blackbat05

[blackbat05]

Still Yours, Still Proud.

› Pairing: Jannik Sinner x Female Reader.

› Summary: Paris, after the final. He finally lets go.

› Word Count: 1.4k.

Post-RG 2025 — Paris, Hotel Room.

The world had moved on fast. That’s what hurt most.

Commentators were already hailing Carlos Alcaraz’s era-defining victory. Headlines hailed the maintenance of the reign of the king of clay. Social media was a storm — clips, stats, rewinds. Everyone had something to say.

Except him.

Jannik hasn't said a word since the press conference. No interviews, no statements, no reposts. Just the eerie silence of his hotel suite and the muffled hum of Paris traffic below.

She had knocked three times before he opened the door. But when he did, pale hoodie on, hair still damp from a too-long shower, eyelids heavy either from tiredness or from the tears that threatened to fall, and his eyes found hers, something in him unknotted. Wordlessly, he stepped aside to let her in.

No one else had made it past that door.

She kicked off her shoes and crossed to him slowly, barely a breath between them. “Jannik…”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, legs wide, forearms on his knees, eyes locked somewhere near the carpet. She moved to stand between them, her fingers brushing over the soft copper of his hair before cradling his jaw gently.

“I still think you’re the best,” she whispered, because it was true. Because no match could ever change that.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned forward slowly, until his forehead pressed against her stomach, and then, just as quietly, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap.

The moment she settled, knees tucked on either side of him, his whole body gave in. His face hid in her neck, arms anchoring tightly around her waist like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

And then he cried.

Not loud. Not broken. Just silent, trembling, aching tears soaking the skin beneath her collarbone. She didn’t shush him, didn’t say anything about being strong or proud, just held him tighter.

Her fingers brushed through his hair as his breath hitched against her. “It’s okay,” she murmured, cheek resting against the top of his head. “You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you.”

He finally spoke, voice rough and choked. “I tried so fucking hard…”

“I know,” she whispered. “I saw.”

His grip on her tightened, like he thought she might vanish if he let go.

“No one else,” he said hoarsely, pulling back just enough to look at her through bleary lashes. “I don’t want anyone else near me right now. Just you.”

She cupped his face and kissed the tip of his nose, then his temple, then the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve got me,” she promised. “Always.”

And in the quiet that followed, with Paris glowing just outside the window and his chest pressed tight to hers, he felt it — the shift. The slow, small healing that comes not from the world forgiving you, but from one person loving you enough that it almost doesn’t matter.

─ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅

Later that night, the Paris skyline had dimmed to a soft haze. The buzz of the city barely reached the hotel room anymore, and inside it, everything felt still — safe.

Jannik was lying in bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily curled around her waist. She was sprawled across his chest, warm and breathing slow, fingertips absently tracing lines over the fabric of his shirt like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

He hasn't said much since earlier. Not because he was shutting down again, but because he didn’t want to break the moment. Not when she was here. Not when her presence felt like the only thing that didn’t ache.

He looked down at her then, at the curve of her cheek pressed to his chest, the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the little crease above her brow that never smoothed out until she was truly asleep. The sight made his throat feel tight again, but not in the way it had before. Not grief nor shame. Just awe.

And guilt, maybe. Guilt for letting it get to him so much. For crying. For caring so much. For not being the version of himself the world always expected.

“I shouldn’t have…” he started, voice barely above a murmur.

She stirred. “Hm?”

“I shouldn’t have gotten that upset,” he said. “It’s just a match. I mean, I lost. It happens. People lose.”

She lifted her head slightly, blinking up at him with sleepy softness. “Jannik…”

He didn’t look at her. “I’m not a sore loser, I swear, I’m not. I just— I couldn’t stop it. I felt it coming and I—” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know why I took it so hard...”

She propped herself up on her elbow now, eyes steady on his. “You’re not a sore loser.”

He gave a faint, humorless laugh. “Sure didn’t feel like it.”

“You were out there for almost six hours,” she said quietly. “You left everything on that court. And when the match ended, you didn’t throw a tantrum. You shook hands, congratulated him, did everything with grace. And then when it was just you, you broke a little. That’s not being a sore loser, Jannik.”

She reached up to brush a piece of hair off his forehead, fingers soft and steady. “That’s just being human.”

His eyes finally met hers.

“It doesn’t make you weak,” she added. “It makes you real.”

For a moment, he just stared at her like he didn’t know what to say. And then, slowly, his arms wrapped around her again, pulling her back down onto his chest, closer this time.

She melted into him without hesitation.

“I’m lucky you’re here.” he whispered into her hair.

“You always will be.” she whispered back.

Eventually, her breaths evened out, hand going still where it rested above his heart. But Jannik stayed awake a little longer, just watching her, holding her, feeling everything in him soften because she hadn’t just seen the parts he tried to hide — she had held them, kissed them, forgiven them.

And for the first time all day, he let himself believe it might actually be okay.

─ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ─── ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅

The Morning After — Paris, 8:12 a.m.

Light spilled gently through the cracks in the curtains. The city below had already woken up, but inside the hotel room, time moved at its own pace.

She was still asleep when Jannik stirred, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, one leg tangled between his. The sheets had slipped low around their waists. Her hand, small and warm, was curled over his chest like she’d claimed it in her dreams.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare to. Instead, he just looked at her.

The soft part of her lips, the faint crease in her brow, the way her lashes fluttered every few minutes like she was somewhere in between dreaming and waking.

His heart did something stupid in his chest. A little stutter, a little ache — but the good kind this time.

She had seen him yesterday, in one of his lowest, most exhausted states. Not just tired from the match, but from the weight of expectation, from the way defeat settled in your bones when you knew how close you came.

And she hadn’t tried to fix it. She had just stayed. Loved him right through it, without asking him to be anything other than exactly what he was.

"You're still staring," she mumbled suddenly, voice sleepy and soft.

He smiled, brushing a knuckle down the curve of her back. “I wasn’t staring.”

“You were definitely staring,” she muttered, eyes still closed.

“Fine,” he said, low and playful. “I was admiring.”

She peeked up at him through one eye, a small, crooked smile forming. “Did the view help you recover from emotional devastation?”

“A little,” he murmured. “Still recovering.”

She pressed a kiss to his collarbone, slow and lingering. “Take your time.”

And maybe for the first time after a loss that heavy, he would.

Because she made him feel like he didn’t have to rush past the pain or cover it up. That being human — even messy, emotional, tired — wasn’t something he had to apologize for.

So he pulled her closer, buried his face in her hair, and let the morning hold them both, slow and safe.

[blackbat05]

“Soda Pop” Alcaraz vs “Your Idol” Sinner

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2025 gave us 2 movies about self-acceptance, feeling alone, and finding people who love and accept you, and I love it.

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I LITERALLY LOVE HIM SO BAD 😭🥺😭🥺😭

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CAPITALISM FINAL BOSSES:

1) holger rune selling his broken rackets

2) jannik sinner winning a tournament for 6million dollars

3) carlos alcaraz engaging in straight RPF

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TF YOU MEAN “AND NOW ILL GIVE IT (his soul) TO YOUUUUUUU” 😭😭😭😭

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Super important compilation of the girls looking completely unhinged.

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NOT MY ENEMIES TO LOVERS

GIVE THEM BACK TO MEEEEE 😭😭😭

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@ juanki YOUR PROTEGE IS SAYING HE WOULD MARRY RAFA NADAL HOW DO YOU RESPOND?????

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your fave is problematic - Jack Draper edition:

- English 🤢

- overly affectionate with doubles partners (once smacked Jannik Sinner’s arse on live TV)

- worryingly proud of himself for reading ten (10) pages of a book during a national powercut

- famously made of glass (not jinxing)

- made Andy Murray’s life a living hell for three and a half hours driving from Manchester to London after Davis Cup

- British yet gives off unmistakeable frat boy energy

- cosplayed as Mario for Roland Garros this year, still managed pull it off somehow

- fighting Matteo Berrettini and Casper Ruud in a Disney Prince-off

- loves to yell at himself (truly Andy Murray’s son)

- self proclaimed sex symbol to grandmothers

- once threw up on Arthur Ashe stadium (# I survived Sinner-Draper US Open 2024)

- has a vendetta against Joao Fonseca

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Give me Janmma vs Jackwen doubles for US Open!

Your Eyes are Vacant and Theres something Evil as Fuck About You

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To recap today 19/06/2025 in tennis we had:

Jannik releasing a song

Kvitova announcing that she's retiring at the end of the season

Rublev double faulting on match point and giving the match away by doing his very own interpretation of a Djokosmash

Coco losing in her Miu Miu kit

Carlos fighting for his life for 3 and a half hours but still managing to win somehow

Jannik losing to Bublik which is the first time he's lost to someone outside the top 20 in 2 years

An article revealing Kei Nishikori has been cheating on his wife

Raducanu being tasteless for the 3928387th time

Victor Barber announcing his arrival in London (the worst thing that has happened today btw)

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ahhhhh I believe in curses when in comes to sports and that outfit is CURSED JANNIK I KNEW ITTT!!!

But guys, carlos lost in the second round at queens club last year and now jannik loses in the second round at halle.... so jannik will win Wimbledon this year. I don't make the rules

[blackbat05]

2024: Carlos loses to Jack Draper in R2 in Queens, proceeds to win Wimbledon.

2025: Jannik loses to Bublik in R2 in Halle,

???

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Taylor Fritz and Elena Rybakina: The quietest pair to ever exist

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Jannik totally forgot that it’s mixed doubles so he got mad at Carlos and decided to get a partner also named Emma

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what if your recent situationship got so bad that you hopped on to karaoke with andrea bocelli