You’re fire and ice, right?

track 1: london sinner’s girl request open :)

[zweiism]

‧₊˚🧺 ₊˚ The fool looks at a finger that points at the sky

cherry lipgloss. jannik sinner. summer nights. ೀ⊹˚.

⋆✴︎˚。⋆ @ zweiism ౨ৎ ivy 𐚁

nineteen movies she / her challengers ; loud music viet sincaraz finals aries cherries & orchestra covers ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

masterlist ✧ letterboxd ✧ pinterest

[zweiism]

hii! i was wondering if you accept request for other tennis players beyond jannik?

hi hi!! sorry i got to this late, i havent been as active on tumblr as id like but yes i take any requests for any tennis players!!

currently working on a couple of requests that were long overdue soo… leave requests for me to keep myself busy🤪

[zweiism]

hi, loved your latest fic but there's something that confuses me about it. you stress that reader put out multiple audition tapes but then say she's an oscar winner, if she's won the biggest acting award there is then she wouldn't have to audition that much because she's probably getting roles offered to her, even if she's not a lot of directors would jump at the chance to have an oscar winner in their film so she wouldn't have any trouble unless she's difficult to work with. she later states that the role in challengers is career changing but how can it be career changing if she's already an oscar winner? maybe if she'd been in a string of movies that bombed and was looking for a career revival it'd make sense but as it is it's just baffling. also the kinds of roles that people win oscars for are already the kinds of roles that require a lot of time and dedication so i don't understand why she's complaining about the effort that tennis takes. also the way the actual irl leads in challengers played tennis was atrocious so i doubt it would matter if she couldn't play tennis to save her life lol.

hi anon! thank you for taking the time to write this :) i can happily answer!

1.) i get that an oscar winner probably isnt flooding directors inboxes with audition tapes, but many actors still audition and go for roles out of their comfort zone! and thats what i wanted with my character. in this fic its less of ‘she needs the job’ and more ‘this role changes how people see her’

2.) the ‘career changing’ part isnt about her rise in fame, its more about shifting her image as ive said! shes trying out a new genre, just cause she won an oscar doesn’t make her immune to wanting growth. also she was literally champagne drunk too so i just made her spew whatever tbh

3.) and lastly, its a fan fic lol! yes the tennis part is exaggerated but its all for the fun and sake of the story, and honestly if its not to your liking then i dont know what to say, i write for fun and i just tried my best to fit the requests of the asker; its all fictional, and i dont really have the time to aim for historical accuracy lol

and also everyone knows challengers was about everything and anything BUT tennis

but thank you for the criticism anon! ill try to make things more clear and consistent next time

[zweiism]

hi! i love your writing!! i would love jannik x famous!reader. maybe reader is cast in challengers and has to work on her tennis and meets jannik via his coach. they became friends quickly and then lovers! they support each other. jannik goes to award shows and reader goes to his matches. maybe reader is there when jannik wins a major. no pressure at all to write just a thought i had! again love your writing!!

aghhh thank you for this anon!!! challengers and jannik oh hell yes…

Love, all ; J.S

summary : when you book a dream acting role, you realized there was just one slight problem—you can't play tennis to save your life. what happens when slightly drunk you, makes a rash decision and tell a stranger—a really handsome stranger—about your dilemma? pairing : fem!reader x jannik sinner warnings : none !

you got the call on a rainy monday.

the day had began with massive grey clouds that covered your whole area in the city. it didn't make it any better than you agent has yet to call you back about your most recent casting tape submissions. submissions, plural.

here you are, sitting on the bed, patiently waiting, in a shirt two sizes too big and shorts two sizes too small.

you had contemplated cleaning your room, getting rid of the pile of clothes that sat on your chair. or getting out of bed in general.

the phone suddenly rang.

you instinctively picked up and answered. eagerly waiting for the best news of your life, or the worst, you always made sure to be open minded.

"hello?" you said immediately.

"great news! you got it!!!" your agent sang out.

"Great! awesome! which one, exactly?

"the tennis one, the lead role? it's yours!"

you blinked. completely forgetting the website mentioned needing someone experienced in the tennis world.

after a second of silence, your agent spoke up. "i wouldn't worry too much! i'm sure it would be fine."

you paused, sitting frozen for a moment.

"i don't know how to play tennis."

"you got three months to figure that part out, don't overthink!"

before you could speak up to voice your nervousness, your agent quickly sang out "bye!" and hung up the call.

dropping the phone to the far edges of your bed. you let out a long sigh. a part of you almost wanted to scream into a pillow.

the thing is, you love acting. you love portraying characters, meeting new friends, and seeing yourself on a screen. But tennis? tennis is supposed to take time, and dedication. how were you—an oscar winning actress—going to do something that seemed impossible in the span of three months?

it's not even really the tennis that scared you. it was the fact that your character wasn't just good at tennis, she was a prodigy. 'electric on and off the court' as the website described.

too much thinking leads up to more thinking. in the span of 8 minutes, you went from : hearing the best news of your life, to screaming into your pillow.

guess that part of you won.

the dinner was slightly too loud and crowded for your taste.

as an ambassador for gucci, it was bound for you to get invited to a small get together, to celebrate god-knows-who.

your agent reached out to you last minute about it, it took 30 minutes of scrambling in your closet to find the right dress, and another 30 to find a pair of matching shoes. not to mention the other 30 for you to do your hair and makeup.

timing was never really your friend.

as you arrived at the restaurant, your nerves were jumping on one another.

quickly calmed as you saw a tiny paper tent that read "unlimited drinks."

it didn't take long for you to take advantage of it.

an hour into the dinner. everyone around you had been accompanied by someone else. a fellow actress, a fellow model, etcetera. you on the other hand, by champagne glasses and the breeze on the balcony.

the quiet and peacefulness of the wind and cars below made you forget all about the tennis dilemma.

until of course, interrupted by foot steps behind you.

"pretty lonely out here, no?" the voice behind you rang out.

with a deep breath, you turned your body around to meet eyes with a very tall, handsome stranger.

"lonely is all i can ever be in this world." you let the champagne take over.

"harsh. you don't want to step inside, and maybe be lonely with jazz in the background?' he joked.

you let out a laugh, slightly amused by him.

"quite the charmer you are."

"charming is all i can ever be, in this world."

touché.

"what are you thinking about?" he questioned.

"long story—not really actually, but i just booked a dream role of mines. career changing, dream-project, that kind of thing. it's a lead in this movie called challengers, by luca guadagnino—he's a genius. it's intense, its messy in a way, romantic too." you took a deep breath before continuing the rant, noticing how hard the stranger is listening in. "im playing this girl, who's just very lovely. she's fun and also a really good tennis player. "

another pause, then a quick ship of your cup.

"i got the call, i was over the moon. and then? panic set in. like, fuck, i've never played a game of tennis before, and i swore i almost broke my wrist the other day playing ping-pong. i can't play tennis. and i'm not even joking. the racquet has something against me."

one more quick sip.

"i swear, after filming this, any tennis racquet i see? ill smash it into pieces. i mean that."

that earned a slight laugh from him.

"sorry," you said, mid rant, waving your hand, "i don't even know why im telling you all of this."

the stranger smiled—gentle, crooked, and slightly amused. "no, go on."

"it's just—" you took yet another dramatic sip. "i genuinely can't hit a ball without it, going to the moon, or something. either that, or the fence gets it. or! it injures someone!"

he laughed, low and warm. "it's not that hard, i would say."

you squinted at him. "not that hard? do you play?"

he tilted his head, making a little thinking face. "a little."

you groaned. "great. i'm venting my problems to roger federer's cousin, or something."

he laughed even harder. you furrowed your eyebrows, trying to figure out what's funny about you losing your mind.

"okay, well. anyway. i just wished someone would fix me, you know? maybe make me look not like a baby deer on the court?" you said, dramatically.

"maybe someone will." he said, smiling into his cup as he took a sip.

you raised your cup. "to not losing the role—hopefully—and portraying my character correctly."

he clicked his glass to yours. "to that."

Your first official tennis practice.

you arrive on court—slightly hungover—in a white tennis dress with your hair in a loose braid.

your agent greets you from a bench. "hope you bought water."

"hope you have a backup actor." you replied, adjusting your sunglasses. "maybe some snacks too."

"i have something, even better."

"unless it's a notice that they're doing soccer instead of tennis, i don't wanna hear it."

your agent chuckled.

"well. we got a player to come in and helped on. some real action, he was pretty happy to do it, or at least that's how the email sounded. anyway, real technique. you'll be fine."

that made you calm down a bit. slight relief is shown on your face.

"so, who is it?" you questioned, eager to know.

"sinner." your agent said, like you should know who he is. "jannik sinner."

you frown. "okay, yea. whoever that is. is there a saint too or—"

before you could finish the joke, a familiar melody of foot steps came about behind you.

he walks towards you.

white shirt, some shorts, and racquet in hand.

you freeze.

he's smiling.

"no." you say, shaking your head. "you're jannik sinner!?"

he's laughing, adjusting his hat. "yea, sorry to disappoint."

your agent gets up to shake his hand. "thank you mister sinner, truly an honor. i've gotta get somewhere so you guys," signaling and turning her hand back and forth between the two of you, "get acquainted."

and off she goes. doing god knows what.

you sprint up to jannik, closing the space. "i can NOT believe you let me tell you all of that! you let me tell you i looked like a baby deer on a court! i literally called you federer's cousin!" you were always a fast talker.

"well," he says, laughing. "i didn't have the heart to admit it."

you groan and drop your face into your hands. "i can never show my face again."

he nudges your arm, and hands you a racquet. "sure you can. just show me how much of a 'baby deer' you look like on the court, for now."

this was gonna be a long practice.

it starts at training.

he's good. like, actually really good at teaching. he never makes you feel small, even when you miss a shot five times in a row. he's patient and funny, smug sometimes too. he corrects your grip, but you're pretty sure he just likes making you flustered. especially when his hands gently rest on yours for a second when he's adjusting your wrists.

you try to act cool and calm when he adjusts your stance. his hands light on your waist.

it became a routine after that.

jannik wasn't technically your coach, but he always lingered whenever you were on court practicing. working with his team in the off season, watching you on the court. sometimes stepping in to adjust your stance, your grip, or your knees before you serve.

you were used to celebrities, co-stars, models, and writers. But jannik? he was, different. a little awkward, yes. but warm, and focused. funny in a sahara desert dry way. like everything he said could be either serious or sarcastic. you never knew.

jannik had never pretended like you were doing great when you weren't, he was honest on and off the court. he noticed what area you needed to fix and points it out.

"you're not half bad." he said, one afternoon, joining you on the bench and giving you some cold water.

you narrowed your eyes. "are you coaching or trying to flirt?"

he shrugged. "maybe both?"

the night of your first premiere for the film, you invite jannik.

he shows up in a navy suit.

a part of you wondered if he picked that color because he liked it, or if he picked that color because you sent a picture of yourself an hour before the premier.

"looking good, sinner." you whisper, posing for a picture.

"so do you," he replied, "bellissima"

"you're definitely telling me what that means later."

he turned his head to smile at you, then shrugged.

'i'll have to see about that one"

"whatever. thanks for coming," you said, "this is chaos."

"you handle things like a pro, no?"

"okay, i almost tripped on my dress getting out the car."

"i did not notice."

"you were watching?"

his lips quirked, just a little. "always."

a beat of silence. the noise around you blurred—paparazzi yelling, co-stars arriving, flashes still popping—but none of it mattered.

then finally, you leaned into his neck.

"i'm really glad you're here." you whispered.

his voice low and warm, "i wouldn't miss it for the world."

his hand resting on your waist.

before the conversation could drift farther, your agent called out your name, waiving you towards an interviewer.

you turned to go, but before you did, you looked over your shoulder and said with a grin. "don't leave before the after party."

and he, without missing a beat, replied, "only if you save me a dance.'

your cheeks flushed under the lights, your face carrying a shy smile. not from the attention, not from the crows, but from one very tall tennis player with dry humor and a better smile than anyone should be allowed to have.

you fly in for the australian open final. even though you were meant to be on set.

there was a screen mounted high on the tunnel wall, broadcasting the pre-match coverage.

he sees you on the screen from the tunnel.

seated somewhere in the crowd, laughing at something someone said off-camera. the camera caught you by surprised, catching you mid reaction, and when you saw yourself on the big screen, you tilted your head down, looking smug.

to show off the cap you were wearing.

a cream-white hat with janniks logo.

the moment was brief. barely a second. it felt like a lifetime to him.

you hadn't told him that you would wear it. you didn't say anything when he jokingly gave it to you at practice two nights ago, saying "maybe it'll bring me luck."

and now here you were—in his hat, in his crowd, at his game—quietly being his in a way no cameras would understand.

his breath hitched, just slightly. his grip on a ball loosened.

his coach glanced at him. "all good?"

jannik blinked, nodded. "yea. better than good."

then, he stepped out onto the crowd. the crowd roars in response, cheering him on. but his mind was still on the screen, on your smile, on that little tilt of your head.

on the fact that you claimed him, quietly, without asking.

and maybe he wanted to do the same to you—just not quietly at all.

when the final point came—a long rally that ended with him smashing a forehand down the line—the noise didn't hit him right away. not the roar, not even the commentators screaming his name.

because all he saw was you.

the screen caught you again, this time mid-celebration. hands to your mouth, hat nearly falling off as you jump up and down. your smile wide and eyes just a bit watery.

before his brain could catch up, his body was already moving.

he didn't wait for the umpire to come down, he didn't wait for a wave, didn't even acknowledge the match point replay on the screen.

he ran.

over the court, and into the stands—ignoring the cameraman trying to keep up with him. the crowd had blurred into the background for him, and all he could see was you.

when he reached you—breathless, still in the rush of adrenaline and disbelief—he jumped. not just up, but into the barrier, hauling himself over the railing in one smooth, wilde movement like he couldn't stand being seperated one meter more.

you barely had time to react before his arms were around you, before his mouth crashed onto yours.

it was a mess of a kiss—full of sweat and salt and everything unspoken and built up between the two of your for months. the stadium exploded even louder around you.

by janniks sudden kiss, you hat had toppled behind you, jannik catches it with his free hand mid kiss.

you gripped the collar of his shirt, burying your head into his neck when you finally broke apart.

"you're such a show off" you whispered, laughing along the way

"you wore the hat." he breathed, forehead resting against yours.

you pulled back slightly, turning your head to look up at him. "does this mean we stop pretending?"

he smiled—dazed and soft. "i just won a grand slam. i think im allowed to kiss my girlfriend."

you blinked and chuckled. "girlfriend?"

he plants a soft kiss, "yes, girlfriend." he murmured, rolling his eyes.

you laughed—grinning into his kiss—the cameras caught it all.

by the time he was handed the trophy, jannik sinner had became a grand slam champion.

and by the time the press conference rolled around, the internet had already decided.

the win was everything.

but the reveal of you and jannik was so much better.

© made by zweiism

authors note! this request is a little late cause ive been so busy sorry guys💔 hopefully this matched whatever idea you had in mind anon! sorry if its bad…. literally me🤝making jannik say ‘no?’ after asking a question!!! to note the whole melbourne part i wrote with dear god by tate mcrae on repeat in the background. thank you for reading this! hope you enjoyed :)) AND SEND REQUESTS PLEASE SO I CAN BURRY MYSELF IN WRITING BEFORE I GO BACK TO SCHOOL! and thank you for 100 too ;)

[zweiism]

hiiiii im the anon with the request for double trouble and let me say: i absolutely LOVED it omg thank you so much i feel like you‘ve read my mind!!!! and i loved the social media part :) it fit really nice into the story. keep up the good work this was literally a masterpiece <3

everyone applaud double trouble anon🙌 teehee thank you for the love on the social media part! i really struggled with it soo its awesome to hear you liked it & it fits what you had in mind! :)) i have alot of requests in my inbox now so ill get those fics out as soon as i cannn

thank you you guys for being patientt😇

[zweiism]

omg!! love your fics. also a fellow challengers and jannik sinner girlie??? we love to see it!! please keep writing you're really good at it <3

aghhh thank you anon! and yes i literally LOVE challengers and now jannik too teehee its the best combo🤤 i have a couple requests in the inbox so more fics soon :))

[zweiism]

Hello, I loved the picture in the bush so much! and I just read that your requests are open and no pressure but the US Open doubles pairing of Jannik and Emma sparked up a thought:

Maybe reader and Jannik have been selected to play together for the US Open Doubles and they have been amicable to each other for some time. They also always speak really highly of each other and support each other ( as friends ofc 😏) to the media and so everyone is really excited to see these two together maybe even some harmless shipping from the media?? and both try to ignore these (very true) comments from the media and focus on their tournament.. Buuuut over the course of their training they just cant hide their feelings for each other aaaand……. i‘ll stop now sorry for rambling

oh anon you're such an angel thank you for this request

Double trouble ; J.S

summary : what happens when you—top tennis player Y/N L/N, tennis's sweetheart—get paired up with italian iceman, jannik sinner, for the U.S open mixed doubles tournament? well the tennis world was about to find out. pairing : fem!reader x jannik sinner warnings : none !

It all began with an announcement. an unexpected headline that shocked tennis fans and players around the world.

"italian iceman, jannik sinner, reportedly PAIRED UP with tennis's sweetheart [Your name] for the U.S open mixed doubles tournament! could it be written in the stars? or turn out like Stefanos Tsitsipas and Paula Badosa? fans wonder. Swipe to read more!"

the article racked up over hundreds of thousands of views in under 2 hours. By the end of the day, it seemed as if every sports outlet had picked it up—from ESPN to even F1 gossip accounts (??) the internet and comments about it were ruthless.

@/tennisgossipofficial: pairing up TWO wimbledon champions together. whoever did this needs a raise.

@/ynlnfan81: already know my queen is gonna carry

@/tennisnews: i can smell the slowburn

@/janniksinnerloverr: the shade towards stefanos im dead

@/tennisdaily: medvedev must've wrote that last part cause what

you were in the middle of a pre-practice stretch, when your phone rang.

before you could start the call with a greeting, your best friend howled. "How could you have NOT told me about this?!" her tone in absolute shambles and confusion.

you stood there, holding the phone, just as confused as she is.

"what are you talking about? did something happen?" you replied, trying to remain a neutral tone.

a gasp could be heard on the other side of the phone. "you don't know?! don't tell me you don't know."

"okay sorry to disappoint, but i don't. i don't know."

she read the headline out to you.

it made you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. it makes you laugh at the shade towards stefanos and paula.

and just in time for it all. here comes your coach, and—your manager?

your coach began opening his mouth.

"listen. i know we didn't tell you, i know its last minute, but—"

judging from the shock on your face, your coach had gathered the information that you know exactly what he's gonna say.

before you could argue against him, what seemed like a yelp and multiples 'sorry" left his mouth.

"we thought you could use the tournament toward your ranking! and if you think about it, jannik is the perfect partner for you. okay? just please listen to us."

well. you have no choice but to accept it.

"fine. okay? just no matching kits. or anything of that sort."

"well—" he began

unbelievable.

the practice court was quieter than you expected. Tucked behind one of the larger stadiums, mostly empty except for some social media admins, other players, and some devoted fans.

you were chatting about strategy with your coach to calm yourself.

it wasn't the nerves that shook you up.

but you definitely couldn't say it was a prime factor in your nervousness.

you glanced at your phone. then the gate.

"ciao."

you turned—and there he was.

Jannik Sinner, curls tousled and messy from the wind, racquet bag slung over one shoulder, no smiles—yet, at least— walking towards you.

"Hi." you said. short, simple, effective.

he gives a small nod and—oh there's the smile okay— eyes scanning the court before landing on you again. "you ready to play?"

"ready as i'll ever be."

the first practice feels like something out of a rom-com.

you started with short-court drills. easy, clean, efficient.

you and jannik are weirdly in-sync. communication not so perfect, but it didn't need to be. the glances, the little nods, the shared smiles and smirks when a point goes perfectly. it all worked so well.

the first few rallies passed with barely a word. then he finally spoke.

"you're quick." he said.

you glanced up, "you're taller in person."

that earned a faint smirk from him. and after that. things loosened. you moved through the warm-up with ease.

at one point, jannik tries to call a lob yours, but you don't hear it.

so you both end up chasing it.

you collide. Not hard—just close. a little too close.

he reached out his hands to steady you by your waist. it made you freeze up for a second.

"well, i guess we'll have to work on our spacing, no?" shaking your head and letting out a breathless laugh.

a boyish laugh escaped Jannik's mouth. "guess so." hands reaching out to fix a couple loose strands in your ponytail. "one more time?"

you huffed, "sure. one more."

fans caught on immediately.

a blurry 15 second video of you and jannik after the collision, and the hair fix afterward reached the internet. fans quickly jumped into conclusions and theories.

@/sinnerloves: wait why do they look so good together?? just me??

@/y/nserves: someone make a 5k worded fan fiction about the hair fix NOW.

@/tennisnews: i've seen enough give them the trophy

@/tennisgossipofficial: id pay for a documentary, @/netflix step up

@/ynlnaced: god if you can hear us please [Your name] and Jannik versus Carlos and Emma final pleasee

the internet was ruthless with the ship comments. and you had no idea that that was only the beginning.

media day was other wordly.

you're sat on a stool, black hoodie with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of nike shorts. jannik is in a similar placement a couple courts away.

the journalist tosses you a unexpectedly very straightforward question.

"some fans online are already shipping you and your mixed doubles partner, jannik sinner, any thoughts, confirmations, or denying of the rumours?"

you blinked, mouth agape. "well, i didn't know that was a thing."

the journalist laughs and pulls out some printed tweets about you two. your eyebrows raised, followed by a slight laugh, followed by your hands reaching out to grab said tweets.

the keywords of the tweets consisted of 'tennis soulmates!' and 'slow-burn excellence'

you groan into your hands.

"well, jannik is someone i can admire," you said, quickly turning your head and shooting out "on court. of course."

other journalists surrounding you let out murmurs of 'right' and 'sure'

"i've always admire jannik's game, from across the net. to be on the same side as him is very steadying. i trust him a lot out there already, and that was the first practice, so i'm confident in our abilities to win the tournament. or make it very far."

another reporter chimes in. "seems like there's good energy between the two of you. did that surprise you in any way?"

you shrug slightly. "it's not very forced i would say. jannik is very easy to read—in a good way. i think we work very well together. honestly, i'm excited."

that's all you gave them. but the tone says more than the words.

across the grounds, jannik is also surrounded by eager journalists and reporters.

everyone knows he's not someone who enjoys long answers, but when they ask about you? his whole posture shifts.

"so jannik, the first practice with [Your Name]," a journalist says, voice light. "how was it?"

jannik leans forward a little. his accent makes his words sound calm, deliberate, filled with purpose.

"she's intense, i would say." he says first. "in the best way. she's very focused on the court. which is something i admire. she doesn't waste time.

there's a slight pause before he speaks up again.

"she's very fast. and a quick adapter, i noticed it right away." he's quiet once more, then adds, "i feel very lucky to have someone like her as my partner."

the press leans into it. one of them smiles.

"high praise, it sounds like you are very impressed."

jannik nods, slowly. "i am."

a clip from the two interviews makes its way onto twitter within minutes.

the clip of jannik saying "she's very fast. and a quick adapter, i noticed it right away."

the clip of you going "i think we work very well together. honestly, im excited."

the internet melts down in awe.

@/ynlnlover: he sounds SO sincere about her i'm going to cry.

@/forzajann1: they're not even denying the rumors im sick

@/tennisgossipofficial: hopefully its not stefanos and paula 2.0

@/sinnerloves: [Your Name] smiling as soon as a question is about jannik. WHO is she fooling

on the walk back from media. you bumped into jannik.

you fall into step with him, both heading out to the court for a second practice. it wasn't planned, your coach had said that the next practice wouldn't be for another couple days. but you and jannik read others mind.

"that was nice." you broke the silence. trying to conceal the fact that you rewatch the clips three times already.

jannik hummed in response. "what was?"

"media liked you today, you sure do have a way with your words."

he shrugs. "i just told them the truth."

you nudge his arms. "you didn't have to say you're lucky."

he laughed, "i meant it."

you're a little shocked on how casual he is about this. it nearly makes you trip on your foot.

he glances down at you, slightly amused. "what?"

sucking in your bottom lip, you managed to say, "nothing."

"you said some nice things too, no?"

you chuckle at him raising your hand to attempt to argue back. your fingers brush in the motion.

neither of you had the heart to acknowledge it.

and before either of you noticed, you were already at the courts.

the sun was still beaming high in the afternoon.

the court was much quieter and much less crowded than usual. most of media had cleared out, just the two of you and the rhythm of balls echoing between the court and tennis racket strings.

match by match. something changed.

not publicly. not in interviews or post-match debriefs.

it changed in small things.

in the way he started waiting for you before walking on court. how you stopped checking if you lost something because jannik had everything in control, how your hand stayed in his for a couple seconds too long after a high five.

it was all unspoken. until the semi final.

when you won the third set tiebreak, you didn't even think—you just turned and ran straight to him, arms around his neck before you could stop yourself.

jannik picked you up in one slow motion, then a tiny little spin. held you tight, then stepped back slowly

the crowd was still cheering, but for a second, the only sound you could hear was jannik's laugh.

the camera replayed the hug and spin in slow-motion on the screen.

the lights at the stadium felt brighter at the final.

you stood shoulder to shoulder with jannik behind the baseline, ball in hand, the racquet loose in your grip. sweat sliding down your spin beneath the matching navy blue kit. the crowd chatter and claps.

it was you and jannik, versus emma raducanu and carlos alcaraz.

you start fast and sharp, but they start explosive and calculated.

carlos is everywhere. emma's returns are other wordly. you and jannik fell behind. he nets his routine backhand, and within 40 minutes, the set is gone: 6-3.

you sat beside jannik during the changeover, chest heaving, mind heavy, and sweat dripping from your jaw.

he's staring straight ahead, calm as ever. but you can notice how fast he's tapping his left leg.

"you okay?" you asked.

he glances at you. "i don't like, losing."

a quiet pause.

"then lets change that.

second set.

it's yours from the start. you step into every return, take the net early. jannik is focused—pushing alcaraz on his forehands, sneaking backhands past emma like he had always meant to.

but it's not just the tennis.

it's you two.—the way you move, cover, sync, without needing to speak.

this set went by quicker than the last. 6-4, you and jannik won the set.

the final set is pure chaos.

each point is slightly messier than the last. emma struggles with the coverage, carlos dives for volleys, you're scrambling, and jannik is flying.

tie break. 6-6. tiebreak to 10.

you've never heard the stadium so loud. the whole crowd sits on your shoulders.

you take a deep breath before stepping up to serve. 6-5 . jannik walks up behind you, just close enough for his voice to reach you.

"whatever happens, this has been my favorite part of the tournament."

you turn slightly. "the match?"

he meets your eyes. "you."

your heart stumbled.

then you serve.

ace. 7-5

two points later, its 9-8. championship point.

carlos serves. jannik returns. emma picks it up on the half-volley.

the ball floats high—not deep enough.

you charge at the net, tightening your grip, the stadium on its feet.

and it's one final swing, you put the volley away clean.

the stadium erupts. 10-8, you win.

you freeze, then you turn.

jannik is already looking at you—like he knew it would end this way.

he walks to you slowly first, then jog.

and then you're in his arms, pressed against his chest. hands cradling the back of your neck. you're shaking with adrenaline, heart pounding.

"we did it" you breathe.

he pulls back slightly, eyes scanning yours.

"we really did."

in the heat of the moment—without thinking—you pull him by the curls to give him a kiss.

its soft, quick—but sends the stadium wild. and when you pull away, laughing in disbelief, he's smiling like he's never smiled on court before.

you lace your fingers through his, and for the first time, you don't mind the cameras.

the trophy ceremony was less serious than the match.

carlos and emma are giggling and laughing besides you, towels draped over their shoulders, clapping as you both lift the trophy.

carlos walks up to the mic for his speech, emma follows behind.

"well, i wanna start off by saying—nice kiss, by the way—" turning his body and unraveling his hands to jannik.

jannik lets out a breathless laugh. "thank you carlos. i've been waiting."

you laugh so hard you nearly drop the trophy.

when it was your turn, you kept the speech honest and brief.

"we came here to compete," you began, "but somewhere along the way, we just clicked—on and off the court—"

"i've always trusted her game," jannik adds. "i guess i trust her with other things too, now.”

© made by zweiism

authors note ! my first time doing a request! im sorry if it didnt fit whatever idea you had in mind anon😭 thank you for the request!!! the tennis part is so bad cause i trult have no idea how to comment on tennis plays💔 thank you for reading if you made it this far teeheeeee!! the hardest part of the fic was coming up with the username for the internet… truly lost my mind trying to be creative. felt so evil with the stefanos and paula comments…. first time doing anything w/ social media/comments so sorry if its baddd

[zweiism]

hello!!! I litterally JUST found your account and i am already OBSESSED !! your theme is so cute oh my word <3 I just recently got back into tennis (mostly bc of Jannik 🙂‍↕️)!

I LOVED your writing and I am so excited for more :)

youre too kind!! thank you so much haha i haven’t written for a while sooo its good to hear you like my fics 😊😊 i recently got back into tennis too so we’re the same…big changes from challengers to real tennis (because of jannik too… sincaraz roland garros final💔)

thank you for the message teehee ill be sure to write muchhh more jannik fics soon

thanks for the love on my theme too… i almost went crazy making it…

[zweiism]

omg hii!! i just fell in love with the way you write;) i hope you can continue writing for Jannik, it's incredible eeeverything you do💌🥹💛🫰🏻

teeheee this means so much! thank you anon youre so sweet😊!! i’ll definitely write more for jannik in the future so i hope you’ll enjoy those too!

[zweiism]

the picture in the bush ; J.S

summary : when you find a mysterious photo at the park, you keep it without knowing why. you never expected a simple photo that you tucked away and forgot about would have such a lasting effect on your life. pairing : fem!reader x jannik sinner warnings : none this is the fluffiest of fluff

you were 9 when it happened.

it was a warm afternoon in san candido, italy. While the late spring sun made everything in its path golden, you were busy playing tag with the other kids. your sneakers had dirt all over them, your shirt stained with some sort of juice you had a couple hours before.

you didn't mean to find the picture at all. you could hear the kid that was 'it' running towards you, and in your hurry, you stumble, chasing into a cluster of trees not too far for you to be in danger, but tall enough to cover your frame. all in one breath of something that consisted of a giggle and a inhale, you saw it.

half tucked beneath a bush, there it was—waiting to be found : a photo.

it had clearly been lost. A little wrinkled at the edges, rough from time but soft enough from the rain of yesterday. But the image was clear : a young boy with bright red hair, shirt slightly too big, holding a tennis racket almost as tall as him, and smiling like he'd just done something amazing. There were specks of what you suspected was either dirt of clay on his knees, like he had fallen before the photograph, or won whatever he was doing.

you stared at the picture in your hands. you didn't know why you looked at the picture for so long, maybe it was the grin, maybe it was the eyes, or his crazy red hair that was longer than your own at the time. You didn't know him, but something in your stomach felt warm.

warm enough for you to slip the picture in your pocket and tell nobody about it. You didn't think too much of it, only that it was a secret little treasure.

At first, you'd take it out sometimes at night. When the house was quiet, and the loudest thing was you carefully unfolding the picture, just to look at it.

then, years passed. The photo lived in a keepsake box, then on the cover on your wallet, then on the side pocket of your carry-on bag, and by then, the photo was worn soft at the edges, colors a bit faded, paper thinner.

Until you forgot about it, the way people forget lyrics of a song they once played on repeat.

You met jannik when you were in your early 20's. long after the photo had lost its place in your mind.

An ordinary afternoon at a coffee shop near your apartment. The barista had messed up your order, and you were too tired to argue, so you turned around with a sigh—and bumped into someone?

"Sorry," he said without hesitation, voice carrying a distinct italian accent.

you looked up

tall. red curly hair. kind hazel eyes. His large hand immediately steadying your side, helping you regain composure; while the other hand carried two identical cups.

your expression flickered as you saw the cups in his hands. "wait—is that—" you tried to get the sentence out, but the italian must've already connected the dots, cutting you off with a 'ah—' then handing you one of the cups.

"are you sure this is mines?" you questioned.

"hmm, not sure actually. i think she panicked." he replied, gesturing his hands towards the same barista who had messed up your order.

god, he was so italian

"if it's not yours, you can take it anyway, i don't like caramel." the italian jokes, letting out a boyish laugh along the way.

you politely laughed back, surprised. "then why did you order it?"

"i didn't. i ordered something boring," he said, holding up his cup, "like me, no?"

you raised an eyebrow. "you don't seem boring."

he gave a small shrug. "i would give it time."

you laughed, a soft giggle escaping.

he shyly smiled, happy that his joke landed well, swaying so gentle.

you had realized that you were standing in front of him, holding your drink, not moving.

"well, uhm, thanks for 'rescuing' me," you managed to say.

"hm, well, it was not that dramatic i would say."

"no, really, i would've cried just now."

"then i'm glad i was here." he replied quietly.

there was a pause. A strange, light silence. before you could nod and go on about your day, he held out his hands.

"jannik," he offered. then, in a playful tune, "and you?"

you told him your name. he repeated it softly, like he was trying it on. neither of you knew what had just started.

you didn't plan to see him again.

it was supposed to be a passing moment, you thought—one of those odd, warm moments life throws your way, then takes it back before you even realize. But the universe, apparently, had other plans in mind.

a week after the interaction, you had walked into that same café after work, craving coffee, a sweet treat, and maybe a little peace. when you spot him. sitting in the corner, hood pulled up, reading and scrolling on something on his phone.

he looks up right as you spot him.

you waved, instinctively. he gave you a quiet smile—surprised, but not startled— and raised his cup like a toast.

you had told yourself to not read into it, but your stomach did a somersault, and something in your chest fluttered anyway.

you got your drink, hesitated for a half second, then sat across from him.

"still drinking boring things?" you questioned.

he grinned at you, in a oh-so-familiar way, but you couldn't place your fingers on it.

"americano. no sugar. wanted a change from the cappucino today."

you snorted. "jesus. and i thought the caramel thing was bad. this is just another level of unusual."

"unusual," he intervened, "but effective." raises his cup, and does a terrible attempt at a wink so bad it makes you laugh and shake your head.

jannik was warm and easy to talk to. funny, in a questionable way. The kind of funny where if you weren't paying attention, you would miss the joke. He asked thoughtful questions, really listened to the answers, and carefully state his understanding of your answer. His voice was slow, deliberate; he was careful with his words, sometimes forgetting what the english word for something was, leading to you guys trying to figure it out for 5 minutes.

you didn't know much about him, not yet. just that he was from northern italy. that he was often tired. that he seemed a little older than you, but not in years—rather in experience. Like life had tried to toughen him and knock him down in one breath, but hasn't quite succeeded.

you started bumping into each other on purpose after that.

coffee once turned into coffee again. then coffee and a walk. then coffee and hours in the corner of the café talking about everything and nothing. you learned he traveled a lot. you learned he played tennis, but he brushed it off as something unimportant. you only found out he was Jannik Sinner—capital letters, tennis star—when you accidentally saw his face on the back of someones ESQUIRE magazine on the train.

when you asked him about it. he seemed embarrassed.

"i didn't want that to be the first thing you know about me."

"well, it wasn't," you had replied, smiling. "the first thing i knew about you is that you don't like caramel."

he grinned, soft and crooked. "still true."

you fell for him quietly.

it was a slow kind of love—the kind that builds in conversation between plane rides, ‘i made it’ text from the hotel rooms, in quiet diners where he leaned in to hear you better. you had learned quickly that he wasn’t what people made him out to be. behind all the fame and headlines, was a shy and thoughtful man who didnt know how to sit or stand still and had a tendency to overcook pasta.

to you, he wasn’t “Jannik sinner. the wimbledon champion”. he was the guy who leaves sticky notes on the mirror for you to find when he goes away for a tournament. the guy who text you the same, after a win or loss. the guy who laughs at your bad joke and falls asleep with his head in your lap on off-days. the guy who hates caramel and refuses to try any drink you give him involving it.

you loved him, all of him.

your story with jannik was slow, careful, filled with shy glances, long calls when he was on tour, and gentle forehead kisses after a long day. he made you laugh when you didn’t want to, and listened when you couldn’t speak. something in him that felt like home.

you had learned, over time, that jannik loved in ways people missed.

he didn't shout it, he didn't post it, he loved you in the details

he remembers the exact way you take your coffee, no matter what country you were in. how’d he leave his hoodie behind for you because he knew how comfortable you felt in them. how’d he call you just before bed even if it meant setting an alarm for 4 AM in shanghai.

You never rushed each other. The love unfolded slowly - not dramatic or volatile, but something warm and rooted. It came in Sunday mornings with tangled legs under the blanket, in shared playlists on long car rides, in him watching you out of the corner of his eye like he couldn't believe you were real.

One night, during a rare few days off, he took you to a quiet mountain in the south of tyrol.

it was autumn. the leaves had started to turn colors, crisp gold and deep red. the air cold and sharp in your lungs. jannik had found a tiny cabin with windows that looked out to miles of nothing.

you didn't know he had it then.

you didn't know how long he’d been carrying it with him—how many cities it had traveled through in his duffle bag, hidden between sweatshirts and string dampeners. waiting.

he made dinner—an overcooked risotto you both pretended to love. you both played cards by the fire, he lost dramatically. hurling up together by the fire, his arms wrapped around you like a seal.

it was quiet.

broken by him. saying your name, softly.

“yea?” you uttered out.

before you could turn your head to face jannik, he pulls out the ring from the side of his pants.

he held the box out, getting on one knee.

and before he could even ask the question. you whispered the only thing that couldve made sense.

"yes."

you married him on a spring morning, tucked away in the dolomites. Just a small wedding—family, close friends, the scent of flowers in the air.

you wore white. he looked at you like the world stopped spinning just to watch you walk down the aisle. everything was perfect.

later that night, still in your dress, you dropped your shoes off by the bed, and dropped yourself on the bed. Jannik was humming to himself the tune of 'forever young' by alphaville by the suitcases, moving to unpack your stuff. as he got to your overnight bag, something dropped on the floor.

a wallet.

your wallet.

it flipped open while it landed, revealing the small plastic window inside. the old photo, faded now with age, was still there.

he picked it up and froze.

you were pulling off the dress when you heard the stillness.

"wait," jannik turned, holding the photo between his fingers. "where did you get this?"

you walked over, eyes widening when you realized what he was holding. "Oh." you replied, flat. "that? i just found it. when i was 9. in a bush. I don't know why i kept it, i guess i thought he was cute? it felt special in a way."

he blinked, stunned.

"that little boy, thats me."

you had laughed. not believing him at first. But then he reached into a drawer and pulled out and old photo album, flipping pages with speed and certainty, until he lands on a nearly identical picture—same tennis racket, same muddy knees, same wild red hair, and the exact same cheeky smile.

"i remember this day. it was after a junior tournament. my mom took the photo and gave me a copy. i put it in my pocket, we stopped by a park before going home and i must've dropped it." he murmured, eyes soft. "i cried after."

you stared at him. then the photo. then back at him.

"no way."

he smiled, soft and crooked, same as the photo

you felt the room spin.

"that's you?"

he nodded.

you gasped. covering your mouth. sitting on the edge of the bed. "are you kidding me right now?"

jannik stood in front of you, still holding the photo.

"guess i really was your first love," he teased, gently.

you stared at him, completely dazed. "i married the boy in the bush."

"you married the boy who lost his favorite photo." he whispered, brushing your hair back behind your ear. he gave a small, breathless laugh. "i guess you could say you met me years ago."

you laughed, full and stunned and disbelieving. "no way, thats insane."

"so tell me," he leaned in. "was i your first love then?"

you rolled your eyes, grinning. "i guess so."

"you were mine too."

© made by zweiism

authors note ! first jannik sinner fic so this might suck but its okay cause thats MY italian goat. please leave requests teehee im getting the sudden surge of motivation..... i think for like 5% of this fic i wanted him to put that lavazza sponsorship to use and got you a custom lavazza coffee creation.... or omg i wanted to do a little tennis commentary part where the guy is like "looks like our italian ice man is melting"and honestly you guys i'm gonna be honest him proposing is short cause i cringed myself out thinking of it #sorryyyy gahhh okay long asf authors note bruh but thank you if you read this through the end this means a lot!!! and also i wrote this at 1 AM and finished around 4:39 so if anything is written wrong thats all me lol also the wink just imagine that as his wink towards alcaraz

heavily inspired by this pic i saw on pinterest :)

[vadergf]

Can anyone hear me

[zweiism]

if theres an alternative universe where patrick zweig is a rich nepo baby who’s tennis career went super well, his full name would be fitzpatrick zweig.

[zweiism]

my writing masterlist!

fluff, unless stated ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

꩜ - fluff

♪ - smut

challengers !

I follow rivers ✧ Art D. ꩜

Devil’s Advocate ✧ Patrick Z. ꩜

I’ll see you around ? ✧ Art D. ꩜

ATP !

The picture in the bush ✧ Jannik S. ꩜

Double trouble ✧ Jannik S. ꩜

Love All ✧ Jannik S. ꩜

[zweiism]

everyday i morph closer and closer into tashi duncan

[zweiism]

artrick is everywhere for those with eyes to see

[zweiism]

I follow rivers - art donaldson

song feels like dancing in your dorm with art drunk… let me know if im crazy.

art donaldson takes you home after a night out, the tension between you guys isnt hard to miss. you break it by asking him to dance with you, does he dance? no. but maybe he’ll make an exception for you..

the party was loud, too loud.

too many college students cramp into one frat house nobody knew the name of, all sweating under neon lights, and dancing to a bad playlist the so called “dj” conjured up.

you dont really know why you went in the first place,

art found you in the kitchen alone an hour in, red plastic cup in hand, reaching out for a mysterious alcoholic drink, which was common at a frat party.

art knew you were coming to this party. it took him an hour to find his best shirt and another to figure out how to do his hair.

he smiled when he saw you. that half hazy smile he does, tilting his head up and waving. you waved back, giving him a smile.

he strolls over to you

“you look like you need saving” he says while pulling the cup from you. giving you a less sticky cup.

“i look like i need an exit. so i guess” you reply, tilting your head and declining the drink.

“i guess we both do.”

and that was that.

neither of you said it. but you both knew. so you left together, art grabs a slice of pizza on the way out.

the walk back home was full of drunken thoughs that shouldve stayed in your mind. the kind of thoughts that only streetlights and empty sidewalks hear.

—————————————————————————

by the time you reach the door to your dorm, it was already late at night, but youre sure there was about 30 other students probably studying. maybe you shouldve done the same.

you fumbled with the keys, missing the slot about 4 or five times before art spoke up.

“allow me, your drunk majesty.” art says, giving you a smile and unlocking the door with a bow.

the nickname almost made you laugh.

you stumble into the dorm, taking off your shoes.

“god i swear those shoes were invented by people who hate women.” you began to lie on the floor, too lazy to get up to the bed 5 inches in your left.

art lies down besides you. dropping to the floor with a grunt, legs stretched out, curls looking soft and cloudlike. you could see his cheeks, flushed red, half from the drinks and half from the cold.

“i forgot to say this. but that DJ? was so bad” you laugh out, lightening up the mood, turning your head towards his.

he snickers at your comment and shakes his head to agree.

“yea, i heard all three of his hit songs playing one after the other. throughout the whole party.”

you both laugh and take in how bad the party was besides the drinks. art looks nice in this light.

“you know, i like drunk you.” art breaks the silence after the laughter. “you laugh more.”

“you act like you dont like every version of me.” you teased.

the corner of his lips twitched into a smile. “dont get too cocky now.”

you smiled to yourself, turning over to grab your phone. “lets be better than that DJ. show him how its done.” you scroll throught your phone for a song.

“you act like hes here for you to show him.”

you hit his elbow playfully, he makes a fake pained face. eyebrows scrunching and mouth letting out an ‘ouch.’

“c’mon art. lets dance.” you say as you put on one of your favorites. tashi had showed this song a while back. ‘i follow rivers’ by Lykke Li.

art straightens up and looks at you. “i dont dance.”

“what? not ever?”

“not ever.”

“like never ever?”

he shakes his head no and shrugs. “i look like a baby deer learning to walk. i’ve accepted it.”

you tilt your head and look at him in his eyes, hoping it would change his mind. “but art, you have the perfect hair for dancing” what does that even mean? this is drunk you talking, you never know what anything means.

“flattering. but no.” art replies bluntly. hoping you would drop the topic.

you held out your hand anyway, pleading with your head and motioning art towards you.

with a soft sigh, art gets up and holds your hands. “fine. but just this once. i mean it. and if i step on your feet thats on you.”

you laugh at his comment, pulling him close to you.

you’re my river running high,

run deep, run wild.

art stood next to you for a moment. before you started mouth the lyrics to him. “I-I follow, i follow you-”

art broke into a laugh “oh my god.”

then joined in, badly, but joyfully.

his body moves to the ridiculous rhythm, his shoulders rocking front and back and legs in a two step motion. he took your hand a spun you, like they do in movies when someone won prom king or queen. it makes you more dizzy.

you shake your shoulders to the beat, art’s rhythm is unsteady again, he was right about the baby deer comment.

he grabs your waist, dragging you to join his horrible two step movement.

“wow artie who taught you how to dance huh?” you joke, trying to keep up with his ridiculous moves.

“im trying my best, for you.” art grins as rocks back, breathless.

you both move to the rhythm, slowly but surely. you grab both his hands, spinning in and out. your bodies brush against one another. but neither of you disliked it.

you start to move your feet, helping him get out of his two step dance movement.

“okay now youre just showing off” art giggles out, failing to mimic your movements.

the chorus hits again, you jump up and down with the beat, barely standing up right.

art catches you each time you almost tumble to the floor, holding your waist to keep you steady.

“okay c’mon new move.”

“is this a choreography now?” art is slightly tired and breathless again.

“are you complaining donaldson?” you reply, one of your eyebrows raising up.

“No,” he said, voice low, eyes looking in yours. “Not even a little.” you let out a soft smile for him, hands rested on his shoulders moving your feet back and forth, swaying your body.

the the song slowly shifts into the next without you noticing.

“im not doing that again. i told you.” art puts his finger up to twirl a no.

“you enjoyed every second of it.”

he peeked up at you. “i was doing what you were requesting me to do. i was humoring you. my drunk majesty.”

“uh huh, and you were living your best life while doing it too.”

art didnt argue back, he knew he did.

the room is quiet now. another song playing in the back, youre too drunk to try to figure out which song it was from your 7 hour playlist named dance.

“that was fun, i admit.” art says, voice quiet.

“yea, yea it was”

you both stayed like that. its quiet.

your fingers twitched. you didnt know what was happening, like your mind took control over your body. you thought about it, reaching to him. one by one, your hands reached out for his.

his hands moved towards yours. catches you both by suprise. neither of you knew what the other was doing. you let out a quiet giggle.

your fingers brushed towards his, his fingers hooking on to yours. the tender quietness of the room, the soft music now in the back. the warm space between the two of you is calm, you both liked it that way.

and you think in this moment, that you never want it to end.

[zweiism]

challengers erasure wont happen near me