Lesbian one shots

People help the people - Elena x OC

Elena Rybakina x Eliza Murray

My life at home: Living in the shadows. Second place medals. Little reassurance. Worst Murray. The forgotten Murray. How life is like being the least favourite.

My tennis life: Living in the shadows. Second place medals. Little recognition. Average Murray. The youngest Murray. How life is like being the least favourite.

How my life could change today: Bein BHg in the spotlight. First place medals. Lots of recognition. Best Murray. The remembered child. How life will be as the favourite.

Roland-Garros final 2022

The atmosphere at Court Philippe Chatrier is electric, a cacophony of anticipation and excitement that echoes in every corner of the stadium. The clay, a perfect, vivid orange, stretches out before me, the familiar scent of excitement mingling with the summer air. I stand on one side of the net, my eyes fixed on the baseline, trying to quell the storm of nerves that churn within me. This is my moment, the Roland-Garros final, my chance to step out of the shadows that have loomed over me my entire life.

Growing up as a Murray is a blessing and a curse. Andy and Jamie, my older brothers, have carved their names into the annals of tennis history. Andy, with his gritty determination and powerful groundstrokes, has claimed multiple Grand Slam titles and an Olympic gold medals. Jamie, with his finesse at the net, has dominated the doubles circuit. Everywhere I go, people speak their names with reverence, their achievements casting long, unescapable shadows.

And then there's me, Eliza Murray. Talented, yes, but never quite enough to eclipse the towering legacies of my brothers. Today, that can change. Today, I can emerge from their shadows, claim my own Grand Slam title, and finally, finally earn the recognition I had craved for so long. My opponent, Elena Rybakina, stands across the net, her tall, imposing figure exuding calm confidence. She's powered her way through the tournament, her serve a fearsome weapon, her groundstrokes unerring in their accuracy. She's a formidable adversary, but I'm ready. I have to be. The umpire's voice cuts through the murmur of the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The match will begin shortly."

I take a deep breath, bouncing on the balls of my feet, feeling the energy of the crowd surge around me. This is it. Months of grueling training, countless hours on the court, the sacrifices and the tears. It all comes down to this moment. I glance up at the stands where my family sits, their faces a mixture of anxiety and hope. My brothers, they believe in me. But my parents expect me to follow in the footsteps my brothers have laid out before me. With the little encouragement they've ever given me.

Today, I want to make my own path. The first set is a blur of intensity. Elena's serve is as powerful as I have anticipated, but I match her shot for shot, rally for rally. The crowd's roars and gasps are a constant soundtrack, their energy feeding into my determination. Every point is a battle, every game a test of wills. When I take the first set 6-4, my heart soars. I'm halfway there, so close to my dream.

In the second set, Elena comes back with a vengeance. Her serve seems even more potent, her groundstrokes more precise. I fight hard, but she breaks my serve twice, taking the set 6-3. The score is tied, one set all. My body aches, the strain of the match weighing on me, but I push the pain aside. I can't afford to falter now. As the final set begins, I feel a flicker of doubt. The weight of the occasion, the pressure of expectation, it all bores down on me. Elena seizes the early advantage, her powerful serve and relentless baseline play pushing me to my limits. I fight to stay in the match, digging deep into my reserves of strength and determination, but the tide is turning against me.