CS55— Destino

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wreckage - charles leclerc (3/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as charles fights for his life, his wife faces the hardest decision: let go or fight for him. a small miracle gives hope for recovery.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, very... very... emotional, again ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1676

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say that the hardest part of love is knowing when to let go. The decision to hold on is easy—it’s the decision to release, to trust that the other person will be okay without you, that’s the hard part.

You’ve been sitting in the sterile, white hospital room for hours, each minute feeling like a year. Charles’s body is hooked up to so many machines, monitors flashing with numbers that seem foreign to you. His face, once so full of life, now looks pale, bruised, and still. They told you to prepare yourself for the worst, but you haven’t let yourself believe it. Not yet.

Not while there's still hope.

You’re not even sure what you're hoping for anymore. Some miracle, maybe. But deep down, you know the odds. They’ve been giving you the numbers—stats you can’t quite process, numbers you can’t make sense of. His condition is critical, and they’ve told you, over and over again, that his survival chances are slim. His organs are struggling, his internal injuries severe. The brain scans were grim at first, showing little to no activity.

But you can’t let yourself fall into that darkness. Not yet.

The room feels too cold, too empty.

"How are his stats?" you ask quietly, though you already know the answer.

The nurse glances at you, her face trying to remain neutral. "Not good. His heart rate’s been fluctuating. His oxygen levels aren’t improving, either. We’re doing what we can, but his body’s fighting against us." She hesitates, looking back at the monitors. "We’re not sure how much longer we can keep him stable."

You nod, feeling the weight of every word, but you can’t give up. Not yet.

Minutes turn into hours. You stay by his side, holding his hand, whispering to him. Every time you speak, you tell him how much you love him, how much you need him to come back. You’re not sure if he can hear you, but it doesn’t matter. You need him to know.

And then, just as you’re beginning to feel the overwhelming weight of your decision, something unexpected happens.

The steady beep of the heart monitor suddenly begins to accelerate, growing faster and faster. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. Something’s wrong.

The nurse rushes over, her face pale as she watches the monitor. "His heart rate’s spiking," she mutters. "It’s too fast. His blood pressure’s dropping."

The room erupts into action as doctors rush in, all moving in synchronized chaos. You’re shoved aside as they begin adjusting the equipment, calling out orders, but your mind goes blank. You try to focus, but it feels like everything is spinning.

"His stats are crashing," one doctor says, his voice tense. "We need to stabilize him now."

"Is it time?" you ask, barely able to speak over the noise. "Should we—"

But before you can finish, a loud, sharp sound cuts through the room—the unmistakable alarm of a failing heartbeat. The doctor turns toward you, his eyes filled with grim determination. "I’m afraid we’ve reached the point where his body might not be able to hold on much longer."

Your breath hitches in your throat. Everything feels like it’s slipping away. You squeeze Charles’s hand tighter, as if willing him to come back to you.

But then, as if the universe is playing some cruel game, the chaos calms, just for a moment.

The alarms start to fade into silence, and the doctor presses his fingers to the side of Charles’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Your heart lurches, praying for any sign of life. The seconds feel like hours.

Suddenly, the doctor looks up, his eyes widening. "Wait… there’s something." He leans in, checking the monitors again. "His blood pressure’s stabilizing. His heart rate’s slowing down to a more normal rhythm."

You barely dare to breathe, your eyes never leaving Charles’s face.

The nurse who’s been working on him moves closer, shaking her head in disbelief. "It’s like he’s coming back."

You don’t know what to think. The last few minutes have felt like an eternity, and now, you’re afraid to believe it. "What’s happening?" you whisper, your voice trembling.

The doctor looks up at you, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes. "It seems like he’s fighting. His body’s responding… it’s too early to say for sure, but this is a good sign."

You stare at Charles, trying to process the sudden shift. Is this the miracle you’ve been waiting for, or just another false hope?

The minutes stretch on, and then, just as you begin to allow yourself a small breath of relief, the monitor lets out another shrill, jagged alarm—the unmistakable sound of a fatal arrhythmia. A shocking wave of panic shoots through you as the machine flashes with an erratic, spiking rhythm.

"V-fib!" The doctor shouts, his voice urgent. "We’re losing him. Get the defibrillator ready."

The nurse scrambles to prepare the machine, and you feel your stomach drop out. This can't be happening. Not now.

"Charles!" you whisper, gripping his hand harder, your eyes welling up. "Please."

The doctors are already on him, paddles in hand, but it feels like time is standing still. Your eyes dart from the monitors to Charles’s face, feeling as if your heart has stopped with his. Then, the shock.

The force of the defibrillator sends a jolt through his chest, and the monitor flickers. Nothing.

You close your eyes briefly, bracing for the worst.

"Again," the doctor orders, and another round of defibrillation. This time, there’s a slight blip, a change. It’s not much, but it’s something.

The doctor presses the paddles down once more, adjusting the settings. "One more time. We need him back."

The seconds stretch as they try again, and then finally, the heart monitor begins to beat again—slowly, but steadily.

"Heartbeat stable," the nurse breathes.

Your breath escapes your lips in a shaky exhale. You look at Charles again, feeling a rush of relief flood through you as the panic of the past few minutes settles into a wary calm. But it’s still not over. His fight isn’t done.

Just as you think the worst is behind you, Charles’s mother bursts into the room, her eyes frantic as she surveys the scene. Her voice cracks as she calls out his name, "Charles!"

You feel a flash of guilt. You should’ve called her sooner, but there had been no time. The doctors had been focused, and you’d been too overwhelmed to think clearly.

You step aside, giving her space, but you can’t look away from the man you love, still unconscious, his body fighting to survive.

The doctor steps over to you both. "We’re stabilizing him, but we’re not out of the woods yet. We need to make some decisions."

Charles’s mother looks at you, her face pale with concern. She reaches for your hand. "Whatever it is… I trust you. You’re his wife, and you know him better than anyone. What do you think we should do?"

You swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I… I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do. He’s… he’s still fighting. But we’ve been here for so long, and I don’t know how much longer we can wait."

Her gaze softens. "You don’t have to do this alone. I trust you. We’re a family. We make these decisions together." She squeezes your hand tightly. "But if you think there’s still a chance for him, then we have to keep fighting too."

You look back at Charles, uncertainty and fear clouding your judgment. How do you even begin to make this decision? His body is failing him, but his heart—his spirit—is still trying.

"Let’s give him more time," you decide, your voice shaking with fear but firm with resolve. "But if his chances are too slim… if we’re just keeping him alive on machines, then we need to think about letting him go."

The doctor nods solemnly. "We’ll run more tests. But if things don’t improve soon, we may need to consider other options."

As the minutes pass, the machines continue to monitor Charles’s every movement, every breath, and the room remains tense, every decision weighed in silence. But then, something begins to shift.

"His blood pressure’s coming back up," the nurse announces quietly. "And… there’s more brain activity. His oxygen levels are improving too."

You feel like you might be dreaming. "Is this really happening?"

The doctor steps forward, shaking his head in disbelief. "I’ve never seen anything like this. His vitals are stabilizing. I think… I think he’s fighting."

"Fighting?" you ask, still not quite believing what you’re hearing.

The nurse, who’s been checking his monitors, speaks softly, her voice a little hopeful. "He knows you’re here. I think he’s holding on for you."

And in that moment, you realize: you’re not alone in this fight. Charles is fighting for you too.

The room fills with a cautious optimism, but the road ahead is still uncertain. Will he wake up? Will his organs continue to improve?

Only time will tell.

Then, the unthinkable happens.

"His breathing," the nurse says, voice shaky, "it’s improving. He’s trying to breathe on his own. We can extubate him. He doesn't need the tube anymore."

You stare, wide-eyed, as they carefully begin the process of removing the intubation tube, your heart in your throat.

Everything changes in a moment.

There’s still a long way to go, but for the first time in hours, you feel a flicker of hope.

He’s still here. And he’s fighting.

But you know deep down that the next few days will be critical.

You stand there, feeling like you’ve crossed a line between despair and hope. But Charles has always been a fighter. And if he’s fighting, so will you.

For him. For the life you built together. For love.

You look down at him, and the smallest of smiles begins to tug at your lips.

Maybe… just maybe… he’ll make it through.

And for now, that's enough.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , @ayap4paya , @prttylight , @meadhbhcavanagh , @iluvnewtie , @hiireadstuff , @armystay89 , comment to be added

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

A diferentes velocidades (Lando x Lectora)

Resumen: durante cierto evento de la FIA, el par de pilotos compartió una entrevista. Y desde ese momento, Lando se obsesionó con la mujer.

Masterlist de mi autoría

~¿Yo? Apuesto por Red Bull. Se desarrollaron mejor en la última carrera.~

~Pero yo soy mejor, saqué el mejor tiempo. 1 minuto y 12 segundos... ¿No te parece bueno?~

~Depende en qué ámbito y contexto... ¿No te parece? Puede parecer... poquito.~

La manera en que el rostro de Lando se tornó rojo en un segundo fue un meme y suceso destacable del ámbito a partir de ese momento. Sumado a los masajes de Amsterdam, la sonrisa y rostro carmesí de Norris fueron patrimonio nacional entre sus fanáticos, quienes no tardaron en hacer miles de edits con la escena.

Si... Fue una locura.

Y ____ no esperaba que fuera para tanto.

La piloto de rally coincidió con Norris en el enorme hall del evento, y por pura gentileza accedió a la entrevista pedida por cierta periodista. No esperaba tal revuelo por tan bobalicón comentario.

El Motorsport Games de la FIA llevaba solo unos pocos años en el mapa, apenas se estaba acercando a la popularidad media. Y la mujer tenía los patrocinadores justos y necesarios para sustentar su lugar. Ahora le llovían interesados.

Y no solo patrocinadores.

~Se te vio en las gradas de la última carrera ¿No conseguiste acceso al paddock incluso ganando el oro el viernes?~

~Nos discriminan a los de mi categoría. FIA, dame el gusto ¿Si?~____ rió apenas~. Es broma, la verdad no solicité nada... Esperemos que si Checo ve esto, me invite a su palco. Sería un honor.~

~¿Y... Si McLaren ofrece un lugar?~

~... ¿Oscar sería tan considerado?~fingió confusión, pero no tardó en sonreír~... La verdad es que desde aquel día no volví a hablar con Lando, fue algo del momento y ya. Temo arruinar nuestros shippeos para los fans de Tik Tok.~ Se encogió de hombros divertida.

Se equivocaba.

El fin de semana anterior, Lando estuvo al completo pendiente de la mujer.

Puede que no entendiera mucho de la categoría donde ella estaba, pero con tal de verla y saber más de ella, se mantuvo bastante entretenido.

—Es por tiempo, pero Sprint... O algo asi.—

—... ¿Estuviste toda la tarde mirando eso?—

Oscar llegó al departamento casi de noche, encontrándose a Lando en el salón común, mirando la última carrera, donde ____ salió campeona.

—____ ganó... Con una diferencia de media hora.—señaló sonriente la pantalla, donde la mujer se quitaba el casco agitada, dejándolo en el techo del auto—. Mírala... Es tan atractiva que volvería loco a cualquiera.—

—¿Esto fue ayer no? Deberías mandarle un mensaje, felicitarla.—la sonrisa de Lando se desvaneció.

—No.—

—¿Qué? ¿por qué?... No me digas que te da pena, justo a ti.—

El chico no dijo nada, solo se limitó a seguir mirando el televisor.

____ subía al techo de su auto junto a su copiloto, alzando la bandera de México con una sonrisa radiante pese al cansancio.

Lando no duraría mucho más manteniéndose lejos.

La mañana de ____ empezó como cualquier otra ese viernes, con la única -e interesante- diferencia de un sobre en su correspondencia.

—... No me digas que es lo que creo que es.—

____ le mostró a Lucas, su copiloto, el pase para el paddock de ese fin de semana. Era para el sector de McLaren.

—Parece que Norris te tuvo en cuenta al final.—

La mujer se sorprendió por el gesto, pero no tardó en sonreír.

—Ella está aquí, la vi en el salón general.—

—¿Quién?—

—____.—

Lando se levantó enseguida del sofá, mirando a Oscar como si le hubiese dado la mejor noticia del año.

—¿Dónde?—

—En el salón general... ¿Estás bien?—

—Iré a saludar.—caminó hacia la puerta, pero se congeló antes de abrirla—... No, mejor no.—

—... ¿Sabes algo? Hace mucho no veía a éste Lando nervioso e inseguro. No lo extrañaba.—Oscar lo vio dar unos brincos en el lugar, dándose valor—. Solo ve y di hola, no es tan dificil.—

—Para ti es fácil decirlo.—

—Pues si, a mi no me gusta ni me da miedo.—

Lando estaba por negar aquello, cuando unos toques en la puerta los interrumpió.

Si el chico ya estaba bastante exaltado por la situación, ver a la mujer ahí de pie le explotó la cabeza.

—Oh, que bueno encontrarte. Llevo buscándote un buen rato.—la chica sonrió enseguida.

—¿Me... Buscabas?—

—Pues sí, para agradecerte.—____ alzó el carnet VIP—. Gracias, Lando. Todo es genial por aquí... Para nada el ámbito del rally.—

—¿Extrañas el polvo y el calor?—Oscar llamó su atención. ____ rió entre dientes.

—Para nada, Oscar... Es un placer conocerte, por cierto.—Lo vio sonreír. ____ volvió su atención a Lando, quien parecía paralizado—... ¿Estás bien?—

—Si. Muy bien. Excelente... Que bueno que viniste, digo, que hayas aceptado las entradas... Para venir a apoyarnos.—sonrió nervioso.

—Oye oye, más despacio.—____ señaló su gorra de Red Bull—. Checo sigue siendo mi favorito.—

—... ¿Algún requisito en específico para que uses una gorra mía al menos por hoy?—

Lando se animó a decir aquello, sin saber bien cómo lo tomaría la mujer. Sintió burbujas en el estómago al verla sonreír.

—Si me regalas una y la firmas... Podría considerar ser tu fan, solo por hoy.—el rostro del hombre se iluminó.

Lando le sonreía a la nada leyendo los comentarios de aquella publicación.

Los fanáticos dejaban volar su imaginación con aquel posteo, y el piloto disfrutaba de los delirios ficticios de todos.

Después de la carrera, Lando no tuvo oportunidad de buscar a la mujer, quien tuvo que irse temprano por su agenda. Al otro día empezaba otro circuito para ella también.

Pero aún así, recibió un mensaje que le alegró la noche.

—¿Te estás mensajeando con ella?—Lando enfocó la mirada en su compañero, quien dormitaba en el sofá contrario—. La cara de tonto te delata.—

—Pidió disculpas por irse antes... Y nos felicita por haber ganado los primeros puestos... Dice que le gustaría volver a vernos, cenar juntos o algo asi.—

—O sea que quiere verme a mi también, no es que tú le gustes.—

—Disfrutas sabotear mis ilusiones ¿Verdad?—

—No son ilusiones, creo que a estas alturas, todo el mundo sabe que podría haber algo.—

Por si no fuera ya un bombazo ver a la mujer en el paddock usando la gorra de Lando, ver al McLaren en Egipto celebrando la reciente victoria de la mujer terminó de explotar entre los fanáticos.

—Somos tendencia, compañero.—

Lando miró a la mujer entrar al restaurante, usando un vestido demasiado provocador para su gusto. Lo amó.

—¿Y cómo no serlo? Llevamos todo el día provocando en redes.—la miró sentarse frente a él—. Estas muy linda... Imposible imaginar que hace unas horas estabas cubierta de arena... y también estabas muy linda.—la escuchó reír.

—Gustos extraños los tuyos... Es como si yo admitiera que adoro verte al final de las carreras agitado y sudado.—alzó las cejas con burla.

—Pues a mi si me gusta verte agitada y sudada después de las carreras...—

El par de pilotos comenzó a meterse en terreno peligroso...

Te llevo para que me lleves | Franco Colapinto

summary: Después de ganar su primera carrera en Fórmula 1, Franco le regala a Agus su casco.

pairing: franco colapinto x (fem)! singer agus luciani

wattpad: jinetacromadette

Era una tarde soleada en Monza, y Franco acababa de conseguir su primera victoria en Fórmula 1. Estaba empapado de champaña, con esa sonrisa que parecía iluminar cualquier lugar al que fuera. Cuando salimos del circuito, me llevó a un rincón más tranquilo, lejos de la multitud.

—Tengo algo para vos —me dijo, todavía con el pelo revuelto y los ojos brillando de emoción.

—¿Qué? ¿La botella de champán? Porque ya la vaciaste. —Reí, intentando disimular que su mirada siempre me hacía sentir un poco más torpe de lo normal.

Franco negó con la cabeza y, de repente, apareció con el casco en las manos. Lo miré, confundida.

—¿Te lo sostengo? —le dije, tratando de entender qué estaba haciendo.

Él rió, esa risa suya tan natural.

—No, amor. Te lo estoy dando a vos.

Me quedé muda. Lo giré en mis manos y me di cuenta de los detalles que había puesto en él: una bandera argentina, pequeños símbolos que representaban cosas nuestras —como una estrella fugaz que habíamos visto juntos en uno de esos viajes de madrugada—, y ahí, en un rincón del casco, las iniciales AL.

—¿AL? —le pregunté, aunque el nudo en la garganta ya me daba la respuesta.

—Vos sos Agus Luciani. Y porque este casco no solo me protegió a mí en la pista, sino que tiene todo lo que soy. Y ahora también tiene lo más importante. Tiene amor. Y vos sos mi amor.

Intenté no llorar. Juro que intenté. Pero era Franco, y todo lo que hacía tenía esa mezcla de intensidad y amor que siempre me desarmaba.

—No puedo aceptarlo —le dije, aunque ya lo estaba abrazando como si fuera mi mayor tesoro.

—Sí, podés. Y lo vas a aceptar, porque ya sos dueña de mi corazón. Me parece justo que también seas dueña de mi casco. Ya es tuyo. Como lo soy yo.

ill be back in ten, okay?

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

(low-key a part 2 to this, but can be read separately)

summary: oscar sneaks in to check on reader during a pcos flare-up.

warnings: pcos mention, chronic pain

A/N: (ive had this lined up since after ur last req and i’m posting it now) no one asked for this but this is my new favourite thing to write. so ENJOY :> i keep saying this but y’all if u’ve got requests for ANY driver, please, feel free to send them in. any scenario. i’ll try to make it possible. i love u, babies 🤙💋

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you’re curled up on the motorhome couch with a hot pack pressed against your stomach and oscar’s hoodie swallowed around your frame. the pain has mostly dulled into a low throb, and now you’re just… tired.

the paddock noise hums outside, muffled behind the tinted windows, and you assume oscar’s back at work. qualifying starts soon. he’s probably in briefing.

you don’t expect the soft creak of the door.

you glance up.

he peeks in with the most ridiculous look — wide eyes, slight smirk, finger to his lips like he’s sneaking into a forbidden zone.

you raise an eyebrow. “aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“i am,” he whispers dramatically, slipping inside and shutting the door behind him. “i’m working on morale.”

you laugh quietly. “pretty sure your job is to drive the car, piastri.”

“i can multitask,” he says, crossing the room in four long steps. “and right now, the girl i love is wearing my hoodie and looking unfairly cute while recovering from a flare-up, so i had to intervene.”

he sits beside you, eyes shining, hands already reaching for yours.

“five minutes,” he says, holding up his hand. “then i’ll go back to being a professional athlete or whatever.”

you smile as he leans in, kisses you softly. it’s warm and slow, like he’s got nowhere to be — even though you both know he does.

you tug gently at the collar of his fireproof undershirt. “you taste like energy drink.”

“romantic,” he deadpans.

you giggle. “thanks for sneaking in.”

he kisses your cheek. “i’ll always sneak in for you.”

and when he finally stands to leave, he pauses in the doorway and turns back with a grin.

“might be back in ten. can’t promise anything.”

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

I HATE THE NEW RULES WTF IS THIS, FIA YOU'RE THE WORST I HATE U

Reblog if reading someone else’s fanfiction has helped you get through a hard day

I want to write a alpha!anakin fic :(

gosh im so happy with all the williams carlos content we are having these days if I'm feeling new I DON'T IMAGINE HOW FRESH HE MUST FEEL

it's my birthday!! today I post Seb OS