Realeeeesttt. And I Am Saying This From Experience.

Settle Down

Jannik Sinner x Reader Blurb where Jannik visits a school and greets eager students in all their... enthusiasm. Reader is a school teacher, and she catches his eye. Her students approve.

---

The air buzzed with a particular kind of energy that only an auditorium of children could generate, even aside from the anticipation of the visiting guest. Every hallway in the small school building had been overtaken by handmade decorations—cut-out tennis balls, paper rackets with glitter glue, and triumphant declarations like "World No. 1!" scrawled in looping kid handwriting. It smelled faintly of glue sticks and unbridled excitement.

You had spent most of the morning trying to stop your students from bouncing off the walls—both figuratively and literally. Even the usually mellow kids were nearly vibrating with energy.

"Did you know he serves at like a hundred miles an hour?" one whispered. 

Another chimed in, "My dad says he’s better than Federer." 

“No way—there’s no way.”

You smiled at their awe, not even trying to hide your own. Because, yes—Jannik Sinner, the actual world number one, was coming to your school today.

You had tried to keep things together—your class schedule, your classroom, and yourself. You spent the earlier half of the day trying to get through lessons as usual, trying to reign your class in to act like it was a school morning like any other—except, of course, it wasn’t. Even you lacked the needed enthusiasm and focus to corral your kids into getting excited about the difference between odd and even numbers, and all the other curriculum meant for seven year olds, and eventually started teaching exclusively with tennis analogies. It was the only thing that got through to them that entire week.

And now, the long-awaited assembly finally underway, you lined up your class. You straightened one kid’s collar, reminded another to not to chew on her hair, and gave your resident trouble-maker the look.

Your students were easily the loudest of the bunch, and not by a small margin. They whispered too loudly, tugged on each other’s sleeves, and broke into spontaneous applause when they saw the banner at the entrance. It was a storm of giggles and eager chatter, and you were in the center of it all, gently calling names and guiding them with practiced patience.

The gym had been transformed. Some staff members had laid out fake turf down the middle, mimicking a tennis court. There were paper posters waving with hand-drawn rackets and clay trophies. And there, up on the stage, standing beside the principal, was Jannik Sinner himself.

He was taller than you expected—tall in that long-limbed, graceful way you recognized from watching countless matches late at night, sometimes rewatching rallies just to admire the control in his footwork. His face was softer off camera, though. Off court. His expression—open, warm, and just a little amused—made your breath hitch.

The principal stepped up to the podium to begin the introduction and you looked back at your class to make sure they were all seated and quiet. 

"Let’s all give a warm welcome to someone we’ve been waiting weeks to meet—Tennis World No. 1, Jannik Sinner!"

The gym burst into cheers, claps, a few high-pitched squeals. Jannik gave a bashful wave, blinking at the reaction, murmuring a thank-you into the mic. He stepped back and tilted his head to focus on the principal's words of gratitude, her excitement about the visit, the sportsmanship, the role model message—but his eyes strayed to the audience at a sharp interruption in the crowd.

You were standing off to the side of the student audience, your class fidgeting and shifting. The cry had come from a boy in your class who’d begun to whine, tugging at the sleeve of your top and asking something in full volume. You crouched beside him, whispering something only he could hear, and then the kid solemnly nodded. You placed a hand on his head and said something more, and smile grew on the student’s face. Laughing at his reaction, you quietly handed him a small sticker from your pocket and he happily settled back cross-legged on the floor. 

Jannik watched the whole exchange with quiet appreciation, smiling to himself before directing his attention back to the speech. He looked back just in time for another round of applause that marked the end of the introduction, and classes of students began to line up at the base of the stage to get ready to meet him—dutifully ushered by their respective teachers.

As he crouched to meet the first group of kids, Jannik was already smiling, thanking them for their drawings with gentle, focused attention. But then a sharp peal of laughter erupted from your direction once more. His eyes landed on the source of the commotion—your class, by far the rowdiest, and you, standing in the middle like a lighthouse in the storm.

It seemed a child had tripped over their shoelace, a result of some trick the rest of the class was also attempting. Your voice cut through the noise—calm, kind, and only a little exasperated—and something in it made Jannik glance stay up.

At first, it was just a flicker of curiosity and admiration. But as he watched you herd your energetic group with both authority and warmth, it turned into something else. He watched as you knelt to help a kid tie their shoe, gently redirected another away from picking at the decorations, and all the while, you smiled like you were exactly where you wanted to be.

Jannik found his eyes drifting back to you more than once. There was something magnetic about how you appealed to your students—not with any rigidity or lecture, but with an unshakable kind of grace. So when you laughed softly at something one of your students said, after they all huddled around you, clearly adoring of you, his chest tugged just a little.

He shook it off, glancing down with a smile as he accepted another drawing, and leaned in to hear the student describe his dream of becoming a tennis player. But even as Jannik replied, his thoughts pulled back to you.

He'd always found teachers to be impressive, but the way you moved in the middle of all this chaos—with patience, care, and a little sparkle behind your eyes—was endearing. More than.

And then it came to be your class’s turn to file in. You stepped forward to shake Jannik's hand, along with the other second grade teachers. You offered him a sweet smile along with your name, and his eyes stayed on your face even as you stepped back to make way for the next teacher. 

As he made his way around shaking hands, someone in your class screeched, stealing your attention away for a moment. He watched as you turned back to your class to settle them down.

One of the older teachers, noticing his attention on you, said with a grin. "She's the youngest teacher in our school. And the one with the most spirited class, as you may have noticed."

""She gets the wild ones. But somehow, they always adore her." Another teacher laughed, nudging you gently as you rejoined the conversation. "It’s a gift."

You smiled, cheeks warming. "They're a handful, but worth it... Most days."

Jannik’s gaze flickered over to you again, a fond smile making up his expression. "They’re lucky. It’s not easy to keep that kind of energy in check."

You gave a modest shrug. "It’s just barely controlled chaos, honestly."

"You make it look easy."

Your heart skipped at the praise, but before you could reply, a group of your students broke out of line and approached him, clamoring and excited, and you gently excused yourself back to your role.

Jannik knelt to greet the children, his expression turning gentle as he accepted crayon drawings and clumsily glued greeting cards with sincere thanks. A few of your students gasped when he said their names back to them, as though he wasn’t just reading it off of the corners of their pages. One kid asked if he could see Jannik’s forehand in slow motion. Another asked if he liked dogs. A group of three tried to teach him their cheer—"Sinner is a winner"—but sang it just out of unison.

He laughed, charmed and endlessly patient.

Then, at their request, he held out his racket, letting a few of the kids touch the strings. One of your students ran his fingers across the taut surface and asked, "How many do you have?"

"A lot," Jannik said, smiling. "I go through them fast, to be honest. We play a lot."

“How many? Three?” The kid asked eagerly, and you giggled at his enthusiasm from behind.

“More than that.” Jannik replied, chuckling.

The kid let out a dramatic gasp and, in awe, whispered. “Four?”

Now you were full on laughing, and Jannik couldn’t help but do the same. Looking up, he caught your eye with a glint in his as you both came down from the hilarity and innocence of the question. 

"Whoa," another breathed, staring at his wrist before grabbing at his watch. You immediately stepped forward, gently peeling her hand off and mouthing a sorry towards Jannik.

He silently shook his head with a smile in response to your apology, and the girl soldiered on, unperturbed by the intervention. "Is that a real diamond in your watch, is that why it’s so sparkly?"

Jannik chuckled and held it out a little for her to see. "I don’t think so. But it's a nice one."

“Diamonds are for rings for weddings.” A nearby boy corrected matter-of-factly before squinting at Jannik’s hand, eyes narrowing. "You don’t have a ring."

Jannik blinked, a little surprised. "No, I don’t."

"Do you have a wife?" He asked bluntly.

Jannik’s smile widened with amusement. "No, no wife."

“You’re not married at all?”

Brows raised in humor at the disbelief in the question, Jannik shook his head.

"What about a girlfriend-boyfriend?" Another chimed in quickly, clearly emboldened.

You stepped forward quickly, a calm hand raised to briefly gain their attention. "Okay, okay—remember what we talked about. We don’t ask guests personal questions."

It was too late though, the floodgate had opened. They all rushed him with questions that couldn’t have been more personal, the only mercy being that their loud, tiny voices blended together too much to make out any one question.

But one student, your trouble-maker whose voice could carry across a football field, grinned wickedly. He tugged at Jannik’s sleeve fervently before pointing at you. "She loves tennis! She watches all your matches. She said you’re one of her most favorites ever!"

You stilled just slightly.

“Okay—” You tried to get ahead of the thread you were afraid the students would all latch on to, but paused to shoot Jannik a sheepish smile when you saw he was already looking at you.

The kids, too smart for their own good, immediately seized the opportunity, all the little gears in their little minds clicking at the same time. 

"She should be your girlfriend!" Someone shouted gleefully. "You should kiss her!"

You fully froze this time. Again, all the voices came in at once, but it seemed every line came out with ironic clarity this time around.

“Yeah.”

“You should kiss and marry!”

The stage exploded into giggles. Several kids clapped. Someone even tried to start a chant. You just wished for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“Yes or have babies!”

“You can’t have babies if you’re not married.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, you can’t”

“Yes, you—”

“But they should do both.”

“Yeah! All of it!”

“Be boyfriend-girlfriend.”

“My mom said you go on a date first.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when you have a fancy coffee with wine and kiss on the cheek after.”

“Oh yeah, I saw that in a movie once.”

You put your hands on your cheeks, trying to cool the warmth while herding your class away from Jannik. "Alright, that’s enough, everyone. Our time’s up. Let's give the next class a chance, okay?"

You risked a glance at Jannik and saw he was laughing throughout it. Head bowed, shoulders shaking. And then—then—he looked up, and you caught it. The glint in his eye. That flicker of something warm, something intrigued. Far from offended, and something a little more than just amusement.

You felt your face get warmer still as you stepped off the stage, feeling his eyes on you as you followed your still-jeering class.

---

Later, as the gym cleared for recess—the only part of the day that could outshine any guest—the activity finally quieted down. 

And that was when a voice, soft but unmistakable, found you.

"Hey."

You turned. Jannik stood a few feet away, holding a folded poster one of your students had made. He looked more relaxed now, still wearing his warm smile from earlier.

"They’re very enthusiastic," he said, nodding toward the last few of your students running out of the door towards the playground.

"You have no idea," you murmured, managing a chuckle. "Sorry about the interrogation—and the… yeah. They’re usually more subtle."

“Really?” Jannik waved off your apology, but questioned you all the same. “They don’t seem like the type.”

“Yeah… No, actually. I was just saying that to say that.” You covered your face a little while smiling. “They can be even more intense if they want. They were relatively well behaved today, if you can believe it.”

"They were sweet. And funny. ” He smiled, then hesitated, shifting his weight slightly. “And what they said, about you watching matches… that was nice to hear."

You let out a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Mortifying, but… yeah. I do. Like to watch, I mean."

He nodded slowly, glancing down at the poster in his hand, then back at you. His voice dropped just a touch, quiet and sincere. "I’m here for some more days… maybe, if you want, we can get a coffee, or lunch or something like this..."

You blinked, caught off guard by how direct but unassuming it was. "Are you asking me out because students told you too?"

"No. I’m asking because I want to." He gave a small, almost bashful laugh. “But they do seem very convincing.”

You smiled, biting back the extent of it with a nod. 

"Well. I do like coffee," you said softly.

"Okay." His grin widened. "Okay."

And somewhere near the gym doors, barely out of earshot, a small voice rang out in triumphant whisper.

"See. I told you so!"

---

Short one to start us back off. Happy to be back and home, and am vigorously editing a series and fics that I'm excited to get out to you!

Kids are merciless and forces of nature to be feared and I've worked with them long enough to know that, and never did they once set me up with someone as a thank you, so.

Enjoy xx

Spero davvero che l'era del cattivo di Jannik inizi ora. SPERANDO, MANIFESTANDO o come diavolo lo vuoi chiamare. 🥹🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

his voice oml fetus jannik

another fun thing about stat gathering is i can see the time he lost in straights to james duckworth and then remember this glorious moment where he asks what the fuck james is screaming about

"I am well rested, so I'm happy. Everyday I feel better mentally and physically. I'm doing a lot of different things. Of course if I could choose I would play tennis but on the other hand I'm not even thinking about tennis too much right now"

rome is so pretty

Come Back.. Be Here

Jannik Sinner x Reader

You and Jannik had a brief, intense off-season romance. It was never officially labeled, just two people gravitating toward each other in quiet moments, shared coffees, late-night hotel calls, and accidental hand touches. He told you goodbye at 4 a.m. before flying out for the season, right when you were just beginning to fall. Now, he's in New York. You're in London. The time difference stretches like a chasm, and you never realized how much he took with him until you turned around and he wasn’t there anymore.

a/n: hey guys! another fic because i got an idea when i listened to taylor. i might do alot of these, just writing fics when i listen to songs. anyway, hope u like this! here's a fic based on the song come back be here, it is sad so buckle up.

You said it in a simple way.

4:00 a.m. the second day.

How strange that I don't know you at all.

You remember the time exactly. 4:08 a.m.

The soft shuffle of his suitcase wheels against the hotel carpet. The muted zip of his jacket. The dim yellow glow of the hallway light spilling into the room as he stood by the door.

He looked at you with that same calm expression he always wore after matches: neutral, unreadable, but somehow still gentle.

“I’ll text when I land,” he said.

You nodded from the edge of the bed, legs crossed, sweatshirt drowning your frame. You wanted to say something meaningful, something about how those last few weeks had meant more to you than you’d admitted aloud. But your throat was tight, and you didn’t trust your voice.

So you smiled and nodded.

And said, “Don’t forget to stretch on the plane.”

He laughed softly. Then came over. Pressed a kiss to your forehead. One last kiss. And then he was gone.

You didn’t realize it would ache like this.

Stumbled through the long goodbye. Right when I was just about to fall.

You’d told yourself it was just a thing.

Two athletes in the same city for a few weeks. Two people who liked the same quiet cafes. Who stayed up too late watching old match footage on hotel TVs. Who held hands under tables but never talked about what it meant.

You didn’t realize how hard you’d fallen, until the moment he left.

Now, everything you do feels heavy with the absence of him. The mornings feel emptier. The coffee doesn’t taste the same. The Spotify playlist you made together? You can’t even open it. Not yet.

Not when he’s posting selfies in New York.

Not when he’s half a world away and looking fine, golden, laughing, thriving.

While you’re in London, breaking.

And this is when the feeling sinks in. I don't wanna miss you like this. Come back… be here.

You miss him at the oddest moments.

On the walk back from the gym, when your headphones shuffle to a song he showed you.

In the grocery store, when you pass the same flavor of energy bar he always grabbed.

At 2 a.m., when your apartment is quiet and you’re tired of pretending you didn’t care.

You do care.

You miss him like something vital, like oxygen.

And it hurts, because you never told him. And you should've told him to stay, you should've pulled him back to the hotel bed and begged for him to stay.

The delicate beginning rush. The feeling you can know so much Without knowing anything at all.

You knew how he took his espresso; no sugar, a little foam.

You knew the exact breath he took before his serve.

You knew he hated flying and always triple-checked his passport.

But you didn’t know his middle name.

Or who he called after winning a big match.

Or whether he wanted you to ask him to stay.

You knew enough to miss him. And not enough to hold onto him.

If I had known what I know now… I never would've played so nonchalant.

You’d told yourself to stay cool. Not to get attached.

You didn’t want to be the girl who caught feelings first.

But now, you wish you’d said something. Anything.

You wish you’d kissed him harder.

You wish you’d whispered “Don’t go.”

You wish you'd done something to make him stay.

Taxi cabs and busy streets, That never bring you back to me.

It’s been three weeks.

You’re in London. He’s in New York. Then Miami. Then somewhere in between.

You see clips of him doing press, hear the way fans chant his name.

You wonder if he ever scrolls back through your texts. If he watches that video of you two at the charity gala, the one where you’re laughing, leaning into him, like there’s no world outside the frame.

You wonder if he’s still wearing the bracelet you left behind. The navy one. The one he called your lucky charm.

You wonder if he thinks of you at all. You wonder if he misses you like you miss him, in the most grueling way.

This is falling in love in the cruelest way. This is falling for you when you are worlds away.

You go about your life. You train. You stretch. You smile for cameras.

But at night, it’s different. At night, you stop pretending.

You stare at your ceiling and whisper his name like a secret, like a prayer, like an oath.

You’re not sure why you do it.

You open your phone. Scroll up to your last message with a frown, a meme you sent him the night before he left. He replied with a laughing emoji and a "you’re ridiculous."

You type.

“New York doesn’t suit you.”

You pause. Your thumb hovers just above the send button.

Then, a second message:

“Come back.”

You hit send.

You turn off your phone.

You sleep.

And you dream of him standing in that hallway again. Except this time, he doesn’t leave.

And when it happens, you're ready to make him stay.

only jannik sinner could’ve made me sit for 5 and a half hours in front of tv looking at a ball going back and forth

today's mood

i literally have no time to write today, my tournament's on monday and training's been relentless. i have yet to finish 3 fics, but i just can't seem to find extra time to sit down and write.

maybe after my match i'll be able to finish these 3 fics but in the meantime, i guess you'll just have to wait.

so sorry to keep u guys waiting but i promise i'll finish and upload as soon as i can. 😭👊🏻

so for now, check out the other fics i published!

MASTERLIST

In your orbit

Jannik Sinner x Model!Reader

Synopsis: Reader sets her eyes on someone. A certain red-head, tall athlete. She's only ever seen him in the ads, on TV. But tonight, reader is set to put him in her orbit.

a/n: helloo!! 1/3 of fics finished today! i had an amazing match, and i also didn't expect to advance through another round so updates may be a bit delayed :( but i write every time i get free time (if i'm not tired), so yeah! hope u enjoy this little blurb i have. i really tried my best, hope this isn't too cringe or clichè. as always, comments and asks are greatly appreciated! i love reading your feedbacks, don't be afraid to request! ♡

You step out of the car with the kind of practiced ease that comes from years on runways and in front of flashing lights. Silk clings to your hips like it was made for you. And it was. Archival Gucci, deep emerald, low at the back, dangerous at the slit. Your heels click against the rooftop tiles like punctuation marks. Eyes follow you. They always do, you learn to adapt to it quickly.

But you’re only looking for one. And you find him.

Jannik Sinner, parked near the edge of the bar like he doesn’t quite belong. Fingers curled around a glass, jacket unbuttoned, hair still slightly damp like he ran his hands through it just before stepping in. He’s speaking with someone. Doesn’t matter who, but his eyes cut sideways when you walk in.

Bam. Bullseye.

He watches you the way you’ve seen men stare at cars they can’t afford. Like touching would be a luxury. You smile like you don’t see it, but you do. You always do.

You wait until he’s done glancing, then head straight for him. No detours. No small talk.

“You’re taller in person,” you say when you stop beside him, tone light, amused, like you’re commenting on the weather. “Not that I’m surprised.” You say casually, a smile adorning your lips.

His brows lift just a little, a smirk twitching up to the side of his lips. “You knew who I was?”

“I’d have to be blind not to,” you reply smoothly. “You’re everywhere. Ads, matches, press. And on my Instagram explore page every time you so much as breathe.”

That gets a soft laugh out of him, quick and low. One that makes you bite your lip, but you conceal it with a smile. He looks down for a second, a little shy, brushing his hand along the back of his neck like he’s trying to hide the smile.

“Do you always open with flattery?” he asks, glancing back up, voice dipped in that unmistakable South Tyrolean lilt.

You shrug, eyes flicking to his collarbone peeking beneath the shirt. “Only when it’s true.”

There’s a beat where you don’t say anything. You just look at him. Let him feel the weight of your attention. It’s intentional. You know exactly what you’re doing.

“I follow you,” you add, sipping your drink. “On Instagram. Not, like, in a creepy way.”

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with narrowed eyes, amused. “No?”

“No,” you smile, leaning in, letting your perfume fill the space between you. “Though if I were going to stalk someone, I’d probably pick you.”

His ears flush pink.

It’s subtle, but you catch it. You always catch the small things, the way he shifts his stance, how he glances at the guys across the room, the way his thumb drags across the condensation on his glass like he needs something to do with his hands.

“I saw you earlier,” he murmurs. “Before you saw me. All the guys looking at you…”

You raise a brow, amused. “Jealous, Sinner?”

He hesitates. Just long enough.

You smirk. “It’s alright. I get it. I’d be jealous too.”

His expression flickers, like he wants to say something in Italian but bites it back.

You step in a little closer, like it’s natural, like you’re just adjusting your clutch, but your shoulder brushes his chest.

And he stiffens slightly.

“I saw your Rome match last month,” you say, casually now, eyes still on his. “You play like you’re chasing something.”

“I am,” he says, too quickly.

You blink, surprised at the sharpness, tilting your head. “Oh?”

“I play better when I want something.”

“Like?”

He looks down at you, quiet, his gaze dragging slow. “Like now.”

Oh.

Oh.

You chuckle, amused and smirking. You let the small silence settle before pulling your phone from your bag, licking your lips. Tap. Unlock. Hold it out.

He blinks, raising his brows in surprise. "Oh? What is this?"

“Put your number in.” You tap the phone casually, not breaking eye contact.

He stares for a second.

“C’mon,” you add. “I already follow you. Might as well make it official.” You smirk, tilting your head. You know exactly what you were doing, and it was working. Mamma Mia, it was making Jannik go feral.

His fingers skim yours as he takes it with an amused smirk. His skin’s warm, calloused but gentle hands, knuckles slightly pink from the drink. When he hands it back, your name is already saved on his phone.

You peek, another smirk plastered on your soft lips.

“You added a heart?” You quirk a brow.

“Accidentally,” he says, completely lying. His accent thickens for a second. Accidentally. Cute.

You laugh and shake your head, shameless. “Right.”

You send him a text before you even step back.

His phone buzzes.

When he reads it 'don’t be shy tonight, golden boy.' you watch his throat work as he swallows.

You turn to leave, giving him one last look over your shoulder. An innocent smile.

“Nice meeting you, Jannik.”

He’s still standing there when you disappear back into the crowd.

Orbiting.

Just like you planned.