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its-avalon-08 · 6 months ago

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tell me why you're here (dc14)

anon you're a star! istg such good requests, thanks alot for reading <3

pairing - David Coulthard x ferrari!driver!reader

The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of exhaust fumes and the thrumming tension of a championship fight. 2001, Monza. You, the undisputed Scuderia Ferrari Queen, and David Coulthard, your McLaren nemesis, stood on opposite sides of the grid, a simmering rivalry stretching back years reflected in your steely gazes.

There was something undeniable between you two, a spark that ignited on the racetrack and flickered in the post-race interviews, veiled in thinly veiled barbs and stolen glances. But the truth was, unspoken fears kept you both tethered to your teams. The scarlet of Ferrari was your armor, the prancing horse your symbol of unwavering loyalty. McLaren, for David, was a second family, and Mika Hakkinen, his teammate, a brother-in-arms. To break ranks, to chase something more, felt like a betrayal.

The lights flicked out, the grid a blur of red and silver as you surged forward. Every lap was a dance on a knife's edge, pushing the limits of the car and yourself. You battled wheel-to-wheel with David, the roar of the crowd a distant echo in your helmet. Then, disaster struck. Bottas, the Williams driver, misjudged a turn, clipping your rear wing. The world tilted on its axis as your Ferrari went airborne, a sickening weightlessness before a bone-jarring impact with the barriers.

The cockpit filled with dust and the acrid tang of burning rubber. Your head throbbed, vision blurry. Disoriented, you fumbled with the release lever, the silence deafening after the symphony of the engine. You stumbled out, shaken but miraculously unharmed. The red car, however, lay broken and unmoving, a testament to the violence of the crash.

David, having witnessed the horror unfold in his mirrors, felt a primal jolt of fear course through him. It was a fear that transcended their rivalry, a raw, visceral terror that left his palms slick with sweat. But he clenched his jaw, a silent apology lodged in his throat. McLaren needed this win, and Mika was hot on his heels. He couldn't afford to falter.

Fear, raw and primal, clawed at his throat. It was a fear that transcended their rivalry, a terror that left his palms slick with sweat.

He couldn't take his eyes off the dust cloud engulfing the spot where your car had disappeared. The championship fight with Michael was a distant thought, the roar of the crowd a dull thrum in his ears. His voice, when he finally spoke, was tight, a mask of professionalism barely containing the tremor of worry.

"Get me a status check on the red two," he barked into his radio, his gaze fixed on the dissipating smoke. "Accident at Lesmo. Looks bad."

"Copy that, David," his race engineer, Dave Masten, replied, his voice laced with concern. They both knew the dangers lurking on the high-speed corners of Monza.

David pressed his foot down further, the car a blur as he pushed for every last millisecond. He knew he couldn't afford to lose focus, not with Mika hot on his heels. But every corner, every bump, sent a fresh jolt of unease through him. Images of your crumpled car, of you… he pushed them down, burying them deep. He couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment. Yet, with every passing lap, the worry gnawed at him, a relentless current beneath the surface.

"Any word on Y/N?" he finally asked, his voice clipped, betraying none of the turmoil within.

"Medical team's on the scene," Dave responded promptly. "We'll get you an update as soon as we have one."

David grunted, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He couldn't let this distract him. He had a race to win, for McLaren, for Mika, for himself. But a silent vow echoed in the confines of his helmet. He would see you, Y/N. He would get to you, somehow, the moment this damn race was over.

The race raged on, the roar of the crowd a distant echo in David's ears. He drove on autopilot, the image of your crumpled car seared into his mind. Finally, the checkered flag. A hollow victory, a McLaren 1-2. Relief washed over him, tinged with a gnawing worry.

As he climbed out of the car, the first person his eyes met was Michael, a grim expression etched on his face. "Y/N," he started, his voice tight, "they're taking her to the medical center."

David's heart lurched. All thoughts of the win, the championship, faded into insignificance. He didn't care about points or podiums. All he wanted was to be by your side, to see you safe. But duty, that ever-present burden, held him back. He could only nod curtly, a silent promise hanging heavy in the air, a promise he hoped he wouldn't break.

The post-race celebrations were a blur of forced smiles and hollow champagne toasts. David felt like a fraud, the gleaming trophy a cold reminder of a victory that felt hollow. He couldn't shake the image of your car, a mangled sculpture of red against the asphalt. The medical center visit had been a whirlwind – you were shaken, sore, but thankfully unharmed. Relief had washed over him, a tidal wave that left him weak at the knees.

But the relief was laced with a bitter aftertaste. He hadn't been able to see you. Team protocols, the swarming media, a suffocating sense of duty – all conspired to keep him at bay. Back at the McLaren motorhome, the silence was deafening. He showered, the hot water failing to wash away the lingering dread. Just then, a knock on the door startled him. It was Mika, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Mind if I intrude, mate?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

David sighed, gesturing for him to come in. "Fire away, Mika."

"Look," Mika began, his usual playful demeanor replaced by uncharacteristic seriousness, "I know what just happened out there scared the living daylights out of you."

David flinched. He hadn't spoken a word about his terror, yet Mika saw right through him.

"Don't worry, DC," Mika chuckled, "your secret's safe with me. But seriously, mate," he continued, his voice softening, "you looked like a ghost out there. You haven't been yourself since that crash."

David stared down at his hands, guilt twisting in his gut. "I just… I couldn't believe it. One minute she's pushing me hard, the next…" he trailed off, unable to voice the terrifying image that haunted him.

Mika placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of surprising tenderness from the usually stoic Finn. "You care about her, don't you?"

David met Mika's gaze, his own filled with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. "It's complicated, Mika. We're rivals."

Mika scoffed. "Rivals who can't seem to keep their eyes off each other. Come on, DC, we both know this dance you two have been doing is getting old. You think I haven't noticed the sparks flying whenever you're around her?"

David opened his mouth to protest, but Mika cut him off. "Look," he said, his voice firm, "life's too damn short for these games. You almost lost her today. Don't waste another minute wondering what could have been."

Mika's words hung in the air, a challenge and a dare. David looked into his teammate's eyes, seeing not just a competitor but a friend who understood. Maybe Mika was right. Maybe it was time to stop hiding, to stop letting fear dictate his actions. He wouldn't let another day pass without knowing the truth, without letting you know how he truly felt.

A resolute expression settled on David's face. "Thanks, Mika," he said, a newfound determination in his voice. "You're right. It's time."

The sterile white of the medical center walls had been a blur as the doctor droned on about rest and recovery. Back in the familiar confines of your driver's room at the Ferrari garage, however, the events of the day crashed down on you like a tidal wave. The mangled wreckage of your car, the searing pain that had mercifully subsided, the chilling realization of how close you'd come to...well, anything but a podium finish. You curled up on the small cot, exhaustion warring with a nagging anxiety. A soft knock at the door startled you.

Wiping the tears that had sprung to your eyes, you called out, your voice hoarse. "Yeah, come in."

The door creaked open, revealing a sight that made your breath hitch. It was David, clad in his now-unfamiliar McLaren overalls, his face etched with a worry you wouldn't have believed possible just a few hours ago. Before you could even process his unexpected appearance, he was striding across the room, his expression uncharacteristically intense.

The next thing you knew, you were enveloped in a warm embrace. His arms, surprisingly strong, held you close, his fingers gently stroking your hair. It was a gesture so foreign to the typically stoic David that you froze, unsure how to react. He'd never been one for displays of affection, not even in the fleeting, celebratory moments of a podium finish.

"David?" you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper. "What's wrong?"

He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes holding a depth you'd never seen before. Concern, something akin to fear, flickered in their depths. "I heard you were back," he said, his voice rough. "I... I just needed to see you, to make sure you were alright."

You blinked, your mind racing. This wasn't the David you knew, the one cloaked in professional rivalry. This was a man stripped bare, his emotions laid raw on the surface. A warmth bloomed in your chest, a counterpoint to the lingering chill of fear.

"I'm fine," you said, your voice finding its strength. "Just a bit banged up." You reached out, hesitantly placing your hand on his arm. The contact sent a jolt through you, a familiar spark you'd long suppressed.

A wry smile tugged at your lips, the memory of countless post-race interviews flashing before your eyes. "You don't exactly strike me as the huggy type, DC," you teased, the playful jab a way to mask the fluttering in your stomach.

David's jaw clenched for a brief moment, a flicker of his usual competitive spirit igniting. But then, his grip on you tightened, surprising you with its intensity. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice husky, "accidents have a way of changing things." He buried his face in your hair, the familiar scent of Ferrari leather and adrenaline a strange comfort. "Don't push me away, Y/N. Not now." The words were a plea, raw and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the composed facade he usually maintained. You felt a lump form in your throat. This wasn't just about the crash, you realized with a jolt. This was about something deeper, something unspoken that had simmered beneath the surface of your rivalry for far too long.

You let out a shaky breath, the playful facade crumbling under the weight of his unexpected vulnerability. "David," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "why are you really here?"

He held you tighter for a moment, his silence a thrumming tension in the air. Then, slowly, he pulled back, his blue eyes searching yours. "Because," he began, his voice low and husky, "the thought of you… of almost losing you… it scared the hell out of me."

Your heart hammered in your chest. This wasn't just about concern for a fellow competitor. This was something more, something you'd only dreamt of.

"Scared?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A wry smile touched his lips, laced with a hint of self-deprecation. "Scared enough to break all the damn rules," he admitted, his gaze lingering on your lips. "Scared enough to realize that this stupid rivalry… it doesn't matter anymore. Not compared to you."

The dam inside you broke. All the unspoken feelings, the stolen glances across the podium, the simmering tension that had fueled your every race – it all came flooding out. "David," you breathed, your voice trembling, "I thought… I thought you never felt the same."

He cupped your face in his calloused hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. "Always," he confessed, his voice a mere thread. "Always, but the timing… the teams… it never felt right."

A tear escaped your eye, tracing a warm path down your cheek. David leaned in, brushing it away with his thumb, the touch sending shivers down your spine.

David cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. He confessed, his voice a low rumble. "This whole time, this stupid rivalry… it was a shield. I was afraid to admit how I felt, afraid of what it would mean for our teams, for everything."

A bittersweet smile touched your lips. The fear you'd harbored for years, the fear of rejection, mirrored his own. "David," you said, your voice catching slightly, "I… I felt it too. The spark, the tension… I thought it was just competition."

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "It was always more, Y/N," he murmured, sending shivers down your spine. Then, his lips found yours in a hesitant kiss, a tentative exploration that quickly deepened with newfound urgency. The taste of adrenaline and relief mingled with something sweeter, a taste that promised a future neither of you dared to dream of.

He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours. A soft laugh escaped his lips, tinged with disbelief. "Who knew a near-death experience would lead to this?" he whispered, peppering your face with gentle kisses, each one a silent apology, a promise.

The first kiss landed on your temple, a whisper-light touch that sent a shiver down your spine. The second brushed your cheek, lingering just long enough to leave your skin tingling. Then, a third, softer still, grazed the corner of your lips, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

You couldn't help but let out a breathless laugh, your voice barely a whisper. "David," you breathed, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the firm line of his jaw.

He chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated against your chest. "Don't tempt me, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. His lips danced across your jaw, trailing a line of fire down your neck before finding the sensitive spot behind your ear. A gasp escaped your lips as he lingered there, sending delicious shivers radiating through you.

His kisses were a whirlwind, a mix of apology and exploration. Each one whispered a story – the fear he'd felt watching you crash, the relief of seeing you safe, the yearning he'd kept buried for so long. You surrendered to the feeling, letting out a soft sigh as your arms tightened around his waist, pulling him closer.

The world outside your small driver's room faded away, replaced by the intoxicating rhythm of your heartbeats and the warmth of his touch. In that moment, there were no rivalries, no teams, no championships. There was only you and David, two souls bound by a love that had finally found its voice.

The tender scene unfolding in the driver's room was a stark contrast to the usual post-race chaos. A few doors down the hallway, Michael Schumacher and Corinna were winding down after a celebratory dinner with the rest of the Ferrari team. Michael, still buzzing from his podium finish, was regaling Corinna with an anecdote about a pit stop mishap. But his voice trailed off as his gaze drifted towards the window overlooking the driver's area.

"What's wrong, Schatz?" Corinna asked, following his line of sight.

A sly grin spread across Michael's face. "Looks like Mika owes me a hefty sum," he chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

Corinna's eyes widened as she saw David, his McLaren helmet abandoned on a nearby chair, holding Y/N in a tight embrace. Her normally stoic teammate was peppering her face with kisses, a sight so unexpected it brought a smile to Corinna's lips.

"Aww, they're so happy," she murmured, a hint of fondness in her voice.

Michael chuckled again. "Remember that bet we made before the season started? Fifty bucks says those two wouldn't confess their feelings by Monaco."

Corinna rolled her eyes playfully. "Fifty bucks? You know you just wanted an excuse to see them squirm."

Michael shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe a little. But hey, at least they finally stopped dancing around each other."

Corinna couldn't help but agree. As she watched the tender scene unfold, a warmth bloomed in her chest. The rivalry between Ferrari and McLaren was fierce, but beneath the surface, there was a certain camaraderie, a respect for the talent and dedication of their competitors. And seeing Y/N and David find happiness, even amidst the high-octane world of Formula One, brought a smile to her face.

"Looks like Mika needs to pony up," Michael declared, reaching for his wallet with a triumphant grin.

Corinna swatted his hand away playfully. "Don't be a sore winner, Michael. Just be happy for them."

Michael feigned a hurt expression. "Fine, fine," he conceded, pulling her into a hug. "But you have to admit, this is a lot more interesting than that story about your dodgy pit stop crew."

Corinna laughed, the sound echoing down the hallway, a counterpoint to the soft murmur of confessions and the gentle rhythm of two hearts finally beating in sync.

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