#gost writes

[justagost]

Me: *Leisurely writing a Sincaraz fic*

My intrusive thoughts: Sincaraz and Novandy have in common that Carlos’s happiness depends on Janniks mood just like Novak’s depend on Andy.

Me: Oh, thats kinda cute-

My intrusive thoughts: Carlos praises Jannik to hell and back like Novak does with Andy but Andy doesn't believe he deserves them just like Jannik does.

Me: Oh

[justagost]

Allow me to introduce to you my two Tennis RPF Wips:

On the left, we have the two part Feddick get-together where Roger realises he misses and loves Andy and Andy has always loved Roger but never had a chance plus trauma by slam denial (the second part is Roger just being very attracted to Andy, which understandable)

On the right we have Novandy, pretty self-explanatory from the name, is a quote on quote 'missing scene' where i write the famous run in Melbourne where Andy cramps and Novak frets like a mother hen because he loves his coach too much and Andy struggles to be a professional coach since he's got a massive crush on Novak.

THIS is of course not mentioning the big Sincaraz fic i'm avoiding because i Iike running away from my own projects :)

ANYWAY im totally not going to start writing a Psychonauts fic now–

[justagost]

Happy birthday to Carlos Alcaraz!

I didn’t know it was his birthday today, so uhhh…

Here! From the first chapter of the posted-then-deleted ‘Italian and Spanish sound similar (Until they don’t)’ Sincaraz fic, have the spicy scene where Jannik takes real good care of Carlos 😚

(Jannik is coping bad with the positive doping results here, but just ignore him, will you? Oh! And I’m sorry but the Italian/Spanish isn’t translated here. English speakers, you’re gonna have to bust out the translator for once 😅)

——————————

When the positive doping result hits, it all shifts so fast he can’t keep up. Darren knows he’s fond of Carlos and tells him to put some distance.

“If you truly care about the lad, you’ll put some distance. Try smiling less at the net, will ya?”

So he grits his teeth and curses himself when he asks Carlos for his room number.

He’s desperate to forget about what those positive tests will mean for him and his career. He just wants to drown himself in Carlos, so that everything fades away and he can feel the excitement and thrill of playing against him that were unjustly taken from him because of those positive tests.

He wants to kiss Carlos one last time before he has to cut him off.

If Carlos realises that Jannik kisses a bit harder than usual, seeks to get closer and moans louder, he doesn’t mention it. But he does stop Jannik when a hand boldly wanders to the tent in his pants. 

“J-Jannik, wait–” He doesn’t. He palms him and Carlos moans, head falling on Jannik’s shoulder. “Jann~ mmh– Stop please we-” He does it again, making Carlos bite his lip.

He leans closer and kisses under his ear before whispering.“I want to see you come, Carlos.” Carlos’s hips thrust forward and a hand shoots to grip Jannik’s shoulder. “Joder– Jannik no puedo-” 

His mind his swimming. He’s never been so forward with someone, he’s not sure where all of this confidence is coming from and he’s scared that Carlos will push him off and never talk to him again.

But the need to drown out the thoughts, the pressure, his future, their future–

He slides his hand under Carlos’s shirt, caressing the defined abs that tanned him whenever Carlos would wipe sweat off his forehead with his shirt, making Carlos gasp and grip his shoulder harder.

“Tell me to stop and I'll leave right now–”

He shakes his head frantically, trying to get the message across in all the languages he knows. “No te atrevas–! Don’t– Don’t stop please–” 

So Jannik dips lowers and finally puts his hands on his dick. He has to hold Carlos closer just to keep him upright as his knees threaten to give out. 

It– It can’t feel that good. It’s just a dry hand lightly palming around. Why is Carlos so affected by this? 

He walks them forward until Carlos is pressed between him and the wall, so that he can focus on actually stroking his dick, his mind is still thinking too much and Carlos isn’t moaning enough. 

“Jannik~” He whines, panting hot air on his neck that makes goosebumps rise in its wake.

Is that it? Is it because it’s him? Does it feel good because it’s he who’s touching Carlos? It can’t be. Jannik is just a guy, yet another person on this earth.

Idly, he wonders what would happen if the positions were reversed, if it was Carlos pushing him against a wall with a hand in his underwear–

With a hazy mind, he spits on his hand, gets back into Carlos’s boxer and tightens his grip, swallowing the hiss, mostly to hide his own moan. This pushes Carlos to start licking inside his mouth.

It’s all very awkward; They’re both fully clothed and the angle of his wrists is bordering on painful, especially since his arm is half-trapped between them. And yet it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done. Carlos is writhing under his touch, both of his hands crossed behind his neck and he’s lightly pulling on the hair on Jannik’s nape, which makes his spine tingle. Carlos is now thrusting up in his hand and moaning wantonly, Jannik can’t help but stare at how beautiful he looks lost in pleasure; eyes closed and the lines of tension on his face, the way his jaw works… Then Carlos opens his eyes.

The white contour swallowed by the brown irises that look black now because of lust makes Jannik want to drop to his knees and worship this handsome man he’s privileged to kiss, touch or even breathe near.

“Sei bellissimo, stupendo, magnifico.” He kisses Carlo’s jaw while he whispers and draws another heavenly string of high whines and moans out of him. “Mios dios Ja– Keep going please.” 

“Mh?” 

“Keep talk–ing!”

Cute. “You want me to tell you how handsome you look like this?”

Carlos nods but verbally disagrees. “No I– In Italian, please.”

He slows his strokes and looks at Carlos in the eyes, confused. “In Italian?” He can’t help the smirk. 

“Jannik don’t stop plese I’m–”

He stops and Carlos' protests come in form of wet kisses along his neck.

“Ask me again.”

“Jannik please–”

With his free hand, he slams Carlos to the wall, denying him the warmth of his body.

“Ask me a-” He doesn’t even get to finish asking.

“Por favor hablame en Italiano Jannik tu voz es tan bella– Please please please keep talking I’m so close it hurts–” The desperation in getting the words out as fast as possible along with the way he grabs at his arms, shoulders, chest– anything in his reach really, is so intoxicating that if Jannik wasn’t hard– which he was, terribly –that alone could have gotten him up.

“Ami così tanto sentirmi parlare in Italiano?”

Carlos nods aggresivly.

Jannik leans close to his ear and takes a plunge. “Patetico.” And starts stroking him again.

The noise the Spaniard makes is the best noise he’s ever heard. He chuckles.

“Tutte le volte che parlo in Italiano, nelle interviste, dopo le partite… Ti fa sempre questo effetto?” He’s high on the power he feels over Carlos, so high he doesn’t notice his hips slowly grinding back and forward on Carlos. “Vorresti sempre essere intrappolato tra me e il muro e ridotto a piangere solo dalla mia mano sul tuo cazzo?”

“Ja– Jannik!” Those beautiful eyes had closed a long time ago due to the intensity of it all, so it does leave him wondering if Carlos is actually tearing up. “Jannik, yo- I- fuck! I lo–”

He doesn’t want to hear it. While he feels in control now, Jannik knows he is a weak man. He wouldn’t have enough willpower to let Carlos go after hearing the confirmations that they feel the same, that Jannik’s allowed to feel like this toward his rival. If he heard those three words from Carlos, he’d become an even weaker man, setting him up for some stupid mistake. 

Like keeping Carlos close while under investigation, like putting Carlos’s tennis career and life goal at risk, just because he couldn’t bear to see him go.

Carlos’s dick is now wet enough from precum that under their panting, Jannik can hear the slick sound his hand makes as he jerks him off. Carlos was starting to smell exactly what Jannik smelled at the net; Sweat, adrenaline and the faint citric note that he wasn’t sure if it came from his soap, deodorant or body spray. And of course, sun-kissed skin. Always sun-kissed skin.

A hand had sneaked down his spine to his ass and was now actively squeezing him, Jannik’s free hand curled around Carlos’s waist. He laughed breathlessly when a low, prolonged moan escaped Jannik as his orgasm grew closer. “You know how hard it is not to slap this perfect ass every time we pose for pictures? Heh, no wonder the other already do that.” Carlos had big hands, which made the whole experience even better. 

Jannik wanted to feel that hand on his skin, wanted to allow Carlos to do whatever he wanted to him. Wanted to know how many of these nights it would take him to fuck him.

That would mean they had to see each other again. That would mean Carlos could get caught up in the doping investigations.

The thought of being the one to ruin Carlos’s career filled him with a cocktail of emotions so strong he was not lucid enough to decipher. The thought of being the one who tarnishes Carlos’s perfect prodigy image and future tennis champion makes him want to have all the blood drained from his body and retire tomorrow, give up tennis for him, give up his life for him.

He needs to stop thinking.

“Are you close?”

Carlos nods frantically again

“Allora vieni per me, mostrati, mostrami come sei perfetto.” He buries his head in his shoulder and nods again. Jannik speeds up, both in pacing and in breathing.

If the worst happens, if he gets kicked out for being a cheater. He wants Carlos to be the one who kicks him out. He wants Carlos to be the hero in their story, who defeats the villain and gets idolised by the media. He wants-

If he can’t be the one to treat Carlos like the fucking sun he is, he wants the whole world to do it in his stead.

“Come for me.” 

And Carlos does as soon as Jannik captures his mouth again. He works him through it, slowing down without separating from that warm mouth that let out so many lovely noises Jannik would replay in his head any time he’d have to touch himself, overwriting the more punched out grunt he let out during a match. 

Carlos’s hands found his neck and nape again, fully throwing himself into the kiss while coming down from the high. Keeping Jannik close enough to feel every muscle and bone. Jannik just allowed his jaw to slacken so that the other boy could do as he pleased, trying hard not to think about the hard part of him that was now unmistakably painful. 

Unfortunately, since they were humans and needed air, they parted and panted. This time it was Jannik to let his forehead hit Carlos’s shoulder, getting his aching wrist out of the weird angle and shorts. Some cum had stuck to his fingers, and he was surprised to find it just as white-ish and viscous as his own.

For some reason, he thought Carlos’s release would be different, just as different as Carlos was to him.

“That was…” The voice of the Spaniard broke, probably due to how much his vocal cords had been abused.

“Yeah…” Was Jannik’s reply. Despite not being the one under post-orgasm haze, he couldn’t form a longer phrase.

It was after another minute of them silently catching their breath that Carlos patted his back. “Do you want me to..?” And slid his hands down Jannik’s spine.

“No, I’m- It’s okay.”

“How? You must be so-”

Carlos pushed him enough so they stood face to face. Analysing the state of unruly glory their passionate activity had put them in. Carlos’s eyes went down to his crotch and Jannik felt the need to cover up.

“Jannik, you still haven’t–”

“Really Carlos, I'm okay.” He attempted a smile. The anxiety and negative thoughts swung back in full-force and were screaming that he had just committed the mistake of a lifetime. Allowing Carlos to touch him there felt like the worst of crimes that deserved a death sentence.

“I… I’d like to wash my hand, though.” He nodded at his right hand, awkwardly still to avoid dripping any cum on the carpet.

Damn his coping mechanism of cracking jokes when uncomfortable.

Carlos smiled the sweetest smile before giggling silently.

Ok, his coping mechanism wasn’t that bad. 

“Me too, come on.” Leading the way to the bathroom, the two found each other awkwardly trying to clean off. When Jannik realised Carlos was removing his shirt to step into the shower, he offered to go grab him another pair of underwear and shorts. Which made it even more awkward because he’d have to rummage through Carlos’s suitcase, look and touch his underwear and bring it back to the bathroom.

“Ah, thanks Jannik, appreciate it.”

Fuck.

“N-No problem.”

So he dried his hands and stepped back into the room, heard the water turn on, let out a deep breath and stared down Carlos’s travel bag like it had personally offended him. Eventually, he found a pair of funny coloured boxers with scribbled shapes (Cute, he smiled) and the same pair of soft, grey Nike sweatpants he owned. On his way back he also grabbed a water bottle, thinking of how raw Carlos’s voice sounded.

He was about to call out that he’d leave everything next to the sink when he realised that Carlos was singing, voice still rough but soft enough for Jannik to have missed it until he was back in the bathroom.

“Yo quiero estar contigo, vivir contigo, bailar contigo, tener contigo una noche loca, besar to boca~”

He swallows. Suddenly understanding why Carlos had wanted him to speak Italian earlier. The inflex and timber of his voice was completely different when he spoke Spanish. And yes, Jannik felt how his voice lowered when he spoke English, in Italian the inflation on words made him sound younger. It was weird, listening to his Spanish since he was used to Carlos’s English voice but–

It was sweet.

It made him want to join Carlos in the shower and kiss each inch of that hard-earned body.

He was still hard.

Fuck.

Silently, as Carlos repeated the chorus of the song, he left the boxers, sweatpants and water on the sink, walked away and closed the hotel room’s door as delicately as he could. Placing his warm forehead to the cool, smooth material and whispering in prayer:

“Perdonami. Ma non ho scelta.”

He left his crush and all those wonderful feelings and sensations newly discovered that night at the door. Like a secret admirer would leave flowers at the doorstep of his beloved.

[justagost]

Wrote this yesterday (today technically) at two AM while sleep delirious. Enjoy~

He's not sure how this happened or how he got in this situation.

Jannik just remembers feeling his limbs heavy and warm, his entire body made of lead, leaving him unable to walk straight very far.

He remembers texting Simone that he'll take a few more minutes than usual; he doesn't remember if he got a reply.

He remembers barely making it to the bench, tripping on his own feet, having difficulty steering his own body because of how heavy it felt, because of how unfocused his surroundings looked.

He remembers his breath catching once he managed to sit on the bench, he remembers lying down on his left side, facing the lockers, unsure if near his own or not.

He doesn't remember how loud his sobs and wails echoed in the empty room. He doesn't remember hearing the door clicking open.

He vaguely remembers the panicked calls of his name, some questions in English he couldn't quite grasp in the cacophony that was resounding in his head.

He remembers how each missed shot and unforced error replayed sporadically in the darkness behind his eyelids- not dark enough. Insults, yells, boos and disappointed words bounced so chaotically in his skull he couldn't calm down the angry shouting voice that sounded so much like his own.

‘Respira Jannik’ (Breathe Jannik)

He remembers a kind voice telling him to breathe, he remembers not being able to as the sobs stole all the air that came into his lungs. 

He remembers drawing closer his cold and hurting legs and hiding his face where the light didn't reach him.

He remembers the sweet voice repeating, almost at nauseam, for him to “Respira Jannik, respira.”

Then he doesn't remember anything else.

The first thing he consciously acknowledges is that he smells musky sweat when he inhales. He finds the bench he's lying on is very hard and uncomfortable, a big difference between the firm but soft pillow(?) he's currently hugging and lying half of his chest on. 

A very soft, deep, monotone hum makes him realise the world is silent again, a hand stroking his spine back and forward, never leaving his skin, is both incredibly pleasant and not so much as the cold, sweaty shirt rubs on his skin.

“Jannik?” A hand is trying to untangle his curls, and even when pain tugs at his scalp because of a stubborn knot, Jannik melts at the touch and buries his nose and face deeper into whatever warm thing he was hugging.

“Jannik?” the voice is worried, softly calling his name. The voice is familiar but… does it matter? Someone is hugging him and making him feel safe and loved like only his mother and father ever have. He feels shielded from the scrutinising world outside and the ruthless world within.

“Jannik? Have you calmed down?”

Calmed down from what? He feels as if he's always been this calm, content and boneless–

Boneless like after a hard match.

A match he lost.

A semi-final at the Australian open he lost.

Lost against Djokovic.

He suddenly felt the dip between two legs underneath his torso and how hips-sized the shape he had wrapped his arms around was.

A vain attempt was made to pick himself up and apologize, but a firm carress on his head along with a ‘sh-sh-shhh’ didn't allow him to go far.

“Dont worry, you and I have nowhere else to be”

But his team-

“We can stay like this if you're comfortable as much as you need”

The press would-

The hand petting his back went down to his hips and settled on warming up the back of his thigh with energetic caresses, squeezing ever so softly before travelling back to his back.

The world snapped back into focus, everywhere his body touched something else, even his clothes, felt tingly. The voice was clear and too familiar.

He was currently lying in Novak Djokovic’s lap

After the wave of panic that the though first brought, he, not without some difficulty, unethered his face from what he now realised was Djokovics hip, blinking repeatedly and with much effort, turned on his back to face the ceiling.

Indeed, Novak Djokovic’s face greeted him, haloed by unbearable bright light.

“Good morning sunshine” He smiled, bringing the hand previously in his hair to gently brush where tears had made tracks down his face. (He has cried?) The other hand settled on Jannik's stomach.

“Why..?” he couldn't understand why, how, and couldn't find a way to ask why, how.

“Does it matter? “ 

It did. Jannik squinted Novak smiled, crow-feet crinkling to life next to his eyes.

“Do you prefer lying like this or on your side?”

“Why?” Jannik did not let go, wanting an answer that would satisfy his curiosity and stop his mind from worrying.

The softest, kindest, warmest look took form on Novaks face. “Because you need it.” A thumb gently tried and succeeded at sweeping away the wrinkles from Jannik’s forehead. “Because you did so well” 

He wanted to get up, find a corner and disappear. He had done terribly, he wasn’t focused enough, he had been so lazy-

“Because I'm proud of you.” The words settled a blanket of contentment on his body. 

“Now, are you more comfortable like this or on your side?” Novak waited patiently, never stopping his delicate tracing of Jannik's face.

What was the point of fighting? He was so tired... And so comfortable… and so... Loved.

“Side.” Novak smiled, bent down to place a long, gentle brush of a kiss on his forehead. “Then turn, my boy.”

Jannik turned and snuggled his face back into the junction between Novak’s leg and hip. Escaping the light once again.

“There we go, sleep if you need to.” A hand started to card through his hair again. “I owe you some attention, and you’ve waited for far too long.”

Jannik was far too disoriented to question the situation or focus too hard on what Novak was saying. He felt safe, comforted, warm, the good kind of warm, and so so content. 

He sighed and reached his arms around Novak’s lower back and shifted to find a comfortable position. A hand resumed stroking his back.

He gripped the fabric under his hands.

“Thank you.” Dad.

“Ive got you.” Son.

Jannik fell asleep with the inexplicable sense he had been recognised, acknowledged, rewarded and finally, finally, accepted.

Novak held Jannik for a while and never hated himself more for not allowing himself this sooner.

An adopted child is just as important as a biological one. Blood is not thicker than seeing your own ghost in someone else.

[justagost]

Signed, your Boyfriend's Lavender Girlfriend

Summary:

It was… Sterile, how every time they talked, the first thing she said to him was ‘Hello’ and ‘Jan is ‘ and told him where he was and what he was doing before getting into this silence that made his skin itch, since he didn't know whether to also get on his phone or attempt small talk. Sometimes, Carlos thinks that Jannik could have picked better. But then again…   Or What happened after the ATP Finals Final of 2025 and how Carlos is handling his jealousy of Jannik's cover girlfriend, Laila Hasanovic.

AFTER YEARS AND YEARS (four months) I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED THIS FIC!!!!!!! I promised I'd post it before the end of AO Open but... Life got to me. What matters is that I DID IT!!!!!

Link to Ao3: (I'll fix it in the morning, it's midnight)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/79212626

[justagost]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary:

With a shoulder straight into the door, he entered the locker room, rushing and praying that he- Jannik was just about to take his boxers off. He turned at the bang of the door against the wall and smiled, straightening up and turning with a subtle but true smile. "There's my champion." He opened his arms. Carlos' eyes widened and the world stopped.   Jannik isn't angry at him. Jannik isn't crying. Jannik doesn't hate him. Jannik is smiling at him. Jannik still loves him despite the loss. Jannik has put them before the win. They survived the ultimate test. They are ok.   Or Carlos mentioned enjoying sharing a locker room with Jannik in the US Open speech, and my brain gave me this.

[justagost]

Andy's first disastrous day of coaching

Summary:

He was out of rhythm, shape and hadn't gone on a run since he was… What, twenty-five? Novak was going to leave him in the dust, and not only would it look bad, but it would also slow Novak down, and it wasn't a coach's job to weigh on his player. Still, was he really going to refuse the first task asked to him by the team? On his first day? "Sure, I'd love to." __ "You know there are shoes specifically made to run?" "Shut up, dickhead. These are my old training shoes and they work just fine." Words: 10,599

Rejoice Novandy tag! We still live!

I'm really happy I managed to post this now, as life is about to get a hell lot more messier for me.

I'm so proud of myself with this one! It came out NOTHING like I thought it would but I love it! I hope you all enjoy it even a fraction of how I do !

Click here for the link fic!

[justagost]

Istg the shoe scene in Italian and Spanish sound similar (Until they don't) is my proudest writing moment. I did look like an idiot writing it because i was weirdly shuffling my feet under my desk. But are you even a real writer if you don't look dumb while writing.

I promise I haven't abandoned this fic! I'm just focusing on a one-shot post US Open (baby’s first smut 👀) and then I'm getting back to it. Third chapter is halfway done anyway