you're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be

Jannik Sinner

Series

A December Breath → Jannik Sinner x Female! Reader → Christmas romance, teacher x athlete, fluffy → Complete ❄️ Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 ❄️ Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 ❄️ Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 ❄️ Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 ❄️ Chapter 13 Only Now, Only You → Jannik Sinner x Female! Reader → Wimbledon, workplace romance, oblivious pining 🍓 Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 🍓 Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

One Shot

🎵 Real Gone Kid → Jannik Sinner x Female! Reader → Popstar x Athlete, established relationship, light angst. 🩷 About You → Jannik Sinner x Female! Reader → First love, bittersweet, memories. 🩷 All I Need To Hear → Jannik Sinner x Female! Reader → First love, domestic, happy ending → Sequel 🛷 Head First → Jannik Sinner x Female! Reader → Summer x Winter Athlete, meet cute, fluffy. 📷 Local Boy in the Photograph → Jannik Sinner x Female! Reader → Sports photographer x Athlete, fluffy, yearning. 🛼 You Outshine the Morning Sun → Single Dad! Jannik Sinner x Single Mum! Reader → Girl dad, yearning, matchmaker kids

Carlos Alcaraz

One Shot

📚 August and Everything After → Carlos Alcaraz x Female! Reader → Friend’s sister, flirty fluff, obvious pining

Jack Draper

One Shot

🏆 Demolish Me → Jack Draper x Female! Reader → Angst, tennis injury, friends to lovers to exes.

Malcolm Tucker

One Shot

📎 The Sweetest Taboo → Malcolm Tucker x Female! Reader → Secret workplace romance, jealousy, smut → Continued on AO3 (here)

Johnny Knoxville

One Shot

You never should have signed up for this movie.

There were countless movies needing set medics in lovely, warm Los Angeles. Big movies full of Hollywood stars, with a proper catering department and assistants running around wanting to buy everyone coffee. Sets that you had been used to, where the majority of your job was dealing with heat exhaustion and dehydration. Yet here you were in Pennsylvania, freezing your ass off for some stupid stuntmen you briefly remember your roommate watching on TV. You weren’t even sure they were qualified stuntmen – just a bunch of stupid men who’d gotten quasi-famous from their MTV slapstick reality show.

You let your roommate, Kristeen, talk you into this when you first saw the listing in the office. You’d only taken a copy because you recognised the name from hearing “Hi, I’m Johnny Knoxville and welcome to Jackass,” so many times on those Sunday evenings when she co-opted the TV. But Kristy had called the number on your behalf, not wanting you to miss out on such a rare opportunity. She claimed that you being such a creature of habit was bad for you. That you had to get out there because you never did location shoots, instead opting to stay on set in Los Angeles whenever you could. Well, you were certainly out there now. 

Out there and absolutely, fucking freezing. 

It must have been below 30 degrees, and the coat you brought with you was barely keeping out the chill. You were used to Los Angeles, to it never really going below 50, to not needing more than your favourite pea coat that stopped just above your thighs. That pea coat was doing absolutely nothing for you. You’d tugged a hat down low over your head, shoved on some thick gloves you’d borrowed from April Margera when she noticed your lack of warm clothing, and even gone so far as to ask for the extra hoodies Bam Margera and Brandon DiCamillo had brought with them. And still, you were shivering. 

Johnny Knoxville and Ryan Dunn crashed their golf cart through one of the plastic animals set up around the mini-golf course. You winced as the pink flamingo went flying through the air and their golf cart wobbled, fearing that it would tip over and ultimately crush them beneath the weight. You’d found, in the first week or so of filming, that the boys didn’t really care if they got hurt. As long as it was funny. As long as the camera caught it. There were always cameras rolling, even when you were eating from one of the food trucks, just in case someone did something stupid enough to be worthy of being shown in this movie they were making. 

You didn’t really get it, but you were getting paid to stand here and watch them crash golf carts into one another, so you went along with it anyway. 

“We’re going back to the Margera's after we film this, right?” you asked Jeff Tremaine, the director and one of the creators of the original show, through chattering teeth. He chuckled, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his thick coat. Yours were stuffed under your armpits, though you were sure they were about to fall off. 

“You feeling the cold?” 

“Don’t tell me you aren’t.” You stamped your heavy boots against the frost-tipped grass, hoping the movement would spike some heat through your veins. Not really. The chill had already gotten in, and no amount of layers would help rid you of it. You just hoped April would let you drink all her coffee until your body returned to normal. “I’m used to LA. Why did you decide to film here first? In February? When it’s fucking freezing.” 

Jeff laughed loudly. Out there on the mini-golf course, Bam and Brandon almost threw Rake Yohn off the plastic dinosaur he was pretending to ride. “Easier to get all the Pennsylvania stuff out of the way before we go to Japan. Even if it is fucking freezing.” 

We did not include you. There was no reason to pay for you to go all the way to Japan when they weren’t going to be doing anything dangerous. Apparently. You were being left in Pennsylvania to look after Bam. Johnny laughed when you’d pouted about it in Jeff’s office and said: “Don’t worry, angel, we’ll be back trying to kill ourselves before you can miss us.” 

“Should have brought Ed here and taken me to Japan.” 

Jeff just laughed again and slung an arm over your shoulder to try to warm you up without saying as much. You’d known the Jackass crew for just under a month, and they were probably the most welcoming crew you’d been involved in, making you feel immediately invited under everybody’s wing to make your job somehow easier. One of the other medics, Ed, had taken you to meet everyone one by one, to high-five the boom mic and rig operators, to fist bump the guys that kept the cameras rolling, to shake hands with the legal team, to hug all the cast who acted as if you’d always been around. You couldn’t complain about any of them.  

Except for Johnny Knoxville. 

You could hear his laughter as they drove over too-deep dips in the golf course. You couldn’t believe the carts hadn’t tipped over yet, rocking back and forth, scuffed to hell, covered in broken pieces of plastic animals. It wasn’t like he didn’t make you feel welcome – rather, it was like he went out of his way to be too familiar with you. He was flirty, and loud, and touched you when you were least expecting it. Helping tug the hair out of the collar of your shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of your neck, and giggling when you shivered under his touch. Leaning his arm on the top of your head because he always stood way taller than you. You were honestly surprised he hadn’t jumped at the chance to offer his hoodie when you complained about being cold, especially when he always slipped into his Southern gentleman role when you were around. 

You expected everything he did was a prank you were supposed to laugh about later. 

“Would April be mad if I drank all her coffee?” 

Before Jeff could reply, you watched the golf cart flip over. Ryan had been driving too fast over the short hill, and it had tipped as it bounced, sending him flying out of the driver’s seat. Johnny was stuck inside, his body tilted at an odd angle, his legs above his head. Exactly what you feared would happen. You raced over, Jeff on your heels, the chill forgotten as you heard people shouting not to move him, not to touch him. You still felt too far away, the frost slowing you down unless you slipped, and by the time you reached the tipped-over golf cart, Johnny was groaning. 

“You dead, Knoxville?” Jeff asked. 

“Not yet.” 

The damp grass soaked through the knees of your black jeans as you reached out to touch the back of Johnny’s neck. He winced and gingerly cranked an eye open, then the second one, and you were loath to admit he had very pretty eyes up close. 

“You an angel?” 

“If this is heaven, send me to hell. It’ll be warmer.” 

His wince cut off his chuckle. You got him to move his feet, then his fingers, and since everything seemed to be moving correctly, you got Jeff to help you move Johnny into a seated position. He blinked slowly, dazed, and you held the pen light you always kept in your pocket up to his eyes, checking his vision wasn’t impaired. He was the perfect patient while you slogged through all the tests to make sure his neck wasn’t injured, that he hadn’t broken any limbs, that he was in no severe distress. He was quiet, only wincing when you touched a spot that would most likely bruise in the next few days, and never argued with a single order you gave him. 

Quite frankly, he almost seemed to like being ordered about. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

“Just the usual pain, nothing killer.” 

“Good. I think you’ll be fine. Here–” You held your hand out, and Jeff slammed a bottle of water into it, which you then handed to Johnny. “–keep drinking fluids. I think you’re just a little dazed, but it doesn’t look like a concussion or anything. No neck injury either.”   

“Are you done, then?” he asked after he gulped down some water. He blinked up at you and purposely jutted out his bottom lip in a pout. As if he wanted you to keep running your hands all over his body. “I don’t get a kiss to make it feel better?” 

“I wouldn’t dare. That’s a totally experimental procedure I’m just not comfortable doing out in the field.” 

Johnny laughed. That loud laugh of his that seemed to ring right from the depths of his stomach. You had to admit it had a way of infecting the people around him, including you, and you struggled to stifle the smile that started to break through. He tugged on a loose strand of your hair. 

“Thank God you’re around to patch us up, angel.” 

You twisted away before he noticed the blush that swallowed up your face. He would have just laughed louder, alerted everybody’s attention to the fact that calling you angel was enough to make your face such a pretty colour, and it’s all you would ever hear for the rest of filming. Scrambling away from him, you suddenly felt the chill of your damp knees after having kneeled in the frost for so long, and you knew you’d never be able to get rid of it until you stood beneath the steaming hot shower of your hotel room. Even then, you were sure you’d still feel it, like an itch under your skin, the inkling of cold you couldn’t forget. 

You were still shivering as you helped pack the gear away into the two crew vans. Rick Kosick, one of the cameramen, noticed your shaking hands and handed over the small hand warmer he’d been using throughout the shoot. It had cooled a little, but it was still warmer than the air, and you held it between your gloved hands as you scrambled into the backseat of the van. You huddled in the corner, hands against your chest like the small hand warmer could spread heat throughout your body, and were incredibly thankful when another, warmer body pressed against your side. 

“You’ll heat up eventually,” Johnny said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer into him. 

“Eventually is too far away.” 

Another laugh, and you had to turn your head away, so he couldn’t see the way you blushed so easily at something as simple as a warm sound. He played with your hair as if he didn’t even realise he was doing it, while he leaned forward to talk to Bam sitting in the row in front. Ryan, next to Bam, turned at just the right moment to catch your eye and wink, and then he twisted back around to continue his conversation with Rake. You didn’t have time to question the wink, and you didn’t particularly want to pay close attention to the way that Johnny was twirling your hair around his finger, nor the way it made your stomach twist just enough to be noticeable. So, you stared out the window and leaned into his warmth, and tried to think about the hot shower waiting for you at the motel instead of how solid he felt beneath you. 

If this was a prank, you wondered where they hid all the cameras. 

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

When the boys got back from Japan, the rest of you could return to business as usual in Los Angeles. 

You flew back from Pennsylvania with Bam, leaving the rest of his buddies in his hometown, and had never been more grateful to have a roommate than the moment you got home to find Kristy had left a welcome home gift waiting for you in your bedroom. A new coconut-scented candle to light, a collection of face masks to relax with, bath salts, and a bottle of wine to crack open. You spent just over an hour in the bath that night, drinking wine straight from the bottle, listening to your favourite music on the CD player you tugged through, and letting the face mask soak into your skin and get rid of all the blemishes from travelling. By the time you returned to set on Monday, you were thoroughly relaxed.

The Jackass crew undid all your hard work by midday. 

You were pretty sure they enjoyed causing you stress. Half of their pranks were just their way of trying to send you over the edge with worry while they laughed them all off. Renting cars just to crash them, using Bam and Ryan as human bowling balls, constantly trying to crush each other’s testicles in more dangerous and creative ways. You’d slowly started getting used to it, but it didn’t stop you thinking the worst was going to happen every time you heard one of them cackling in the distance. 

In the rare chance you got a moment to yourself, you always brought a book with you to set. 

“Coffee?” 

You twisted your head up, letting your thumb hold your place in your book, to find Johnny standing over you with two coffees in hand. The shitty coffees that came from the huge urn in the craft tent that you all gulped down, even though it was too bitter and no amount of creamer could mask the taste. 

“Sure, thanks.” You took it from him and smiled after your first sip. He remembered your creamer. You didn’t think Johnny had taken any notice of the coffee you drank. 

Johnny took the camp seat next to you, pulling it close enough that your knees knocked together. He just had long legs. He was bound to do that all the time. “Hey, nice shirt.” He nodded to the random t-shirt you’d thrown on in a rush that morning – you were never late to anything, but your clock decided to skip your alarm entirely, and you were forced to rely on Kristy – and you glanced down at it to check what it was. The shirt you’d gotten from the last Smashing Pumpkins concert you went to at the Virgin Megastore a couple of years ago, when they played Tonight, Tonight, and you cried, because that was your favourite song. You weren’t going to tell Johnny that, though.  

“Thank you. I saw them a couple of years ago–”

“At the Virgin Megastore? Yeah. I was there. It was good. Cried like a fucking baby when they sang Tonight, Tonight. I love that song.” 

You hid your smile in your coffee cup and dropped your eyes to the fading blue Woody Woodpecker shirt he wore. Everything you learned about Johnny Knoxville surprised you more and more, though there was a certain warmth that spread through your chest when you realised you weren’t so different, after all. That the same song could move you both to tears. That you stood in the same room and let the same music reach you. 

“You know.” He scrunched up his face like he was just remembering something. “I went home with some girl that night. She looked an awful lot like you–”

“Shut up, Knoxville,” you laughed, reaching over to smack your book against his knee. You’d lost the page, but you’d find it again. It wasn’t the first time you’d read The Joy Luck Club, anyway. His laughter rang around you, loud and unrelenting, confident in every little thing he did. 

Johnny was an easy person to get to know. He could talk about himself for hours, not in the way you usually found obnoxious, but in the way that asking the right question could set him off on a tangent with a million different storylines, finally reaching one conclusion. He’d laugh off difficult topics to keep the tension from growing and make sure nobody was sitting bored out of their minds. Every break you had, he’d find you. He’d ask you questions you couldn’t wiggle your way out of, and involve you in conversations he was having with the guys even if you were standing on the other side of the set. Johnny never let you be bored, mostly because he didn’t like being bored. You were still waiting for his attention to be one big prank that they’d use in the final scene of the movie. 

And he told stories pretty well. 

“He did not!” 

Johnny nodded wildly, laughter trickling from his mouth. Even you couldn’t hold back your giggles. “Hand on my heart, I ain’t joking, angel. Dave put the muscle stimulator on his gooch.” 

“Why would he do that?” 

“Why do we do anything around here?”

You doubled over with laughter, somehow able to perfectly picture a completely nude Dave England with a muscle stimulator stuck to his perineum. Already, you’d seen all the guys naked at least once. It was something you’d had to grow comfortable with. Almost always, one of them was stark naked for one reason or another, usually a prank, usually because they just liked whirling their dicks around and laughing about it. You’d stopped blushing after the first five times you’d walked in on one of them with their cock and balls facing you. 

“Wanna guess what Chris did?” 

“Oh, God. I don’t think I need to guess.” You laughed so hard your hand flew out to keep you from falling out of the camp chair. When it landed on Johnny’s knee, you didn’t even notice, too busy giggling, too busy having fun to feel embarrassed. And Johnny didn’t shake you off. If anything, he leaned closer, like he couldn’t quite get enough of your touch. 

It was always the same after a stunt, too. He’d lean into your touch even when you were focusing on the bruises blossoming across his chest, and you never noticed the soft way his expression crumbled as he watched you. 

“Right on his balls.” 

“No!” 

“And I’m pretty sure he liked it.” 

With your laughter joining in the air, loud and easy to get lost in, Johnny curled his hand around yours on his knee. You noticed – how could you not? – but you didn’t pull away, just continued to laugh, just continued to lean closer, and enjoy this rare moment of peace with Johnny Knoxville. You dropped your head onto the tip of his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath, and for a moment, it was like you’d been doing this forever. Like you and Johnny had been laughing together since childhood. It was easy. It was nice. 

You’d stopped expecting a camera to appear out of nowhere to capture the moment your forehead touched his shoulder. They were all too focused on whatever stupid shit Steve-O and Wee Man were laughing about in the distance, and you didn’t have to worry that the way Johnny smiled down at you was just a joke. 

It didn’t feel like a joke, anyway. 

You lifted your head from his shoulder, and you were close, so much closer than you expected to be. He smelled like bitter coffee, sweat, and the last remnants of cigarette smoke, and usually you’d have cringed away from any man who smelled like that, but it surprisingly suited him. And it made you want to lean even closer, even though it didn’t seem possible to get any closer. You’d tangled your feet under the camp chairs, and you were pretty much holding hands, and as the laughter drifted away in the air, you realised this was the closest you’d ever been to him without an injury as an excuse. 

“You know, I never noticed how pretty your eyes are until now,” he said. All you could manage in return was a nervous giggle, the smallest quirk of your lip that forced his gaze down to your mouth. 

You had a strict no-fraternising-at-work policy. 

You were most likely going to break it any day now. Even if it was a prank, it’d be worth it just to have Johnny kiss you right now. To have him lean forward and curl his hand around your jaw, to press his lips to yours and steal your breath away, to have you in the strange way you’d been dreaming about for weeks now. 

“Medic!” You heard over the noise, and the moment dissipated in a breath, running down the drain as you and Johnny leaned away from each other. You grabbed your backpack and raced away, before either of you could apologise, before you could really feel the sudden swell of disappointment trying to break through your chest. 

Johnny Knoxville watched you walk away. 

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

This was an incredibly stupid idea. 

Which you had told Johnny over, and over, and over again on the drive over to the shooting range that A.L.S. Technologies used to test their products. One of which they were testing on Johnny that very day. He just laughed off every single one of your concerns, and you should have felt better that he wasn’t worried, that he was going to take it all with a smile on his face, but you could just imagine the injuries a projectile could cause. 

He was going to get himself killed. 

“All right.” Johnny rocked on his heels in front of the camera. You stood back with some of the other crew members, and you seemed to be the only one feeling tense. They must have been used to seeing how much the cast could cheat death. “We’re here in the valley today to do our own little riot control test. This is George Hruska.” Johnny motioned to the man standing next to him. “All right, George, what do you do and what are we doing here today?” 

George Hruska looked a little awkward on camera. “Well, I’m Vice President of Operations with A.L.S. Technologies. We manufacture less-lethal ammunition. We’re one of the top manufacturing companies in the United States. And we’re going to shoot you with one of our projectiles.” You flinched. You could already see the bruising it would cause, in the best-case scenario. Beyond that, it could be lethal. “It’s called the Pen-Prevent. It’s a 40-gram, tail-stabilised bag. It’ll be travelling about 250 feet per second.” 

“Is that lethal?” 

“It’s considered less lethal.”

The cameras kept rolling as George helped Johnny into a chest protector. The Velcro made that awful scratchy noise you hated as he attached the sides, leaving just enough of his t-shirt showing around his belly. Some of the crew laughed as Johnny stepped into the protective diaper that’d protect his cock and balls from the projectile, but your humour got caught in your throat. 250 feet per second was fast. Fast enough to damage some internal organs. Before taking this job, the worst thing you dealt with was a broken ankle after a stuntman fell in the wrong place. 

“So, this morning I thought I was taking it in the chest with the beanbag projectile,” Johnny said to the camera. “But George and his company said ‘no way’. ‘Cause if it hits me in the heart, I’m pretty much done with.” 

George drew a target on the sliver of Johnny’s white t-shirt that showed between the thick pieces of protective gear. You didn’t like that it was drawn right over his navel. You didn’t like that you had to stand there and watch all this go down. 

“So we want to take every single precaution necessary to help protect your vital organs.”  

“Where are my intestines? Are they in that area?” 

“I think so.” 

“Awesome.” 

You groaned. “Not awesome.” Eyes flicked to you. Usually, you were one of the quieter members of the crew. You got on well enough with all of them, though you weren’t one of the ones to speak out. You usually just watched all the silly pranks and stunts go down with a laugh, and they never made you get involved. You’d only thrown up once, unlike Lance, who you were sure must have been sick every single day since you’d met him. He wasn’t good with any of the bodily fluid pranks the boys liked doing. 

“If you perforate your intestines, you’ll need surgery,” you told Johnny, planting your hands on your hips. The action made the hem of your long-sleeved shirt ride up, and you caught the way Johnny’s eyes flicked to the sliver of skin showing. Just the briefest moment. “And I’ll ask them to open you up so you’ll always have a scar to remind you of your stupidity.” 

When Johnny smirked, you were sure the cameras would have caught the way it made you feel. The way it made your stomach flip and your body suddenly feel too warm. The way it would be burned into your brain as you tried to fall asleep that night. 

“It’s so sexy when you use big words I don’t know.”

You jabbed him in the ribs with your elbow when he got close enough, and he doubled over, the breath knocked out of him by the suddenness of your hit. “Imagine that. But ten times worse.” 

“Don’t you have a code against stuff like that?” 

You shrugged off Johnny’s question as he leaned against the wall beside you. Even slouched, he was taller than you. He was taller than most people, you realised fairly quickly, towering over everyone and never trying to appear smaller, never trying to fold in on himself so that people would stop looking at him. Johnny didn’t mind being taller than everyone. Actually, he seemed to enjoy leaning on everyone’s heads. Including yours. He let his elbow rest on your crown, and when you tried to push him off, he just put it right back, laughing to himself, unbothered by your annoyance. So, you just left him be and watched George take a practice shot against the paper target. The beanbag shot a straight hole through the target, smacking against the wall behind it with a heavy thud that made your stomach churn. You felt sick just watching, but when Johnny’s arm slid off your head, you noticed how much paler he looked. It was as if the reality of the stunt had just hit him. 

“Should I remind you how much of an idiot you are?” you asked, just as he pushed himself away from the wall. 

“No need, angel, I’m fully aware.” 

In his defence, Johnny didn’t even flinch when the gunshot reverberated around the room. Not that he really had time to flinch with the speed the beanbag went flying towards him, hurtling into the side of his stomach and sending him down to the ground with an aching groan. It was the first time nobody had held you back from racing forward, and you were just thankful that Johnny was still able to roll around. At least it wasn’t completely lethal. 

He whimpered as you reached out towards him, fingers grazing the spot the beanbag hit. You ignored how much you liked that sound. It was definitely not what you should have been thinking about, not when you could see that Johnny was totally blinded by the pain. 

“Angel, that you?” 

“You’re not in heaven yet, Knoxville.” 

And despite the pain bouncing around his body like he’d just been hit by a twelve-ton truck, Johnny Knoxville still managed a smile. 

You checked him over as much as you could, and when he was able to sit up without fainting or vomiting, you checked him again, pretty certain that no vital organs had been damaged. Once again, he was the perfect patient as you ran your hands over his body, checking the bruising, the areas with the most pain, for anything broken. He was as obedient as most children you encountered back when you were an ED nurse, though he whimpered more than you were expecting. 

You did not like that you liked it. 

Once he was back on his feet, George helped him out of his protective gear, and Johnny made Lance bring the camera closer to show off the bruise that had already formed on his stomach. All the crew winced at the sight of it, and you knew it would only get bigger before it started to heal. 

You slowly reached out to prod it gently, and Johnny shuddered, as if he had felt it careening all around his body. 

“At least you won’t need surgery.” 

“Shame.” Johnny pouted again. “I think I’d look pretty rad with a new scar.” 

“A new scar?”

Johnny had to lean down to meet your eyes. “Just wait ‘til you see the one on my ass.”

This time, you were the one to laugh. You missed the way his face brightened. You weren’t to know that he’d been waiting all day just to make you laugh, that over the course of a few months he’d gotten used to the sound echoing around the set, waiting on the other side of the camera as he did something stupid without getting hurt. You were the first one to laugh when he showed up with a patch of his hair shaved, nearly doubled over every time you accidentally moved to that side of him. He’d have shaved the whole damn thing off if it made you laugh like that again. But you hadn’t even smiled since he told you about this particular stunt. 

Had you really been that worried about him?

Two days later, the bruise was double the size, and the camera lingered on the soothing way you rubbed arnica cream onto it without knowing they were watching. It lingered even longer on the way Johnny’s gaze softened as he watched you. 

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ 

You were way overdressed. 

When the boys had asked you to come to drinks that night after work, you hadn’t expected the bar to be some dingy, hole-in-the-wall without even a sign to tell you you were in the right place. All you had to go on was the muffled rock music filtering through the door, the crowd of smokers near the entrance, and the hopefully correct directions Chris had given you. 

Chris Pontius had invited you when you were soothing the bruise on his cheek, after a civilian had taken his Party Boy bit too seriously. He said they all wanted to see you come out of your shell a bit more, to see the type of woman behind the first aid backpack you lugged around with you everywhere, and that they were all going for drinks anyway, so you might as well come, too. So you were here, after a gruelling two hours trying to dress to impress, and the place looked like it should have been bulldozed back in the eighties. How did they even find this shithole? 

You pushed open the door, and heads twisted towards you. It was just as seedy inside. Liquor-sticky carpet, dim lights that hadn’t been dusted in years, pool tables in the corner, a darts board against the wall, and a bartender who looked like he’d just come out of WWE. You shuffled on your black mules in front of all those eyes. Definitely overdressed. Usually, if you and Kristy went out for drinks, your pink top with the ¾ sleeves that hung low on your breasts and the black midi skirt that clung to your hips was the perfect outfit. Not here. Not with all these men in this seedy place that stunk of yeasty beer and smoke. 

“Our medic!” Chris bounded over to you, and you realised that instead of going home after the shoot like you did, the boys had all come here. All of the main cast were spread around the bar, cut off into little groups, with drinks in hands and voices rising over the music. Some of the crew had even come, Jeff and Rick, mingling, drinking, enjoying themselves. 

Chris caught you around the waist and tugged you upwards into a hug. He was always the first person every morning to hug you. It had turned into him spinning you around, like he was genuinely excited that you were there to keep them from killing themselves, and that usually alerted the rest of the crew to your presence. You couldn’t say you hated it. 

“How are you feeling?” you asked when he finally put you back down on your feet. The bruise had blossomed across his cheek, a deeper purple than it was just a few hours ago, already tinged yellow around the edges. You reached up to touch it gently, and he winced away. 

“Forget about me,” he said, and grinned like that would magically make your worry disappear. “Look at you.” Chris’ hands on your waist tightened, and his eyes roamed your body in one quick flick. “I mean, fuck, you look like a…” 

“A model?” 

“No,” he laughed. “Like a really fucking sexy teacher.” And it made you laugh too, suddenly and completely out of the blue. You’d never heard that before. Chris had a strange way of making you feel comfortable, even in a place where your peep-toe mules were starting to stick to the carpet, so you let him lead you towards the bar. You passed men in thick biker jackets who didn’t even try to hide their staring, men in construction workers’ orange who at least pretended to be more subtle with it, and a man who sat by himself in a wife-beater and didn’t raise his eyes from the countertop. 

You slid onto the bar stool next to the tall, dark-haired guy wearing a Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt. The same one you owned. 

“Copying me now, Knoxville?” you teased, eyes flicking down to his shirt. 

He chuckled around the rim of his beer bottle. “Let’s just say you inspired me, angel.” Chris ordered the three of you drinks. Two beers for them and a Jack Daniel's with Coke for you. The bartender, who hadn’t smiled once since you walked in, even added a straw to your drink and only nodded at your timid thank you.

“Hey, Johnny, doesn’t she look good? Too good for a dump like this.” 

“Man, you should’ve told her what this place was like when you invited her.” 

“Well, how was I supposed to know she was gonna try to outdo me?” 

“Oh, Chris, I couldn’t outdo you if I tried.” 

He nodded, smug, and pressed a rather sloppy kiss to the apple of your cheek. You rubbed away the kiss as his laughter followed him across the room, to the pool table occupied by Ryan, Ehren, Jeff, and Preston. Nearby, Bam and David were trying to throw darts at Wee Man standing on a bar stool in front of the dart board, and Steve-O was showing Rick how to draw something on a coaster with his dick. 

Johnny’s elbow touched yours, gently, and your head snapped towards him. “You didn’t need to dress up for lil’ ol’ me,” he joked. But with the way his eyes slowly dragged down your body and back up, catching on the low neckline of your stretchy top, you couldn’t be so sure it was a joke. Your leg crossed the other, and the hem of your skirt slid up just enough to show off the skin above your knee. His eyes caught the motion and stuck for a moment too long to be casual. 

“I would’ve just worn jeans if I knew.” 

“Glad you didn’t.” 

It hung in the air for a beat longer than you were expecting, the way he stared at you, the way you stared back, the way you could so easily drown out the rest of the bar to focus on his hand slowly inching across the bar top towards yours. Your pinky stretched out and met his, and it stuck. Neither of you moved. 

“How’s your stomach?” you asked, because you felt you had to say something. If you and Johnny just sat there in silence, staring at one another, one of the boys was going to notice. 

“Aching. Every time I move, I can feel that fucking beanbag.” 

You huffed a laugh, and he watched your smile curl upwards. His head tilted, just a little, and you stopped yourself from following the movement. Whatever had gotten into you, you’d have to shake off. The no fraternisation at work policy was there for a reason, so that when things inevitably went wrong, you didn’t have to worry about how awkward it would be the next day. You’d stuck to it ever since you were seventeen, and you weren’t going to break it for Johnny Knoxville. Even though he had pretty eyes and a million-watt smile, and made you feel seen when you’d gotten so used to being invisible. 

Even though you really did want to break your streak for Johnny Knoxville. 

“Hey, medic, you ignoring the rest of us?” Bam threw his arm around your shoulders from behind and pulled you back into his chest, a sort of half-hug you’d gotten used to with him. Usually, Bam opted for fist bumps, but every so often, he’d throw his arm around your shoulder if he was really pleased with a stunt. 

“Sorry. Had to make sure Knoxville hadn’t succumbed to his wounds yet.” 

“I’m alive and kicking, angel.” Your eyes flicked to him and found that warmth had flooded his gaze. You were never going to make it out of this movie without kissing him. Kristy was already convinced you should sleep with one – if not all – of them. 

“You any good at pool?” Bam asked you. You shrugged; it’d been so long since you’d tried that you couldn’t really remember if you were any good. “Good at darts?” This time you shook your head, and he grinned so widely you were taken aback. “Good. I think you might be the one to finally hit Wee Man. C’mon.” He took you by the hand and led you over to the dart board, where Steve-O and Chris had joined in on the silly darts competition that meant throwing darts at Wee Man and complaining when he moved out of the way before they hit him. 

You nursed your drink as you moved into place beside Steve-O, arm knocking against his in casual greeting, but your head twisted around, finding Johnny still in his seat, ordering drinks for him and Jeff, who’d taken your seat in your absence. He didn’t turn to look at you until you’d already turned away. 

The rest of the night went like that. You flicked from group to group, and Johnny’s eyes trailed after you. You threw darts at Wee-Man, and luckily missed every shot, and Johnny watched from the bar with Jeff. You took shots with Chris and Steve-O that made your head swim and your eyes sting, and Johnny pretended to focus on the jukebox in the corner, though he couldn’t when he could hear your laughter in every corner of the room. When Ehren and David danced with you to Outkast’s Ms Jackson, Johnny’s dart almost got lodged in Rick’s arm.

It wasn’t until you gave the pool table a go that he decided to step in.  

Bam and Ryan had doubled over with laughter as you struggled, over and over, to get the white ball to go anywhere. You threw your hands up, giggling from the alcohol that had already flushed your skin, and reminded the boys, once more, that you really could not play. The last time you’d played pool, you were a teenager. The last time you were even near a pool table, you were twenty-one, and all you remember was the guy in your college class who’d fucked you on top of it. 

“Guys, I’m being serious; I’ll never be able to do this.” 

“Nonsense.” 

Johnny leaned his hip against the table, arms crossing over his chest, and you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the muscles straining in his biceps. He wasn’t as toned as Chris, but there was something about Johnny’s arms, about the sliver of stomach you saw as his shirt rode up, that made your mouth completely dry up. You remembered the last time you’d been on a pool table, the way your skimpy shorts had ridden up as he’d lifted you onto the edge. For a moment – a moment too long – you could imagine Johnny Knoxville doing the exact same thing.  

“I’ll teach you.”

“You’ll teach me?” 

“Sure will. I could’ve gone pro, but I had different dreams.” You giggled and didn’t notice until it was too late that Johnny had come up behind you. “Now the key is to get down nice and low.” His voice filled your ear, and then he was invading every one of your senses. His hands curled around your hips to manoeuvre you into place around the pool cue, and he used the pressure of his chest against your back to press you against the pool table. Your breath stuttered as his jeans brushed against you. “That way you can see exactly what you’re doin’.” You liked his accent when it was so close to you, when he was breathing against the shell of your ear. You were just glad you hadn’t drunk enough to make you completely stupid. His right hand slid yours up to the end of the cue, and his left pressed yours flat against the green felt of the pool table to work as a stand for the cue. “And now, you use just the right amount of pressure.” He helped with your first shot, and the white ball went pinging around the table. You didn’t even have it in you to smile. Not when you could feel his bulge pressing against the swell of your ass, not when his hands were still holding yours in place, not when he was sure to feel how hard your heart was beating. 

He helped with your second shot, then your third, and finally let you go when your legs were shaking so much you didn’t think they could hold you up. You potted a red ball, and the boys all cheered for you, and you had to tack on a smile so they didn’t see how much Johnny had affected you. 

“You did it,” you said to him, clutching the cue so hard you were pretty sure it would snap. 

“Nuh uh, angel, that was all you.” 

He left you to your match, and even though you lost, you couldn’t find it in you to care. Not when your heart hadn’t calmed down. Not when you could still feel his hands on yours. Not when every time you turned your head, he was already watching you, his lips curled around the rim of his beer bottle, his irises almost fully swallowed up by the dark pit of his pupil. 

When he disappeared outside for a smoke, you followed. 

It’d gotten dark. You hadn’t noticed. Inside that dingy bar with the sticky carpet and grimy lights, time seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. You could’ve been in there from dawn to dusk and back again, and you never would’ve noticed until you stumbled out holding your heels in your hand and needed to find a bush to throw up in. When did it start raining? You hadn’t heard it over the music pounding too loud inside, but the ground was damp, and the rainwater slipped over your hair. It was just a drizzle, you realised, but enough for it to make you shiver. 

“P.J?" 

His head lifted. He'd told you to call him that months ago, but you never had. He liked the way it sounded on your lips. His cigarette hung between his teeth, and he’d cupped his hand around his lighter to keep the flame from flickering out before it could light the end of it. Your mules click-clacked against the damp asphalt parking lot, and when you reached him, he was blowing out his first inhale. The smoke fluttered in your face, and usually you treated smokers polluting your personal air with disdain, but it was undeniably hot when Johnny Knoxville did it. 

“You should go back inside, angel. It’s raining.” 

“I know. Never kissed anyone in the rain before.”

His hand froze before his cigarette could reach his lips. And then it fell, crushed beneath his Converse as he surged forward to take your face in his hands. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for the confirmation that you wanted this too. He kissed you like he couldn’t breathe if it wasn’t your lungs he was stealing oxygen from. He kissed you, and you never wanted it to stop. 

Your hands fisted the fabric of his unbuttoned plaid shirt to help you lean closer, to press your chest against his, to deepen the kiss beyond what you could expect. His tongue flicked against your lips, and you let him into your mouth without him even having to beg, letting his tongue map every nook and cranny of your mouth while you whined and pressed closer. The rain fell around you in a heavier sheet, now. You didn’t notice. Not as his fingers got caught in the tresses of your hair. Not as you finally got your first taste of cigarette smoke on his lips, mixed with vodka, and whiskey, and whatever that was he had been taking shots of with Chris. 

Finally, you had to pull away, just to remember what it felt like to breathe fresh air. You were both soaked through by the rain, hair plastered to your heads, clutching each other like you couldn’t bear to be apart for longer than a second. Johnny combed the wet hair from your forehead so he could rest his forehead there instead. He smiled as your noses bumped. 

“I don’t usually do this with people I work with,” you mumbled. Your lips ghosted his, and he smiled so widely it was hard not to copy him. 

“Love being someone’s first.” 

You laughed, and so did he, and it didn’t matter that it was raining, that your top had definitely gone a little see-through, that everyone knew why you’d followed Johnny outside. Because when Johnny kissed you again, and again, and again, nothing mattered but the feeling of finally getting what you’d been dreaming of every night for months.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

The jacuzzi was just on the nice side of warm. 

“I haven’t even finished packing yet.” Kristy tilted her head back against the side of the jacuzzi. Her straightened jet black hair was up in a top knot to keep it from getting wet and turning curly, and she wore a red bikini that brought out the richness of her dark brown skin. She was also, to your consternation, the most laid-back person you had ever met, and never let a simple thing like packing for Hawaii get in the way of relaxing in the jacuzzi with you on the rare occasion you shared a day off. 

You swirled red wine around the plastic wine glasses you’d brought down from your apartment. “You leave tomorrow. At, like, six am.” 

“I know. It’ll take me no time at all to pack. Don’t worry, doll.” 

You always worried about her. You’d known Kristy for six years, not long after you’d both turned twenty, and she’d moved from Wichita to Los Angeles to be a model. You’d met her when she was on the hunt for an apartment, having couch-surfed for over a month while everywhere that caught her eye was out of her price range, full of mould, or falling apart. You’d just moved into your apartment and were looking for someone to take over the extra room to help you pay the rent while you trained to be a nurse. Kristy needed her own bed, and you needed help splitting the bills, and ever since then, she’d been yours to worry about. You hated her model friends and the eating disorders they carried everywhere, and you hated her model boyfriends who drank all your orange juice and left their tiny underwear hanging around your bathroom. And, fortunately, Kristy hated modelling. 

Now, she was the busiest wedding photographer in Los Angeles. 

“I can help you pack.” 

“You’re meant to be relaxing on your day off, remember. Your blood pressure is probably through the roof on that set.” 

“God, don’t remind me. If I went for a checkup, the doctor would admit me to the hospital immediately.” 

You tilted your head back, too, trying to focus on the massaging effect of the bubbles and the calming heat helping to slowly relax your muscles as you submerged yourself deeper and deeper. You drank red wine in the middle of the afternoon and enjoyed the faintest hint of music coming from Mrs Palermo’s piano lessons. She lived below you and Kristy, overlooking the complex pool, and usually you complained about the piano lessons, especially when the younger kids were clearly just mashing their hands against the keys, but this was nice. She must have had one of her more experienced tutees in. One of her proteges, as she liked to call them. 

“So what is it actually like on set? It looks like the most fun a normal person can have, but for you.” Kristy lowered her sunglasses just enough to pierce you with her brown eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t quit when they flew you out to Pennsylvania. You hate the cold.” 

“I almost froze to death, but I didn’t hate it.” You took a sip of wine. You liked spending your days off with Kristy, relaxing in the jacuzzi, or window shopping on Rodeo Drive knowing you couldn’t afford anything, or taking your coffees to go so you could stretch your toes in the sand. And you liked going back to work knowing Johnny Knoxville was waiting for you. “It’s actually a lot of fun.” 

“You’re having fun at work?” Kristy’s mouth dropped open in faux-shock, and you shoved her, mumbling a shut up while her laughter bubbled in the air between you. You rarely had fun on sets, that was true, far too focused on doing a good job, so nobody could complain about your unprofessionalism to your company. Kristy had been dying for you to let loose with strangers for years. When you’d told her about going out for drinks with the cast, she’d almost dropped her dinner all down herself and then scrambled to help you get ready. She was always telling you that you needed more friends. 

You hadn’t told her about the kiss yet. 

For weeks, you and Johnny had been sneaking about the set. Kisses hidden behind the crew vans during lunch breaks, lingering touches when you patched up another boo boo, soft smiles across the lot when you were both too busy to stagger closer. And for weeks, you had kept it all to yourself, afraid that saying it out loud would make it crumble before you had a chance to fully enjoy it. 

“I should tell you–”

“Uh, what the fuck?” Kristy slid her sunglasses down her nose and pointed her wine glass towards the entrance of the complex pool. You almost dropped your own glass in the jacuzzi.

Rick, Johnny, and Preston Lacy lugged the camera equipment through the gates separating you from the rest of the neighbourhood. You’d overheard Preston talking about needing a pool for something they wanted to film and offered up the private pool used by the residents of your apartment complex,  handing over the landlord’s phone number so they could ask for permission. You just didn’t expect them to show up on your day off. While you were using your jacuzzi, wearing only the white bikini you bought because of Claudia Schiffer. 

You stood, and while Rick and Preston greeted you brightly and loudly, Johnny froze. 

His eyes dragged down your body, stuck on the skimpy bikini, on the droplets of bubbling water sticking to your skin, on the few strands of hair that had fallen out of the clip to keep it from getting wet. He gulped, and maybe it was only obvious to you, but it made your entire body flame. It was the least amount of clothes he’d ever seen on you. And he looked to be struggling not to just drop everything and wrap his arms around you. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked. 

“Our prank. Best day to do it,” Preston told you. Rick started to set up the camera on the jacuzzi. “Everyone’s at home anyway, so we don’t need to bother them. And Johnny doesn’t know how to take a day off.” 

You glanced at him again, and he was already looking at you. Already unable to tear his gaze away from the way the water trailed down your hip. You didn’t realise how much it thrilled you to have his eyes on you. 

“You don’t mind us filming here, do you?” Rick asked Kristy. “I can make sure not to get you in the shot.” 

“Oh God no, you better make sure I am in the shot. It’s my dream to be on Jackass.” 

“This is Kristy, my roommate,” you finally said when their laughter died away. “This is Rick, Preston, and Johnny.” You hadn’t noticed him sliding closer, but when you turned, he was right there, leaning against the metal railing that was supposed to help you step in and out of the jacuzzi, close enough that he barely had to reach out to play with the string holding your bikini bottoms in place. Rick and Preston were too busy chatting away to Kristy to even notice. 

“Miss me, angel?” 

“I saw you yesterday, Knoxville.” 

“‘Cause I missed you.” 

You snorted, totally unattractively, and it caught the attention of your roommate, who knew exactly what that sound meant. She took another sip of her wine as she watched you and Johnny for a moment, the way he leaned down to whisper in your ear, the way you pushed at his chest with a single finger that lingered longer than was necessary, the way you both looked at each other with a totally recognisable gleam in your eyes. God, were you this obvious in front of everyone? Was she the only person to clock it? 

“You have me to thank for your medic, there, by the way,” Kristy said, pointing her wine glass at you. “She never would have taken the job if I hadn’t pushed her to leap out of her comfort zone.” 

“What’s that? We aren’t in your comfort zone? I’m shocked.” Johnny wriggled his finger into the space between your ribs, and you slapped his hand away with a shriek that made him laugh. That laugh that left him totally breathless. That laugh that left you totally smitten. It was never going to be just kisses in the few minutes you got alone. Not when you could never have a relationship that wasn’t all in from the first second. 

“Get on with your filming so I can relax again.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Johnny saluted and moved to the other side of the camera with Rick to watch what he was filming. Kristy pierced you with a knowing smirk as you sat next to her again, very obviously making sure the jacuzzi water didn’t cover your tits because you liked the way Johnny couldn’t help but glance over.  

“We are so talking about this later,” she whispered, and you heard the amusement tinting her tone. 

At the side of the jacuzzi, Preston stripped off his clothes, leaving him in only his underwear, and you were worried he was going to take a running leap and soak you completely. He didn’t. He just sank in across from you and Kristy and cracked open a beer. The three of you sat in relatively strange silence as, behind the camera, Rick and Johnny struggled to hide their sniggers. You shared a look with your roommate. What was the prank? You were still expecting someone to come running out of nowhere and cannonball into the jacuzzi to soak you all. They’d probably hurt themselves in the process. It’d probably be Bam or Steve-O; they were the least likely to care about their personal safety. 

Eventually, Preston stood, and you couldn’t control your wheezing laughter when you saw he’d been wearing underwear that went completely translucent in the water. Kristy shrieked and covered her eyes, but it didn’t take long before she was laughing, too. You clutched at one another as your laughter rippled through the air. There was no set like the Jackass set. No cast or crew who could make you laugh quite as much as they did with something as simple as see-through underwear. You’d never worked anywhere that left you feeling so light. Sure, they could try to kill themselves twenty times a day by trying to skateboard into dirty river water blindfolded, but there were no other group of men you trusted to actually not die doing something deadly. 

You’d have to remember to buy Kristy something that could express just how much you loved her for forcing you to sign up for this job. 

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

The spider appeared when you were least expecting it.  

You were too busy forcing Lance to drink water after he’d fainted once again to notice the sniggers of the crew around you. Dimitry trained his camera on you and Lance, on the gentleness with which you smoothed the sweaty hair from his face, though your tone of voice telling him to be more careful was anything but kind. Bam snuck towards you, spider cupped in his hands, warning everyone to be quiet the closer he got. 

The spider landed in your hair with a soft thud, and you didn’t notice. 

You twisted your head to find Bam frozen behind you, hands half-lifted, a grin threatening to break through on his lips. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, not trusting anything he did around set. You were there when he’d hired the alligator to scare his mom in her house. It worked, but ever since then, you’d kept a wary eye out anytime Bam was near. 

“Nothing.” 

You certainly did not trust that look on his face. And then you felt the movement in your hair, and you glanced up as the spider slid down to crawl across your forehead. The scream tore through you before anyone had time to laugh, and you shook your head like a wild dog in the vain hope the spider would go flying off. It didn’t. It clung to you. Around you, the crew descended into chaotic laughter, falling to their knees as you continued to scream and hope that would scare the spider away. 

You could feel it crawling over you. 

“Get it off!” you screeched at Bam, but he was practically comatose with laughter on the ground. Everyone came running at the sound of your high-pitched, terrified screaming, and ended up just like Bam, and Lance, and Dimitry, on the ground, laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks. To them, it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. Their stick-in-the-mud medic flailing around all because she was scared of spiders. They’d seen you telling off the cast with every dangerous stunt; they’d seen you giggling from the sidelines; they’d even seen you a little drunk at the bar. But this was a side of you they could only thank Bam for. To you, it was your worst nightmare coming true. 

When Johnny appeared, you assumed he would save you. 

Once he realised you weren’t actually hurt – he’d been imagining the worst as he raced over from the craft tent – his laughter sent him doubling over, trying to catch his breath. Your screams ground to a halt, and finally the spider fell from your head, landing on the concrete and scuttling away. Johnny was still laughing. They were all laughing. Your hands were shaking, your eyes stinging with tears you refused to shed in front of them, and they just laughed. You weren’t supposed to be the one they laughed at. 

“Get out of my way,” you snapped, because it was easier to get mad than show them that you were still shaking. You shoved past Johnny before he could reach out to stop you, and only then did the laughter start to sober up. Had they taken it too far?

You stormed around the set because you had no idea where to go. Where was safe from all the eyes, all that laughter that was stuck roaring in your ears? You could still feel that fucking spider crawling over you, and a shudder rocketed down your spine. Goddamn Bam. You imagined his reaction if you’d tried that on him with a snake, and knew he wouldn’t have been afraid to curse you out in front of everyone. You, on the other hand, were too ashamed of your fear. 

You scrambled into the back of one of the empty crew vans, tugged your knees up to your chest, and cried before everybody started milling around again. Before anybody could get close enough to hear you trying to stifle your tears through shaky breaths. Fuck. Why couldn’t you get your hands to stop shaking? It was stupid. You were being so dumb, getting so worked up over a stupid prank that probably wouldn’t even be featured in the film. 

“Hey, hey, angel, you’re okay. You’re okay, now.” An arm slid around your shoulder and pulled you into a chest you knew too well by now. You squeezed your eyes shut to keep the tears from bubbling up again and clutched at the back of Johnny’s shirt. You wanted to push him away. You wanted him closer. 

“I hate spiders.” Your voice shook. You hated it. You never allowed yourself to be so vulnerable, especially not at work, especially not in front of men you were just meant to be kissing and nothing else. 

“I know. Fuck, I’m sorry, angel. I shouldn’t have laughed.” Johnny rubbed a soothing hand up and down your spine. You curled a little more into his touch. You should have been mad at him, but you liked the way his hand felt slowly sliding under the hem of your shirt and against your skin. 

“You could’ve waited until you’d gotten rid of the spider.”

“‘S that what you wanted?” You nodded against his chest and felt him smile, then press a cheesy kiss to the top of your head. “Aw, my pretty girl, I’ll remember that next time, all right?” His hand curled around your jaw to push your head away from his chest, allowing him to get a good look at your red cheeks and puffy eyes. He pouted, and you hated that it sent a thrilling shock careening through your body, and you hated that you knew it was always going to be more than just kissing with Johnny Knoxville. Not when he’d been able to make your heart flip from the very first moment you met. “Sorry again, angel,” he said, keeping his hand curled around your jaw so you were forced to meet his eyes. “I’ll save you first, next time.” 

“There better not be a next time. I’m only a medic.” 

“You’re part of the crew now. You’re fair game.” 

You pouted, and he leaned down to brush his lips against yours. Just enough that your body ached for more when he leaned away again. He glanced around quickly, over his shoulder, then around the open doors of the van, and when he realised there was nobody around to see him, he kissed you deeper, hungrier. Your mouths clashed, like he’d been waiting all day for a taste of you and didn’t know how to be polite about it anymore. You didn’t want him to be polite. You liked the way he kissed you when he didn’t need to hold back. The way he rolled you over in the back of the crew van so he could hover over you, so he could press his thigh between your legs and smirk when you keened, so he could kiss you until you were both breathless and had completely forgotten about the prank. 

“If someone catches us–”

“Nobody’ll catch us. See.” Johnny leaned out, grabbed the handles of the van doors, and swung them shut with a loud bang. Now it was just you and him in the back of the crew van, the sounds of the set muffled by the doors, blocked from sight by the tinted windows. “We’re safe.” 

You kissed him again to show him you did feel safe, and when he slipped his hand down the front of your pants, you didn’t push him away like you might’ve months ago, before this set showed you how to step out of your comfort zone.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

You’d given up telling Johnny when one of his ideas was stupid. 

It never worked anyway; he just laughed you off and got on with it. He got hurt, and you fixed him, and you were pretty sure the reason he threw himself into these crazy stunts was just to have you there to patch him up at the end. Afterwards, when you were sure nobody was watching, he’d sneak a kiss that’d made you both giggle and joke about experimental medicine until Johnny’s laugh alerted everyone to your location. 

Outside the department store, Johnny fixed his pink boxing gloves into place with his teeth. 

Your gaze caught the motion and stuck, stomach dropping as Johnny’s eyes lifted to meet yours, mouth tilting into a smirk around the strap of the glove. You ignored the heat pounding through your body best you could, but it was hard to ignore the way you felt suddenly damp. Stupid Johnny Knoxville and his pretty eyes, and his dangerous smile, and the fact he knew exactly what he was doing to you. 

Rick fixed the camera on his shoulder and counted down to filming. You clung to Jeff’s side as you usually did during filming, trying to stay out of the way of the cameras as much as you could, though you were sure they had caught your reactions to the more dangerous stunts once or twice. If you featured in the movie, Kristy would never shut up about it. 

“I’m Johnny Knoxville–”

“And I’m Butterbean.” 

“Today we’re gonna do a little boxing.” 

One of the production assistants, who pretty much helped keep the rest of you organised by running herself haggard around every shoot, entered the department store dressed up like a ring girl in the tiniest pair of shorts you’d ever seen. She held up a Round One sign, though you were pretty sure this wasn’t going beyond that. One punch and the heavyweight champion would have Johnny swallowing his own mouthguard. 

The customers froze where they were, twisting their heads to see what the crew was doing, when Johnny and Butterbean started boxing in the middle of the store. You watched with bated breath with Jeff, and though you’d seen the boys do more than their fair share of dangerous stunts, this felt even more tense. It was like you were just waiting for it to end badly. You’d seen Johnny get pummelled by a bull, Steve-O almost get bitten by a crocodile, and Pontius had almost sheared his balls in half with the electric razor, but this was somehow worse. You let your backpack full of necessities – over-the-counter meds, first aid kit, trauma kit, BP cuff, stethoscope, sunscreen, back pain patches, everything you usually lugged around with you – hang off one shoulder.

Johnny was the first to go down, understandably, but Butterbean goaded him into standing back up. You wished you could have told him to just keep lying there, but he’d never listen anyway. For Johnny, it was all about the shot. For all of them, really. All the boys were willing and wanting to get hurt as long as it looked good on camera. As long as the fans watching would laugh, they’d go for it. So, Johnny pushed himself back up and managed a punch. The next time Butterbean hit him, Johnny was out. 

A few moments passed, as they usually did when filming a stunt, waiting for one of the boys to lift his thumb and promise they were all good. The thumb never came, and you heard it before anyone else did: that odd choking sound you’d heard before in the emergency department. Johnny was out cold, and his tongue was blocking his throat. 

“Fuck, let me pass.” You pushed your way through the watching crowd to get to Johnny, backpack hitting the floor as you kneeled beside him. Slowly, but confidently, you rolled him into the recovery position and made sure his tongue had slipped back into its usual place. Only then did you remove his bloody mouthguard. While you waited for him to wake back up, you unpacked your essentials from the backpack, ignoring the sounds of worry chattering away behind you. It was easier to feel calm when you pretended you were in a hospital again, when this was not the man you’d been kissing secretly whenever the two of you managed to split off from the ever-watching crowd. 

This is why you never got involved with stuntmen. 

“Are you an angel?” 

You twisted towards Johnny again, checking the time on your watch. He’d only been out for two, maybe three minutes. He’d probably not be able to retain any short-term memory for the next half hour. 

“Yeah, you died; this is department store heaven.”

“Aren’t I one lucky son of a bitch?”

At least he still sounded like himself. At least he could still get a laugh out of you. He tried to roll out of the recovery position, but you stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder, and he blinked up at you. Dazed, disoriented, and… shit, was that blood? You’d have to deal with that in a minute; first, you had to make sure he wasn’t going to pass out again. 

“What’s your name? Do you know where you are?” 

Johnny scoffed, and his mouth sounded dry. When he noticed the expression on your face that mixed softness with severity, the one you used to use in the hospital to make patients cooperate, he realised you weren’t joking after all. “I’m Johnny Knoxville. P.J. to my friends. I’m filming for Jackass in a department store in Los Angeles.” You hummed and gently squeezed his shoulder. 

“Good. You got knocked out for around three minutes. You might have some memory issues over the next hour.” Slowly, you helped him into a sitting position. Behind you, the rest of the crew reassured the customers and store staff that this was a stunt and that you were a medical professional. You could feel Rick’s camera on you, and you knew this whole section would be a big hit in the movie. The fans loved seeing the crew getting to do their actual jobs instead of just being on the receiving end of pranks. 

“Is Butterbean okay?” Johnny asked, and laughter trickled throughout the crew. Trust Johnny to say the perfect thing for the camera. Trust Johnny to be able to make you all laugh when you were worried about him. 

“You got a hit.” 

He cheered quietly, and then winced, as if the sound was too loud for his ears. You went through the usual concussion checks while your fingers gently prodded around his neck, ears, and head. Johnny patiently answered each of your questions, one hand lingering on your knee now that you were close enough to touch. Headache – check. Ringing in the ears – check. Nausea – check. Dizziness – check. Slurred speech – check. Delayed response to questions – check. Dazed appearance – check. You were one hundred per cent sure he was concussed. 

You cleaned his head wound as best you could in the middle of the department store with your sterile wipes, but you knew you couldn’t do more for him than that out here. You pressed down with some gauze to staunch the bleeding as much as you could, unaware of the blood on your grey halterneck vest. 

“We need to take him to the hospital,” you told Jeff, who had watched you work periodically between talking to the store staff. “He needs stitches and probably some scans to make sure his head’s okay.” 

“You really look like an angel in this lighting.” 

“And he’s concussed.” 

Four of you accompanied Johnny to the hospital in one of the crew vans. The driver and Jeff in the front seat, Rick, who kept filming to pick up all the best bits, and you to keep the bandage pressed against the wound. And to, as they all claimed you were the best at doing, keep Johnny calm. You’d never seen him wound up, really, but you were still grateful that he slumped against you rather than start panicking. He wouldn’t be the first person to suddenly shift personalities because of a concussion. 

“Where are we going, Knoxville?” Rick asked, since you’d told everyone to keep Johnny talking to make sure he didn’t pass out again. 

“The hospital.” Johnny’s speech was still slurred. It was like he was drunk all over again. Drunk and cuddly, with the way he nuzzled into you. You just hoped Rick and Jeff didn’t think too much about it. You had more pressing matters than trying to explain why Johnny Knoxville wasn’t leaving you alone. 

“What the hell are we doing that for?” 

“I don’t know. Apparently, I have a big gash in my head, and I think I’m a little concussed.” 

This time, you scoffed, and Johnny’s eyes flicked up to you, softening. The camera would catch it immediately, the simpering way that Johnny looked at you. The very easy tell that there was something more going on than just a budding friendship between a stuntman and his medic. 

“A little, he says.” And it was enough to split the tension in the car and make you all laugh again. 

In the hospital, Johnny asked that you hold his hand throughout getting his stitches, even though it wasn’t the first, nor the last, time that he’d get stitches. You were pretty sure he just wanted the excuse to slip his fingers between yours, to press his palm firmly against yours, to feel the soft way your thumb traced the rise of his knuckles. He didn’t even flinch at the anaesthetic, nor at the stitches; he just watched you with one of his goofy smiles until you cracked one of your own to show him you weren’t so worried anymore. To show him that you could slip out of your nurse persona just as easily as you zipped into it. 

He still hadn’t told you just how much he liked being ordered around by you. 

“There’s my angel.” 

You blushed so brightly it even made the doctor laugh. 

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

The motel room in Florida was hot, and stuffy, and smelled of sex. The last part was entirely your fault, but it didn’t help that the air conditioning wasn’t working in Johnny’s room. 

You stretched in the bed, legs tangling with Johnny’s under the duvet, skin sticky with sweat and thighs aching in that sweet way that made you never want to move from this position. Johnny mumbled something in his half-asleep state and tightened his grip on you, as if he didn’t want to dare let you get up. You wouldn’t have anyway. The one day you didn’t have a single thing to do, and you were going to spend it right here with Johnny Knoxville, with the broken air-con, with the heat clinging to the walls, with his hands crawling over your body. 

“You awake, angel?” Johnny whispered against your neck. 

“No. Don’t wanna be.” 

“Good, me neither.” 

His arms tightened around your waist and tugged you closer until you couldn’t tell who started where. You let your legs tangle, let your arms hang loosely around his middle, and opened your eyes just enough to catch the golden light glinting through the half-open blinds and drenching his sweat-soaked, messy hair. You couldn’t help but smile. This was nice. Even if you were too warm, even if you did feel sticky, you didn’t mind waking up to this every morning. 

You’d snuck over to Johnny’s room last night when you were sure none of the other cast and crew was milling around the parking lot with the beers you’d bought way too much of. He’d left the door on a latch for you, but he was showering when you snuck in, and you were pretty sure you forgot to lock it behind you in your sudden desire to join him under the lukewarm water. Florida was far too hot. But you’d complain about that later. In here, you weren’t going to complain about anything. In here, you were going to enjoy the rather soothing way Johnny’s kisses tickled your neck. 

Laughter erupted from the next room, clear as day through the motel walls, and you and Johnny froze. The walls here were thin. Thinner than either of you was expecting. Bam and Ryan were sharing one of the rooms next to Johnny; Jeff was in the other, and they would have heard everything. They would have heard you fucking in the shower, on the dresser, on that stupid little armchair that you were pretty sure broke with your combined weight on it. There was no way in hell they didn’t hear. What if they were laughing because they knew? 

“They won’t have heard.” 

You sat up and let the duvet fall around your waist. “They absolutely will have heard.” 

The laughter got louder, and you mentally cringed, remembering all the noises you made last night before you could feel too embarrassed to shut yourself up. All the whining, all the too-loud fucks, all the almost screams. You were never a quiet lay anyway, but God, Johnny had coaxed out every little sound he could just to have the smug satisfaction that he could. 

“Will you–” Johnny grabbed your waist to pull you back down on the bed, a breathy giggle escaping you before you could hold it under your tongue as you landed beside him. “–please stop worrying?” He nuzzled his face against your neck, then scattered kisses along the skin as he was prone to doing now. Every time you showed the slightest inch of skin, he could barely hold back from peppering sweet kisses over it, like a claim, like a reverence. You were still giggling as you jokingly tried to push him off, though your arms felt like jelly with each kiss pasted along your shoulders, or neck, or collarbone. It was easy to ignore the laughter with Johnny trailing his hand down to your thighs. 

The door slammed open, and you knew you forgot to lock it last night. 

“He’s got the car up his ass, dude–” Steve-O froze. Johnny froze. You froze. You stared at one another for a beat too long. “Wait. What the fuck? Are you fucking our medic?” 

Johnny grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and lobbed it across the room. It smacked Steve-O in the face as he tried to stumble from the room, and he laughed as he fell to his knees, clutching his face and screaming about how he’d been hit. In no time, the rest of the guys would appear to see what all the fuss was about, and whatever secret you and Johnny had been trying to hide would be no more. 

You hid your face in his chest and felt his laughter rumbling there.

✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗ ✗

Hi!

The ball hit the net… again. 

As a kid’s tennis coach, the ball hit the net a lot, and Jannik Sinner had gotten used to the dull thud of the ball falling to the ground. He’d had the job for almost a year now, and he’d gotten used to the routine, to seeing the kids grow, to watching his own daughter get better and start taking after him. 

When Vittoria died, Jannik had to give up tennis.

Andrea was only two, with a shocking tuft of ginger curls that copied his, and now, his sole responsibility. He gnawed on the problem for a while, continued to play the season out while his mother looked after his daughter, but he could never concentrate if she wasn’t in sight. Vittoria used to bring her to matches, and he loved seeing her little chubby face in the stands, cheering him on. So, he left tennis, moved back to the snowy mountains, and lived off all that money one got from being World Number One for so long. He did the rare photoshoot for Gucci, the rarer appearance for the ATP, and tried to enjoy finally getting some peace and quiet with his daughter.

He got used to the easy life with her, and then she started school, and Jannik didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’d gotten so used to spending all his time with her, and now he was bored. He’d walk the village, help his dad in the restaurant, and try to figure out what to do now he was in his early thirties and couldn’t play tennis. Not with Andrea needing him. Not when she deserved a better life than flitting around after him.  

An old friend he used to play football with after school, now a teacher at the primary school, called him after a month of listening to him complain. Something about the local tennis coach deciding to move somewhere busier, and leaving the kids without their tennis lessons. Who better to take his place than the town’s very own tennis superstar? 

Which is how Jannik Sinner found himself a job. 

And you. 

Your son was one of his students, and yet he hadn’t met you once over the year. You lived in the next town over, and you were a nurse, and that’s all Jannik learned about you from Florian. Usually, your parents would pick him up after the lessons on a Tuesday, kind but stern in the same way his own parents were, the type of people who would do anything for their grandchild and still complain about the amount of greens they weren’t eating enough of. 

But one week, Florian’s shrill scream rang through the hall. “Mama!” 

All heads turned to see who Florian was frantically waving at, jumping around on his toes. Jannik froze, halfway through teaching tiny Michelle how to serve, one hand on Cindy’s head to stop her from getting whacked in the face. You stood just beyond the doorway, hair up and out of the way, wearing dark pink scrubs. When you waved shyly, he liked the way you smiled. It’d been a while since Jannik had dated, and even longer since he’d dated anyone but models, and yet one sight of you had his heart flying out of his chest. 

“Sorry,” you said, hurrying closer. Your trainers squeaked against the gym floor. “Am I too early for pickup?” 

“You can watch, Mama! Can’t she, Janni?” 

All the kids had picked up on calling him Janni, and he had to admit, he liked it. It reminded him of being back on tour, of all the little nicknames they would give each other. Andrea, fortunately, still just called him papa. 

“Yeah, you can stay.” You finally met on the edge of the court, Florian buzzing around you both like an overactive bee at your side. When Jannik had taken over the class, he got a list describing all the children he’d be teaching. Florian had ADHD and took his medication with meals, which meant they usually started wearing off during tennis lessons. “Glad to meet you.”

You shuffled on your feet. “Well, usually I work until six, so Flo and I get home at the same time. My parents are on holiday, though, so I’ve had to change some shifts around.” You blushed, bright and sweet. He liked the way your gaze flitted around his face instead of meeting his eyes. “Sorry, you didn’t ask. Should I just sit here?” You motioned to the bench against the wall where, during the first few weeks of lessons, the guardians had jammed together to watch their kids’ every move, before they finally got bored of sitting through the hour-long lessons. Now, they trusted Jannik enough to leave their kids and run their errands.

“Yes, do. Enjoy.” 

He wanted to tell you he’d love to listen to you ramble on about the domesticities of your life. But he didn’t; he just went back to coaching, making sure the kids didn’t accidentally hit each other with tennis rackets while he tried to teach them how to be good tennis players for their age. He noticed that every time Florian did anything – even so much as return a serve without hitting the net – he spun around to make sure you were watching, grinning like it was his first time playing tennis. And you were always ready with a clap to make him smile even wider. You had the same smile. It was sweet. 

“It wasn’t that good,” Andrea complained to Jannik, watching the slightly younger boy with a frown. 

“Let him be excited, häslein (little hare).” 

“They can’t all be as good as me.” Jannik laughed softly, chided her, and sent her back to training with the other children, where she slid into the group far more easily than he ever felt he could as a child. She had all her mother’s charisma and all his ambition to be the best. 

Jannik was very hands-on with his coaching, which usually meant racing this way and that way to corral them into doing what they were told. Your laughter trickled through the gym, and he liked having it as background noise, something to keep returning to. 

At the end of the lesson, when all the kids trickled out with whichever guardian picked them up that day, you stayed behind. Apparently, you were just making sure Florian’s jacket was zipped up, and his shoes were tied, and his racket was perfectly placed in his tennis bag.

Or, really, it seemed you were wasting time. 

You eventually caught Jannik when everyone else was gone. “I just wanted to thank you.” Andrea and Florian were racing each other from one side of the hall to the other, but he couldn’t tell who was winning. “Flo loves tennis, so when we heard Stefan was leaving, he was devastated. We never imagined his new coach would be you.”  

“I’m happy to hear that. Also happy to have been able to take over. I love having tennis in my life.” 

“Probably doesn’t pay as well as Gucci photoshoots.” 

“Yeah, but this is actually fun.” 

You both laughed – a little awkward, a little red in the cheeks. You sent him one last grateful smile and hiked your bag up your shoulder, halfway through turning to leave. Jannik caught you around the wrist before he could think to stop himself. 

You blinked pretty eyes up at him, and he knew he was fucked. 

“Florian talks about you… uh, your family a lot, but he never mentions his dad. I didn’t want to ask but…” God, what was wrong with him? 

“Oh.” Slowly, you eased your hand out of his grip. His heart plummeted. He’d tripped at the first hurdle. “Tomasz left about six months after Flo was born.” You must have noticed the shift in his expression and hastened to keep speaking to make it less awkward. “Oh, don’t worry, I live near my parents, and they’ve been a massive help with everything. They look after Florian when I’m working, or else I’d never have managed.” 

“Parents are good that way.” Jannik shuffled on his feet. So, there was a good chance you were single. “After Vittoria died, my parents really helped with Andrea.” 

Your face softened just a little. Just enough to be noticeable, the way people always looked at him when he mentioned Vittoria. That little bit of shock and grief. But there was something else in your eyes, too. Something he recognised feeling. Hope. 

“My condolences. You really lost a lot.” 

Jannik’s heart shouldn’t have fluttered. 

“I gained a lot, too.” 

And you both stood shoulder-to-shoulder for a long, quiet moment, watching your children laugh themselves breathless as they raced. 

ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩

Over the next few weeks, you’d stay behind for ten minutes to talk to Jannik. 

You claimed you were using the time to tire out Florian before taking him home, but you both knew better. It had been a long time since either of you had the chance to talk to someone like this – all shy and giggly and trying not to stutter. 

When your parents got back from their holiday, he only saw you every so often. He’d keep his eye out for you in town, but he knew it was silly. You didn’t even live here. You had your own shops, cafes, pharmacies. You only came to his town for Florian’s lessons. He even had to take Andrea to hospital one day – nothing too serious, just an allergic reaction that he freaked out over – but, of course, you weren’t working that evening, so he spent the whole drive over there coming up with a great opening line for nothing. 

It was, surprisingly, the summer festival that brought you together. 

Every year, all the surrounding towns held their summer festivals on different weekends, to give everyone a fair chance of visiting instead of just having to work them all. You both just happened to be visiting the same festival on the same day in Sexten. 

Andrea always wanted to race ahead of Jannik to see all the stalls, claiming he was walking too slowly. But he liked slowing down, with the warm sun on his skin and the scent of summer flowers and barbequed meat filling the air. He wanted the chance to take it all in and teach his daughter that sometimes you just needed to slow down so you wouldn’t miss anything. She never did, but he’d perfected the art of keeping a tight grip on her hand. 

“Janni!”

He spun around in the line for the ball toss. It was his favourite of the game stalls, just having to throw tennis balls into old milk jugs, and it was the easiest way to win Andrea one of the massive teddies she loved. She had half a dozen already piled on the end of her bed. 

“Florian?” Jannik glanced around, but saw no sight of you or your parents. “Are you alone?” 

“No. I’m just too fast for Mama.” 

“You shouldn’t run away from her,” Andrea scolded him, and Jannik bit back a scoff. Yeah right. She’d be off in a flash if he gave her half a chance. 

“Do you want to stay with us until we find–”

“Flo!”

If Jannik was in the middle of his toss, he’d have missed the shot entirely when he looked up and saw you. He’d only ever seen you in those raspberry-coloured scrubs before, and nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you in something as simple as a floral dress and denim jacket, with the sunlight washing you in shimmering shades of gold. His mouth dried up entirely. 

“I told you not to run off,” you chided your son, who hadn’t strayed from Jannik’s side in a smart attempt to keep your groups together. “I told him not to run off,” you said now to Jannik, voice tinged with desperation. He knew how that felt, how the fear just shot through you entirely when you lost your child in such a large crowd. “I only let go of him to buy some water. I looked away for five seconds.” 

“But I found a trusted adult,” Florian whined, and the way he smiled at the two of you made it clear this was his plan all along. “And now we can hang out with Janni and Andrea.” 

You knelt by your son, handing him the cup of water to take a sip of. You gently fussed over him, smoothing the sweat from his hair that was the exact same shade as yours. “You have to ask people first before you can decide that.” 

Florian pouted, and turned the biggest, brownest puppy eyes up at Jannik. He’d never be able to say no even if he wanted to. 

“Of course, you can spend the day with us.” If he wasn’t watching you so closely, he would have missed the pretty way you blushed. If you were looking at him more closely, you would have noticed his equally bright blush staining his skin. 

So, you spent the day together. 

Jannik won both Andrea and Florian teddies from the ball toss, one purple, one yellow, that they argued over until you managed to swap the yellow one for another purple one. You bought everyone marillenknödel to split, and by the time you’d eaten them, you were all covered in dusting sugar that made you all laugh. You let the kids try hook-a-duck, and drink apple juice while you and Jannik had cider, and race around as long as they were with each other and stayed within sight. 

It gave you and Jannik ample opportunity to chat. To share a bag of peanuts as you flitted from stall to stall, commenting on the handmade jewellery, or fridge magnets, even the felt hats somebody had started making. He learned more about your family, about your nursing career, about life as a single mother to a very unruly son. He talked about tennis, and everything he had seen around the world, and Andrea. 

When you laughed, Jannik froze. It’d been a long time since a sound could make his entire body react. Like a shiver rolling down his spine. 

“Did you notice we talk about our kids too much?” 

Jannik chuckled too, scratching away the shiver that clung to the back of his neck. “I don’t have anything else to talk about.” 

“We’ll just need to get a hobby,” you joked, elbow touching his, and there was no way he could hide his blush anymore. Just bright red and pulsing across his face, a shining beacon of his rather sudden attraction. 

“I do need a new hobby.” 

That was how you and Jannik found yourselves joining the roller-skating club. 

ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩

Jannik didn’t know why he signed up to this. 

Grass, clay, hard courts, he had mastered them all. Rollerskates, he was never going to be able to get the hang of. It had been a month and a half of lessons every Sunday, and yet he didn’t feel any steadier on his skates. Every time he was sure he got the hang of balancing, he’d fall right back down again, and he was pretty sure everyone was laughing at him. You, on the other hand, were a fast learner. 

He clung to the edge of the rink while you skated beside him, twisting and twirling and dancing along to the music. Jannik was just glad he was still standing. In his first lesson, he spent half the time on his arse with your giggles filling his ears. 

“Come on, Nik,” you whined. It was a nickname you’d adopted fairly quickly once you realised you’d be seeing each other every week. He couldn’t tell you just how much it made his heart jump. “Just let go.” 

“I’ll fall.” 

“Best way to learn.” 

Jannik frowned, but he knew you were right. He’d never be able to roller-skate like this. It was the same thing Darren and Simone used to tell him – if he never put the work in, he’d never see the results. Jannik hated stagnation. So, he slowly peeled his hand off the rink railing, feeling the tell-tale wobble in his legs without anything to keep him up, and stretched his arms as wide as he could to keep his balance. Around him, the roller rink kept moving. The disco music that they always played and that you loved dancing along to, the sounds of everyone else laughing as they managed to balance with no issues, and above it all, your giggles as you watched him flail. It was a sound he should have gotten used to over the past few weeks, but still, it made his heart flip in every direction. 

“God, you’re really terrible at this.” 

And then, as if he wasn’t wobbly enough, you reached out to grab his hands. The heat spiked through his body at your touch, and it was like you didn’t even notice, just kept giggling as you led him away from the edge of the rink. 

No way he’d be able to skate with how much his body was shaking. 

“Don’t look at your feet,” you warned when his gaze fell to his rollerblades. “Look ahead. Look at me.” So he did. He took that time to really look at you. He liked the way the flashing disco lights made you pink, then blue, then purple. Like a dream. He liked the way the helmet squashed your hair that you always complained about at the end of your session. He liked your unwavering smile, and the colour of your eyes, and the very faint freckles on the tip of your nose. If he had to go to the hospital, there was no other nurse he’d ask for. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

Your hands slid out of his, and he went crashing down with you, a tangle of limbs and pain and too-fast hearts. 

ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩

Andrea crawled into Jannik’s bed at seven in the morning the next Saturday. 

He couldn’t yet will his eyes to open as she burrowed under his blankets to curl against his side, head fitting easily under his chin. It had been a while since she’d snuck into his bed for a cuddle in the early hours of the morning. He certainly wasn’t going to complain, not when she always wanted fewer cuddles the older she got. He just pulled her closer and pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of her head to make her giggle. He loved that sound. 

Just as Jannik was about to slip back into sleep, he heard her thin voice peek through the early morning quiet. 

“Papa?” He hummed in return, not quite ready to open his eyes. Jannik had never been a morning person, and nobody would ever be able to change that. Most of the time, neither was Andrea. “What do you think of Florian’s mama?” 

That she was beautiful – and that he’d ruined everything by telling you so. 

“Well, what do you think of her?” 

“I like her.” Jannik slowly inched one eye open to find his daughter twisted around to blink big blue eyes at him. She had Vittoria’s eyes and Jannik’s unruly ginger curls. “I like when she helps do my hair, and the clothes she wears, and sometimes she sings to help Florian with his homework. She’s really good at making tea, and I like her macaroni. And her house is nice.” 

Over the past couple of months of growing closer, you’d both taken turns babysitting whenever it was needed, and soon it had turned into you both just hanging out. A lot. One of you would make dinner while the other helped the kids with their homework, or have movie nights with too much popcorn, or try to hike and get about a quarter of the way there before everyone started complaining. Jannik had barely noticed how domesticated his life was becoming with you, how easy it was to fall into a pattern of seeing you most of the time, of Andrea and Florian starting to act more like siblings than two children who shared tennis lessons. 

He hadn’t seen you since Sunday. Since he called you beautiful, you fell and had to run off. You told him you were swamped at work, and he had no choice but to believe you, but he still wished he could just see you again. Just to apologise. Just to say he didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. He had gotten used to the domesticity, and clearly, so had Andrea. 

“I like all those things too.” 

“Do you think she’s pretty?” 

“I do.” 

“Me too.” Andrea snuggled closer again. “I was just checking, papa. Go back to sleep.” 

So he tried to, but his mind kept returning to you. To you, roller-skating in a pair of low-waist jeans that he tried really hard not to stare at every time you turned away. To you, gulping down water on a hike with the sun shining over you and the droplets beading against your lips. To you, sending him a soft smile as you braided Andrea’s hair just like Princess Anna, even including a fake white streak to make her feel more involved in the movie. It was odd how, in so little time, he had grown accustomed to you just being there. 

It’d been less than a week and he missed you. 

Midway through the afternoon, when Jannik was working on his answers for some magazine interview, the doorbell rang. Even though he wasn’t expecting any visitors, he was happy enough for the distraction from the boring slog of answering the same questions over and over again in slightly different ways, and he pushed away from the desk. His back creaked as he stood, and he groaned slightly, stretching, not used to his body feeling so old all of a sudden. It was easier when he was playing tennis all the time. Constantly training made his body feel younger. Putting most of that aside to raise a daughter meant less gym time and a little bit more of a stomach to contend with. 

He would recognise your shadow through the glass window of the door anywhere. 

“Hi,” was all he managed to say.

Almost a week, and he was immediately floored by the first sight of you. Pretty in the simple way you always were, the jeans he knew were your favourite just to throw on on a lazy Saturday, the old t-shirts you’d built up a collection of over the years, the thick cardigans to keep out the mountain-range chill. And yet, there was a new tiredness in your eyes, a slightly tighter pull to your smile. Florian stood behind your legs, but as soon as he saw Andrea, he went shoving past to meet her in the sprawling living room, already loud and bouncing and full of energy. Jannik had been just like that as a child. 

“Hi. You said you needed to talk?” Your head tilted as you spoke, the end of the sentence lilting up into a question. 

“No. I don’t think so.” 

You showed him the text he’d supposedly sent about an hour ago. Jannik’s brows furrowed. Had he sent that in some strange moment of blacking out? He checked his pockets, but he didn’t feel the familiar heaviness of his phone anywhere, and he remembered leaving it to charge in the kitchen so he wouldn’t be tempted to procrastinate the work he had to do. He checked the text again and noticed the oddness of Plz come. Need 2 talk. He never texted like that, and he was pretty sure you’d know that. 

He glanced over his shoulder where Andrea and Florian were already playing with the new racing cars he’d gotten for her just because he could. 

“Drey?” She looked up, smiling innocently, and he knew immediately what she’d done. She only ever looked the picture of perfection when she knew she’d done something wrong. “Did you use my phone to text Florian’s mama?” 

“Maybe. I missed her. So did you.” 

“We’ll talk about this later.” Her smile never wavered, and they all knew Jannik wouldn’t be too harsh on her. He was pretty bad at disciplining her, a fact his own mother never failed to bring up when he let her get away with everything. She claimed that if Andrea ever murdered someone, Jannik would just help hide the body. He shrugged it off. What else were fathers for? 

Florian whispered something to Andrea, and she laughed so hard she almost choked. 

Your face softened immediately. 

“Don’t be mad at her. I could tell it wasn’t you.” 

“But you came anyway?” 

“Maybe I missed you both, too.”

He welcomed you in, fully aware that he could feel the dramatic pounding of his heart, and led you through to the kitchen. You sat at the dining table, in the seat you always chose, with your back to the window so you could watch everybody come and go around the house. Jannik made you both glasses of water and brought them to the table, sitting in his usual seat beside you. It was close enough that he could touch your knee with his if he wanted to, but he refrained. He had gotten good at that. 

“I’m sorry for what I said on Sunday,” he finally said after gulping down half his water just to fill the growing silence. You tapped clean fingernails against your own glass, though you hadn’t even so much as taken a sip. 

“No, I’m sorry for running off. It’s been so long since I’ve even been on a date that I’m still so rusty about all of this.” 

Jannik felt the wind go out of him. “Is that what we’ve been doing?” Your eyes slowly lifted, and he recognised the emotion that flickered through your carefully picked-out expression. You hadn’t really meant to say that. “Or do you want us to start dating going forward? Do you want to call our roller-skating lessons ‘dates’? Or do you want to go on different dates? Proper dates with dinner and nice clothes and–”

“Stop, stop.” You were bright red and clearly flustered, one hand trying to cover your blush and the breathless way you spoke while the other flapped at him. He couldn’t help his laughter. He couldn’t help the sudden spike of adrenaline at the thought that you’d been thinking of dating him just as much as he’d thought about dating you. “I’m so embarrassed. It’s been so long even hearing the word ‘date’ is making me oddly giddy.”

He reached out to wrap his hand around your wrist and slowly lower it from your face. He liked the way you blushed. Liked the way it was never easy to hide.

“Do you really want to try dating?”

He couldn’t believe he’d woken up this morning thinking he’d never see you again, that he’d only ever hear about you in the small snippets he got from Florian at lessons, that you’d just be a crush he would fan until he heard you’d moved on with someone far better than he could hope to be. 

“Yes. I… I was worried because I was–” You cleared your throat, clearly not used to being so forward with your emotions. “I was starting to like you, and I’ve not really been close to a man since Tomasz, and I’m clearly very bad at reading any signs, so I thought it was just me.” This time you chuckled. It was more like a scoff. More self-deprecating than anything Jannik had ever heard from you. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist. “And then you called me beautiful, and I just had no idea what to do. I was probably going to avoid you for way longer, but this morning, Flo asked me how I felt about you and told me all about how much he likes you. That you’re so patient with him, and you make amazing schnitzel, and you have really good stories about playing tennis. So when you – or Andrea – texted, I took that as a sign and threw away all my inhibitions.” 

“I like the way you ramble,” he said, because he suddenly realised he’d never actually said it out loud before, even though he must have thought it a thousand and one times over the past few months. “I like listening to you.” 

“I like the way you listen.” 

Jannik didn’t kiss you, even though he wanted to. He shifted his hand so it was holding yours instead, fingers linked, and let the silence still for just a moment. A moment to catch your breath. A moment to just stare and take it all in. That these were real feelings and that neither of you was alone. 

And realise that your kids had definitely planned this. 

“Should we make tomorrow our first real date?” 

You lifted your joint hands to your lips to press a kiss against his knuckles, and for a moment, he was completely breathless.

 “Yes, please.” 

ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩

Rollerskating was easier with you. 

Everything, Jannik was happy to realise, was easier with you. Looking after the kids, looking after the house, looking after himself, it all felt so much easier now he could lean against you and feel your lips on the curve of his temple. 

You lived separately for the first year, but still spent as much time as you could together. Still had movie nights, and helped with homework, and made dinner for the other. You sprinkled in dates, without the kids, to fancy restaurants in a different town, or to the golf range so he could show off while you spent too long setting up the shot, or at the roller rink where he stopped falling when you held his hand and even taught him how to dance to the music. Then, he and Andrea moved into your house. It was bigger, and had nicer views from the window, and felt like something new. Something that he needed in his life. 

That’s when it all started falling into place. 

That’s when the kids started going to the same school, when you could cut your hours at work. After all, you could rely on Jannik to help pay. When answering the interview questions didn’t seem so boring because you were there to help him come up with some new answers. 

That’s when Andrea started calling you Mama, and Florian started calling him Papa. That’s when you got the dog, a Leonberger called Wendel that the kids named and that Jannik always walked because everybody else was too lazy to. That’s when you got the cats, two fluffy forest cats that the kids named Anna and Elsa because they were always watching Frozen, and that left ungodly amounts of hair everywhere. That’s when you had the wedding, something small, something just for you, with your families and friends in the back garden with the mountains sprawling behind you and the snow dusting the grass. That’s when you had the third child, Dorothea, who had Jannik’s gold-flecked green eyes and your hair, and that Drey was always fussing over while Flo tried to race his cars over her chubby legs. 

That’s when everything started to feel just right. 

Jannik crawled into bed, around two-thirty in the morning, after just managing to put Dot to sleep. She had been such a good sleeper at first, but teething made everything worse, and Jannik liked to be the one to get up so you didn’t exhaust yourself any more than you already had. 

“Maybe Klaudia for the next one. Or Dominik if it’s a boy.” 

“Please do not joke right now, amore,” Jannik mumbled into your neck, trying to lull himself back to sleep with the smell of you invading his senses, with your hair tickling his face, with your nails softly scratching the back of his head. 

“Okay, baby, I’ll wait until the morning.” 

And every Sunday, you still went roller-skating, with your hand in his, and your balance far better.

ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩 ᡣ𐭩

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoyed. Just wanted to write something fluffy, especially after RG, and what better than girl dad! Jannik?

Jannik Sinner was looking for a photographer.

And the photographer he was looking for, specifically, was you.  

The whispers followed you throughout the day. The other photographers at Turin weren’t quiet in their gossip. They’d overheard Jannik telling his coach it’d be nice to have a photographer in their team, and every time they shared this little tidbit, their eyes would flick to you. Jannik didn’t have to say it, but it was clear he meant you. You were, after all, his favourite of the tour photographers.

You just clicked. 

You’d joined the tour while he was stuck at home, and you’d already made a bit of a name for yourself by the time he got back. Though he took no notice. He had something to focus on. A title to win. A chance to show that he was better than he had been before, that the ban hadn’t taken all the best parts of him and twisted them into something worse – even if he often felt that way. It didn’t take long for him to notice you. You were the one to take the photograph of him in his new black kit, the clay shining red beneath his feet, his hand curled into a fist when a point went his way. And that hunger, shining clear as day in those green eyes of his. 

It was the first time he had felt truly seen. 

After that, he saw you everywhere. Or, well, he looked for you everywhere. At the side of the court, just before a match, with your camera around your neck and a cap shading your eyes from the sun. During practices, giggling with your friends, the sound echoing with the constant whack of tennis balls. In the media centre, halfway through taking a photograph with your tongue poking out just a little. Just enough to distract him. He never talked to you. 

He was, at least for a little while, content to just watch you from afar. 

Until he wasn’t.

It was one of those rainy days where practices had to be cut short, where nobody was allowed to play because the clay was ruined for the day. The sort of day when athletes weren’t quite sure what to do with themselves. Jannik would have been perfectly happy to sit and play video games all day, but Darren wanted him to at least pretend to care in the gym, so he listened to the rain hit the roof as he went through the motions of his usual workout. At least, he wasn’t the only one. Carlos was here too, and Jack, and Hubi. There was Elena and Coco, too. Everywhere he looked, another tennis player who didn’t get to spend this rare day off relaxing after all. 

Jannik was supposed to meet his team for lunch immediately after showering, but on his way out of the locker room, his attention was caught by the shadow at the other end of the player tunnel. His feet took him towards you before he could stop himself. You stood just at the lip of the tunnel, protected from the rain, your camera lifted to catch the exact moment rainwater mixed with clay. Your Adidas Sambas were soaked, he noticed, a small puddle beginning to form where you stood, and water dripping from the edges of your hair down your spine. 

“How do you do it?” he asked, before he could stop himself. He stood close enough that your shoulders brushed. You didn’t lower your camera. “How do you capture every thought I have ever had on court?” 

Eventually, you looked up at him. He was struck. You’d been on the wrong side of the camera this entire time. 

“You’re an easier read than you give yourself credit for.” 

It kept happening like that. Little moments where you brushed together in this constantly moving world you both occupied. In the player lounge, ordering coffee at the same time, waiting for your orders and standing far too close for it not to be noticeable. At practice, when he’d gulp down water as the sun beat hard against his skin, and you’d step into the shade with him. At the hotel bar, your elbows touching, watching people come and go. Jannik would ask something, anything about you, and you’d answer cryptically, like you were afraid to show too much. Like you were afraid to be on the other end of the camera. 

“What are you afraid of?” he asked at Wimbledon. 

Or well, at practice at Wimbledon, the scent of strawberries and freshly mown grass hung in the air, the chatter of fans watching as tennis players rallied against one another louder than he realised when he stopped for a moment. He had been retaping his racket when you stepped behind his bench to get a photograph of his training partner from his side of the court. You were always trying something new with your photographs. 

“Bees,” you said, off-handedly, flicking through your photos like you were already trying to decide which one you liked best. Jannik chuckled and kept watching you out of the corner of his eye. He liked watching you without anybody noticing. “What about you?”

“Dissapointing everyone. My family, my team, the fans.”  

Your expression shifted, just a little. Just enough for him to tell you weren’t expecting anything quite so honest. But he had been himself with you from the very beginning – no walls, no shield, just the truth with every answer. He couldn’t hide if he wanted to. You saw it all. The fire that drove him to walk onto every court and want to win. The pain with every heartbreaking loss. You’d captured that photograph of him at Roland-Garros, tears in his eyes, gaze lifted to the sky like God could provide any answer, even if he didn’t want to hear it. You saw everything, even if you claimed it was your camera. 

“I’m allergic to bees,” you told him, and you refused to look at him, like it was the most honest you’d ever allowed yourself to be. Always on the other side of the camera. Never allowing yourself to be seen. “Had a pretty rough experience as a kid where I thought I was going to die. A whole lot of bees, and one very allergic child.” 

It was the last thing you said to him that day. But that night, when he was lying in his bed in his Airbnb, you messaged him on Instagram. It was the first time one of you had messaged the other. It was the first time you had done more than bump into each other. You sent him one of the pictures you’d taken today, of a bee buzzing around his head while he laughed at something Darren said. He couldn’t remember the joke, but he did remember the little buzz-buzz in his ear because it reminded him of you. 

Two things I’m scared of, your message read, bees and cute boys.

He fell asleep smiling. 

When he won Wimbledon, you took the photograph that became his lockscreen. Him, and the trophy, and the hundreds of lights flashing in his eyes as he made history. You weren’t at the after-party, even though he wanted to invite you, just to have an excuse to dance with you. At Cincinnati, you started opening up more, answering his questions without the deflection he had grown used to. He liked the way you ruminated on his words, swirling them around your head like you were trying to find the right answers without jumping into it. He liked that you thought everything through, that you knew just how much to give away of yourself. Whereas Jannik practically tripped over his tongue answering your questions. He’d crack open his own chest just so you could see the arteries of his heart if you asked for it.

At the US Open, you went to dinner with him, some mostly empty burger joint, and with his hood pulled up, luckily, nobody really noticed him. You laughed at a stupid joke he made, and let your elbows touch, and he liked it. Really liked it. Liked getting to see you away from the court, away from the camera, away from the ever-watching eyes. 

“Do you ever think–” he asked, as he stole one of your fries and you didn’t even bat his hand away. “–that you use your camera as a shield?” 

“I don’t think that. I know it.” You stole a sip of his drink. Some grape soda thing he didn’t really like, but it was too late to give back. “I don’t really have a lot of friends. Just a lot of coworkers, all with cameras of their own that I don’t really want to be viewed through. I’m not used to opening up like this.” 

“I can see that. You answer every question like you’re afraid of the answer.” 

“I guess I’m just afraid of the response.” 

It continued like that. Dinners and answers, coffees and questions. You kept messaging too, more than just pictures, it had expanded to an off-the-cuff thought you had that you wrote down before you could think too much about it. He sent jokes, and you laughed to yourself, but in response just sent him the tired face emoji. You sent secrets, and he kept them close to his heart, because he knew that’s exactly where you’d want them. 

He didn’t even realise how much he relied on your company until he went to Beijing… and you went to Tokyo. 

I miss you, he typed. Then deleted it. Then typed it again and let his thumb hover over the send button.

Eventually, he sent it. He couldn’t expect truth from you if he refused to be honest with himself. He did miss you. He missed finding your smile waiting for him across the court. He missed the specific click of your camera, which he knew by heart. He missed sitting beside you at breakfast in the hotel and commenting on the dark circles under your eyes just to make you blush and hit his arm. 

It only took two minutes for you to respond. 

I miss you, too. Strange that. I’ve never had a friend on tour to miss. 

After that, he knew what he wanted. He didn’t bring it up at first, not to the team, not to his brother, not to anyone. He just kept ruminating on it. He wanted you at every match, at every meeting, at every practice with your camera, with your smile, with your secrets. He wanted to get on a plane and know you’d be there. He didn’t like the sudden sinking stomach he had when he realised he’d have to go through this entire tournament without you. 

He managed to steal Alejandro from the ATP. He could easily do it again. 

You weren’t in Dubai, obviously, but you were there in Vienna, in Paris, in Turin. You were the laughter thrumming in his veins, the flash of a camera, the eyes he always looked for. You were there, and that is exactly where he wanted you. So, when the whispers started in Turin, the other photographers side-eyeing you, you knew. You had to know. 

Jannik Sinner wanted a photographer. 

And that photographer was you. 

“Join my team.” It wasn’t a question. Just a request. Out there on the balcony of your hotel room, with your feet up on the rungs. He was sitting close enough his knee could touch yours, and you didn't shove him off. You never did. 

“What if I say no? Will you stop talking to me?” Your eyes roamed the dark night settling over the Italian city. The blanket you’d tugged over your shoulders started to slip, just a little, but Jannik was already there, thumb hooking through the fabric to pull it back into place. You liked the heat that just the simplest touch of his could inspire inside you. 

“Are you? Saying no, I mean.” 

“I’m not saying anything. I’m asking you.” 

Jannik watched you watch the city, and he realised he didn’t just like it. He loved it. And it was a hard truth to contend with in that moment, letting it sit between you, a breath he was too afraid to exhale in case you didn’t want to share it. 

“I wouldn’t stop talking to you even if the whole world tried to stop me. I’d miss you too much. So, join me. Please.” 

“Do I get to live in Monte Carlo?” 

“You could live with me.” And he meant it. It wasn’t supposed to slip out, but it did, sudden and true. 

You, finally, tore your gaze away from the city, settling those eyes onto him that he’d gotten so used to seeing across the court. Those eyes that saw right into the very depths of him. 

“I’d like that.” 

He waited to kiss you until after he won. 

When you showed up with his team at the exhibition match against Carlos in Korea, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. It was more surprising that you were the one initiating every kiss when he jogged across the court after a point.

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Hi everyone! I know it's been foreverrrr! I've been working on different fics (continuing my Malcolm Tucker fic on AO3, and a Baelor Targaryen fic) but got a sudden surge of inspiration for this ask. I hope you enjoyed!

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