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vamossainz55 · 2 years

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The Fight (Carlos Sainz Jr. x Reader) - Part 1

a/n: hey everybody!! so this was requested by anon (as seen above). i did not fully follow the req as the fight wasn't before leaving the GP but the GP is thrown there somewhere. i actually really liked the prompt since its a bit more challenging and i rarely ever write angsty. i have divided it into two parts, so part 2 coming soon! (@ anon pls send another request for part 2 if you want a notif and i will reply to that, but if not i will tag part 2 here). i hope you enjoy bc i had a lot of fun writing this one. hoping to have part 2 up next week! excited to watch zandvoort this weekend, gutted to be in NL and not be able to see it in person. THE FACT THAT I AM MISSING OUT ON SEEING CARLOS IN PERSON? ON HIS BDAY WEEKEND? robbed. very vamossainz55phobic. anyways.. you didn't hear it from me but putting out a danny ric req out soon <3

summary: carlos and you fight for the first time. it doesn't end well.

tw: dickhead carlos, swearing, and honestly kinda sad? it will get better part 2 tho.

enjoy <3<3<3

The Fight (3.2k words) - part 1

The thing is, you didn’t expect it to be this hard when it started. Looking back though, you should've seen it coming.

It had already been five months since you started dating Carlos and the five months felt both like five minutes and five years. It was crazy how fast time had passed since you had met him and although five months wasn’t that long, you really did feel like you had known him for forever. The memory of you two meeting still made you both laugh because of how random it had been.

You had been visiting Singapore with some of your friends, around the same time as the Singapore GP, and sure you knew a bit about F1 but not much apart from the basics. You had followed the sport a bit with your dad when you were younger, so you were pretty familiar with the classic names of Lewis Hamilton, Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, but you had no clue about any of the new and younger drivers.

The only thing you knew now about F1 was that it was driving you crazy. Every single area in Singapore was crowded, from clubs, to touristy destinations, to restaurants. You had scattered around the city trying your best to get some peace and quiet but the flood of F1 fans practically made it impossible. It’s not like you didn’t want them having fun, but it was frustrating you that it was at the expense of your own vacation.

To top it all off, it had been rumored that several of the drivers were staying at your hotel which made it practically impossible to get in without being tagged as a fan trying to crash the hotel.

You quietly waited for the elevator, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked at the numbers slowly switching. You were tired and frustrated, having had to argue with the security once again, trying to remind him that you had been staying in the hotel a good two days before the F1 drivers had arrived. Your friends had decided to go out to a club that evening but you were too tired to tag along so there you were, ready to go to bed and sleep in the next morning.

You hear footsteps coming towards you, assuming that another guest was trying to get to their room too so you give them a quick smile before looking back at the elevator doors. You don’t even realize how frustrated you look with your arms crossed against your chest and your foot gently tapping the floor. You only snap out of it when you hear the stranger speak up.

“Rough day?” He asks, and you can’t help but give him a brief glance, seeing that he was by himself. You also don’t miss that he was kind of attractive. He had big doe eyes and thick lips along with a nice stubble.

“Do I look that annoyed?” You ask him, and you notice the slight concern in his eyes and you can’t help but let out a light hearted laugh. “It’s really not that deep,” You say, shaking your head. “This whole Formula One thing has just been a bit of a nuisance.” You explain, taking another glance at him.

You look over at him a bit and notice that he is wearing gym attire from top to bottom and a backward facing cap on his head to hide his hair. “Sorry, are you a fan? Like are you here for the race?” You ask and there is a clear apologetic look on your face.

This makes the stranger laugh and you can’t help but furrow your brows. “Yeah- You could say I am here for the race, but don’t worry, I get what you mean. It’s a bit too much sometimes, yeah?” He chuckles just as the elevator door rings. You nod along as you both go inside and you follow along with the conversation when he asks you for any recommendations.

And that’s how you had met Carlos. You had ranted to him all the way up the elevator, and he had listened and nodded, still wearing an amused smile on his face. “Trust me I like Formula One, I get it, it's fun, but I wanted to enjoy my holiday without a crowd.” You remember telling him and the poor guy had just nodded along. It was only the next day when you were leaving with your friends for brunch that you had spotted him again, still no clue of his name.

He was wearing a red shirt- or what looked like a jersey, black pants, and he was sporting the same cap as the night before, this time facing forward. The black horse with the yellow emblem with the logo being clear as daylight. As soon as he spotted you he walked over, giving you a small wave.

You look over his outfit the closer he gets and your eyes slightly drift to the people he was with and although you first thought they were fans it was loud and clear that it was a team. By the time he comes up to you you’re flushed red, completely embarrassed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you worked for the team? I am so sorry. Oh my god.” You blurt out as soon as he’s near enough and the cackle he lets out only makes your face burn more.

“Hey, I told you I came for the race. It’s not my fault you didn’t ask if I was racing or not,” He says with a grin before looking over at your friends and giving them a smile.

“Excuse me? You’re racing?” You ask already covering your face. “I am so sorry, seriously. It’s cool that you do all of this.” You try your best to cover up. From your conversation from the night before you were sure he wasn’t offended but what he says next completely takes you by surprise.

“I mean, you could make it up to me by giving me your number?” He offers with a smile. His tongue is poking out slightly between his lips and you find yourself blushing for a completely different reason. He’s taking out his phone to hand it to you, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. You look at him stunned before your eyes drop to his phone. “I need to give F1 a better rep, you know?” He says before moving his phone closer to you. You take his phone before putting your number in before the others are calling for him and before you properly catch his name he is already running off.

You had chatted a bit the first few months but because of Carlos’ schedule you both did not get to properly start seeing each other until the end of the season. But here you were, seven months later and you both had been properly together for almost five months. The Christmas holiday and pre-season was easy, both of you managing to find time with each other. Luckily you were also living in Spain, having secured a job there a little over a year ago, and it was a dream really. You both indulged in each other’s time and got to know each other quite well. It was all perfect until the next season had started.

It was fine at first, the first few races were fun, and it was thrilling to see your boyfriend on TV, but after the first few races you realized the excitement of seeing him on TV stopped outweighing the slight pang in your chest from him not being next to you.

The tension had been building the first few races of the season, and you both knew it. Carlos was starting to get stressed, it was his second year in Ferrari and the pressure had grown tenfold. You tried your best to also be there for him, but as the season progressed you were beginning to feel like every single race was pushing you guys another step further from each other.

Carlos had just ended his streak of finished races, DNFing in Australia, and as hard as you tried to be there to support him there was only so much you could do through the phone. You kept on telling yourself that it was going to be okay though, you were going to see him for the next race. After some heavy planning and insisting, your manager had finally given you a green light. You had contacted Charles for some help, wanting to surprise your boyfriend and luckily the Monegasque driver had sent you a thumbs up with the photo of your printed out lanyard.

You had arrived at the hotel the Thursday night, tired but excited to see Carlos after not seeing him for a little over a month. The lanyard was hanging over your neck, Charles having snuck to the lobby to hand it to you. You knock the door nervously, holding the handle of your luggage. There is a faint sound of shuffling before the door opens and you smile widely once you see Carlos. He looks tired and sleepy, his feathery hair fuzzed out, your heart grows two sizes at the sight of him.

“Surprise,” You say softly with a smile, looking over his face for a reaction. His eyes widen for a bit before a smile is pulling at his lips.

“No way. What?” He asks before he’s pulling you into a hug. You tuck your head easily under his chin. You wrap your arm around his waist and nuzzle your face into his chest. “What are you doing here?” Carlos asks, slowly pulling away to look at you. He barely gives you a moment to look at him before he’s kissing you.

“God, I did not expect to see you,” He breathes out, beginning to pull you in the room. You drag your luggage in with you, letting go of it only once you’re inside. Carlos shuts the door before he is kissing you again, this time trailing kisses down your neck. You let out a soft sigh, holding onto his arms.

“Wanted to surprise you,” You say softly, smiling once Carlos pulls away. He gently squeezes your waist before pecking your lips again.

“Well you did,” He says smiling. For a moment you thought everything was fine, but the rest of the weekend proved otherwise.

Friday was rough. You were excited that your first race weekend watching Carlos in person followed the sprint format, you were going to watch him in two races over the weekend and you honestly could not wait to see him drive his heart out. You lingered around for a bit around the paddock in the morning, getting to meet a few other drivers and their girlfriends, and it was nice. Practice was intense, and although Carlos did not top the chart your heart still swole to see him up there.

Qualifying was a different story though, you could feel the tension to a point where it was almost nauseating and you could feel your own nerves crawl up your throat. Q1 looked good, and Q2 was looking promising. Up until you saw a yellow flag flashing across the screen and the team in the garage groan. The moment you realized Carlos had crashed you felt your heart sink. It was clear that he was okay, but you already knew he had been stressed from the previous race. You nervously pinched your bottom lip, stopping yourself from wanting to just walk to the track to go to Carlos yourself no matter how long it would take.

Instead you waited patiently, standing in the back of the garage as the screen flashed Carlos getting out of the car. You let out a deep breath, deciding to calm yourself down before Carlos saw you.

When he came back to the garage you let out a breath of relief, just glad to be able to see him. You wait for him to go around the garage, apologizing to the team. Once he had done a round around the garage you see him walk towards you. You give him a small smile, ready to go for a hug but his words practically push you back.

“You should head back to the hotel yeah?” He asks, not even looking you in the eye. You frown at this and shake your head.

“No it’s fine, I can stay.” You say, knowing that he probably would have a long debrief that evening. “I don’t mind.” You promise, but you’re met with a cold response.

“Just head back yeah?” He says before he’s turning his back to you to go to the pitwall. You chew the inside of your cheek, watching him walk off. The last thing you wanted was to make a scene in front of his team.

Call it stubborn but you wait until qualifying is over, you loiter around the garage, and then wait in the hospitality room. You don’t mind really, you just wanted to be there for Carlos. You hadn’t seen him since he had headed to the meeting room to talk, and five hours later you catch him walking with the rest of the team to another room. You give him a soft smile before resting your chin on your hand.

It’s almost a whole five minutes later when you get a text.

‘Go to the hotel y/n. I’ll see you there.’

That time you chose to listen.

You fall asleep before Carlos gets back, both physically and emotionally exhausted from the day so the next time you talk to Carlos is when you’re both up to get ready to go for free practice 2 and the sprint race.

The car ride is a bit silent again and you rest your head against the window as you watch the cars pass by. “How are you feeling about the qualifying?” You ask after a bit, finally mustering the courage to ask for it.

Carlos shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses. “It happened, it was a mistake but it’s okay, we have the sprint to fix it.” Carlos says and you give him a small smile.

“Yeah, yeah. I can’t wait to see you drive today. It’s not a full race but its the first time I’ll see you race in person.” You smile. Carlos glances over you with a smile before reaching to give your knee a squeeze.

“I’m glad you’re here.” He promises.

The spint makes things better. Carlos manages to climb up from P10 to P4 and the moment he comes back to the garage you are engulfed in a tight hug.

“That was amazing!” You say, smiling from ear to ear. He lets out a soft laugh.

“Could do better but I will definitely be taking P4. after yesterday” He chuckles before giving you a quick peck.

The evening is a bit nicer this time, you decide to go to the hotel first, a bit grateful that Carlos had given you a rough estimate of when he was going to get back. You wait for him, ready to order room service but when he arrives he’s holding a bag of take out for you along with his own meal prep.

You both talked over dinner, and although today was better there was a little voice in the back of your head, nagging a bit about the night before, but you decided to bite your tongue back. That was a problem for another day. Unfortunately though, Sunday decided otherwise.

One thing was to see Carlos crash during Q2, but another thing was to see him end a race before it even started. When you spotted Carlos’ and Daniel’s collision you physically had to hold back a scream, balling up your fist in frustration. By the time Carlos got into the garage the tension was airtight. Nobody thought it was Carlos’ fault, but that didn’t mean the frustration wasn’t there.

“Just go home,” Carlos murmurs once he gets to you, after making his second round of apologies that weekend. You look over at him and shake your head.

“I don’t mind waiting here today. I have nothing to do in the hotel anyways Carlos,” You say, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay,” You say but Carlos is soon pulling his hand away.

“I don’t mean the hotel. I mean you can go home if you want to.” Carlos says and your face instantly falls.

“What?” You ask and he’s walking to the back to his driver's room and you follow behind him. “Why would you even offer that?” You ask, shutting the door behind you once you’re both inside.

“Look, I just, I think you should go home. It doesn’t make sense for you to stay.” Carlos says, looking at his hands.

“Why wouldn’t it make sense for me to stay? I want to be there for you Carlos.” You say, looking over him incredulously. “That’s the whole reason I’m here, I want to support you.” You’re trying to find his eyes but he can’t bring himself to look at you.

“I don’t need your support y/n. I’m fine.” He says and you know it’s his emotions talking but the words sink into your chest.

“But we still had our plan for tomorrow and Tuesday still, Charles told me he booked you for those days so I could have some extra time for the race.” You murmur.

“I don’t have time for that y/n. I need to train and work on the car and talk to engineers. We need to prepare for Miami.” He says, slowly unzipping his suit.

“Carlos, Miami is in 2 weeks. I know you’re upset but you don’t need to be unreasonable.” You say, starting to feel frustrated. You had tried your best to meet Carlos half way the whole weekend but at this point it felt like you were grasping at straws.

“I’m not upset y/n. I told you I’m fine.” He says, back facing you.

“You’ve been upset since Australia. I have been trying to seriously talk to you about this. You barely tell me anything through the phone and I was hoping being here in person would help you open up. Carlos, you need to tell me how you’re feeling. How many times do I need to tell you this?” You ask, finally getting some edge in your voice. The frustration had been building for weeks from all the worrying you had done and you were sick of holding it back.

“How many times do I need to tell you y/n. I’m fine.” He says and his back is still facing you, and you never thought you would hate seeing the number 55 in front of your face ever.

“Then look at me when you say that.” You snap. There’s a lull of silence and you go to say something but Carlos cuts you off before you can.

“I didn’t ask you to come here for the race.” He says and this time the words cut a whole through your chest.

“Seriously?” You murmur, still only facing his back. You give him time to answer and every second only makes the hole in your chest bigger.

He finally turns around after what feels like hours, giving you a nod.

“I need to go to the pitwall.” He says, and if there is regret on his face you can’t see it since he’s already walking past you and opening the door. You feel tears well up in your eyes and you can’t bring yourself to turn around.

By the time he gets back to the hotel the only thing left there is his suitcase and your lanyard hanging on the coat rack.

fin.

part 2 linked here

a/n: very angsty and carlos is a dickhead but part 2 is coming !! let me know if you want to be tagged in the comments (or if you want to be tagged in my general f1 taglist <3

f1 taglist: @sgkophie

interested in reading more? here's my masterlist

#vamossainz55 reqs #carlos sainz junior #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #cs55 #f1 x reader #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x you #carlos sainz jr #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #angs #fight

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mahixa · 2 years

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sometimes I imagine the drivers and them being nervous before meeting each other, like properly. Of course they've must have heard about each other or at least seen each other somewhere, if not on live television then on the Internet or simply on track, but... imagine Charles' heart rate before meeting Sebastian, the four time world champion, for the first time. Should he shake his hand? High five him? Nod at him? And then imagine Sebastian's reaction, in the room, waiting for Charles to join them for the meeting. He's heard how bloody talented this kid is. Is he coming for his throne? What's up with that? And then imagine Lando's first year in F1, and yeah, sure, he had worked with McLaren before signing with the team, but he's never met Carlos properly. A bunch of awkward, teenage crush tweets that Carlos never responded too - that's all he has. And now they're gonna bs teammates. With the Carlos Sainz. And Carlos? Think of him, actually being quite nervous, because no team has ever truly respected him or wanted him, and here he is against a younger guy who knows the team already. Can they even become good mates? Will he be thrown away just like always? And then think about Max, who is about to join Red Bull with Daniel. Of course he's met Daniel before, it's impossible not to bump into this ball of energy if you are on the paddock, but that was never a proper meeting. No real conversation. And everyone talks how good Daniel is and Max knows it well. And he is so... loud. And he touches everyone. And Max is not that. Can he deal with that? And what about Daniel? He knows about Max's accomplishments, he knows he's already better than when Daniel was his age. But he looks like fun. He's sure he can become friends with him. And then we have Lewis and Nico. They know each other so well, probably the best out of all the future teammates in the history of Formula 1. The fact that their childhood dream of driving for the same team is coming true - it is a miracle. They couldn't be happier. It's only them, together, in the same team. So they hug and smile. Nothing can ruin this. Everything will be good. Right?

#uh oh #go figure :(

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lfcrobbo · 2 years

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✨⭐️🌟🥰

susan my love!!! uhhh okay, here is. a director's commentary for a section from chapter five of here comes the sun, also known as danny ric's big bday bash, also also known as that bit with lewis in it (under a read more because it got uhh, a bit long):

“Your boy looks like he’s enjoying himself,” Lewis says, snapping Seb's attention back to him. [i think this was the line that inspired the entire lewis/seb convo that follows. like i don't remember why or how i thought of it, but i can hear lewis saying this sooo clearly, and there's something so. funny to me about this off-hand comment accidentally striking a nerve with seb]

Panic quickly rises in Seb’s stomach as his eyes widen. “He’s not my-” he gets out quickly, and then abruptly stops himself as soon as he realizes that Lewis hadn’t meant it like that. [actually, maybe it's more accurate to say that this is what made me have to write this scene. LOVE seb's little panic, thinking he's been caught out. i struggled a bit with describing it like how i saw it in my head. i always think scenes/interactions/interruptions that are supposed to happen quickly are difficult to write, for some reason. i really wanted it to come across that this was just- a gut reaction from seb. no thinking, just- he's been so worried, so stressed about the charles situation, hasn't talked about it with anyone, has tried his best to ignore it (has not been doing a very good job of ignoring it lol) and then lewis calls charles his boy and it's like. he is NOT my boy who told you that????? anyways. love thinking about seb's expression of pure panic during this.]

Lewis squints at him and tilts his head. “Bro, what was that about?” he asks, an amused smile playing on his lips. [lewis also finds seb's expression of pure panic is amusing]

“Nothing,” Seb mutters before downing the rest of his drink. He lets his eyes wander across the room, but decidedly does not look back in the direction of Pierre, Yuki and Charles.

He should get out of here, probably. He should leave, and then he can pretend like this never happened at all. He's stayed long enough, he can probably leave without anyone except for Lewis noticing. Lewis, who is still looking at him as if he’s a particularly amusing puzzle that he’s trying to crack. [oh lewis is so intrigued. obviously has NO idea what's going on, but knows seb well enough to tell that there's something. genuinely thinks it's just some ferrari drama, wants to be let in (and maybe also be there for seb a little bit). also i think lewis MISSES seb, like. i think it's fun for him to get to try and dig this out of him]

“Sebastian,” Lewis says, low and deliberate, “what’s going on right now?”

“Nothing,” Seb says again, quickly. “It’s- nothing is going on.” He clears his throat, and checks his watch for show. “It's getting late. I should get going.” [as i establish later, seb is a terrible liar. maybe not to everyone, but i think when it's with someone that he knows and generally trusts, it gets harder to lie convincingly]

Lewis’ hand comes out to rest on his shoulder to stop him from moving away. “No way,” he says, and he’s looking far too amused for Seb’s liking. He looks around quickly, and seems to spot something further away. “Wait here,” he says to Seb, before moving and leaving Seb alone.

Seb should definitely leave now, and he’s going to, he is. But just then he spots Charles in the crowd again.

Pierre and Yuki have stopped their circus antics, and the three of them are now standing in a semicircle with Carlos and Lando. Carlos is clearly in the middle of a very passionate story, because his hands are gesturing wildly, and Yuki in particular seems to be hanging on to every word.

Charles, though, is looking directly at Sebastian. [OKAY this is what. i actually wanted to talk about. as charles mentions later, he's seen seb talking to lewis here. i didn't. want to make it too obvious because, this is seb's pov and i don't think he actually picks up on it, but charles here is feeling. inexplicably jealous. he's seen seb with lewis SOOO many times. but now, after their kiss, he's seeing seb in a brand new light and he's like wait. they're always so close. also obviously charles has been obsessing over seb for weeks now, thinks that it's his fault that seb is weird around him. and then he sees seb talking to lewis and he's NOT weird around him and it stings a little (he doesn't know, obviously, that right now seb IS being a little weird around lewis). and uhh yeah.]

When their eyes meet, Charles’ lips curl up into a small, almost shy smile as he lifts his hand in a discreet wave. Seb smiles back, a tight lipped one, and nods to acknowledge him. He watches as Charles turns to say something directly into Pierre's ear. [actually, before this, like maybe at the start of the summer break, i think charles told pierre about the kiss. this was something i considered mentioning in the last chapter, but ultimately didn't find a good place to put it. charles is definitely working up the courage to go and talk to seb now, telling pierre that he's gonna do it, to maybe cover for him with the rest of the gang. he does end up having mostly the same conversation he was planning when they walk home together later.]

“Alright, come with me!”

Seb turns again to see Lewis coming back up to him, carrying a bottle of champagne.

“Where are we going?” Seb asks, brows furrowed.

“Outside,” Lewis says, sounding impatient.

Sebastian considers refusing; or following him outside and then leaving instead. But he sees the look on Lewis’ face, and he knows that it means he’s not getting out of here before Lewis gets what he wants. It’s the same determination he saw on his face after Max won the 2021 season, the one that told him Max wouldn’t be a two time consecutive world champion just yet. So he lets himself be led through the crowd and out into the night air. [including this just to mention that i did write this scene a LONG time before the end of the season and did in fact #predict maks winning the championship... but for this to be fully accurate, lewis needs to win 2022 so🙏🙏🙏 here's to me receiving the gift of phrophecy🙏]

#willasferreyra #ask #you were only waiting #director's commentary

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alstonmilton · 3 years

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awesomebrazilianprincess · 7 years

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It's Neymar's Time to Complete His Rise to Royalty

If Cristiano Ronaldo or Lionel Messi has anything in common with Crash Davis—if there’s any sort of cultural crossover between the archetypes of global sports glitz and minor league baseball grime—it’ll show itself when the tape recorder starts rolling. That’s when the icons in their posh private jets heed the wisdom Davis imparted on a bumpy bus, whether they’ve seen Bull Durham or not. “You’re gonna have to learn your clichés,” Crash says in the 1988 classic. “They’re your friends.”

The galácticos have little choice but to follow this advice. Combine the fanaticism surrounding global soccer with the minimal access afforded the media covering it, and you have an environment where every crumb becomes content, where innuendo is louder than insight, where the tiniest spark can become a bombshell. In short: The less said the better; be safe, not sorry. So it’s significant, then, that in the middle of what should be the most relaxing summer of his adult life, Neymar da Silva Santos Jr. is willing to let you in, share his concerns and maybe even make a headline. He can’t hide from who he is, nor from the momentous, legacy-defining season to come.

The quiet but charismatic 25-year-old Brazilian forward has never won a World Cup. He has never been named FIFA’s player of the year. And if he remains at FC Barcelona (which was up in the air as of Monday; if he’s not in Paris a week from now, it will be a surprise), he will have to wait a bit longer until he’s even considered his own team’s centerpiece. But he’s universally deemed soccer’s best player after Ronaldo and Messi, and he’s beloved in a way that neither of them ever will be. And a big reason for that is his indifference to the Book of Crash.

Neymar can’t fake it. He’s not packaged, and he’s not a product—and as a result, he sells lots of them: Nike, Gillette, Panasonic, Beats by Dre. In 2013 he was named the most marketable athlete in the world by SportsPro and Eurosport. In January he was ranked the most valuable player on the European transfer market by Switzerland’s CIES Football Observatory. And in April he was the only footballer on TIME’s list of the world’s 100 most influential people. (“I’ve always been struck by his humility,” David Beckham wrote for TIME. “He’s respectful and wants to learn...He lives to play the game, and I imagine he approaches it now the same way he did as a boy.”)

Neymar says he can’t explain his inclusion on that list—and then he tries to do just that: “Maybe because I’m an athlete or maybe because I do a lot of things on social media. But I don’t know. I don’t like to talk about myself. I try to be a good role model for my son, my family, my friends, and then I try to be a good role model for the rest of the people, too. ... I try to be myself without being anything different. I’m only one Neymar—for my family, for the public. I’m always the same person.”

When Neymar acknowledges that, yes, the next 12 months, climaxing with the World Cup in Russia, will probably be “the toughest season of my life,” he believes it. The world will read those words and discuss and dissect them, and then they’ll become even more true. The spotlight is about to get even brighter, and Neymar, who’s been soccer’s next big thing for nearly a decade, will have to confront his destiny.

This was Neymar’s first summer without a national-team commitment since 2010, when his exclusion from Brazil’s ill-fated World Cup squad caused an uproar at home. Brazil has already qualified for Russia, so he’s had the chance to indulge. He hit Oracle Arena for Game 2 of the NBA Finals, sitting courtside with Formula 1 champion Lewis Hamilton and posing afterward with Odell Beckham Jr. and Kevin Durant. Neymar wasn’t at all concerned about whether the Warriors’ megastar was a fan; this was no ego trip. “I don’t know if he’s seen me play,” Neymar told SI, “but I had the pleasure to meet him.”

In another photo the 5' 9" Brazilian stood on a chair and playfully lorded over 6' 7" Draymond Green. Neymar enjoys being around famous and accomplished people—he reunited with Green in Ibiza last month—not because of how it reflects on him but because he’s a fan, genuinely in awe of what they can do.

In the last year he performed a short, silly scene in which he juggles a napkin holder in Vin Diesel’s most recent Xander Cage movie—a role only for the athlete who doesn’t take himself too seriously—and kicked a ball across Hollywood Boulevard on Jimmy Kimmel Live! He’s joined musicians onstage, singing and dancing at concerts back home.

Neymar has a piano at his house in Spain—it was there when he moved in, he says, and he has been teaching himself to play with YouTube videos—but at an L.A. photo shoot for this story it takes some convincing to get the man watched by tens of millions every weekend to tap out even a simple a tune on a rented grand. He sits, gets up and wanders a bit before settling back in. Songs are suggested. How about Barcelona’s club anthem, “El Cant del Barça”? A Nike marketing rep asks that the studio’s ambient music be turned up, not down, so Neymar might feel a bit less scrutinized. He’s not an action figure to be played with. He’s human; he gets nervous. He says he felt it when he met Michael Jordan in Las Vegas and when he lined up to take what would be the winning penalty kick in the Olympic gold medal game last summer in Rio. Before the confidence bubbled up at the penalty spot, he admits, he endured the “worst sensation—all of the responsibility is on you.”

The Olympics play a distant second fiddle to the World Cup, but that U-23 tournament stubbornly remained the one international competition Brazil hadn’t won. And with the 2016 Games being contested on home soil two years after World Cup humiliation (also at home), Brazil named Neymar one of its three over-age players. He delivered, scoring four goals in six matches and converting that gilded penalty against Germany. Neymar was in tears almost immediately. For him, delivering the final piece of Brazil’s trophy puzzle was an immense achievement. For the public that adores him, however, it’s still not enough.

“It was like the Yankees finishing with the best record in the regular season: O.K., that’s kind of cool, but they measure everything around here by World Cup championships,” says Brian Winter, a Texan who co-wrote Pelé’s 2014 autobiography and who now runs Americas Quarterly, a political, business and cultural journal covering Latin America. As Reuters’ chief correspondent in Brazil for five years, he knows well how the nation’s sports, economics and politics intersect; he was living in São Paulo when Germany dismantled the hosts 7–1 in the ’14 Cup semifinals. That game in Belo Horizonte, he says, marked “the start of a long descent into hell for Brazil,” which has been reeling from financial and political crises since.

Neymar’s penalty and Olympic gold offered only temporary respite. “It was cool for, like, a day,” says Winter. “It created the sensation that hosting the Games hadn’t been a total waste. But once the lights went off, it was so clear that all of the promises linked to the Olympics—improved policing, infrastructure—had fallen short.” Brazilians, he says, are “desperately hoping for a reason to be happy in 2018. And so often—maybe too often—Brazilian soccer and politics mix.”

So the nation turns to Neymar. Four years after the misery of the so-called Mineirazodrubbing by Germany, which Neymar missed with a fractured vertebra suffered in a quarterfinal Thunderdome match against Colombia, Brazil has a viable shot at redemption in Russia. The 7–1 stain will never go away, but this World Cup will feature Neymar in his prime, shouldering the hopes of a country desperate for a reversal in fortune. This is the season in which it all could turn around. The season in which Neymar might finally fulfill his promise.

"Everybody wants that Neymar be the protagonist in the World Cup,” says Ricardo Kaká, the Orlando City midfielder who was part of Brazil’s 2002 title-winning team (and who, incredibly, is the last man other than Ronaldo or Messi to be crowned world player of the year—10 years ago). “This is unfair sometimes, but it’s also because of who he is as a player, for his potential, how he can decide a game, how he’s a protagonist in Barcelona. There is going to be pressure on him.”

Kaká is certainly familiar with scrutiny, but as good as he was, he never became the long-term, tactical focal point of the Seleção. Nevertheless, Neymar looks up to the former Brazil number 10, who’s 10 years his elder. Neymar admires Kaká’s piety, and Kaká appreciates Neymar’s willingness to listen and learn. They’re both part of a text-message group reserved for Brazilian national team veterans, making it one of the most exclusive clubs in the world: Kaká, Roberto Carlos, Denílson, Elano...–Neymar joined recently, and he employed the group’s advice during the Olympics.

Kaká explains: “The first games, Brazil didn’t play so good, everyone was criticizing Brazil—and he was the most important player. He tried speaking with the press, and then I said to him, ‘Now as a player we have a very good opportunity to answer without saying; we have the field to [show that] we care and that the situation is important to us.’ In the end he won the Olympics, and that was the best answer he could give.”

The members of the group, Kaká says, believe Neymar is “very smart to understand that these guys can give him something different, something that could help.”

Brazil needs Neymar because, increasingly, Brazil is Neymar. Though rocked by recessions and political scandals, the nation has seen massive gains made by the nascent middle class over the past couple of decades. For years, socioeconomic classes “often resembled castes,” Winter says. There were five—A through E—and it’s the C that’s been on the rise.

C is roughly where you would have found a young Neymar. The son of a journeyman pro player, he wasn’t impoverished growing up on the southern fringe of the São Paulo megalopolis, but his family didn’t have much either, and making ends meet was a chore. Now Neymar takes in some $37 million per year (more of it from endorsement deals than from Barcelona), according to Forbes. He’s living the modern Brazilian dream.

“Neymar has the deepest connection with the people of Brazil of any soccer player of this generation, particularly with the rising middle class,” Winter says. “The way he talks, his street-wise charm—he appeals to that segment. He’s the best pitchman in a generation.”

That appeal also dovetails with the millennial generation. Neymar is a master of social media. His image isn’t meticulously crafted or self-celebratory like Ronaldo’s; it’s not homey or reticent like Messi’s. That video of Neymar playing soccer in a backyard with Justin Bieber is more effective than anything a consultant might stage. It’s organic and honest, a window into Neymar’s effortless cool.

He’s fashionable. And he’s got a wonderfully wry sense of humor. “Social media tends to ferret out the phonies,” Winter says. “People love watching for their idols to show a glimpse of insincere behavior—but you really don’t see it from him.”

There’s a 2011 video of a 19-year-old Neymar in the locker room at his old Brazilian club, Santos, in which he dances and sings and thrusts along to Michel Teló’s cover of “Ai Se Eu Te Pego.” The more sighs and eye rolls Neymar gets from teammates in the video, the more committed he becomes.

He’s comfortable, unvarnished and fearless in the moment—the sort of person anyone with spunk or spirit would like to be around. The clip has more than 25 million views, and Neymar has 78 million followers on Instagram, making his account the 14th-most popular in the world, a hair above Messi’s.

Ronaldo has more, but Google “CR7 dancing” and among the first few hits are clips of the Portuguese star gyrating in a pink bathing suit in front of a crowd in Ibiza and another of him cavorting on a private plane. Search “Messi dancing” and you’ll find videos of the Argentine and his wife. There’s no better illustration of the differences among the three men.

Kaká certainly sees it. “Neymar just tries to be himself,” he says. “What’s in your character [takes] you where you want to go. Messi is a little bit shy, so he wants to be more out of the light. Cristiano wants to be not just a soccer player, but also a celebrity. There’s not a rightway, it’s just a choice. Neymar is the nice guy who wants to be everywhere, but he’s humble and simple. When he takes a picture with Kevin Durant, it’s: ‘This is the man, not me.’”

The soccer-loving world may worship now at the feet of Messi and Ronaldo, but that’s humanity’s appreciation for the divine and incomprehensible. Messi plays as if there are fireworks attached to his boots—the ball moves so quickly from one side of his foot to the other that it seems to occupy two places simultaneously. He’s all controlled chaos, staccato soccer. He is a savant, essentially, who doesn’t seem to be truly comfortable anywhere but on a field, and he’s been the driving force behind a three-time European champion that’s arguably the greatest side the sport has ever seen.

If Messi is from Mars, then Ronaldo hails from Mount Olympus. He’s like one of us but better, perfected. He plays like the physical specimen he is: with strength, power and panache. He’s more attractive than the statues of him. If Neymar markets to the C class, Ronaldo aims his CR7 brand, with its underwear and fragrances, at those in the A+. The guy has not only an airport but a galaxy named after him.

Yet for all their supernatural prowess, neither Messi nor Ronaldo is as adored in his homeland as Neymar is in Brazil. Argentines and Portuguese may look up to their respective icons, but Neymar prefers to look you in the eye.

Asked if he’s a little bit Ronaldo and a little bit Messi, Neymar says, “I think I’m like that. Sometimes I’m a little flamboyant, an extrovert. Sometimes I’m quiet.”

Whether he’s their peer is less important to the soccer world than whether he’s their successor. The Messi-Ronaldo duopoly has combined to win six FIFA Club World Cups, eight Champions League titles and a boatload of other honors. But Messi is 30, Ronaldo 32. Next summer’s World Cup will be the last for each man in his prime. At some point, it must be Neymar’s turn.

The Brazilian says that FIFA’s player of the year award is “very important” (Crash Davis wouldn’t like that answer), but he shrugs when asked if and when he’ll break through. “Everything happens in the right time,” he says. “The main focus is to keep playing well, keep winning games, and when the time is right, I’ll get mine.” (I’ll get mine—that wouldn’t pass the Crash test either.)

Back in June, when Ronaldo celebrated Real Madrid’s second consecutive Champions League crown with fans at the Plaza de Cibeles, he made his case for a second straight world player of the year award with a microphone and a chant. The thought of it—of using a team event to tout his case for an individual honor—makes Neymar squirm. “No, I wouldn’t do that,” he says.

He attracts attention in other ways. His play, like his demeanor, borrows a bit from both Messi and Ronaldo. But whereas Messi slices and Ronaldo surges, Neymar glides. He’s smoother and more efficient than either, outstanding with both feet and blessed with the creativity and vision of his great Brazilian predecessors. But his game, like his personality, is more accessible. Train long enough and hard enough, and maybe you, too, could play like Neymar. He’s human, mortal, and he speaks with a voice the next generation understands.

This is where Paris Saint-Germain enters the picture. The powerhouse French club was always going to feature in Neymar’s story, thanks to an astonishing Champions League round-of-16 series that will live forever in the lore of both PSG and FCB. Last season was a tough one by Barcelona’s standards, and its puzzling lack of ruthlessness was exposed in a 4–0 first-leg Valentine’s Day massacre at the Parc des Princes. Neymar says he was embarrassed by the performance, and he corroborates the story that he promised friends he’d net two goals in the March 8 decider at the Camp Nou—which he ultimately did, in the 88th and 91st minutes, before setting up Sergi Roberto’s clincher in a 6–1 thriller.

On a team as loaded as Barça, there aren’t many moments when a player can and must take command. But with his European season on the line Neymar was unstoppable, and for many it seemed like a turning point on his climb to soccer’s summit. In TIME, Beckham wrote that it would “be remembered as the moment he stepped up to take on the mantle of best player in the world. Neymar is ready to make his move.

But as July came to a close, it appeared more and more likely that move might take him away from Messi and back to Paris, where PSG was looking for a way to finance the payment of his record $261 million release clause. Yes, Neymar would have to wait for Barcelona to become his team—but if and when it did, then his team would be Barcelona. If he leaves for PSG, he will join a lesser league and a club that has the cash but not the chemistry to make a deep Champions League run. In NBA terms he’d be moving from the Warriors to the Clippers. And instead of Durant, whose desire to win trumped his need to be the man—as Neymar’s did when he left Santos for Barcelona in 2013—the Brazilian would be channeling Kyrie Irving, itching to get out from under LeBron James’s shadow.

Asked which of his two favorite NBA players he identifies with more—James, who was raised in the spotlight, or Steph Curry, who came up quietly at Davidson, mirroring Neymar’s lower-profile beginnings—Neymar chooses LeBron. Let us not forget, then, James’s ultimate decision to break from the Big Three after winning superteam trophies in Miami. In order to be soccer’s biggest name, perhaps Neymar has to shine further away from Messi, Luis Suárez and Barcelona’s band of superstars.

If he ultimately stays in Spain, Neymar must launch his assault on Messi and Ronaldo while improving on his own 13-goal La Liga campaign and helping steer Barça back to the top under new coach Ernesto Valverde. Last season’s results and the upcoming World Cup apply pressure from both sides. But Messi and Suárez relieve it, at least on the club side. Neymar doesn’t have to be the best player every time he steps onto the Camp Nou field. He’ll have to be more impactful, but he can do so while remaining true to himself. He’ll have some leeway.

If he goes to PSG, he’ll be paid like a king and expected to inspire a desperate club that hasn’t advanced beyond the Champions League quarterfinals since 1995. He’ll have the headlines and the billboards to himself. When those are shared, knocking a ball around with Bieber endears you to fans. When they’re yours alone, a Bieber moment may raise questions of focus, maturity or leadership. There will be no outlets at PSG, no excuses. Either way, he’ll also have to prepare mentally and physically for the rigors of a must-win World Cup.

But it’s all manageable. It always has been—so believes the man with LIFE IS A JOKE tattooed across his left biceps. He was Brazil’s Olympic talisman, and he was thriving at the 2014 World Cup before getting hurt. “We only have one life, so we have to figure out a way to be happy,” Neymar says. “Don’t take it so seriously. That’s pretty much it. Enjoy your life.”

Neymar’s relationship with his homeland remains strong. Not even the court cases concerning his controversial 2013 transfer to Barcelona have dented his reputation. In July, he was cleared of tax evasion in Brazil; a Spanish investigation is ongoing. (“Tax evasion,” Winter points out, “is next to soccer as the national sport in Brazil.”) Neymar’s countrymen, meanwhile, remain grateful for the gold medal and for his staying with Santos as long as he did. His Q rating is unscathed.

The only thing that could hurt him at home is, of course, failure to win in Russia. After he was forced to watch the semifinal rout by Germany while recuperating, Neymar told his fellow Brazilians, “We are going to do all we can so that I can fulfill my dream. My dream is to be the champion of the world.”

Three years later he’s asking for help. “I want to win a World Cup,” he says, “but it’s not only me, you know? There are other factors. There are teammates. There are a lot of things going on.” He’s certainly right, if the Mineirazo was any indication. But then he concludes, “I think you can be a legend without winning a World Cup.”

Maybe, but not in Brazil. Sócrates and Zico, for example, were great players and remain well respected. Many pundits think their 1982 squad, which lost to eventual champion Italy in the second round, was better than the ’94 side, which won it all. But on a team with five stars on its jersey, the bar is so much higher. “If Neymar doesn’t win at least one World Cup, as much as people love him today, he will be forgotten,” says Winter. “Brazil isn’t short of epic personalities who’ve won World Cups.”

Neymar tries to make light of the pressure. “It’s very normal,” he says. “The thing is, if you win a World Cup, they’ll tell you that if you want to be the best, you have to win anotherWorld Cup! When you’re one of the top players, this is going to happen all the time.”

Perhaps it has all felt routine until now. But the next 12 months, whether he’s in Barcelona or Paris, will be anything but ordinary. A new chapter is beginning, and while the end is uncertain, it’s sure to be blessedly free of clichés.

#the whole article #neymar #jr #ney #neymarjr #si #cover #photoshoot #interview

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stillunusual · 5 years

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LEEDS UNITED 1 NOTTINGHAM FOREST 1 Leeds United: Casilla, Douglas, White, Cooper, Dallas, Phillips, Forshaw, Klich (Costa 80), Hernandez, Harrison (Alioski 73), Bamford. Subs not used: Meslier, Berardi, Bogusz, Shackleton, Clarke. It's amazing how quickly the weeks fly by during the summer, and before you know it football is back! What's even more amazing is that for the first time in many years there is continuity at Elland Road - Leeds United have started the 2019/20 season with the same owner, manager and coaching staff as last time (to put this into perspective, Marcelo Bielsa is only the third United manager to start two consecutive seasons since we were relegated from the Premiership in 2004). In theory this means that we can build on the foundations that he has already laid down and do better than last season's third place finish. In reality it's not so simple. Every year it gets more difficult for teams without the benefits of the Premier League's parachute payments to compete in the Championship, so it's quite possible that we'll be stuck in the second tier forever. There was certainly a feeling of deja vu about the fact that we failed to win this game against Forest for two of the principal reasons that we didn't get promoted last season - giving away needless goals at one end while missing gilt-edged chances at the other. Perhaps this isn't surprising, given that 10 of the 11 players who started the game were regulars during Bielsa's first term, and it's debatable whether our squad is any stronger now than it was a year ago. Fringe players like Tom Pearce, Tyler Denton, Paudie O'Connor, Aapo Halme, Yosuke Ideguchi, Clarke Oduor, Hadi Sacko, Mallik Wilks, Sam Dalby and Caleb Ekuban have all been sold over the summer, while forward Jay-Roy Grot and defender Lewie Coyle have been loaned out for the season. There were also four significant departures - goalkeeper Bailey Peacock-Farrell (to Burnley for £3.5M), playmaker Samuel Saiz (to Girona for an undisclosed fee), centre back Pontus Jansson (to Brentford for £5.5M) and striker Kemar Roofe (to Anderlecht for £7M). In addition, Tottenham Hotspur have signed Jack Clarke for an initial fee of £9M, but loaned him back to us for the whole season. There are several fringe players like Laurens De Bock, Conor Shaughnessy, Eunan O'Kane, Pawel Cibicki and Vurnon Anita whose future is still undecided. The club can't afford to keep them on the books if they're not in Bielsa's plans, so I presume they'll be moved on by whatever means necessary.... The only permanent signings we've made have been for Carlos Corberan's under-23s. Recruits for the senior squad have all been loan deals. Our marquee signing was Wolves winger Helder Costa on an initial one-year loan, which will become a permanent deal next summer (I assume this will cost us a lot of money but the details haven't been disclosed). Centre back Ben White joined from Brighton, and winger Jack Harrison came back for another year from Manchester City. These three players all benefited from a full pre-season under Marcelo Bielsa, but following the late departures of BPF and Roofe, Leeds waited until transfer deadline day to sign their replacements - 19 year old goalkeeper Illan Meslier from FC Lorient and 20 year old striker Eddie Nketiah from Arsenal. We now have six loanees, and only five of them can be named in a matchday squad. Bielsa is also placing a lot of responsibility on some very young shoulders - especially those of White, who looks like a great prospect but lacks Jansson's experience, and Nketiah, who is highly rated by Arsenal but still very green. Just like last season we have a distinct lack of cover in central defence if White or Liam Cooper are injured or suspended, and there are still doubts about our erratic sweeper-keeper Kiko Casilla (and his young understudy is also an unknown quantity). It remains to be seen if we can make a similar impact on the Championship even though teams will be better prepared to deal with our style of play, or if our squad will be better prepared to withstand the Bielsa work regime and won't burn out towards the end of the season. Luke Ayling and Tyler Roberts both missed pre-season due to injury and it's not clear when they will be available. Hopefully we won't be so unlucky with injuries this time around.... Our first game of the season was away at Bristol City - a comfortable 3-1 victory, which included a wonder strike from Pablo Hernandez and a goal each from Patrick Bamford and Jack Harrison. White made an impressive debut and Costa came on as a second half substitute. I was less impressed by the sight of our new grey and pink centenary away kit.... In order to increase my chances of getting tickets to the games I want to go to this season I forked out £50 for a Leeds United gold membership, and was delighted to discover that the gift pack of tacky merchandise that I received as a result includes a bottle opener that plays "Marching On Together". I was really looking forward to the Forest game, which turned out to be an excellent Championship fixture, but ended up leaving Elland Road with a familiar feeling of frustration.... Leeds dominated the play from the outset. Forest offered little in the first half and looked like they'd come for a point by sitting deep and making it difficult for us. Time after time we got into goal scoring positions but the final ball always lacked quality. I expected some early substitutions after the break but we continued as we were and eventually made a breakthrough on the hour mark. Patrick Bamford had already wasted a hattrick of golden opportunities by the time a great flick from Mateusz Klich released Hernandez who once again finished in style. But one goal wasn't enough. Forest responded by bringing on three subs and playing more positively. Their equaliser was a travesty from our perspective - a corner led to an untidy goalmouth scramble and Lewis Grabban was eventually able to bundle the ball over the line. Costa came on for the final 10 minutes in place of Klich, and threatened with his pace and trickery as Leeds went in search of a winner - but again, the final ball was always poor.... We created enough chances to win the game comfortably, but we didn't and we need to do better to stand any chance of promotion. We had 10 corners but didn't look like scoring from any of them - without Jansson we don't seem to have any dominant aerial threat at set pieces. We also looked vulnerable when defending free kicks and corners. We did have a couple of very good penalty shouts that the referee inexplicably waved away, but we can't really blame him for the fact that we wasted chance after chance. On the plus side - we're unbeaten and we've totally bossed two teams who are realistic contenders for a top six spot. Eddie Nketiah was introduced to the Elland Road crowd before the start of the game and I hope he will find the back of the net for us many times over the next few months. And despite my doubts, another season under Bielsa is something to look forward to....

#leeds united #soccer #football #championship #marcelo bielsa #elland road #leeds #united #ticket #2019

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sleepyverstappens · 4 years

Text

Your soul and mine

Title: Your soul and mine

Pairing: Charles Leclerc/Lando Norris

Rating: Gen/PG (bar a few curses)

Word Count: 2138

Tags: Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Alternate universe - Soulmate, Soulmate Identifying Marks

A/N: Me writing a fic without Max *gasp!* apparently miracles do happen, because Max is only mentioned once in this one.J prompted me a Charles/Lando meet cute fic on whatsapp and my brain totally skipped over the meet cute part and instead this happened. I guess it's still quite cute though?Anyways hope you enjoy this one :D

Summary: Most people were very private about their marks, if they could hide it they would do so. So unless you were one of the unfortunate souls with a mark stretching over your face the mark would be hidden away from sight until you found your match. People would wear scarves and gloves all year to keep that little piece of them hidden if they needed to. Only openly showing their marks ones they had started moving, once they had met the other half of their soul.

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No, he thought, no it couldn't be, it was supposed to be Carlos. Carlos who's mark he'd seen just a flash of. A glimpse of it caught when he'd walked in on him unannounced as Carlos changed into his fireproofs. The intricate swirl of a tail peeking out on his shoulder before he could cover himself. Carlos’ eyes worried as they met his own, but Lando had somehow managed to play it off as if he hadn’t seen anything, joking about as if nothing had happened.

Most people were very private about their marks, if they could hide it they would do so. So unless you were one of the unfortunate souls with a mark stretching over your face the mark would be hidden away from sight until you found your match. People would wear scarves and gloves all year to keep that little piece of them hidden if they needed to. Only openly showing their marks ones they had started moving, once they had met the other half of their soul.

He'd only seen a glimpse of Carlos' mark, but that tail had looked so familiar, like the tail on his right foot. The tail connected to the little monkey that had been there since he was 15. The same monkey that was staring back at him on Twitter now, the intricate details just like his own standing out against the pale skin of Charles Leclerc's stomach.

Charles Leclerc who he had maybe spoken five words with all throughout last season, the Ferrari prodigy not interested in hanging out with the new rookies even though he'd been one himself only a season before. Happy enough to stick to Pierre or Seb’s side whenever they had some free time during the busy weekends.

“Fuck,” he cursed softly. He knows the universe wouldn't just put him with Charles randomly, but then why did he hate the idea of being his soulmate so much? His mind had been so set on it being his teammate, the teammate who he got along with so well. Who would laugh at his dumb jokes, whose touches he would still feel long after his long fingers had left his body. Yet none of his touches had made his monkey start moving, not even a smidge. He’d held out hope, hope that maybe Carlos’ touches weren’t right, did they ever actually touch skin? His brain was coming with plenty of excuses of how it could still be Carlos, until he’d seen that picture, that undeniable picture.

It had to be photoshopped right? People did that all the time and it wasn't like Sun of all tabloids was a trustworthy one. But then how could they have gotten it just like his one? This wasn't a random leaf or puzzle piece that anyone could think up, no it actually had the monkey missing one of its toes like his one. Unless the person that wrote the article was his soulmate there was no way someone had faked that soulmark.

“Fuck,” he cursed once more, a little louder, some curious looks thrown his way from the other people in the hospitality cafeteria. What did people do when they found out who their soulmate was? Movies always made it so romantic, eyes meeting across a crowded room, the soft touch they’d share, eyes widening as their marks started moving, the rest of the world going quiet as they only had eyes for the one that made their soul complete. Yet here was Lando, sat all alone in the middle of a crowded canteen, cutlery clinking loudly through the noise of people chatting. He needed to get away from all the noise, get some fresh air, sort his head out.

The paddock was bustling with people, but the noise felt less crowding than it had done inside. It’s only the second week of testing and people seem a lot more chill than during the race weekends, waiting somewhat patiently for their favourite drivers as they go for their lunch break. He hasn’t driven yet today, Carlos racking up more miles in the morning before he would jump in in an hour or so.

Charles has though and Lando wonders whether he’s seen the pictures yet. How the scums from the Sun had managed to catch the exact moment Charles’ shirt had lifted he doesn’t know. The picture showed the young man standing on the balcony of his Monaco apartment, hair a mess and eyes squinted closed as he stretched his arms above his head. People would say it was his own fault for not making sure the mark was covered, but he was at home, a space that was supposed to be safe. And he’d clearly only just woken up, his brain not firing on all cylinders yet and somehow the camera had snapped at that exact moment.

He hadn’t realised how far along the paddock he’d walked, his feet stopping abruptly as his eyes caught the bright red Ferrari hospitality building. A lone figure sat outside on the terrace attached to it, the hood of his jacket up against the cold as he gripped his phone tightly. Lando could see the forlorn expression on Charles’ face, clearly he’d seen the picture, how they had zoomed in on his stomach, broadcasting his mark to the world. Seeing Charles like this made his heart ache, his head and his heart at war on whether or not he should go to Charles and tell him. Tell him that whilst it sucked what they had done it had made Lando find him, find his soulmate.

He’s about to step forward, let his heart lead the way, when Charles glances up, their eyes meeting and Lando freezes. He can’t do it, he’s not ready, not ready to give up the possibility of someone else. Of brown eyes and a Spanish accent, instead of brown eyes and a French accent. He manages to make a small smile stretch on his lips before he rushes back to the McLaren hospitality, to the safety of his home away from home.

---

The next two days of testing fly by quickly, they get through their scheduled programming without much trouble and he gets to set the fourth fastest time, just behind Lewis, Max and Sergio, Ferrari still struggling to find the pace even during the second week in Barcelona. He had tried to avoid the team of the prancing horse as much as possible, only catching a glimpse of Charles as he had walked into the paddock on Thursday morning, other than seeing his bright red car out on track.

So it’s a surprise to find himself sat across from Charles in the first class lounge at the airport. He’d been there first, lazily scrolling through the messages on various social media when Charles had let himself fall into the chair across from him. There’s only two other people in the lounge and yet he’d sat there, right across from Lando, the Brit’s eyes widening a little as he’d found Charles staring at him.

They drag their eyes away from each other in sync, Charles’ eyes now also focussed on the phone in his hand. Lando can’t help but sneak a few glances up at the Monegasque, seeing a deep frown wrinkling up his forehead as he reads whatever is on the phone. Then Charles huffs loudly, his phone clattering onto the table loudly as he pushes it away from him.

“What’s up?”

And now that frown is directed at Lando, brown eyes piercing into him before he lifts a condescending eyebrow. “Really? Like you don’t know, like the whole fucking world doesn’t know already.”

“Sorry,” Lando murmured, feeling embarrassed for even asking. He’d just wanted to be nice to the guy, maybe get him to open up about how he’s feeling with all the shit that’s going on and then maybe hint at the fact that Lando is his soulmate. But instead he’d already fucked it up, the angry scowl on Charles’ face really making him question the universe right now. Did he have it all wrong? It couldn’t be, he’d stared at that picture for so long, zooming in on every tiny detail to compare it to his own mark and he’d found nothing different. Fuck, how would he tell Charles and actually make him believe Lando. Show him his own mark before Charles could angrily run out of the lounge, thinking Lando was only taking the piss out off him.

“I need to tell you something,” he murmured just as the tannoy was announcing that the flight to Nice was now boarding, Charles’ flight.

“That’s me,” Charles shrugged apologetically, rushing to grab his carry on, wrapping his headphones around his neck and starting to leave. And in a moment of panic Lando reached out for him, halfway out of his chair, fingers wrapping around the Monegasque’s wrist. Skin touching skin. And it’s a fucking cliché, it’s a goddamn fucking cliché but at that moment everything seems to go in slow motion. Charles’s wide eyes finding his own as everything but Charles’s face becomes blurry around them.

He can’t stop the gasp from escaping his lips, mouth falling open as the rushing of his blood becomes deafening to his ears. This was really happening. Charles really was his soulmate, the other half of his soul. Their body and mind connecting from that single touch. His fingers start to tingle where they are still wrapped around Charles’s wrist and he could feel his right foot starting to itch.

“It’s really you,” he finally managed to get out, the words somehow managing to break Charles out of his stupor as well.

“What?” Charles said voice hoarse, unable to believe what was happening right now, his eyes flicking over Lando’s face to look for the answer to a question he didn’t even know yet. “What the fuck is happening?”

“We’re soulmates. I… I’m your soulmate. I didn’t want to believe it at first, when I saw the picture, but it’s really you,” Lando said overwhelmed.

“But, wha… how?”

“The fucking universe thinks were meant for each other apparently,” Lando said with a shrug. Now that there was no denying it anymore, that it really was Charles that was his soulmate and not Carlos his brain gave in easily, not fighting this inexplicable force that had brought them together, that connected them.

His foot really was starting to itch a lot now though, he stomped his left foot on top of the right one trying to stop it from itching, but it didn’t work. His movement had managed to direct Charles’s gaze towards where he was fidgeting though, his eyes focussing in on his right foot. “Is it there? Your mark?”

“Yeah, it’s itching like a bitch dude, how are you not scratching your stomach off right now?” Lando whined, finally giving up on trying to scratch his foot through his shoe and tugging the laces free.

“Wait, wait Lando you can’t, not right here!”

“There’s no one here Charles, everyone’s gone to their flights.” He let himself fall back into his seat and tugged his shoe free from his foot, sock falling to the floor as well and then he gasped once more. Because where his mark had been stagnant before, the monkey on his foot was now moving its head to stare up at him, tail flicking as it scratched its cheek, before looping back around. The same movements would repeat themself on his skin now permanently, repeating themself until Charles would die breaking their bond.

“Can I? Can I see yours?” He asked tentatively, fingers itching to reach out for Charles’s white t-shirt, to move it away and see the same pattern on Charles’s skin.

With one last glance around the empty first class lounge Charles slowly lifted his shirt, gasping softly as he saw his own mark moving on his skin. The monkey moving its head to the side, flicking its tail, before scratching its cheek and on and on again. He gasped again, a little louder as Lando’s fingers touched his skin, tracing around the shape of the mark, following the lines of the delicate tail.

“Shit, sorry!” Lando cursed, drawing his hand back as if it had been burned.

“It’s okay. Feels nice,” Charles murmured, sounding so in awe of everything that was happening right now. A bright smile was starting to appear on his face though, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Come here,” he beckoned, drawing Lando up from his seat again and pulling him into a tight hug.

“Last call for Mister Charles Leclerc,” the lady on the tannoy announced loudly, but Charles just tightened his grip around him, not moving away from the hug, perfectly content in the little bubble they were in.

“C'est vraiment toi.”

#my fic #charles leclerc/lando norris #f1 fic #f1 fanfiction #link to the monkey soulmark on my ao3

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