I’ve never said explicitly who my favorite driver is, because of all the hate or at least some judgement I’d receive, but I am so pissed at how much hate has been directed towards him.
If you couldn’t already guess from this post or who I’ve talked about in other posts, my favorite driver is Lando.
I can’t believe how much this guy is shitted on for reasons that either aren’t true, proved to be false/wrong, or are meaningless.
I do not care if you want Max, Oscar, or anyone else to win the championship. Or even if you have a preference or different favorite driver! I don’t care who you like! I only care if you hate on Lando, or any driver.
One of the main reasons that lead me to post this is how many times I’ve seen the tag #anti lando or something along those lines appear on my page.
Like… EW.
It’s absolutely disgusting and I despise the hate Lando has been receiving. I still hang onto the hope that all this will blow over like the hate that used to be and still sometimes is directed towards Max.
Of course, other drivers are hated on, and I of course think that’s horrible, but I’ve noticed a lot more hate on Lando, and it’s more of a personal issue to me.
So, in short, if you hate on Lando or any other driver? Get the fuck off my blog and realize these drivers are people with emotions and feelings too.
If you agree, please reblog because I feel we should bring awareness to the horrid amount of driver/Lando hate. Of course, hate like this will never be completely obliterated, but it’s better to bring attention than just let this slide.
˖⁺‧₊˚I Wanna Be Yours˚₊‧⁺˖ -A Landoscar Fanfiction
AO3 LINK:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating:
Mature
Archive Warnings:
No Archive Warnings Apply (may change)
Category:
M/M
Relationships:
Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen
Characters:
Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, 2025 Formula 1 Grid, Formula 1 Team Principals
Additional Tags:
Alternate Universe Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - College/Universit, (kind of cuz they’re in high school but live there), Alternate Universe - Not Racing Drivers (Motorsport RPF), Oscar Piastri Is Not a Driver, Lando Norris Is Not a Driver, landoscar, Slow Burn, Lando Norris is a Menace, Lando Norris Has ADHD, Oscar Piastri Loves Lando Norris, Beta Read, Lando Norris Loves Oscar Piastri, Oscar Piastri Needs a Hug, Insecure Oscar Piastri, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Oscar Piastri is Bad at Feelings, Oblivious Oscar Piastri, Oblivious, Oblivious Lando Norris, Angst and Romance, slight angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Beta Reader Can’t Read, Light Angst, Autistic Lando Norris, Autistic Character, AuDHD Lando Norris, Neurodivergent Lando Norris, Neurodiversity, neurodivergent, neurodivergent character, Gay, Everyone Is Gay
okay I'd be frankly fucking shocked if the OP of this wasn't on tumblr but this compilation is the peakest of all peaks (and I say that as someone who's watched some Compilations alright) so please bare witness dear rpfers of the world
Max is wearing long sleeves and sweatpants in Bahrain heat.
But… why?
Archive Warnings:
None Apply
Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Ship/pairing:
Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen
Additional tags:
Self-Harm, Max Verstappen Needs a Hug, Max Verstappen Loves Charles Leclerc, Charles Leclerc loves Max Verstappen, Self-Esteem Issues, Hurt, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen in love, Established Relationship, Established Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, Hurt Max Verstappen, Caring Charles Leclerc, Random & Short, One Shot, Lestappen
Words:
1,110
Read on AO3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Or read below!
The race had ended a few hours ago, and now Charles is looking for Max. He just can’t seem to find his boyfriend in any of the usual spots, so Charles resorts to asking one of Max’s engineers.
“Have you seen Max?” Charles prompts the engineer, who looks up at him with confusion from the sheets of telemetry in his hands.
The man seems confused on why Charles Leclerc was looking for Max Verstappen, but answers anyways. “Medical bay, I believe.”
“Medical bay?!” Charles flinches back instinctively, hands raised in defense against nothing. Without another word, he bolts off to the med bay. Charles scans the empty room until he spots Max sitting on a bench. His slumped posture isn’t the surprising things, it’s what he’s wearing. A black long sleeve and matching dark sweatpants. Mind you, it’s 21°C outside.
Pausing for a moment, Charles just stares at Max, gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap. “Max..?” Charles squeaks, not sure if he should approach or not. He just stays frozen.
Max finally looks up, beautiful blue eyes shadowed. “Charles.”
“Why are you wearing those clothes in this heat?” Charles takes a hesitant step closer, shoes making a soft click on the white tile floor. “And more importantly, why are you here?”
Max doesn’t respond, eyes downcast as he stares blankly at the floor.
“Mon chéri.” Charles kneels before Max, untangling his hands before entwining them with his own. “Please talk to me.”
Sighing, Max finally opens his mouth. “I get cold easily. You know that.”
“Yes, but not this cold.” Charles pets Max’s sleeve, causing the older to flinch. Charles eyes darken with worry. “And you didn’t answer my other question. Why are you here?”
“…”
”Max..?”
”Fine, fine.” Max sighs, deciding to trust his boyfriend. “I cut myself.”
Charles whimpers, eyes going wide as they fill with tears. His jaw is agape, hands going slack where they were holding Max. His fight or flight or freeze senses kick in—not at Max, never at Max—but himself. For being so stupid and blind to his love’s pain.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Max sobs, matching the wrecked noises Charles doesn’t even realize he’s emitting.
Not knowing what to do, Charles just stares, mind racing with a million thoughts he doesn’t know what to do with. The cold tile and his numbing knees? Gone. The only thing that remains is guilt and the sight of Max, broken and trembling.
Charles needs time to process, but he can’t just leave or hesitate. He forces words out. “Want to tell me why?” The question seems safe enough.
Max shakes his head. “Not right now.” His lower lip trembles, hands gripping Charles’ tighter.
Charles nods. “Okay. Okay.” He sighs, pressing his forehead to Max’s knee.
Hands trembling, Max reaches out to pet his boyfriend’s hair in a way he knows soothes him. The effort seems feeble, but at least it’s something.
Max doesn’t know what to do in the moment, the feeling of Charles soft hair beneath his fingertips and the smell of his fruit-scented cologne the only thing grounding him at the moment.
“Can I see?” Charles finally utters, his squeaky voice cracking halfway through.
“They’re already bandaged up,” Max murmurs, “you can’t see them.”
Charles nods against Max’s kneecap. “Please promise me you’ll never do this again.” He starts. “And if you ever want to, please talk or call or text me.”
Max wants to be able to uphold that promise, and he doesn’t know if he can—but for Charles? He’ll try anything. “I promise.”
“Thank you.” Charles whimpers, lifting his teary eyes to meet Max’s. His face is red, brown eyes wide. He feels utterly pathetic, but his care and worry for Max drowns that feeling out.
———
Later that night, Charles changes Max’s bandages, tearing up again at the sight of cuts that destroy him.
“Where’s your blade?” Charles asks while fastening the gauze on Max’s wrist.
Max hesitates, the question both invading and caring at the same time. “It’s…” he trails off. “…in my bedside table drawer.” His voice breaks on the last word, lip trembling.
Charles nods, standing up. He places a kiss to Max’s cheek before exiting the bathroom, tile turning to carpet as he reached their bedroom.
Opening the bedside drawer, Charles freezes. He stares down at the boxcutter glinting in dim evening light spilling in from the window.
He grabs the fucking craft tool, walking outside of the hotel room in his socks. He leaves Max alone without another word, tucking the blade in his pocket as he enters the elevator—no one else is in there, thank god.
Reaching the ground floor, Charles strides out of the hotel with purpose, ignoring the confused looks of front desk workers and visitors. The rotating door gives way to the warm night air, replacing the pleasant chill of the lobby.
Cold concrete bites Charles feet through his socks as he rounds the large hotel building to the back. He opens the large dumpster, chucking the boxcutter into the garbage. Perfect.
He heads back up to the room, finding Max in the same spot and position Charles had left him—sitting on the edge of the tub with his now bandaged arms splayed on his legs.
“It’s gone now.” Charles murmurs, voice low as he stands in front of Max.
There’s a long beat of silence.
“Thank you.” Max’s eyes are teary but earnest as they bore into Charles’, shining with raw adoration for the other man.
Charles cracks a weak smile, lips tilting up but not meeting his eyes. “Don’t thank me. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“And what do you mean by okay?” Max scoffs.
Pausing, Charles sighs. “I don’t know. I’m just glad you won’t cut anymore.” A beat. “Right?”
Max nods slowly, willing himself to be able to stay true to that vow.
“Wanna order horribly unhealthy fast food and watch a movie?” Charles offers, genuine joy filling him for the first time since he saw Max in the medical room as the blonde nods eagerly.
Charles helps Max into stupidly fluffy pajamas before tugging on his own, leading the older to their hotel bed. Charles places the order—some McDonald’s shit—and turns on a movie he knows Max had been eyeing.
They curl up together under blankets, eating greasy fries and watching some random flick.
Now, Max may not be better instantly—no one can be—but it’s a start. Because Charles is stupidly persistent and in love with Max, and will do anything to keep his boyfriend safe.
