juliet . twenty one . ln1’s slut . pop music . dua lipa fashionist . f1 . angst lover . carlos alcaraz . smut tate mcrae . tennis . romcom addict . andrey rublev prada . jack draper . mclaren . lana del rey . bts desperate housewives . gisele bundchen . mcr ᥫ᭡
hii i'm back (again) i'm finishing the new room 217 chapter, but in the meantime i could post that fic inspired by victoria's secret's coconut passion that i teased a few weeks ago if anyone wants to read it :))
Thinking about Carlos being all whiney and sad about how useless he feels with his wrist injury and you’re trying to comfort him but then he looks up at you with those beautiful caramel eyes and says ‘i can’t even play with you properly’ (bc that’s usually what it is. it’s literally like a game to him to sit with your back to his chest and just rub and pluck away for as long as you’ll let him until the couch beneath you is soaking and youre whimpering and shaking and he’s breathing heavy into the back of your neck encouraging you to keep going for him). So needless to say this wrist brace just really won’t do!! Carlos is proud of his body and the joy it brings to other people through his tennis, but that also applies to what it can do for you. He loves being the best at things as well, he’s a natural born competitor and he wants to be told he’s good at things, so his cocky ass invests a lot of time in your pleasure and considering himself unable to please you like normal really gets to him. He feels like he’s neglecting his duties somehow, so when he asks you to prove he can still get you there, that he’s still a man and not completely useless, you don’t deny him. And it ends up with him basically grinding his face into your pussy and grunting and swearing in frustration that he can’t just sink his fingers into you because of his brace and eventually you get sick of his complaining and tell him he could actually get the job done if he just stopped complaining so you push him down onto the couch and swing your thighs over his face to shut him up
I won’t post a Carlos smut but I’ll happily dump my thoughts in your inbox and what I am currently thinking about is Carlos not being able to jack off properly because of his wrist hurting him and you being away from him for some reason. So when you get a call late at night and it’s basically him crying in frustration down the phone that he can’t get there, that he’s so hard it hurts, that he’s tried with the other hand but it’s just not enough, you have half a mind to tease him about how pathetic he sounds whining and sobbing like that. but when you FaceTime him and see the state he’s gotten himself into you just can’t bring yourself to. His face is flushed and his cheeks are wet and he’s basically shaking with frustration and overstimulation.
‘Oh baby’ you let out a breath and he just squirms in response, dark, thick lashes fluttering shut as he squeezes himself with his good hand at the sound of your voice.
‘Did you get yourself all worked up?’ He moans loudly at that, starts rambling about missing you. He’s propped up in bed and there’s a damp spot on his grey boxers where he’s leaking and you’re genuinely heartbroken for your boy, not knowing how to help him when he can’t even touch himself properly. Eventually you just tell him ‘lay on your front for me, baby’ and he hardly hears you over the chattering of his teeth and the heaving of his sweaty, bronze chest and the helpless buck of his hips into nothing, but then he does and you tell him to put his pillow under his hips. ‘Pretend it’s me, baby’ and he starts to get the idea, hips moving hesitantly at first into the soft, plush fabric of the hotel pillow, but then getting faster, more erratic and unrestrained, his moans starting to shake and his voice getting higher while you talk so sweetly to him, his beautiful girl helping him out like this, and it’s the thought of you looking at him being so dirty for you, that you’re the only girl he’d let see him like this, rutting like some dog in heat into his fucking pillow like some horny teenager, that makes him finally tip over the edge and spill into his boxers. And if he sends you a photo of his sodden, messy boxers later on and asks you to send back a video of your own….
i wrote a fic where carlos and reader move into a new apartment and they just fuck in the kitchen against the moving boxes, but i haven’t posted it because i can’t think of a title for it helpp
For a very long time, loving Orson had felt easy. not passionate or overwhelming, but it was easy. And it was okay because for someone like you, that had always seemed far more important.
Orson was the kind of man people approved of immediately. He was polite, educated, calm, nice in a way that made older women adore him almost instantly. He came from a respectable family. He was well read, dressed impeccably, spoke carefully, always said the right thing, never too loud, never too much.
The kind of man who always gave you flowers before dates, who remembered anniversaries without reminders, who shook your father’s hand properly and stood whenever your mother entered a room.
For years, everyone thought he was exactly what you always wanted, and maybe at some point, you had believed it too.
Because on paper, it made complete sense. You liked routine. So did he. You liked structure. So did he.
Neither of you enjoyed unnecessary conflict, public scenes, impulsive behavior or unpredictability of any kind. Your relationship had always been perfect, like the couple standing on top of a wedding cake
The kind of relationship people envied because there was never anything visibly wrong with it. The kind of relationship that was hard to believe was real
The problem was, you were just two people slowly becoming more accustomed to each other than truly connected.
Looking back, you weren’t entirely sure when things had started changing. Maybe it was abrupt, maybe it happened gradually.
Small silences stretching longer during dinners, conversations becoming repetitive, affection turning mechanical, disagreements that no longer seemed important enough to talk about, and dates that consisted of just the two of you being around each other but not WITH each other.
Or maybe the problem was simpler than that.
Maybe the relationship had stopped growing years ago, and neither of you noticed because routine made everything feel stable enough to survive. And unfortunately, stability could resemble happiness for a very long time.
It all started one cold night, one of those that would’ve ended with the two of you dancing to a piece of classical music in front of the fire place, but that was old fashioned for Orson and you
“You’ve been distant lately.” He breathed out the comment casually over dinner.
You looked up briefly from your plate. “I’ve just been busy with the fundraiser.”
Orson nodded slowly, though something in his expression suggested he didn’t entirely believe you. The house around you remained quiet, elegant piano music playing softly somewhere in the background but the long silences between you were louder
“You’re spending a lot of time at the club lately.” he said dryly
“So are you” you shot back raising an eyebrow
“That’s different.”
That made you frown slightly “How?”
Orson adjusted the sleeve of his shirt carefully before answering “People talk.”
There it was, that look, a look that somehow resembled fear, not fear of losing you, not fear of you losing each other, or fear of how obvious it was that you were drifting apart, no, it was fear of people looking at him less highly.
You leaned back slightly in your chair “And what exactly are people saying?”
“Nothing inappropriate” he answered quickly, before taking a sip of red wine “But Carlos Alcaraz doesn’t exactly have the best reputation.”
The name alone was enough to irritate you immediately “What does that man have to do with anything?”
“I’m simply saying that appearances matter.”
You let out a quiet breath through your nose, you knew that, to Orson, they always did. His reputation, the way people perceived him. And what almost made you ashamed was how much you cared too. Because sometimes you wondered if he loved you or simply loved the life the two of you represented together. And even though that was enough to hurt you, it wasn’t enough to end that relationship.
“We’ve been together for four years” he continued calmly “We are engaged, people expect certain things from us.”
Your expression hardened slightly “And what if I don’t care what people expect?”
That finally made him look at you properly, the silence stretched between you, and then “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
The answer unsettled you instantly, because he was right, you didn’t mean it. You looked down at your glass before taking a breath “Have you ever considered that maybe we’ve simply outgrown this?”
For the first time that evening, something cold crossed his expression, something unexpected and unrehearsed “That’s not how long term relationships work” he said quietly, a tense look on his face.
“And how do they work?”
“You stay” His voice remained perfectly composed “You don’t throw away years of your life because things become slightly repetitive.”
Something about the way he said it made your stomach tighten, because a year ago you would’ve said the same thing, but that sentence you used to repeat like a mantra, that love that used to feel so light, so easy, stopped sounding like love and started to sound like obligation.
The days after your argument with Orson blurred together strangely.
Everything in your relationship continued exactly as it always had. Dinner reservations.
Family lunches. Phone calls at the same hours every evening. Polite conversations about practical things neither of you truly cared about.
From the outside, nothing had changed. And perhaps that was exactly the problem.
Meanwhile, the fundraiser seemed to consume the rest of your time completely. Weeks passed in a constant cycle of meetings, last minute changes and endless preparations.
You spent more afternoons at the country club than at home lately, usually arriving already exhausted only to leave even more tired.
And somehow, despite how chaotic the gala preparations had become, those hours no longer felt as draining as they should have.
Mostly because Carlos was always there. Yeah, late, loud, unclassy, completely incapable of taking anything seriously for longer than five minutes.
And yet, lately, your conversations had begun slipping away from the fundraiser itself. the small comments. The annoying, pointless observations, those arguments that no longer really sounded like arguments
It happened gradually enough that neither of you seemed to notice.
That thursday evening you had arrived almost forty minutes early for a committee meeting after your French lesson ended sooner than expected.
The country club remained unusually quiet at that hour, most of the members still gathered near the golf courses or the terrace bar while the meeting rooms sat practically empty.
You pushed open the door expecting no one to be there. But Carlos looked up immediately from one of the chairs.
You stopped “…why are you here?”
He leaned back lazily, one arm resting over the back of the chair “That’s a little rude considering I got here first.”
You glanced at the clock on the wall “You’re early.”
“I know” he chuckled “first time”
You narrowed your eyes slightly.
Something about seeing Carlos sitting quietly in an empty room felt strangely unnatural, no crowd around him, no friends, no women laughing nearby, no performance, no dumb jokes.
Just him.
“What happened?” you asked suspiciously
Carlos laughed softly “My tennis match got canceled.”
“Tragic.”
“I’m still processing it.”
You placed your folders down onto the table carefully. The silence that followed felt oddly relaxed, a much needed relief from the uncomfortable ones at home
it wasn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar.
Carlos glanced toward the clock again “We still have half an hour.”
You sighed quietly “I know.”
A beat passed.
“Want to do something fun?”
Your head lifted immediately “No.”
“That answer came too fast.”
“We have very different concepts of fun”
Carlos grinned “Come on.”
And against your better judgment you followed him.
Five minutes later, the two of you were alone in one of the smaller lounges near the back terrace while Carlos unsuccessfully attempted to teach you how to play pool.
“This is ridiculous,” you muttered after missing another shot.
“You’re holding it wrong”
“I am holding it normally.”
“No,” Carlos replied, walking around the table “you’re overthinking it.”
“I’m not overthinking anything.”
“You absolutely are.”
He stepped behind you before you could protest properly “Relax your arm.”
Your body stiffened almost immediately at the sudden closeness.
Carlos noticed, you know he did, but surprisingly he didn’t tease you for it this time.
His hand adjusted your grip lightly against the pool cue.
“There” he said quietly. “Now stop trying to control it so much.”
You looked sideways at him “You somehow turn everything into a personality analysis.”
Carlos smirked faintly “That’s because your personality makes it very easy.”
You rolled your eyes. Then took the shot. The ball dropped cleanly into the corner pocket.
For a second, you looked genuinely surprised.
Carlos looked significantly more pleased about it than you did “There she is” he said softly.
And you hated the strange warmth that sentence caused immediately. Mostly, because you realized you were actually enjoying being there.
And that felt considerably more dangerous than disliking him ever had.
For the first time in years, being around someone had started to feel effortless again and that realization unsettled you more than anything else.
Not because of what it meant about Carlos, that was something you’d think about some other time, but because of what it revealed about Orson.
You had spent so long convincing yourself that love was supposed to feel stable that you stopped questioning why it also felt exhausting.
Every conversation with Orson lately seemed to require careful wording, careful reactions, careful timing. Even silence around him felt deliberate somehow, as if both of you were constantly trying to preserve something neither of you truly knew how to fix anymore.
And perhaps the worst part was that neither of you ever said it out loud. You simply continued.
Carlos, on the other hand, required nothing from you. No overthinking or careful version of yourself.
Around him, conversations simply happened. You never prepared what you were going to say beforehand, you never worried about sounding too cold or too emotional or too difficult, even your arguments with him felt strangely honest compared to the carefully controlled conversations you had with Orson.
And that terrified you.
Because Carlos was not supposed to represent freedom in your life, Orson was that for you, because he used to get you, but now, if anything, he represented the opposite. Carlos was everything you disliked carelessness, and chaos and bad decisions.
And yet, lately, every hour spent around him only made the life you had built with Orson feel quiet and small
You started noticing it everywhere.
The relief you felt whenever dinner plans with Orson got canceled, how little you cared when he kissed you goodbye now, the way your mind wandered during conversations that once would have held your full attention, the way you didn’t miss him during the day anymore, how nothing reminded you of him anymore.
For weeks, you tried convincing yourself it was temporary. But deep down, you already knew the truth long before you admitted it to yourself.
The relationship had ended slowly.
So slowly that neither of you noticed while it was happening. And perhaps, that was exactly why it hurt so much. Because when there’s not some dramatic betrayal or moment of explosion that ruins everything, you feel like you’re the problem, the crazy woman that’s throwing her perfect life away.
But there it was, just like that, the quiet realization that the future you had always imagined no longer felt like yours.
You stared at your reflection in the mirror one evening while fastening your earrings before dinner with Orson, and for the first time, the thought appeared clearly in your mind.
I don’t want this anymore.
The idea fell heavily in your chest.
But strangely, once it appeared, it refused to leave. You closed your eyes briefly. Then reached for your purse.
Because somewhere between all the routines, all the expectations, all the years spent trying to become the version of yourself everyone admired you had finally realized something far more frightening.
Staying with Orson simply because it was comfortable would be far crueler than leaving him at all.
The argument started quietly. Which somehow made it worse.
You sitting in silence after dinner, the television humming softly somewhere in the background neither of you were actually watching.
He was reading through emails on his laptop.
You were pretending to read a magazine. Pretending being the important word. Because for the last twenty minutes, you had reread the same paragraph at least six times.
Finally, you closed the magazine “Orson.”
He glanced up immediately “Yes?”
You hesitated briefly, and you knew immediately it was already a bad sign “I think we need to talk about us.”
The moment the words left your mouth, something in his expression changed, like you were an annoying kid asking for a toy again and again
Orson slowly removed his glasses, placing them carefully on the table beside him “What about us?”
You looked down at your hands for a second before answering “I don’t know if we’re working anymore.”
The silence that followed felt painfully controlled. Orson leaned back slightly in his chair. “That’s a very vague thing to say after four years together.”
Your chest tightened instantly. Again, the four years, the time together that you’d be throwing in the trash “I’m trying to be honest with you.”
“And I’m asking you what exactly changed.”
That was the problem, you didn’t entirely know. Or maybe you did, but saying it out loud would make everything too real.
“It feels like we’ve become…” you searched briefly for the word. “comfortable.”
Orson gave a small nod “Yes. That tends to happen in adult relationships.”
The response irritated you immediately “You know that’s not what I mean.”
“No,” he replied calmly. “I think it is.”
You stared at him, and there it was again, that unbearable calmness, that made you feel like the conversation was already settled and you simply hadn’t realized it yet.
You stood from the couch slowly, crossing your arms.
“I feel like nothing between us changes anymore.”
Orson watched you carefully “And you think that’s a reason to throw everything away?”
You frowned “I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.” his voice remained perfectly polite. Which made the guilt settle faster “You know,” he continued after a moment, “most people spend years trying to find something stable.”
Stable. Always that word.
Like stability itself should have been enough to keep you happy forever.
“I’m not talking about stability.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
You opened your mouth and then closed it again. suddenly, you weren’t entirely sure.
Orson stood then, walking toward you slowly.
“You’re overwhelmed because of the fundraiser,” he said gently. “You’ve been stressed for weeks.”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
You looked away. And unfortunately, your silence answered enough on its own.
Something sharpened slightly in Orson’s expression “You’re letting other people get into your head.”
You raised an eyebrow immediately “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he replied carefully, “that lately you’ve been acting unlike yourself.”
You already knew who he meant before he said the name “Carlos has nothing to do with this.”
“I didn’t mention Carlos.”
The room went silent as your stomach dropped slightly. Because now you had, why did you?
“You realize how this would look, don’t you?” he asked quietly after a moment.
The sentence made something cold settle in your chest. Four years together, families involved, friends involved. Your relationship had become larger than the two of you a long time ago. And Orson knew it, which was exactly why he used it.
“You don’t end a relationship like this impulsively,” he continued softly. “Not after everything we’ve built.”
Built.
Another word that sounded strangely business like coming from him.
You looked at him for a long moment, and for the first time you realized that future you had always wanted suddenly felt suffocating.
But you ignored that, so you took a breath and nodded, because he was right, it was impulsive, you were just stressed, exhausted.
Orson forced a smile “we can fix us, baby”
The conversation with Orson stayed with you longer than you wanted to admit, it hadn’t been explosive. Nothing truly changed, you didn’t break up, there wasn’t a dramatic conclusion to it
Just another quiet agreement to continue pretending everything between you still worked the way it always had. But that was worse than any other possible outcome
After that, even your routine seemed heavier. You still attended the meetings. Still organized schedules. Still corrected everyone else’s mistakes before they happened.
But the sharpness people usually associated with you seemed dimmer lately, like your mind was constantly somewhere else.
At first, carlos assumed you were simply stressed. But then, he noticed this felt different, because you were not irritated or tired, you were distant. And he would choose your usual coldness over this every time.
The two of you stayed behind after another committee meeting that night, organizing auction catalogs, while the rest of the committee slowly disappeared toward the terrace bar. The room had gone quiet around you.
You sat across from each other surrounded by stacks of paperwork, neither speaking for several minutes.
Carlos watched you carefully over the edge of one of the folders.
“You’ve been weird all week.” he said lowly, and you almost missed it
You didn’t look up “I’m always weird to you.”
“No” he replied lightly. “Usually you’re mean. This is different.”
You sighed quietly, continuing to sort papers “I’m just tired.”
Carlos leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes still fixed on you longer than necessary “Did something happen with Orson?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“So that’s a yes.”
“Why do you care?” you looked up sharply
The question came out colder than intended, which made carlos shrug lightly, though his gaze didn’t leave your face
“I don’t know… you look miserable lately.”
Your expression hardened instantly “I am not miserable.”
“No?” he asked calmly “Because from where I’m sitting, you look like someone forcing herself through every day.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“You know what I think?” Carlos continued, ignoring the comment completely. “I think you’re unhappy and you hate the fact that somebody noticed.”
You let out a short breath in disbelief “You don’t know anything about my relationship.”
“I know enough.”
“No” you replied sharply now, “you know the version you’ve made up in your head”
Carlos studied your face carefully, eyes moving over your expression like he was trying to read something hidden underneath it “and what version is that?”
“The one where you think everyone’s secretly as emotionally irresponsible as you are.”
That made him laugh softly through his nose “emotionally irresponsible?”
“Yes.”
“You really love psychoanalyzing me, huh?”
“At least I’m accurate.”
Carlos shook his head slightly, still looking at you in that frustratingly attentive way that had become impossible not to notice lately.
“No” he said quietly “you’re projecting”
Your eyes narrowed immediately “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.”
The tension between you shifted instantly. Sharpening.
“You spend so much time criticizing everyone else’s decisions because it distracts you from the fact that you’re terrified of making your own.”
You stared at him, offended by how quickly the words hit something real “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Carlos leaned forward slightly now, elbows resting against the table, his attention entirely on you in a way that suddenly felt too intense for the empty room around you.
“You were ready to end things with him, weren’t you?”
Your chest tightened violently, you were not expecting it, at least not that direct
You stood immediately from your chair “You have absolutely no right to-”
“And then what?” he interrupted calmly “you got scared?”
“That is not what happened.”
“But you thought about it.”
You looked away, and that was answer enough for him.
His eyes lingered on you for a second too long before he spoke again, quieter this time.
“You’re not happy with him.”
“I am.”
“No” he corrected softly “you’re comfortable with him.”
Something about the certainty in his voice made irritation flare instantly through your chest “you don’t understand what real relationships look like, Carlos.”
And that one fell heavily on him. You saw it immediately in his expression “You think because you flirt with every woman who looks at you for more than five seconds that suddenly you’re qualified to comment on my relationship?”
Carlos let out a small laugh, but this time it sounded humorless “There she is.”
“What?”
“That version of you that gets cruel whenever somebody gets too close to the truth.”
Your jaw tightened “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re defensive.”
“Because you’re being insulting.”
“No” Carlos replied smugly “I’m being honest.”
You shook your head immediately, grabbing your folders from the table with frustrated movements
“You know what your problem is?” you snapped. “You think just because you’re unhappy, everyone else must secretly be unhappy too.”
Carlos went quiet for a second. His eyes stayed on you, intensely focused in a way that suddenly made your stomach feel tight.
“I’m not the one trying to convince myself I’m in love.”
The silence after that felt brutal, and you looked at him like he had slapped you. maybe, in a way, he had.
His gaze dropped briefly toward your mouth before returning to your eyes so quickly you almost thought you imagined it. And suddenly, the argument no longer felt harmless.
Neither did the way he was looking at you anymore.
“You’re impossible,” you said through clenched teeth, still holding the folders tightly against your chest like they were the only thing keeping you composed.
Carlos gave a quiet laugh, though there was nothing particularly amused about it anymore. “And yet you’re still standing here.”
Your pulse quickened immediately “I detest you.”
“No, you don’t,” he replied softly “I can see it in your eyes.”
Your breath caught for half a second, the room suddenly felt too narrow, too warm, the distance between the two of you feeling shorter without either of you actually moving.
“You’re unbelievably arrogant.”
“And you’re trying very hard not to look at my mouth right now.”
Your expression hardened instantly, but the slight delay before answering betrayed you “This is exactly why nobody takes you seriously.”
Carlos tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. “You want me to walk over there and put you against me and kiss you until your knees buckle.”
The words hit you so fast it almost felt physical “You’re insane.”
“And you didn’t say no.”
Silence. Very dangerous silence.
And then, finally, after a very slow walk toward where you stood, he kissed you.
One hand against your waist, the other brushing your jaw just enough to tilt your face toward him. The impact of it stole the air from your lungs instantly, not soft, not tentative, nothing like the careful affection you had grown used to for years. This felt reckless. Warm.
Wrong in a way that made your entire body react before your mind could catch up.
You hated the small sound that escaped your throat when he pulled you closer, hated it even more when your fingers tightened instinctively against his shirt.
The kiss lasted only seconds.
But when Carlos finally pulled away, both of you were breathing differently.
His forehead nearly brushed yours as he looked down at you, eyes darker now, satisfied in a way that immediately infuriated you.
And despite everything, you were still there, holding onto him tightly
Carlos glanced downward briefly before smirking faintly.
“My knees haven’t buckled yet,” you whispered breathlessly.
His smile widened slowly. But this time, he said nothing.
The silence between you suddenly became unbearable.
You stepped away from him almost immediately, pulse still racing violently beneath your skin. Your trembling hands moved quickly to fix your hair, smoothing it back into place with hurried movements before adjusting the fabric of your blouse like you could somehow erase what had just happened from your body.
Carlos watched quietly the entire time.
That alone made you ashamed enough to avoid looking at him altogether.
You turned around too quickly, nearly dropping half of your papers in the process, but neither of you acknowledged it
And without another word you walked out of the room.
note// i had SO many problems trying to post this one, so i really really hope you enjoy it
i was gonna post chapter 3 of Room 217 rn but i just can’t copy it from my notes app to here and there’s literally no way i’m typing all that again soo ig i’ll post it once i figure that out
— And there’s no comin’ back from the place that you came
For most of your life your routine saved you from the chaotic days you had to go through since you were a kid, that had meant one very simple thing:
Everything remained exactly where it belonged.
Your mornings belonged to your family, your afternoons belonged to your responsibilities, your evenings belonged to the country club, your friends, your boyfriend, your routine.
Nothing unpredictable ever truly entered your life, at least not permanently. You liked to live that way, you liked knowing what was coming next.
And yet, over the course of a few short weeks, Carlos Alcaraz had somehow managed to insert himself into nearly every part of your carefully structured existence.
Carlos didn’t consider himself someone who overthought things. He had always moved through the world effortlessly.
Or at least, that was what he told himself.
Because lately, there had been something he couldn’t quite categorize, it wasn’t dramatic or even particularly important, it was just persistent.
You.
Actually, it wasn’t you, it was the way you seemed to exist completely outside of the rhythm he was used to.
Most people adjusted when he entered a room, even subtly. A shift in attention, a change in tone, something that acknowledged him without him having to ask for it, but you didn’t.
He was used to people doing everything to be closer to him, people usually went out of their way to be liked by him.
But with you, if anything, it felt like the opposite.
Like you had already decided what he was long before he had ever spoken to you, and that should have been easy enough to dismiss.
People formed opinions quickly. Especially about him, he was used to that.
But what made it slightly more annoying about your opinion on him was the consistency of it. It didn’t change. Not when he spoke to you directly, not when he made an effort to be polite. Even when he wasn’t trying at all you seemed to be irritated by his existence
Carlos replayed the last few days in his head without meaning to, recalling how you’d correct him in meetings, how you’d refuse to laugh at anything he said, the dirty look you’d give your friends when they talked to him, the way your face would drop slightly when he walked into a room.
But what he remembered most was you looking at him like he was something already classified.
He frowned slightly at the thought, it wasn’t that he cared what you thought of him. He didn’t, he never had, and people’s opinions were easy to shift.
The thing was, you didn’t seem interested in letting him change your mind. It was ridiculous, really, because there was nothing particularly special about you. You were just another person in a long list of people who thought they understood him without actually trying.
And yet, for some reason he couldn’t quite name, you were the only one who didn’t feel like part of that list, for some reason he couldn’t quite name he started to grow the habit of trying to change your mind, so he was always there
At nine in the morning, there would be a text message waiting for you complaining about the sponsor list.
At lunch, Orson would casually mention having run into Carlos at the club bar the night before, usually accompanied by a story you did not want to hear.
By afternoon, he would appear beside your table during committee meetings wearing expensive linen shirts, expensive watches, strong cologne and that same insufferably relaxed expression of someone who had never once worried about a thing in his entire life.
For reasons you couldn’t explain, even outside the gala preparations, he was suddenly everywhere.
Playing polo with his equally insufferable friends while women watched from the terrace.
Laughing too loudly near the tennis courts.
Showing up late to dinners at the club only to immediately become the center of attention
On a friday, when you were on your way out of the country club, you decided to cut across the tennis courts instead of taking the main path to the parking lot. It was faster, that was the only reason.
One of the courts was occupied, the sharp sound of a ball hitting a racket cutting through the quiet rhythm of the club.
You were halfway past when you noticed him.
Carlos. Again
White polo shirt slightly damp at the collar, black shorts pushed up at his thighs, moving with an ease that looked almost unfair. He wasn’t even trying particularly hard, he was just playing, like everything came naturally to him.
You slowed down without meaning to, he caught the next ball effortlessly, then, without looking away from the court, he spoke “You always walk like that?”
The question was clearly not directed at his opponent.
You frowned “I walk normally.”
“If you say so…”
You stopped near the edge of the court, arms crossing slowly, Carlos finally turned his head just enough to look at you, a small grin forming “You look like you’re about to fire someone”
“I might.”
“From tennis?”
“You should work on your serve”
His opponent laughed. Carlos did too.
And for some reason, the sound felt less irritating than it should have.
He served again, completely unfazed.
Fault
“You’re leaving early,” he said, this time more clearly directed at you.
“I have a date with my boyfriend”
“sounds life fun”
You narrowed your eyes “It is”
Carlos expression softened now, like he had caught something small “You’re defensive today.”
“I’m always like this.”
he hummed. “I know”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t leave immediately. Finding the situation oddly entertaining. Carlos hit the ball again, fault, again, then glanced over mid play.
“You’re distracting me.”
“I’m standing still.”
“Exactly.”
You watched him for a second longer than you intended. Then, with a small breath you would never admit was almost a laugh, you turned away.
“try not to lose” you said from a small distance
“I don’t know what that is” he chuckled before returning to the match
Carlos moved through the world with the confidence of someone who had always been adored.
Because despite his arrogance, despite the irresponsibility, despite the rumors and the endless flirtations, people still gravitated toward him naturally.
Especially women, which only made your dislike for him stronger.
The following weeks settled into a routine that neither of you seemed capable of escaping.
One afternoon, he arrived nearly forty minutes late carrying coffee for everyone at the table as though that somehow excused his absence.
“You can’t keep buying your way out of being irresponsible” you told him coldly as he took a seat beside you
Carlos placed a cup in front of you anyway.
Your eyes dropped toward the cup sitting in front of you.
Tea.
Exactly the kind you always drank.
Your expression hardened immediately. Was it some kind of joke? had he put salt in it instead of sugar just to make fun of you or something?
“I don’t want it” you shot back sharply, pushing the cup away with your hand, lips pressed into a thin line
“Why not? you always get this one” he tried to look amused, hiding the slight disappointment at your immediate rejection
You stared at him.
He smiled innocently.
You hated how often he smiled around you now, you were starting to feel he enjoyed your irritation.
As though making you break composure had quietly become his favorite hobby.
And perhaps even more concerning was that a part of you was beginning to suspect that your reactions had become your own form of attention toward him
Because for some reason you had to remind yourself not to smile when you noticed he got coffee for everyone else but you, you had to remind yourself not to apologize after rejecting the cup of tea.
You couldn’t let him buy you the way he bought everyone else, you knew Carlos Alcaraz too well to allow him to do that.
For the first time in weeks, Carlos did not immediately answer back. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, glancing once at the untouched cup of tea before grabbing his own coffee.
The atmosphere at the table shifted slightly after that. Uncomfortably. The conversations became stiff, overly formal, strictly focused on the fundraiser for everyone’s sake.
Normally, Carlos would have made another joke by then. Instead, he stayed quiet throughout the entire meeting, unusually quiet.
And somehow, that bothered you more.
You adjusted the papers in front of you before leaving the room, and almost immediately, Carlos followed after you.
“I didn’t poison it, by the way,” he said quickly once he caught up to you.
You kept walking, eyes fixed ahead “I never said you did.”
“No,” he replied lightly. “You just looked at the cup like I was trying to kill you.”
You finally looked at him then. And for once, there was no teasing grin waiting on his face.
Just curiosity “Do you really think I’m that bad?”
The question should have sounded arrogant.
Instead, it sounded strangely genuine. “Yes”you answered flatly.
Carlos let out a short laugh through his nose, lowering his gaze briefly “Wow.”
“You asked.”
“I know.” He nodded once before glancing back at you. “Can I ask why?”
Oddly enough, that made things worse, if Carlos had laughed it off, you would have known exactly how to respond. But this version of him felt unfamiliar, as though, for once, he actually cared about what you thought.
The realization unsettled you immediately.
So naturally, you did what you always did whenever something unsettled you.
You became colder.
“I just don’t think you’re someone worth interacting with, Carlos,” you replied dryly. “You’re self centered, you never take anything seriously, and you can’t speak to a woman for more than two seconds without flirting with her.”
Carlos studied you for a second longer than necessary. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted again “I’ve never flirted with you” he pointed out smugly.
You opened your mouth to reply, but closed it again almost immediately, after a short breath, you continued walking. “You should worry about your responsibilities, Carlos, not about my opinion of you.”
He watched you walk farther down the hallway, confusion written clearly across his face.
Because Carlos genuinely could not remember ever doing anything to make you hate him this much.
And then he noticed your hand.
You picked up the tea. Not to drink it, just to hold it. The warmth felt comforting against your palms, and besides, it would have been wasteful to leave it behind untouched.
Unfortunately for you, Carlos noticed, like always.
The following days felt strangely different after that conversation, slightly, just enough for you to notice. It was almost the same, Carlos still arrived late to meetings, and interrupted serious conversations with unnecessary comments. He still carried himself with the irritating confidence of someone who had never once been told no in his life.
But now there were moments where he simply looked at you for too long, as though trying to figure something out.
And annoyingly, you had started noticing it immediately.
One evening, nearly everyone had already left the country club by the time the two of you finished organizing the final auction list.
The terrace outside had gone quiet hours ago, the only remaining sounds coming from distant music near the bar and the occasional clink of glasses from the staff cleaning up.
You closed your folder with a tired sigh “We’re done,” you announced.
Carlos looked up from his chair across from you “You sound disappointed.”
You looked at him amused “You wish… I’m just exhausted.”
“You always look exhausted.”
You ignored that.
Gathering your papers carefully, you stood from the table and reached for the box sitting beside the chair. Unfortunately, the thing was considerably heavier than expected.
The moment you lifted it, the bottom shifted slightly in your hands.
Carlos stood immediately “Careful.”
“I can manage.”
But before you could argue again, he stepped closer and grabbed the other side of the box effortlessly.
Your hands brushed for barely a second. you froze, it wasn’t enough for anyone else to notice. But Carlos did, like always.
The two of you carried the box through the hallway in silence, too close if someone asked you, close enough for you to notice the expensive cologne lingering on his shirt and feel his breath hitting your side
You hated how aware of him you suddenly felt.
And perhaps even worse, Carlos seemed aware of it too.
“You know,” he said eventually, voice quieter than usual, “for someone who claims to hate me, you spend a surprising amount of time alone with me.”
You kept your eyes forward.
“This is for the fundraiser.”
“Sure.”
“It is.”
Carlos glanced sideways at you “You always get defensive when you’re nervous.”
That made you stop walking immediately “I am not nervous.”
He smiled slightly, again that smile, almost soft, almost nice “You know what I think?” he asked quietly.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me regardless.”
“I think you decided who I was years ago,” he continued “and now you don’t know what to do with the fact that maybe you were wrong.”
Your grip tightened slightly around the box, because you hated that maybe, just maybe, he was right, and a small part of you had started wondering the exact same thing
That night, long after the house had finally gone quiet, you found yourself thinking about Carlos Alcaraz far more than you wanted to.
Which was irritating enough on its own. You replayed the conversation in your head while removing your jewelry in front of the bathroom mirror.
The way he had looked at you.
The way his voice had softened slightly when he asked if you truly thought he was that terrible.
And worst of all, the fact that, for a brief moment, he had almost sounded hurt. You hated that.
Because it complicated things, and Carlos was not supposed to be complicated. He was supposed to be exactly what you had always believed him to be, careless, arrogant, selfish, charming in the worst way possible. A man who flirted too much, promised too much, and took nothing seriously. That version of him was easy to dislike.
But recently, small things had started unsettling that image. The fact that beneath all the arrogance, there were moments where he looked oddly sincere, and perhaps what bothered you most was that you had started noticing those moments at all.
You sat slowly at the edge of your bed, letting out a tired breath.
Then, inevitably, your mind drifted toward Susan.
You remembered the nights she had cried in your living room after another argument, and the countless times she defended him only to end up disappointed again, you remember the humiliation of watching everyone know Carlos had slept with another woman before Susan did. And you can’t forget how angry it had made you back then. How protective.
And maybe that was the real problem, because disliking Carlos had stopped feeling like an opinion a long time ago. It was loyalty.
A silent promise you had made to your friend years ago, whether Susan realized it or not. A promise that for some reason none of your other friends made, not even Susan. You never understood why. But now, every small moment that challenged your perception of him felt strangely close to betrayal.
So no, you refused to reconsider Carlos Alcaraz. You refused to see anything beyond the version of him you had already decided existed. It was easier that way. Safer.
At least, that was what you told yourself before going to sleep.
note// i can’t believe i’ve posted like three times already this month, now i’ll disappear for a year
note2// remember english isn’t my first language, hope you enjoy ;))
