Okay Ate ✋🏻🙂‍↕️

Which Carlos will we see today?

Is this not just the love island intros??

"READY FOR THEIR CLOSE-UP 😎"

ARYNA SABALENKA [BLR] • CARLOS ALCARAZ [ESP] • COCO GAUFF [USA] • TAYLOR FRITZ [USA] • ZHENG QINWEN [CHN] • JANNIK SINNER [ITA] • IGA ŚWIĄTEK [POL] • JESSICA PEGULA [USA] • DANIIL MEDVEDEV [RUS] • ONS JABEUR [TUN] • ELENA RYBAKINA [KAZ] • NOVAK DJOKOVIĆ [SRB] || INDIAN WELLS PROMO || 02 06 2025

hey!! I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but I just wanted to say I looove The Deal series and (if you plan on continuing it) am very much looking forward to part 4 !!

Omg I swear I will be back I’ve just had all my uni assignment due dates!! So I’ve been swamped but I will be back soon I promise 🫵🏻🫵🏻🫵🏻

I’m losing my mind

He looks so good I'm ending it all

ALWAYS THERE || CA

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summary: As Carlos’ childhood best friend you’ve been by the side since the beginning. While Carlos insisted he only saw you as a friend you couldn’t help as your feelings for him grew.

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warning: angst, fluff

a/n: been thinking about this plot for a while.

MASTERLIST

The first time you met Carlos, you were four years old. Meeting when your parents move a few houses down the road.

You had approached the door holding onto your mother's hand, and when it opened, you saw a short boy with messy brown hair and large brown eyes gazing at you from behind his mother's legs.

You were too young to remember clearly, but Carlos's mother and yours loved to tell the story of you two cuddled up on the floor of his room when they came to take you home.

From that moment it seemed you were inseparable. You sat through each of Carlos' early tennis matches, encouraging his passion and indulging in his dream of being one of the great.

While he was on the court, you were in the studio. Painting and drawing with every chance you got and for every art show you attended Carlos was there ready to wrap his arms around you and tell you how proud he was.

Every memory from your childhood has his big brown eyes as the prominent feature, and he’d engraved himself within your soul.

When Carlos was 16 and told you he was making his ATP debut, you had screamed, he lifted you into the air wrapping his strong arms around you.

You’d placed your hands gently on either side of his face and pulled his forehead to yours. Uttering over and over again how proud of him you were.

You had sat in his player's box for that match with your hands sweating and legs shaking as you analysed every movement and hit the Spaniard made.

Your head cutting from one side to the other watching carefully every micro movement made by both Carlos and his opponent.

With the final shot in Carlos’ favour, you couldn’t hold back the tears. You couldn't help but rise to your feet, clapping and screaming with pride.

He had beamed at you from the court, and you knew that he would be part of you forever.

...

You had always thought Carlos was attractive, you were his friend - not blind. But for the longest time it had never phased you, laughing off every comment that people made about the two of you ending up together.

But something changed after his professional debut. With him travelling, you spent more time alone in hotel rooms around the world together.

After a particularly gruelling tennis tournament for Carlos you had retired to his hotel room. He lay beside you as a movie droned on in the background. His hand tracing absent minded patterns across your arm.

Completely content in each other company, your whole body at peace with the state of your lives, you had turned to him and asked about the future.

“Do you think you’ll ever get sick of me?” You had quietly muttered, your eyes avoiding his questioning gaze instead watching his eyebrows as they knitted together.

Gently he reached his hand up brushing a stray strand of hair from your face and smiled sweetly, “I couldn’t live without you, even if I wanted to.”

You closed your eyes and sighed, nodding as Carlos’ hand settled on your cheek. “plus, I plan on being your biggest pain in the ass for a long time.”

You laughed, playfully shoving the Spaniard away from you. He rolled back underestimating the space left on the bed and he plummeted to the floor with a thud.

Your laughs turned to wheezes and Carlos gasped in mock anger grasping his heart dramatically. “Laughing at my pain, I can’t believe you.”

Through torrid giggles you managed to collected enough composure to speak, “for a tennis player you aren’t very graceful.”

Carlos bolted up, a scream came from your lips as you rushed in reaction dashing out of the room as quickly as possible. The Spaniard followed, his long legs reducing your escape attempt to a measly ten steps.

His arms circled your waist pulling him tight against his chest as he lifted you off the ground. You’d spun round you push him away but his grip remained firm, his large hands settled just under your t-shirt setting your skin ablaze.

Your eyes met his big brown gaze, watching you with a look of something that you couldn’t quite place. Your stomach flipped and a wave of something akin to nausea hit you.

Suddenly it felt as though you’d forgotten to breathe, electricity buzzing in his watchful gaze. Your heart raced as Carlos began to close the gap.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you thought for a second he was going to kiss you. You could’ve sworn you watched his gaze fall to your lips but just before that vital point of no return he pulled you in for a hug.

the tension from the desperate moment before dissipated, replaced with tender appreciation.

But as his lips brushed your ear and shivers rushed down your spine. “I’d be no where without you.”

Your arms slid around his shoulders holding him close, fingers running softly through the hair at the back of his neck.

“And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” You held him close, soaking in each other’s presence.

He nestled his head in the crook of your neck and with every brush of his nose against you had your heart racing.

He pulled away, his lips sweetly meeting you cheek as he made his way back to the bedroom, calling your name.

You stood in the hallway, your breathing ragged as you ran your hand over your face. Your body was tense and you could still feel the ghost of Carlos’ hand on your waist.

You stared silently at the open bedroom door, trying to ignore the looming feeling that something had changed.

From there, something was ignited within you. You wondered if you'd always harboured these feelings for the man who you'd grown up with.

You'd never really been in a relationship, struggling to find a man that measured up to Carlos. At first you thought it was just because Carlos had shown you how you deserved to be treated - not to mention he rarely approved of the men you liked.

...

In your final year of school before heading off to University, you had a big formal to celebrate. The excitement had been building over the year and as the months drew closer your friends urged you to find a date.

A date hadn't particularly interested you, with none of the guys you knew ever giving you butterflies, or making you nervous. You travelled a lot with Carlos and it meant you struggled to find time for an active love life outside of the boundaries of school.

But your friends had laughed when you suggested going alone, sending you a list of guys who would love to take you to the dance. You resisted as much as you could but they refused to let up.

One of the guys suggested was a guy who you'd been friends with throughout school. He was sweet, funny and could hold a conversation. You were doubtful you'd leave the dance with the love of your life but he seemed like he'd be fun to spend the dance with.

Carlos should've been at the dance but the commitments of his professional tennis career called him away.

He demanded you have the best time and call him to debrief after. You laughed and agreed, wishing him luck for his tournament.

Your date had arrived promptly, bringing flowers and shooting you a charming smile with a slew of compliments at the sight of you in your dress.

The evening had started well, with drinks and laughs filling the hall where the Formal was held. Your date had been a dream. Being respectful and beaming at you when you made a joke.

You danced with your friends and giggled your way through the night until the music shifter to being more romantic. The tune slowed and the groups dancing on the floor morphed into pairs.

Your date asked if you wanted to dance, extending his hand to you. taking his hand you moved to the dance floor and settled with your arms on his shoulders and his hands tentatively reached for your waist.

You both laughed and talked as you swayed to the music. You fell into a comfortable rhythm. His hand moved to the side of your face and he leaned forward.

Panic flooded your body as you realised what was about to happen, the characteristic gaze in his eye that you’d seen before in men. Your body went rigid and your mind went to the tall Spaniard who was in a hotel somewhere winding down from a day of playing tennis.

Before you let his lips meet yours you turned your head, shifting the almost kiss to your cheek. Unease settled in your stomach and you suddenly felt the need to get away.

You politely excused yourself from the dance floor, making your way to the exit in desperate need for some fresh air.

You stormed through the hallways pushing open the doors and letting the cool air hit you. Your lungs gasped for breath and you doubled over, hands finding your knees to support yourself.

Your head was pounding, your heart was racing and as you pulled yourself up. You could still feel the boy's hands burning into your side, your face alight from his touch. But you didn't find comfort in it, instead, it sent a sick feeling through you.

You sat down against the wall, your hand finding your phone in your bag. Silently, you dialed his number, putting the phone to your ear, and waited as the phone rang.

He picked up after just two rings. "Hola amor." (Hi love). His raspy voice signified you'd just woken him up, but you couldn't help the pang of warmth rushing through you when his words hit you.

He’d been calling you love since you were children. An innocent nickname which you would laugh off when people questioned. “We’re just friends” would echo through your mind every time that boundary felt as though it was shifting.

But if the nickname was so innocent why did it feel as though your heart was being ripped from your chest as the words. The quiet mumble of his voice, knowing he was on the other side of the planet while you’re here in the cold.

This wasn’t how friends felt about each other. Maybe you’d always known that, but you were just too afraid of what reality meant for you to face it. Too petrified by what a life without Carlos would look like if he didn’t feel the same.

You sat on the floor in your expensive dress as Carlos coaxed you from the ledge you felt you were sitting on. His soft tone burrowed deep into your soul, and a sense of calm flooded you.

Despite him clearly being exhausted, holding on to any slither of being awake to talk to you, he managed to rouse his consciousness. All because you'd called.

It was only when you finally left him, letting him get the sleep he so clearly craved, that you found your mind racing. You couldn't deny the feeling you felt anymore. But you sure would try.

…

Things changed after school. You went off to university, and your workload quickly increased, while Carlos flitted around the world, growing adoring fans everywhere he went.

You knew things wouldn't stay the same forever, and just a year after you had called him from your prom, he was slipping away from you rapidly.

Nightly calls shifted to weekly, then monthly. Soon, you heard from him sporadically usually in the middle of the night at whichever timezone he was in.

Quickly, the boy who you had grown up attached to, had turned into a man that you were beginning to not recognise.

You held on to the tethers of your friendship with every part of you. When you could, you would fly out and watch him play, organising your calendar carefully around the ATP tennis schedule.

Staying up late, texting him after a good game, calling him after bad ones. Sometimes he picked up, other times he didn't.

Then you saw her. The tall, drop dead gorgeous, must-be model draped off of Carlos' arm after one of the matches. His lips me there cheek in a video captured by a fan and you felt a pang of something you reluctantly recognised as burning jealously.

He had a girlfriend. A stunning, famous girlfriend. Who he hadn't told you about. It had been about a month since the two of you called, a five-minute conversation about the Spaniard's last tennis match.

He hadn't mentioned this girl then. Did that mean it was new, or just that he hadn't thought to tell you?

After seeing one photo on your phone, it was like you couldn't escape it. Every slide and swipe revealed more fan photos of Carlos, your Carlos, with this random girl.

You knew you were overreacting, he was 19 year old and one of the 'up and coming' tennis players. Of Course, he was going to find himself swarmed with beautiful women.

But the more you saw his hand around her waist or her hand draped across his chest. You couldn't help that the fire raged beneath your skin.

You reached for your phone desperately. The time was 8pm, and for once, Carlos was in a similar timezone, so you knew he should be awake. Your phone was ringing before you even had time to stop yourself. The phone rang mindlessly, and you waited.

After what felt like an eternity, you heard a gruff voice on the other end. "Y/N?" His questioning tone cut into you more than you'd like to admit.

Just 12 months ago he'd welcomed random calls, your nickname had fell so easily from him lips and you would slipped into conversation that harboured no specific topic.

But now, just you calling him had to have a reason. You sighed, "¿Tienes novia?" (Do you have a girlfriend?) He laughed, but you couldn't find it in you to find it funny.

"Que?" (what?) He was in disbelief. After being all over this girl on Instagram and twitter and every social media you opened, and HE was in disbelief. Over the girl he hadn't even deigned to tell you about.

"¿La chica? ¿por todo Instagram?" (The girl? All over Instagram?) your voice was lined with aggravation. You knew he could sense it as he paused, carefully thinking on where to step next.

His voice was quiet. "Ella no es nada. Ella es casual." (She's nothing; she's casual.) You scoffed,

¿Entonces ahora eres uno de esos tipos? (So now you're one of those guys?) Your words were laced with something vicious. You weren't mad at him. I mean, you were on the surface, but beneath that basic level of irritation, you were clearly mad at yourself.

While you had been sitting around waiting for Carlos to notice that you had been right there the entire like like an 80s rom-com, he had been forgetting you even existed, falling into some other woman's bed.

"Ah, de verdad Y/N" (Oh really, Y/N) He was annoyed, you weren't surprised. "No necesito esto de ti." (I don't need this from you)

Your blood boiled, your tone became increasingly sharp and distant from the soft mannered person Carlos knew so intimately.

"¿Y eso qué significa?" (And what does that mean?) You were acutely aware of every small sound coming from his side of the phone.

"¿Por qué te importa? No eres mi novia." (Why do you care? You're not my girlfriend.) It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over you, which pulled you back down to reality. Why did you care?

He was right. He owed you nothing. You weren't together, and he'd made it clear in every passing comment and mistake friends made. That he saw you only as a friend.

Meanwhile, you found yourself moving further past the point of no return with every interaction. Unable to hide the way you searched for his brown eyes in every crowd, even when you knew he wasn't there.

The way your heart raced with every phone call and you found yourself counting down the minutes till you would next see him. You were well and truly in love with your best friend and he had no idea.

His tone had cut into you, his soft demeanour replaced with a sharp and vicious manner. It hurt. Even beyond your newly realised feelings you had first and foremost been friends.

Sure, maybe in the last year, you had let the distance infiltrate the once disgustingly close relationship you two held. But you were still friends, and friends were supposed to tell each other things.

Your voice lost its edge, and the hurt manner came through, "Tienes razón. Pero se supone que somos amigos." (You're right, But we're supposed to be friends.)

You heard him call your name before your finger slid to the red button, but you didn't want to hear anything more.

You fell back onto your bed, your phone slipping to your side as you took a deep breath, desperate to clear the weight that felt like it had settled in your lungs.

Your eyes burn with tears, and you rub your hands harshly against your eyes, trying to displace the violent urge to cry. Your phone rang next to you, Carlos' goofy smile shining on your screen, but you couldn't bring yourself to pick it up.

…

It had been months. Without a single message, call or letter sent between you two. Carlos had been having the best season in his career so far, and you were trying to block that out.

For the first few weeks after the tense call, Carlos texted and called you daily. With profuse apologies and begging you to talk to him. But you stayed strong.

You needed space, not just to deal with your emotions from the argument but also to get over him. You couldn't be his friend when every glance he gave you made your heart race.

You still watched every match he played, shouting at the television for every slight misstep or mistake and cheering for every point won..

You couldn't help but wonder if maybe this was your destiny. Watching Carlos from the sidelines as he succeeded and outgrew you.

You had always assumed that you'd always be by his side, there to celebrate his success and wallow in his failure - it wouldn't matter if you were together.

But he had her now, and you had the hope of what could've been.

It came to a head at the US Open. Carlos had an incredible start to the tournament, breezing his way into the quarterfinals. You'd watched all the games from the comfort of your home and fought off the urge to message him daily.

Then he won the quarters. It was far from easy; Jannik Sinner had put up a fight, dragging Carlos into two tie breaks. You'd sat on the edge of your sofa, pleading to gods you didn't believe in for Carlos to win. When 'game, set, match' was called, you were flooded with relief.

Your parents called you the next day, announcing that they would be flying out to watch Carlos play and that you should be going too.

Your chest constricted at the thought, but you forced out, "Él no me quiere allí" (He doesn't want me there.) Your parents scoffed in disbelief at the current state of the relationship between you two.

"Sí, cariño. Probablemente seas la única persona que quiere allí." (Yes, he does, honey. You're probably the only person he wants there.) Your heart picked up at the idea of Carlos wanting you there. But you knew it wasn't in the way you wanted it.

If he wanted you there it was the same way it always was. As his childhood best friend, who he kept around because he always had and not because he couldn't imagine a world without you.

"No puedo ir, tengo clase." (I can't go I have class) You heard a sigh through the phone, but you wouldn't let your resolve crumble. You helped your parents pack and fielded more pleas to watch the match before they left to go to the airport.

You sat down in your silent living room inhabited by just the sound of the tennis commentary to watch Carlos' semi-final game. It was another grueling five-setter, with Carlos conceding tie breaks once again.

When the game had started, you felt solidified in your choice to stay home, but with every point won, you watched as Carlos' gaze flitted to his box, over the faces of his family and yours. He wasn't smiling and cheering; he was...looking or searching.

You mother knew you'd be sitting at home watching the game no matter how much you had pretended to move on. Which is why halfway through the match, she sent you a text that broke your heart.

Mama: "Te está buscando. Le preguntó a Virginia si vendrías antes del partido." (He's looking for you. He asked Virginia if you were coming before the match)

Carlos took the final point, confirming his place in a grand slam final and putting himself on the brink of making history. But he didn't celebrate as much as you'd expected.

His eyes watched his family, a smile beaming on his face, but as someone who knew Carlos intrinsically, you could see the way the smile didn't quite reach his eyes and the way he seemed deflated rather than on the top of the world like he should.

Your heart plumeted to your stomach. You wanted to be there, wrapped up in his arms, celebrating his achievements.

You wanted to stay up that night to discuss the grand slam title on the horizon and remind him that no matter what happened, the results wouldn't change how you felt.

Before you knew it, you were booking a flight. Even if Carlos didn't feel the same way and couldn't love you the way you loved him, this was bigger than that.

This was the same Carlos who was always there for you when it mattered, even with the distance that had grown between you. This was your way of fighting for him and the friendship that had seen you through your entire life.

...

You arrived at the stadium with nerves coarsing through you. Though you had told Carlos's family and yours that you were showing up so they could get the right passes for you - you'd kept it from Carlos himself.

The crowds swarmed towards the stadium, but you made your way towards the locker room where you knew Carlos would be getting ready.

You knocked on the door, and you heard the voice that had followed you for 19 years calling you into the room. He had his back to you, talking to Juan Carlos as he stretched out his hamstrings.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, clearing your throat as the nerves started to find you again. What if he didn't want you here?

"Alguien me dijo que tal vez necesitas algún apoyo extra. (Someone told me that maybe you need some extra support.) Carlos's head immediately snapped around to face you, getting out of stretches and closing the distance between you before you could process it.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him, burying his head into your neck. It was like coming home. The warmth that blossomed in your chest as you felt the Spaniard's stubble brush your neck.

Your arms slid around his neck, holding him close to you. One hand slid up to his head resting in his hair. He sighed against your neck, and you smiled as you whispered, "Lo siento, no vine antes." (Sorry I didn't come earlier.)

He shook his head against your neck, his voice coming out as a murmur, "Es todo culpa mía. Me alegra que estés aquí. No puedo hacer esto sin ti." (It's all my fault. I'm glad you're here. I can't do this without you.)

He pulled his head from your shoulder, his hands finding rest on the sides of your face. He rested his forehead against yours, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

His touch burned your skin, every word sending shivers down your spine. "No quería hacerlo sin ti." (I didn't want to do this without you.)

You couldn't stop the words from leaving your mouth as Carlos's gaze bore down on you. "Te amo, más de lo que un amigo debería" (I love you, more than a friend should.)

Confusion darted through Carlos's face as he took in your words. His hands fell from your face, and you took a step back, your heart shattering at the look on the Spaniard's face.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you stopped him. You grabbed his hand and ran your thumb gently over his hand. "Ve a ganar y podremos hablar más trade." (Go win. We can talk later.)

He beamed at you, wrapping you up in a final hug that left you smiling. His lips met your cheek, and his mouth rested by your ear, "Nos vemos allí" (See you out there).

You nodded, fighting against the urge to move your head slightly and kiss the man who had plagued your mind for so long. Instead, you stepped back turning and headed toward the court.

You gave Carlos a final glance as you let the stress of the match begin to build.

The match was tense. You could feel the atmosphere drowning the crowd. The precipice of history being made calling.

Carlos played phenomenally. Every point was careful, precise and planned out. Casper Ruud never stood a chance. With every win, Carlos would turn to you, meet your eyes and cheer.

Your hands began to sweat and the nerves reached their peak in the final set. Every mistake moved you further the the edge of your seat but Carlos refused to lose.

One break and then the second, and before you knew it, it was a championship point. The crowd was silent. The tension was palpable, but as Carlos reached up for his serve, you felt a wave of calm rest over you.

He had it. You saw the gleam in his eye as he hit the ball, the grunt escaping his mouth with the hit. He darted across the court, each movement perfected.

Then it hit. The crowds screamed and Carlos fell to the floor. The screams rang in your ears as you watched him. He sobbed on the hard court, and your hand reached to your mouth.

It was only as your hand touched your cheeks that you noticed you were crying. The sight of Carlos blurring through the streaming haze of tears.

You felt his family and yours wrap their arms around you, bringing you back into the present. Looking back to the court, you could see the Spaniard beginning to climb through the audience towards you.

His mother by your side was whispering, "El lo hizo" (He did it.)

You grabbed her hand, laughing and smiling, and you spoke, "él realmente lo hizo" (He really did it). She wrapped you in a hug and told you how happy she was you were here and you couldn't help but agree.

You couldn't imagine not being there to celebrate this moment with Carlos. When you turned back to look for Carlos, he was climbing into the box, immediately being attacked by his team.

They cheered, and his shoulders shook with sob,s but he didn't stop moving. He found his family letting them shower him in praise but his gaze fixed on you.

He moved towards you, and your heart rate picked up. The look in his eyes was the same unidentifiable emotion you had seen before.

But before you had a moment to consider what it meant, Carlos's hands were on your face, connecting your lips.

You froze at first, shock radiating through you at the feelings of his lips on yours. But as Carlos went to pull away his hands slipping from your face, your hands found purchase on his neck pulling him closer.

You kissed him like he was oxygen, and you had forgotten how to breathe. The way his hand found your waist and the other slid into your hair.

The kiss was messy and desperate, but it was 19 years in the making, and you needed him like you needed water. The world around you disappeared as he pulled you impossibly closer to him.

It was out of a movie, like fireworks inside your chest and under the surface of your skin.

He groaned into your mouth but reluctantly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, matching your deep breaths. His smile split across his face, and he sighed, "Por cierto, yo también te amo." (By the way, I love you too)

You laughed loudly, taking in the cheers from the audience around you and the unadulterated smiles from your family and his team around you.

You glanced at the screen to see you and Carlos projected on it, your cheeks immediately turning red at the realistation that everyone had seen that moment.

You turned back to Carlos, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, which elicited another cheer from the crowd. Your hand rested on his face, and you beamed, "Te amo campeón" (I love you, Champion).

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This got away from me a bit, actually. I'm sorry/you're welcome.

Winning Feeling || CA

AUTHOR: @yungbludz deserves to read a Carlos fic, instead of writing them all the time.

SUMMARY: You surprise Carlos at Rotterdam after telling him you couldn't make it

WARNINGS: Fluff, Smut, Unprotected Sex (bad), Oral (fem receiving), P in V 18+

Carlos’ grin appeared on your screen as he hit a flawless drop shot, landing perfectly outside of De Minaur’s reach and giving Carlos the point.

The commentators voices played through your headphones praising your boyfriends form. You couldn’t help but giggle at the way he had the audience on his side.

When you told Carlos you couldn’t make Rotterdam he was understanding and assured you it was fine but you knew from the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes that he was disappointed.

But when you managed to get your work finished late Saturday night you immediately booked flights for the next morning, coordinating with Juan Carlos to surprise your boyfriend.

Looking up from your phone you can see the arena in the distance and with your heart speeding up you quickly shoot a text to Juan Carlos letting him know you’re just around the corner.

The taxi pulled up out front of the arena just as the final set was starting, and determined to be there for the end of the game you rushed out of the taxi thanking the driver and making your way into the building.

You slipped into the stands, just behind the coaches box and Juan Carlos smiled and waved at you.

“How’s it going?” You leaned over, eyes trained on your boyfriend’s figure moving skilfully around the court.

“The second set was difficult, but he’s pulling it back.”

You smiled softly as you settled in your seat.

Carlos moved with precision, covering a staggering amount of the court.

As he hit another winning shot he turned to the audience, meeting eyes with his coaches and then flitting up.

His gaze met yours and his face lit up, a smile covering his face as you waved and shooed him to focus on his game.

The rest of the game went smoothly with Carlos winning against De Minaur and taking his first title at Rotterdam.

Before you knew it you stood outside the locker room waiting for your boyfriend to emerge.

You caught a glimpse of his blue jacket as the door swung open, his brown eyes meeting yours and his lips turning to a smile as he looked you up and down.

He wasted no time, marching towards you, threading his hand in your hair bringing your lips together. It had only been a week and yet you found yourself melting into his touch.

He pulled away slightly his hands falling to your waist playing with your shirt. Everywhere his hands touched set your skin on fire and suddenly you felt the urge to get back to the hotel.

"¿Pensé que tenías que trabajar?" (I thought you had to work?) His eyes danced across your face as if he wasn't sure you were really there.

"¿Y extrañar verte ganar? Nunca." (and miss seeing you win? never) You kissed his cheek, softly moving to his ear, "mi campeón" (my champion).

He let out a groan, your words having a visual effect on him as his cheeks flushed and his eyes focused on you. You leant in to meet his lips, softly pulling on his bottom lip. Effectively riling him up when Juan Carlos, interrupted.

"vamos pájaros del amor" (come on, lovebirds), Carlos laughed at his coach handing him his tennis bag and picking up his trophy before wrapping his arm around your waist and heading to the car.

The car journey was agonising. Carlos' hand traced patterns on your inner thigh as he stared out the window pretending to be unaware of the effect he was having.

Every time you tried closing your legs, to prevent his hand from rising any higher, he simply pushed them open slightly and slipped an inch further up.

Your leg was burning under his touch and that heat had settled in your core. Every second his hands remained on you left you begging to get to the hotel so you could get the attention you wanted from him.

Carlos began to take notice of your agitated state, he leaned over to you his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Feeling hot, my love?"

"Carlos please," his hand rose higher at your desperate voice, his fingertips brushing the edges of your soaked underwear.

"God you're so wet for me, bet you would let me take you right here, wouldn't you?" Of course you would, his fingers moved under the waistband of your underwear as your eyes flicked to the driver.

The second you started to doubt the predicament you found yourself in Carlos' lips found your neck and his fingers fell between your folds.

A breathy moan left your mouth unable to hold back the pleasure you felt. Suddenly as the tension began to rise in your abdomen, his fingers left your underwear causing you to gasp at the empty feeling.

Turning to Carlos your cheeks were red, your chest rising heavily, hand wrapped around the back of his neck. He leaned in before you could question why he pulled away leaving you hot and bothered.

"Nosotros estamos aqui" (we're here)

You deeply sighed, following your boyfriend out of the car. You wasted no time getting to the lift as the tension from the car was still present.

By the time you reach the hotel room, you are begging to get him out of his clothes.

He crossed the threshold of the room, and the two of you were together. His hands were firmly on either side of your face and your hand slipped underneath his shirt.

He pushed your back against the door pulling away from the kiss to pull his shirt over his head, your eyes scanned the chiselled body of the man you loved taking your hands to rake down his chest and along his abs.

"They should ban shirts in tennis." Carlos laughed, shaking his head at your antics as he made a move to kiss up your neck.

"Then everyone would get to see me, and I'm yours." The small words sent shivers down your spine that set your core alight.

"Show me." His brown eyes bore into yours. "Show me how you're mine." A smirk graced his stunning features and he wasted time. His lips trailed down your neck.

He lifted your shirt off you, trailing sloppy kisses down your chest and across your breasts. His hand reached behind you to unhook your bra letting it fall to the ground.

When met with the sight of your naked chest Carlos groaned, "Hermosa" (beautiful) before capturing your nipple between his teeth. The sensation made you moan loudly gripping the back of Carlos' hair and finding any piece that was long enough to pull.

His mouth worked magic on your breast sucking and pulling on your sensitive nipples while his hand unbuttoned your skirt and slowly slid it down your legs.

The second the skirt hit the floor Carlos travelled south, his lips trailing down your stomach reaching the black underwear that was well and truly ruined.

He softly kissed your core over the underwear and your head fell back against the door. "Carlos please."

He looked up at you, an evil glint in his eyes. "What do you want, amor?"

"You. please."

He shook his head lightly, his hands moving up your thighs was all your brain could focus on. "what part of me?"

He kissed your stomach, "my mouth?" his fingers slid dangerously close to your fold you couldn't help but moan. "my fingers?"

"Both, please Carlos, I need you."

He pulled on the waistband of your underwear sliding it down your legs, and after throwing it somewhere in the room to find later he hitched your leg over his shoulder and immediately dove in.

His lips met your clit in an instant as he devoured you like a man starved. tracing tight circles on your clit had you crying out his name which only spurred him on. His finger met your folds, gently sliding through them and collecting your slick before two roughly thrust into you.

"Fuck Carlos, fuck" You screamed out and if you had been more away from your surroundings you may have worried about the neighbours, but with Carlos' face buried between your legs, you didn't care.

He added a third finger as he picked up the pace against your clit making you thankful for the door supporting your weight as your legs began to tremble.

You yanked Carlos' hair as your head fell back against the door, and he groaned into your core. He angled his finger perfectly as your high began to build. you couldn't help but move your hips looking for any extra friction possible.

It works when his fingers trust even deeper inside you quickly sending you to your high.

"cum for me, amor." his words alongside his fingers sent you over the edge, your legs shaking and chest heaving as he fucked his fingers into you throughout the orgasm.

As you came down from your high he captured you in a kiss, the taste of your juices on his lips. Your hands found his hair and he grabbed your ass and your tongues fought together.

You pulled away out of breath and desperate. "I need you inside of me."

"I didn't bring any protection, I didn't know you were coming" He's eyes scanned your body, every ounce of self-restraint being exhibited so he didn't take you raw against the hotel room door.

"It doesn't matter, I'm on the pill remember." the acknowledgement ran through his eyes and immediately he picked you up and carried you to the room.

Placing you on the bed he moved over you, staring into his eyes as he slid his shorts off. His cock was hard and leaking pre-cum as it slapped against his stomach.

He leaned over you as you wrapped your legs around his waist aching for his cock to be inside you.

"Estoy tan feliz de que estés aquí" (I'm so happy you're here) He kissed you tenderly, his brown eyes analysing the way you gaze softened at his words.

Your hand moved to his face, cradling his cheeks as you gently kissed him, "Te amo, por supuesto que estaría aquí." (I love you, of course, I would be here).

The words seemed to be affirmation enough for him, lining his cock up with your entrance and bottoming out. You both groaned at the feeling of being perfectly filled and Carlos waited for your signal to start moving.

"Move please, Carlos." He pulled out almost entirely before slamming himself into you, causing you to cry out his name. Your hands rested on his shoulders digging in due to the restless pace he started with.

"You feel amazing, Amor. This pussy was meant for me." You cried out at his words and relentless pace, hitting deep inside you as you moaned his name over and over again.

His hand fell between your bodies his thumb finding your clit to trace light circles on. Your back arched into him, nails pulling scratches down his back that you knew would mean no shirtless tennis for the next week.

"Mierda." his forehead fell against yours, capturing your lips in a messy kiss.

He sped up the movement of his fingers on your clit, the knot in your stomach tightening with every deep thrust that hit that spot within you.

"I'm going to.." your voice trailed off as his thrust began to falter.

"Yo también cariño" (me too honey)

Carlos grabbed your hips pulling them towards him, resuming his brutal pace. The new closeness had you seeing stars and within seconds you were falling off the edge. Your nails dug into Carlos' shoulder as you cried out his name.

He fucked you through your high and as your pussy clenched around him, you felt as he shot himself inside you, his forehead falling onto your shoulder kissing you softly.

He stayed for a moment as you both caught your breath before he pulled out and lay beside you, He put his arms around you pulling him into you. Your hand trailed his face as you met his lips.

Running your hand through his hair you smiled. "te amo" (I love you)

His hand ran up your side pulling you closer into his chest, "Yo también te amo. Eres el único trofeo que necesito" (I love you too. You're the only trophy I need)

Any suggestions go ahead :)

Mourning Carlos’ hair rn

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