#the sooner we all accept that the better 🫶

[whiterunguard]

Things are in store. Things are going to happen.

[internetgremlin-writes]

hi 🫶🏼 what a weekend to be a carlos sainz fan! so incredibly happy about everything because he deserves it. I am happy you are accepting request for the man of the weekend so I would like to request this:

carlos is starting to feel the pressure of the weekend with winning pole and being on the edge of winning his first race that he is starting to doubt about his abilities and himself, so he asks to put the reader through the radio so he can listen to her voice and words of encouragement.

I hope its not that cheesy lmao. truly throttled book vibes but I would like to read something like this with carlos. thank you!!!!!! 🫶🏼 ps: can’t wait for a flat spin update hihihi. happy sunday!

WHAT A WEEKEND RIGHT? Will I ever recover from this? Probably not. In my books he deserves the WORLD

Warnings: wee bit angsty, but then we get to the good stuff

I have not read throttled yet simply bc i cannot find a cheap copy anywhere and it's so high on my reading list its making me sad. BUT THIS is such a good concept. If you didn't enjoy the level of drama in the last 20 laps I'm sorry but you're gonna have to go through it again

Carlos was panicking.

He felt the furthest thing from calm and in control, he had the whole weekend. And that was saying something, given his accidental pole (okay, it wasn't an accident but Carlos really did think that lap was nothing special, and he was still reeling from the shock of hearing that "P1" down the radio) and then the mess that had been the race so far.

It hadn't started great, and not that Carlos ever enjoyed red flags like that, not when he spent most of the time in the pits feeling silently sick in his worry for his fellow driver's health, but he was grateful it had happened early enough to allow him a restart from his pole. That meant he hadn't lost to Max straight away. Carlos always said he was fighting for the win, but he knew that when it came to raw speed the Ferrari typically paled in comparison to the Red Bull, but still, it would have been embarrassing to have had the lead snatched from him in the first corner.

So he got his restart, and that went well. He kept his lead for a few laps and was settling into his race proper, feeling like he was handling the pressure from Max behind him well until he found himself off track and Max was in front of him. And okay it wasn't ideal but it was fine, but there were still the pit stops and if he could stay within DRS- and then Max was slowing down and he was back in the lead and he couldn't quite believe his luck.

And it had been going so well until Charles came on the radio saying he was better and faster and Carlos knew he wasn't entirely wrong. He liked the car best on soft tyres and the mediums hadn't felt great but after his swap to hards, he felt like he was driving on ice. So forgive him for doing his best to keep his lead by not throwing the car into a barrier. He didn't have time to register the team orders until he'd already slowed and Charles was past him, streaking off into the distance and leaving nothing but a bitter taste in Carlos' mouth.

And then he was in P3, and that shiny trophy with a number one on it was slipping further and further from his view and Carlos found himself driving with nothing but despair and hopeless desperation pushing him on. He figured the faster he could get it over with the better; the sooner he could be at the hotel with you, and you would stroke his hair and hold him close and tell him all the nice things he didn't think he deserved to hear when he couldn't bear to even look at the smaller awards he'd been bringing home recently.

The yellow flag felt like a golden ticket. Especially when he found himself pitting ahead of Hamilton, and finally he was on soft tyres and the car was snapping up into his hands the way he liked it and that fire was back and Carlos felt ready to charge.

"When the green flag comes, let Charles go. We need you at least 10 car paces behind him to hold them off,"

Hold them off? Carlos felt himself spiralling. Why did they give him the soft tyres to offer him up like a sacrificial lamb for slaughter? This wasn't Monaco - he couldn't block the whole road. If he hung back to try and give Charles the lead he'd be eaten alive, there was no way he could keep the one-two podium hopes up. Hamilton and Perez were already too close for comfort, jostling in his mirrors, and behind that, he'd noticed Alonso sneaking into the mix.

Carlos wasn't above begging. He didn't like how his voice was cracking, but there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't like how he was suddenly struggling with his English, it made him sound dumb when he was trying to outsmart his strategist. He couldn't lose the win - not like this. Not on shitty team orders that didn't have a hope of working. It wasn't even a case of pride, he'd argue, it was just wrong. It wasn't racing.

"I need-" there was only a lap left under the safety car. "Guys c'mon,"

"Ten car lengths, no more between you,"

"I want to talk to Y/N,"

"Carlos-"

"I have a lap of safety car left,"

Carlos had no idea what he was doing. He was frightened, his mind racing and his chest was tightening. He was suddenly aware of every ache in his body, how tired he was. The only thing he could picture was you, he had to talk to you. He felt very much like a child in a go-kart, who didn't understand why he wasn't allowed to just take the win being offered up to him.

"Carlos? It's Y/N," you sounded different on the radio, but it was you. Already he was breathing easier. Your voice was warm, tinged with concern but not worry. You were steady, calm. You were an anchor in this mess.

"Amor," he breathed, not caring who this was being broadcasted to.

"Hi," you softened at the nickname. He could imagine the way your eyes shone and your smile relaxed and you would lean into him as you relaxed. He felt himself responding reflexly.

"Tell me not to do it," he sounded desperate, but he didn't care. "You say follow orders, and I'll lose. No questions. You tell me to fight, then I go,"

"Carlos-"

"I don't have time. I don't know what it looks like outside. But I can't lose because I'm told to, not unless you trust them. You trust - you tell me to listen, then I lose for you,"

"They're telling me to tell you safety car is ending in 30 seconds,"

"Tell me what to do!" He cried. He didn't mean to sound snappy, but there was no time to think, and all Carlos needed in that moment was your opinion. He trusted you more than anyone, even if you weren't a strategist, you would never let him suffer for nothing. You were smart and that was enough. He saw the ten-second warning.

"Y/N!"

"Win for me,"

It was all he needed to hear. Charles shot forward in front of him and without giving a moment's hesitation, Carlos hit the throttle too. He didn't care how much trouble he would be in later with the team, he was a new man. With the soft tyres playing into his driving style exactly as he needed them to and your voice ringing in his ears, the fire in his belly rose back from the ashes and the only thing that mattered was crossing that line first.

It was almost too easy to take Charles. He could hear a radio complaint, but he didn't care. There was no way Charles could hold the lead on used hard tyres and with the damaged wing, Carlos could. Charles could at least try to fight for a second.

He felt fast too, finally felt good.

When he saw the flag he thought it was a dream. His engineer gave a curt well done, but Carlos didn't care. He was feeling so many things he didn't feel anything at all. And then you were back, screaming, down the radio at him and Carlos was grinning and shouting back because he won.

"For you!" He managed, voice thick and eyes wet as everything sank in all at once. "I won for you!"

"I love you!"

Carlos almost crashed the car. You'd been together for the best part of a year now, but between long-distance stints and the steady start, you'd not said it out loud to each other yet.

"I love you too!" He heard you let out a small sob down the radio, and somewhere in the back of his mind the thought about how much the Netflix team would love this.

He thought he was floating on the podium. He couldn't contain his grin, and the sight of you right at the front of the barrier, in his Ferrari jumper and flushed, tear-stained cheeks was enough to keep the look he'd gotten from Mattia as he clapped him on the shoulder on his way to the cool-down room at the back of his mind.

Besides, he had a few ideas of how he could avoid the team meeting for a little bit longer and most of them involved you, more champagne and his driver's room where the door woud lock.