#alpha jannik

[tennisloverfic]

Childhood Love (Distance - Side Story)

› Pairing → Jannik Sinner x Female Reader.

› Side story - Established relationship. FMC had moved to Monte Carlo in this timeline. Jannik just returned for weeks on tour. Definity can be read separately.

› Slow burn, childhood friends, friends to lovers.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 |Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 |

Distance (Smut) - Side Story

Song to listen to as you read: Amor - Derik Fein

You open the door, and he’s there—fresh from the flight, hoodie half-zipped, bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, hair a little mussed from travel. He doesn’t say anything at first, just cups the back of your neck, fingers pressing gently, and pulls you close. The scent of him—warm, familiar, just a little travel-weary—hits you, and your knees go weak.

“Ciao, bella,” he murmurs into your hair, voice low, rough with exhaustion yet laced with something more—want, longing, the ache of weeks apart.

You don’t reply, just let yourself melt against him, breath catching, heart hammering. The world outside the doorway disappears. His hands linger longer than necessary, memorizing the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulders, as if weeks of distance had made him greedy for every inch of you.

//

Dinner feels almost secondary, a ritual you can’t quite focus on. You sit close—too close—and every brush of your knees beneath the table sends heat crawling up your thighs. His hand finds yours again, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over the back of your hand. Possessive, yes, but gentle—a quiet claim that you’re here, that he’s here, that weeks of distance only sharpened this ache.

Even when you’re looking elsewhere, his gaze roams. He drinks you in: the way your skirt hugs your form, the curve of your neck, the soft slope of your shoulder. Every subtle tilt of your head, every half-smile, every careless laugh—he notices. He sees you in a way that makes the air between you pulse, makes him ache to close the space that still separates your bodies.

You catch his eye for a brief moment, and it’s like lightning strikes. Weeks of waiting, imagining, craving—every fantasy condensed into a single, heavy heartbeat. Around you, the soft clatter of the bistro fades into nothing; all that exists is the slow, magnetic pull of him, of his hands, of his gaze that lingers too long, tracing you in quiet, demanding reverence.

Even the smallest movements—the lift of your glass, the brush of your fingers—become charged. Each contact is a spark, each glance a confession. His thumb traces circles over your knuckles, slow, lingering, as though memorizing the shape of your hand, your warmth, the way your skin feels beneath him.

You know, in a way you can’t fully admit, that tonight the distance will end. And in the way his eyes roam and linger, it’s clear he’s already imagining every moment that will follow.

//

Back at the apartment, the moment the door clicks shut, the air shifts—thick, electric, charged with the space between you. Jannik steps closer, his hands settling at your hips, steady and insistent, eyes roaming your face as if memorizing every line, every curve. You don’t pull away.

He leans down, forehead brushing yours, breath mingling, fingers tracing slow paths up your sides, over your arms, lingering on the fabric of your skirt, the gentle slope of your shoulders.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he murmurs, first in Italian, then softly in German, the words carrying a weight that makes your chest tighten.

The tension between you is unbearable, and yet he doesn’t rush. Instead, he slides a hand along your back, guiding you toward the living room with a careful, possessive pressure. Your steps falter slightly, your body pressed to his as he leads you to the couch.

Once there, he doesn’t let go. Your legs drape across his lap almost instinctively, and his hands immediately find their familiar places—one palm resting warm against your thigh, the other lightly brushing the small of your back. Every touch is deliberate, intimate, teasing, and he leans down to press gentle kisses along your temple, your jaw, the corner of your lips—never fully crossing the line, but close enough to make your pulse spike.

Even seated, the space between you is alive. His gaze follows you, fingers brushing along your arms, over your waist, never still, a magnetic insistence you cannot ignore. And as you tilt your head just enough to catch his eyes, the unspoken promise hangs heavy in the air: he cannot, and will not, keep his hands off of you.

You tilt your head, lips curling into a teasing smile.

“So…” you drawl, eyes flicking to his, “what do you want to do now, Sinner?”

The question makes him smirk—slow, like he’s already thinking of the answer but is taking his time to say it.

“Mmh… Do you really want to know?

He shifts, leaning forward until his knees bracket yours, one hand planted beside your head on the couch cushion. He doesn’t touch you anywhere else, but the closeness feels like contact.

“We could… talk,” he says lightly, but his gaze dips to your mouth before snapping back up. “Or…”

You arch a brow, still playing along. “Or?”

His voice drops lower, almost a whisper in German now.

“Or I could make up for every night I was away.”

Your breath catches despite yourself, but you don’t break eye contact. “Big promise,” you murmur, half-challenging, half-inviting.

His grin is quick but there’s something darker behind it, a flicker of all the weeks he’s been holding back.

“Not a promise,” he says, fingers brushing the side of your jaw at last—slow, testing. “A plan.”

You lean in before he can finish his thought, closing the last inches between you.

It’s not rushed—not the kind of kiss that crashes in—but something slow, almost testing, as if you’re both relearning the shape of the other’s mouth after weeks apart.

His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into it, and you shift closer without breaking the kiss. One knee brushes the couch cushion beside his thigh, then the other, until you’re straddling him, the heat between you closing in.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your breath a little uneven.

“Missed me that much?” you murmur, tilting your head, letting the teasing edge soften just enough to be dangerous.

His reply is low, almost gravelly in German.

“You have no idea…”

His palms settle at your hips, thumbs pressing in, not pushing you down but keeping you there, like he’s making sure you won’t disappear.

For a moment, neither of you moves—just the faint sound of your breaths mingling, his eyes scanning your face like he’s memorizing you all over again. Then, with a subtle tug, he draws you closer, deepening the kiss, the tension snapping into something more urgent, more certain.

The city outside could disappear, and neither of you would notice.

Your lips part from his with a faint, wet sound, both of you pulling in sharp, uneven breaths.

The air between you feels heavy—charged—and his gaze locks on yours, darkened, pupils blown wide.

Your hands rest on his shoulders for balance as you shift, slowly, letting your hips roll down against him.

It’s deliberate—testing the effect—and the soft groan that escapes him tells you exactly what you wanted to know.

His fingers tighten at your waist, not enough to stop you, but enough to make you feel the restraint in him, the way he’s holding himself back.

You lean in again, brushing your lips against his ear.

“You’re… making that face again,” you whisper, the teasing thread in your voice barely disguising the heat curling in your stomach.

He huffs a laugh that sounds more like a breathless exhale, his hands sliding lower over your hips, thumbs tracing the edge of your waistband.

You roll down against him again, slower this time, feeling the way his body tenses under yours.

“You’re dangerous.” he murmurs.

Your smile is wicked, but your next kiss is soft, a contradiction that makes his grip tighten.

The rhythm you find together is lazy, unhurried—just enough friction to keep you both on edge, savoring the way every small movement drags a little more sound from his throat.

It’s less about rushing toward something, and more about taking back every second you lost while apart.

Your breath catches, spilling into a soft, breathless moan that you don’t bother hiding.

It slips between you like a spark, and you feel the subtle jolt it sends through him—his jaw tightening, his hands flexing at your hips.

You keep moving, deliberately slow, dragging out every shift of your body against his.

Your lips brush over his cheek, his jaw, barely there, like you’re giving him something and taking it away all at once.

Another slow roll of your hips, and you let out a sound that’s almost a whimper, almost a sigh—sweet and sinful in equal measure.

His breath hitches hard.

“You’re cruel,” he murmurs, voice low and strained.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your smile lazy and knowing, even with your own chest rising and falling like you’ve been running.

“Am I?” you breathe.

It’s the breaking point.

His restraint snaps like a string pulled too tight—one second his hands are just holding you there, the next he’s gripping your thighs and pulling you firmly against him, the kiss he drags you into rough and consuming, all the patience gone.

His mouth crashes back onto yours, all heat and hunger, swallowing whatever smug little smile you had left.

The kiss is deep, messy, and desperate, his hands sliding up your back and into your hair, holding you exactly where he wants you.

In one quick motion, he shifts under you, turning so your back meets the couch cushions instead.

He’s over you now, braced on his forearms, his chest pressing against yours so you can feel every steady thump of his heart—steady only because he’s forcing it to be.

“You like to play…” he murmurs, voice rough.

His hand drags slowly down your side, fingers slipping under the hem of your top, his touch hot against your skin.

You open your mouth to say something clever, but the words dissolve into another gasp when his hips press forward, deliberate and hard enough to erase any distance.

“But I’m done playing,” he adds, his tone curling around the words like a promise.

You can feel the shift in him—the teasing gone, replaced by the sharp edge of want that he’s no longer willing to hide.

Every kiss now is greedy, every touch purposeful, his body crowding yours until the only thing you can think about is how much you’ve missed him and how badly you want to close the rest of the gap between you.

“Open,” he murmurs.

The command is quiet but leaves no room for disobedience.

You part your lips slowly, your pulse hammering, and he slides his thumb inside, resting it against your tongue.

“Lick,” he says, low and deliberate, his tone making the single word sound like something dangerous.

You hold his eyes as your tongue moves over the pad of his thumb, slow at first—testing—before curling around it, tasting him.

His jaw tightens, his breathing deepening, and you feel the subtle shift of his hips pressing harder into yours in response.

A low hum of satisfaction escapes him, and his thumb leaves your mouth, tracing along your wet bottom lip before dragging down to your chin.

The air between you is thick now, charged, every movement a wordless push and pull of control and surrender.

“Brava,” he murmurs, his voice graveled with want.

His eyes don’t leave yours as that same damp thumb trails slowly down the hollow of your throat, dragging over your collarbone before sliding along the curve of your chest.

The touch is lazy—taunting—like he’s memorizing every inch, taking his time.

Your breath hitches when he dips lower, skimming the space between your breasts before continuing its descent.

The warmth of his palm lingers, tracing the curve of your hip with deliberate slowness, each brush of his thumb sending little jolts of heat through you.

By the time his hand drifts toward the waistband of your skirt, your thighs instinctively press together, a reflex you can’t—or don’t want to—control. He notices, of course, and the faint, knowing smirk that tugs at his lips makes your heart hammer against your chest.

He moves even closer, fingers teasing along the hem, slipping the fabric upward with careful, measured motions, as if memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his touch. Every inch revealed, every brush of his hand, leaves you gasping softly, the tension between you both mounting with delicious, unbearable patience.

“Pazienta…”

His thumb dips just enough to catch the edge of your underwear, and then his whole hand settles there—warm, steady, maddeningly slow. The proximity alone making you ache, but he stops there, letting the anticipation stretch until you feel like you might burst.

You feel the subtle pressure of his fingertips through the thin fabric, dragging upward and back down in an agonizing rhythm that makes your breath stutter.

Your hips move without thinking, chasing the friction, but he presses his other hand to your waist to keep you still.

The control in his touch is infuriating and intoxicating all at once.

“So wet…” He murmurs, almost like it’s for himself.

His thumb finds that sensitive spot even through the fabric, circling with just enough pressure to make you bite your lip.

The layers between you only make the heat sharper, the teasing worse, and you can feel your legs trembling from holding back.

“Tell me what you want…”

He says it low, almost against your ear, his touch still slow and deliberate like he has all night to ruin you.

His fingers keep moving in slow, lazy circles, every pass over you making the heat pool lower in your stomach.

You try to rock into his hand, but he holds you down firmly with the grip on your hip, making you whimper in frustration.

“Slow…” He says with that maddening calm, his voice rougher now.

The pad of his thumb presses more firmly through the fabric, sending a sharp jolt through you, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes.

He catches it with a smirk, leaning in to brush his lips along your jaw without kissing you fully—just close enough to feel the ghost of his breath.

His fingers never stop their torturous pace, keeping you right on the edge but never letting you tip over.

Every now and then he drags his touch lower, to where the dampness is most obvious, just to make you squirm.

“You like it like this, huh?”

The fabric between you is almost unbearable now, but the way he’s controlling every second makes it feel like he’s already unraveling you.

Your head tips back, a shaky breath leaving your lips as the teasing becomes too much.

“Jannik… please,” you whisper, the word breaking halfway through.

His hand stills for just a moment, and you feel his eyes on you, watching the way your chest rises and falls, how your fingers clutch at his shirt.

“Please what?” he asks, his voice low, almost daring.

You shift against his hand, desperate for more friction, but his grip on your hip tightens, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“I want you,” you breathe out, the words barely audible, “I need you to touch me—really touch me.”

A slow smirk curves his lips, and his thumb presses down harder through the soaked fabric, sending a sharp gasp out of you.

“That’s better…” He murmurs, his tone dripping with approval.

His mouth finally captures yours in a deep, consuming kiss, and as you melt into it, his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear—finally moving past the barrier he’d been tormenting you with.

His fingers skim just over where you want him most, never quite giving in, the maddening pattern making your thighs tense around him.

“Beg… more sweetly," he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot and deliberate.

You bite your lip, trying to steady the whimper that threatens to slip out, but he presses his thumb down again, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you.

“Jannik…” you pant, tilting your hips in a desperate attempt to chase his touch, “please, baby… I can’t— I need you so badly.”

He hums, clearly pleased, his other hand sliding up your back to hold you closer as his lips brush the edge of your jaw.

“Better…” he whispers, the word a soft, sinful reward, “but I think you can do even sweeter.”

The way he says it—low, teasing, coaxing—makes your pulse race, and you know he won’t give you what you want until you give in completely.

Your voice trembles, soft and raw, as you cradle his face in your hands.

“Please, Jannik… my love,” you whisper, every syllable thick with need, “I just want you—only you—please make me yours.”

The sincerity cracks you open, tears spilling before you even notice. His gaze softens instantly. He leans in, kissing the damp trails from your cheeks with slow, deliberate tenderness, his thumb brushing the last drop away.

“Shh… dolcezza (sweetness),” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours.

And then—finally—he gives you what you’ve been begging for, with a pull of your underwear aside, he eases his length inside with a slow, steady push that makes your breath hitch and your fingers clutch at him. His name escapes you in a shaky gasp, your tears mixing with the small, breathless sounds you can’t contain.

His lips find yours again, tasting your relief and your need, as his body presses flush to yours, sealing the promise you just made with every movement.

He moves slowly at first, deep enough that you feel every inch of him, his breath warm against your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “already so wet for me… all because you’ve been missing this, hm?”

You gasp, fingers tightening on his shoulders, and he smirks against your skin.

“Say it,” he urges, his hips rolling just enough to draw a trembling moan from you, “tell me how much you’ve missed me.”

The words catch in your throat, coming out broken between breaths, and that only makes him press harder into you.

“That’s it,” he groans, eyes locked on yours, “moan for me like that—let everyone in Monte Carlo know you’re mine.”

Your back arches, and you can barely keep up with the way he’s moving, his voice a constant stream of filthy praise and possessive promises that make your chest tighten and your thighs shake.

His pace stays deliberate, almost torturously slow, each thrust sinking deep before he pulls back just enough to make you whimper.

“Easy,” he murmurs, brushing his nose along your cheek, “I want to feel every second of you… every sound you make.”

His hands are everywhere—one splayed across your lower back to keep you close, the other lazily tracing along your thigh before sliding higher, anchoring you in place. You can feel his heartbeat through his chest pressed to yours, steady and unhurried, like he has no intention of rushing.

“You’re so warm.. so tight,” he whispers, lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth, “I could stay here all night.”

Every time you try to speed up, to push against him harder, his grip tightens and he slows you back down, making you ride the edge of frustration and bliss.

“Not yet, bella,” he says with a teasing smile, “I want to hear you beg again… softer this time.”

The air between you is hot and heavy, and when you whisper his name like a plea, he rewards you with a deeper roll of his hips, a low groan leaving his throat as if your voice alone is undoing him.

His breath grows heavier against your ear, each exhale warm and ragged as his hips keep that steady, grinding rhythm—deep, slow, and purposeful.

“God, you feel… perfect,” he groans, his voice low and rough, “you were made for me, weren’t you?”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and when you gasp, he catches your mouth in a kiss that’s more heat than finesse, swallowing every sound you make. His hand slides up your back, holding you flush to him, his other gripping your hip hard enough that you know you’ll feel it later.

“Say it,” he murmurs against your lips, thrusts growing just a little sharper, “say you’re mine.”

You manage to choke out the words, voice breaking, and he lets out a guttural sound in response—something primal and desperate—before pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m close, bella… I’m not stopping until I feel you fall apart around me.”

Each slow, deep push is deliberate, like he’s trying to etch the feeling into his memory, and you can tell he’s holding himself back just enough to drag the moment out. His body trembles with the effort, chasing that edge but refusing to let go until you’re right there with him.

His thrusts slow, his grip on your hips tightening as if holding himself back took every ounce of control he had. His eyes lock on yours—green, intense, searching—and his breath comes out in a shudder.

“Tell me…” his voice is husky, almost trembling with restraint, “tell me I can have you. All of you.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, your pulse thundering in your ears. You can feel the question underneath them, heavy and intimate, something only the two of you could understand.

Your lips part, breathless, and you nod—slow, deliberate—watching the way relief and hunger flicker across his face in the same heartbeat.

He exhales, a deep, ragged sound, and presses his forehead to yours.

“Mia,” he whispers, voice rough with emotion, “only you.”

And then, as his pace deepens again, there’s no mistaking the shift—the closeness, the urgency, the feeling that he’s giving you every last piece of himself.

His lips ghost along your jaw, your ear, his voice a deep murmur only you can hear.

“Do you even know what you do to me?”

“You make me want to stay here forever… inside you, with you, until there’s nothing left between us.”

Every word is low and deliberate, laced with that possessive edge you’ve only heard from him in moments like this. His hands cradle your hips like he’s holding something precious, but his grip is firm, almost reverent.

“I want you to feel me—everywhere,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “I want you to remember this, even when I’m gone.”

The sound that escapes you only spurs him on, and he presses his forehead to yours, his gaze burning into you.

“Mine,” he says simply, as though it’s a promise, a vow, and a warning all at once.

You can only manage a shaky nod at first, your breath still uneven. His eyes stay locked on yours, and there’s something in them—both fierce and almost pleading—that makes your chest tighten.

“No,” he murmurs, voice low but firm. “Say it.”

Your lips part, the words catching in your throat before you finally breathe them out.

“I’m yours.”

It’s barely more than a whisper, but the way his jaw flexes tells you he heard every syllable. His hands tighten around your waist like he’s anchoring himself, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Again,” he says, softer this time, as if he needs to hear it one more time just to believe it.

Your voice is steadier now, even though your pulse is racing.

“I’m yours, Jannik. Always.”

The corner of his mouth lifts—not quite a smile, more like a quiet triumph—and he seals your words with a deep, lingering kiss that leaves no space for doubt.

Your last words seem to break something in him.

His grip on you tightens, movements turning deeper, rougher, chasing that final edge.

You can feel him shudder, his breath growing ragged against your ear as his pace stutters. The sound of your own soft, desperate cries fills the room, mingling with his low groans.

And then—he’s gone, tipping over with a guttural moan, pulling you right along with him. The heat floods between you as your body arches, clinging to him while your release crashes over you.

For a long moment, the world is nothing but shared breath, shaking limbs, and the sound of your heart pounding in sync with his.

You don’t move for a while.

His chest rises and falls in beat with yours, the rhythm steady, grounding you after the storm you both just weathered.

One of his hands stays splayed over your back, fingers tracing slow, absentminded shapes against your skin, as if committing the feel of you to memory. The other cradles the back of your head, keeping you tucked against him.

Neither of you speak—the silence isn’t awkward, it’s full. Full of the weight of what just happened, of the unspoken acknowledgment that this was more than just heat and want.

When you finally lift your head to meet his gaze, there’s a softness there you’ve never seen before, and it steals your breath more than any kiss ever could.

He brushes a strand of hair from your cheek and whispers, almost reverently,

“We’re not rushing this… I want to remember every second.”

You smile faintly, your fingers lacing with his, and settle back into his hold, letting the night stretch around you like a secret only the two of you know.

When he finally pulls his length out, you can feel the loss—your body instinctively missing his warmth.

You draw in a shaky breath, the aftershocks still rolling through you, and a soft sound escapes your lips before you can stop it.

His hand lingers at your hip, steadying you, his gaze locked on yours as if reading every flicker of sensation on your face. He leans in and kisses your temple slowly, deliberately, and whispers your name like a promise.

You melt against him, your heartbeat syncing with his, the room still charged with the echo of what just happened.

You’re still pressed against him, your breathing gradually settling into something slow and steady. He doesn’t rush—just keeps one arm around your back, his fingers tracing lazy shapes along your spine as if memorizing the moment.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. He disappears only long enough to grab a warm towel and a glass of water, returning to kneel beside you.

He presses the glass into your hands first, then gently tucks the towel around you. His touch is unhurried, almost reverent, and when he’s sure you’re comfortable, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

You smile faintly against his chest, and he just holds you there—like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

You’re curled into him on the couch now, wrapped in the blanket he pulled over you both. The dim city lights from outside spill faintly into the room, casting soft shadows across his face.

His hand rests on the small of your back, thumb stroking idly. “You know…” his voice is low, almost hesitant, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you properly.”

You tilt your head, looking up at him. “Told me what?”

“That I’m grateful,” he says simply, but there’s a weight in the way he says it—like it’s been sitting in his chest for a long time. “Not just for you being here tonight… but for everything. For keeping me grounded when I lose myself, for believing in me when I doubt, for loving me the way you do.”

Your eyes sting a little, and you smile through it. “That’s what people do when they love each other.”

He cups your cheek, his gaze locked on yours. “Then I’m the luckiest man alive to be loved by you.”

The words linger between you, warm and heavy, before he kisses you again—slow, soft, sealing the promise in silence.

//

The morning comes slow.

Sunlight filters in through the sheer curtains, painting the room in a soft golden haze. The world outside feels far away, muffled by the quiet comfort of your shared cocoon. You’re still tangled in the sheets, tangled in him—your bare legs hooked over his, his arm heavy around your waist like he never let go all night.

He’s awake before you, you can feel it in the steady, gentle motion of his fingers tracing circles on your hip. When you blink your eyes open, he’s already watching you with that small, sleepy smile that could undo you a thousand times over.

“Morning,” his voice is rough, thick with sleep.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your cheek pressed into his chest.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The rhythm of his breathing lulls you, and you let your eyes fall shut again, listening to the slow thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. He presses a kiss to your hairline, murmuring, “Don’t get up yet. Just… stay.”

You hummed, a faint smile ghosting your lips, though your body betrayed you—tilting closer, searching for more. His hand skimmed along your spine, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver down your back. When you finally looked up at him, his gaze caught yours, heavy and searching, as though he was memorizing your face in the pale morning light.

The first kiss was unhurried, a brush of lips that deepened only when you sighed into him. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting you gently, while the other anchored at your waist. It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was slow, reverent, as though he had all the time in the world to explore you.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging softly, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you. He shifted, guiding you beneath him, yet every movement carried care, patience. His touch traced every line of you with aching tenderness, as if he wanted to learn you all over again.

The world outside faded into nothing but warmth and the quiet sound of your breaths mingling. The light creeping through the curtains softened, turning golden as morning stretched on, but neither of you noticed. Every kiss, every sigh, every whispered name spilled into the next, until hours had passed without either of you moving beyond the sanctuary of each other’s arms.

//

After a while, he shifted beneath you, fingers brushing gently up and down your spine. “Come, shower with me.” He said softly, though there was no urgency in his voice, only warmth.

You groaned playfully, burying your face against his chest, but he was already sliding out of bed, tugging you gently by the hand. His grin was boyish, teasing, but the way his eyes lingered on you—hungry, reverent—sent a flutter through your stomach.

The bathroom filled quickly with steam, the sound of running water muffling the world beyond. He stepped in first, holding out a hand, steady and sure, and when you joined him the spray cascaded down both of you, heat mixing with heat.

At first, it was innocent—his hands smoothing over your arms, rinsing the remnants of sleep away. But soon his palms roamed lower, mapping the curves of your waist, the dip of your back. He pressed you gently against the tiled wall, water streaming down between you, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that started sweet but deepened with every heartbeat.

You gasped when his hands cupped the backs of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around him, instinctive, and the ache of wanting returned with sharp, exquisite urgency. The hard length of him pressed against your center, and this time you didn’t hold back the moan that slipped out.

“Say my name,” he whispered against your throat, biting softly at your skin as the water beat down around you.

And when you did—breathless, pleading—he finally gave in, pressing into you slow and steady, filling you until you melted against him, your hands clutching at his wet shoulders. The rhythm he set was unhurried, deliberate, every movement laced with devotion. Each thrust carried both the hunger of weeks apart and the tenderness of a man who wanted to worship you.

The steam wrapped you both in a cocoon, blurring everything but the sounds of your breaths, your moans, his whispered confessions against your skin. It wasn’t just need—it was love, burning through every kiss, every press of his body into yours.

When he lowered you back down, your legs trembling, you were both breathless, clinging, as though letting go would break the spell. He rested his forehead to yours, water dripping between your joined bodies, and smiled softly.

//

By the time you both stepped out of your apartment, the sun was already climbing higher, warm on your skin. Jannik didn’t let go of your hand once, thumb brushing over your knuckles as you walked side by side through the familiar streets. It was slow, almost lazy, like neither of you wanted to hurry and risk breaking the fragile spell still hanging between you.

At the café, the smell of roasted coffee beans and buttery croissants greeted you, wrapping around you like a blanket. You slipped into your favorite corner booth while Jannik went to order, and you caught yourself smiling at the sight of him leaning across the counter. The barista tried to keep her composure, but her eyes lingered longer than they should have—drawn in the same way everyone always seemed to be around him.

But then he turned back, tray in hand, and the look he gave you—soft, familiar, almost private—wasn’t for anyone else. Just you.

He slid into the booth beside you, not across, thigh pressing into yours as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He pushed a cappuccino toward you and set a pastry plate between you, his hand staying low on your hip while he settled in.

The café buzzed with morning chatter, but Jannik seemed utterly unbothered. His fingers brushed a crumb from your lip before you could, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, lingering for no reason other than to touch. He kept talking easily—about nothing, about everything—but beneath his words, there was the steady, unspoken rhythm of him reaching for you again and again, making it clear without saying it outright: you were his.

And from the way his gaze lingered, unflinching and open, it was impossible for anyone watching to mistake it.

//

As promised, the post-confession/established relationship smut. I think we all need a little pick me up after today's final.

Also, I had the worst day - I'm flying back home from a wedding and I realized I booked the wrong flight so I had to change my flight last minute and it was horrible. I'm posting this as I am at the airport waiting for my flight.

Jannik might not win the US Open but he's young and he has many many more chances.

Again, I would love to hear from you guys! Have a great week ahead. I will return next Friday.

[purplemcpurplington]

Sincaraz a/b/o angst 💫

(I need to stop with the omegaverse istg, and angst is cus I like a close friend but I dont think she wants me haha)

Omega carlos who imprints on alpha jannik who sort of is attached to carlos but he's silly and can't communicate and gets with someone else.

Alpha jannik who buys omega carlos lunch and notes all the stuff carlos likes to watch and read and listen to, and his favourite foods and he looks after carlos, which means csrlos just falls deeper in love with jannik

Omega carlos who didn't have nesting materials when they first met. Carlos' family were Catholic alphas and frowned upon male omegas, believing they should be sterilised. Jannik, who hears about this and lends carlos blankets and pillows and buys expensive stuffed animals for his omega to nest properly.

Alpha jannik who gets cuddly with carlos, a trait he doesn't share with others in their circle of friends. He likes to rub carlos' feet and his legs and nuzzles carlos' hair and strokes his back. He also reminds carlos to eat cus he gets buys and may forget.

Omega carlos who calls jannik first when he's having problems. He has the same curse as most make omegas - heats are painful and unbearable so jannik comes around with pain killers and heat patches and heat pads and big warm blankets and looks after his omega.

Alpha jannik who gives carlos his favourite sweater after a night out, with a hug and a forehead kiss and a gentle "keep it for how long you need" before going to his car (Alvaro has already agreed to pick up carlos).

Omega carlos who mentions offhandedly that sometimes he watches old home videos so he can fall asleep to the sound of people he loves. A few nights later, jannik sent him an audio file of him reading bedtime stories.

Omega carlos who wears jannik's sweater to bed every single night, and eventually cries in it when laila comes around and seems all special to jannik.

Alpha jannik who takes carlos to build a bear for the first time, and carlis puts an audio file of jannik's voice into the bear for comfort.

Omega carlos who hides how he feels when laila and jannik start courting and starts writing in diaries instead.

Alpha jannik who doesn't understand the distance from carlos, so he finds his diary and reads it, his heart breaking as he realises what's going on.

Omega carlos who never washes the sheets after jannik's dropped them off because jannik is HIS alpha and he wants the scent.

Alpha jannik who finally gets rid of the stick up his arse and realises how much he adores carlos and calls things off with laila.

Omega carlos who doesn't understand why jannkk is single and after carlos (who would want a male omega?)

Alpha jannik who goes into Carlos' nest and finds his sweater and the overwhelming smell of him. He finds all the stuffed animals and he hears the build a bear play his voice and his heart breaks a little all over again

Omega carlos who cries the first few nights - he doesn't want jannik to leave, and jannik who rubs his back and his noes and squishes his toes in comfort, with a gentle "I'm still here, I'll be here in the morning too"

Alpha jannik who eventually moves in with Carlos. Carlos offered to move but jannik didn't mind reassembling his nest - he'd die before making his omega move his precious nest

Alpha jannik and omega carlos who eventually have a baby

Alpha jannik and omega carlos who eventually figure things out <3

[boring-blondie]

Originally posted this as a reply to an ask but for some reason it wouldn't show on the sincaraz tag, so Im now posting it again on its own (and during daylight hours so I can be ashamed and be taken to horny jail)

This is in reference to omega Carlos being all over Joao's muscles and other alphas during the Miami Open.

"Open up a bit more tesoro, come on" Came Jannik's instruction somewhere above him.

And Carlos, always wanting to please his alpha, obeyed and relaxed his throat so Jannik could push his cock deeper into him. Until his golden pubes tickled Carlos's nose and he let out a pleased groan.

Yes this was what he was meant to be doing. Be a good omega for his alpha. Be a good boy for his Janni. He had misbehaved. Badly. That's what Jannik had said. But he hadn't meant to!! It was just his body, craving and missing his alpha so much.

"Fuck, sweatheart. You're so good." Jannik praised, softly carding his fingers through Carlos hair. Not ever stopping his thrusts. Carlos didn't want him to stop. "You think you deserve more now?"

A question. Jannik had asked him a question. Opening his eyes and looking up at Jannik, the omega purred at the look of pure afection and heat adorning his alpha's face.That's how it always should be. Carlos just nodded his head, not wanting to come off his cock to answer. The weight of it felt so good in his mouth, so grounding.

And then it was gone in an instant, and his body was thrown unceremoniously on the bed. All Carlos could do was whine and let himself be manhandled by his alpha. "J-Jannik, please. Dios mio." He had no idea what he was asking for.

Carlos wasn't even in heat and he was a mess already, which only indicated his next heat would be hard.

"Shh, it's okay tesoro. Open up your legs for me." Yes he could do that, he could kneel nice and pretty for Jannik and open his legs so he could—

"Such a pretty pussy, and soaking already." Jannik chuckled, spreading his omega more so he could see his center pulsing for him, soaking his fingers. "Is this for your alpha or someone else?"

Without waiting for an answer, Jannik spit right into Carlos's cunt. Watching it dribble down and mix with the slick made the primal urge to take, take and mine, only mine he had been feeling since the start of the tournament quiet down a bit.

"Joder, dios Jannik, Jannik. Por favor" the omega moaned, his legs shaking and moving to close up but no, Jannik wouldn't allow it with the iron claw hold he had on him.

"Answer me." He continued, leaving harsh kisses and bites in the back of Carlos legs, right on the edge of his ass and avoiding the place that needed him most.

Carlos didn't even dare to think Jannik cruel. He deserved this after the way he had behaved with Joao and other alphas. He had to make up for it. He had to be good. "Only you, alpha. Yo solo pienso en ti, Jannik. Por favor."

A satisfied smile graced Jannik's face. "Good omega" and then dived in into his favorite place in the world.

And if Carlos was a little too far gone to notice the finger that was slowly breaching his ass, it really wasn't the alpha's fault. Maybe they could try something new during the heat.

[francesminos-tt]

There aren’t enough sincaraz kid fic so here is my contribution.

Carlos was woken up by a loud pounding on his bedroom door. He groaned and tried to bury his head into the pillow to block the noise, but his heavy belly made it impossible to flip over, and the protective arm around him offered no help either.

The pounding came again. This time accompanied by a high-pitched call.

“Papa! Wake up!”

Carlos groaned again. He knew the voice and the tone well, so he gave up fighting and opened his eyes.

“What time is it?” Carlos murmured, half turning his head to look at the man spooning him from behind.

Jannik buried his nose into Carlos’s neck and nuzzled gently, taking in the omega’s scent. Carlos smelled differently when pregnant, his usual warm scent of spice and honey taking a sweeter turn, like a warm cup of spiced milk. Jannik couldn’t help but take a deep inhale, the intoxicating mix of Carlos’s pheromones and the coming baby’s milky scent made his mouth water.

It was total bliss to wake up in their comfortable bed, with Carlos in his arms, and his hand over Carlos’s large belly. If only the pounding and urgent shout could stop.

“Janni,” Carlos slapped Jannnik’s hand on his belly gently to get his attention, “your son is calling for you. Go get him.”

“He’s your son too.” Jannik replied, planting a small kiss on Carlos’s cheek.

“Jannik. Make him stop.” Carlos said with a serious face that Jannik only had seen the same on his own mother when his dad was slouching on the couch.

“Fine.” Jannik sighed and slowly untangled himself from his omega. He slipped off the bed and put on the nearest clothing he could find, a random Nike shirt, to cover his dignity. Jannik didn’t really mind going shirtless in front of his toddler son, but Carlos insisted that he should start growing the habit since their second child would be a girl.

It was impossible to tell if the shirt belonged to him or Carlos. There were too many Nike pieces scattered around in their house that both of them had long given up the attempt to separate their wardrobes. At least they had different high fashion sponsors so they wouldn’t mix up their fine clothes. Jannik yawned and walked to the door, one hand on his hip and the other ruffling his ginger curls.

“Papa! It’s time to practice!”

“It isn’t even 7 yet, Lucas.” Jannik said, faking exasperation, “Charly and I need to sleep.”

A small boy with dark hair and big hazel eyes looked up at Jannik with a huge pout. Lucas Sinner Alcaraz looked like a mini Carlos except for a lighter skin tone and less thick brows. Jannik didn’t see much of himself in the boy, which he didn’t really care. Considering how much he loved Carlos, adding a mini version would only make his love grow.

“But it’s practice day and you promised you would teach me how to serve today.”

Jannik remembered himself when he had first picked up a racket. He couldn’t get enough of tennis, always begging to stay longer on the court. Chasing that yellow ball became his favorite pass-time, and Jannik was sure Carlos had been the same. Their passion made them who they were, and it seemed the boy took after both his parents and doubled on the inheritance.

However, two and seven months still seemed too young to master a powerful serve, even in Jannik’s standard.

“Okay. Go brush your teeth and stop terrorizing us, little man. I will take you to the academy later.”

Lucas nodded frantically and ran to the bathroom, before his papa could change his mind.

Carlos only appeared from the bedroom after Lucas had ran off. He was six months pregnant, now well past his first trimester and nearing the third. He had regained some weight after the morning sickness disappeared, but he had a new obstacle to overcome. His ankle had swelled so much that he had trouble moving around, especially in the morning. Jannik tried to help by massaging his legs every night, but there were still days Jannik had to be away on tour. These days were the hardest, but Carlos managed. He was just glad that Jannik decided to take a break from minor tournaments so he could spend more time with their growing family.

“Academy today?” Carlos asked, kissing Jannik’s stubbled jaw. Jannik was known for always presenting himself clean-shaven and well collected, but Carlos loved this unkempt part of his alpha.

“Seems so. Luke won’t let me get away with this.” Jannik shrugged, wrapping his arm around the pregnant omega, “Were you such a menace back then?”

“I was not. I was an angel.” Carlos pouted, the same as their son, “He must take after you. You seem like the kind of child who bangs on his parents’ bedroom door at 6 in the morning.”

Jannik chucked and decided not to argue with a pregnant Charly.

“Okay. My bad. I hope our daughter takes after you then.”

Carlos laughed and stole another kiss from the alpha.

Lucas was restless during breakfast. He inhaled his oats abd orange juice, before grabbing his racket bag and looking expectantly at his papa.

“Patient, Lucas.” Jannik said as he sprinkled chilly flakes on Carlos’s omelette. Carlos had preferred his breakfast cold and sweet in his first trimester, but now he just wanted eggs, all kinds of eggs with the weirdest combination of flavors. Jannik, a loving alpha he was, changed Carlos’s breakfast menu from fruit parfaits to omelettes and scrambled eggs, and stocked up the spice collection in their cupboard.

“Come here, Luke.” Carlos waved the boy over as he was sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for his customized breakfast eggs from his alpha. He looked spoiled in a good way.

“Don’t be a menace toady, okay? We actually need people to attend the Academy.” Carlos said, tickling the boy’s cute nose, “If Jamie tells me one more time that you scared a kid away, you are grounded until you can control your temper.”

“I didn’t scare anyone away! I just reminded them they were too slow.” Lucas scrunched his nose, brows twisting into a serious frown. He looked a lot like Jannik this way.

Carlos couldn’t help but kiss the boy’s scrunched nose.

“Don’t worry, I will keep an eye on him.” Jannik said as he placed Carlos’s plate down, “you will be okay if I leave for a couple of hours?”

“Go ahead and take this little demon with you.”

“Charly!” Lucas sounded exasperated. Charly was actually the first word the boy had learned, because he heard Jannik calling Carlos that too many times.

“Don’t worry, I still love you, my little demon.” Carlos laughed and kissed the boy’s pout away. Lucas couldn’t be mad at Charly for more than five minutes any way, not to mention Carlos even bribed him with a kiss.

Jannik had made sure Carlos was settled comfortably on the couch and had everything he needed before leaving. When he bent down to kiss his omega goodbye, their kiss lingered longer than Jannik had planned. He was not complaining though.

Jannik had become a constant sight in the Carlos Alcaraz Academy of Tennis since they had Lucas a few years back. He was actually more poplular with kids than Carlos. Jannik was a patient and gentle instructor, always giving good advices and encouraging words. Carlos, on the other hand, was the more strict one. The kids in the Academy loved him and they all cheered when Jannik walked onto the court. Their enthusiasm didn’t even falter at the sight of the little boy trailing behind.

“Okay, we are practicing serve today. Everyone in a line.” Jannik clapped his hands to draw the children’s attention, “We’ll start with correcting each of your form and then we can try with the actual ball.”

The kids all ran towards him, like a group of ducklings following their mother. Jannik let a girl be the first, and he couldn’t help but imagine how he and Carlos’s first girl would look like.

[adayyinthelife]

what if we are in a a/b/o universe and Jannik “I’m on the hunt now” is not solely about tennis but is also a twisted way to warn Carlos that is not his n.1 spot, nor his Roland Garros throne he’s looking for, because it’s him he’s seeking, he wants the boy to be his, wholly, completely. And to get there Jannik has to study Carlos just like Carlos studied Jannik, seclude himself, obsess with him, wake up thinking about him more than he already does, go to bed with his mind full of Carlos, Carlos, Carlos, nothing else will be as important as this, so when they meet again, when he finally has him on the other side of the net, sweet eyes and plump lips – my omega, mine, mine, his mind won’t shut up – he has to grip his racket very strongly in order to not do something brutal, possessive and instead be able to somehow win the match.

And yet that’s not enough.

Jannik knows. Carlos knows too. Probably even the crowd can sense it. The real battle is out of the court, away from prying eyes, where there’s no umpire, no net, no rackets to divide them– Jannik will use his bare hands to get to Carlos if he has too. And so he finds the boy in their enormous locker room, the one they share, just like everything else, as Carlos said, and he has barely time to close the door behind them, barely time to whisper “got you”, before his rival exhales a breathy laugh and starts to run.

That is the hunt Jannik was referring to: Carlos zig-zagging through the room and the alpha hot on his trail, coming an inch away from him just to lose him again and again and they continue like this for quite some time – limbs already screaming from the previous fatigue and big puff of air coming out of their mouths – but in the end Jannik gains the upper hand and blocks him between his body and the wall.

Carlos is the one being trapped, Carlos is the prey and yet both of them are shaking. The Spaniard licks his lips, “you got me”, he whispers and then waits. Jannik feels like biting, biting, biting– mating. He does none of that. “Jannik” Carlos repeats “you got me. I am where you wanted me to be.” And yet Jannik can’t seem to move. In fact he just looks at the boy with wide eyes and mouth parted.

A flash of realization passes through Carlos eyes.

“Jannik” he calls again, voice low, “what would you do if I told you to leave?”. Jannik scent goes terribly sour. “I’d listen to you.”

Carlos ponders for three seconds more, then grins like a mad man, his scent so, so sweet and “good” he says “stay please” before baring his neck to him.

[starrysophie04]

Hope you guys are in the mood for a/b/o sincaraz because I now have 3 one shots in the works 😂

[bezzcaraz]

alpha x alpha bitching sincaraz au …… so many thoughts, so much to think about …………

[purplemcpurplington]

Alpha!Jannik, Omega!Carlos headcannons

> omega carlos who loves to colour in pre heat to take his mind of things so alpha jannik buys lots and lots of colouring books and pens for carlos

> Alpha jannik who gets antsy when carlos' heat comes early cus it hurts carlos :(

> Alpha jannik who holds carlos and rubs his tummy when carlos feels sick

> omega carlos who steals practically every item of clothing jannik own just for his nest

> omega carlos who gets insecure about his big dick so alpha jannik makes sure to praise his baby

> Alpha jannik who has lots of bedroom storage for all of carlos' blankets

> Alpha jannik who buys lots and lots of stuffed animals for his darling boy and gets the extra soft ones for babies because carlos mentioned once sleepily that he loves those the most

> omega carlos who gets overwhelmed easily and jannik who makes sure to find ways to ground his baby

> Alpha jannik who made sure carlos was taken care of during his suspension, giving juan carlos ferrero a big folder on stuff to help carlos

> omega carlos who yearns for a child whenever he sees jannik with children