#carlos alcaraz rpf

[lxndonorris]

heated challenge - Carlos Alcaraz

Y/N x Carlos Alcaraz Theme: Smutish, teasing, touching you're playing against Carlos in a friendly sparring match, which get heated fast x word count: 1290+ taglist: @game-set-canet open for requests (F1, Motogp, tennis, football etc)

The sun shines brightly overhead as you and Carlos walk onto the pitch of the private sports club. The court is pristine, the lines freshly painted, and the net taut. 

You look down at yourself, feeling both excitement and a hint of anxiety. You are wearing Carlos' spare tennis gear—a white top and a pair of shorts that fit surprisingly well. It's been years since you last played, held a racket, and walked onto the pitch, and while you aren't a professional, you know you are decent. 

Still, the thought of playing against Carlos, a tennis superstar, is both thrilling and intimidating.

Carlos looks incredible in his yellow tank top and black shorts. His clothes accentuate his physique perfectly, each muscle sculpted and defined. 

You swallow hard as your eyes meet, and he gives you a reassuring smile that sends a wave of comfort through you.

"Ready?" He asks, his voice filled with warmth and encouragement.

You nod, a little anxious about embarrassing yourself, but his smile bolsters your confidence.

You take your places on the court, and it is your turn to serve.

You take a deep breath, toss the ball into the air, and strike it with your racket. Not a bad serve, you think, but Carlos manages it effortlessly.

You rally back and forth, and you can tell he is holding back, perhaps subconsciously. It is a sparring match, after all.

As you continue, you begin to get the hang of things again. Your shots become more accurate, your movements more fluid.

Carlos notices and smirks, unconsciously stroking his chest.

"You're doing good," he says before serving the ball again, this time with more power and speed, testing you. 

You manage to return it quite well, causing his smirk to widen.

Still, he wins the set.

The two of you meet at the net, both of you sweating and breathing deeply. You can't help but admire how his muscles flex with every step he takes, and you know, by his eyes roaming all over you, that he feels the same.

"You're really good," he compliments, and you blush.

"I haven't played in years," you admit, your heart racing from the exertion and his proximity.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying the moment. "It doesn't show. You're doing great."

You can tell he is excited, his eyes sparkling with a competitive fire he can't hide.

The next set is even harder.

You manage to score a few points, but Carlos' athleticism and talent are too much for you in the end. He moves with grace and power, that leaves you in awe.

Once the set is done, you walk over to the bench for a drink. Before you can take a sip, Carlos comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. His touch is comforting, and you feel a rush of warmth as his chest presses gently against your back. He hums quietly, the sound vibrating through you and giving you goosebumps.

"You did so good," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

You lean back into him, embracing his body against yours. His hands are firmly on your waist, holding you close—gently but possessively. Turning around to face him, your eyes meet. 

"Thank you," you say, giving the compliment back. "You were amazing out there."

Carlos smirks, his gaze roaming all over you. "It was hard to concentrate," he admits, "because you look so good."

You blush again, feeling the intensity of his eyes on you. Steadying yourself against his firm chest, you feel the heat radiating from his body and the muscles reacting underneath his shirt.

His hands tighten slightly on your waist, and you can sense the desire in his touch. When your eyes meet again, you know he is craving your touch, but you both understand it isn't the place or the time.

"What do you say? One last round?" Carlos teases, one hand on his chest, the other motioning toward the pitch. 

"Sounds good," you agree, but before you can take your place on the court, Carlos takes his shirt off, showing off his toned body.

"I just need some space." He tilts his head playfully as a knowing smile plays on his lips. 

In one swift motion, he strokes his chest and tummy before his hand gently brushes over his shorts, drawing attention to the desire and excitement building up inside him.

For a second, you're unable to take your eyes off him; the display both challenging and tantalizing.

You regain your composure and raise an eyebrow. "Suit yourself," you smirk back at him, and the two of you get back on to the court.

The next set begins with renewed intensity.

Carlos serves first, his powerful shot skimming the net and forcing you to scramble. You return it with a strong backhand, and he nods appreciatively before smashing it back to your side of the court. You lunge, barely managing to return it, and Carlos's grin widens as he volleys it again, this time out of your reach.

He wins the first points easily, but you are determined to make the match competitive. 

You serve next, aiming for the far corner of the service box. Carlos darts to intercept, but your serve catches him off guard, giving you the first point. You feel a surge of confidence as you square off again.

The rallies are longer and more intense this time. Each point is hard-fought, with neither of you willing to give an inch. Your strokes are precise, your movements agile, but Carlos's pure skill is unmatched. He leaps and lunges with a fluidity that takes your breath away, his body a perfect instrument of the sport.

As you continue, the score remains tight. You are tied, and every point feels crucial.

You manage to outmaneuver him with a series of quick volleys, earning a few points in rapid succession. He responds with powerful serves that push you to your limits. The competitive fire in his eyes spurs you on, and you find yourself playing better than ever before.

Carlos serves again, the ball blazing over the net. You return it with a swift forehand, and you rally back and forth, each shot more intense than the last.

Sweat drips down your face, and you can see the same determination in Carlos's eyes. He is pushing you to the edge, and you are rising to the challenge.

Finally, it is match point.

Carlos serves with a power and precision that leave you scrambling. You manage to return the ball, but he is ready, smashing it down the line. You dive for it, your racket connecting just enough to send it back over the net.

Carlos sprints forward, and with a final, powerful stroke, he sends the ball sailing past you.

You collapse onto the ground, trying to catch your breath. Carlos lets out a low grunt of excitement, his face lighting up with a triumphant smile.

Carlos approaches you, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. One hand slides around your waist, pulling you close, while the other holds his rackett firmly.

Without a word, he kisses you passionately, his lips demanding and full of fire. You give in to him, your arms wrapping around his neck, savoring the intensity of the moment. His passion is intoxicating, and you adore every second of it.

You break apart, both of you smiling, the connection between you stronger than ever. 

"That was amazing," you whisper, feeling breathless and exhilarated.

"It was," he agrees. His eyes lock onto yours with a mix of affection and desire. "We should do it again, soon."

You nod, leaning into him, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscles. 

"Any time," you reply softly.

[alcqraz]

★ summary — after yet another tough loss in the australian open, y/n finds solace within her boyfriend. ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★★ pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★ content warnings. n/a. carlos being a cutie patootie? ˖˙ ꔫ —★★ word count. 3.2k ˖˙ ꔫ —★ genre. fluff. it's carlos. what do you expect? ★ authors note: for the girls! i really need to write some x male!reader for myself... ben drabble coming next and then we go from there. also ugh, he's so cute i love him so much. after 6 decades, 4 redbulls and 25 million complaints, you shalt recieve whatever the hell this monstrosity is... i apologize, this is terrible. ⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀ @yungbludz ; @csainzcalcaraz ; idk who else to tag.

Bitterness was an odd sort of sensation. It wrapped around the heart within a warp of seamless, thick fog- the cold tendrils seeping into the crevices of positivity that she deemed to find after such a loss. It whispered to Y/N in moments where she stood in front of the media, rumbling off a number of responses given by her public relations manager. One for which she believed to have almost no effect upon her relationship with the public. It lingered, like some sort of lurking shadow amongst the thoughts that crowded her back of mind as the reality delved deep into her bones. As the media had swooped down as vultures and ripped her performance apart with each piece of mindless critique that, most of the time, could be said to have been terribly wrong.

She’d known the drill. Exchanging hands with the devil within every turn that crossed her path, with every early round exit that haunted her presence as she packed up to head towards the next tournament. One which would lead to the abiding taste of victory or once again; bitterness. It followed her every step, with every ground stroke, with every serve missed. It was only when the umpire would shout out the words- game, set match; followed by a name that was not hers, would she realize. It settled in slowly; similar to the dust that set on the shelves after being unused for far too long, and eventually did she finally feel the truth of it all. 

Australia seemed to disdain her existence as a whole. Y/N had decidedly chosen to believe so after a handful of upsets. Within the premises of a place far too beautiful to be spiteful, does she drown within her sorrows of the match. The Australian Open always rubbed like salt within her wounds, lost matches after lost matches, and she wondered to herself what she could possibly be doing wrong with her career. It was not as if it were common. Undoubtedly, Y/N would lose; just as the greatest to ever have played the game had done so before, but within the years that passed by, it only tended to happen with a good run. Perhaps losing upon the semi-finals or the finals could be regarded as a wider received upset, however the expectation that crawled upon her skin with every waking moment only pressured her further to go for a deeper run.

And yet, as the sun dipped lower upon the evening-lit sky, it sank deep within the horizon as such a carefully crafted and cared for gold coin slipping into the darkened waves of the ocean. Casting hues of colors that in any other situation, Y/N would find extraordinary. What was not to appreciate a good sunset for? But it was not the stunning beauty of the sunset that plastered her thoughts, and to her utter surprise and relief, was also not the stalling weight of the loss. Instead, her mind subconsciously drifted to the Spaniard that she knew would be waiting upon her arrival. 

Carlos was never one short of a support system for Y/N. In a sort of way, she wonders faintly what she would do without his constant encouragement and advocacy. Who would be there for her after such a loss? Who would be the one to woefully wrap their arms around her as she doubted her ability, the one who would whisper sweet nothings into her ears until she truly believed it? Y/N knew that she couldn’t escape it again this time, despite the need to potentially be alone for multiple hours before truly being in a mindset to talk to others without resulting in a bout of tension due to snappy answers. 

She knew that he would’ve watched the match. Sitting atop his hotel room bed in which she had fallen asleep in for many days beforehand, never daring to book a shared room due to the fear of being caught by, not his team, but others. News outlets, reporters- those who would do nothing less than to dwell low for an eye-catching title. Sprawled across the sheets, she could imagine him, his mouth pursed into a tight line; not at the loss, but at the disappointed glances the camera would’ve caught with ease. He never cared for her results, not in that sense, but in the sense of that he would not judge her for an early round exit such as today. The only thing that mattered to him would’ve been what she had felt- frustration, agitated, disappointed, seemed to all be on the table on this fateful night.

And in a certain light, she looked forward to those tender moments. The feeling of a ripple of being loved and appreciated within an ocean of critical and in times, cruel comments that had been made of her. For her tennis, her looks, her image; there always appeared to be something to grumble about albeit it be for the tiniest, most inconspicuous things. Carlos always shook his head, his head of grown hair shaking in such a way that was endearing to Y/N. He’d reach over, gently plucking the phone from his hands although unable to hide his pique of interest in what his girlfriend so… encapsulated. He’d learnt quickly that it was never good in instances as such. 

There would be some form of tension as the Spaniard would look up, an odd frown stretching across his face. It never fit him right- frowning, it just didn’t feel right, like a human in an animal enclosure. Unbelonging. Conceivably, it was because she was used to his bright, joyous and up-lifting grin, that goofy smile that could assault a ray of light upon the darkest of days. Seeing the opposite of it was unfathomable. There would be a mumble of words, half mixed with Spanish as he would set the phone down, an arm slowly easing up to provide a source of comfort. 

Arguably, the drive back to the exquisite hotel in which she had been assigned could be determined to be the longest and shortest drive she’d ever experienced. The driver made no attempt to start a conversation in any variation, instead decidedly for the better, kept his mouth tightly shut. Y/N had assumed that one not so nice glance, which- for the record, she did not mean to give, shut him up real quick as from a viewpoint, he looked fairly friendly. Like the sort of person to make small talk with strangers without making either party feel vastly uncomfortable. She’d never gotten out of a place faster in her life. Mumbling out a soft thank you, because if honesty was policy, it was the least she could do after such a drive.

She was thankful that at least the hotel had a welcoming atmosphere, the constant chatter of guests that could care less of her arrival. Or even better, did not recognize her for who she was. Her team had followed back within another car, not that Y/N had requested so, but it felt more of a moral perception. They knew what to leave things at, and she could come to appreciate having a group of people that understood. Within the dynamic lighting in the building, she could vaguely make out one of the tournament cars pulling into the entrance. 

Hauling the bag that slung across a singular shoulder, and quietly adjusting the hanging strap, Y/N stumbles her way back towards her room. The hallway stood eerily silent, the usual foreigner- or group of foreigners had either disappeared into the night, taken an early exit, or drunk on a dance floor. The latter, she had assumed. Notionally, it would’ve been far better than having to be questioned by the eyes of another guest, making polite small-talk as the elevator shuddered and picked up its pace. They’d wish her luck, not knowing the slaughter that had happened on court not even hours before. 

A part of Y/N wants to immediately head over to Carlos’s room. To drop everything and melt within his strong arms, to go home. But she knew better than to show up at his front door, sweaty, pissed off and with an arm load of bags. And so she resisted, grumbling a number of curses as she punched in the floor that her suite had been on, waiting as the elevator whirred to its heart's content. It feels far too long, the walk back grudging and slow, with every drag of her foot feeling as she were walking through puddles of wet concrete. Perhaps it was the exhaustion after a match dwelling down, or perhaps it’s the mental aspect of everything- Y/N never could truly pinpoint this feeling, despite the half-hearted attempts at understanding.

Her bags are carelessly strewn across the floor, allowing her jacket to fall upon one of the unused chairs of her suite. The room is big; far too big for a single person living in it, and whilst Y/N had admired the spaciousness of the area when she had first arrived, now it had felt more despondent than ever. Even showering felt enervating, too hot for a minute, then too cold for another, and she wonders how such an expansive hotel could reserve for a lavish waterfall in its lobby, yet not have enough for a capable showerhead. She had to admit though, she’d felt better after such a shower, muscles relaxing and the stench being wafted away within a moment's notice. It feels as if she’d done it a million times, coming back after a match, trying to take a relaxing shower before she was to be grilled by her coach for the next. It felt more of a simulation, as if things were repeating itself over and over again, like a clock resetting after every twelve hours. The only time that would differ would be around Carlos, the Spaniard making time feel irrelevant to the universe, until it was only them that mattered. Nothing else, nothing more.

It’s always for that reason she found herself back in this position, new comfortable clothing that hung loosely around her shoulders, hair up for it to dry faster. There would be no makeup involved, she’d known Carlos for long enough that she knew he could not care for what she looked like in these moments. Instead, worrying about further issues. It’s almost embarrassing how many times she found solace within him, as he would finally open that god damn door to his hotel room, that stupid smile that could light up the entire town, the way he never seemed less excited to see Y/N no matter how many times he’d actually seen her. He was so… how could he be so… she never grasped at how or why, never could comprehend. It never changed. 

“Y/N?”

Carlos peers curiously, eyes glinting with a sort of inquisitiveness no one else could replicate. That look, the one that Y/N could never get used to, one that shone like the moon upon a dim evening sky. “Estas bien?”His words cut through the uttered silence, his head cocking to the side like a mackerel. For a moment, she profoundly forgot where she was, taking more than just a second to process the Spaniard’s words.

Her eyelids flutter, open and shut, shut then open, as if trying to clear a haze that had clouded her vision. Deliberately, she let her head sway from one side to another, strands of hair falling from the elastic that held her hair together. “Oh, uh-” She stumbles over her words, as if she were suddenly at a loss, a lump forming cautiously within the midsts of her throat. “Yes, yeah- I’m fine, estoy bien.” The words feel jumbled as it comes out of her mouth, as if she hadn’t spoken in many years before advancing her way towards Carlos.

He looks around, protruding his head from the frame of the wooden door, as if he were searching for something, or perchance, it was looking out for her. When he had decidedly chosen that the coast could be deemed as clear, Carlos gently ushers Y/N in, a hand swiping behind her back and brushing her into the room. It’s far messier than her room, as well, Carlos was Carlos and old habits die hard, but it feels much more of a humble abode. The smell of Carlos wafts airly within the room, like a warm, familiar embrace, dancing lightly throughout the suite. It wraps around like a fuzzy blanket, easing the tension that spooked through her veins, allowing her to sink into a contraption of intimacy. 

Carlos’s mouth opens, as if he were to say something, but he hesitates wearily. Y/N is sure that it’s because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, that would rub her in the wrong way. The thought stings a little, knowing that Carlos felt as if he couldn’t say what he truly thought to her without the fear of retaliation. “No estuvo mal.” He says the words slowly, dragging across his tongue, syllable by syllable. “Te veías bien.”

There’s a hint of truth that comes with his words, Carlos didn’t enjoy lying, especially to her, Y/N quickly realized soon into their relationship. He knew of the pain of hearing those around him lying of how he played- good or bad. He discerned, to only speak of the truth. Yet he also, deep down, fathomed that she would not believe what he said despite the sincerity. Knew that it was a battle already lost, and there was not much he could do about it other than whisper caring endearments until the discomfort of the loss passed. 

“It didn’t feel good.” She responds, not quite a snap back to Carlos, but more of a defense mechanism to protect herself. 

“Losing does not feel good ever, yes?” His words are coated with an accent, one that she found more endearing than anything else. The attempt was enough to fill a crack of her heart with warmth, and it only grows further as Carlos takes a couple steps in to enfold his arms around Y/N, in a well meant attempt to shield her from any negative critiques or thoughts. “Pero eso no significa que no fuera bueno, ¿verdad?”

She knew what was to come. Knew the little spiel of words he had crafted carefully within his mind. He would remind her of the positives. Of how it could do more good than bad, and that it was just a single tournament in an ocean of others. She would come back, win the next title, and all would be forgotten as the media turned back to the bouts of adoration for her antics and play style. 

Carlos sighs, shaking his head in such a manner of disappointment. “Ven aqui.” He mumbles softly, his words barely breaking the silence that touched the room. He takes a few purposeful steps toward the bed, tugging her alongside him. His touch lingers, a gentle pressure that presses Y/N against the comfortable mattress in a way that feels tender and intimate, exuding a warmth and familiarity that only Carlos could convey to her. It’s a moment cuddled with unspoken connection, where every brush of his hand spoke volumes of the devotion he felt.

There was nothing she would want more, nothing that could comfort her in such a way that it made the whole world feel at peace. He could make her forget in a number of ways, but this- his body pressed up against hers, breath hot against her skin as he tangled them into a spooning position. It feels as if heaven were on Earth, the sensations greater than whatever pleasure tennis could bring to her. “Todo va a estar bien, si?” Carlos whispers, carrying not only a sense of warmth but tinged with secrecy as well. A sacred space that only withled the two of them, with no allowed space for others. A fleeting moment, that has Y/N’s heart thumping within her body.

“Maybe if you’re always here after I lose in straight sets.” 

Her response isn’t biting, it’s not bitter as she would’ve expected it to be. Perhaps it was because he found it nearly impossible to act so rudely towards Carlos. He smiles though, in an answer, his lips stretching lazily into that stupid, stupid grin. “Siempre estaré aquí para ti, amor.” Carlos says, lips just tracing over the lobes of her ears, and for a moment, Y/N shuddered at the touch- so intimate and close, so indescribable. His fingers lay on her delicate skin, one that had been soaked upon sweat just hours ago, and it feels as if the area had been set on fire. His touch warm and fascinating, his lips soft and ginger as he slowly bestows a kiss on her own. 

It’s a feeling Y/N would never be able to shake off no matter how many times it happened. The elusive tingle that tinged up her spine, then throughout her bones, every nerve as if it had been lit on fire. The way his hands slowly caresses her face, not intruding and not pushing for anything further, just to have her in such a way that only the luckiest woman in the world could imagine to have. And when he pulls away, it leaves Y/N yearning for more, eyes trying to convey a message of need and desire. But Carlos is quick to shake his head, and although dismay aligns across his features, he’s firm about it. 

“Descansa un poco” He murmurs, turning so that Y/N would lay on the mattress in a manner that he knew she’d prefer to anything else. Likewise, she was tired. In spite of everything- the match, the weight of the loss, the media that gawked, their smirks playing along their faces as she spoke, every word a better headline for them, in a fashion of twisting her own words and using them to stab her against the back. It was, perhaps, the worst part of tennis, one that Y/N wished she could evaporate with a snap of her fingers. But she could not, she did not have the power to do so, and it was not as if it would be of any use if she had tried. 

With a defiant huff of a breath, she tried to ease the restlessness that lodged between her bones, letting her eyes fall shut, easing into an acquainted darkness. With the pressure of Carlos around her, the soft breathing that snuck in and out, sweeping across her right ear, Y/N mitigates into a calming state of bliss. One in which she only found moments like these, where she did not have to shine as a radiant poster boy, where she could finally just let herself be. And during that interval where she felt not quite asleep, yet not awake either, she smiles to herself, knowing that for one, she could rest easy for the time being. That she was safe, within the consolation of home. 

[wimbledonstrawberry]

roger taking care of his husband and son x

[mousemannation]

so u were "having some laughs" and "making jokes" and "talking about life" on that plane were u carlos

[nick-cassidy]

📸: Holger Rune’s instagram story

[gamesetmatch-me]

After the sincaraz final i wanted to write something... so here we go...

short summary: they are in the plane, jannik is in a kinda depressed mood, they are making out in the airplane bathroom

Jannik leaned back in his seat, his long legs stretched out. He looked out the window, thinking about the match he had just played a couple hours ago.

He knew he was doing his best, but he couldn’t help it. He thought he could really win the match he has trained a lot and the last matches he played were also quite good.

Carlos shifted in his seat, glancing at Jannik who sat just a couple meters from him. The match before had left him exhausted and his whole body was aching.

He swallowed hard as he took in Jannik’s expression that was obviously disappointed.

He had felt bad seeing Jannik lose which was something he couldn’t understand. They were rivals, they shouldn’t feel bad for the other when they lost but he couldn’t help it. With Jannik it was different.

Carlos stood up although he wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted to do. Slowly, he went over to Jannik’s seat.

“Hey, can we… talk?” He asked shyly.

He felt weird talking to Jannik when both their teams were around.

“Uhm… yes of course. What do you want?” Jannik turned his face to him instead of looking outside. He tried to smile but Carlos saw it wasn’t an honest one.

“I – I just wanted to tell you that you played really well.”

Jannik looked away again.

“Thanks,” he murmured after a long pause. His voice was flat, nothing to be heard of the usual warmth. “You too.”

Carlos’ chest tightened. This was definitely not how it was supposed to be. After all of their matches, no matter who won, they had always managed to talk normally, sometimes even laugh about something. But tonight, it felt different.

Everything felt tense and forced and Carlos couldn’t help but be mad at himself for saying yes to the flight together. He should have said no when Juanki asked him if they should share the jet with Jannik’s team.

“Jannik,” Carlos started again, his voice sounding almost pleading. “I mean it, you were amazing out there, I–“

“Stop. Just… stop.”

Jannik’s voice was sharp and the intensity in his gaze made Carlos flinch.

“Don’t act like you care. You won. And you deserved it. But please don’t pretend to care.”

Jannik’s voice broke off, looking away again as he ran his hand through his curls. Carlos just stared at him. He had known Jannik for years and had seen him at his highest and what he had though his lowest but this… unfiltered version of Jannik was new.

“I am not pretending,” Carlos said, trying to keep his voice at a low volume so that the others wouldn’t hear everything. He leaned forward to grip the armrest so he doesn’t fall over when a small turbulence hit the plane. “I just… fuck, Jannik, I don’t know what to say. I hate seeing you like this because I do care!”

“Yes, well. Get used to it.” Jannik shrugged.

The words stung, and that sharper than Carlos had expected.

He wanted to say something, but suddenly he was well aware of how close they were. Carlos could see the brown and green of Jannik’s eyes that looked darker than usually as the light was dim.

The silence stretched and made them both feel awkward. The jet’s hum seemed louder than before at the small space suddenly felt too cramped, too intimate.

Suddenly, Jannik stood up, making Carlos flinch. He now had to look a bit up at Jannik, which was caused by their height difference.

He watched as Jannik’s long limbs moved toward the front of the cabin. Carlos felt an impulse to follow him, and before he could have even thought about it he went after him.

“Wait.” He said, hoping he wasn’t too loud and would wake up the others that were sleeping in their seats. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom.”

Seconds later, Carlos found himself with Jannik in the bathroom. The small bathroom.

The small room didn’t leave them any space, they were standing now face to face and were able to feel their breaths on each other’s skin.

For a moment neither of them moved. The air felt thick between them and both could feel the tension.

Jannik was so close that Carlos was able to see every detail of his face. The slight flush of his cheeks, the crease between his eyebrows the way his lips he pressed together. And how he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

Carlos swallowed hard. Why had he followed Jannik? He shouldn’t have done it. He wouldn’t be in this situation if hadn’t.

But now he was here, in the tiny bathroom. Practically pressed up against him.

“Why are you here, Carlos?” Jannik interrupted, his voice low. “Why did you have to follow me?”

But Carlos didn’t know how to respond. Because he didn’t know. To apologize? To comfort him? But why would he do that. They weren’t really close friends.

“I… I don’t know.” Carlos whispered, his breath getting faster when he realized how close they really were now. “I just couldn’t let you go like that.”

For a split second, Jannik’s gaze softened until he was back to clenching his jaw and looking at the ceiling. “You cannot fix everything Carlos.”

“I am not trying to do that. I just can’t stand seeing you like that. I feel so bad.” Carlos said frustrated.

“Then why do you have to keep winning?” Jannik let out a bitter laugh. He knew his feelings weren’t rational but when were they. He was frustrated. Carlos was his kryptonite.

“Because I have to. It’s just the game. But it doesn’t mean I want to hurt you on purpose.”

Jannik didn’t reply. The tension in the tiny room was palpable, making Carlos feel like he was on the edge of something dangerous.

And then, Jannik moved. It was so quick, unexpected, that Carlos didn’t have the time to react before Jannik’s hands were on him. He grabbed Carlos arms, fingers digging into his skin.

 Before Carlos could say anything, Jannik’s mouth was on his – desperate.

Everything, all the confusion, the frustration, the anger, it all was recognizable in the kiss.

Carlos surged forward, his hands now on Jannik’s back, gripping Jannik’s shirt. Underneath he could feel the muscles in Jannik’s back tensing up.

The kiss deepened and turned hotter the more confident the men became. Jannik groaned against his mouth, his hands sliding down to grip Carlos’ waist.

 The room seemed to become even smaller as they stumbled a bit back making Carlos bump against the cold sink which made him gasp, and sent a shiver down his spine.

The gasp made him break the kiss for just a moment before Jannik’s mouth was on his again, kind of demanding.

It was chaotic. Carlos nearly elbowed Jannik as they tried to change positions so that now it was Jannik feeling the sink in his back.

But it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to Carlos was Jannik’s hands on his hips, his lips on his, the heat of his body pressed against him, Jannik’s toned back he could feel under his hands.

 “Jannik,” Carlos gasped, as Jannik kissed along his jaw and down his neck which made his head fell back. “What... what are we doing here?”

 “Shut up,” Jannik managed to say, his breath hot against Carlos’ skin.

And then he was kissing him again. Carlos felt like he couldn’t get enough air, but he also didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to pull away to take a breath.

Jannik’s hands slipped under Carlos’ shirt, pushing it up while he explored Carlos’ chest, his sides, his waist.

“Fuck,” Jannik breathed, his voice low. “You’re-“

But whatever he wanted to say was lost when Carlos pulled him back down to press their lips together again.

Carlos hands were shaking a bit when he tugged at Jannik’s shirt, pulling it over his head and sliding his hands over his chest and abs.

But then, suddenly, Jannik pulled back, breathing hard, his eyes dark.

“We… fuck, Carlos. We shouldn’t do that.”

“But why did you…” Carlos looked up at the other guy in confusion.

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know,” he growled.

They were both trying to catch their breath but then Jannik’s gaze dropped to his lips again and something changed. Carlos didn’t even know what.

It felt as if Jannik was more confident know.

And he was. Jannik was kissing him again, harder this time. Rougher.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

Carlos’ body reacted instinctively. His hands explore Jannik’s body, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, needing to know him.

The next few minutes were a blur of moans and gasps.

Carlos didn’t know how long they stayed like that, lost in each other. All he knew was that when they finally broke apart, they were both a mess. They were panting, their shirts somewhere on the floor. Jannik’s fingers tangled in his hair.

Their faces where flushed, their bodies trembling, their lips swollen.

They were just standing there for a moment, neither of them moving. They just stared at each other as their chests were heaving and hearts racing.

They knew they should get out there before anyone noticed they’d been gone for so long.

But Jannik’s eyes were locked on his, sending shivers down Carlos’ spine.

“Fuck Carlos,” Jannik muttered. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Carlos didn’t - no, he couldn’t – respond. All he could do was kiss Jannik again, desperate to feel him again.

His hands moved over Jannik’s chest, his stomach, down to the waistband of his pants.

Jannik’s breath hitched when Carlos’ fingers brushed over the skin above his pants.

“Is… Is this what you want?” Carlos asked put of breath, his voice low.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

And then their lips were pressed against each other’s again, Jannik’s hands roaming over the other guy’s bare chest. He tugged at Carlos’ pants, his fingers brushing against his hips, his thighs, teasing, but not yet touching were Carlos wanted him most.

“Jannik,” Carlos gasped, his voice breaking as he arched into Jannik’s touch, his fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please-“

But before he could finish Jannik spun them around again, pinning Carlos against the bathroom sink. Carlos let out a soft cry of surprise as Jannik’s body pressed against his.

“Tell me what you want,” Jannik murmured, his thumb brushing over Carlos’ bottom lip, coax a whine out of the younger man. “Say it, Carlos.”

Carlos swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the edge of the sink behind him. His whole body was trembling.

“You. Please, Jannik, I want you,” he breathed, his voice barely audible.

All he wanted was Jannik’s hands on him.

“Don’t stop,” Carlos whispered, his voice trembling. “Please, don’t stop,” he begged.

And then his hands were on Carlos’ waistband, tugging it down, his fingers sliding over bare skin. Carlos gasped, his head falling back and his breath coming in short gasps.

“Jannik- “

“Fuck, you’re so… you are driving me insane.” Jannik’s voice was rough, almost growling.

Carlos let out a whimper, his head falling back as Jannik’s mouth trailed down his stomach.

But before he anything more could happen, there was a sudden knock on the door.

“Carlos?” a familiar voice called out, muffled through the thin door.

Carlos froze, his heart leaping into his throat. He knew that voice—knew it all too well.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his eyes wide as he looked up at Jannik. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Jannik’s gaze was just as panicked, his hands stilling against Carlos’ skin.

“What the fuck should we do?” Jannik asked, panicking.

“Just act normal.” Carlos whispered; his voice strained.

He took their shirts in his hands giving one to Jannik and put it on.

“Carlos?” Juanki’s voice called out again, louder this time. “Are you in there?”

“Yes… yes. Just… just wait a second.”

But he didn’t. Before he could think about a plan the door swung open and Carlos’ heart stopped.

His face turned red.

“Enjoying yourself?” Juanki asked dryly. Before anyone could respond he added a “Just get back to your seats. And just don’t do it again… at least not in a plane. The walls are quite thin here, you know?”

When Juanki turned away to go back to his seat Carlos just stood there.

“We are so fucked,” he whispered to Jannik.

[rpfshippingpolls]

⚠️ DON’T START DISCOURSE ABOUT RPF IN THE NOTES!! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IF YOU DO SO ⚠️

Do you ship it?

No reason submitted

[carlandooo]

Carlos is a tennis player and Jannik is a famous singer/model AU

Mood board for my fic - 

"There’s someone that walks onto the stage from behind the scenes, and before Carlos is actually able to see who it is a couple of women (and men?) already start screaming excitedly. “Holy shit, it’s Jannik Sinner!”, he hears Lorenzo say in almost awe. Never heard of him, Carlos thinks, and then he sees him.

Holy shit indeed. On the podium stands a man who’s tall, with beautiful red curls, a guitar hanging over his shoulder, wearing a suit that clearly shows he’s also a model, and at that moment, Carlos knows he’s a goner."

[kb9-ships-mistercriky]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Tennis RPF Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Carlos Alcaraz Garfia/Jannik Sinner Characters: Carlos Alcaraz Garfia, Jannik Sinner Additional Tags: sincaraz, janlitos, australian open 24, before the start of AO, quotes, after sex - Freeform, Fluffy, Fun, Cute, Feels, light - Freeform Series: Part 8 of Mouth and hair Summary:

"You're too skinny! You need to spend more time in the gym training! You need muscles." That's who's actually putting the Baywatch body issue into Jannik's head. Carlos, of course.

[wimbledonstrawberry]

cause I hate, like, everyone... except for you

"After reading some shocking news, Holger tried to cheer Carlos up."

wc: 5k

rated e.

ao3 | archive purposes promo twt

[alacants]

fic rec: el café y la poesía (tennis rpf)

el café y la poesía

carlos alcaraz/jannik sinner. 3k, rated t.

"Nobody's gonna believe you actually yell at your coach, you know." "Why not? He's really annoying." "You want me to believe you regularly get mad enough at Juan Carlos to start a fight, but you're not mad at me? Really?" "What, do you want me to be mad at you?" "No. Probably? I don't know." Jannik hesitates a moment. "Maybe I think it would be easier. I just feel like I've disappointed you in some way. And I don't know how exactly, so I can only guess." And how could he not guess, Carlos thinks with an edge of something approaching hysteria. How could he not outright know, after all this time, after everything.

After the Beijing final.

read on ao3

--

post-beijing fic by the usual suspect (anon bff). all i'm going to say is: brace yourself. :) (and read it!!!)

[fifteenloove]

Hello! 👋

♡ About me → Mars | she/her | lesbian

♡ Languages I speak → 🇬🇧 | 🇮🇹

♡ Tennis faves → Jannik Sinner☆, Elena Rybakina☆, Aryna Sabalenka, Qinwen Zheng, Carlos Alcaraz, João Fonseca, Jasmine Paolini, Matteo Berrettini, Flavio Cobolli, and surely someone else I'm forgetting

♡ My AO3 account → fifteenlove

◇Warnings → RPF on this blog, if you're uncomfortable with that DNI

[nancywheeeler]

oo so curious abt all of these but how about "and if you don't love me now" and "whatever happens to me, i know it's for the better" ?? good luck on writers block also that shit is EVIL <- currently trying to shake it off rn

writer's block truly is so awful, like why am i staring at a blinking cursor and forgetting every word in the english language, can't it all just be easier. but alas. i hope both of our writer's block clears up soon!!

okay so, a significant aspect of "and if you don't love me now" is in the year of our lord 2024, eddie roundtree's first (and only) solo album goes viral on tik tok. so every scene is connected to a track from that album and there are little multi-media snippets that open each scene. i've had a lot of fun trying to mimic various pop culture and music publications. here's probably my favorite:

track eight: second-place finish “ my love’s a god you don’t believe in / my love’s a house that you don’t sleep in / i know, i know ” Roundtree took his time arriving at his album's thesis statement, but here it is, in time for the finale. The title is depressing in its irony; the singer has lost every two-man race he has competed in over the course of his life, but finally recognizes that even if the winner were to disappear tomorrow, he would not be called up to wear the crown. He had never been in the running in the first place. With a brutal honesty he evades on other tracks, Roundtree determines, “You’re a lover; you just don’t love me.” The brutality is served by how spare the musical arrangement is: a lone but faithful acoustic guitar, reminiscent of an old Townes Van Zandt song. Out of pleas or places to hide, Roundtree is left with only his guitar and his final testament’s fading refrain. He knows, he knows, he knows. — from “We Break Down Every Track on Eddie Roundtree’s Album, Secondhand Sounds” Pitchfork || June 30, 2023

meanwhile, "whatever happens to me, i know it's for the better" is even more sports rpf. background: at the us open in 2022, one of the greatest tennis matches ever was played between carlos alcaraz and jannik sinner. it went until like 3 AM. highly recommend watching it if you have a spare four and a half hours. in this match (spoiler alert), jannik sinner had a match point in the fourth set that he failed convert. carlos alcaraz ended up winning in the fifth set and then went on to win the entire tournament, his first grand slam title at only 19.

so...what would have happened if jannik had converted that match point? coming to a fic near you (hopefully)

“Advantage, Sinner.” The crowd inside Arthur Ashe was screaming, and the noise shook the stadium like a minor earthquake. Carlos had stopped trying to guess where their loyalties lied three hours ago. It seemed to him they weren’t on the side of Jannik Sinner or Carlos Alcaraz anymore, but on the side of the tennis itself, cheering at the end of every hard-fought point not because of who won it but because of the pure magic spun off their rackets. They needed Carlos to save this match point, because of how desperately they wanted more. It was the tennis Carlos dreamed of playing since he was a kid. Tennis that left the world breathless. Tennis, ten years from today, someone would reminisce about to anyone who’d listen. I was there for Alcaraz and Sinner’s US Open quarterfinal. I watched Alcaraz save a match point at the bottom of the fourth set. Mopping the sweat off his face, Carlos readied himself to make it so. Advantage, Sinner, but not for long. Carlos watched Jannik walk back to the baseline, anticipated him blowing on the base of his racket before he brought it to his lips. Already, he knew so much about Jannik, how his body moved, his on-court ticks. How he clenched his jaw with the same ferocity as he clenched his fist when he won a crucial point. How he planted his hands on his hips when he couldn’t believe he had missed. How he never let up, not for a second. Carlos had dreamed of him, too. The greatest players needed a rival, someone who pushed them to their breaking point, then past it. He knew now, if he hadn’t known already, that rival was Jannik.

[firstserve]

sunshine, meet rainfall (3906 words) by killthecountdown Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Tennis RPF Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Carlos Alcaraz Garfia/Jannik Sinner Characters: Jannik Sinner, Carlos Alcaraz Garfia Additional Tags: Angst, Developing Relationship, 2024 tennis season, ineffective efforts at reconciling offcourt relationships with your oncourt rivalry Summary: Carlos is a friend before he is a competitor but he is both all the same. Neither overpowering the other, they sit in uncomfortable silence, shoulder-to-shoulder in the empty stands of a court pelted with rain until the title of boyfriend shoulders itself into the suddenly heavy space between.   A downward spiral, from Indian Wells to Rome.

new sincaraz fic up!

[kdsburneraccount]

ty to @gianniisantetokounmpo for tagging me in this 🫡 sorry it took me a while to get to

fave color: purple

song stuck in my head: fast car by tracy chapman

3 favorite foods: salmon in most forms, tiramisu, pho.

last thing i googled: nfl

dream trip: Japan or Hong Kong

anything i want right now: to finish my wips

3 ships: all rpf LMAO but uh Matt Ryan/Julio Jones (nfl), Josh Allen/Stefon Diggs (also nfl), Carlos Alcaraz/Jannik Sinner (tennis! how surprising)

last movie: Dario Saric documentary from like June (I don’t really watch movies)

currently watching: nothing except YouTube videos 😔

currently working on: fics and also slightly studying for upcoming school year

comfort food: atm dill pickle spears

tagging - whoever want to do this! @maddenrichard @mandaluskaya @litwhorees no pressure tho 🫡

[kb9-ships-mistercriky]

Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Tennis RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Carlos Alcaraz Garfia/Jannik Sinner Characters: Carlos Alcaraz Garfia, Jannik Sinner, Andrey Rublev Additional Tags: sincaraz, janlitos, between madrid rome and paris, all already written, Feels, Trouble In Paradise Series: Part 12 of Bocca e capelli Summary:

"Sapere che rideva per merito suo fu bello, così come sapere che adesso stava bene fisicamente e che non doveva preoccuparsi. Adesso aveva tutto ciò che desiderava, il resto non era più tanto importante."