Napping Is For The Weak. ALSO THENKS FOR READING IM GONNA DIEEEE COZ I DIDNT STUDYYYY 🥹❤️ Gonna

woke up to 19 comments in my inbox. I'm not gonna read any of them coz i value my peace. i might read it tomorrow. or never. that being said, i believe i have created a monster. sorry, world.

The Kingdom, The Power, The Glory.

a/n: ok so first of all, this is @souvenir116's fault for making that one post. u gave me ideas. so now i gift you trauma. hope u like it. wrote this during my self-imposed study break which lasted 3 hrs. hah.

lemme know if u guys want a full-blown 10k fic on ao3. i might be able to turn this babyboy into a fluff fic. somehow. if i have enough words. and time. and sleep deprivation. 

Tags: angst, lestappen, hurt no comfort, sad ending, canon divergence, unrequited love.

Summary: After a devastating crash with Max Verstappen in the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, Charles Leclerc is left to face the aftermath — and Max — in silence, guilt, and unbearable grief.

Charles comes back to consciousness with the taste of carbon and gravel in his mouth and a white-hot spear of pain down his side. His vision is blurred, smudged red at the edges, like someone dipped the whole world in shame.

The first thing he hears is that Lewis has won.

The second is silence.

Max isn't Champion. Not today. Not ever, maybe.

Because of Charles.

Because of that corner.

Because he didn’t lift.

He doesn’t remember the impact. Just the blur. The smoke. The scream. He remembers pressing the brake too late, the car twitching beneath him like a frightened animal. And Max was there. Max was right there. Max was always there.

And now everything is over.

He’s wheeled into the medical bay with one arm strapped to his chest and the sharp ache of a cracked rib every time he breathes too hard. The bandage across his temple itches. His mouth is dry. His fingers are shaking. He’s nauseous with adrenaline, horror, and the metallic taste of guilt he’s swallowed since he was five years old and first learned what it meant to want something you weren’t allowed to touch.

He doesn't ask for the championship standings.

He doesn’t need to.

Max DNF.

Lewis wins his eighth.

And Charles is the reason.

The FIA room is cold. Tiled like a morgue. Smells like antiseptic and judgment. No one speaks to him when they bring him in. They sit him in the corner, like a bad child. His fireproofs are still streaked with blood and smoke. His helmet is gone. He keeps looking at his hands. He doesn’t recognise them.

Charles doesn’t lift his head. Not until he feels him.

The fury.

It walks in before Max does.

It lives in the air. It vibrates in the walls. It hums inside Charles’ lungs, stealing the breath from his chest. The rage is so alive it feels like a third person in the room. And still — Max is silent.

No screaming.

No shouting.

No finger in his face. No snarled accusations.

Max walks into the room limping, jaw locked, and then—he sits down beside him.

Not across. Not far away. Right beside him.

Like this is personal.

Like this was always personal.

Charles keeps staring at the floor, because if he looks at Max’s face, he’ll break open. And he doesn't deserve to break. Not after this. Not after everything he just destroyed.

He took Max’s title.

He took Max’s year.

He took Max’s first World Championship and drove them both into smoke.

And it doesn't matter if he didn’t mean to. It doesn’t matter that he braked late thinking he could hold it. That he thought Max would leave him space. That he thought—

It doesn’t matter.

Intentions don’t count for anything when you steal the thing someone’s spent their whole life chasing.

Max’s hand is clenched into a fist on his knee.

It’s shaking.

Charles whispers, “I’m sorry.”

It’s all he has.

Max doesn’t reply. But the air goes colder.

“I didn’t—I didn’t want that to happen.”

His throat burns. His chest twists like wire.

“I locked up.”

His voice hitches.

“I wasn’t trying to—”

He shakes his head. It’s pointless. Words are pointless. Nothing he says will change it. The moment happened. The damage is done. History has been rewritten in the time it took for two cars to kiss carbon.

“I was trying to keep it clean.”

He swallows. It tastes like bile.

“I thought I left enough space.”

Max still doesn’t say anything.

Charles doesn't know what hurts more — the silence, or the fact that Max is still sitting there.

He keeps going, because if he stops, he’ll start crying, and he doesn’t deserve to cry.

“I should’ve backed out. I know that. I should’ve just let it go.”

Max’s fingers twitch. A flinch in his jaw.

Charles doesn't look at him. He can’t.

“I didn’t want it to end like that.”

It was supposed to be Max’s year.

Charles was supposed to stand in parc fermé, watching the fireworks go off above Max’s head. He was supposed to watch him cry — but the good kind, the kind that tasted like gold and champagne and glory.

He was supposed to wait in the shadows, and maybe, later, when things had calmed down, find him. Pull him aside. Say something like, “You did it. I’m proud of you.” Not “I love you.” Never “I love you.” But something. Anything.

Not this.

Never this.

Max’s shoulder is brushing his.

He’s so still, but Charles can feel it — the thunder in him. The fury just beneath the surface, held back with the kind of restraint that hurts to witness.

“Max,” he says, quietly. “Say something.”

Max’s voice, when it comes, is low and taut, like piano wire pulled too tight.

“What do you want me to say?”

Charles flinches.

Max turns to look at him.

His eyes aren’t red. He isn’t crying. But they’re wrecked. Devastated in a way that can’t be put back together.

“I lost everything,” Max says. “Everything I’ve worked for. Everything I’ve—” He cuts himself off.

His jaw is shaking.

Charles wants to disappear.

“I know,” he whispers.

“No, you don’t.” Max laughs, short and sharp. “You’ll never understand. You’ve always been the favourite. The golden boy. You never had to fight like I did. You never had to claw for it. You had people handing you crowns before you could walk.”

“That’s not true—”

Max stands suddenly, like he can’t take it anymore.

But he doesn’t walk away.

He looks down at Charles. And for one awful second, Charles thinks he might hit him. That Max might finally let it all out.

But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, fists shaking, mouth trembling, the whole sky of him collapsing inward.

And then, quietly, he says, “You should’ve just let me have it.”

Charles nods.

He knows.

Max stares at him, like he’s trying to see something human behind Charles’ eyes and can’t find it.

Then he says, “I don’t hate you.”

It’s worse than if he did.

“But don’t come near me again.”

Charles nods again.

And then Max walks out of the room.

He doesn’t look back.

Charles stays where he is, staring down at his own bloody hands, shaking in silence.

He thinks of the corner. Of the blur. Of the second he thought he had it. The second he thought they’d make it out the other side.

He thinks of every year that brought them here.

Every lap.

Every time he held his tongue and said nothing.

Every time he watched Max walk away.

He thinks of the prayer he whispered into his gloves before the formation lap.

Let the best man win.

And now the best man is gone.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t cry.

He just sits in the wreckage of something holy, and breathes like it’s a punishment.

And wishes the crash had taken him instead.

mate you’re a gift that keeps on giving, like i always wait for your updates or new 1633 fics. but holy shit i read the hanahaki fic and it literally changed my life, usually when i read hanahaki fics its always about romantic love but yours?!! mein gott. are you going to continue that universe? like story between 1633 and charles and oscar? but anyways, good luck on your finals!

im just a sucker for platonic/familial love tbh.. and YES! i was thinking abt maybe writing Oscar's experience with Hanahaki as well but like not now. i hope. i hope I don't get possessed by the ghost of Shakespeare before I am done with my finals.

anyway, thank you so so much for reading!!!

gap in my résumé cause i was just snuggled up so cozy

hi! i was wondering what post of souvenir116 inspired you to write the kingdom, the power and the glory! its such a good read and im so interested to see what inspired it!

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Reblog by @souvenir116 · 6 images

💬 0  🔁 39  ❤️ 293 · fic idea where Charles actually takes Max out in that corner and Max loses the championship... bring out the angst and

this one! and also thank you so so so much for reading!!

me: posts a fic on ao3 also me, 0.3 seconds later: let me just take a totally casual peek at my inbox 🥰

ao3 inbox: (0)

me: ok haha that’s fine i didn’t write that with my whole chest and soul and childhood trauma or anything 😌👍

fifty minutes later ao3 inbox: (1)

me: …wait. who was that. who read it. who’s my special little guy. come here. let me look at you. let me HOLD you.

ao3 inbox: (2)

me: feral screaming OH MY GOODNESS THEY’RE BREEDING

ao3 inbox: (5)

me: I’M GONNA PUKE I’M GONNA CRY I’M GONNA WRITE 10K OF SLOW BURN FOR YOU SPECIFICALLY WHOEVER YOU ARE

ao3 inbox: (10)

me: on the floor, kicking my feet they LIKE me they REALLY LIKE ME I’M GONNA BUILD A SHRINE

tldr; shoutout to everyone who turns the (0) into the (1) and then into the (more than 1). i don’t know who you are but i’m spiritually holding your face in my hands and whispering danke

your new fic had me shook and devastated the whole day i need to reread to write a comprehensive comment but i just loved it soooo much it was so so sad i can't believe he actually lost his mind you wrote the whole thing so well i felt i was losing my mind with him

thank you thank you.. im just gonna go cry again. idk what i was doing writing THAT much angst. i should be stopped. someone stop me. by the end of the fic i couldn't even see what i was typing. lkhsgvbzhjflgu but yeah I'm gonna have to step away from angst for a while. for emotional reasons. thank you for reading!!

YOU INCREDIBLE AUTHOR, HOW DO YOU KEEP WRITING SUCH INCREDIBLE CRACK?!? I have sent PARAGRAPHS to my friends about your fics, you’re so fucking skilled. Also how do you get all your ideas??

OH MY GOD PARAGRAPHS??? ACTUAL PARAGRAPHS???? I AM FLIPPING A TABLE IN GRATITUDE. i am knocking on your door at 3am just to whisper “thank you” and then moonwalk away into the void in tears of joy and unfiltered longing for validation.

as for where I get my ideas… honestly?? I don’t know. they break into my home. i wake up at 2am in a cold sweat thinking “what if charles was President of the World (ref to that one ferrari pr video lmao) and kept passing laws that exclusively ruin maxie's life?” or “what if kimi is silently in love with ollie but also just threw a bag of frozen peas at Lando for reasons unknown to everyone including moi?”

THANK YOU for being a complete legend and making me feel like i have 12 brain cells instead of just 2 that take turns driving. I love you. i would write 10k words of crack just for you and make every sentence worse than the last. fingers crossed. pinky promised. 💥💞

hm fun.

the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.

exam went horribly *and* i got hurt by a staple pin in the span of like, 20 minutes, so WHEN I SAY YOUR VAMPIRE LANDO HITMAN OSCAR FIC CURED ME OF MY AILMENTS PLEASE BELIEVE ME

sucks to hear that abt ur exam. if its any reassurance, I have an exam tomorrow and I'm currently writing a fic SO GUESS WHOS DEFO FAILING

also, ps. thanks you so so so so so much for reading I LOVE YOU

still don’t know what “unctuous” means and at this point I fear it.

the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.