“we Need To Fix The Tennis Schedule” “it’s Too Much, The Players Need More Time Off To Recover”

Carlos I’m going to cry please

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

THE DEAL || CA

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Pt. 3 (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: none.

a/n: Asking politely everyone ignores how long this took me to write, turns out I had actual uni work to do which is lame. Also, look at them not arguing the WHOLE time is there a civil colleague relationship forming?

MASTERLIST

You had been avoiding Alcaraz since the moment the two of you shared in the hallway after the press conference. Spending the rest of the afternoon hiding from his gaze and pushing him through interviews as fast as you possibly could.

Each time he brushed past you from one interview to the next, Your cheeks flushed with your mind drifting back to his body so close to yours.

Despite being invited to the team dinner that Juan Carlos had urged you to attend, you found yourself leaving the Rod Laver arena with no intention of detouring from your hotel bed which was firmly on your mind.

The halls were bustling with people, tennis players, physios and staff rushing from room to room. As you wandered aimlessly towards the exit of the building your eyes caught a bundle of red curls bounding towards you.

"Y/N" the Italian called your name and you spun round to face his towering figure. You'd met Jannik many times before while working in the world of Formula 1 and he had been one of the first to convince you to take the job with Alcaraz.

"Jan!" The tennis player wrapped his long arms around you lifting you into a familiar hug. The warmth from his body a comforting hug which saw the tension in your body immediately dissipate. "How's media day going?"

"You know how us players feel about all the interviews and content. We'd rather be on court." A smile beamed across the young Itlian's face and for once it felt nice to not be constantly on edge in this job. You laugh and let out an exasperated groan,

"Trust me, on behalf of all media and PR people - we also wished you'd be on court instead of annoying us." Jannik gave you a playful shove, his laugh bringing a smile to your face.

"I'll try not to take that personally, though I'm pretty sure it was aimed at him." Jannik nodded his head further down the hallway. Stood against the wall, with his eyes trained on you and the Italian was Carlos Alcaraz.

His arms were crossed over his chest and while you couldn't be sure if it was Jannik or you he was staring at it was clear he was trying out the whole 'if looks could kill' theory.

"Trust me, I'd much prefer to spend a media day with you than him." You turned back to Jannik trying to block out the presence of the Spaniard in the background.

"Trouble in paradise?" Jannik tilted his head looking down at you as you scoffed.

"If this was paradise I shudder to think what hell is like." You felt Alcaraz's gaze burning into the back of your head, certain he was now staring you down.

You didn't even know why he was still hanging around, you left him after your last interview and thought he'd gone off to meet the rest of his team.

Jannik laughed loudly, "He can't be that bad, it's Carlitos. I'm surprised he hasn't been flirting with you." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively but you couldn't help but laugh and roll your eyes.

Truth is, the Alcaraz that Jannik was explaining was what you'd expected when you'd started.

Warned about the Spaniard's bubbly personality many people who knew him would smile and say 'Watch out for the flirting'.

Instead, you'd met a different Alcaraz, one who constantly saw you as a waste of space on his team and far from flirting with you, you were met with constant coldness.

"Yeah that's not a problem." You sighed deeply. "You should go, I don't want to be the cause of another PR Manager's troubles." Jannik smiled, wrapping his arms around you and giving you a soft kiss on your cheek.

"If you need anything, or want me to slap some sense into Carlitos, just let me know." You grinned softly, pulling away from the Italian.

"I might take you up on that."

Jannik turned to make a move down the hallway in the direction of Alcaraz, who's attention had switched to his phone. He looked over his shoulder briefly and beamed, "Ci vediamo presto, tesoro" (See you soon, darling.)

Your heart warmed, smiling as you watched the lanky tennis player bound down the hall. He stopped when he reached Alcaraz, the usual warm greeting between the two seemed colder.

Alcaraz nodded dejectedly before his gaze fell back onto you. Uncomfortable under the harsh gaze you turned away and made your way back towards the doors of the arena.

...

You reached your hotel room and fell on the bed releasing a deep sigh. You stretched out your arms and rolled onto your side. The mattress caved under your weight and cradled your body.

Your phone buzzed and you reached lazily for your phone, fighting off the sleep and flipping your phone over.

Alcaraz: You coming to dinner?

You paused, then rolled your eyes.

Y/N: Don't worry, I won't be there to ruin your evening.

Three dots appeared, and then they disappeared. Your eyebrows furrowed softly. The three dots appeared a second time, remaining on the corner of your screen for a few seconds before they went once again.

You sat up slightly, the relaxed demeanour you had now shifting as tension flooded your body.

For a third time, three dots appeared. You watched them intently waiting as they slowly moved on the screen. But like each previous time, the dots disappeared.

You scoffed, shaking your head and moved off your bed. You left your phone resting on the bed as you made your way to the bathroom to shower.

The hot water pelting down on your body instantly soothed you. The knots from your shoulders disappearing with the stress of the day.

The argument with Alcaraz still weighed on your mind but you were determined to push through and get this tournament done with.

You were just so sick and tired of him constantly taking everything out on you. For once you wanted to be the one to frustrate him, and as you stepped out of the shower you smiled brightly, with a genius idea crossing your mind.

ATP was asking for a bunch of the players to do extra content ahead of the tournament - usually, you only signed Alcaraz up for one to reduce the amount of complaining you had to listen to.

But with an evil smirk on your face and a towel wrapped around you, you walked back into the bedroom. You immediately found your phone, opening your message to text the ATP's PR manager who you got on well with.

Y/N: Hi Amy, Alcaraz would love to do the extra content. Sign him up for as much as possible. Thank you!

As you clicked send you laughed quietly to yourself, you couldn't wait till he found out.

...

You were in comfortable clothes, makeup off, sat cross-legged on the sofa when you finally got a response from Amy sending over the schedule for the next day's media.

You forwarded the schedule to Alacaraz with the headline 'Surprise!' and closed your laptop.

Settling into the sofa you switched the TV on and called room service. The buzz of TV made your eyes heavy as you lay further into the sofa. Before you knew it you were drifting off to sleep.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your head was cloudy as you were pulled from your slumber. The furious knocking woke you up violently. You sat up form the sofa, your stomach rumbling as you made your way to the door.

The knocking persisted, "I'm on my way!" you called out, opening the door with a smile.

But when you opened the door, instead of being met with room service, an angry Spaniard was staring at you.

"Alcaraz?" He brushed past you, stomping into your room. "Aren't you supposed to be at dinner?"

"¿Quieres decirme cuando acepté hacer medios todo el día mañana?" (Do you want to tell me when I agreed to do media all day tomorrow?) His glare went right through you as you closed the door and faced him.

You fought the smile that was trying to take over your face. "Look, I just thought it would be good for you to remind everyone how charming you are."

At the sight of Alcaraz's angry stare, you let out a laugh, shaking your head lightly as you moved back towards the sofa. As you passed the Spaniard, he grabbed your arm stopping you from going anywhere.

His chest was pressed against your back and he leaned down to you.

"Cancelarlo" (Cancel it) He towered over you and you turned to face his, you reached your hand up sliding across Alcaraz's chest. You watched as his gaze faltered at the action a glimpse of something indistinguishable passing through his eyes.

You slid you hand up his neck and to the side of his face. You watched him carefully, focusing on the way his breathing deepened. Then a devlish smile took over your face, tapping the side of his face and pushing him away.

"No." You walked to the sofa and sat down, leaving the Spaniard at loss watching you. "Oh and you can leave now."

He stood there for a moment while you set up a new film to watch. As the film blared through the hotel room, you turned your head to see if Alcaraz was still behind you. He watched the screen with a curious look on his face.

"What film is that?" his voice came from behind you, you laughed.

"Notting hill." The absent look on his face caused you to turn fully toward him leaning on the back of the sofa. "You've never seen Notting Hill?!"

He shook his head and looked down at his feet awkwardly. A silence fell across the room only broken by Hugh Grant's voice in the background.

Without thinking you started speaking "Um, you could stay...and watch it, if you wanted?" You regretted it as soon as you said it. The Spaniard looked at you, his brown eyes focusing on the gentle gaze you sent him.

"Um," For a second you thought he was going to join you. His shoulders fell and he look as though he was about to take a step forward when his phone buzzed, pulling it out of his pocket he glanced at it.

He took a step back and any softness in his eyes hardened. "Team dinner remember."

His sharp tone settled in the pit of your stomach as you stopped your disappointment from showing. He left without another word and the door slamming made you jump slightly.

You were about to turn back to the TV when there was a knock on the door. Hope bubbled in your chest and you rushed to open it, part of you waiting to be met with those brown eyes on the other side of the door. Instead, it was your room service.

They brought your food in and you thanked them, leaving you in the peace and quiet of your own company. You leaned your head against the back of the sofa and sighed.

You kept finding yourself unable to escape Alcaraz, not just in a work capacity. In the last few days you'd had his body pressed against you more times than you wanted to think about.

But today, that glimpse in his eyes at the suggestion of the movie. You couldn't help but think he wanted to join you. You laughed and shook your head, you couldn't believe he was getting to you. As far as you knew it was all part of his plan to make it easier to get rid of you.

You quietly watching your movie and ate your food when your phone buzzed. It was around the moment Hugh Grant walked through Notting Hill with the season changing around him that your phone buzzed.

Glancing at the screen you spotted it was a notification that Alcaraz had posted an Instagram story. You clicked on it, ready for another PR crisis when you were met with a picture of him and the team laughing at dinner.

Of course, you chose not to be there but the sight of them all smiling and laughing. It hurt. You couldn't help but think maybe you should've listened to Juanki and gone. This was going to be your final two weeks with the team and you were wasting them sat in your room.

You quietly made a promise to yourself in that moment that you'd enjoy the final weeks. Alcaraz had to put up with you as part of the deal and you intended to make the most of that.

...

You dreaded the day ahead. You knew Alcaraz was going to make everything more difficult than it had to be because you were forcing him into this busy day where you knew he wanted to be on the court.

You were ready waiting outside his hotel door. You also had a sandwich with you, getting ready to bribe the no-doubt grumpy player who would emerge from the room.

You shot him a quick 'I'm outside' text and waited patiently. After just a few minutes the door swung open and the tall Spaniard appeared in front of you.

"Morning, Alcaraz!" You shot him a smile and you were met by a slight grimace.

"How do you always have so much energy this early in this morning." You handed him the sandwich which he took with a curios look.

"I'm excited for a full day of media, and the sandwich is a peace offering." He looked down at the sandwich with a funny look on his face. He glanced up at you and quirked his eyebrow,

"A peace offering?" You beamed at him.

"It's going to be a long two weeks, I just suggest we aren't at each other's throats the whole time." His gaze softened ever so slightly but he still looked tentative. "Please, I just want to know what it is like to actually like my job."

He paused and watched you carefully. He took a bite out of the sandwich you had given him and he nodded.

"Fine. But I want more of these." He held up the sandwich with a smile and you shook your head.

"Perfect, let's go then." You made a move down the hallway with Alcaraz following closely behind as you settled into the elevator.

The journey to the stadium was quiet, a trip that was mostly filled with Alcaraz greeting fans, players and staff while you led him through the halls.

You arrived at the ATP's makeshift studio and spotted Amy in the crowd of staff. "Amy!" She turned and smiled at the sight of you and trying to pretend he was happy to be there Alcaraz.

"Y/N, Carlos, thank you both so much for this." The Spaniard shot her a coy smile as he carefully watched the different aspects of the studio, his gaze paused on the box of what looked like props sat by the edge of the set and he turned to look at you.

He sent you a look of pure fear his eyes widening and head lightly shaking that pulled a soft laugh from you.

"Alcaraz is happy to help, he loves all this stuff." The Spaniard pinched your arm and you muffled a yelp sending him a stern look.

"Perfect, you can grab yourself a coffee and there are snacks over there too - and Carlos if you come with us!" Alcaraz politely nodded and just before he began to follow Amy to set he let down and whispered.

"Te arrepentirás de esto." (You will regret this) You laughed and waved him off with a shit-eating grin.

"Have Fun!"

You knew that the next opportunity he got, Alcaraz would make you regret this but the sight of him with silly glasses on filming promo just seemed to make it worth it.

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let me know if you want to be on the taglist :)

taglist: @kcharlyy @champagnecoastca @ilottcountry @austin-butlr

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?

I’m losing my mind

Did he….hear me?

Straight sets please Carlos 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

WIDE AWAKE || CA

summary: Carlos Alcaraz survived a gruelling five-setter to win his second Roland Garros title, he should be exhausted, but suddenly he has more energy and a few ideas on how to celebrate.

warning: smut, diabolical smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

a/n: He won. From two sets down. Three championship points saved. I've never been so in love. So a gift to everyone...Carlos x Roland Garros smut

Your hands were shaking. The heat in Paris had quickly faded with the afternoon, instead making way for a gruelling chill which left everyone around you to put on layers and pull out blankets.

But you were sweating. Every nerve ending over your body was alight, and every serve, rally and drop shot had you catching your breath.

Carlos was losing. The first set had been slow, but it was a decisive win from Jannik. The second, Carlos clawed back. No doubt the state that he'd never won from two sets down racing through his mind.

But it wasn't enough. After a painful tie-break, Jannik took the second set and Carlos was looking at a long and hard fight to taking back to back Roland Garros titles.

You were sat behind Juan Carlos, next to his parents. This was only your second slam, sat in Carlos' box, but it was your first final. Carlos glanced over between points, a quiet 'vamos' leaving his lips with each point won and soft murmurs to himself when he conceded.

You tried to conceal the diabolical nerves on your face throughout the match, putting on a beaming smile every time you caught your boyfriend's eye.

Then he won a set. The dream was alive again, and you watched as the energy shifted in the box. Juan Carlos sat up and alongside his parents you stood and cheered when hit the winner in the third set. But it was far from over.

Three championship points. Jannik had three championship points standing between him and a first Roland Garros title. But Carlos wasn't ready to give up.

Your chest was tight, the silence in the arena was suffocating. You were scared even to breath.

One championship point saved.

A sigh of relief, and cheers from the crowd.

A second championship point saved.

Waves of Carlos' name flooded the air, a soft grin making its way onto your face.

A third championship point saved.

He lived. The entire audience erupted, and you couldn't help but join them. On your feet, clapping for your boyfriend as if it would push him to the end of the match.

He looked up and grinned, his smile sending flutters to your stomach. He could do it, He nodded with his arm up and you both knew, this was his game now.

It wasn't easy from there, far from it. Dragging the final set to a tie-break.

A mini break. Carlos' mum grabbed your hand, her gaze a silent support as you both held your breath.

Carlos moved across the court like it was subconscious, like it would be more unnatural for him to stand still than hitting shots other players could only dream of.

9-2

You whispered prayers to gods you didn't believe in as Carlos dove on the court, reaching the ball like it was oxygen.

10-2. The crowd erupted and Carlos fell to the floor. Five and a half hours. Doing what the Spaniard had never done before, coming from two sets down to win his fifth grand slam title.

You jumped to your feet, immediately wrapped in the arms of his parents and brothers, jumping up and down as if it was you who had won the title.

You turned back to the court, Carlos eyes gleaming at his box, the smile on his face so large it looked like it might tear his cheeks.

Your hands covered your mouth, laughing with disbelief at the match you'd just watch, and only as your hands grazed your cheeks did you notice you'd been crying.

Tears were streaming down your face, blurring the sight of your boyfriend disappearing into the tunnel to come see his family. To come see you.

The second he emerged, Juan Carlos had him in his arms, your boyfriend folding into his coach as they jumped, both men unable to hide just how much this meant to them.

Carlos fell from JC's arms and turned to his family and team, each member being wrapped in a hug. Then his gaze set on you.

Your tears were still falling when his arms fell around your waist, lifting you into his arms. Your hands cupped his face, pressing your forehead to his. "You did it. My god, you really did it."

He captured your lips in a suffocating kiss, his arms lowering you to the ground to find purchase on your neck. True to Carlos, his tongue slipped against yours, deepening the kiss and pulling a groan from both you and the Spaniard.

The crowed yelled around you, and you pulled away reluctantly from Carlos, a smile still stuck on your face. Just as you went to pull away from the Spaniard, he seized your lips for one final kiss. "Te amo" [I love you]

Carlos lasted half a millisecond once he stepped away from you before he was swarmed by his friends and family, all taking their turn in ruffling his hair and wrapping him in their arms.

You watched as he went back to the court, gazed with nothing but unadulterated love as you watched his hold the trophy.

Time blurred as Carlos was dragged from interview to interview, the smile on his face undeniable. Carlos' family and team joined Carlos on court for photos, the hugs still being shared and tears in his mums eyes.

You hung back, letting them soak in the moment, taking photos you know Carlos would enjoy seeing later.

When the photos were finally over, the Spaniard bounded over to you, his hands planting themselves on either side of your face as he pulled your lips to his.

You couldn't help but giggle at your boyfriend, his lips leaving yours as he peppered kisses aggressively all over your face.

"Carlos!" You laughed, pushing away the Spaniard's puckered lips, his face immediately switched to an overly dramatic frown,

"No puedes ser malo conmigo, gané." [You can't be mean to me, I won]

"This is not mean, we have plenty of time to celebrate," Your hand slipped into his hair at the back of the neck, pressing a light kiss to his cheek, "later...in our hotel room."

You pulled away to catch the glint of something cheeky in Carlos eyes, He shook his head with a smirk on his face.

"You'll be the death of me, Mi amor." His arm slinked around your waist, the heat from the match radiating from the six-foot tennis player.

But the club was calling and Carlos Alcaraz was ready to party.

...

Getting Carlos out of the hotel room and keeping his hands off you was near impossible, his lips meeting your neck, trailing down your shoulder as you put in your earrings.

"Carlos, everyone is waiting for you. We have all night." He groaned into your shoulder, his hips firm against yours, tempting you to fall back into his grasp.

"And if I want to spend all night right here?" His hand slipped between your thighs, the skirt you'd opted for doing nothing to stop his attempt to convince you to spend the foreseeable future in bed.

His fingers moved softly over your underwear, your head fell back against Carlos chest as a soft groan falling from your lips. Just as you were finding your self-control slipping, pushing your hips back against the Spaniard, a knock came at the door.

"Carlitos, Vamos!" [Carlitos, let's go] The familiar tone of Carlos' coach coming from the other side of the door. Carlos groaned, his hand falling from your thighs and finding your arm.

"Joder." [Fuck.] He pressed a kiss to your neck, a silent promise to continue what he started, "en nuestro camino!" [On our way!]

He pulled away from you, a shiver flooding through you at the loss of his body heat. He slipped on his trainers, and you slipped on your kitten heels.

Carlos slipped his hand in with yours, pressing his lips to your forehead and pulling him with you out of the hotel door.

...

The restaurant was packed, the private room filled to the brim with Carlos' friends and family for the second year in a row. The atmosphere was buzzing, and you knew from the moment stepping into the room, it was going to be a long night.

The champagne flowed and music blasted through the speakers as the room had shifted from a celebration room to a makeshift club. Carlos' laugh flooded the room, somehow cutting through the rest of the noise.

You'd be enjoying the music, swaying with some of your friends who had joined you on the trip when you felt heavy hands on your hips, Carlos pulling your hips against his as he moved your hips against his.

You looked back, your eyes catching his, the alcohol fuelled haze left a lopsided grin on the Spaniard's face as his arms slipped under your shirt, his warm hands sliding across your stomach.

You turned in his arms, smiling as the Spaniard immediately pulled you into a messy kiss. Your hands fell to his neck as his hands found purchase on your ass, deepening the kiss as you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled.

For the first time that day, it felt like it was just the two of you, despite being in a packed room. His lips trailed from your cheeks to your ear, each kiss setting your skin alight.

His teeth grazed the spot below your ear, which had you tightening your grip around his hair and a soft groan falling from your lips.

Carlos tightened his grip, pulling you closer into his body, and whispered in your ear, "Nadie se daría cuenta si desapareciéramos." [No one would notice if we disappeared]

You let your head fall onto Carlos' shoulder, pressing a kiss to his neck. "This is your celebration, I think they'd miss you."

Carlos grinned, the type of smile that had your stomach fluttering and your thighs clenching out of instinct. His hands, pressed against your skin, travelled up your torso, his thumb brushing the lace edge of the bra you'd slipped on.

"Quiero probar esa teoría," [I want to test that theory] He grabbed you in a bruising kiss, whispering in your ear, "Nos vemos en cinco minutos." [See you in five minutes]

His hand tapped your ass as he pulled away, disappearing into the crowd in what you could only assume was the direction of the bathroom.

Your heart was pounding, the feeling of his hands on your skin burning into you. It wouldn't be the first time Carlos and you had disappeared into a bathroom for a few moments of peace. But it would be the first time next to a room of people celebrating him.

However, you couldnt find it in yourself to stop yourself from moving in the direction of the bathroom, waving off your friends and focusing your mind on the image of Carlos on his knees looking up at you with those big brown eyes.

Not even four minutes later you pushed open the bathroom door, the sight of Carlos leaning up against the sink bringing a grin to your face.

You twisted the lock, and immediately as the click sounded Carlos made a move towards you. His hands reached for your face immediately, kissing you like a man starved.

Your hands slid around his neck and that was all the Spaniard needed, he pulled away, his lips trailing down your neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin drawing a whine from you.

His hands slid down yours body finding purchase on your ass and lifting you onto the counter. He wasted no time pushing your skirt up your thighs exposing you lacy underwear that had Carlos swearing under his breath.

"Joder," [fuck] his hands slip up yours thighs, lips meeting the soft skin previous covered by the skirt. He brought his lips back to yours the desperate kiss sending shivers down your spine.

Carlos' hand slipped between your thighs, tracing his fingers softly over your core. "Please Charlie." You whined, his touch bringing out a new kind of desperation.

"What do you want, mi amor?" Your head fell back against the mirror as carlos moved your underwear to the side running his finger through your folds.

"Your hands, please Carlos." As if your words were confirmation his fingers dove into you, curling at the perfect angle.

Your arms shot out bracing themselves on the Spaniards shoulders, gripping his shirt as his fingers moved at a pace which had you back arched and your vision blurring.

"Thought about this since the second I won. How good you'd look falling apart on my fingers, tongue and cock."

You moaned, the words the spaniard uttered going straight to your core. His forehead rested against yours, messingly kissing your boyfriend as his thumb moved lazy circles on your clit.

Every thrust of his fingers pushed you closer to the edge. Carlos added another finger diving deeper with each thrust and capturing your lips between each movement.

The stretch was perfect but nothing compared to how Carlos felt. He sped up his movement over your clit, your moans rising with each brush as you teetered towards the edge.

"Please Carlos, I'm so close." Your begging met with Carlos' fingers curling and hitting the perfect spot.

Carlos attacked your neck with kisses, no doubt leaving marks across them which would result in a turtleneck in the coming days. But he groaned into your ear, "You're going to cum on my fingers like a good girl and then im going to fuck you in this mirror."

His words pushed you over the edge, his name falling from you lips like a prayer as your legs shook around his waist and your vision went white.

Carlos continued moving his fingers through your high, letting your head fall to his chest as sighs racked through your chest as you came down.

But there was no time to recover has Carlos lifted you off the counter, spinning you round to face the wall of mirrors over the sinks.

Carlos stood behind you his hands immediately getting to work on moving your skirt futher out of the way and getting his trousers out of the way.

He kissed your back, "Eres hermosa," [You're beautiful] You turned your head to catch Carlos' lips the angle awkward but worth it. You pushed your hips against Carlos begging for the Spaniard to do something.

"Carlos please, don't tease me." The Spaniard laughed behind you, Lining himself up against you. You whined, and Carlos took the words to heart, pushing into you with one swift thrust.

His forhead fell to your back as you moaned at the feeling of him deep inside you. Carlos allowed you to adjust for a moment before he began moving at a blistering pace.

"Oh fuck, Carlos please." Your begging only incentivised the Spaniard, his hand making harsh contact with your ass, a yelp drawn from you.

"Dios, te sientes tan bien. Podría morir feliz enterrado dentro de ti así." [God, you feel so good. I could die happy buried inside you like this.] Each word egged you on, your stomach pushing against the counter.

The Spaniards hand gropped at your chest, every touch adding to the overwhleming stimulation throughout your body.

Carlos ploughed desperately into you like his life depended on it. Your moans reaching a volume which threatened to draw attention to you.

"Need you to be quiet, mi amor. We don't want JC interupting us." The thought of Carlos' coach catching you like this, bent over a counter being detroy by his star player ignited something in you.

Carlos' hand fell around your mouth, the only way to lower your volume as every thrust seemed to hit deeper inside you.

Carlos' other hand slipped over your stomach tracing tight circles on your clit which had you quickly seeing stars.

"Carlos, shit, fuck, I'm so close." Carlos took your words as a challenge, speed up his thrusts.

"Joder, me too," His hand left your mouth and lifting your chin and gaze to the two of you in the mirror, "I want to see you when you cum."

His words sent a rush to your core, the band that was already so tight, tightening even further.

You watched carlos' brown eyes, His hair tousled and his grunts going straight to your core.

He moved his fingers over your clit faster and you grasped the Spaniard's arm, a warning through your helpless moans that you couldn't hold on much longer.

"Cum for me." His voice was desperate and rugged, and with it you fell over the edge, your second orgasm racking through your body, you hands falling to the counter you body following suit.

You felt Carlos stutter behind you his thrusts faltering as he finished inside you, his hands finding your hips to steady himself as he groaned against your shoulder.

You stayed just like that for a moment, fucked out and in each other's company. Carlos refused to pull away instead grabbing your face to connect your lips. "You're better than any trophy."

He pulled out from you both whining at the loss of contact. He fixed his appearance and fixed your skirt, spinning you back round to face him.

His hands slipped into your now messy hair, a smile beaming on his face.

He may have won Roland Garros but he also won something far more important.

————————————————————————

masterlist

Pictures of Carlos you haven’t seen before because I TOOK THEM!

NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND || CA

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summary: You want more from Carlos and he can’t provide it.

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warnings: Angst, it’s just kinda miserable sorrryyyyy

a/n: I wanted to write something depressing….but I might write a happy part two if that’s something people want?

MASTERLIST

Your room was shrouded in darkness only momentarily broken by the occasional car light and the glimmer of distant buildings out of the window.

The bed sheets were ruffled, pulled around your legs splayed out across your stomach. You watched your phone light up and then turn off, over and over. It was late. You should be asleep.

Each time your phone lit up the room your eyes watched it, hopefully reading each notification to no avail. He hadn't messaged.

You knew losing another game to Novak was going to be difficult for him, you had been there after the Olympics, wiped his tears and held him trying to help him forget the match.

You vividly remember the softness in his eyes after that game, the way he broke down convinced he'd disappointed his country. This time was different. It had been weeks since the match and you hadn't heard anything from him.

Forgotten was the usual post-match call, and the promise to fly you out or come see you the moment he got a chance. Instead, you were reduced to watching his Instagram stories and staring mindlessly at the read notification under the message.

You weren't his girlfriend, and he didn't owe you anything but when he found his way to your bed after each match and invited you to more and more events were you crazy to think it had gone beyond casual.

Trying to turn away from your phone that taunted you each time someone other than Carlos messaged you tried to fall asleep. The bed felt empty and cold, no matter how many layers you wore it didn't replicate the heat of lying next to him.

It was like you could feel the ghost of his hand against your body, staving off the sleep you desperately craved. Instead, you were being haunted by the memories of long nights spent with his body pressed against yours, his moans echoing through your mind.

Just as your eyes began to feel heavy and the memory of him subsided, your phone blared out behind you. You didn't need to turn towards it to see who it was, the ringtone alone indicated it was the very man who had been plaguing your mind.

For a second you considered ignoring it. Letting him feel what it's like to be waiting by the phone for your response. But every muscle and nerve in your body pulled you towards the phone, dragging you to pick it up.

Pressing the green button his voice flooded your senses, "Amor, ¿estás en casa?" (love, are you home?) The pet name sent shivers down your spine,

"Yeah, I'm at home." You tried to sound uninterested like you hadn't been sat by your phone for hours just waiting for his call.

"Estaré allí en diez minutos." (I'll be there in ten minutes.) You let out a scoff, taken back by the rashness. There have been times when Carlos impulsively visited you but never after not talking to you for nearly a week without reason. But before you could protest his voice came back through the phone, "Te extraño" (I miss you).

Your shoulders relaxed and your chest fluttered. The effect he held over you needed to be studied because you lost any semblance of a backbone when you were around him. "I'll see you soon then".

The next ten minutes were the longest of your entire life. tiding your room and making it look less like a warzone was the top priority but it seemed to take seconds and you found yourself sitting in the kitchen waiting for the knock on the door.

When it came your heart raced, but you moved towards the door. Pulling it open he stood casually, wearing jeans and a hoodie with his hair still buzzed although looking messier and his big brown eyes focused on you.

You moved to the side to let him into your apartment and he faltered slightly, watching you with a scrutinising gaze. Suddenly in your pyjama shorts, you felt exposed and vulnerable.

"How have you been?" You tried to ease the palpable tension between you as the regret for allowing him in began to creep in. But every time you looked at him your resolve crumbled so you needed to keep your distance.

He looked down at his feet, then up, meeting your eyes as he took a deep breath before talking. "AO was shit, you know how frustrating it is to come so close, again, and lose. Novak was injured and I still couldn't beat him, what does that say about my tennis." His shoulders were tense and as you dared to look at his face you could see the bags under his eyes had worsened.

You wanted to be there for him but you couldn't help but be annoyed that this was the first conversation you'd had in weeks.

"you could've called." you watched as his eyes met yours before quickly glancing away.

"I know"

"or texted" He shuffled from one foot to the other, though usually, the sight of him uncomfortable would cause a tightness in your chest, you couldn't help but push for answers. "Or really done anything other than randomly showing up at my apartment at 3 am after not texting me for weeks." you paused and looked at him, "I would've been there for you."

His gaze focused in on you and for a second a softness passed through his gaze before it shifted to frustration, he stood up straighter. "Come on, Y/N, that's not fair AO was-"

"No Carlos, you know what's not fair. You telling me before AO that you cared about me and wanted me to come watch your matches and sit in the coaches box to then not talking to me after one shit result." His eyes widened shocked by the outburst. You'd never opened up about how it felt to be his secret. With countless promises thrown your way to end up unfulfilled.

He stepped forward, the distance had shrunk and you could smell the aftershave that seemed to stain all your belongings after a visit. You knew it would hang around reminding you of this moment too. His large hand reached out to take your hand and in a moment of pure instinct, you stepped back.

"I can't do this anymore Carlos."

"What?" His brows were furrowed, deeply knitted together as he watched you play with the rings on your fingers.

"I don't want this anymore, I don't want to constantly be waiting by my phone for you, or hoping that this match is the match where you'll finally introduce me to anyone as your girlfriend instead of a friend. I'm tired of constantly having to listen to interviews and jokes about you being single, or you being rumoured with whichever woman it is this week. I'm constantly your second chance and sometimes it doesn't even feel like I'm second. I'm so tired of loving you Carlos when I don't even think you like me."

Your eyes began to water as you focused your eyes on the floor, you didn't want to cry in front of him, you were determined not to let him know the effect he held over you. He looked shocked. Sure he knew you cared about him but you truly doubted he ever thought it had gone that far.

"I didn't know"

But how couldn't he? You had spent countless nights laughing and talking until the sun rose. You'd spent afternoons cooking and laughing every time Carlos burnt something as simple as pasta. You'd fallen asleep next to him as he held you in a way that felt more intimate than any sex could and yet he couldn't tell you loved him.

You couldn't help but let the tears fall as you watched the man you loved watching you so cluelessly as if loving you was so distant from his mind that he couldn't even comprehend it.

"You should go." You walked past him back towards the door as his hand reached reach for your arm. He pulled you to face him his hand reaching your cheek and his eyes meeting yours. Tenderly he wiped the tears from your eyes.

"Por favor no hagas esto" (please don't do this) his voice was soft, a quiet plea as he so carefully held your face. You took a shaky breath in, lifting your hand to his, and watching as his brown eyes softened under your gaze.

For a moment you considered giving into him and falling back into the pattern you had gotten so used to but something inside you knew you needed to draw the line. You pulled his hand from your cheek, kissing his palm lightly before putting it down back at his side.

"I need more."

He began walking towards the door, his head down and shoulder slumped. Before he left he hesitated and just for a second your heart began to race thinking he was going to turn around and tell you he wanted more and he wanted it with you.

But he didn’t, instead he took another step forward out of the door and left without a goodbye.

Pushing the door closed your head fell against it as you let the tears rack through you. Suddenly the prospect of being without him felt so much more daunting than when he stood in front of you.

You slid down the door, sitting against it as you cried and waited for him to come back and knock on the door.

But, when the sun began to rise over the buildings and the tears had dried on your cheeks you realised it was truly over and while you would be broken his world would go on turning.