caitb00
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Unimpressed, Jannik shoots the criminal a dirty look. “What is that?” he asks, an accusatory finger pointing in the direction of the journal.
Djokovic’s answering grin is blinding. He holds the book against his chest to give Jannik an unobstructed view of the cover. “You like it?” the Serbian asks before laughing at the scowl on the redhead’s face, the surest sign of displeasure. “Do not pout! This is my little book of Jannikisms!”
Jannik’s eyes widen, darting between the man and journal in alarm. “Your book of what?”
This bewildered response only tickles Djokovic. “Jannikisms,” he repeats slowly, as if it were the phonetic arrangement of consonants and vowels that the younger man failed to comprehend.
In a world where Novak Djokovic doesn’t become the greatest tennis player in history, he becomes something much worse…
Jannik Sinner recognizes him anyway.
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Years later, Jannik often thought back to the day when he first met Carlos Alcaraz, because perhaps the most interesting thing about it all was that their first meeting wasn't so earth-shattering. Jannik didn't feel like the ground had been pulled out from under his feet, and there weren't even butterflies in his belly. He simply turned around and found the young boy in the corner of the burning red clay court, who he had no idea at the time would change his whole life.
He was a lanky, short boy, with dark brown curls falling from his forehead, clutching in his hand a racket that might have been too heavy for him at the time. He flicked his eyes back and forth, as if he didn't believe where he was at first. For a moment, their eyes met. Carlos smiled broadly and waved boldly at him, as if they were ancient friends, not two strangers whose only thing in common was a racket in their hands. Jannik may or may not have waved at him, but he remembered that he immediately looked down at his shoes, red with clay and did not dare to look at the boy again.
Bookmarked by caitb00
27 Aug 2025
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Sincaraz
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Lando Norris, internationally famous rockstar, has three main priorities: drugs, avoiding eye contact, and pretending emotions don't exist.
To most, he's just flippant; a hot, young thing with messy habits. So what if he washes down breakfast with a shot of vodka? He's a rockstar, it practically comes with the territory of being too young and too famous.
But the reality of it is a lot more destructive.
Enter Oscar Piastri. Engineering student. Polite and boring to a fault. Really, he's nothing interesting.
Except, after one too many nights taken too far, Lando's manager hires Oscar as his chaperone.
Lando hates him immediately.
As the band's tour drags on, as the looming threat of FIA's album deadline becomes ever the more pressing, as Oscar gets dragged deeper into a strange world of glitz and grime, Lando begins to think that things might finally turn out fine.
Except things are never, ever fine with him.