unforced3rr0r

[unforced3rr0r]

“we need to fix the tennis schedule” “it’s too much, the players need more time off to recover”

WRONG! every day that carlos alcaraz is not playing tennis, he is getting another haircut. we need to keep that man BUSY!

[unforced3rr0r]

THE DEAL || CA

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pt. 2, (previous part)

summary: Carlos hated having a PR manager, especially one who was his age. Convincing her to leave was the best plan he'd ever had, but what happens when he realises he doesn't want her to go?

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warning: diabolical tension

a/n: this is kind of all over the place because I’m trying to build up enough foundation before the tournament starts. I hope you like it (please tell me how much you like it, I need validation)

MASTERLIST

You sat in an uncomfortable silence typing away on your laptop. In your peripheral, you could see the Spaniard slowly moving to lie down on the sofa from his seated position.

"Don't fall asleep." A frustrated grunt came from Carlos as he repositioned himself slightly resting his head against the back of the sofa.

"Okay and if they ask you about potentially facing Djokovic?" Your eyes watched the screen intently scanning the prospective questions on your laptop.

"I tell them I've beaten him before and I believe I can again, especially with my new serve and resetting over the break." His tone was dull and his eyes watched the ceiling.

"Perfect, any questions about the back end of last season or concentration just try to redirect and talk about the work you've been doing over the break." Carlos nodded, scrutinising you're every movement with his gaze.

You wrote down notes that you could send Carlos on everything you'd been discussing. You leaned back against the sofa, gently falling into the cushions as you moved to sit cross-legged.

Carlos' eyes observed you as you intently stared at the screen, "D'you get bored doing this?" Your eyes flitted to the Spaniard briefly for the first time since you began going over questions,

"What do you mean?" You returned to doing work, shaking your head at the silly question as you watched the time in the corner of your screen tick by.

You were desperate to get this done so you could return to your room and sleep, doing your best to ignore the looming tension of the deal you had earlier agreed to.

"I get bored at you asking me questions, and I'm the player. Don't you get bored of writing up answers and managing my media presence?" You paused briefly, the condescending tone grating on you. You met the brown eyes that hadn't left your frame.

"I love my job, I get to see behind the sports in a way no one else does. Plus I'm good at it." He looked sceptically,

"I'd rather play." You shook your head in amusement, finishing up the final question.

"Unfortunately we can't all be professional tennis players Alcaraz." He smirked at your response, getting up off the sofa and heading to the kitchen area.

You emailed the Spaniard the work you'd done the evening, finally closing your laptop and letting relief flood your body.

"Luckily for you, we're done for the evening. I'd like some pyjamas and then I'll get out of your way." You stood up moving slightly towards the door, begging to leave the company of the man who held you with such contempt.

"Gracias a Dios" (Thank god) His thankful tone stung slightly, envying the time when your clients enjoyed your company, and you'd stay long after the work was done due to the friendships you had founded.

He disappeared down the corridor and you stood by the door awkwardly. The night had ended up being the easiest day you'd had since you started, and all it took was promising Carlos you'd quit.

You knew the next issue would be telling his team and Juan Carlos would no doubt try to convince you to stay. But the thought of enjoying your job again loomed in the back of your mind and pushed you forward.

Just over two weeks. That's all you had to get through and now with Carlos actually cooperating it should've been simpler.

You checked the time and the massive 00:00 glared at you on the screen. It was a busy day tomorrow that involved you waking up with the sun and the dream of a full eight hours sleep has slipped from your grasp.

Just as you began to mentally plan for the content and work you needed to do tomorrow, Carlos reappeared his 6-foot stature looming over you.

"I don’t have pyjamas, so this is just some joggers and a t-shirt." He handed you the clothing, his hand brushing yours which jolted through your nervous system. In the last six hours, you'd been closer to the Spaniard in the entirety of your time working for him.

You avoided the brown eyes looking down at you, taking the items and moving towards the door. "That should be fine."

You walked to the door, reaching for the handle and standing in the open doorway. Just before stepping out into the hallway, you turned to face the Spaniard, shooting him a small smile that he didn't return.

"See you tomorrow Alcaraz." He nodded and the door closed in front of you.

Defeated you trudged back to your room, slipping into the far too big-for-you shirt and joggers that the Spaniard had lent you. They were bathed in his cologne and the musky scent filled your nostrils as you climbed into bed.

As you lay there waiting for sleep to hit you, you thought of what this job would've been like had Carlos not hated you from the outset.

Watching him play was magnificent and you wanted to be a part of the team that helped him achieve greatness, not to mention his Spanish charm had won over so many.

Every cold glance he gave you cut deeper and as you drifted off to sleep you were haunted by the way he had looked at you the first time you met.

...

The sun beat down on the outdoor courts. You watched Alcaraz move diligently from edge to edge of the light blue tarmac. The heat permeated through your body as the light summer dress you wore did nothing to alleviate the temperature.

You gaze fixated on the Spaniard's taut muscles and how he slid to seemingly effortlessly receive the ball. You had your phone up, taking photos and videos to go on Instagram later, but really you found yourself distracted by each noise that left his lips.

Your sunglasses rested lazily on the edge of your nose, and as Carlos' arms hit the ball over and over, your eyes watched his biceps carefully.

You understood why he had a flock of women watching his every move, his physique and tennis ability pulling so many in. Then there was his annoying smile.

The ball hit Juanki's torso with Carlos letting out a loud laugh that echoes through your mind. Carlos looked to his team who also laughed over the moment and his eyes flickered to you.

When he saw that your eyes were already on him, he smirked. A smug look took over his face and he shot you a wink, your face turned red and you quickly moved your gaze back to your phone.

You sent the photo to Carlos and picked up your bag, heading onto the court.

"Alcaraz, interview time let's get going." The clock was ticking down and media day was calling, with Alcaraz lined up for a fairly full day of pre-tournament interviews.

"cinco minutos más." (five more minutes.) The Spaniard called to you calmly as he continued hitting the ball back and forth across the court.

"Alcaraz. Now. We're already late." Carlos rolled his eyes, Juan Carlos telling him to go. The Spaniard headed towards you, the smile long gone replaced with his usual grimace.

"Disfruta la vista allá atrás" (Enjoy the view back there?) he taunted, his large hands reaching down to grab his tennis bag that was by your feet.

While he bent down to grab the bag, he brushed your side, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his arms brush yours. Then leaning into your ear as he stood back up. "You were blushing."

"I was doing my job, you know, filming content for you. Plus it's hot out here, I was just flushed." Your tone stood strong, but your eyes were telling a different story. Your body was covered in goosebumps, the bench behind you stopping you from stepping away.

He finally took a step away, which allowed your shoulders to fall in ease. He began to walk off with the same smug look as before back on his face, "¿No tenemos una entrevista a la que llegar?" (Don't we have an interview to get to?)

You shook your head, annoyance for the man filling your body. Not only was he being difficult, but now he'd resorted to teasing and taunting which was somehow worse than his angry indifference.

You turned to face Juanki as you began walking off the court behind Alcaraz, mouthing 'I'm going to kill him' which elicited a laugh from the coach.

"Have fun you two!" He called out and was met with two frustrated groans. Carlos stood at the exit waiting for you to catch up and began trudging behind you.

Walking through the grounds, he smiled, waved, and took pictures with the multitude of fans who spotted him. You'd silently stand to the side or offer to take the photo when needed.

The consistent stopping slowed you down, but you didn't mind when you saw the giddy smile of every fan's face as they met with Carlos' warm demeanour.

You eventually made it to the conference room. Before stepping into the room, you grabbed Carlos' arm, pulling him out of the doorway. He turned to face you, his eyes analysing your fingers wrapped around his bicep.

As his gaze focused on your hand, you pulled away as if his skin had burned you. "Sorry. I just wanted to remind you of everything we went over. This is just pre-tournament chatter so you should be okay."

"I've got it. Why won't you just let me do it." His tone was sharp and you rolled your eyes, your arms crossing in front of your chest in annoyance.

"It's not that I think you can't do it, I just want to help." Carlos took a step back from you, scoffing at your plea.

"Well I don't need your help." He left your side, walking into the room before you had a chance to respond. You threw your hands up in pure frustration, but the Spaniard had his back to you so the action was mostly for yourself.

You moved inside the room and sat down in the front row, ready to take notes.

The questions started light and easy, talking about the Spaniards off-season, the changes to his serve, the added weight in his racket. He answered the questions diligently, following everything you'd been through the night before.

You couldn't help but smile as he answered perfectly time and time again, showing you how easy this job could've been and subsequently how needlessly painful the Spaniard had been making it.

But then it fell apart. The questions began to get more pointed. More trying, asking him about losing to Jannik, losing to players outside the top 20, another year of struggles at the US Open. Then the straw that broke the camel's back came.

"So Carlos, your performance declined rapidly at the back end of last year, especially after your loss to Novak in the Olympics. How does that affect your mentality coming into Australia knowing you could face him?"

Shit. You knew you'd prepared Carlos for the question but you also knew how painful the Olympics loss had been. You knew how he was dreading facing Novak and you knew by the look in his eye that he was caught off guard by the question.

Your breath shallowed while you tried to stay calm as he sat there looking from the interviewer to you, the unease clearly written on his features.

"Um." He paused, he caught your gaze and you tried to send him a reassuring look. He looked down to his hands, lifting his head to meet the interviewers' gaze.

"I think to say my performance declined rapidly is stupid." Shit. Your head fell into your hands and you held back an audible groan. Some in the press conference laughed but Carlos didn't join in.

"I also beat Novak at Wimbledon, so maybe he should be the one scared to face me, no?" The room fell into a tense silence. The stone cold look on Carlos' face put off any follow up questions.

Carlos stood up, his demeanour clearly agitated, ringing his hands at his sides. He left the room and didn't slow down for you like he usually did. You quickly left, thanking the interviewers and apologising for Carlos before you rushed after him.

"Alcaraz, wait!" He didn't turn around, instead turning a corner and disappearing out of sight. You turned the corner and found him resting against the wall, shoulders slumped and hands covering his face.

"What was that?!" You stood in front of him and he pulled his hands from his face.

"Oh come on Y/N, He was out of line!" Carlos raised his voice in frustration, a clear sign of how much the interviewer had got to him.

"And we had prepared answers, you didn't need to be an asshole about it." You rested on the other side of the hallway, your annoyed facade matching the Spaniard's.

"You have no idea what it's like to sit there and have everything you do, questions and torn apart." Carlos stood up straight, closing the distance between you with his angry ranting.

"Maybe I don’t, but I do know what it's like to have to deal with you being an asshole." His face was mere metres from yours. Your hands moved to rest on his chest as he moved his mouth down to your ear.

"Then it's a good thing you won't have to for much longer, isn't it?" His spiteful tone sent a cold chill down your spine as his hand slid to your waist.

"Counting down the days Alcaraz." His breath hit your neck and you snapped, pushing away the tennis player's large figure. He had a smirk on his face as he stumbled back slightly.

You moved away from him, turning away from him quickly and storming away from the interaction. Your heart was racing and your chest was pounding, unable to sense if it was blinding rage or maybe something else.

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taglist: @kcharlyy @champagnecoastca

[unforced3rr0r]

Mourning Carlos’ hair rn

[unforced3rr0r]

are these tennis kids good or the top 10 players shit

[unforced3rr0r]

THE DEAL || CA

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part 1 of ??

summary: Carlos hated having a PR manager especially one who was his age. Convincing her to leave was the best plan he'd ever had, but what happens when he realises he doesn't want her to go when it's too?

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warnings: enemies to lovers, kind of asshole Carlos

a/n: this is going to be a series, I’m excited about it!! Let me know what you guys think and if you want to be on the taglist!

MASTERLIST

Being Carlos Alcaraz's PR manager was not for the weak. The job description seemed like it would be a breeze and when your boss had suggested switching F1 drivers for tennis players you really believed you’d be getting the quieter deal.

You’d occasionally watched tennis and it seemed the biggest issue you’d face was a broken racquet.

Carlos should’ve been even easier, he didn’t have a girlfriend and never seemed to be pictured with any women so the most frustrating part of the job was gone.

But Carlos didn’t want a PR manager. He certainly didn’t want a PR manager that was his age telling him what to do and how to act.

The first time you met you thought you’d caught him on a bad day not recognising the cold brown eyes stare watching you.

You’d prepared for your job, watching interviews and clips of Carlos before you started and the arms crossed man that soon in front of you was not the ball of sunshine from the videos you’d seen.

You had to admit you’d been looking forward to the job at first, a funny, charismatic, attractive tennis player should’ve been fun. You’d seen the way Carlos treated him like family and you were expecting the same attitude.

But quickly things turned. You’d watch training frequently, observing from the sidelines picking up the terms and technical parts of his game for notes and interviews.

Carlos would be laughing with Juan Carlos or his brother or one of the other members of his team when his eyes would meet yours.

In a second his eyes would go from lighting up to narrowing in on you, his laugh disappearing and posture going rigid.

At first, it was manageable, your job could mostly be done from a distance and you could deal with hardened stares.

You thought it would be temporary, that once he realised you were here to stay you’d finally get to meet the Carlos everyone else did.

But it seemed with every interaction his facade grew. A team dinner after Turin you just so happened to be on the furthest end of the table, and while Carlos took the time to talk to his entire team you found yourself left out of the conversation.

Juan Carlos spent months reassuring you that Carlos would get over it but the winter break was ending and with a new season on the horizon you didn’t know how much more you could take.

You were starting to get exhausted by Carlos constantly making your life more difficult.

You were missing deadlines because he wouldn’t give you answers to questions, doing damage control when he posted near nudes on the internet and made sure reporters didn’t piss him off with dumb questions.

Every week that went by you slowly lost the confident attitude the team had got used to seeing, quietly sat in the corner working away rather that trying to involved.

Juan Carlos had noticed the shift in demeanour but he feared there wasn’t much he could do. It was between you and Carlos to figure out.

...

It was the weekend before the Australian Open when you were ready to snap.

The time difference was rough, with your eyelids feeling heavy but sleep escaping you. You sat surrounded by work that you needed to done, while your room called your name.

The day had already been too long, landing in Australia at seemingly the crack of dawn when you realised your bags hadn’t made it to Australia with you.

You’d spent three hours arguing with airport staff when you decided to give up and hope they found their way to the hotel.

You went straight to watching Carlos train, taking media photos and organising some content for the day. That in itself was excruciating as everything you asked him to do took ten times longer than it should’ve.

But now you were sat in your hotel, tired and drained and desperately needing a change of clothes.

You were trying to organise Carlos' media plan for the first week of the tournament, but trying to get him to respond to any of your messages was infuriating.

You needed his answers to the pre-planned questions so you could check them over and give him some nice talking points about off-season but every time you checked your messages you were met with 'delivered'.

It wasn't late, but the jetlag was beginning to hit you which was feeding into your anger. Every second that Carlos ignored your messages was a second you were missing sleep.

Just as you were ready to give up assuming he’d gone to sleep, you received a notification that he’d posted on his Instagram story. That was your last straw.

You audibly groaned, slamming your laptop shut and storming out of your room with it under your arm. You marched yourself to the elevator angrily tapping your foot as the elevator seemed to move at the slowest pace ever.

The ding echoed in your brain, and as you stepped out you were hit with a new wave of anger. You heard his dumb laugh echoing through the walls. This dumb, annoying, stupid tennis player was laughing while you had been begging for him to respond to a simple message.

You stormed down the hall, your chest angrily pounding. You were at the end of your tether. You were so tired of dealing with this man baby.

It had been months of being ignored, ostracised and treated like you had some kind of contagious disease and you were over it.

You stood before his door and knocked repeatedly. You heard him call out that he was coming and you prepared yourself to greet him.

The door swung open, a cheesy grin on his face as he turned see who was at the door. The second he clocked you it faded and was replaced with a nonchalant stare.

He opened his mouth no doubt to ask why you were here but you pushed past him into the hotel room. Juan Carlos and a few other members of the team were in the room and immediately as they saw you they went silent.

"if you wouldn't mind. Alcaraz and I need to get some work done and clearly, he can't handle any distractions." A few of the guys snickered and they didn’t waste any time standing up and heading for the door.

You heard Juan Carlos wish the Spaniard luck as he walked past. Laughing as he patted him on the back. The door closed and Carlos scoffed as you situated yourself on his sofa.

"¿Qué carajo?" (What the fuck?) The Spaniard's tone made you laugh, a dry, fed-up kind of laugh.

"What the fuck indeed. Sit down, shut up and only talk when I tell you to." He looked at you utterly bewildered.

"You know you're supposed to work for me? not the other way around." God you wanted to kill him. You stood up angrily turning to face him with fire in your eyes.

"Funnily enough, that is what I'm trying to do. That is what I have been trying to do for months but for some reason you want to make that as hard as humanly possible for me. Frankly, I'm fed up so sit the fuck down. please."

"No." He stood his ground and crossed his arms as you really considered attacking him.

"I'm sorry what?"

"I don't want to." He turned to head to the small kitchenette, turning on the coffee machine that sent an infuriating buzz throughout the room.

“I don’t want to be stood here, but because you can’t answer a simple text, I am. So please let me do my goddamn job for once.” He scoffed, and leaning against the counter,

“Maybe I didn’t answer your text because I don’t want to answer the questions, ever thought about that?” His stupid grin made you want to throttle him.

"Well Carlos Alcaraz, the almighty. Unfortunately for you I need those answers so how do I get you to sit there and answer these dumb questions." your sarcasm permeated the room.

He paused for a moment, a slight hesitation as he reached for the mug on the side. He turned slowly to face you, a look of pure genius on his face.

"Quit." He moved around the counter calmly, standing in front of you. You hadn’t been this close to the Spaniard since the day you met him.

The invisible 3 feet rule seemingly being implemented by him after the first day.

"What?" Your confusion clearly entertained him as he smiled an evil, sort of confronting smile.

"I'll do what you want for the entire tournament. But at the end of it, you quit." You paused, the tension from the last few months piling up on your shoulders. Did he really hate you that much?

You weren't a quitter, you believed in working hard and figuring out issues. But Carlos had been treating you like an outcast for months and if it meant never having to deal with him again you were seriously considering it.

"One question?" Carlos raised his eyebrow and he zoned in on your focused demeanor.

"seguir." (go on.)

"Why do you hate me so much?" His calm demeanour faltered slightly, something flashing through his gaze that you couldn't quite decipher before it was quickly replaced with indifference.

He grabbed the mug, and moved to the sofa, lazily sitting down. His arm rested along the back and he glanced up at you.

"I don't need a PR manager and I'm sick of you treating me like a child when you're my age." The answer nipped at the back of your brain. You rarely treated him like less that he deserved and if you did it was only ever in retaliation.

"Maybe if you acted your age I wouldn't have to." He scoffed, shaking his head in annoyance.

"It's clear you don't want to be here either, just take the deal." You dropped yourself onto the sofa. Your laptop sat beside you and you let your head fall into your hands. You were defeated.

"I wanted to be here." You didn’t look up but if you had you would’ve seen Carlos’ gaze soften, a pang of guilt hitting him before it was quickly shoved away.

You thought back to your previous job. Travelling the world with F1 drivers had been difficult but those guys had become your friends, you loved your job and you had fun. You wanted this to be like that but it was clear that wasn’t going to happen.

Maybe it was time for you to find something else.

“Fine you win.” You let your hands fall to your sides, your gaze lifting and meeting the brown eyes that made your life a misery.

"I'll quit at the end of the tournament, but you have to give full energy to everything and I need a pair of pyjamas, my luggage got lost.” His eyes lit up with some sort of amusement. At your troubles or you’d you were sure but you needed a solution and he offered one.

Carlos smirked, the first time he'd even remotely smiled in your direction. He moved himself within touching distance of you, reaching out his hand for you to shake.

You interlocked your hand with his, his eyes baring down on you.

"Deal."

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taglist: @champagnecoastca

[unforced3rr0r]

I’ve started writing this carlos x pr manager fic and it has become enemies to lovers and I’m thinking it might also become a series…���thoughts?

[unforced3rr0r]

Thoughts on Carlos fic about him getting a PR manager…

[unforced3rr0r]

GREEN MONSTER || CA

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+18, MINORS DNI

summary: After a painful defeat in Doha, Carlos is less than pleased to see you cheering on his rival.

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, p in v, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected sex (don't try this at home), teasing, edging, degradation.

a/n: Carlos losing irritated me, so you're welcome. Also, I’m going to start a tag list so if you want to be added lmk.

MASTERLIST

Carlos was pissed. From the second he left the court after losing because of a dumb mistake he was seething. Usually, he found a way to take a deep breath, calm down and find the good in every loss.

But not tonight. Usually, you would be waiting for him the second he got off the court, win or loss, ready to throw your arms around him and tell him everything was okay.

But when he emerged from the changing room looking desperately for you and the comfort you touted around with you, you were nowhere to be seen.

He turned to his coach who had the same perplexed look on his face. "¿Dónde está ella?" (Where is she?) Concern laced Carlos' tone.

You hadn't been to Doha before, and with only a few matches done, you didn't know your way around very well. Suddenly Carlos' anger was gone and replaced with worry.

"Ella estuvo aquí hace un momento." (She was here a moment ago.) Juan Carlos began looking around as if you were a racket he had misplaced rather than a person with legs and free will.

Carlos immediately reached for his phone and began texting you, but just as his thumb hovered over the send button, Juan Carlos tentatively called his name.

"Carlitos mira." (Carlitos look.) His brown eyes flitted to the screen in the hallway. Instead of seeing the match between Draper and Berrettini, like the cameras were supposed to be focused on, your face illuminated the screen.

The camera panned out slowly, you smiling widely and clapping as Draper scored a point. Then it hit Carlos. You were in Jack's box.

The worry was long forgotten as the rage returned tenfold seeing Draper smile at his box while you cheered enthusiastically.

You were supposed to be here comforting Carlos in the wake of his loss and instead, you were sat in his rival's box cheering him on.

Carlos picked up his phone again and furiously typed away on his phone. The camera had moved back to the on court action but he spotted you in the background of the shot glancing down at your phone.

Carlos: I’ll see you back at the hotel, then maybe you can explain why the fuck you’re in Draper’s box.

You glanced directly at the camera and smiled, as if you knew Carlos was starting at the tv. He let out a frustrated grunt, “vamos al hotel,” (let’s go to the hotel) Carlos called out to Juan Carlos.

When his coach gave him a questioning look the tennis player just shook his head, picking up his tennis bag and heading to the exit.

Juan Carlos let out a laugh behind the angrily stomping Spaniard.

…

Opening the hotel door your heart beat picked up its pace. You had known that you were tempting fate when Jack asked you to watch his game. You knew it was going to get worse when Jack won and Carlos lost.

When your phone had buzzed in the middle of the game you known it would be him, and the blatantly angry tone had lit your insides on fire.

Carlos was always sexy, but there was something about him when he was jealous, the glint in his eye and the way he held you.

You knew what you were doing slipping into Draper’s box and you couldn’t deny you were slightly excited at what you would face on the other side of the door.

When you walked into the hotel room, Carlos was sat on the sofa, his posture rigid as he mindlessly scrolled through his phone.

At the sound of the door closing his raised his eyebrows but didn’t turn to look at you keeping his focus on his phone where he angrily typed away.

You moved across the room putting your bag away in the bedroom along with your coat. When you returned back into the living room Carlos was watching you, his gaze waiting for your figure to appear in the doorway.

As you opened you mouth to speak, Carlos stood up, his eyes narrowing on you as his brown eyes stared you down.

“Have fun watching Jack?” His snarky tone cut through the silence.

Under his gaze you saw your options play out, you could diffuse the situation and lessen the repercussions, or…

“It was great, he has such an incredible playing style. It was quite an easy win for him really.” Carlos murmured under his breath the annoyance he felt earlier beginning to rise to the surface.

You decided to be brave, moving towards the Spaniard, closing the distance to the point where you could reach out and touch him. His soft brown eyes had sharpened, and with each step you took towards him his shoulder tensed.

"¿Crees que es mejor jugador que yo?" (D'you think he's a better player than me?) Carlos taunted, "¿Quieres sentarte en su palco como su novia para que todos puedan verte?" (Do you want to sit in his box as his girlfriend so everyone can see you?).

He reached his hand out to lift your gaze to his, his grip on your face tight but not painful. You watched as he leaned into your ear his voice low and domineering, "Answer me."

The way he spoke and held your face had you feeling lightheaded, the kind of attitude that Carlos only exhibits when he's truly pissed off. He spends so much time worshipping you usually that to have him standing over you now caused shivers to encompass your body.

"You're a better player than Jack." you whimpered, his other hand finding a tight grasp on your waist.

His hand slid from holding you by the jaw to resting on your neck, "and, do you want to be his girlfriend or mine because I guarantee he can't fuck you half as good as I can."

His words went straight to your core, and you found yourself whimpering at the thought of Carlos proving his point with you.

In the most delicate tone you could muster you nearly whispered, "I want to be yours." His eyes softened briefly before returning to their rage-filled view, the facade cracking just enough to remind you that this was your loving boyfriend standing in front of you.

"Pruébalo, ponte de rodillas." (Prove it, get on your knees). Stood in the middle of the living room you wasted no time lowering yourself to the ground, you held Carlos' gaze the entire time, fluttering your eyelashes as you looked up from the floor.

He stared patiently as your hands reached his shorts tugging them and his underwear down in one pull. He was hard, the tension of the afternoon so far visibly riling him up.

You wrapped your hand tightly around him pumping up and down, precum leaked from the tip and Carlos let out a groan as you moved forward to take him in your mouth.

Immediately his hand threaded through your hair, gripping tightly as you began to bob your head up and down. You licked a stripe from the base of him to the tip, as Spanish profanities poured from his mouth.

You took as much of him as you could in your mouth feeling him hit the back of your throat as you used your hand on the rest of him, you picked up the pace as Carlos praised you.

"Fuck this mouth was made for me and only me." Every word that left his lips hit your core harder, and you knew you were dripping as you tried to keep your attention on Carlos.

His breathing began to get shallower, and he began to direct your head with his hands. You braced your hands on his thighs and he began thrusting in and out of your mouth.

"God, you're such a good girl letting me fuck your face, would you let Jack treat you like this? huh? let him treat you like his own personal whore?"

You moaned into him at his words, as he pulled your head to his abdomen, your nose brushing the hair that you admired every time he worked out shirtless.

Your eyes watered from how deep Carlos was getting himself in your throat, his thrust faltering slightly as you could tell he was close. His moans grew and as you hollowed your cheeks around him and he came down your throat. You felt the hot spurts hit your taste buds the salty taste filling your senses.

Looking up at him you pulled away, smirking and noticeably swallowing. He groaned out of pure attraction, pulling you off your knees and into a desperate kiss.

The hunger was undeniable as his tongue found its way into your mouth, his hand gripping the back of your neck tightly. He pulled away moving to assault your neck, as his lips moved up to your ear he growled, "I'm going to fuck you with my tongue and fingers, and you aren't allowed to cum until I say so, okay?"

Your legs weakened just at the thought of Carlos between them and your mind was foggy with his lips attached to your neck. Briefly, he pulled away from his assault, eyes boring into you. "Yes?"

His demand for a response snapped you slightly from your daze a pleading tone hitting his ears, "Please Carlos."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me." Carlos didn't hesitate to push you down onto the sofa behind you, lowering himself so he hovered over you.

His lips found yours as he roughly kissed you, trailing his lips down your neck, and to the skin on your chest not covered by your top.

His hand pulled on the bottom of your shirt and you moved slightly allowing him to pull it over your head, exposing your black lacy bra to him.

“It’s like you knew exactly where you’d end up.” One of his hands pulled at the cup of you bra allowing you to spill out of it. He roughly pulled on your sensitive nipple as you moaned at the sensation.

He attached his mouth to the top of your other breast, harshly sucking purple marks into your skin which would serve as a reminder of this moment in the days to come.

Each action drew moans from your lips as Carlos' hand trailed down from your breast down your body, his lips following eagerly after.

When he reached the waistband of your jeans he looked at you, his big brown eyes waiting for you to beg for him. His fingers rested on the buttons of your jeans and your head fell back against the sofa in frustration.

"Carlosssss." He flicked the button open, pressing a light kiss to your stomach just above the zipper,

"Dilo de nuevo." (say it again).

"What?"

"di mi nombre otra vez." (say my name again) His lips kissed your stomach again as his fingers slowly pulled down your zipper.

"Carlos." You whimpered, your hands reaching for the pillows on either side of you. He pulled down your jeans sliding them down your legs and throwing them out of sight. Met with black lacy underwear a smirk enveloped his face and he rubbed his thumb softly over the material.

"Matching underwear? Were you planning this?" You smiled briefly, but when his fingers pulled your underwear to the side and ran them through your folds you cried out. Your hands weaved their way into what small strands of hair were long enough to grab onto trying to pull him closer to you.

He laughed at your whining and the way your hips moved, desperate to feel more of his fingers against you. He paused for a moment, watching you squirm leaning forward and kissing your clit.

Your breathing deepened, the anticipation of the moment killing you. Just as you were about to beg him to touch you he thrust his finger inside you.

Loudly moaning his name as his fingers curled inside you, hitting every spot perfectly. His mouth attached to clit, his tongue trailing around it causing your legs instinctively to close around his head.

Every movement made had your hips edging close to him. He moved one of his large hands to hold your leg away, while the other hand brought you to tears.

The sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of you was a clear sign of how desperate you wanted him. Your hands tugged harder on the ends of his hair as your abdomen tightened and your back arched.

Feeling your high fighting its way towards you, Carlos added a third finger and sped up his pace. The brutal speed fogged your vision, and your legs began to shake as you teetered on the edge.

Just as you felt your high about to hit, Carlos pulled away leaving you whining in frustration.

"Fuck." Your head fell to the side, looking down at the devilish grin and brown eyes staring back at you. You were still dripping, and as your hips subconsciously moved, trying to find friction with anything Carlos rubbed his thumb over your clit.

The jolt made your legs shake and you groaned in annoyance at the Spaniard having far too much fun teasing you. "Only girls who sit in my box and mine only get to cum."

His nonchalant tone infuriated you, grabbing him by the collar of his t-shirt and pulling him over you.

"Are you going to fuck me, or am I going to have to get Jack to?" You knew you shouldn't have said it, but seeing the way his eyes darkened and the feeling of him gripping your thighs tightly made you sure you were in for the best sex of your life.

"You think he could make you feel half as good as I could?"

"Maybe I should go find out." You made a move as if you were going to get up and go find Jack. Carlos wasted no time, gripping your hips and throwing you over his shoulder. You yelped as he moved to the bedroom and threw you down on the soft sheets.

He pulled his shirt over his head with one hand, exposing his toned torso, his V-line carved into him, disappearing beneath his boxers.

You sat up, you nails trailing him his body other each ridge and dip in his body, your hand slips over his pecs and around his neck pulling him into a desperate kiss. His hand gripped the back of your neck as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

Carlos slowing moved over you while his lips moved to your neck, attacking the skin just below your ear. He pulled away from your neck and moved to pull you underwear from your legs, his hands travelling behind your back to remove your bra.

You lay bare in front of him and suddenly a wave of vulnerability engulfed you. He kissed up from you chest, to your neck and he whispered in your ears,

“Get on all fours for me.” His tone was deep and you know he was serious so you wasted no time moving so your ass was facing the Spaniard.

You head met the pillows and you felt Carlos’ rough grasp on your ass. He ran his hands over the soft skin before slapping it, jolting through your body and core.

He gave three slaps before he settled himself again you, feeling his clothed bulge against your dripping core.

One of his hands moved to slip through your folds collecting your slick with his fingers,

“You think Jack could make you this wet.” You were tired or teasing him, lying there desperate for him inside of you,

“Never, only you can Carlos. Only you.” For a moment it was silent behind you but just as you went to turn your head, Carlos entered you, bottoming out inside.

You both moaned at the feeling of him inside you, no matter how often you found yourself in this position it felt like the first time. He stayed for a moment, leaning down to kiss your shoulders.

"Carlos, please move." You tried to move your hips back against him but his hands steadied your body.

"Apuesto a que Draper no podría hacerte gemir así con sólo estar dentro de ti. Mira lo desesperada que estás." (I bet Draper couldn't make you moan like that just by being inside you. Look how desperate you are.)

You moaned at his words, your whine muffled by the pillows. You begged for him again, and this time, you felt him pull out and ram himself back into you, setting a brutal pace.

You tried to call his name, but incoherent moans were all you were capable of producing. Every thrust seemed to hit deeper inside you.

"Carlos fuck-" you managed to choke out praise as he railed into you, his hand making contact with your ass cheek again. You gasped at the contact, making your core grow wetter.

After teasing you before, it didn't take long before you were nearing the edge, at which point your whines turned into incessant begs for him to let you cum.

Unfortunately, the Spaniard had other plans, pulling out of you and leaving your core clenching around the air. You whimpered, gripping the sheets beside you in frustration before hitting your hand against the pillow.

Carlos flipped you over so he was on top and immediately lined himself up with your entrance again. You tried to move your hips allowing for any friction but it was pointless.

He kissed you roughly then smirked, "Si quieres correrte, será mejor que gimas mi nombre en voz alta, Draper está en la habitación de al lado." (If you want to cum, you better moan my name out loud, Draper is in the next room.)

Suddenly your heart stopped as you saw the shit-eating grin on his face. You may have known what would happen if you went to Draper's box but Carlos had put just as much thought into the payback.

He thrust inside of you again, your legs wrapped around his waist and your hand met his shoulder blade digging your nails into it as he returned to his harsh pace.

You did as he asked and moaned his name loudly with each thrust, his lips finding your neck and attacking it as he focused on how deep he could thrust inside you.

The room was filled with the sound of your moans and the sound of him moving in and out of you, Carlos groaning about how good you felt around him as he picked up his pace.

He moved your legs so they rested on his shoulders and the angle change was earth-shattering, your moans turned to incoherent screams, and his thumb found your clit which had your mind going foggy.

"Fuck Carlos, I'm so close." You cried out, begging that he would actually let you tumble off the cliff you were so nearing the edge of.

"Correte para mi" (cum for me). His words pushed you over the edge, seeing stars as your vision went white and you screamed the Spaniard's name while you came around him.

He fucked you through your high and as you clenched around him his thrusts began to falter and he came inside you groaning. His head fell to the crook of his neck, your legs falling from his shoulders and his arms held up his body.

"Fuck." he grunted into your neck. You took deep breaths as your hand snuck into his hair nails scraping along the bottom of his scalp.

After a moment he pulled out of you and lay beside you. His hand reached your face, thumb caressing your cheek gently. He brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes as he gazed lovingly at you.

"Espero no haber sido demasiado duro." (I hope I wasn't too harsh.) His angry tone from earlier was gone and replaced with the gentle voice you loved so much.

"If I knew you'd fuck me like that I would've sat in Jack's box months ago." Carlos groaned and you laughed, enjoying the moment of peace and laughing at the Spaniard's jealously.

"Jack me va a matar" (Jack is going to kill me) the Spaniard chuckled, leaning across the bed to pick up his phone. He returned to his spot next to you, one hand caressing your hip while the other showed you his phone.

Jack: Bro come on? Could you two be any louder?

Carlos let out a hearty laugh and you covered your face with embarrassment. Jack was a good friend of you both and knowing that he had heard everything that had just happened was not something you wanted to think about.

Carlos moved your hands out of your face, holding your cheek and pulling you in to kiss you. His gentle kiss was the opposite of his early mood but he smiled as he pulled away.

"Eres mia" (You're mine), you pecked his lips softly, looking into the brown eyes you loved so much.

"Yours."

[unforced3rr0r]

Shhhh don’t discourage him

whorecaraz making an appearance. sir do you not have a priv

[unforced3rr0r]

watching 3 hours of tense tennis just for your favorite to lose has to be one of the most frustrating and infuriating experiences for a sports fan

[unforced3rr0r]

Carlos not being a bozo challenge (impossible)

[unforced3rr0r]

Carlos please I can’t do this…

[unforced3rr0r]

Any suggestions go ahead :)

[unforced3rr0r]

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."

[unforced3rr0r]

NOVIO? || CA

===============================

+18, MINORS DNI

summary: during an argument with carlos you let your feelings speak for you.

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warnings: smut smut smut smut, fingering, dirty talking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), p in v, jealous carlos (not toxic), lots of spanish, use of y/n (literally once).

a/n: first ever carlos smut for my tennis girls out there, i hope you enjoy it 💐

feedback is always appreciated!

MASTERLIST

do not copy/repost/translate my work anywhere.

"why are you so upset, carlos?", you ran your hands through your hair to take it out of your face, exasperation taking over you.

"oh, i don't know", he looked up pretending to think, "maybe the fact that you were so smiley and touchy with ben in front of the cameras"

"we were not being touchy", you sighed, "we were just talking and we didn't know we were being recorded"

for context: you bumped into ben shelton in the hallway right before he stepped into court to play against carlos. you've known ben for years and you haven't seen him in a while, so you had a small conversation. the thing is, you weren’t aware of the cameras around you, recording your every move and projecting them on the giant screen at the central court.

and there was carlos, his eyes locked on the screen, watching everything unfold right before him. he felt stupid, to say the least. every single person in that stadium saw you chatting happily with his opponent instead of being in his box, as you should be.

"pues parecía que estabais coqueteando" [well, it looked like you were flirting], he said and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

you could hear the shower running as you sat on the edge of the bed and let yourself fall back on the mattress. you knew carlos enough to know that he always used the shower as a way to cope with his stress, so you didn't interrupt him.

minutes later, carlos came out of the shower. a white towel wrapped around his waist and a few droplets of water sliding down his abs. fucking tease.

"can you just admit that you are jealous once and for all so we can go to dinner in peace?", you said and stood up again, resting your hands on your waist, waiting for his response.

"claro" [of course] he turned around to pick up a hoodie and sweatpants from his suitcase, his back facing you, "cuando admitas que le permitiste coquetear contigo" [when you admit that you allowed him to flirt with you]. of course. silly you, thinking he would let it go so easily.

"¿qué querías que hiciera, carlos?" [what did you want me to do, carlos?], you rolled your eyes, clearly annoyed. this conversation was going nowhere, and to be honest, you were getting tired of it.

"i couldn't just tell him to back off because my boyfriend would be jealous and-"

you stopped abruptly. shit. shit. shit. you should not have said that. carlos quickly looked at you, a smirk appearing in his face.

"novio? no sabía que era tu novio, cariño" [boyfriend? i didn't know i was your boyfriend, baby], he walked closer and closer with each word. "do you have feelings for me?"

and he wasn't, you were just friends. friends that started kissing occasionally, and then the kissing led to touching and then the touching led to fucking. did you have feelings for him? obviously. were you planning on telling him and risking what you had if he didn't feel the same way? fuck no.

his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him, his toned chest against yours. "responde, y/n. do you have feelings for me?" [answer, y/n]

his breath fanned over your neck and you could feel his fingers slowly sliding underneath your shirt, making contact with your skin. you gulped and nodded, accepeting your faith. "si carlos, pero entiendo si tú no-" [yes carlos, but i understand if you don't-]

you were interrupted by his lips before you could finish the sentence. this kiss was different to the ones you shared before, it was softer, sweeter, but still passionate and sexy. his hands moved from your waist to your ass and yours flew to the back of his head.

carlos broke the kiss a few minutes later and looked into your eyes. "te mostraré lo que siento por ti justo ahora" [i'll show you how i feel for you right now] you his lips brushed your ear, making you shiver.

"and you better be loud, girlfriend, ben's room is next door"

you didn't even have time to process what he said, his scent and his lips blurring your judgement. your hands where everywhere, and so where your clothes. your underwear being the only garment covering your bodies.

he softly pushed you to the bed, laying on top of you. "no tienes idea de cuánto tiempo he estado esperando este momento" [you have no idea how long i've been waiting for this moment], he whispered in your ear as his hand travelled down your figure and into your thong. two of his long fingers entered you without a warning, a loud whimper escaping your mouth. "joder, estás tan mojada para mi" [fuck, you are so wet for me]

"carlos", you moaned as your nails digged into his shoulders. his smirk grew wider, it wasn't the first time he heard you moaning his name, but it was the first time since you confessed your feelings to him and that made it different, special.

"carlos, please", you begged as his thumb traced circles in your clit. you could feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh and it was all too much. but you weren't going to let the pleasure overtake you, you needed to get him to admit that he was jealous.

"please what amor?", he asked confidently.

"please..", you were out of breath, "admit that you were jealous". his eyes snapped up to look at you, a small smile creeping up your face.

his movement stopped and he stood up. you got worried for a second, did you kill the mood with your little joke?

but then he smirked again, all your worries flying out of your mind.

carlos took off his boxers. his member sprung up hitting his abs, his tip shining with pre cum. "quieres saber la verdad?" [do you want to know the truth], you nodded eagerly, both for him to speak and for him to come back on top of you.

"si..." [yes], he simply said while repositioning on top of you. his tip teased your entrance and you bit your lip, desperate for more. "estaba celoso de verte con él, ¿contenta?. pero ya no importa, porque ahora todos sabrán que eres mía. incluido él" [i was jealous to see you with him, happy? but it doesn't matter anymore, because now everyone will know you are mine. including him]

he thrusted into you slowly, letting you adjust to his size for a few seconds, before moving again. "now do me a favor, amor, let him know who you belong to. let him hear how good i make you feel"

he did not have to tell you twice. you couldn't hold your moans and whimpers even if you wanted to, everything he did felt so good it was almost impossible to control yourself. your back arched towards him, your breasts colliding with his chest as he held you tight.

"oh fuck, carlos, you are going to make me cum", you said, rather loudly. it wouldn't take long for him to cum either, you knew his body like the back of your hand at this point. his panting, his moaning and the intensity of hia thrusts gave it away.

"fuck, fuck, fuck", you were almost screaming. would you be embarrassed later? probably, but you couldn't care any less right now. his tip was brushing against the most sensitive spot inside you, and you couldn't resist it anymore.

"do it, cum for me baby", he thrusted harder a few more times and then it happened. a wave of pleasure washed over you, making you clench around him tightly, his name falling from your lips again and again.

"joder amor, me vuelves loco" [fuck love, you make me crazy]

those were his last words before he hit his orgasm, spilling completely inside of you and falling slowly on top of you.

carlos pulled out once both of your breathings went back to normal, and rested beside you. his bright eyes looked into yours for a second, then he leaned down and kissed you softly again.

"así que, ¿novio y novia?" [so, boyfriend and girlfriend?], he asked for confirmation.

"si, novio y novia suena bien" [yes, boyfriend and girlfriend sounds good], you answered, smiling sweetly.

===============================

[unforced3rr0r]

Masterlist <3

Writing about tennis players mostly :)

Carlos Alcaraz

Not your girlfriend: pt.1, pt.2 angst, fluff

Winning Feeling: smut, fluff

Green Monster: smut

The Deal: pt.1, pt.2 fluff, angst, smut (eventually)

Jannik Sinner

Tough times: angst, fluff

[unforced3rr0r]

NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND || CA, Pt.2

————————————————————————

Part 1

summary: Trying to get over Carlos was going well until you run into him a month later.

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warnings: none :)

a/n: I need a happy ending.

It had been a month since Carlos left you crying in your apartment. You had tried moving on, ridding yourself of any remnant of the tennis player from your apartment.

You bought new sheets, boxed up the hoodies and tennis kit he had left over the months you saw him, hiding away the photos, jewellery, and every gift that made what you two had felt more than just casual.

For the most part, you felt lighter as if the weight and pressure of being Carlos' secret had slid off your shoulders like a warm shower on a winter day. However, every breath of comfort came with a sharp sting of regret.

The night was the worst. The silence that filled your bedroom left only memories of the nights spent together when he promised you the world. You couldn't help but keep an eye on his results. Catching every match he won and focusing even closer on the ones he lost.

You were acutely aware that when your friends planned their trip to California, dragging you with them, you would be just minutes away from Carlos competing at Indian Wells.

As you dressed up in a skirt that was slightly too short, with heels that were slightly too high, the thought of him lurked in the back of your mind. As you met your reflection in the mirror of the hotel bathroom your mind flickered with the images of him.

Your friends called your name snapping the tall Spaniard from your mind as you shot them a smile and left the room.

Arriving at the club was like a breath of fresh air. The music filled your body and in an instant, the tension faded from your body.

"Happy we came out?" your best friend shouted to you over the music,

"very, I needed this." She smiled a wrapped her hand in yours pulling you to the dance floor. You let the stress leave your body as you moved with the beat, laughing with your friends around you.

A tall guy appeared behind you, he was handsome and his hands found a place on your waist as you swayed together. For the first time in both, you didn't see his brown eyes in this stranger, and you relished in the moment.

You smiled at the man and turned to face him. His hands drifted to your face but just as began to lean in, ready to capture your lips with his, you pulled away.

"I'm going to get a drink." The guy smiled but his annoyance at the rejection was clear in his face but you couldn't bring yourself to kiss him.

You pulled yourself to the bar. You fell into the chair and pushed your hair out of your face, making eye contact with the bartender,

"Vodka coke please." the bartender smiled and nodded and moved to make the drink when a Spanish accent came from behind you,

"Two please." Shivers covered your arms, your hair standing up straight at the warm tone of the man you had been desperately avoiding. You kept your eyes focused on the bar as you felt his body move closer to you.

"You ignoring me?" His voice hit your eyes and you finally turned to look at him. Your eyes met his and suddenly the brown eyes you'd spent the last few months running from were watching you.

He smirked at your visible frustration, tense shoulders, and how you suddenly sat up straight. Your eyes narrowed on his appearance, an unbuttoned shirt and dishevelled outgrown hair.

His forehead and chest were glistening a sign that he had also been on the dancefloor. You gave him a cold glare and turned back towards the bar.

Your hair fell in front of your eyes and as you reached up to move it, your hand met his. His gentle touch tucking your hair behind your ear. You could feel the heat from his hand and with every brush of his skin on yours, you felt your heart in your throat.

"Don't." you pushed his hand away, as the bartender placed the drinks in front of you, your hand reaching out and taking the glass, knocking back the drink the burn of the vodka warmed your throat.

His presence still loomed next to you and you waited painfully for him to give up and leave like he did last time.

"Lo lamento." (I'm sorry). You scoffed staring down at your empty glass. You motioned to the bartender for another glass.

"You have nothing to be sorry for Carlos, we were casual, and you ended it. It's fine." He shook his head his eyes still watching your every movement.

The bartender slid you the drink and you nodded to him, getting up from your seat at the bar and turning to face Carlos, "Have a nice night Carlos."

You began walking back in the direction of your friends, ready to head home and wallow in the memories the tall Spaniard had just dredged up.

Just as you were leaving Carlos' vicinity you felt his hand wrap around your wrist. He turned you to face him his hand sliding to your neck, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Can we talk, please?"

His thumb moved softly up and down your neck, an action that reminded you of the nights spent watching cheesy movies on his sofa. Your head in his lap as he traced patterns along your neck.

"Y/N" his voice cut through your memories bringing you back into the moment. You watched his eyes scanning your face for any sign of cracking, and your furrowed eyebrows softened.

"Five minutes." His lips widened into his classic smile. He pulled you away into a secluded corner. The music was muffled in the corner and the lights were dimmed.

Your back was against the wall and Carlos' large statue towered over you. One of his hands rested on the wall behind you and the other settled on your waist. Trapped between him and the wall you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"no puedo dejar de pensar en ti." (I can't stop thinking about you) You felt a shiver run down your spine. A sharp intake racked through your lungs.

"Carlos-"

"Please, Y/N, let me say this," His hand slid up your side returning to your neck, "I need you to hear this."

His hand held your face delicately, his forehead meeting yours as he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

"Fuck, you know how hard it has been to play when all I can think about is you." His hand slid into your hair,

"I thought I could just move on, that this was casual or nothing, that it was forgettable. But you're not forgettable." Carlos' eyes bore into yours.

Your hands settled on his face, the feeling of his unkept stubble rough against your fingers. For a month you'd imagined him turning up at your door and telling you some version of this.

"I can't be a secret anymore Carlos, I can't do it." His hand moved from the wall to your waist, pulling you into him,

"You are so much more than a secret. I never should've treated you that way." He smiled as his nose brushed yours as if giving you a chance to back out before he leaned in closer.

His lips met yours a second later and it was like coming home. Your hands slid behind his head, pulling him into you as he groaned into your mouth.

His hands pulled your hips close to his as you kissed as though you were starved for air and he was oxygen. All the stress and pent-up energy of the last month was felt in the rough kiss.

His hands travelled to your ass lifting you off the ground as you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him into you. His lips moved from your lips to your neck, finding the sport that drew light moans from your lips.

At the sound of your moans, Carlos pulled away briefly, a guttural sound coming from him as he pressed his forehead to yours. Both of your chests moved violently up and down, catching your breath.

"Come to my match tomorrow." Your eyebrows furrowed again.

"I'm not going to sit in the stands Carlos." He lightly kissed down your neck.

"I want you," He kissed slowly up to your lips, "sat in my box," he kissed the corners of your mouth, "as my girlfriend."

You grabbed his face pulling him away from where he was leaning in to kiss you. Your heart was racing as you forced him to look at you.

"Are you serious?" Carlos laughed and you hit his chest,

"Ow. you wound me." He captured your lips with his, smiling into the kiss. "This last month made me realise how dumb I've been."

You pecked his lips, with your thumb rubbing his cheek, "So dumb."

You moved to pull him back into a kiss but he stopped you just before your lips met, "Is that a yes?"

"Shut up and kiss me Carlitos." He laughed and let his lips meet yours, the kiss filling your entire being with warmth as your heart thudded in your chest.