dopaminecrumbs

Latest Posts by dopaminecrumbs

as a society what is our plan to abolish the gender divide in tennis so we can get a casperiga singles match

one thing about sports rpf that sets it apart is that these aren't about supernaturally beautiful people like actors and musicians and kpop idols are which is practically a criteria for any media facing job; made to be aesthetically beautiful and trained to be charismatic. athletes are often charisma vacuums because they start so young and are hyperfixated on their sport and have no personality beyond it. most of them are actually quite plain looking. there's some notable exceptions of genuinely stunning face cards but most are pretty average and the ones that are considered hot are actually hot for An Athlete. now I know some of you are disagreeing vehemently, blorbo from sportsball is the prettiest of them all, but really it's cause sports fans have so much exposure therapy to them, seeing the same faces all the time over a year and engaging in media about them, that they start finding beauty in the mundane where when you get to know someone you realise they're actually beautiful to you. now there is a notable scale where the more popular a sport/team/athlete is, the more they have entire hair and makeup departments for magazine shoots and interviews where they are styled or at least aware of what hairstyle or way to carry themselves looks good on them, and that adds to their overall attractiveness. scale down and you'll see someone calling a male cyclist with fucked up teeth who looks like a product of balkan incest a gorgeous girl. and that's how you get novel length and often better quality written rpf about dudes who look like in every other life were destined to the local town's convenience store cashier bored out of his mind at a gas stop in between your road trip you'd never spare a second thought of again. and I think that's beautiful <3

also so interesting to see jannik's improvement on clay absorbed into the default landscape in real time—like we were one unsaved match point away from a post-final narrative of sinner unlocks clay, evolves into his final form as an all-surface monster. instead the total annihilation of all his early opponents was SO total that in the course of two weeks (+ casper in rome) it just became background noise.

so instead the takeaway is divine inspiration beats the unbeatable. makes sense because it's irresistible, lmao, there was no way the framing was ever not going to be "consistent performer vs unpredictable genius." but for ME PERSONALLY i would like to see some more Texture bc as a connoisseur of tandem evolutions it's the push-pull that speaks to me. like the jump from last year's sf to this year's final is bonkers! and imo a year ago carlos (fully fit & motivated) could have played this match. but not jannik.

we moved on from this scene too quickly

I'm just asking that you love me no matter what. What am I, Jesus? Yeah.

Challengers (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino

you can tell that as a fandom we’re going thru it when in a matter of hours there’s 15 new sincaraz fanfics on ao3😭

i love it here

WHAT ARE THEY? SINCARAZ LORE (WITH RECEIPTS)

The RG final brought in an influx of new fans. Because of my SINCARAZ x called you again edit, I received a lot of inquiries about what happened between them. Since their relationship is complicated—("he means a lot to me" / "we’re good friends" / "aren’t close friends" / they wake up in the morning and think about each other)—and goes ↗️↘️↗️↘️↗️ every other month (Hot N Cold by Katy Perry is quite befitting), I thought I should make this.

Before we join hands and plunge into the rabbit hole, I need to establish how downbad Carlos was (is?) for Jannik. 

His entire face lit up at the mere mention of Jannik:

Exhibit B. I swear, if Carlos had a tail it would start wagging aggressively at the sight of Jannik.

Carlos looking back at Jannik after they parted ways.

He looks back at Jannik a lot. Exhibit B. Exhibit C.

Tbh, his smile during Jannik’s speech in the Rome ‘25 ceremony is incriminating enough:

(Smiling so aggressively his gums are showing… Someone call an ambulance, we’ve got a man down bad.)

Now that that has been established, let’s move on. Buckle up, it’s a long ride.

They first met as teenagers (Carlos was 15, Jannik - 17) in 2019 at the JC Ferrero Challenger Open, held at the academy of Carlos’ coach, Juan Carlos Ferrero. Carlos won. Jannik is the one who approached Carlos first because he wanted to get to know him. 

“I saw the draw coming out and I said, ‘Oh, Carlos Alcaraz, I have no idea who he is!’” said the Italian. “I saw the age and I said, ‘Wow, he’s playing a challenger, it’s amazing.’ And then straight away I was impressed. “After the match, we went to the same locker room … and I was like, ‘When did you start to play tennis?’ And then we started to talk a little bit, because I wanted to get to know him because he was just an amazing talent already back in the day.”

Their first ATP match up was in 2021 at the Rolex Paris Masters. Despite losing, Jannik was the one to say to Carlos at the net: “I hope we play some more.”

And the rest is history: Carlos imprinted on Jannik and has been down bad ever since. Therefore, it can be concluded that Jannik fell first but Carlos fell harder.

Prior to 2024, Jannik and Carlos were quite consistent about referring to each other as good friends.

CARLOS (2022): “[...] and of course, we are great friends outside the court. [...] I talked to him out of the court, by phone, I mean we laughed a lot**, he’s a nice person [...]”

They went jet skiing together after their Umag final, 2022. 

JANNIK (Rolex Shanghai Masters 2023): [...] “We have a very good relationship off the court and I feel like we are good friends, but still, you know, on court there is, uh, this nervous, you know, inside you feel a little bit nervous [...]”

During December of 2023, Jannik and Carlos trained together at the Juan Carlos Ferrero Tennis Academy as preseason preparation. Same place where they met for the first time, btw. A ceremony took place where it was unveiled that the main court would be named after Carlos. Jannik recorded the entire thing on his phone, a video that he never shared on social media.

Many people say their relationship is one-sided, that Jannik doesn’t reciprocate, but this moment alone speaks volumes of how much he cares. Other people were capturing the event, so he didn’t need to, but he still chose to, just for himself and Carlos. It wasn’t something meant to be shared with the public. Not only that, he didn’t just take a quick snap, he recorded the entire thing. It’s characteristic of his introverted, private nature to show he cares in subtle ways like this that aren’t always visible/obvious to the public eye.

Jannik talked about it a little bit over here after the interviewer teases him for taking photos like a fan: “For me, it’s special, they grew up together [...]”

The unshared video should also serve as a reminder that there are likely many other private friendly moments shared between them that we as outsiders will never be privy to, so we shouldn’t base assumptions on the nature of their relationship from what’s said/not said on their social media.

CARLOS' UNWAVERING FAITH IN JANNIK

Carlos believed in Jannik’s potential before most people did. In 2023, he remained steadfast in his claim that Jannik is his biggest rival when people were expecting him to name Djokovic. The media kept trying to coax the Alcaraz vs. Djokovic narrative out of Carlos but he would not budge.

Note: Jannik didn’t have his meteoric breakthrough until 2024 (he was showing signs of it by the end of 2023). Before 2024, Jannik had no Grand Slams and only 1 Masters 1000 title (Canada). In comparison, by that point, Carlos had 2 Grand Slams and 4 Master 1000s. He became the youngest World Number One in ATP rankings history in 2022.

I: The rankings say it’s Novak and Carlos, Carlos and Novak, do you consider him to be your biggest rival at the moment? CARLOS, ROME ‘23: “[...] Probably, Jannik right now is my biggest opponent. We had really great matches, but at the same time really, really tough ones. [...]”

CARLOS, Post-Wimbledon, ‘23: "Having someone there, with whom you fight, with whom you have that battle, that beautiful rivalry, is important to maintain motivation for so long. Right now, I think I have it and I’m not afraid to say it: for me, it’s Sinner at the moment. That beautiful rivalry that we have, those big games that we have played, on big stages. As the years go by there will be better ones and we will fight for the big titles.”

Even Jannik didn't consider himself to be Carlos' biggest rival.

JANNIK, SHANGHAI '23: "But in the other way, I feel like that he [Carlos] has achieved many things more than I did at the moment, and me, personally, I think, at the moment, the biggest rivalry he has is Novak because of certain circumstances of points and World Number One and Grandslams throughout the last two years [...]"

I’ve observed Jannik avoids getting ahead of himself and making presumptions about the future— I’m not sure whether it’s because of superstition, his realistic perspective about the rapidly-changing brutal nature of tennis as a competitive sport or something else —which is why he doesn’t entertain talks about the future of their rivalry as easily as Carlos does.

At the time, this raised a lot of eyebrows, but Carlos predicted Jannik would become World Number One in 2024, which Jannik did. The reason behind the skepticism was that in 2023 the World Number One title had gone back-and-forth between Djokovic and Carlos until Djokovic emerged on top as the Year-end World Number One. Djokovic won all the slams apart from Wimbledon, which was won by Carlos. So, people were expecting a similar pattern in 2024.

LANGUAGE(S) THEY COMMUNICATE IN:

In 2022, Carlos said they both communicate in Spanish. On the other hand, Jannik said he speaks in Italian while Carlos speaks in Spanish.

CARLOS: [...] We speak Spanish. I don’t know how to speak Italian. At the moment, we speak Spanish. (Source) Interviewer: “His [Jannik’s] Spanish is good?” CARLOS: “Yeah, he’s good. He has to improve, but his Spanish is good.”

JANNIK: “Sometimes we talk in the locker room. He speaks in Spanish and I speak in Italian, so we talk kind of mixed. But I think we understand us very well. Off court we are friends, we are good friends. I mean, also now after his match and my match, we saw each other in the ice bath. I think we are in a good relationship which hopefully can live for many years because this is the most important.” (Source)

(A/N: Fast forward to the trophy ceremony in Rome 2025, where Carlos told Jannik to speak in Italian because he understands, while Carlos gave his speech to Jannik in English because Jannik’s Spanish isn’t that good [?])

BOTH ARE ALIKE OFF-COURT:

Because of their contrasting personalities, I’ve seen people make assumptions that they don’t mesh well off-court or wonder whether they have anything in common to talk about outside of tennis, but they’re actually quite similar off the court and get along well. In particular, they both place a lot of value on honesty, integrity, and being good people. They both keep close to their small circles. 

DARREN CAHILL (JANNIK’S COACH), 2024: “Two young, great kids, not just on the court but off the court as well. Their friendship is real. They both respect each other and like each other and you’ll see that on the court tomorrow regardless of who wins [...]”

DARREN CAHILL (JANNIK’S COACH), 2024: “I think Carlos is very similar to Jannik in both the way they play with the excitement level they bring to the game, and their personalities and their likability. Both guys are incredibly alike off the court. They both like each other.”

JANNIK: "It's easy for Carlos and me to get along. We are quite similar off the court. When we play, however, we are a bit different, but that's normal, it's our nature. Off court, I listen to him, I get the feeling he likes to be surrounded by the people closest to him, as I am. Carlos pushes me to be a better player."

JANNIK, SHANGHAI 2024: “[...] For me it’s nice that we’re rivals on the court and friends off the court [...] Off the court, we are quite similar, because we surround ourselves with our close ones, we like to stay with the team, um, you know there are many, many things, similar things I feel like [...]”

Alcaraz said of Sinner: “I always say you have to be a good person first and athletics comes after that. Jannik thinks the same thing.”

DARREN CAHILL (JANNIK’S COACH), 2025: “Now Carlos and Jannik aren’t going out to dinner together either, but they are mates. They’re in the locker room, they’re talking. I’m part of some of their conversations. I won’t repeat what they are because most of it focuses around what 23-year-olds and 21-year-olds talk about, but they have fun, and they enjoy each other’s company.”

They’re both big football fans.

So you won’t be dropping Carlitos a text if Italy beats Spain in their group-stage match? [JANNIK] No, I will never do that… [Pauses to laugh and grins]... Maybe!

ON-AND-OFF DIVORCE ERA A.K.A We’re so back / It’s so over / We’re so fucking back / it’s joeover

They forgot to sit down and define the relationship, so were on completely different pages for a good part of 2024.

Things were looking good in Indian Wells.

They were high-fiving and chatting each other up in the tunnel before their match, Carlos waited for Jannik so they could leave the court together when the match was delayed because of rain, giggling together as they left the court (bonus: carlos patting Jannik’s b—), sat together in the locker room and talked about life, also laughed about:

CARLOS, INDIAN WELLS 24: “Well, we were laughing about it with Jannik when it [match] suspended, because I had bees, had the rain.”

Things changed around Miami.

While Carlos was waxing poetic about their futures:

“Hopefully Jannik and I both have a long and beautiful future ahead of us.” (N: Oddly romantic thing to say: sounds like Carlos wants to spend the rest of their lives together.) CARLOS, MIAMI 2024

Also, Carlos saying more downbad and incriminating things like: “He means a lot to me.” (INDIAN WELLS ‘24) 

For the first time, in Miami 2024, Jannik defines their relationship as not that close as previously painted:

“[...] We have a lot of respect for each other and, obviously, off the court we don't speak that much because he has his own things and I have my things."

Some of the reactions from this reddit thread are worth a read, lol.

(Skipping a major arc: Roland Garros '24)

Things started looking good again months later during Beijing. Chatting in the gym (part 1, part 2). Carlos was looking to give Zendaya a run for her money the way he was laughing in part 1. I would say Jannik isn’t that funny, but too many people close to him have said otherwise, so maybe he is indeed just that funny.

Just look at them during the trophy ceremony. 

“I respect you a lot as a player but even more as a person” was very much needed after all the noise that had reemerged with the WADA appeal.

Jannik and Carlos greet each other’s teams.

They shared a flight together after their final:

Carlos’ interview about it. Jannik’s interview about it (his little giggle when asked about the photo was so cute).

During Shanghai, someone pulled Uno reverse, because now Jannik was talking about how they’re friends off court but Carlos was like we’re not that close.

CARLOS, SHANGHAI ‘24: "We don't talk too much when we are around. Obviously, we have a really good relationship off the court as well. I think we both respect each other a lot, as a player, as a person, but once we are on tour traveling, you know, during tournaments when we are on-site, we are with our team, on our own, so we don't speak too much. When we can, we talk a little bit besides tennis about life a little bit, but not too much. It means, we have a good relationship, but we are not close friends, you know, but I think the respect that we have, you know, put [us] in a position that we have a really good relationship."

For renowned downbad Carlos to say this, the people were certainly shocked. He managed to fight off the allegations until he lost the war by cheesin’ so hard just because Jannik grouped him as a legend during the trophy ceremony in Shanghai (the final was between Jannik and Djokovic but Carlos was there to watch).

Just look at him:

Their exhibition final, SIX KINGS SLAM ‘24 was a gift that kept on giving:

Silly confusion because the announcer got their walkout order wrong, Jannik removed confetti from Carlos’ hair, Jannik—I wake up in the morning thinking about Carlos—Sinner, Carlos refused to let go of Jannik, bench talks etc.

I: So, did you just tell us that everyday you wake up you think about him [Carlos]?

(The interviewer decided to choose violence and not let that insane statement from Jannik go by unnoticed by everyone in that stadium)

JANNIK: [Flustered pause] “Well, no, I mean… [Jannik laughs in panic while Carlos looks utterly delighted] It would be strange, no?”

(The interviewer had to intercede and save him.)

I: “In practice terms."

(Love how the interviewer said this in such a pointed way, like gay boy your mind went there by itself, I was talking about practice)

I: "He’s your biggest rival, isn’t he, over the next few years. Do you still get on as friends?”

JANNIK: “I mean, we understand each other very well. We travel a lot. We are, I would say good friends [turns to check with Carlos, who nods], you know. Not obviously the best out of the best, but y‘know, we also like to share every time when we go on the court. We try to enjoy [...]”

Carlos decided to send signals to Jannik during his press conference that he wants to be friends:

“[...] We don’t spend too much time together off the court, but I would love to.”

He WOULD LOVE TO. Jannik did that blazing signal manage to transmit through your thick curls?

I really liked this comment on their relationship:

It explains everything pretty well.

It's hard to be friends with the person who is responsible for chipping away your soul and body in a grueling battle that lasts for hours, who rips your heart into pieces by squashing your dreams and taking the one thing you wanted the most (when it was nearly within reach).

Poor Jannik has cried enough times because of Carlos 😭

“Tears of happiness? I haven’t had them yet. [I cried] after [losing to] Carlos in the US Open, also a bit at Roland Garros,” Jannik adds. “There are always moments when you feel emotions you don’t want in the locker room or sometimes when you’re in transportation or even in the hotel room alone. It means you care about the sport. It means you want to reach this level." (Source / 2024)

I liked this analysis on them.

FOR JUST CO-WORKERS, THEY’RE TOTALLY NORMAL ABOUT EACH OTHER:

They both wake up in the morning and think about each other.

Carlos [about Jannik during Roland Garros ‘24]: "...to wake up in the morning and want to improve my game to try to beat him..." [Source]

Jannik [about Carlos on two different occasions]: "...he pushes me to do better. I wake up in the morning trying to understand what I can do better trying to beat him next time, which is something nice for me as a player." [Source]

Jannik: "...we try to push ourselves to the limits, you know, I wake up in the morning trying to understand the ways how to beat him and you know this kind of rivalries and this kind of players they push us always to our 100% limit..." [Source]

CARLOS, SHANGHAI ‘23: “[...] Against him, as I said, it’s different.”

JANNIK, SHANGHAI ‘24: “[...] It’s like fire and ice, a bit [...]”

Interviewer: “Carlos was in here, and he said it really hurts to lose against you. Especially against you. Do you love to win, especially against him?” JANNIK: “[...] Obviously, both of us, we hate losing, especially against each other.”

CARLOS, INDIAN WELLS ‘24: “I mean, I hear some declarations from Tommy Paul that was funny for me, that he's [Jannik’s] absolutely naked right now. He’s playing naked, so [...]” (Source) / “I hear some words from Tommy Paul that he’s [Jannik’s] playing absolutely naked, so he’s right [...]” (Source)

Guess he liked the thought of Jannik playing absolutely naked so much that he had to mention it more than once. Alright.

CARLOS, ROLAND GARROS ‘24: “That’s when I thought, ‘Jannik, if you really want to beat me, you’re gonna have to take me out on a stretcher.’”

“Everything he does, he does it perfectly.”

CARLOS, ROME ‘25: “[...] Honestly, I’m going to say I need him in the tour [...]” / “I’m not going to get tired of saying, y’know, how amazing a person, athlete you are.”

JANNIK, ROLAND GARROS ‘25: “He’s [Carlos’] a player with charisma, with that aura. The moment he steps on court, you can feel his presence.”

CARLOS, ROME ‘25: I'm more focused when I'm playing against him, or I feel a little bit different when I'm going to face him than other players. He has that aura. When you're seeing him on the other side of the net, it's different.”

Where’s that twitter post that went along the lines of: aura is basically you calling another man attractive

CARLOS, ROLAND GARROS ‘25: “[...] It’s a privilege to share the court with you, in every tournament, making history with you.” 

Not to be cheesy and quote Red, White & Royal Blue, but: “History, huh?”

We've only scratched the surface here (their divorce 2.0 still remains unearthed), but this post has gotten too long, so I'm going to end it here. Hopefully, this proves useful to someone.

the thing about greta, her remaining true to her values and morals, and drawing attention to urgent world crisis is that greta did not fall prey to performative liberalism. during teenage years, it's so compelling to feel strongly and speak loudly about issues like climate change and gender equality because these are well-discussed topics continuously brought up in education, or day-to-day conversations. however, the truth of the matter is that these form the surfacial level of consequences to broader issues such as post-colonial structures and white supremacism. instead of falling victim to performative activism and simplistic liberalism mindsets, greta was able to connect the dots on why we even have issues such as climate change. she went down the capitalism pipeline and has stood her grounds since then. she did her research, educated herself, and maintained her philosophy.

greta was time's person of the year a few years ago. she was adored by all liberal world leaders and parties. and when she learnt about people's struggle under occupation and colonialism, she stood in solidarity with them . she now stands with palestine and armenia and kashmir and every oppressed person in the world. she could have been rich as fuck by simply remaining as a climate activist. yet she chose to do the right thing. i love her for her integrity.

you know it's a good match when jonathan liew comes through with the goods

sincaraz tennis || roland garros 24-25 || match point

in this ecobomy, the lack of fanfic writing as become the equivalent of losing ancient scripts

dear lord, please take all life problems and responsibilities away from fanfic writers but also make them financially stable and happy with nothing to worry about so they can happily focus on writing and posting fanfiction. amen

thank you petko for your service🙂‍↕️

nothing like the author's note curse

starting a collection of my favourite AO3 author’s notes

honourable mentions

at least sports reminds you that youre alive. the miserable emptiness of a loss is still a feeling

SINNERPAUSE - Week 5/12

written in the stars 🌌🦊

can't today. busy.

this is so cute goodbye

sinnerball will return in 10 days, stay tuned ~

this is how it feels to come back to random fandom obsessions after the lethargic sleep of your interests. suddenly you wake up and remember all the things that shaped your formative years and go down random rabitholes at 2 am

There are ships you consume. And then there are ships that consume you in a never-ending abyss of complete brainrot.

that one post abt tashi having beef with ostapenko has rlly got me thinking abt how the challengers trio would interact w the irl tennis tour and like. now i need to know all the details especially about art’s career as a top player in the big 3 era... do we think rafa had beef with him for stealing 2 french opens. did he play random exhibitions with roger and djoko. was there angsty livejournal slash fanfic written abt him and andy roddick or something IDKK

Dear God x Ben Shelton

In-short: lovers-to-exes-to-fwb inspired by Dear God from Tate Mcrae (+ a little angst)

Word Count: 6k bc apparently i have too much free time

Warnings: NSFW

Noties: wrote this when the So Close To What album just dropped and i had Dear God on loop. ngl it feels weird to write about Ben now that he has launched his relationship lol, but i digress! i do this for the girlies and the gays.

the story is in 1st POV bc i can never write in 2nd. wattpad did numbers on my back in the day haha. first time writing in a long time, so pls enjoy and lemme know how you like it <3

Author: my twt is @hyunhocrumbs if you wanna be moots >.<

- Dear God - Ben Shelton -

“You’re really red now.”

Coming from the other side of the net, his voice has a hint of enthusiasm interlaced in it. Dear God. I let out an annoyed breath, while my doubles partner, Arthur, chuckled from the baseline.

European clay court season on a late May afternoon felt like an early summer. Our breath was ragged, footsteps heavy and what was supposed to be a simple hit session with two other players had turned into a full practice match. Arthur had insisted we hit with Taylor Townsend and Ben Shelton, although they weren’t even running for mixed doubles in Roland Garros that year.

So, we did, and it was fine. It was casual. Until I saw Ben and the way his eyes twiddled with amusement every time I had something to say. How he strolled into the court, curls bouncing on his head in the humid heat, and nonchalance rolling off his shoulders. How he flew these little playful comments my way and followed through with deep cross shots. 

To me, this was a simple hit session - clean footwork, clean shots. In and out. To him, it was entertainment, amusement, and even a little competition.

Normal baseline hits turned into strong, deep forehands. He was intentional in the way sent the ball flying, wanted to know how well I would take it. How competitive I could get with it.

Once I ignored it. Twice I entertained it. The third time around I let it fly past me and instead approached the net.

He was already grinning. “Sorry ma bad. Need a little break?”

It was funny how our partners were just there. However, I was the only one he was interested in talking with. “Thought this was going to be a hit session.”

Taylor asked if we wanted to switch it up a little. I could already see Arthur jumping in agreement. Ben’s brown eyes were fixed on mine, observing, anticipating. “C’mon, afraid of a little competition?”

Something about how he had said it, the playfulness resting on his tone. That smirk toying at the edge of his lips. It irked something in me.

A practice match has very low stakes. But I liked a good game.

“It’s on then.”

From there it was always on with him– bumping in the player’s lounge, his curls sticking to his forehead and a coy grin on his face when he would congratulate me on my win. The little smirks he threw here and there while passing on the corridor, playful comments about my game and how he could not stop staring when I was playing. The way he would purposefully lean in closer every time we were talking. How I could feel his breath on my cheeks and see his dazzling brown eyes up close playfully staring at me.

Ben made it so easy to like him. He was charming - so awfully charming that he had everyone wrapped around his little finger. He would flash them his gummy smile or his sassy smirk and people would swoon in a puddle. He was soft, witty, funny and so annoyingly aware of what he was doing.

He would joke I’m his lucky charm and manage to bring me up in interviews I was not even part of. Mid-game when I would raise my eyes to the crowd, it was his gaze that would always be following me. 

Ben would search for me right after his matches, head full of damp curls, and his arms still glistening in sweat. Mid-sentence, his shirt would come off and nothing could make me miss his smirk as he would catch my breath hitching.

“I watched your last set today.”

His toned arms would twist and flex as he searched in his bag. “Oh, yeah?”

I rolled my eyes. Dear God.

“Sorry, pretty hot out there.” He would say and not mean it in the slightest. He would look at me as if to let me know that he wanted me to see, wanting me to gauge at him, to play his game.

“You were playing like shit.” I would raise at him.

Pulling the new shirt over his head, he would flash me a mischievous grin. “Wanna give me some private lessons later then?”  

Before I knew it, we were having dinner, sneaking out of hotels late, calling until the sun met us again. I would watch him drown to sleep, his curls covering his features as they softened, exhausted from the intensive training. Watch him again flex his giant limbs lazily and flash me a witty grin in the morning.

He was ferociously flirty and such an incredible sight to see, it was impossible to deal with him. We would rush to one of our hotel rooms right after gym, mouths colliding and hands rushing to touch, to feel. Chuckles and giggles as he would struggle with my sports bra and then hoist me up easily.

Dear God, how I loved feeling his body pressed against mine, skin to skin. How Ben’s soft lips would find my neck, while his fingers trailed my chest to then hook under my knees. How he’d make me see stars like it came easy to him.

Always afterwards, he would hold me there, pressed against him. I’d smile at his silly jokes and tug at the silver chains resting against his chest just to make him go again, and again and again.

There was always breakfast with him, rushed warm hugs at the player’s lounge with him, late nights at masters’ events with him. Bustling through the cameras as we rushed to his car, dodging questions and comments from all sides. It was the way he’d kiss my shoulders and say goodnight. How he would cross continents on his free time just so he could say ‘I love you’ in real life.

A lot of people loved Ben, but at the end of the day, he would only come home to me. It felt addicting to have his smiles and grins all to myself - his soft teasing comments and his stupid dork moments. To have him obsessed with my scent, trailing behind me in everything I did.

“You look gorgeous today.” He’d say and lean it to capture my lips.

I would dodge, smiling at his failed attempt. He would release an exasperated sigh like it hurt him for me to even consider not allowing him a kiss.

“I’ll beat you today. Then, it’ll be more than a kiss that you owe me.” Always a game with him.

But no matter what, he was always there. I remember when I lost one of my biggest finals and how he held me as I could not stop shaking from crying. Roland Garros was supposed to be mine, my first grand slam victory coming home. Yet it slipped out of my grip, and I watched it happen. I couldn’t stop it.

I sat for the debrief, went to the team dinner, had a call with my parents even. I told them I was fine. They saw me angry and frustrated, but my composure was straight, my shoulders squared up and my chin high, unwavering.

Later that night, Ben found me curled up on my hotel room couch. Crouching in front of me, he reached out his hand to trace circles on my cheek. “Hey, love.” It was so soft, so delicate. His eyes knew, and that broke me.

“You can let go now. It’s just me.”

I did. The first tear fell down and then the other. They kept on coming, pouring violently down my face in streams. Ben hugged me tight in his chest, his hands caging me in as my body kept shaking. Pressing his lips against my temples, he let me have it and kept whispering sweet nothings into my ear as I poured out all my vulnerability.

When the crying and shaking stopped about 3 hours later, he had me still in his arms, drying away the tears with his thumb. All I could feel was the warmth of his solid body grounding me as his voice lulled me to sleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

That year’s Roland Garros changed everything. I started chasing another grand slam high, while his ego started dangerously brewing. Ben had more titles under his belt, he was getting greedier, his mindset shifting and his competitiveness growing.

There were fewer late-night calls then. Less joint practices. Sometimes I would not hear from him for days. But his charming voice would be all over social media, his laughter light-hearted, gum smile flashing at interviewers. After his matches, he would wink at the front rows filled with girls who adored him; get the crowds to scream his name.

It drove me crazy. Made me feel as if I had something to worry about.

“Didn’t think you’d be so jealous.” He said and I could almost swear to him this was just teasing.

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head and doing my best not to let my voice rise to levels I would regret. “You were out there forever.”

“I was just signing some stupid tennis balls.” Ben’s hands were already reaching for his tennis bag. His tone unfamiliarly dismissive.

“Well, you could have spent those stupid minutes with me.”

He sighed like this conversation was such a burden to him. “I can’t do this right now; I have to go to physio.”

I heard the door slamming before I could even concoct a retort for him. Ben loved to leave like that. Middle of the conversation, no accountability. Hitting balls was easier than facing responsibilities for him. I’d feel the walls caving in and a tear or two drop. It was exhausting.

He was everywhere on the news, on the court, in the lounges. Just not next to me.

But then he would come around apologising, saying how he would do better, try harder. For us. How his lips would search mine, teasingly at first, but then impatiently, intensely. As if eager to prove that he missed me so much, that he always thought of me. In the shower, in his car, on his bed - moaning my name.

He would pull his shirt off and suddenly I would forget how I cried for hours because he wasn’t there when I won. His lips would trail my neck, and my hands would find their place in between his curls to tug him even closer. As if it would make up for the distance that already existed between us

It grew. It only grew deeper and sharper. We started fighting more. He would lose and we wouldn’t speak for weeks. I would lose and he would be my first target. We would end up slamming the door in each other’s faces after the entire staff and tournament had heard us screaming.

“Can’t you just listen for a moment?” He was pacing in front of me, my legs hurting as I chased him down, the weight of my bags cutting my shoulder.

“I’m not a fucking kid.” Ben hissed.

“Well, fucking act like it then.”  

When he turned around, he was fuming. Chest rising rapidly, his eyes a fire so dangerous. His head dipped as he leaned close to me, and it took all my strength not to push him away.

“You will shut that pretty mouth up right now, Y/N. You’re not my fucking coach, so stop treating me like I’m one of your little projects.”

The door shook from Ben’s forceful impact. A few heads perked around the corner. I couldn’t even blame them for wanting to know. Hot tears streamed down my face and my cries were silent. Muted. I couldn’t even bring my feet to turn away and go somewhere to be alone in peace.

Always, after 15 minutes, he would unlock the door and leave it open so I could shamefully sly into our room. Late at night would be the only times I would feel him again. In all darkness, laying in bed. He would lie down, and I would pretend sleep had already taken me.

The mattress would dip, and his warm breath would send shivers down my spine. I hated it. A beat or two would pass in complete silence. Then I would hear him sigh and feel his lips press tenderly against the skin of my shoulder. I would wait for him to say anything, do anything. Instead, he would roll over, our backs facing each other to wake up to another day fighting.

Not even an ‘I’m sorry, goodnight’ anymore.

Then the Australian Open mixed doubles draw came. Our coaches thought we had a chance at winning. How cruel, to have your distance attempted to be fixed by forced proximity.

Practice started, yet we were still seeing each other less. It was all nerves, fumes, exhaustion. Day in and out. The season was brand new, yet we were already losing it. We would scream at each other like crazy and then fuck numb as if that would fix how fragile our team play was.

R1. Joint effort.

R2. We were tolerating.

The deeper into the draw, the more competitive we started getting. The easier he made it for me to pick at his mistakes, the easier I made it for him to pick apart my confidence. I would savour every moment we were at peace off the court, and that was not a lot – because despite playing doubles, I did not trust him to have my back anymore.

Quarters. We had a close call.

That evening there was no debrief. Just dreaded silence.

There were cameras everywhere on us. Not that they weren’t always, but now there was something special worth watching for them. Two young singles players geared up to make a run for a Grand Slam final. Ben and I were walking on eggshells.

Semis. We had two close calls.

His backhands were hitting the net one after the other. Double faults. He was playing with anger, and I could not tolerate it. I threw irritated glance after irritated glance at him. My volleys marked out. Higher court coverage and we would end up bumping. Moon balls. Dear God, could I not even trust him to play reliable tennis. We barely scraped the last set and yet no one was celebrating. 

Finals.

I breathed his cologne that morning when I walked into the bathroom. I usually let him shower alone now, but today I needed to prove myself something. Ben was lying in the tub, water hiding his body all the way to his chest. His arms spread on the edges, silver chains sticking around his neck. His features were soft, an unreadable expression resting on his face.

His eyes followed me as I closed the door behind and, for a moment, I forgot. The memories, the pain, the screams. The fact that we were aimlessly hunting for a gold trophy. It was just me and Ben. My old Ben.

Crouching next to the tub, I reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Hey there.”

Even now his voice would take my breath away. I stared at him just like I used to stare when he would bump into me on the lounge after my plays. When he would look at me with that stupid grin of his and flirted his way into my lunches and my dinners, my hotel room even.

I sat on my knees and my other hand reached under the water. His breath hitched when he felt me on him. When I started stroking him his eyes were on me. Up and down, feeling him twitch under my touch. His mouth parted a little, his tongue wetting his lips. I looked at Ben as his head leaned back and eyes darted from the ceiling at me.

I would feel him grow hard around my fingers, feel the blood coursing through his length as my pace grew. “God, Y/N.” How I loved it when my name rolled off his tongue like a prayer. He grabbed my other hand, burning my skin with his touch as he brought my fingers to his mouth.

Fuck, how I loved it when he was a mess. When we would do this more often when I would be inside the tub with him, and we would laugh and giggle as I struggled to place my knees somewhere comfortable. How he would look at me like I was the only thing that could fulfil him.

His breath was heavy, chest rising and falling at the pace of my strokes. His moans filling the damp air as with one last stroke, he chased his release with my hand wrapped still around him. Ben relaxed against the tub wall, his body disappearing further underwater. A beat skipped before he moved towards me and gave my shoulder a kiss. “Thank you love.”

He didn’t use to call me love anymore.

I smiled.

He thought this was for him. But this was for me. Because whatever happened on court that day, reminiscing about the past was more secure than worrying about whether we would even survive the future.

Later that night, we lost the Australian Open mixed doubles final. Ending our intense Grand Slam run and together with it, our relationship.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two years. In two years, a small knife can turn into a seething sword.

Training, practice, gym, sleep, repeat. There was something so refreshing when your most important point of focus became success.  

Photoshoots, campaigns, new friends.  I was no longer a new kid in the draw. I was a force to be reckoned with.

Porsche, Nike, Cartier.

Glittering image of a new star who cemented her place. Not sharper and reckless. But sharper and brighter. I played with confidence, having conquered the Australian Open a year before. Consistently being in the Top 5. It was ruthless but in a kind way. A motivating way.

I had more control, but less at the same time. Training intensely, practising hard. Then, fooling around. Sometimes.

Two years since the Australian Open mixed doubles final. Two years since I did not see his face, did not hear his voice. This was tennis, a small world, and we were bound to see each other. However, I made sure we wouldn’t.

No social media, no interviews about each other. I blocked not only him but his entire team. When Bryan would walk the corridors, I would only greet and change my way. He understood. There were no mutual friends' hangouts, no funny jokes about getting us back together.

There was no accidental sight in the player’s lounge, at the player’s gym or during hit practice either. My team made sure we wouldn’t even cross paths outside of arenas; far apart hotels, private dinners, and separate transport. The only thing I could not control was the draw. Yet, we found a way to also make that work. Scarcer doubles, and pull-outs when we would be in his and his partner’s quarter. 

He left my life. Yet, we still breathed the same air, and I hated it.

I hated that sometimes his image would burn into the back of my head. How I would curl up after losses and I would wish, even for a little bit, that he was there. How I would sit and think about how he looked now. How his kisses would feel now.

It took only a split second of distraction. Two years and I made no mistakes. One thoughtless decision and we were standing on opposite sides of the net at the US Open mixed doubles semi-final. My team saw us on opposing sides of the draw. We didn’t give it a second thought. There was no way he would make it that far.

But one thing about Ben is that that lucky bastard can crawl his way up in incredibly disadvantageous situations. Next thing I knew, it was afternoon in New York, and I was preparing to return his serve.

I tried not to stare. Not to seem taken aback by how much he had changed. How he had grown bigger, stronger. His shoulders lean and sculpted. His black ON shirt clung to his figure for life, emphasising his every curve, every muscle. His legs moved at a speed I had never seen before.

Ben would hit his cross forehand with a precision that made it hard to even reach for a return. My backhand was spectacular, but he knew how to go deep and fast on a new level. He had gotten quicker, swifter, more intelligent and more precise.

While I was too busy reminiscing the old Ben, this Ben in front of me was hitting winners like it was his pastime. I could not read him. But I decided I didn’t need to. On the second set, Carlos and I started advancing with confidence. While Ben’s forehand might have gotten sharper, so did my backhand and my drop shots.

He would cross and I would return with equal loathing. Carlos would volley back to Iga and we would go into long, intense volley-rallies like psychos. Crazy shots and crazier saves. Push and pull. Running cross-court like every point was a match point for all of us.

The game lasted 2h and 49 min. Three sets, all three tiebreakers. By the end of it, all four of us were breathing like madmen.

Carlos was sprawled on the court floor, while I was resting my forehead on my racket, barely being able to focus. Sweat dripped from my forehead as I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. On the other side of the court, Ben and Iga were equally exasperated. Both panting as they hugged each other for the last time on their run.

Carlos and I had scraped the victory narrowly.

The crowds were roaring. This was tennis, this was fire and passion and high-level performance.

Carlos got up and I followed his suit to the net. I hugged Iga, still unable to regulate my breathing. She had been phenomenal. Carlos then reached for her, and I went behind him. It had been 2 years. I could be civil. I had to be civil.

I looked up at him with my face burning, and my heartbeat drummed in my ears again. Dear God, how much he had changed. Ben’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks red and his damp curls sticking all over his forehead. When we shook hands, his fingers brushed against my wrist.

His eyes lingered on me for a second too long. Why was he always like this?

Carlos and I waved at the crowd and approached the interviewer. My eyes were on the camera, yet my mind was holding on to the image of the man I was meeting for the first time in two years. I could only hope his eyes were lingering on me too.

But the adrenaline of the match did not stop there. We had played like crazy, given it our all. I was on the bike, yet I felt like I could go another time. My heart was pounding, my thoughts were racing. Cross backhand, then drop-shot. Carlos’  volleys. Iga’s dunk. Neutral rally. My backhand again.

Ben’s forehand. Ben’s arms. Ben’s curls. Ben’s lips. Volley. Volley. Volley.

I cursed under my breath. Fuck. I was going too fast even on the bike. When we went back to change and debrief, my legs were still restless, my mind still racing, my feet still pacing. My blood was coursing through my veins like I was running in the woods.

I made my way to the players’ lounge for dinner. Another thoughtless decision. He was there - of course, he was there. Sitting next to Iga and across from his team. His hair was still wet from the shower. Someone must have said a joke as he threw his head back grinning.

The morning of the Australian Open mixed doubles finals ran through my brain. Dear God!

Our last time together, and the first time I craved him like a crazy woman.

I was staring at him like a hawk, yet he didn’t even bother to spare me a thought. I even walked directly next to him to get to the food line, yet he did nothing. Didn’t stare, didn’t look. Didn’t even turn his head.

My legs sped past his table. I didn’t hear his breath get caught up like mine did. I didn’t even know what I needed from him - to look at me, to acknowledge me? To tell me he sent all those forehands my way with persistence because he wanted to prove a point?!

It felt infuriating to be upped by a man who did not spare me two cents of his undivided attention.

Back to the hotel corridor, my mind was racing. I was sprinting to my room. Struggling to get rid of this feeling, of this match. I needed to rest. I need to forget this. Pump this out. I had a final coming up and I was going to win it.

Until I saw him. Arms crossed, leaning against the wall next to my room. The dim lights cast shadows on his face as he played with his feet. I stopped dead in my tracks near him. It was 11 pm. Why was he here? 

He was biting his lip as he looked up at me and it took me a second to gather myself. I began walking past him while he silently followed me with his eyes as I made my way to my door.

“Hey.”

I stopped. 11 pm after our mixed doubles semis match. 11 pm after nearly 3h of hell. My heartbeat was up in my ears again. My thoughts were racing like a tornado. One thoughtless decision and we were on opposite sides of the net. One thoughtless decision and he was at my door at 11 pm.

I swallowed and looked up at him. How his shoulders had widened, how his jaw had sharpened, his lower fade and his curls pouring over his forehead.

“Ben…”

His fingers circled against my wrist. The way they did at the end of the match. His eyes lingered on my face and then on my lips. My eyes darted to his silver chains, to the way his chest rose and fell. To his eyes, searching - thinking of a way to stop this.

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

What’s one more thoughtless decision?

His lips crashed down on me. My back hit the door. At first, his kisses were lingering, full but tentative. As if searching to make sure I was here for them, the way he was here for me. He was barely doing anything, and I was already suffocating. My hands reached for his silver chains, and I tugged at them urging him closer.

It sent him feral.

His kisses were not caressing anymore. They were devouring. He was aggressive and confident and rough. Just like he had been on court today. Ben kissed me like I was his last breath, like he had meant it for a long time. His hands were already everywhere, touching, grabbing with intensity. My eyes fluttered shut, my heartbeat rising to my ears again as I could feel the adrenaline pumping through me.

Two years and this man was starving.

We barely made it to my bed before both of us were stark naked. My back tattoo flashed in the mirror, and I knew his eyes caught it. I knew he would love it, would go crazy for it. He traced it with his fingers, his touch burning every single piece of my body like it was hell. I savoured the sight of him like I would no longer see the light of day. 

There was no fiddling, no giggling. Just pure commitment to this. To this bit, to burning whatever this was off.

Dear God, how much I had craved this Ben.  

The one whose lips touched in all the right places. The one whose movements were fuelled, demanding. Hands pushing my thighs apart without a doubt that this is what I wanted. His hot mouth leaving bite marks up my tits and my neck. His breathy grunts filled my ears as my nails dug into his back to pull him impossibly closer.

It was maddening. Whatever this was that we were getting off our chest, whatever we couldn’t say out loud, it was excruciating. Pushing us further, deeper. Dear God, I didn’t want him to stop.

He fucked like a man now. His body all muscle, hard like an anchor. He made me see stars. Fucked me until I went numb. Fucked me like he meant every single thrust.

In. Out.

In. Out

In. “Ben!”

Out. “Oh, fuck, like that yeah.”

Then, we did it again the next day after I won the final. And the tournament after that. And the one after that.

It became our new routine. No commitment, no complications. Just the man I used to be in love with buried deep inside me every now and then. Then, silence. Radio silence. Then he would reach out again. Sex on his car. Sex on my shower.

God knows, I left Christianity a long time ago, but he’d bring me to my knees in one breath.

How I would milk him dry. How he would breathe against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “You take me so good.”

How he would fit in me like he belonged there.

How Ben would go down on me in the middle of the room, let me ride his face until I could take it no more. His pace would tear me to pieces. Stronger. Rougher. Deeper. How he would press his hand against my lower belly while I took him just so he could feel himself in me. 

His name would roll off my tongue like a charm. My name would hitch in his breath like a curse. Dear God, how I hated to admit that I missed him like this. I liked him like this. When he was in between my legs, in the locker room, and we’d grunt as I took him full. When we would sneak out so I could feel his lips on mine. It was almost fun.

No love and it was almost working.

Almost.

Because at times, I’d fall asleep to the warmth of his chest and his arms wrapped around me, and wake up to the coldness of the reality that he was not mine. That this was a temporary fixture. Two athletes pumping out adrenaline. It was convenient.

Yet when he’d stay, I would be lying if I said a part of me was a little bit happier. He’d kiss my forehead like it was second nature and cook us breakfast because now he was not so terrible at it. We would joke around, fool around. I’d even wear his shirts again.

He’d flirt his way into my bed as if I wasn’t already waiting for him to consume me.

No one knew. No one needed to know. There were no cameras because this was no longer a love story. This was meant for the backstage, for the locker room where we would sweat it out, high on the adrenaline of getting caught.

In the player’s lounge, we would not even spare a glance at each other. Tables apart, separate entries and exits. No interactions, no unnecessary shared spaces. I hated him in public and moaned his name in private.

No love, and it was almost working.

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As the new season started, our old habits stayed. It was hotel room after hotel room. Silence. Sneaking out. But now, there was not just sex. I’d run to Ben whenever things became too much. He’d hide in my arms whenever his losses would weigh his shoulders down.

It became intoxicating, how I would wait for him to show up and wish for him to stay after - stay longer. This was convenience, yet I conveniently wanted him next to me at all times. “No one else makes me feel like this.” He’d whisper into my hair, and I would almost believe him.

It was fine.

Apart from when I would see his face plastered on social media with a new girl he was talking to. Flirting with, charming his way into whatever he wanted with her. It was fine. Apart from the drop in my stomach - how I felt a little sick, a little pissed, and a lot of anger.

So much for someone who wasn’t even mine.

Later when he’d show up to my room, it was ice waiting for him. “Not tonight, I’m not in the mood.”

Ben would raise an eyebrow. Rolling the leather jacket off his shoulders, he’d approach my bed in slow strides. “Is that so?”

I would barely look up from my phone from where I was sitting. “Thought you had company tonight.”

He would smirk, his eyes glinting with confidence. His hands would snake around my bare legs while his lips left an unforgiving trail up my thighs. Slow, measured, tempting. It would stop right before it reached my core. Ben would rest his face in between my legs and look up. “You know…in you is the only place I belong.”

Fuck him. It was the way he would say it, with such ease, with that raspy breath and glinting playful eyes.

“Then show me.”

It was all he always needed. He’d take me like he was starved. Put my panties away and eat me until my body was shaking. I’d fist his pretty curls, and his name would roll off my tongue like a prayer.

After Miami Open that year, we didn’t see each other for long. No sight of him with only a towel, water droplets decorating his glazed skin and tight pecks. Couldn’t feel his back muscles flexing at my every touch. His shoulder was not there for me to cry on when I felt exhausted. His lips could not soothe my nerves away.

It was fine. It didn’t matter. That he wasn’t calling or texting. Radio silence was usual for us.

“You look like you’re about to scream.” My physio said handing me a bottle full of electrolytes.

“I am not?!” I scoffed at her while downing the liquid all at once, almost too fast.

She shook her head. “Has that boy still not texted you yet?”

I shrugged, maintaining a calm expression. “Does it matter?”

“Y/N, do you miss him?”

“What?”

She was looking straight at me. “I said do you miss him? Because last time you told me this was not serious.”

“It’s not.” I answered almost too quickly.

My physio did not seem convinced. I did not like where this was going with her. “Yet, here you are checking your phone every 5 minutes. Make sure that boy does not ruffle your feathers too much.”

“He doesn’t, don’t worry.” I smiled, tight-lipped.

I didn’t miss him. My brain was simply just burning with the memory of us pressed together, his lips smiling against mine. How he’d use to whisper sweet nothings into my ear for me to fall asleep. The faint smell of cologne that Ben would spray right after a shower.

Dear God, I hope it ain’t him I’m missing. Just his body and his touch and his voice. It hadn’t even been that long since…

Strong arms wrapped around me, and I felt the notes of cedarwood in the air. “Hey, baby.”

Fuck.

Dear God, I hope you’re listening.

ben shelton's reaction to beating flavio cobolli for the first time

you know what? hell yeah!

"You're losing blood" no I know exactly where it is. The floor. Don't ever underestimate me.

quick little oscar piastri doodle because i felt the urge to draw him for no reason today.. i don't even go to f1 i don't know why this happened