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Sinner - Blog Posts
*aw shit i haven't posted anything in a while uhm here
*i've been hyperfixated on hazbin so i made an oc,,,,
*sorta unrelated but i'd like to announce that im lucifer's #1 fan /j
My Girl
She sat emotionless in the bed. The people around her were Vultures, although she was Okay with that, and didn't dread.
Deadly
She sat emotionless in the white room, As the vultures with the cure Preyed upon her between her legs. Eyes closed, she imagined doom.
Deadly
She sat in a bright room; mind twirling. There were others like her in That bright room, recovering, knowing Well their souls were swirling.
Deadly
She sat in the car; a shell. Watching the world pass by She thought to herself, When she would be going to Hell.
Deadly.
Sinner.
No Regrets.
LIPS
I could kiss your lips all day, if you let me.
I don't know how you do it. How is it that your lips are the last things that I dream of before I drift off to sleep?
I want no place in heaven if you were my greatest sin. Because the way your lips are flawlessly pressed against my neck, oh my goodness, even just thinking about it, it's a type of paradise I'll never be able to forget. Amazingly, you chose to kiss, over my pulse, over my flushed skin, rather than tearing my throat out with your pristine white teeth and leaving me for dead.
Numerous could claim your kiss is one of the devil, because how is it you have the lips of a sinner but the heart of an angelic saint?
My jaw just so happens to be the perfect shape for your hands when you cup it when you kiss me. I love the taste of your flavoured lip balm and the way your lips effortlessly fit over mine. Your nose occasionally bumps against the skeleton of my glasses and you chuckle when you knock them askew. Your tongue has taken me to places in my mind I have not yet had an opportunity to explore.
Your lips are all I can ponder. They are driving me insane. What spell have you put me under? My love, I demand to know.
BEE KINGSLEY
Thank you all for the likes! It makes me really happy to this get attention. I do have the timelapse video and of y'all are interested, I could always post that next.
I'm almost at 10 followers! Yay me! I really appreciate it.
Blitzy-kun… You b-baka!
These hands are CURSED! But it had to be done. I loved this short and hated it because it felt like VivziePop called me out by my government name and knows about my weeby past. I'm legit proud I drew this and love Emberlynn.
Blitzy-kun… You b-baka!
These hands are CURSED! But it had to be done. I loved this short and hated it because it felt like VivziePop called me out by my government name and knows about my weeby past. I'm legit proud I drew this and love Emberlynn.
Curious to see how a WIP lineup would do on my profile here. I constantly annoy my friends with anatomy checks and ideas like 'what should I put on the bottle?' ( PS, thank you said peeps >w< ) Can't wait to get into all the details in his wings!
maybe the reason adam ate the apple was not because he loved eve but because he wanted the taste of satan on his tongue, maybe love is the first sin and adam the first sinner.
Lights out!
jannik sinner x f1 alpine driver!reader
summary: you are the only female driver in the grid. on race day, you happen to cross paths with a certain red headed tennis player.
a/n: my first fic! english isn't my first language so apologies in advance if i made any errors. also, i tried my best to be non-f1 fan friendly haha
The paddock buzzes with race day tension. Mechanics rush past with tires stacked shoulder-high, engineers juggle data on tablets, and camera crews swarm like bees. The scent of gasoline and espresso clings to the air, warm with late-summer Italian sun. You barely notice the commotion anymore.
You're used to the glances. The stares. You're the only woman on the grid, the first in years. They don’t mean harm, most of them, but the weight of proving yourself has never really gone away. It’s carved into your pre-race rituals. The cold splash of water on your face, the mental visualization, the deep breath before pulling your race suit over your fireproofs.
“Y/N,” your race engineer’s voice crackles in your earpiece, breaking your focus. “Garage in ten. We’re running checks on the floor. Your left side looked off in FP3.”
You nod, even though he can’t see you, and turn toward the Alpine hospitality suite to grab your bottle and gloves. That’s when you catch a flicker of ginger hair and sunglasses across the walkway. Someone tall, lean, relaxed in a way no one else is right now. Not a driver.
It’s Jannik Sinner.
You’ve seen his face before on TV, sports magazines, that tennis documentary Netflix pushed on you mid-flight. You don’t follow tennis religiously, but you know him. Italian golden boy. Calm. Sharp. Unapologetically good. And apparently, a massive Formula 1 fan. You’ve heard he’s been to a few races before, he even met some of the boys from Red Bull last year.
Right now, he’s talking to Oscar Piastri, who’s leaned casually against the McLaren garage wall, helmet tucked under one arm. They’re laughing about something, Jannik’s hand briefly clapping Oscar on the shoulder.
You march over, not because of Jannik, but because Oscar still owes you answers about that mess in qualifying yesterday.
You stop just in front of them, planting your hands on your hips. “Piastri,” you say, not looking at Jannik. “You got a minute?”
Oscar gives you that signature dry smirk. “Didn’t expect the Alpine missile this early.”
You roll your eyes. “You blocked me in sector two. Again.”
Before Oscar can respond with something cheeky, Jannik clears his throat lightly. “You’re Y/N, right?”
You finally meet his eyes. Your throat goes dry, and you don't know why.
“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “You’re the tennis guy.”
He laughs softly, polite. “That’s one way to put it. I’ve seen you race. Big fan.”
There’s no condescension in his tone. No posturing. Just a simple truth. For some reason, it disarms you more than any media-trained compliment ever has.
Oscar glances between you two, eyes narrowing. “Oh, great. Now you’ve got Sinner rooting for Alpine.”
“Just this once,” Jannik says, grinning. “You two were brilliant in Spa. That overtake into Eau Rouge…”
He trails off, mimicking your steering motion with his hands.
You arch a brow, an amused smile playing on your lips. “Didn’t think tennis players watched F1 that closely.”
“Oh, I grew up watching. Used to pretend I was Alonso when I was a kid. Built my own track with soda cans in the backyard.” He chuckles, then pauses, shifting slightly. “You’ve got a shot today, right?”
You shrug. “If I survive Turn 1.”
“I’ll be watching,” he says, his voice a little quieter now.
Oscar nudges him. “She’s the real deal, mate. Don’t blink or you’ll miss her on the straight.”
You nod toward the garages. “I need to check in before the formation lap. But thanks for watching.”
You don’t say “nice to meet you.” You don’t shake his hand. The moment is small but electric, like the seconds before lights out. You only nod amd smile at him in appreciation before turning your back.
And as you walk away, you feel his eyes still on you.
———
Your heart is pounding so loud you can feel it in your neck.
Last lap.
The engine screams in your ears, and sweat drips down your temple beneath the helmet. You’re gripping the wheel so tight your knuckles are white. Your engineer’s voice crackles into your headset, calm but sharp.
“Last lap. You’re still holding second. Verstappen's only half a second ahead. You’ve got this.”
"Copy." You murmur.
The crowd is a blur; flags, flares, noise, just streaks of color around the circuit. You shift your focus back to the car ahead. Slipstreaming. Right behind. Just one chance.
You take a deep breath and throw the car down the inside at Turn 1. It’s risky. Brave. Clean.
You pull ahead, and before you know it, you're leading the race.
Your engineer screams in your ear: “Yes! You’re leading! Bring it home!”
You fly through the final few corners, barely blinking, barely breathing. This is what you trained for. This is everything.
As you come out of the final bend, the straight opens up before you—and then, just ahead, a figure waves the black and white checkered flag, signaling the race is over.
It’s Jannik.
He’s standing tall on the stand, waving the flag with a wide grin, hair a little messy from the wind, sunglasses forgotten in his hand. You don’t even know if he sees your car or recognizes that it’s you, but the moment feels electric.
You cross the finish line.
Winner.
You scream into the helmet. "LET'S GO! P1 BABY!" You roar in happiness, in disbelief.
“GREAT PACE! YOU DID IT!” your engineer roars. “P1! That’s a win! Take a slow lap, bring it in. You were unbelievable!”
The victory lap is a blur. Fans are on their feet. Your crew leans over the fences, cheering. You give a wave, still breathless. You can't stop cheering through the radio, turning the car into parc fermé.
By the time you pull into parc fermé, the spot where the top cars park post-race, you barely register the noise around you. You turn the engine off. The world goes quiet.
You climb onto your car, standing tall, fists pumping in the air. The crowd roars in response. You don’t take the helmet off yet. You just let the noise soak in, hands over your head. You jump off of the car, and head straight for your team. The noise is deafening, their happy cheers and chants as they celebrate this legendary win.
You did it.
———
Later, after the national anthem, after the champagne is sprayed and your race suit is soaked and sticky with victory and celebration, you make your way down the steps of the podium. You run your fingers through your hair. Hair stuck to your forehead, and wipe the sweat away with the back of your glove.
Jannik is waiting just off to the side, now wearing a pass around his neck and a smile that’s hard to miss.
“That was insane,” he says. “Seriously. I’ve watched a lot of races, but that finish-”
“You saw it?” you ask, eyebrows raised.
“I waved the flag, remember? I had the best seat in the house.”
You chuckle, looking up at him. “You looked good up there.”
He gives you a modest shrug, but the blush on his cheeks betrays him. “I didn’t think you’d notice. You were kind of busy winning a race.”
You let the smile linger before tipping your head slightly.
“You coming to the afterparty?”
His brows lift slightly, as if surprised. “I didn’t think I was invited.”
You glance at him sideways, playful. “Well, consider this your invitation.”
There’s a beat. A pause in the chaos, the media, the photographers yelling for one last shot, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, sweaty and sunlit and still riding the high of the day.
He smiles and his eyes crinkle and you think you just might faint.
“Then I guess I’ll see you there.”
14%. Seems a bit low.
TOUGH TIMES || JS
————————————————————————
summary: Jannik gets home from Doha after news of his ban comes out. He's not doing well, but when you get home, you're there to comfort him.
pairing: jannik sinner x fem!reader
warnings: Angst and fluff, it’s a bit sad but literally just mostly fluff.
a/n: I miss him already
MASTERLIST
You knew when you opened the door that something was off. Like something in the air of your apartment leaving a stiff tension in the room. You dropped your bag quietly by the door and moved into the space.
The lights were on which meant Jannik was home, yet he didn't appear at the sound of the door opening like he usually would.
"Jan? Are you home?" You could've sworn he'd arrived back from Doha earlier this morning and as you moved into the kitchen the sight of his phone on the counter was the clear sign that the Italian was about.
His phone was buzzing incessantly and you reached for it before quickly realising why his phone wouldn't stop making noise. A flood of notifications were streaming through, some positive and concerned but the majority were overwhelmingly negative.
With just a quick glance you read a slew of hateful comments, praying for Jannik's decline or a harsher punishment. A few players had messaged him, but they were a thin comfort when you saw how few had reached out.
You placed the phone back on the counter, clearing away the notification and switching it to silent first.
You looked for Jannik in the living room but there was no sign of the redhead anywhere and when you slowly opened the bedroom door it became apparent why.
The room was a mess, Jannik's suitcase was open with tennis kit strewn around the room. Not as if it had been pulled out of the bag but as if it had been purposely thrown. Your gaze moved from the mess on the floor to the figure lying in bed.
He had a blanket covering him but his red curls gave his presence away. His chest was softly rising and falling as he lay curled up, and you slowly moved to the side of the sleeping tennis player.
You bent down in front of Jannik catching the sight of his peacefully sleeping facade. Even asleep his eyes were noticeably puffy and the shadows under his eyes seemed darker than normal.
It was mid afternoon but the blinds were pulled half closed, moving the light from his face just to his torso.
You brushed his curls out of his face lightly, they immediately returned to their former place but your hand traced around to his cheek. You softly grazed your thumb across his cheek which caused the Italian to stir.
His voice cut through the air, raspy with sleep, "Amore mio?" (my love?)
"Hi honey." Jannik shuffled his body, moving his hand from under his pillow to find the side of your face. You leaned in giving the italian a soft kiss on his lips. "want me to get you anything?"
He shook his head lightly before burying his head back into his pillow. You ran your hands through his hair, causing him to groan softly.
"vieni a letto." (come to bed.) You laughed, running your hand down Jannik's back tracing circles down his spine.
"Let me just get some stuff and I'll be back okay." You gave him a kiss on the cheek before standing up, squeezing his hand before you left the room.
You quickly made your way to the kitchen, making two cups of tea and preparing an array of snack on a tray. Your eyes darted to his phone on the counter but you decided against bringing it with you. Instead adding a few books to the tray.
You headed back into your bedroom, placing the tray on your vanity while you changed into shorts and a comfy jumper. You began picking up some of Jannik's clothes on the floor, putting them away and sliding his tennis bag into the cupboard, out of sight.
Placing the tea by Jannik's bedside and put the tray on yours. You climbed into bed next to him. Jannik rolled over and sat up slightly, his sleep-worn eyes looking up at you caringly.
As you got yourself comfortable place pillows behind your back as a barrier between you and the headboard Jannik moved closer. He rested his head gently in your lap and your hand met his orange curls slowly twirling your finger through them.
His large hands moved to your bare legs as he settled, this thumb tracing lines up and down your thigh. You reached for the remote trying not to unsettle the Italian, switching on the tv which filled the room with a mindless buzz.
The tennis channel was always the first thing to appear on tv, an occupational hazard when you live with a tennis player. The echo of technical tennis chatter filled the silent room, and Jannik's name was called before you could switch the TV over to Netflix.
The feeling in the room shifted, the tension palpable as you rushed to get the reporters harping on Jannik's ban off the screen. His grip on your thigh subconsciously tightened, and when the channel finally switched, relief was clear.
You looked down at a mess of curls on your lap, pausing while Netflix loaded up. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay, love, it's not your fault." His dejected tone cut into you. Jannik was usually so full of life and excited, but now he seemed like a shell of his former self. You brushed his hair out of his face so he could catch sight of you in his peripheral.
You moved both hands to the side of his face, cradling him like a ceramic doll that could break at any minute. "It's not your fault either."
He refused to meet your eyes trying to change his focus to the screen before him but he should've known you wouldn't give up.
"Jan, look at me please." Looking up at you, he shuffled slightly, "It's not your fault." His eyes softened and glistened slightly, you had no doubt that this situation had been weighing on him for the last few months.
But now, now that people were taking this ban as a sign of guilt Jannik was letting it destroy him. Ruining his perception of his own hard work and effort. He knew that now the court of public opinion would rip him to shreds and he wouldn't be able to say anything to change their minds.
"But everyone thinks it is." His quiet voice cut through the silence, Jannik tried to hide behind the nonchalant facade that people had assigned to him, but truthfully underneath that all he was struggling.
A tear fell from Jannik's eyes hitting your thigh, your thumb brushed it away and you bent down pressing a kiss you his forehead.
"You are not what they say about you, and in three months you'll get back on that court and prove it." He smiled slightly though it didn't reach his eyes,
You let your hand trail down the back of his neck, rubbing out the tension as your hand moved under his shirt and around his upper back. The tv buzzed with the show that you turned on in the background. Jannik's hand found yours, finding himself tracing shapes on the palm of your hand.
You sat in a comforting silence for a long time, peacefully enjoying each other's company outside of the world's noise. Jannik had been fighting against sleep for the last hour, his eyes fluttering closed with each blink growing heavier for the Italian.
When he drifted to sleep for the first time in months he was lulled into a peaceful rest, your hand along his back and in his hair and a constant reminder of your presence. Something that brought Jannik endless comfort during the constant noise in his mind.
Not long after Jannik fell asleep you moved yourself so you were lying more comfortably in bed, with Jannik's head on your chest and arms around your waist. You wrapped your arms around him and let sleep surround you.
...
When you woke up it was dark outside. The light from the tv filled the room and illuminated the absence of a certain red-headed Italian.
The sheets were a mess, and the air that hit your body was chilling. You got up from bed, your bare feet padding across the cold wood floors as you made your way into the kitchen.
You knew something was wrong when you clocked that Jannik's phone was missing from the spot on the counter where you had left it.
The kitchen was shrouded in darkness but the lights from the city outside caught your gaze. When you were observing the skyscrapers your eyes flitted to a figure sitting on the floor of the balcony, the light from his phone illuminating his face.
Your heart churned at the sight of the soft sobs you could see racking through his body, his shoulders shaking with each sob.
You moved towards the balcony, sliding the door open and stepping out into the cold. Jannik's head snapped to you, but he couldn't hold back the tears as he saw your concerned expression.
You sat on the floor beside him your hands reaching for the phone he held so tightly in his grasp. You glanced at the screen, a compilation of tweets from his fellow players discussing how detrimental Jannik's actions were to the sport.
You wasted no time turning the phone off and putting it to the side. Taking Jannik's hands in yours you kissed his palms. "Why are you reading that nonsense?"
His tear-filled eyes looked to the floor. "This is what they think of me. That's never going to change." He tried to wipe his tears but the actions seemed futile when the tears continued.
Your hands wrapped around his neck pulling him into a hug, his hands found your waist and his head buried itself in the crook of your neck.
"All this has done, is show you who really cares about you. Now next time you beat those assholes you don't need to feel bad." He laughed slightly and his hands gripped your waist tighter.
"I love you and so do so many people, and they'll be waiting for you when you come back my love." your hand slid into the hair at the back of his head, nails scratching the surface trying to bring him comfort.
"What if I'm not as good when I come back?" His broken voice felt like a stab to your heart.
"You're going to spend the next three months training, there's no way you won't go back at the top of your game." Your waist was set alight by his touch as his hands found their way under your shirt.
"Even if you were the worst tennis player ever, I'd still be here by your side." He laughed into your neck, kissing it gently.
"Ti amo." (I love you) He pulled his head out of the crook of your neck and slid his hand up to his face. He leaned in capturing your lips with his, the soft kiss sending warmth flooding throughout your body.
"I love you too."
Pope Leo I know you’ve blessed tennis players before (see Jannik Sinner Casper Ruud Rome Masters quarterfinal for more info) so imma need you to come out against elder abuse sometime before Friday. Can you do that please? Just kinda stand on the balcony of St. Peter’s and say it’s important to be nice to older individuals. Thank you