Pictures Of Carlos You Haven’t Seen Before Because I TOOK THEM!

He looks so good I'm ending it all

Kendrick made me realize that I am not a hater at my full potential. 2025 resolutions: hate more

Carlos I said PLEASEEEE

When is deal part 3 coming pls

I swear I’m writing it 😂 my actual work just got on top of me a bit - expect it in the next few days!!

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.

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masterlist

NOVIO? || CA

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

+18, MINORS DNI

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

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

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

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

feedback is always appreciated!

MASTERLIST

do not copy/repost/translate my work anywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"please what amor?", he asked confidently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE DEAL || CA

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pt. 2, (previous part)

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

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warning: diabolical tension

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

MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————————————

taglist: @kcharlyy @champagnecoastca

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.

How are you holding up after IW CUZ FOR THE LIFE OF ME I CANNOT

I truly believed we were so back, his form through most of IW was soooo good.

The draper game was actually embarrassing. That first set had me actually in shock. Like Carlos I love you but WHAT WAS THAT!!

But everyone has off days I want to believe that this is all this was. that’s MY bozo you know 😞 so we’ll get them next time?

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