inês' tennis spot

🤍 Jannik Sinner

We'll make it work

I like taking care of you

Every step of the way

It helps mama

Our little family

Plenty to give

All of you, always

Did you lose her?

The distance between us

🤍 Carlos Alcaraz

Straight from the heart

Mi persona

We don't fit together (pt.i) | No mas (pt.ii)

That’s bullshit if I’ve heard of any

Let me teach you

Piel con piel

Your pulse against mine

Just want you to be well

Not perfect but better

The setup that set us up

🤍 Blurbs

You can look up all the blurbs that I wrote under the tag inês writes blurbs or under the tag (driver's name) blurb

You’d always known dating a professional tennis player wouldn’t be easy.

You thought you understood what distance meant - the airport goodbyes, the long calls that ended with “I wish you were here", the time zones that turned your mornings into his nights.

But lately, it was harder than usual.

You were in the middle of a whirlwind movie promotion - press junkets, interviews, red carpets, early flights, and endless photo calls. The world saw the glamour, the make-up sessions, the hair-dos; you felt the exhaustion and the pain. And the worst part wasn’t the lack of sleep - it was the lack of him.

Because every time you opened Instagram or turned on a sports channel, there he was - Jannik, all focus and fire on court, another city, another tournament. And every time you watched him play, your chest ached with the same thought.

I should be there.

The last time you’d properly seen each other was almost a month ago.

He’d flown to London for Wimbledon; you’d been in Paris finishing press for your film. You’d talked almost every night - blurry video calls, sleepy voices, him smiling at your half-done makeup and tired laugh.

"You're always the prettiest in the room, but no one can rock the panda eye look like you, amore", he teased.

"The make-up artist said she wanted to try something new on me and here we are", you gestured to the million cotton rounds drenched in eye make-up remover around you as you tried to remove the black product from your lashlines.

He was always so calm about it.

“You’re doing amazing", he’d say softly, voice low and steady, "I just saw the new trailer, I'm so proud of you, amore".

You’d smile, even if your throat tightened, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. But we’ll see each other soon, yeah?”, Jannik offered.

You both always said soon.

But soon kept stretching further away.

Tonight, you were back home for just forty-eight hours - a small gap before the next leg of your promo tour. You should have been resting, catching up on sleep, but instead, you found yourself scrolling through the ATP schedule.

He was playing in Turin.

That was only a few hours away.

You didn’t even think twice.

You texted Darren quietly that morning - a quick message with a plea for secrecy. He promised to leave your name off any guest list, to make sure Jannik didn’t suspect a thing.

By afternoon, you were on a train heading to the city, baseball cap low over your face, headphones on. You’d done countless premieres and interviews, but your heart had never raced like this.

It wasn’t nerves for the cameras or critics.

It was excitement - simple, raw, bubbling excitement to see him. To hug him. To kiss him.

You didn’t care about flashbulbs or headlines. You just wanted to watch him play again, live, with your own eyes - to feel the energy of the court, the sound of his racket hitting the ball, the little habits only you noticed, like the way he bounced the ball three times before serving, how he’d tug his sleeve before a big point.

The stadium was packed when you arrived. You kept your hood up, slipping quietly into your seat a few rows behind his team box.

The crowd erupted as he walked out. You felt the air shift - that electric charge that always followed him onto a court.

He looked calm, confident, focused… and heartbreakingly beautiful.

It was strange - watching him from so close after weeks of only seeing him through a screen. He looked taller somehow, sharper, the way he always did under lights. But to you, he was still your Jannik - the one who burned pancakes because he got too distracted by you walking in the kitchen in his t-shirts, laughed too hard at bad jokes, and kissed your temple every morning before leaving for practice.

He started strong, but you could tell he was distracted - small hesitations, glances toward the stands, the kind of unfocused energy that only someone who knew him well would notice.

"He seems off...", you mumbled.

"He's been missing you a lot, it doesn't help it", Darren pointed out, "maybe he can sense you but can't put his finger on it quite yet".

You smiled. He was missing you too.

Midway through the second set, you finally tugged your hood down, smoothing down the flyaways and finally letting your presence be noticed.

The second his eyes flickered your way, you saw it - the flicker of disbelief. His serve paused, his breath hitched, and for a heartbeat, the whole stadium disappeared.

You lifted your hand and waved softly.

The grin that broke across his face was small, but it was there - quick, unguarded, full of pure joy. He shook his head, laughing under his breath before bouncing the ball again, determination rekindled.

You’d seen him play hundreds of times, but never like this. His whole rhythm changed - lighter, freer, almost playful. Every shot had that extra spark. Every smile, every clenched fist, every shout of come on! carried the same energy: you’re here.

When he finally won, he didn’t even try to hide it.

He looked straight up at you, pointed his racket toward the stands, and mouthed, “stay".

You nodded, heart pounding.

You waited for him in a quiet hallway near the locker rooms, your badge long since tucked away.

The noise of the crowd was muffled by the concrete walls - just the faint hum of celebration in the distance.

When he appeared, hair damp, shirt clinging to his chest, you barely had time to speak before he reached you.

“Sei pazza", he breathed, half-laughing, half in shock, "you’re a crazy lady".

“Maybe", you said, smiling up at him, "but it worked, didn’t it?”.

He didn’t answer.

He just wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in so tightly you could barely breathe.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The world shrank down to the sound of his heartbeat against your ear, the warmth of his skin, the way his hands pressed against your back like he was afraid you’d disappear again.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was hoarse, "you came all this way?”.

“I missed you", you said simply, "and I was tired of watching through a screen".

He cupped your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone, "you shouldn’t have - you have work, you-”.

“Shh", you interrupted, smiling, "For once, I wanted to be the one in the stands".

He laughed softly, forehead resting against yours, "I played better today because of you".

“Yeah?”, you teased, "guess I should come more often".

He smiled, eyes warm and tired and full of love, "Guess you should".

Later, back at the hotel, you lay together in the quiet - his head resting on your chest, your fingers combing through his hair.

Neither of you spoke much. You didn’t need to.

You just existed - two people who lived loud, public lives finally getting a moment of stillness.

He whispered something in Italian you barely caught, something soft and almost shy.

“What was that?”, you asked sleepily.

He lifted his head, eyes meeting yours, “I said", he murmured, “no premiere, no match, no trophy… feels like this".

Your heart swelled, "like what?”.

“Home", Jannik sighed.

The next morning, when photos surfaced of you cheering in the stands - sunglasses, bright smile, hand over your heart - the internet went wild.

But for once, neither of you cared.

Because for a few hours, it hadn’t been about fame or cameras or schedules.

It had just been about him and you - two busy, stubborn people finding their way back to each other.

You met Carlos long before the trophies, the interviews, the spotlight.

Back when he was just Carlitos, the boy who’d bring his racket everywhere - even to casual hangouts, just in case there was an empty court nearby.

You became friends easily. Maybe because you spoke the same language of sarcasm and snacks, or maybe because he had that kind of warmth that made you feel like you’d known him forever.

Over the years, he became the person you texted when something funny happened, the one you FaceTimed at odd hours just to rant, the one who knew how you liked your coffee and when to stay silent instead of trying to fix things.

And that was all you ever were - best friends.

Until one random Tuesday evening when you both decided to play cupid.

It started innocently enough.

You were at his apartment, both half-asleep on his couch while watching a movie neither of you were really paying attention to.

Your phone buzzed - a message from your friend Sofia.

She was venting (again) about how dating was impossible, how all the good guys were either fictional or tennis players.

You snorted, "Honestly, you're not wrong, my dear”.

Carlos looked up from his phone, "Who’s not wrong?”.

“Sofia - she’s whining about being single again", you justified.

He grinned, "she’s the one with the loud laugh, right? Always wears the sparkly shoes?”.

“That’s the one", you tsked.

He leaned back, "she should go out with Leo”.

You blinked, "Leo? As in your friend Leo?”.

“Yeah. He’s been complaining about being single too. They’d get along, don't you think?", Carlos suggested.

You considered it - the idea had some merit and potential.

“You think so?”, you mused.

“I know so", he smirked, "let’s set them up".

That’s how the project began.

You both approached it with ridiculous enthusiasm, creating a shared group chat called “Mission Lovebirds” and pretending it was a covert operation.

You started planning little “accidental” meetups - coffee runs, trivia nights, spontaneous dinners.

Carlos took it way too seriously, drawing fake flowcharts on napkins and insisting you both had to analyze their “compatibility metrics.”

“You’re impossible", you’d laugh as he scribbled arrows between their names.

“I’m dedicated", he’d reply, winking, "there’s a difference".

It was fun, harmless. A shared secret. A reason to spend even more time together - not that you needed one.

The first double date was chaotic in the best way.

Leo arrived early, nervously fixing his hair every five seconds. Sofia showed up late, loud, and dazzling.

You and Carlos exchanged a knowing look across the table before letting the evening roll.

"You look great, Sofia!", you complimented, hoping she would loosen up the tension at the table.

"The traffic here allowed me to actually touch up in the car", she joked.

As the evening went on, your friends started to relax, their laughter growing louder and easier. You caught Carlos’s proud grin and nudged him under the table.

“Mission successful", you whispered.

He chuckled, "I told you - professional matchmakers".

And then - without realizing it - your hand brushed his under the table. Just a fleeting touch, but it left your skin tingling.

You pulled away quickly, pretending it hadn’t happened, but the warmth lingered.

After that, it became a thing.

The project. The mission. The excuse.

"So, how do you think they're progressing?", Carlos asked as he sat down after placing your coffees on the table.

You planned weekly meet ups in cafés to check in on your friends' progress, and today was no different.

"Good, as far as I know", you said before taking a sip of the warm drink, "she was very impressed when he bought her favourite flowers".

"He never would have guessed it if it weren't from you telling me", Carlos reasoned, "I still remember your face when I mentioned he should get her roses".

"Everyone always thinks every girl likes the same flowers", you argued.

"Not everyone girl, right, miss 'I only like tulips'?", he teased you under the table.

"I prefer them, and they show the guy made an effort", you justified.

And just like that, the conversation switched and you went on for hours talking about everything but them.

"Why don't we grab something for dinner since we're out?", Carlos suggested, "I've just been informed by my mother that since I didn't text her back about dinner, she didn't count me in".

"Your mother texted you and you didn't answer? Carlos!", you scolded, "she must've been worried!".

"She knew I was with you, so there wasn't a reason to worry", he offered, "although she might text you first next time because she was planning on making your favourite if we were to join them", Carlos scratched the back of his neck.

"Just for that one, I get to decide where we eat", you smiled playfully, making your way to your favourite Italian.

"I really want their pasta, but if you're not in the mood, I'm sure the other dishes are great, you have ste-", you were interrupted.

"Pasta sounds great, if you want to have that, then that's what we will do", Carlos smiled charmingly, placing his hand on your lower back and guiding you through the restaurant.

You’d text late into the night, phones lighting up your rooms even when miles apart. It started innocently enough - updates about Leo and Sofia, jokes about how clueless both of them were.

"I swear I caught Leo scrolling through photos of Sofia he had in his gallery", Carlos said through the phone.

"He what?! Already?? That’s adorable", you cooed.

"He’s so whipped, Y/N - he tried to hide it but I saw the lock screen", Carlos tsked.

"Sofia is pretty smitten too", you replied, kicking your legs under the sheets, "she was asking me stuff about him, like little details and all of that".

“Little details?”, Carlos wondered.

“Like what kind of coffee he likes, what music he listens to before a match, if he’s always that quiet or just pretending to be mysterious", you mused.

"Oh, he’s pretending. Trust me", Carlos settled

You both laughed, the kind of easy laughter that filled the empty spaces of your nights.

Soon, it wasn’t just about Leo and Sofia.

You’d send him a photo of your messy desk, a half-eaten croissant and an open notebook.

He’d reply with a voice note, his laugh low and tired from training.

“You’re working too much", he’d say, his accent soft and teasing, "Go to sleep, or I’ll call and sing you a lullaby".

And he did, once - called you after midnight, humming badly on purpose until you couldn’t stop giggling.

You started to memorize the rhythm of his days without meaning to.

You’d catch yourself checking the time and thinking, He’s probably finishing practice now.

You knew when he’d be free to call, when he’d be eating dinner with his team, when he’d be too tired and quiet - those nights when you’d talk about nothing, but stay on the line anyway.

Somewhere between all the shared laughter and teasing about your matchmaking mission, it changed.

The updates about Leo and Sofia became an excuse.

A reason to hear his voice again.

You caught yourself dressing up a little before FaceTiming him, just in case he noticed.

And maybe he did - because one night, while you were ranting about Sofia overthinking her outfit for a date, he interrupted with a quiet laugh.

“You know", he said, “you do the same thing she does".

“What?”, you quirked a brow.

“You get nervous before calls. I can hear it in your voice", Carlos pointed out.

You froze, heart thudding - because he wasn’t wrong.

He noticed you. The way you tried not to sound too eager. The way your voice softened when he said your name.

After that, something unspoken lingered between you.

You’d still talk about Leo and Sofia, but the subtext was heavier now - charged, careful, like you were both standing on the edge of something you weren’t ready to name yet.

He became a habit - not just someone you texted, but a rhythm you craved.

And when you’d fall asleep mid-conversation, your phone still glowing beside you, Carlos would whisper a quiet “buenas noches” before hanging up, smiling at the thought that maybe, just maybe, you dreamt of him too.

.

One night, after Leo texted saying he and Sofia were officially dating, you called Carlos immediately.

“She said yes to being his girlfriend!”, you exclaimed, practically bouncing.

He laughed, the sound warm and sleepy, “Then we did it!".

“We did!”, you grinned into the phone, "we’re geniuses".

There was a pause. You could hear him shifting on the other end.

“So…”, he said quietly, “what happens to the project now that they’re together?”.

You hesitated. You hadn’t thought about that.

Because if the project ended, then what was your reason to keep calling him every night?

“I guess… we find a new one?”, you offered, trying to sound casual.

He chuckled softly, "yeah. A new project".

But his voice sounded different - lower, softer. Almost sad.

The next few weeks were strange.

Nothing had changed, and yet everything had.

You still hung out, still laughed, still teased each other - but now there were moments that made your stomach flip.

Like when he’d brush a strand of hair from your face absentmindedly.

Or when you’d catch him looking at you with that small, quiet smile - the one he used when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You told yourself you were imagining it.

That he was Carlos. Your best friend. Nothing more.

But denial only worked for so long.

The breaking point came one evening when the four of you - you, Carlos, Leo, and Sofia - went out to celebrate their one-month anniversary (a milestone you and Carlos took way too much credit for).

You were at a seaside restaurant, golden light spilling across the table. Everyone was laughing, but you were distracted.

Carlos looked different tonight - hair slightly damp from a shower, sleeves rolled to his elbows, smile easy and open.

You hated the way your heart reacted.

At one point, Sofia leaned over and whispered something in your ear that made you blush.

Carlos noticed, "What is she saying?”

“Nothing", you said too quickly.

He squinted at you, playful but curious, "Oh come on, tell me".

You shook your head, laughing, "It’s nothing!"

But when Sofia smirked at him and said, “I was just saying you two would make a cute couple", everything inside you went still.

The table fell quiet for a second. You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

Carlos chuckled, trying to play it off, "She wishes".

“Do I?”, Sofia teased.

You forced a laugh, but your stomach twisted. His words shouldn’t sting, but they did.

You looked away, suddenly very interested in your drink.

Later, walking along the beach after dinner, he noticed you’d gone quiet.

“Hey", he said gently, "you okay?”

You shrugged, hands stuffed in your pockets, “Yeah, just tired".

“Liar", Carlos spoke.

You looked up at him. His expression was soft, searching.

“You’ve been weird since dinner", he said, “Did I say something?”.

You hesitated, "No, it’s fine".

He stepped closer, lowering his voice, "If I said something that hurt you -”.

God, did he hope he had said something that you felt was a lie.

“You didn’t", you interrupted, but your throat felt tight.

He reached out and touched your wrist lightly, “Then what is it?”.

You exhaled slowly, "It’s just… when Sofia joked about us, you laughed like the idea was ridiculous".

He blinked, taken aback, "What? No, I—”.

“I know it’s stupid", you said quickly, “I just-, forget it".

But he didn’t. His fingers brushed yours, tentative.

“I laughed because I panicked", he said quietly, "because it didn’t feel like a joke to me".

You froze, "What do you mean?”.

He swallowed, eyes flickering to yours, "I mean… I think I’ve been trying not to see it. But every time I’m with you, it feels like more than friendship. And I didn’t want to mess up what we have".

Your heart thundered, "Carlos…”.

"I don’t want this to change things", he pleaded, "I needed to get it out, and I know I'm selfish for it, but I don’t want you to think I'm making fun of you... I want to keep you in my life on any way you want to be here, please".

"I-", you sighed on relief, "I'm glad you think like that too", you smiled.

"You do?", he smiled nervously, "Guess our project worked a little too well".

You laughed softly, tears prickling your eyes, "Are you saying we accidentally set ourselves up?”.

“Exactly", he grinned, then added, quieter this time, “and I’m not mad about it".

He leaned in - slow, cautious, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

When his lips met yours, it felt like something clicking into place - like all the teasing and late-night calls had been leading here all along.

The world narrowed to just you and him and the sound of the sea.

When you finally pulled back, you both laughed - breathless, shy, disbelieving.

“So", you whispered, “new project?”.

He smiled against your forehead, "yeah, Operation: Us".

Leo and Sofia found out two weeks later - mostly because Carlos couldn’t stop smiling and you couldn’t stop blushing.

When Sofia caught you holding hands and smirked, “Guess I was right,” Carlos just laughed, squeezing your fingers.

“Guess you were", he said, "but don’t tell her that - she’ll never let me live it down".

You only smiled, resting your head on his shoulder.

Because the truth was - you’d never meant to fall for your best friend.