johnny kavanagh x tennisplayer!reader
Mr. Rugby and Ms. Tennis
Johnny hadn’t even been home a full day before his dad started.
It was the same name over and over, like a broken record—an eighteen-year-old prodigy, unreal footwork, mental game like nothing he’d ever seen. John Kavanagh was practically glowing about her, pacing the kitchen like he’d just discovered gold buried under their back garden. Johnny barely grunted in response, slouched at the counter with a protein shake, jet lag still dragging at his bones.
Edel, on the other hand, was eating it up.
“Oh, for God’s sake, John, give the boy a minute,” she laughed, though she was smiling in that way that meant she wasn’t actually going to stop him. Then her eyes flicked to Johnny, something mischievous sparking there. “She’s eighteen, you’re nineteen. You could at least be friendly. Invite her for dinner.”
Johnny snorted, shaking his head.
“Ma, I just got back. I’m not playing host to some tennis kid Dad’s obsessed with.”
“She’s not just some tennis kid,” John cut in immediately, offended on her behalf like he’d known her his whole life. “She’s different, lad. You’d see it if you bothered.”
Johnny rolled his eyes, grabbing his bag off the chair.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take your word for it.”
He didn’t.
Not really.
He should’ve taken it more seriously.
Because the second she stepped through the front door that evening, everything in him just… stalled.
She wasn’t what he expected.
Not loud, not cocky, not dripping with that usual athlete arrogance he’d seen a thousand times. She was quiet when Edel greeted her, polite, almost shy—but there was something steady underneath it. Something grounded. Like she knew exactly who she was and didn’t need to prove it to anyone.
And she was—Christ.
Johnny forgot how to breathe for a second.
Pretty didn’t even cover it. It was the kind of beauty that caught you off guard, soft but sharp at the same time. Hair pulled back in a loose tie, minimal makeup, dressed simple like she hadn’t even tried—and still, she outshone everything in the room.
“…Johnny?”
He blinked, realizing his mum was looking at him expectantly.
“Yeah—uh, yeah. Hi,” he managed, straightening up fast, suddenly aware of how wrinkled his shirt was. “Johnny.”
“Hi,” she said, offering a small smile.
Her voice was softer than he expected too.
He was done for.
Dinner was torture.
Not because it was awkward—if anything, it flowed too easily—but because Johnny couldn’t get a grip on himself. He found himself leaning forward, hanging onto every word she said, laughing quicker than usual, trying—actually trying—to impress her.
Which wasn’t like him.
Not at all.
“So, England, yeah?” she asked at one point, tilting her head slightly. “U20 training camp?”
“Yeah,” he said, casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Bit intense, but nothing I can’t handle.”
His dad snorted into his drink.
“Nothing he can’t handle,” John repeated under his breath.
Johnny shot him a look, but she just smiled, amused.
“That’s good,” she said. “Pressure gets to a lot of people.”
“Not you though, yeah?” Johnny leaned back, studying her now. “Dad’s been going on about your ‘mental game’ all day.”
She glanced at John briefly, almost embarrassed.
“I just focus on what’s in front of me,” she said simply. “Point by point. It’s not… complicated.”
Johnny huffed a quiet laugh.
Right.
Not complicated.
She was ranked, what—nationally already? At eighteen?
Yeah, not complicated at all.
By the time dessert came, he was losing his mind a little.
She wasn’t trying to impress him.
That was the problem.
She just… existed like that. Calm, confident, quietly brilliant. And the more effortless she was, the more Johnny felt this weird, unfamiliar itch under his skin—like he needed her to notice him.
Properly.
“D’you wanna—” he started suddenly, then paused, clearing his throat. “We’ve got a net out back. If you feel like hitting for a bit.”
His dad’s head snapped up immediately.
“Oh, that’s a great—”
“Relax, Dad,” Johnny cut in, already standing. His eyes were on her. “Only if you want.”
She hesitated for a second.
Then she smiled.
“Yeah. Okay.”
He thought he knew what he was getting into
He didn’t.
Not even close.
The first rally lasted maybe ten seconds before Johnny realized something was very, very wrong.
Her movement was insane.
Light on her feet, precise, controlled—every shot placed with intention, not just power. She wasn’t swinging wildly or trying to overpower him; she was reading him. Anticipating. Adjusting.
And she wasn’t even trying.
“You’re holding back,” he said, breath slightly uneven as he caught the ball mid-bounce.
She shrugged a little, almost sheepish.
“I don’t want to be rude.”
Johnny barked out a laugh.
“Be rude.”
Big mistake.
The next serve came fast.
Like—fast.
He barely got his racket to it, the vibration rattling up his arm as the ball shot off at an angle he wasn’t expecting. She followed it up immediately, stepping into the court, finishing the point before he could recover.
Johnny just stood there for a second.
Then he grinned.
“Alright,” he muttered. “There she is.”
It turned into something else after that.
Not just hitting.
Competing.
Johnny pushed harder, faster, testing her, trying to find a weakness—and every time he thought he had one, she adjusted. Shifted. Beat him there.
And the more she did, the more something in his chest tightened.
Not frustration.
Something worse.
Admiration.
Obsession, maybe.
“Jesus,” he breathed at one point, hands on his hips, watching her bounce lightly on her toes across from him. “You’re unreal.”
She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair back.
“You’re not bad yourself.”
“Not bad?” he repeated, mock offended.
Her eyes sparkled a little.
“Okay,” she corrected. “You’re good.”
He stepped closer to the net, resting his arms on it, still catching his breath.
“Good enough to keep up with you?”
She met his gaze, something playful slipping in now.
“For a bit.”
Johnny laughed again, shaking his head.
Yeah.
He was done.
Completely.
Later, when they went back inside, Edel was watching them both with that knowing look.
John lookeg smug as hell.
Johnny didn’t care.
Because now, sitting across from her again, flushed from the game, hair a little messy, eyes brighter than before—he got it.
All of it.
Why his dad wouldn’t shut up about her.
Why she stood out.
Why she mattered.
And more importantly—
Why he suddenly didn’t want her leaving.
“So,” he said, leaning forward slightly, unable to stop himself this time. “You, uh… you busy tomorrow?”
She looked up at him, surprised.
Then she smiled.
And yeah—
That was it for him.
a/n: i dont see any BOT fics on here and its killing me😔. is this a sign this is gonna flop
tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @lcversvoid @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @cokewithcameron @drewrry @harubunnyy @lifeonawhim @usseraloo @tottassss @nessasmultiverseoflove @camerxnlove @mochibunnyyyy @starkeysfile @rosiecherie @dainted @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @angelicameron @p34rlzzz @maximumstructurearchivist
