Carlos Fluff - Blog Posts

THE DEAL || CA

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part 1 of ??

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

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warnings: enemies to lovers, kind of asshole Carlos

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

MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"seguir." (go on.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it was time for you to find something else.

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

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

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

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

"Deal."

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taglist: @champagnecoastca

NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND || CA, Pt.2

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Part 1

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

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warnings: none :)

a/n: I need a happy ending.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Carlos-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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