/N sighed, turning to him with an amused look. “Ben, you were gone for five minutes.”

“Five agonizing minutes,” he corrected, slipping his arm back around her waist like it belonged there.

She shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he said, grinning, “you’re still here.”

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. She could argue, could tease him about his clinginess, but the truth was—she liked being here. She liked the way he leaned into her, liked the warmth of his arm around her waist, liked the way he made her feel like the most important person in the room.

So instead of pushing him away, she simply sighed, resting her head lightly against his shoulder.

Ben immediately melted. “Oh? So we’re being soft now?” he teased.

“Shut up,” she muttered, her face warm.

His laughter was soft, his grip tightening just slightly. “Not a chance.”

Across the yard, Ben’s mom caught sight of them and shook her head fondly. “He’s always been like this,” she mused to Ben’s aunt.

His aunt chuckled. “Yeah, but I think it’s worse with her.”

Neither Y/N nor Ben noticed the exchange. They were too caught up in their own little world.

And neither of them would have it any other way.

-------

Hope you enjoyed it! ❤️

[seokminfilm]

borderline 🎸 yoon jeonghan

🎸 pairing, yoon jeonghan x reader

🎸 warnings, non-idol au, short, angst (hint of fluff at the end), high school au, senior student tennis player jeonghan, lovers to strangers to ???, tennis player reader, heavily descriptive

🎸 summary, the subject of tennis and yoon jeonghan were something you think you would never understand.

🎸 author's note, this has been simmering in my head this morning ever since i saw this picture on pinterest....i needed to do this okay i wouldn't rest until it was done LOL thank you all so much for 397 followers now AND all the love on 'calvin klein boyfriend'!! i appreciate it lots 🥹 anyways, enjoy borderline!!

🎸 now playing, yes i'm changing (tame impala)

🎸 word count, 818 | for @kstrucknet

the ball pecks the ground harmlessly, flying into the net as you give up trying, racket hitting the ground as you bite your lip.

tears are flowing from your eyes before you can even try form a thought as to why you're crying, and you don't know if it's because you're frustrated, hurt, or a mixture of both.

it was your senior year, but your ex-boyfriend was nowhere to be found. he had promised you on this same court, promised to never let you go─even after you two graduated, he swore up and down he would take you with him, wherever he decided to go. obviously, he didn't hold up his end of the bargain. yoon jeonghan was nowhere to be found.

you don't even know why you were practicing at this point. you and all of your friends knew that you were playing tennis because of jeonghan, even if you tried to deny it over and over. he had made you fall in love with it, just as he made you fall in love with him.

taking another tennis ball in your sweaty hand, you let it hit the racket, giving it your best swing as he violently swishes into the net once again. face falling at the failure, you turn away from the court and look into the park, watching children play lightheartedly without a care in the world.

you remember when you were like that, free and whole─jeonghan was there with you, encouraging you to act like a fool, even when you probably shouldn't have been. jeonghan had brought out the best in you, it seemed, and now─he wasn't even there to do that. the call to tennis was too strong for him to deny, you supposed.

"it's no wonder you can't hit the ball straight. you have the posture of a steamed shrimp." the voice had a familiar tone to it as if the speaker of that sentence was trying to hold back a laugh of some sort.

turning around, your eyes land on yoon jeonghan himself─the freshman-turned-tennis prodigy who left your life two years ago.

he was taller now, hair longer and smoother as it bristled in the wind tousling through the air. his eyes still had that charming look to them, but his lips were a dark pink, tantalizing and lithe as he smirked at you.

"did you miss me?" the question is playful as jeonghan strips himself of his backpack and whips out a tennis racket. wiping the tears from your eyes, you clear your throat, eyes threatening to tear up again at jeonghan's smile.

"i didn't really have time to do that." you lie straight through your teeth, and jeonghan knows you did, going along with it as he smirks. "uh-huh."

the two of you fell silent, unspoken conversations lingering between you. there was so much you and him left unsaid, and now, you waited for him to clear up the confusion and hurt in your heart.

if you were being a hundred percent honest, you wanted jeonghan to kiss you and make everything all feel better.

"let's practice some swings, shall we? it'll be just like good old times." jeonghan flips his racket in hand, hair tucked and strands whipping violently behind his ears. his dark brown eyes study yours with one of fondness as if you two had never stopped being together.

both of you knew that wasn't true, but it was nice to pretend, right?

"how can it be the same, jeonghan? it's so different now. it's been so different without you, jeonghan," you whisper, and sadly enough, jeonghan hears you. his face falls slightly, and he can't put on a fake smile, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair.

"we can always try, can't we?" jeonghan was just inches away from you now, walking farther and farther up to you during the conversation. his cologne washes over you in waves, and his eyes are filled with pain and longing─it makes you want to cry, almost. seeing how pitiful he is for you. it's makes you feel wanted.

"sure. we can try," you say in a rare moment of vulnerability, and jeonghan pauses to look at you, face illuminated by the sun as he smiles.

"we can try, yeah. let's start out with tennis, though?" you crack a smile at the unusual familiarity of jeonghan's warm voice directed to you again, and in that moment, suddenly everything isn't so bad.

suddenly, you're willing to try to hit the ball over the net again. the life in your eyes has returned back, and you nod quietly, looking down as both of you think of what your tennis coach had said to you two your first doubles game.

second chances come and go. it's just up to you to take them.

you guessed the quote came in handy for romantic relationships, not just tennis matches.