#Data Engineering Course Near Me

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[biitpolytechnic]

Starting Your Journey in Advanced Engineering Education at BITT Polytechnic

If you want to build a bright future in engineering and technology, choosing the right college is very important. In Ranchi, BITT Polytechnic is one of the best choices for students who want to learn advanced engineering skills. It is known as one of the best polytechnic colleges in Ranchi and offers many courses that help students get ready for today’s job market.

A Great Place for Engineering Studies in Ranchi

Ranchi has many private polytechnic colleges in Ranchi, but BITT Polytechnic is special because of its good teachers, modern classrooms, and useful courses. The college offers many programs not only in basic engineering but also in new technologies.

For example, the Civil Engineering Course in Ranchi, ECE Courses, at BITT is very popular. Since India is building many new roads, bridges, and buildings, civil engineers are needed everywhere. Students here learn how to design and manage construction projects with practical skills.

Learning New Technologies

Technology is changing fast, and BITT Polytechnic teaches new subjects like Artificial Intelligence (AI) and Machine Learning (ML). Their AI and ML polytechnic college in Ranchi program helps students learn how computers can think and learn on their own. This is useful in areas like robots, smart devices, and data analysis.

BITT also offers courses in cybersecurity, so students can become experts in protecting information from hackers. This makes BITT Polytechnic a good Cyber security polytechnic college in Ranchi.

Another important course is Cloud computing and big data course in Ranchi. This teaches students how to store and handle large amounts of data on the internet, which is very useful in many businesses.

Computer Science and More

For students interested in computers, BITT is one of the best Computer Science Polytechnic colleges in Ranchi. Students learn programming, software development, and how to manage computer networks. These skills can help them get jobs in IT companies.

Other Course Options in Ranchi

Besides engineering, Ranchi has good options for students interested in business and computer applications. There are good BBA Colleges in Ranchi for business studies and BCA Colleges in Ranchi for computer applications.

Why Choose BITT Polytechnic in Ranchi?

BITT Polytechnic is one of the best polytechnic colleges in Jharkhand. It is connected with a well-known Polytechnic University in Ranchi, so students get recognized degrees. The college also offers training and helps students get jobs after finishing their studies.

In simple words, joining BITT Polytechnic means you get to learn important skills in engineering and technology with the help of good teachers and modern tools. Whether you want to study civil engineering, AI, cybersecurity, or cloud computing, BITT and Ranchi provide a great place to start your career.

FAQs

1. What courses are offered at BITT Polytechnic? BITT Polytechnic offers a variety of courses including Civil Engineering, Computer Science, AI & Machine Learning, Cybersecurity, Cloud Computing & Big Data, and other engineering diploma programs.

2. Is BITT Polytechnic a private or government college? BITT Polytechnic is one of the well-known private polytechnic colleges in Ranchi.

3. Which engineering courses are available in Ranchi? Ranchi offers many engineering courses such as Civil Engineering, Computer Science, Mechanical Engineering, and specialized fields like AI & ML and Cybersecurity.

4. Does BITT Polytechnic provide courses in AI and Machine Learning? Yes, BITT Polytechnic offers a dedicated AI and ML polytechnic course to help students learn about artificial intelligence and machine learning technologies.

5. Can I learn cybersecurity at BITT Polytechnic? Yes, BITT Polytechnic offers cybersecurity courses to train students in protecting data and computer networks from cyber threats.

6. Are there computer science courses available at BITT Polytechnic? Yes, BITT Polytechnic is one of the top computer science polytechnic colleges in Ranchi, offering courses in programming, software development, and networking.

7. What other colleges in Ranchi offer business or computer application courses? Ranchi has good BBA Colleges for business studies and BCA Colleges for computer applications.

8. Is BITT Polytechnic affiliated with any university? Yes, BITT Polytechnic is affiliated with a recognized polytechnic university in Ranchi, ensuring quality education and certification.

9. Does BITT Polytechnic help with job placements? Yes, BITT Polytechnic provides practical training and supports students in job placements after course completion.

10. What makes BITT Polytechnic one of the best polytechnic colleges in Jharkhand?BITT Polytechnic has experienced faculty, modern infrastructure, updated courses in new technologies, and good industry connections which make it one of the best polytechnic colleges in Jharkhand.

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[ephemeralp1eces]

Crash Course

Summary: You’ve been hired by the Red Bull team to work with Checo (yes checo). It’s the experience of a lifetime, and you’re ecstatic, and maybe a little nervous. There’s only one problem. Max Verstappen.

What to know: enemies -> lovers, fluff, max x reader

wc; 2.3k

Part II | Part III | Part IV

I wasn’t nervous.

Not really.

Sure, I was walking into one of the most dominant Formula 1 teams in history. And yeah, maybe the guy I’d technically be working alongside had a reputation for chewing people up and spitting them out like used gum. But you weren’t here for Max Verstappen. And maybe that was my first mistake, going in so cynical, so determined to not get along with Max.

I was here for Checo. For fitness coaching. For performance strategy. For everything the Red Bull higher-ups wanted to squeeze out of their second driver this year. I was good at my job. Damn good.

So when I stepped into the Red Bull motorhome that first Friday morning of the season, credentials around my neck, coffee in hand, and a neutral expression set across my face, I didn’t expect him to be the first person I saw.

Max Verstappen.

Hair damp from the gym. Arms crossed. Brow already furrowed like I was five minutes late and ten IQ points short.

Perfect.

“You’re the new trainer?” he asked, no hello, no handshake. Just a pointed look that said you’re in my garage now.

I sipped my coffee and blinked at him. “Not yours, thankfully.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Pity. I like training with people who know what they’re doing.”

I offered a tight smile. “Good thing I didn’t come here to impress you.”

There was a pause. Not long. Barely a breath. But something in his expression shifted, just a flicker. Intrigue, maybe. Or annoyance. I couldn’t tell. Didn’t care.

“Checo’s in the sim,” he said, turning like the conversation was over.

“Thanks,” I said coolly, walking past him. “And if you ever want tips on how not to pull your hamstring mid-season, feel free to ask.”

I didn’t look back, but I felt his eyes on me all the way down the hallway.

⸻

The first few days passed in a blur of training sessions, baseline assessments, and low-level chaos. Thankfully, I clicked with Checo instantly - professional, funny, no ego. The engineers liked my precision. Even the team principal gave me a rare compliment.

Only one person seemed unimpressed: Max.

Every time I was near him, he made some offhand remark. Something just cutting enough to annoy me.

“Checo’s training like he’s twenty again. Must be the new guru.”

“We doing yoga in the garage next?”

“How’s it feel to be a part-time coach and a full-time distraction?”

I wasn’t sure why he was gunning for me, whether it was boredom, dominance, or something else. But two could play that game.

⸻

It was Thursday afternoon before the first race when things finally came to a head.

I walked into the gym to find Max alone, pacing between sets of box jumps. Shirtless. Sweaty. Irritated.

I had no plans to engage, I really just needed to grab Checo’s updated data from the tablet on the bench.

But Max clocked my presence immediately.

“You really going to make Checo do those mobility drills again?” he asked, breath heavy. “It’s race weekend, not ballet class.”

I turned slowly, tablet in hand. “Tell me you just compared controlled lateral movement to ballet.”

“I’m saying he doesn’t need to waste his time.”

I tilted my head. “Right. Because overtraining and compensating have worked so well for you in the past.”

His jaw tensed. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

I stepped closer. Not backing down. “I know you throw tantrums when things don’t go your way. I know you push until you break, then blame the people around you for not holding you together. And I know your physiotherapist is probably one stiff muscle away from early retirement.”

His eyes darkened. A beat. Then:

“You talk a lot for someone who hasn’t proved anything.”

I smiled. Sweet. Sharp.

“Get used to it.”

And just like that, I turned and walked away, heart pounding with something that felt suspiciously like adrenaline. Or rage. Or worse, curiosity.

Behind me, Max muttered something under his breath.

I didn’t catch it.

I didn’t want to.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t already kind of looking forward to the next time he picked a fight.

—

The week continued, and try as I might, Max was everywhere, unavoidable. I could feel him before I saw him. Not in some cosmic, fate-drenched way. No, Max Verstappen had the subtlety of a freight train. His presence filled a room long before his mouth did. And unfortunately, today, both were unavoidable.

I was standing just outside the Red Bull hospitality suite, scrolling through Checo’s cardio data on my tablet, when the door hissed open behind me.

“Let me guess,” came that low, clipped voice. “Still trying to reinvent the wheel?”

I didn’t turn. “Nope. Just making sure the wheel doesn’t explode mid-race.”

He stepped beside me, close enough that I could see the reflection of my glare in his sunglasses. Aviators, of course. The man wore arrogance like cologne, strong and unapologetic.

“You know,” he said casually, “Checo’s been finishing lower ever since you showed up.”

I turned slowly to face him. “You really going to pin a championship gap on hip mobility drills?”

He smirked, a slow, infuriating curl of his mouth. “I’m just saying, maybe he needs less stretching and more actual speed.”

“And maybe you need less ego and more humility, but here we are.”

That got a reaction. A small exhale through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but close. The kind that said he liked the fight.

God, he was infuriating.

And, hot.

Which only made it worse.

He leaned in, just slightly. Enough for me to notice the way his collar dipped, sweat still clinging to the base of his neck from training.

“You always this combative?” he asked. “Or is it just me?”

“It’s just you,” I said sweetly. “Everyone else is tolerable.”

His eyes lingered on mine longer than necessary. Long enough for the air to shift, just slightly. I could feel it, like the moment before a storm, when everything holds its breath.

Then he backed away. Shrugged.

“Too bad,” he said, walking off. “I like combative.”

⸻

Later that day, I was in the garage with Checo, checking in on hydration levels and going over his pre-qualifying warm-up, when Max walked in. Again. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. His presence changed the energy like flipping a switch. The engineers stiffened. Even Checo shot me a warning glance.

Max flopped down on the bench next to Checo and pointed at the resistance bands I had laid out.

“You giving him kindergarten toys now?” he said.

Checo groaned. “Max, can we not- ”

“I could get you one too,” I said, not looking up. “Though I’d have to find something that suits your developmental level.”

Max didn’t flinch. “Cute. Did you rehearse that?”

I looked up then. “No. You just make it easy.”

Checo stood with a sigh. “I’m going to get my helmet before one of you tries to throw the other into the pit lane.”

When he left, the silence stretched.

Max tapped his knee, eyes on the wall. “Why do you hate me?”

I blinked. Absolutely floored. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He turned to look at me. Really looked. “You treat me like I’m the enemy. Like everything I say is an attack.”

“Maybe because it usually is.”

He tilted his head. “Or maybe you just don’t like being challenged.”

My laugh was sharp. “Trust me, you’re not challenging. You’re exhausting.”

But something in my chest pulled tight anyway. Because underneath all the jabs and jibes, there was something else in his eyes. Not softness. Not exactly.

Curiosity.

Frustration, too. The kind that only comes from not being able to figure someone out.

He leaned back on the bench, hands behind his head, legs stretched like he owned the entire damn garage. He looked amused now, and I hated it. “You’re fun when you’re angry.”

“I’m fun when I’m left alone.”

He didn’t say anything. Just watched me.

I blinked hard. Cleared my throat. “You done?”

“For now,” he said. “But you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He stood. Walked out.

And I sat there, heart pounding in my chest like I’d just done a hundred-meter sprint. Furious. Flushed. And entirely unsure if I wanted to slap him, or follow him.

—

The next few days were war.

Not the kind with shouting or fists. Max wasn’t that obvious. He was subtler. Smarter. He knew how to get under skin without leaving a mark.

Every time I walked into the garage, he had something to say.

“What’s the recovery time for useless advice?”

“Has anyone checked if your training works in actual race conditions?”

“Maybe if Checo finishes behind me again, you’ll start stretching your neck from looking up at the leaderboard.”

I gave it back just as hard. Sharper, maybe. But he never cracked. Never gave me the satisfaction of breaking that smug little smirk.

Until Thursday.

We were in the Red Bull briefing room, waiting for a strategy meeting to start. The drivers were early for once. I’d come to drop off some updated data on hydration and heat prep protocols. Strictly professional. No comments. No eye contact. Just drop the file, leave the room.

Of course, Max couldn’t let that happen.

He clocked me immediately. “Still micromanaging Checo’s electrolytes?”

I didn’t look up. “Still pretending you know what hydration is?”

He chuckled low under his breath. “You always this defensive?”

I turned then. “I’m not defensive. I’m just not interested in pretending you’re clever.”

Something flickered across his face. Something that might’ve been irritation, or approval. The worst part was, I couldn’t tell anymore. He always looked like he was five seconds away from either laughing or lunging.

“You know,” he said, voice lower now, just for me, “for someone so determined to hate me, you sure do show up a lot.”

“I work here, Max.”

“Convenient excuse.”

I stepped closer. Close enough to lower my voice too.

“I don’t have time to psychoanalyze your weird little power games.”

He didn’t move. Just stared. “Then why are you playing them with me?”

I blinked.

My mouth opened. Then shut again.

Because I didn’t know the answer.

Because I didn’t want to.

I spun on my heel and left before he could see whatever expression had started bleeding through my carefully neutral face.

—

Later that afternoon, I found myself in Christian’s office with Checo, both of us sweaty and sore from a mid-day stretch and conditioning session. Christian was grinning like he was about to ruin our lives.

“Team-building retreat,” he announced, like it was a damn prize. “Next week. No paddock, no press. Just drivers and core personnel in the Austrian countryside.”

Checo groaned. I stared.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

Christian just smiled wider. “It’ll be good for team cohesion.”

“I’m not even a driver.”

“You’re part of the performance team. That makes you fair game.”

I shot a glance at Checo, who raised both eyebrows and offered no help whatsoever.

“Don’t worry,” Christian added, eyes sparkling with too much amusement. “It’s just three days. Some hiking, group exercises, maybe a little friendly competition.”

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Define ‘friendly.’”

Behind me, the door creaked open.

And of course, of fucking course, it was Max.

“Did someone say competition?” he asked lazily.

I turned back toward Christian. “No.”

Christian ignored me. “You’ll love it. Cabins, group challenges, no distractions.”

Max slid into the chair beside me, arms draped casually across the backrest. He leaned in.

“I call her for my team.”

“You’re not calling anything,” I snapped. “And I’m not participating.”

“You don’t get a choice,” Christian said cheerfully. “Flights are booked. Bags packed Friday. You two might finally learn to play nice.”

I felt my jaw tighten. Max was still watching me, all smug angles and unreadable eyes.

Play nice?

I’d rather eat gravel.

—

It was supposed to be a routine cooldown.

Checo had just wrapped his long-run sim session, and I was helping him stretch in the back corner of the garage. The air was thick with oil, sweat, and engine heat. Mechanics moved like clockwork. The engineers murmured over telemetry. I should’ve been focused.

But my skin was prickling.

Which meant he was nearby.

“Don’t look,” Checo muttered, catching the shift in my posture. “He’s been glaring at you for the last ten minutes.”

I didn’t need to ask who he was.

“I’m not looking,” I said through clenched teeth, pushing Checo’s leg deeper into the stretch.

He winced. “You’re channeling your rage into my hamstrings. Please stop.”

I exhaled sharply and let up. “Sorry.”

Checo gave me a knowing look. “You two are going to combust eventually.”

“We already are.”

I didn’t mean to look. I really didn’t. But when I stood to grab his water bottle, my eyes flicked over - just for a second.

Max was leaning against the simulator room doorframe, arms crossed, watching us. Or rather, watching me.

Expression unreadable. Jaw tight. Eyes narrow.

I rolled mine and turned away.

It should’ve ended there. But it didn’t.

—

Twenty minutes later, I was in the small side office where we kept our performance data when the door opened without a knock.

“Have a second?” Max said, already stepping inside.

I stiffened. “Not really.”

He closed the door behind him anyway.

“What do you want?”

He shrugged, like he hadn’t just invaded my space again. “Just a chat.”

I didn’t look up from the tablet in my hands. “Is there a reason you’ve made harassing me a daily task? Or are you just that bored with winning?”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” His tone was light but coiled tight beneath it.

“Harassing me? Yeah. You’ve made a hobby out of it.”

Silence. Then,

“You get under my skin.”

That made me look up.

“What?”

“You. You get under my skin,” he repeated, more evenly this time. “And I think you like it.”

I stared at him. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?”

He took a step closer. I stood up, fast. The desk between us suddenly felt too small.

“Max, whatever weird game you’re playing- ”

“It’s not a game,” he snapped, and for the first time in all the weeks I’d known him, his voice cracked just a little. “You walk around like you’re better than all of this. Like you’re too good to even look at me. I don’t know if you hate me or if you’re trying not to look too interested, but I’m- “

I shoved the tablet onto the desk. “Interested? Are you serious?”

His jaw clenched. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed this thing between us.”

“There’s nothing between us,” I snapped. “You insult me every chance you get.”

“You insult me right back.”

“Because you ask for it.”

“Because you give as good as you get and you’re the only person in this entire building who doesn’t pretend around me!”

The room went silent. I realized I was breathing hard.

He was too.

I hated how close we were. How hot my skin felt. How loud the silence was now that we weren’t talking.

I wanted to slap him.

I wanted to kiss him?

Instead, I said, “This is exactly why I didn’t want to go on that stupid retreat.”

His voice lowered. He was smirking, looked like he’d won, “afraid of what might happen if we’re alone together?”

I swallowed hard. I hated this.

“Afraid I’ll finally figure you out,” he added, eyes locked on mine. “And you’ll hate that more than anything.”

I opened my mouth.

And promptly closed it.

Because I didn’t have a single thing to say that wouldn’t give me away.

So I did the only thing I could.

I shoved past him and walked out, not looking back. Not letting him win.

Not letting him see how right he might be.

[theonlyonesora]

The Man Who Married Me

PAIRING: Lewis Hamilton x Reader x Max Verstappen

CH – 10

Australian Grand Prix – Post-Race Press Conference Top Three: Oscar Piastri (McLaren, P1), Max Verstappen (Mercedes, P2), Lewis Hamilton (Ferrari, P3)

The room was packed. Journalists, photographers, microphones angled forward like weapons aimed at the three podium finishers seated behind the long white couch bearing the F1 logo.

Oscar sat in the middle, glowing in his home race victory. Max, ever unreadable, leaned back in the couch beside him, towel still wrapped around his neck. Lewis, dressed in Ferrari red, sat rigidly at the end—his jaw set just a little too tight, his expression carved into something calm, controlled.

Flashes went off. Recorders rolled.

And the questions began.

Most were predictable—race strategy, tyre management, safety car timing, late overtakes. You could almost see Lewis tuning some of it out, nodding along with PR-polished grace. He answered as expected.

Until— A reporter from Sky Italia leaned forward, eyebrow raised, voice honeyed with hidden claws.

“Lewis, a quick question not so much about the race but… about dynamics off the track. There’s been a lot of talk about your wife’s role as Mercedes executive this season—especially now that she’s working closely with Max Verstappen. Given your shared history on track… how do you feel about her professional involvement with someone often called your fiercest rival?”

A sharp silence followed.

Even Max’s brow twitched, ever so slightly. Oscar blinked, clearly glad the question wasn’t for him.

Lewis smiled. Or something like it. Tight. Polished. Prepared.

“Well,” he began smoothly, “first of all, I think it’s important to separate personal and professional relationships. My wife’s work at Mercedes speaks for itself—she’s one of the smartest, most capable people in the paddock, and I have nothing but respect for the work she does.”

A few pens scribbled that down. Cameras flashed again.

“As for Max…” Lewis’s eyes flicked toward him briefly—just a flicker of history there, unspoken but not unseen. “He’s a talented driver. There’s no denying that. And if anyone can bring out the best in each other, it’s her and that team.”

Max didn’t react outwardly. Just sipped his water.

“Do I love seeing her lead my old team, working with a rival? Of course not,” Lewis added with a soft laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I support her. That’s what love is. Supporting even when it’s not comfortable.”

There was a pause. The perfect amount.

“Besides,” he added, the edge of a grin returning, “I’ve never been afraid of competition.”

The room chuckled. Cameras snapped furiously.

It was a perfect answer.

Composed. Gracious. Just enough edge to remind them who he was.

But as he leaned back, the corner of his jaw twitched—the tiniest crack in the façade. Because beneath the charm and public polish, one thing was certain:

Lewis Hamilton hated that Max Verstappen was working with you. And even more than that—he hated that you seemed okay with it.

.

The paddock had begun to wind down, media packs thinned out, engineers shifting from frenzy to fatigue. The sun was setting behind the horizon, casting golden light over the garages and paddock walkways, soft and low. The air still held the tang of burnt rubber and victory champagne.

Most of the team had already gone out to celebrate a strong season start. P2 wasn’t a win—but for Max’s first race in silver and black, it was damn close.

But you stayed.

The hospitality suite was quiet now, dimly lit with most lights turned down. You sat at the sleek glass table near the back, data pad in front of you, jotting performance notes into the cloud.

Footsteps approached. Familiar, steady.

You didn’t need to look up to know it was him.

“Didn’t expect to find you still here,” Max said, his voice low, warm in the hush of the empty room.

You glanced up. His post-race gear was gone, replaced with a dark Mercedes hoodie and track pants, damp hair tousled from the shower. He looked young. Relaxed in a way you didn’t often see on the podium.

You tilted your head. “Didn’t think you were the type to skip the celebrations.”

He gave a small shrug. “They’ll still be at the bar an hour from now.” Then: “I’d rather talk about the car while it’s still fresh in my head.”

You gestured to the chair across from you. “Be my guest.”

He sat, stretching slightly. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was familiar now. Comfortable.

“So,” you began, scrolling down your tablet, “fuel mapping in Sector 3 was off compared to Oscar. Not by much. But just enough to lose that bite in the final laps.”

“I felt that,” he nodded. “Couldn’t push as hard as I wanted to. Rear grip was—” he made a face “—untrustworthy.”

You smirked. “That’s the technical term?”

He gave you a look, dry and amused. “I’m being polite.”

You exchanged data, notes, a few low jokes about Kimi’s overambitious radio calls. But gradually, the conversation shifted. The silence between the technical talk grew longer, heavier.

Finally, Max leaned back in his chair, fingers tracing the rim of his water bottle.

“You handled that well today.”

You blinked. “Handled what?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Press. Lewis. All of it.”

You glanced down, a flicker of exhaustion showing through. “I’m used to pretending everything’s fine.”

He was quiet for a beat. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

The words sat between you like a lit match.

You looked up, eyes meeting his—calm, steady, and something else. Not pity. Not flirtation. Just presence.

Real and rare.

You exhaled softly, voice more vulnerable than you intended. “I thought seeing him would feel like coming home again.” A pause. “But it didn’t.”

Max didn’t rush to respond. When he did, his tone was careful. “You still love him?”

Your throat tightened.

“I think I still love who he used to be,” you whispered. “But now I’m starting to wonder if I’ve just been loving the memory.”

Max didn’t touch you. Didn’t move closer. But his gaze never wavered.

“I know what that feels like,” he said quietly.

Your eyes searched his face. “Do you?”

He gave a faint, bitter smile. “I was with someone for a long time, remember? But we were over before either of us admitted it. We just didn’t want to say it out loud.”

“You and...I didn't know you had broken up ”

“She didn't want to make it public yet, she said I had enough pressure leaving Red Bull”

“That's nice of her, I’m sorry I know that this can be hard”

“Yeah but it was better this way ”

You nodded slowly, understanding more in that moment than words could say.

The silence returned—but this time it was laced with something different.

Not longing. Not desire. But a beginning.

Of trust.

Of something new.

He stood after a while, hands in his pockets.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said gently. “But… if you ever don’t want to be alone with all of it, you can call me.”

You didn’t answer right away.

You just looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, your chest didn’t feel so heavy.

“Thanks, Max.”

And when he left, he didn’t look back. But your eyes stayed on the door long after it closed.

.

Hotel Suite, Grand Hyatt

The luxury suite was dimly lit, city lights glowing behind the sheer curtains that framed the window. You hadn’t unpacked—your suitcase lay half-open in the corner. The room was silent aside from the occasional ping of your phone, a reminder that the world never slept.

You were scrolling absentmindedly through the race headlines on Twitter when one specific notification pulled you upright.

@F1Secrets

Spotted: Max Verstappen and the Mercedes exec (yes, her) deep in conversation long after everyone else had left. Private debrief or something else? 👀 [📸: attached image]

You tapped the image, breath catching in your throat.

It was blurry, dim, obviously taken from a distance—but the photo was unmistakable.

You and Max, in the hospitality suite. Sitting across from each other, heads tilted in close, faces lit only by the soft lights and the screen of your tablet. It looked… intimate.

Too intimate.

And of course, the internet exploded:

@PitlaneDrama I’m sorry but… Kelly hasn’t posted a single “congrats” for Max today and now this? 👀👀👀

@MaxStappenNews Why does this look more like a date than a debrief 💀

@TeamLH7 Lewis did NOT deserve this. Can’t believe people are romanticizing this.

Your stomach dropped.

You didn’t even hear the hotel door open at first—until Lewis’s voice broke the silence.

“I saw the photo.”

You turned, startled.

He stood just inside the doorway, dressed in a hoodie and joggers, face unreadable. He had taken off his jewelry, his rings, his watch—all the show. He looked exhausted. Human.

You straightened up. “It’s not what it looks like.”

His mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Of course it isn’t.”

But you could hear it in his voice—that thread of something too raw to hide.

He walked in slowly, closing the door behind him.

“She didn’t congratulate him,” he said, almost to himself. “Kelly. Not a tweet. Not a story. Not a post.”

You looked away. “I can’t speak for her.”

“No,” he said, tone sharp now. “But you can speak for yourself.”

You met his gaze. “What do you want me to say, Lewis? That I didn’t kiss him? That I didn’t fuck him behind the garage? Because I didn’t.”

“That’s not what I—”

“You’re right,” you cut in, voice steady. “It’s not what it looks like. But I’m tired of pretending that everything’s okay just because we kissed in front of some cameras.”

Lewis closed his eyes, breathing hard. “I miss you.”

That stopped you.

The words came out broken. Honest. But too late.

You looked at him—at the man you married, the man who used to be your best friend—and you felt the familiar ache bloom in your chest again.

“I miss us,” he added. “Before all of this. Before I started fucking everything up.”

You took a deep breath, voice barely above a whisper. “Then why did you let it get this far?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he crossed the space between you and reached for your hand. You let him hold it—for a second. For the memory.

And then you gently pulled away.

“I don’t want to be a performance anymore,” you said quietly. “Not for the cameras. Not for the fans. And not for you.”

Lewis looked like you’d slapped him.

But he nodded. Slowly. As if he knew that this was what loving you now looked like—not being able to fix it anymore.

You turned away, walking to the window, looking out over the Melbourne skyline.

Your phone buzzed again.

Another headline. Another photo.

You didn’t check it. You just stood there, staring at the city below.

And behind you, Lewis sat down on the edge of the bed, silent—like a man who’d finally realized that losing a race didn’t hurt half as much as losing you.

The city below shimmered like a dream—blurry lights, long highways, voices in the wind that didn’t quite reach you. Cars still moved on the streets, lives still rushed forward. But for you, everything had stopped.

Behind you, Lewis stood in the doorway of the balcony, arms crossed, jaw tight. He had just said it—the words you never thought you’d hear from the man who once chased you across three countries just to say “I miss you.”

“If you want to go out with Max… I won’t stop you.”

It came out like a peace offering. A generous thing.

But it didn’t feel generous. It felt like giving up.

“We opened this marriage for both of us,” he added. “Not just me.”

You turned away from him, leaning on the balcony railing, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes.

It was supposed to feel like freedom. But all you felt was grief.

You didn’t want freedom. You wanted your husband to fight for you.

Instead, he gave you permission. And somehow, that was worse.

You let the silence stretch between you, the space thick with all the things neither of you had the courage to say. Finally, your voice cut through it—low, but sharp as glass:

“I don’t want to go out with him.”

Lewis blinked. But you didn’t turn. You stayed facing the city, watching headlights disappear down roads you couldn’t follow.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you continued. “I didn’t want some modern, open… whatever this is. I just wanted you. I would’ve followed you anywhere, Lewis.”

You heard his breath hitch—just barely.

“But you didn’t want to be followed. You wanted to run.”

Still no answer.

You weren’t crying. You couldn’t. Not anymore. The well was dry. But your heart was loud—louder than the streets below, louder than the silence between you.

“I don’t want Max. I want my husband. The man who used to say no race was worth more than coming home to me.”

Finally, he stepped forward. Quiet. Careful. Like he was afraid of breaking something that was already in pieces.

“I’m still that man,” he said softly.

You shook your head, still not looking at him. “No. You’re someone who’s okay with watching me slip away.”

And then—your voice broke just a little.

“And I’m tired of begging you to stay.”

Behind you, Lewis said nothing. Not because he didn’t care. But because he didn’t know how to fight for you anymore without admitting he was the one who let go first.

You didn’t speak again. And neither did he.

But as you stood there, on the balcony overlooking a world still moving forward, you realized that maybe love doesn’t always die with an explosion.

Sometimes, it fades out slowly. Quiet. And disappointing.

Feel free to give your opinion or suggestion.

TAG LIST: @virtualperfectioncat , @starrgir1 , @the-secret-formulaone, @anunstablefangirl, @tillyt04, @dakotapaigelove, @loadedwafflefries

[formulafanfics13]

The Secret Girlfriend - Chapter 19

Masterlist

Disclaimer:

This fanfic will contain mature themes and topics (smut, abuse, power imbalance, drug use, alcohol dependency, control, and eating disorders). There will not be warnings throughout, so if you proceed with this fic, please bear this in mind!

By the time Lily and Carmen returned to McLaren hospitality, the rain had softened to a steady drizzle. The kind that painted the concrete in slick grey sheets and made the paddock glisten like a film set. Their umbrellas were both McLaren-branded. Carmen held hers aloft with the stubborn grace of someone who didn't give a fuck about weather when the glam was hitting, and Lily limped beside her, one crutch in hand, the other swinging casually from her wrist like a prop. Her papaya-orange leather jacket glowed under the wet light. Her McLaren cap was tilted just enough to look editorial.

Every step hurt a little, but it didn't show. She was built for this. The walk was short, but by the time they hit the steps up to the hospitality entrance, Andrea Stella was already there waiting. Clipboard under his arm. Warmth in his expression. The automatic door opened behind him with a mechanical sigh. "Perfect timing," he said. "We're heading to the garage in ten."

Carmen looked at Lily. "You good?"

Lily gave her a crooked smile. "I've survived worse."

Andrea didn't wait. He held the door for both of them, led them through the quiet corridors of McLaren's hospitality like they were royalty. Zak was inside the main lounge, talking rapidly to someone on the phone, but he turned the moment he saw them and smiled.

Andrea nodded toward the wardrobe rack near the back of the room, where team polos were lined up like soldiers. "Want to change before we head down?"

Lily glanced at her dress. Cream silk, rain-spattered at the hem. "God, yes."

Ten minutes later, she was changed. Her cast now half-hidden under a pair of Lando's wide-cut joggers, rolled at the ankle, and the rest of her wrapped in an oversized McLaren polo that fit like a blessing. She looked like chaos incarnate. Like the team's secret weapon who just happened to be modelling corporatewear for fun.

Lando found her like that.

He was still in base layers, race suit tied at the waist, curls damp from the helmet fitting. He didn't say anything at first, just looked at her. She raised an eyebrow. "Say it."

"You're hot," he said. "You look like a pit lane fantasy."

She grinned. "You're such a simp."

He leaned down, pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I'm your simp."

Oscar appeared behind him in a flurry of backpack straps and wet curls. "You coming with us to the garage?"

Lily nodded. "Wouldn't miss it."

And just like that, they moved. Zak stayed behind to finish up logistics, but Andrea, Lando, Oscar, Lily and a rotation of engineers and techs formed a neat unit. Lando carried her bag, of course. And when they reached the garage entrance, it was Oscar who doubled back to hold her elbow as she stepped down the last slick stair.

Inside? The storm buzzed. The McLaren garage was lit like a spaceship, clean, clinical, humming with controlled chaos. Screens alive with track data. Tyre blankets curled like silk around slicks. Engineers in headsets already settling into position, technicians checking sensors on the car bodies like surgeons.

Will Joseph and Tom Stallard both turned at the sound of footsteps. Will Joseph nodded. "Good to see you, Lily."

She smiled. "Hope you don't mind me crashing the launch party."

Tom Stallard smirked. "You've already got better posture than Oscar."

Oscar huffed. "Rude."

Andrea gestured toward the back row of the pit wall. "You'll sit up with me. Slightly out of frame. But full comms."

Lily blinked. "Full comms?"

"Helmet audio," Lando added. "You'll hear everything. Me. Oscar. Engineers. Strategy."

Her eyes widened. "That's allowed?"

Tom grinned. "Welcome to the inner circle."

It was surreal.

She was helped up to the pit wall, settled gently beside Andrea, headphones clipped over her cap, one crutch resting beside the panel. The pit wall screen flickered alive, camera angles, telemetry, lap deltas, tyre data, sector breakdowns. Her name wasn't anywhere. But her presence was everywhere.

Lando climbed into the car. Oscar followed. Engines roared. FP3 had ended hours ago. This was the real thing. The rain was gone now, track drying quickly. Intermediate tyres on. The strategy team murmured about potential slicks before Q3. Lily barely moved, breath held, eyes locked on Lando's sector times as the out-lap began.

And then his voice came through the headset, crackling in her ear like a secret she wasn't supposed to hear.

Lando (over comms): Alright boys, let's fuck some shit up.

Will Joseph groaned audibly. "That's not an approved phrase."

Lando: It's Silverstone. Give me this one.

Oscar chimed in.

Oscar (over comms): I'm not going to swear but I second the sentiment.

Tom muttered, "We're so professional."

Andrea glanced at Lily and smirked. "You good?"

She nodded slowly, eyes wide. "This is better than drugs."

Andrea's laugh was full and warm. "Please don't quote that to Zak."

And then they were off. Flying. Sector one. Sector two. Green. Green. Purple.

Every fraction of every second was alive on the screens in front of her, Lando's throttle pressure, steering angle, brake bias. Oscar's differential tweaks. Wind speed on the far end of the track. Grip evolution curve.

It was chaos. And it was church. She didn't speak. Not once. Just watched, listened, breathed in their world and exhaled reverence.

When Q3 finished, when both cars made it through clean, Lando sitting P2 and Oscar P4, the entire pit wall buzzed. Tom fist-pumped. Will let out a soft "fuck yes." Andrea cracked a rare grin.

And Lily? She smiled like someone who knew a holy secret. Because she did.

The garage was glowing. That kind of electricity that only came after a P2 at Silverstone. Engineers and crew were buzzing, slapping backs, hugging shoulders, adjusting headsets with wide eyes and adrenaline-drunk smiles. You could taste it in the air, burnt rubber, victory static, the faint clean hit of champagne waiting in the wings.

Lando pulled into the box like he'd been shot out of a cannon. The moment the car stopped, mechanics swarmed, lifting tyre blankets, running cooling fans, patting the chassis like it was a living thing. The halo popped open and he was already unclipping, yanking off his gloves with fast, practiced movements.

He looked like sex and speed and sweat-soaked euphoria. Suit rolled down to his waist. Hair stuck to his forehead. Lips parted as he sucked in one long breath of victory oxygen.

And Lily was waiting. She was still on the pit wall, headset off now, leaning on one crutch with the other pressed between her knee and the rail. She had a bottle of cold water in her hand, cap already cracked, and a look on her face like she knew every fucking corner of that track.

Lando saw her the second he stepped down from the cockpit. Their eyes met. She held out the water like a priestess offering communion. "P2, baby."

He grinned so hard it cracked his whole face. "You kept count?"

"I watched every fucking delta."

He crossed the garage in seconds, took the bottle from her hand and gulped half of it in one go, then leaned in, pressed a kiss to her temple. He smelled like heat and plastic and champagne nerves. "Media," he muttered between swigs. "Back in twenty. Stay here with Andrea and Zak, yeah?"

She nodded, brushing her fingers along his jaw before he pulled back. "Go make them fall in love with you."

"I already did," he said, smirking, backing away toward the curtain of engineers waving him toward media pen chaos.

The second he was gone, Andrea turned toward her with the air of a man ready to switch back to soft diplomacy. "That was impressive," he said, tipping his head toward the track.

"Our boy did well."

"He did. You brought good luck."

Lily grinned. "I'm a professional lucky charm. Just ask Dior."

Andrea chuckled. Zak appeared beside them, tablet in hand, glancing between the screens and the comm log, then looked up at Lily. "You're coming to the dinner tomorrow night, right?"

She blinked. "What dinner?"

Andrea turned to Zak, both brows raised. Zak sighed like a man who was used to this. "Of course he didn't tell you."

Lily tilted her head. "Tell me what?"

"There's a team dinner. Drivers, team principals, inner circle," Zak said. "We do it every Silverstone Saturday. It's casual. Private. Big table. Lando never comes."

Andrea smiled knowingly. "He always says he forgets."

Zak muttered, "He doesn't forget. He just doesn't want to be social. But now that you're here?"

"He's coming," Andrea finished.

Lily raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"

Zak smiled. "If you're there, he's coming. And I want you there."

"Why?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Because it's a good chance for you to meet everyone properly," Zak said. "Not just at the garage or through DMs or Vogue covers. And Carmen will be there, she told me she really liked you. Plus, you deserve a seat at the table."

Andrea nodded. "Also, I want to see the chaos that happens when Christian realises you're sitting beside Susie Wolff and Toto."

Lily laughed, tipping her head back slightly. "Fine. If there's decent food and gossip, I'll be there."

Zak tapped his tablet. "It's at the same hotel you're staying at. Private room on the rooftop. 7PM. Team colours optional. Hot outfits encouraged."

"Guess I'll wear McLaren orange and lip gloss then."

Andrea looked delighted. "Perfect. I'll save you a seat beside me so you're not stuck with Oscar talking about horror movies again."

Lily grinned, eyes flicking toward the garage where Lando was mid-interview, grinning for the cameras, sweat still shining on his neck. "If he thinks he's getting out of dinner now, he's got another thing coming."

"Tell him it's non-negotiable," Zak added. "Blame me."

"Oh," Lily said, grabbing her crutch and swinging it lightly, "I'll just say it's part of my recovery plan. Full paddock immersion."

Andrea smirked. "Your rehab is the most stylish I've ever seen."

She smiled and settled back into the seat by the pit wall, cast propped, water bottle in hand, already plotting which earrings matched McLaren orange best.

The rain was fine and grey and light as breath when they left the circuit. The kind of Silverstone drizzle that clung to eyelashes and kissed the back of your neck, but never fully committed. Lando carried Lily down the steps of McLaren hospitality like it was second nature now — one arm around her back, the other beneath her knees, the crutches slung over his shoulder like he was off to war.

Oscar trailed behind them, one hand on his phone, the other holding Lily's little Prada duffel.

"You sure it's not a pain to give me a lift?" he asked as they crossed the paddock.

"You're literally in the same hotel," Lando said. "You'd be following us in a different car like some weird Netflix B-roll."

Oscar snorted. "I'll bring the chaos instead."

In the car, Lily curled into Lando's side while Oscar monologued from the passenger seat about how rainy weather made him feel like an emotionally complex side character in a Wes Anderson movie. Lando hummed noncommittally, half-listening, half-obsessed with the way Lily's fingers kept tracing the seams on his jacket.

The hotel lobby smelled like wood polish and fresh linen. They cut straight through it, heading for the lift, with Lily nestled under Lando's arm and Oscar trailing behind like the world's tallest handbag.

Their room was warm and dark and expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows still beaded with rain. The massive bed unmade from the early-morning rush, a McLaren hoodie thrown across the armchair, one of Lily's vapes glinting under the lamp.

She dropped onto the bed with a sigh, casting elevated. Lando helped her shift into place, piling pillows behind her and kissing her knee before flopping down beside her, one hand already tugging at the collar of his race suit.

Oscar toed off his shoes and collapsed on the other side, arms spread wide like he'd been waiting his whole life to invade their personal space. "This is the best hotel room I've ever been in," he said, staring at the ceiling.

"You were in a suite last weekend in Austria," Lando pointed out.

"Yeah, but yours smells like her perfume."

Lily smirked. "And your room smells like damp socks and protein powder."

Oscar clutched his heart. "That's profiling."

Lando's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Then smiled. "It's Lewis." 

Lily turned her head. "What's he saying?"

Lando typed quickly. She's good. Knackered. Currently being crushed between me and Oscar.

Lewis 🐐: can i come visit? i'll be half an hour

Lando looked up. "He wants to come by. He'll be half an hour."

"Tell him to bring snacks," Oscar said, already getting comfortable.

Lando replied. Then tossed the phone aside and stretched. "Alright, someone entertain her while I take a quick shower."

"I got this," Oscar declared, twisting toward Lily. "Story time?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh god. What kind of story?"

"My girlfriend," he said proudly. "Also called Lily."

She blinked. "Is that even a Question?"

"Yeah," Oscar said, grinning like a boy at show and tell. "Her name's Lily Zneimer. And she's studying engineering. She's smarter than everyone at McLaren combined."

Lily James raised a brow. "And you're telling me there are three WAGs called Lily?"

Oscar held up three fingers. "Triple threat. Carmen calls it Lily squared, but technically it's Lily cubed."

"She's clever," Lily said, smiling. "Tell me more."

"She's really sweet," Oscar went on, shifting so he could sit cross-legged. "And so fucking smart. Like, terrifyingly smart. She can read a data sheet faster than Will Joseph. Once helped me explain understeer to my uncle using a toaster metaphor."

Lily giggled. "And how long have you been together?"

"Years," Oscar said, eyes softening. "Since I was in young. She's always been there. Doesn't like the cameras, though. She's lowkey. Quiet. Like, spooky calm."

Lily's expression turned thoughtful. "So the opposite of me."

"No," Oscar said firmly. "Not opposite. Just different kinds of iconic."

Lando walked back in wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, rubbing another over his damp curls. "If you're telling her about Lily Z, use her full name or I'll start getting confused."

Oscar flopped backward with a groan. "Why is everyone dating Lilys?? What's wrong with Emilys? Or Sophies?"

"Lily's just a hot girl name," Lily James said simply.

Oscar pointed. "Exactly. See? This is why I'm a fan."

Lando tossed the towel at his head. "You're an unpaid intern of our relationship."

"I like to think of myself as your chaos chaperone."

Lily tilted her head. "Speaking of chaos, what snacks do you think Lewis is bringing?"

"I hope he brings those overpriced airport almonds," Lando said, crawling onto the bed beside her.

"I hope he brings ice cream," Oscar added. "Or that fancy coconut water."

"I hope he brings a signed photo of Toto," Lily said, grinning.

Lando kissed her cheek. "You're already getting carried by him. Don't push your luck."

The room settled into laughter, soft lighting, and the kind of comfort that only came when you'd won something, even if it was just each other's company. The knock on the hotel room door was soft. Precise. Like someone who knew how to make an entrance but didn't need to prove it.

Oscar didn't move. He was horizontal, feet hanging off the edge of the bed like a discarded mannequin, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he counted the light fixtures. Lando barely glanced up from where he was curled beside Lily, hand absently tracing lines on her thigh, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows.

Lily tilted her head. "That him?"

Lando stood up with a grunt. "If it's not, we're getting murdered by room service."

He padded barefoot across the floor and opened the door. And there he was. Lewis Hamilton. Hoodie draped over his shoulders like a cape, curls tucked under a black beanie, three small shopping bags in one hand and a massive grin spread across his face.

"Look at this little domestic setup," Lewis said as he stepped inside. "God, I feel like I'm walking into a fucking Dior campaign."

Lando rolled his eyes and took two of the bags. "You took long enough."

"I stopped at that organic place you like," Lewis said, already scanning the room. His eyes landed on Lily immediately. "There she is."

Lily beamed from the bed. "I feel like you've just walked on stage at a concert."

Lewis grinned, crossed the room in three strides, and dropped the third bag on the bed before leaning in and kissing her cheek. "Hi, superstar."

She squeezed his wrist. "Hi, legend."

Oscar raised his head from the pillows, waving lazily. "Hey, Lewis."

"Hey, Oscar," Lewis said. "Still third-wheeling your way into everyone's relationships?"

Oscar gasped. "I am a guest!"

"You're a liability," Lewis corrected, pulling snacks from the bags. "Organic trail mix, coconut yoghurt, those bougie chocolate-covered almonds you love, Lando. And a fucking bottle of green juice because I'm a better girlfriend than she is."

Lando raised a brow. "She literally made me breakfast in bed yesterday."

"I brought snacks," Lewis said, placing them neatly on the bedside table like a proud dad. "She wins."

Lily popped a chocolate almond into her mouth. "He's good," she said, mouth full. "But you've got stronger arms."

"See?" Lando muttered. "Told you."

Lewis dropped into the armchair by the window, kicking his feet up onto the ottoman. "So. What the fuck have I missed? Besides your boyfriend being carried around like a prince and Lily converting the grid into a fanclub."

Oscar sat up fully. "Max carried her like a relic. And Toto literally carried her into hospitality like she was a crystal vase full of gold."

Lily took a sip of coconut water. "It's been a productive weekend."

Lewis smirked. "You've caused so much chaos the PR teams are still recovering."

"She's not even trying," Lando said, sliding back onto the bed beside her.

"She wore a dress with a leg cast," Oscar added. "I saw a cameraman trip over his own feet."

"And everyone's in love with her," Lewis said. "Half the paddock thinks you're a WAG sent from fashion heaven."

Lily tilted her head. "Only half?"

Lewis threw his head back and laughed. "God, I missed this."

"You missed gossiping in hotel rooms with snacks and half-dressed drivers?" she teased.

"Yes," he said immediately. "And also the look on George's face when Carmen told him she's going shopping with you next week."

Lily choked on her coconut water. "Wait, what?"

"She said you're her new favourite Lily," Lewis said. "No offence to the other two."

Oscar frowned. "Why does everyone forget my Lily exists?"

"She's not causing minor fashion riots," Lando said.

"She doesn't post cryptic quotes on Instagram stories," Lily added.

"She didn't get carried by Toto Wolff in broad daylight," Lewis said.

Oscar collapsed back onto the pillows. "Fine. I accept my fate."

Lewis reached into the bag one more time and pulled out a final item. A tiny black box. He handed it to Lily without a word. She blinked. "What's this?"

"Open it."

She did. Inside: a delicate silver bracelet, thin as a whisper, with a single small charm. A tiny carved letter L.

Lily looked up, stunned. "Lewis..."

"It's not for me," he said, grinning. "It's for the chaos. A reminder that now the whole world knows whose initials you wear, Lan's."

Lando leaned over and kissed the side of her head. "He's such a romantic when he tries."

Lewis shrugged. "Just doing my part. Besides, now that she's public, we've got to keep the aesthetic tight."

Oscar blinked. "Can I have a bracelet?"

"You can have a juice," Lewis said, tossing the bottle at him.

The room dissolved into more laughter, more snacks, more stories. Lewis told them about the texts he got from Susie after seeing Lily with Carmen, how Fred Vasseur was already planning seating for the team dinner the next day. By the time the clock crept past midnight, Lily's head was on Lando's chest, one leg draped over his thigh, Oscar was asleep in the armchair with chocolate on his hoodie, and Lewis was sprawled across the rug like a man who hadn't been in his own room in hours.

"Tell me something," Lewis said softly, eyes on the ceiling.

"Yeah?" Lando replied.

"You're gonna marry her, right?"

There was a beat. Then another. Lando exhaled slowly. Looked down at the girl asleep against his ribs. "Yeah," he said. "One day."

Lewis grinned at Oscar from the floor. "Hey, lover boy. You ever hear about the Polaroids?"

Oscar blinked, groggy. "What?"

Lando sat up immediately. "Oh, no. No no no. Lewis-"

Lily buried her face into Lando's chest. "Don't you fucking dare."

Oscar squinted, confused. "Polaroids?"

Lewis's grin widened like the Cheshire Cat had entered the chat. "Oh yeah. The sacred collection. The holy grail of 'we shouldn't have access to this but thank God we do.'"

"Lewis," Lando warned again, tugging the covers higher over Lily's back like that would somehow protect them both from what was about to be said.

Lily lifted her head, hair wild, face flushed from sleep. "I swear to god if you ruin our entire legacy in front of baby Piastri-"

Oscar was now sitting upright again, his entire posture screaming intrigue. "What's he talking about?"

Lewis folded his arms behind his head, absolutely basking. "There's a book. A physical photo album. Maybe three volumes at this point. Full of Polaroids. All of them of Lily. And Lando. And sometimes Jude. And... let's just say there's nothing safe-for-work about it."

Oscar's jaw dropped. "Wait. Like actual Polaroids?"

Lando groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

"Actual fucking Polaroids," Lewis said. "From years. Some of them look like goddamn Renaissance paintings. Others look like sin in 4x5 format. All of them? Very, very private."

Lily turned to Oscar with a sigh. "They're only kept in our bedroom. In a locked drawer. It's not like they're floating around the grid. He saw them once. He shouldn't have. And now he won't shut up."

"I was invited to your house!" Lewis protested. "I was given a tour! The drawer was unlocked! What was I supposed to do, not open the leather-bound book with the gold initials and ribbon markers?"

Oscar looked horrified. "You saw nude Polaroids of Lily?"

"I saw art," Lewis said solemnly. "I saw devotion. I saw Lando in positions I will never emotionally recover from."

"Oh my god," Lando groaned.

"Did Jude take some of them?" Oscar asked, deeply invested now.

Lily sighed again. "Yes. And no. Some were self-timed. Some were me. Some were Lando. Some were chaos."

Oscar blinked. "There's three volumes?"

Lando was now fully under the covers.

Lewis laughed. "And the best part? They still add to it. Like a scrapbook from hell. There's one from New Year's where she's on the kitchen counter in nothing but Lan's fireproofs."

Oscar's voice cracked. "I want to die."

Lily dragged a pillow over her head. "We're never going to live normal lives again."

Lewis leaned over and patted her leg affectionately. "I mean... no. But we weren't pretending, were we?"

She peeked out from under the pillow. "This is revenge for me not letting you carry my crutches yesterday, isn't it?"

Lewis didn't deny it.

Lando resurfaced from under the blanket. "We are never having guests again."

Oscar snorted. "I'm literally the most emotionally fragile member of this trio and you've just told me you have a sex archive."

Lily leaned back into Lando. "We'll show you one photo. One. When you visit our place. And only if you swear on your girlfriend's engineering degree you won't tell anyone."

Oscar nodded immediately. "Deal."

Lewis grinned. "You're letting him in?"

Lando sighed. "We've let him sleep in our bed. Might as well traumatise him properly."

Oscar turned to Lewis. "Do you get a copy?"

Lewis looked deeply offended. "No. I'm not Max."

Lily cackled. Lando grinned, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You're the worst."

Lewis winked. "But I'm your worst."

They all dissolved into chaotic laughter again, the air hot with secrets and blankets and snacks and the kind of feral closeness that didn't belong to normal lives.

And from the bedside table, Lily's phone buzzed.

Anna Wintour 'We're trending again. Congratulations. Tell Lando I want that runway cameo.'

She groaned. "Fucking hell. The world is watching again."

Lando pulled her closer. "Let them watch."

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Their little sunshine p.4

Heyy guys, I didn't forget about this story; I just didn't know how to continue, so let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy this Alex x reader x Lily story. Here's part 3.

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

You found Carlos exactly where you expected—leaning against the pit wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp as always, looking like he was already mentally halfway through the first lap.

“Carlos!” you called, weaving through a couple of engineers until you were standing in front of him, bright smile already plastered on your face. “Don’t think I’d let you race without your good luck moment.”

Carlos smirked, unfolding his arms. “Wouldn’t dare start without it.”

You stepped closer, gently straightening a crease on the sleeve of his suit. “You’re going to do great. Stay focused, trust the car, and remember to breathe. I’ll see you after the race.”

Carlos leaned in slightly, his tone teasing. “I’ll know where to find you.”

You raised a brow, smiling. “Of course. I’ve got a whole corner reserved in the garage for emotional support cheering.”

He chuckled. “Don’t go giving all your best encouragement to Albon, eh?”

“Don’t worry,” you said, already backing away with a wink. “I’ve got enough luck for both of you.”

Back at Alex's side of the garage, the energy was mounting. Mechanics were making final checks, screens flashed with telemetry and track data, and the buzz of race anticipation filled the air.

You spotted Lily near the back of the garage, perched on a small stool with two sets of headphones dangling around her neck. She beamed as you approached.

“There you are,” she said, handing you one of the spare headphones. “All done spreading good luck to your second-favourite boy?”

“Don’t make me choose,” you giggled, slipping on the headset and settling beside her. “But yes. Carlos is covered.”

“Good,” Lily said, leaning into your shoulder. “Because this one’s going to need all the good energy he can get today.”

You turned your eyes to the screen just in time to catch Alex climbing into his car, the helmet already on, the mechanics working with swift, careful hands.

The formation lap was moments away.

The garage wasn’t as flashy or loud as Ferrari or Red Bull, but there was something about Williams during race time—quiet intensity, focused loyalty—that always gave you chills. You could feel it pulsing in the floor beneath your feet.

Lily shifted beside you, eyes on the monitor. “You think he’s nervous?”

“Always,” you said softly. “But the good kind. The kind that keeps him sharp.”

“God, you sound like his second therapist,” she joked.

You bumped her gently with your shoulder. “Hey, between you and me, I give better pep talks.”

The light turned green on the track. Engines roared.

And just like that, the race had begun.

You and Lily leaned in, hearts in sync with the opening lap, watching your favourite boy push himself to the limit on the screen, knowing that later, he’d come back to find both of you waiting, sunshine and calm, exactly where he needed you most.

It hadn’t been a podium—not even close—but it had been a good race. One of those races where both drivers stayed clean, kept their heads, and brought the cars home in the points.

Carlos had crossed the line in P8 after a tough but clean battle with one of the Red bulls in the final laps, and Alex—Alex had clawed his way up to P9, making every overtaking manoeuvre count, every pit strategy stick, and every second behind the wheel matter.

It wasn’t a win. But it felt like one.

Back in the Williams garage, you and Lily were on your feet before the cooldown lap had even finished, hands in the air, high-fiving one of the mechanics beside you as the team’s small section of the pit wall burst into cheers.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” you shouted, practically bouncing with adrenaline.

Lily had tears in her eyes, half from laughing at your excitement, half from the relief of watching Alex fight hard and finish strong. “God, I love seeing him like this.”

When Alex finally rolled into the garage and climbed out of the car, sweaty, helmet tucked under one arm, the grin on his face said it all. He didn’t need to win to feel proud. He knew he’d done well.

He didn’t even get both gloves off before Lily launched herself at him.

"You were amazing!" she beamed, arms wrapping around his neck.

He caught her easily, squeezing her tightly against him, eyes briefly closing like the weight of the race finally settled off his shoulders.

When she pulled back, you were already next in line, bouncing on the balls of your feet, the kind of sunshine that only got brighter after a good day.

Without hesitation, Alex pulled you into a hug—one of those full-body, endorphin-fueled hugs where his hands were still slightly shaking from the adrenaline and your heart was pounding from how hard you’d been rooting for him.

"You did it!" you grinned as you pulled back just enough to see his face. "Points! Both cars! That was so—Alex, I’m so proud of you!"

He was still catching his breath, but your joy seemed to fuel his. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair and laughed. “Thanks. I needed that today.”

“You earned that today,” you said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m already thinking about how to celebrate. I’ve got some ideas for your birthday decorations, by the way…”

He froze mid-sip of water. “Wait—what?”

“Oh, yeah,” you continued, already mentally rummaging through Pinterest boards. “I was thinking streamers, balloons, maybe a banner? Definitely one of those giant shiny number balloons, and I saw these adorable cupcake toppers shaped like helmets...”

“Please don’t go overboard,” Alex said, half-laughing, half-pleading.

You stared at him with an expression that was pure disbelief. “Alex.”

“Yes?”

“Do you know me?”

Lily snorted, trying to hide her laughter.

Alex groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s exactly why I said it.”

You beamed. “Too late. The glitter cannons are basically already ordered.”

“No glitter!” Alex shouted after you as you turned to grab your phone.

Lily leaned into his side, giggling, eyes shining. “You’re not actually going to stop her, are you?”

He gave her a look, equal parts fond and exasperated. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She grinned, hooking her arm through his. “Good. Because deep down, you love it.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “Yeah,” he murmured, watching you already chatting up someone from logistics, already on a different topic. “Yeah, I do.”

And just like that, the day closed on a high. Not because of trophies or champagne, but because of points, progress, and the people waiting with open arms and too many balloons.

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

Once More (I)

A/N: This will be labor or love, truly. I'd like to thank Palm Springs and that one episode of Agents of Shield for helping with some of the science. Yes, I am making a playlist for the ambitious fic. No, I don't know how long it will be. Enjoy the ride.

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: None (unless you want to count me working on this as I go with only 10% of a plan and minimal proof reading).

Description: It was almost maddening. Repeating the same day over and over again. Waking, dying, waking, on and on again until you nearly spiraled. Or at least you would have if it wasn't for him. There was no one you could turn to outside of each other. You had only yourself, him, and the endless loop that trapped you both.

Gif taken from (x)

Soundtrack to the fic

Your heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through you as you ran. Not again. Not this time. It wouldn’t happen again - you wouldn’t let it. This had to end and it had to end now. 

You turned a corner and made your way to the turbolift. Spock stood tall - his eyes solely on you. 

“Together?” He said simply, his eyes taking in your face. 

“Together,” you repeated. You stood in front of him now, both your hands over the comm panel. Your fingers brushed against each other, Spock took a step closer towards you. 

Neither of you looked away as you both pushed down. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You can’t be serious!” 

“Oh, dead serious,” Erica smirked proudly. Her smile only grew at Uhura’s look of disbelief. 

“There is no way you won five times in a row,” Uhura slumped back in her seat. 

“I warned you not to play with her,” you added, smirking into your drink. Uhura merely huffed in response. “I lost three rounds of poker to her before I figured it out,” you laughed before Erica nudged you with her elbow.

“Learned what?” Uhura questioned, her accusing expression directed at Erica. 

“Nothing. There was nothing to learn!” Erica crossed her arms across her chest trying her best not to look guilty. 

Downing the rest of your drink, you got up from your seat. It had been a long day on the engineering deck. It had been one strange anomaly reading after the other. You weren’t sure what was causing it - every time you thought you were getting close, it disappeared. 

The enterprise was nearing uncharted territory. As far as you were concerned there had been no problems reported. But something had caused the peculiar readings. 

It wasn’t a big deal. Captain would have notified engineering if it was. Or a science officer would have reached out. Spock most likely. He never missed anything. 

“You can’t be leaving already,” Uhura stated, Erica mirroring her surprise. 

You let out a sigh, “Long day. Weird day.” You picked your data pad off of the table, holding it loosely in your left hand. 

“Weird?” Erica leaned forward in her seat. “That’s, like, almost everyday here. You gotta be more specific.”

“We had some strange readings today - I couldn’t pinpoint it,” you paused looking at both Uhura and Erica, “There wasn’t anything strange going on today on the bridge was there?”

They both shook their heads no. 

“I mean,” Erica paused thoughtfully, “There was this… storm, I guess? Nothing completely out of the ordinary. Sensors didn’t pick up anything significant.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Uhura said. Leaning back in her chair. “Go rest up, take it easy,” she smiled up at you. 

You smiled warmly at them both before making your way out of the mess hall. Your mind still drifting back to the strange readings from earlier. Uhura was right, you should let it go- but you couldn’t. 

Making your way to the turbolift, you were surprised to see Spock already occupying the space. 

“Lieutenant L/N,” he stated, nodding curtly at you. 

“Lieutenant Spock,” you smiled, stepping inside. “Engineering,” you said passively, the turbolift starting up. 

There was a beat before Spock’s voice filled the turbolift. “I was not aware you changed to beta shift.” 

“I didn’t,” you glanced at him, his expression blank save the quirk of his eyebrow. “I thought I’d check on the warp core one more time. There was something odd about the readings today.” 

You shifted your weight as you chanced another glance at Spock. 

He gave you his full attention now, “I too discovered irregular readings.” He looked down at you curiously. “What did you-”

The both of you were jostled as the turbo lift immediately stopped. Spock’s hands held you steady at the waist before letting you go. 

Your hands reached out for the console when the turbolift dropped down a level. 

“What is going on?” you gritted out, your hands quickly moving over the control panel to try and figure out what was happening. It looked like the power was being diverted. You weren’t sure why. Nothing prior to this would account for the ship needing to conserve power. Maybe-

“It appears that power is being diverted to essential ship functions,” Spock stated over your shoulder. 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” you said sarcastically as you popped open the panel. 

“I am surprised that, as assistant chief engineer, you had not come to that conclusion.” 

You let out a sigh before turning to look briefly at Spock, “I had thought of it.” 

Spock titled his head to the side, “You just stated -” 

“Spock. I was being sarcastic. I just - I need to get a better look at this. I might have to get access through the roof.” 

You knew you were being a bit short with him, you couldn’t help it. The whole situation made you anxious. Something about this didn’t seem right. It was all off. The only calming presence was Spock, always logical and reassuring. 

“Lieutenant, I would not recommend attempting to exit the turbolift. If the power -” 

“I know the risks, Spock, but what else are we going to do?” You turned to look at him now. “The comms aren’t working and my data pad isn’t getting any messages out.” 

You tried your best to breathe, to calm your thoughts. Everything was going to be fine. You both were going to be fine. 

Spock gave you a long assessing look before he nodded in agreement. 

“Will you help me up?” You asked, readying yourself to be lifted. Spock wordlessly lifted you. You worked quickly to try and remove the roof paneling when the turbolift jolted once more. Despite Spock's firm on you, the quick jostling caused your bodies to be thrown. 

Your head hit the side of the turbolift with a sickening thud. Pain radiated through you - your vision getting blurry. Warmth spread down the side of your face. Unable to move your body you could only assume you were bleeding from the impact. You tried unsuccessfully to keep your eyes open, but you couldn’t. 

Spock’s hands cradled your head as your eyes closed. Faintly, you could feel him resting your head in his lap. 

“Lieutenant,” he called out to you, “L/N”, he tried once more but the pain was beginning to dull until you felt nothing at all. ���Y/N, you need to stay awake. Help will come. Don’t fall asleep, you have lost too much blood.” 

If you didn’t know any better you might have heard the worried tone in his voice. 

The turbolift dropped once more, rapidly descending in a way you knew both of you wouldn’t survive. Spock leaned down, trying his best to shield your body. 

The last thing you could recall was a light so bright that it nearly blinded you despite your eyes being closed, the sickening feeling of free fall, and Spock’s warm body holding you close. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awoke with a gasp. Sweat covered your body as you sat up in your bed. You rubbed your hands over your face. The dream, if you could even call it that, had been the most intense thing you had ever experienced. 

Absentmindedly, you found your hand reaching for the back of your head. There was no pain - yet you could almost feel the phantom ache. Shaking yourself from your dream, you got up and got ready for the day. Your engineering shift would be starting soon. 

Straightening out your red shirt, you made your way to the turbolift. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of deja vu. 

“Engineering,” you stated, waiting as the turbolift took you to your destination. You found yourself anxious. You couldn't figure out why. The dream was just a dream - nothing more. 

The doors of the turbolift opened and you walked to your station. Commander Pelia gave you a warm smile as before she continued work on her data pad. 

You began your routine scans when you noticed the same anomaly - the one from your dream. You stood gaping at your scanners. 

“Everything alright, Lieutenant?” Commander Pelia asked you. 

Before you could answer, the anomaly disappeared as quickly as it came. “No- yes. Yes, everything is fine.” 

It was fine, wasn’t it?

The rest of your day went by in a blur. Conversations, scans, everything repeated itself from your dream. It wasn’t possible. There was no way, unless…unless…

In an almost daze you found yourself in the mess hall. Erica and Uhura were already seated playing cards. 

“You can’t be serious!” 

You stopped dead in your tracks. 

“Oh, dead serious,” Erica smirked proudly. 

“There is no way you won five times in a row,” Uhura slumped back in her seat. 

No. 

No. It couldn’t be possible. 

“Y/N? You okay?” Erica was giving you a concerned look. Uhura was already out of her chair making her way towards you. She took you by the elbow and led you to the empty chair at their table. 

“Y/N?”

You blinked roughly, your eyes snapping to Erica. “Was there…was there some type of storm today?”

“Uh, yeah actually. Couldn’t really figure out what it was. Scanners didn’t pick anything up.” 

“I have to go,” you said quickly, rushing out of the mess hall. You ignored their calls of concern. 

You bumped into La’an as you rounded the corner to the turbolift. You mumbled an apology, not waiting for a response. 

The turbolift opened. Spock stood in the entryway, his expression nearly unreadable. His eyes frantically looked over your face, his eyes lingering on where you hit your head in your dream. 

“It wasn’t a dream was it?” you whispered, slowly entering the turbolift. 

“No,” he replied. His eyes not leaving yours. “I believe we are experiencing the events of yesterday again.” 

“No one else remembers,” you paused, “Why do we-” 

The turbolift jolted. Your frantic eyes met Spock once more. 

“The anomaly. I believe that whatever is causing the abnormal readings is triggering-” 

Spock caught you as you jolted forward into his chest, the turbolift dropping a level. Not again, not again. 

You took a deep breath, “I still couldn’t pinpoint the readings. Every time I get close, it disappears. It-” 

The turbolift began its rapid descent. Spock held onto your arms tightly, your eyes only on each other. 

“Find me sooner,” you said as the white light engulfed you both. The warmth of Spock's hands on your arms the only sensation you focused on as you both plummeted into the abyss.

[cheriladycl01]

2026 Rewind - Grid x AudiDriver! Reader

Plot: After some devastating deaths within the F1 industry from unmistakable names in 2025, the FIA decide to make a plan to race at all of the old tracks that are iconic but haven’t been on the grid for a while.

A/N: this is racing heavy with only drivers name dropped, but if you want cool Ted and Crofty with Y/N vibes while learning more about some of the FIA Grade 1 Tracks, have a read!

“So Ted, let’s talk about this years line up. It’s just so iconic that I can’t bear it!” David Croft says as they are in the commentator box at pre-season testing.

“Yeah Crofty, obviously it’s so unfortunate the reason behind what we are calling the 2026 rewind because of some losses we had in the industry and this was the way the FIA decided to pay tribute to those people!" Ted explains before the onscreen for the year comes up.

"So, lets go through the year together and analyze it. We're starting of the season strong in the lovely Kuwait, here at Kuwait Motor Town, this is where we are kick starting off this season. It's a high speed track here just north of where we would typically start in Bahrain. This is a track consisting of 20 turns, and is 5.609km of racing ahead. I'm very excited as no-one in F1 history has raced here in an F1 car. Who do you think's going to do well here Ted?"

"Well, there's some really nice corners, and it's a similar temp to Bahrain so i think it's difficult to tell but I can imagine the Audi with Y/N now having done her rookie season learning all those key values about the F1 car and how it works. McLaren will also be good here, really tightening up the constructors championship this year!" Ted offers looking at all the onboard footage.

"Yes I agree, I think Red Bull tend to be quiet strong a the start of the year naturally and its a game for the other teams to be playing catch up!" Crofty agrees.

"Okay, then after Kuwait, we'll be travelling to and correct me if I'm saying this wrong but the Kyalami Circuit in South Africa near the wonderful capital Johannesburg. It's in replacement of the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, we haven't raced in South Africa since 1993 and what a beautiful circuit this is, its got some really high speed corners and yeah, I think the Ferrari will really be great on those long straights." Ted says analysis the data of the cars in testing.

"And now here we have with us, Y/N Y/L/N Audi F1 driver here to talk through the rest of the tracks!" David says and points to the camera for you to smile and wave before he pulls out the microphone in front of you.

"Hello!" you grin and David and Ted both burst out laughing.

"What did I miss, I'm really sorry i was late!" you smile looking between them and they both nod in understanding of how tight the weekend schedule could be, they are shocked they actually have your time right now.

"It's completely okay, we understand! We've only introduced Kuwait and South Africa, we are about to move onto the changed Australia track! Your thoughts?" he exclaims and you smile.

"Yeah, obviously it's going to be exciting with all these new tracks that none of us have driven, so of course there was a lot of testing in the sims... but yeah its great to be here in Kuwait, and I'm excited to go to South Africa as well!" you smile.

"Yes, and how do you feel about Australia being changed from Albert Park in Melbourne to the Adelaide Street Circuit?" Ted asks with a grin on his face knowing how you felt about the Australian races.

"Well, after the spider incident in 2022, I've always been so scared to drive in Australia" you giggle, before Crofty pulls up the video of you in P4 of the Australian Grand Prix in 2022.

Y/N - Theres a fucking tarantula in my car Race Engineer - Copy that Y/N - No i dont think you guys get it, its on me

"And you ended up pitting there was no time to get it out of the car because of where it was, you were crying for the rest of the race and you were going so quick so you could just finish that you actually ended up winning your first race here and overtaking Charles Leclerc in, what back then was an Alfa Romeo." Crofty smiles and you nod.

"Yeah, so where ever that race is in Australia I know ill be on edge the whole time, I'll have my crew do like 6 inspections on my car before each session to make sure. It was traumatizing i tell you!" you admit.

"So after what will hopefully be a spider free stint in Adelaide on their street circuit we move on to south east Asia where we will exchange Suzuka Japan, for the Fuji SpeedWay, a truly iconic track before going back to an old favorite of some of the older driver on the grid like Lewis and Fernando in South Korea at the Korea International Circuit!" Ted says showing the line up for the races after Australia.

"I'm really excited for these, the atmosphere of the fans is always amazing and the tracks here are great I think Audi thrive on these sort of tracks and yeah, I'm excited to see what we can do there!" you smile, looking at the spinning track layout that popped up on screen.

You move on to Miami's replacement being the iconic Californian Long Beach Street Circuit.

"And we've been tipped of, by a certain Cash App driver that he'll be taking you to DisneyLand while out there?" he asks looking at you.

"Yes, Liam has already been once and when I said about wanting to go to radiator springs he and Daniel jumped on the opportunity to go, which then Yuki and Max wanted to come so it's now turned into this whole massive group trip!" you laugh knowing that half the grid would come with you guys.

"And of course much like the UK Italy is another pinnacle of Motorsport and we've had to change out two of the iconic track Monza and Imola. So for the first change of Italy we've changed it to the iconic Mugello track which I just really love, don't you Y/N?" Ted asks looking at you.

"Yeah I think Lando and Osc will be really strong there, I'd like to think me and Carlos are as well with the Audi this year... so yeah I'm excited for Mugello! Obviously they raced here in 2020 so it's the most recent of all the races this year to make a return so its only really me, Oscar, Logan, Fred, Theo and Kimi who haven't raced there" you smile analyzing the twisty track up on the screen.

"Yes, then we'll be moving onto, what was probably one of the toughest decisions of this year which was switching out Monaco and what to switch out such an exciting race with, so they didn't its the only race on the calendar this year that has remained unchanged!" David explains making you nod.

"I think, where this year is to show the history of F1 and what it means to all of us, the teams and the fans. And by keeping Monaco on there where its such a historic track, i think that's actually staying true to a rewind year!" you smile, you'd always loved the vibes in Monaco, from the fans to the track to how your car performed there.

"Yeah i agree i think it was the right choice keeping Monaco!" Ted exclaims also loving the vibes at Monaco.

"Okay, then moving all the way to the west, we'll be in Canada moving from Montreal over to Quebec at the second oldest track, the Mont-Tremblant Circuit!" David shows the new Canadian circuit on screen.

"Then after Canada we've got a really special double header with two Spanish Grand Prix's at different locations. We have the Valencia Street Circuit and Del Jarama Circuit. Both very exciting and it will be a long weekend in Spain!"

"I'm excited to see a street circuit in Spain, obviously we had Madrid for the last two years after Barcelona, so I'm excited for both Valencia as a street circuit and Jarama which is such an iconic track because of those tights turns and yeah I'm really excited for this one!" you smile.

"Obviously next one was another tough one, Silverstone again another iconic track and the UK has so many other iconic tracks that its hard to choose, there was talks of Aintree, Watkins Glen and Donington Park but ultimately they went with Brands Hatch what do you think on this?" Ted asks looking over to you, holding up a page showing all the different UK tracks.

"Yeah, I think there's some really iconic tracks in the UK, its my home so i grew up racing on a lot of those tracks in different motorsport categories, I think there's ones that are arguably better for Formula one, which is why Silverstone is the main circuit as it gives for the most interesting race, however for me it would have been a call between Brands Hatch and Watkins Glen so I'm glad that they chose Brands Hatch, I've got some great memories there at testing and showcasing the car or working with the Top Gear team, so I'm excited to race there!" you explain, the United Kingdom is the like Monaco in being both a founder and royalty when it comes to Motorsport.

"I 100% agree with that, however I just love Aintree so much and am gutted we wont see it!" David Croft admits.

"So after Brands Hatch we move to Monsanta in Portugal which we haven't raced in Portugal since 2021 because of the COVID restrictions but that was in Algarve so it'll be interesting to see the difference!" Ted offers looking at the next circuit floating on their screen as he zoom's in on turn 4.

"Then, again there another track we hate to see go even if its for one year but Spa, its so iconic and its one of the most dangerous circuits we race now and it's being swapped out for Circuit Zolder on the other side of Belgium! Thoughts?" David asks out in the open.

"I" you start.

"Well I think" Ted also starts and you both look at each other in shock before laughing. You let Ted go first to say his piece.

"Well, I think it's no where near interesting as Spa, and especially where its the last race before a break... I think it's going to be way more uneventful than Spa!"

"Y/N?" Crofty asks looking at you.

"I actually think the opposite most of the tracks have been very high risk with lost of turns and chicanes and hairpins that really catch you out, however this reminds me of the simplicity of Monza and everyone, everyone loves Monza. So i think it will really even out the mid field cars" you says observing the track that had nice long straights and minimal turns.

"I agree with you there Y/N! Next after Zolder we head over to the heavily missed Nurburgring in Germany, the last time we saw it was 2019 so again, up until our 2019 rookies would have driven there how'd you feel about this track Y/N?" David asks.

"Well, it's such an iconic track for so many reasons I really wanted to race there after I watched Lando, George and Alex all race there in 2019, I was actually there in the paddock that year with Ferrari as a part of their driver development programme" you nod, explaining to them how excited you were for it.

"Now next in the place of Monza which we just mentioned we have a complete wild card of the Scandinavian Raceway in Sweden! Now this, this is one I'm excited for it's a beautiful track and has the coldest track temps we'll probably get all season! So it'll be a real fight to see who can protect their tyres and manage them well!" Ted explains and you nod, knowing it would be an exciting race.

"Then after that we travel to France where we haven't been for a while, however the Bugatti Au Mans Track in France is iconic, there are so many great tracks in France like Paul-Ricard or the Charade Circuit or Dijon de Prenois, all of them are great but the Bugatti hasn't been done is so long and really means a lot historically to the sport" David offers, showing you one of the only tracks you didn't feel too excited a lean towards.

"Then, we move back across to Aisa, going to an age of favorite of the age old Sepang International Circuit in Malasiya which is one fans have been wanting to see back on the race calendar for a while so i wonder if this will stay into 2027!" Ted takes over, and you nod.

"I'm also very excited for Sepang! After Malaysia we move onto the first ever FIA grade 1 race track the Chang Circuit in Thailand, how to we feel about this?" David asks directly looking at you.

"Not only is it a beautiful track, but it means that Alex now has a chance to race at his home track while racing under his home flag and I think he's really excited for it. He's in a great car, the Williams has come leaps and bounds and are top midfield contenders and definitely will be up there fighting for race wins!" you smile, knowing Alex was so happy to have this opportunity to race in his home country.

"I agree Alex Albon to win in Chang Circuit, I've put my money on it! Our next circuit it one that NASCAR share with us in F1 taking it back to the Indianapolis Speedway, on the lower F1 circuit of course rather than the Oval that the NASCAR drivers use!" Ted explains.

"Yeah, that lower track is great, you got the nice curve and we'll be able to get to those really high speeds. It's an iconic US track just like COTA!" you admit, taking a sip of the water you'd brought with you.

"After Indi, we'll make our way a little further down south to the Rio de Janiro International Track in Brazil, which is instead of Sao Paulo" David explains looking at the second F1 track in Brazil, it was a nice track but Sao Paulo had been on the roster for so long.

"Then, we are back in Las Vegas, but not on the Strp track that was created in 2023, no we are going back to the Ceaser's Palace Track and I know many people complain about these Las Vegas Grand Prix's because of the timings and the drivers not really liking driving at 12pm!"

"Yeah, i agree they are really strenuous just like Qatar for the heat but I love the vibe Las Vegas brings and I like the whole weekend with all the activities in the fan zone and yeah I'm excited they used Ceaser's Palace rather than the Pheonix Street Circuit which i know they were considering.

"I agree. Our last two races, then consist of the Buddah International Circuit in India and rounding off instead of in Yas Marina in the Dubai Autodrome, which will be a really nice round off" David exclaims.

Slowly you end the interview up, needing to go down to the track to get into the car for you leg of pre-season testing.

What a year it would be.

Taglist:

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[usafphantom2]

Story by Dave Francey:

In 1997 I was the boom operator on a mission to perform a flyby at EAA Oshkosh incorporating a KC-135 and an SR-71. The idea was that the formation represented the partnership of the U.S. Air Force and NASA (then NACA) back in 1947 when the sound barrier was broken by then-Capt. Chuck Yeager flying the Bell X-1.

NASA had been using the SR-71 to research a new engine for the X-33 called the linear aerospike rocket engine. The KC-135 crew provided in-flight refuelling support for these NASA missions.

At the completion of the program NASA took the mission support folks to the Oshkosh show via the KC-135. A NASA F-18 was prepositioned at General Mitchell International Airport (KMKE) to aid as a safety observer for the SR-71. We took off from Edwards Air Force Base and headed to Lake Michigan where we established an orbit.

First to join us was the F-18, and we orbited together waiting for the SR-71 to take off from Edwards. As the SR-71 neared the formation, the F-18 departed the tanker and joined with the SR-71 to lead it to the tanker.

Once the formation was established, we started a descent for our Oshkosh flyby. The SR-71 crew remained in the traffic pattern as the tanker and F-18 went back to holding. The SR-71 re-joined soon thereafter and we proceeded to air refuel, giving it the required off-load to fly back to Edwards.

All was great as we finished the off-load on time and course so the SR-71 crew could “pop” the sound barrier over the Oshkosh attendees and then return to Edwards. The tanker was going to recover at KMKE so the crew and passengers could attend the show. But as the SR-71 began to manoeuvre down and back from the tanker I saw a huge fuel leak out of the SR-71’s left engine.

I did not want the SR-71 pilot to go into afterburner (AB) with that fuel leak so I radioed them telling of the problem. Soon the F-18 pilot was also able to provide data to the SR-71 pilot of their condition and the entire formation declared an emergency and diverted to KMKE.

The cause of the fuel leak was a failed fuel pump and thankfully the SR-71 pilot didn’t go into AB because it could have resulted in a catastrophic failure.

As it was, we were all safe and sound back on the ground. Later, one of the attendees of the show asked me if the SR-71 was skywriting. I laughed, the SR-71 pilot was good, but not that good.☺️

@Habubrats71 via X

[billybob598]

How Many People? (Sydney Lohmann x Reader)

I'm backkkkkk. My bad for not writing in like 2 weeks, but whatever. This was requested by an amazing anon. I hope you all enjoy it! My next fic is an Obi one so maybe I'll do that. I'm thinking of doing a part 2 to this in the near future. As always any feedback good or bad is welcomed! Have fun reading!

And shout out to @ares3460 @simp4panos @inlovewithwoso @wosofanstuff and the lovely 🧡 anon for helping me decide what kind of ending I should have

Word Count: 2.3K (Guys?!?!?!)

You watch fondly as Syndey runs around the paddock, taking pictures of everything she sees. While she had been to many races before, she just really loved Belgium for some reason. It could be that the track was nestled in the Ardennes forest or that the race was one of the most historic on the calendar. Whatever it was, Sydney was beyond excited to be there. She looked like a kid in a candy store the way her eyes darted around, taking everything in. You, on the other hand, were not that fazed by everything. Instead, you opt to stare at your girlfriend with heart eyes as you fall harder when you notice how happy she looks. Walking into the Williams garage, Sydney immediately seeks out Lily (our favourite WAG). They had become close friends as they watched you and Alex race around the track. 

The weekend forecast was less than ideal. Everyone is predicting heavy rainfall on both Saturday and Sunday. Even on Friday, the dark clouds sat overhead, putting everyone on edge. Everyone knew the dangers of racing around Spa in the wet. Lando had a massive crash in 2021 and tragically, Dilano Van’t Hoff passed away at Spa, also in the wet. When you heard about Dilano your heart broke. You had raced against each other back in your karting days and become good friends. He was destined to reach Formula 1, both of you had dreamed of driving alongside each other in the pinnacle of motorsport. Now, due to the FIA’s carelessness, your friend who deserved to be where you are today was gone. Racing at Spa in the wet scared you. Not that you would admit it to anyone, although Syndey had kind of figured it out. That’s when you know something is wrong, when a driver who is usually crazy and ready to do anything, fears for their life doing something they love. 

As you’re in your driver's room with your head in Syndey’s lap, her nails running softly through your hair, you can’t help but let your mind wander towards the conditions of the track. Your girlfriend notices the furrow of your eyebrows, indicating you’re in deep thought. 

“So you gonna tell me?” She asks gently.

“Hm?” You hum quietly back. She rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“You gonna tell me what you’re thinking about?” Sydney says trying to coax an answer out of you.

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the rain and stuff,” you speak softly as the rain patters against the window. Once the words leave your mouth Syndey knows what you’re thinking about.

“You don’t want to race do you?” She says. 

“No, I mean, I don’t know. Of course I want to race, I love this track and I always want to race, but…” You trail off. Syndey stops her hand midway through your hair and raises her eyebrows in question. “But, it’s just, how many people have to die before they realize that it’s not safe in the wet?” You sigh out as tears threaten to fall out. The midfielder looks at you sympathetically before continuing her previous motion in an attempt to soothe you.

“If it’s really bad then tell them it’s not safe,” she shrugs.

“It’s not that simple, Syd. I can’t just go to the FIA and be like, ‘It’s raining too much, I’m terrified to put my foot on the accelerator, I think we should just cancel the entire weekend.’ I can’t do that.” She nods in understanding, opening her mouth to speak but is cut off when a loud knock brings the two of you out of your little world. 

“Mate, let’s go! Quali is in like 20 minutes and the engineers want to go over some data,” a voice says loudly from the other side of the door. Both of you sigh as you stand up. Slipping your arms into your overalls, Sydney stands up and places her hands on either side of your waist. You freeze your movements and look at her. She places a feather-light kiss on your lips, then on your cheek, then on your forehead. 

“Please, please be safe, liebe,” she mutters against your forehead. Trying your best to give her a reassuring smile you whisper against her neck,

“I will. I promise.”

Lily and Syndey cling to each other as the qualifying session progresses. Both of them praying that all twenty drivers survive the session unscathed. It doesn’t help that almost every other minute somebody new has gone for a joyride through the gravel or grass off the track. What does help is that both you and Alex Albon made it through to Q2. Your first lap in Q2 was solid, with a few moments here or there, but all together a relatively tidy lap. The lap put you P10; on the chopping block but you knew there was time to find so you weren’t necessarily worried. On the downside, the rain had only gotten heavier, opposite to what the radar suggested. Now, instead of only being on intermediates the teams and drivers had to make the switch to full wets. So, when you went back out for your second Q2 lap with four minutes left, it’s safe to say Syndey was scared shitless. 

“Okay so, we have a good gap to the car in front of us so there shouldn’t be any problems with traffic. Gap to P11 is .098, again gap to the elimination zone is .098,” your engineer informs you over the radio.

“Copy. Visibility is very, very poor. So is traction. I’ll go for it, though,” you respond. Mentally you lock in. You tune out all the other distractions and prepare to give it your all for one lap. However, you can’t shake this bad feeling sitting at the bottom of your stomach. As you slam your foot down on the gas pedal, a ton of water smacks against your visor. Leaving you practically blind. At this point, you're just driving on instinct and memory. Smoothly gearing down as you approach Turn 1, you slowly apply pressure to the brake being careful to not lock up and slide through the corner. You straight-line it as quickly as possible and make the run towards your favourite corner, but also the most dangerous one, Eau Rouge. Usually, in dry conditions, you would take this flat-out, with no hesitation. The thrill of nailing it at 300kph was something you could never get enough of. As you turn left slightly to begin your climb up the hill, you feel the back end slip out. Immediately, you try to correct it, quickly switching the steering wheel to the right. This only causes the rear wheels to lose even more traction. The car starts to spin around wildly. Then, it smashes into the barrier with such force that your helmet jerks forward, threatening to rip your head off from your neck. A searing pain makes its way through your neck and your ribs rattle from the impact. It’s only when hit another solid object that you realize that you’re still moving. The second impact is a lot less painful, but you still figure that you hit the barrier at around 180kph. Everything stops shaking for a second. The rain continues to pour all around you. Yellow flashing lights can barely be made out in your peripheral. Your internal organs start to reorganize back to normal when through the sound of rain spattering on the asphalt you hear the roar of an engine getting nearer. Then, everything goes black.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Williams garage is absolute chaos. Everyone is scrambling, trying to see if you’re okay if the ambulances are on their way, or trying to watch the replay of what happened. To Sydney, everything was happening in slow motion. The second Pierre Gasly’s Alpine collided with you, tears rolled down her face. Lily was also crying at the sight of your car broken in two. Out of the corner of her watering eye, Sydney could see your race engineer frantically repeating your name into his headset, trying desperately to get you to acknowledge him. Her head feels like it’s underwater with everyone's muffled voices. Her mind directly goes to the worst possible outcomes. All the negative thoughts swim around her brain for a few minutes until the wailing of the ambulance sirens breaks her out of her trance. Desperately, she looks at the cameras on the pit wall only to see that they have lost connection. After five more agonizing minutes that felt like hours, Sydney was informed by one of the team members that you were being airlifted to the nearest hospital. She was also told that they arranged a car to take her there. Lily refused to leave her side and slipped into the car with her, holding her hand as an act of comfort. Alex’s girlfriend also had the Sky Sports live coverage playing on her phone so they saw the camera zoom in on Alex’s wide eyes as the TV replayed your accident. It was like some sick joke the way your car just snapped in two like a twig. 

Finally, they arrived at the hospital, Sydney running through the rain towards the front desk. 

“I’m-I’m here for Y/N Y/L/N,” she pants out, her eyes watering and her clothes drenched making her quite the sight. The receptionist nods her head as she scrolls through her computer,

“Uh huh, Ms. Y/L/N is currently in surgery. You are welcome to sit in the waiting area,” the young lady says pointing towards a room full of chairs and concerned looking family members. The Bayern player mutters out a thank you before finding a seat. Lily comes in a few seconds later and sits in the chair beside Sydney.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Lily attempts to sooth your girlfriends nerves. She continues to talk about how you’re a fighter and how you’ll be fine, but this all goes in one of Syndey’s ears and out the other. After what felt like an eternity, but really closer to about an hour, a nurse comes into the waiting area saying your name. Instantaneously, Sydney shoots out of her seat and makes her way towards the nurse.

“Is she okay? What are her injuries? Oh God, please tell me she’s okay,” the young midfielder rants out quickly. Unfazed, the nurse replies,

“Relation to the patient?”

“Girlfriend.”

Sighing, the nurse looks down at her clipboard and starts to read,“Ms. Y/L/N suffered many injuries. Major trauma to the head, a collapsed lung, a broken leg, and severe damage to her spinal cord.” The tears threaten to fall once again as your girlfriend gets told the extent of your injuries. 

“Is she…Is she like stable?” Her bottom lip quivers. Again, the nurse sighs,

“She is in critical condition, currently she is hooked up to a heart monitor and an artificial ventilator to help her breathe.”

“Can I go see her?” The nurse nods before motiong to follow her.

“RIght now the doctor is just finishing up, but he will tell you more about Ms. Y/L/N’s condition.” They arrive at a brightly lit room, white covering every inch of the walls. Then, Sydney sees you. Your body laying limply on the hospital bed with what seems like a thousand different tubes and cords attached to you. You seem so small, your usually bright face now covered by an oxygen mask. The smile that can make anyone’s day better no where to be found. 

“Hi, I’m Dr. Khan, I’ll be overseeing Ms. Y/L/N for the next little while. Have you been briefed on her injuries yet?” Syndey tears her eyes away from you to see a tall man in a white lab coat talking to her. She nods in response to his question. “Perfect. Well, right now she is in critical condition. The next forty-eight hours or so will be crucial. If she makes it through the first couple days her chance at surviving and making a full recovery will greatly increase. I’ll give you some privacy now, but a nurse will be in to check on her every hour. If you need anything just give me a shout.” He then turns before briskly walking out of the room, leaving Sydney and your unconscious body alone. She takes a seat in a chair alongside of your bed. Her vision goes blurry as the tears flow freely,

“Y-Y/N, please d-don’t leave m-me,” she chokes out in between sobs, “I need yo-you. I don’t k-know what I’d do without you, please liebling.” 

For the next fifty minutes Sydney stays silent, her mind racing as her eyes rake over your body. The only thing brining her the slightest bit of comfort being the steady beep of your heartbeat on the monitor. Soon enough, a nurse comes in to check on you, inspecting all of the machines you’re hooked onto. Sydney for the most part ignores her, that is until a small curse leaves the womans mouth.

“What? What’s wrong?” She questions the woman. All of a sudden the nurse shouts for the doctor and presses a red button near your bedside. Within seconds Dr. Khan and more nurses come flooding into the room, one or two of them pulling Syndey out of the room. She tries to fight them, desperate to see what’s happening. 

“She’s gone into cardiac arrest!” Someone shouts. Her eyes widen as the words sink in. With one last tug from behind she’s taken completely out of the room. But, she sees one last thing before they slam the door shut in her face. 

The line on the heart monitor going completely flat.

[avdgroupin]

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[coochiequeens]

A 22 year old woman who was about to graduate with a degree in engineering is now dead because her ex couldn't accept that the relationship was over.

Gino Cecchettin, hugging his daughter Elena, attends a torchlit procession in Vigonovo, near Venice, northern Italy, Sunday, Nov. 19, 2023, after the police found the body of his other daughter Giulia, reportedly with multiple stab wounds and wrapped in plastic on Saturday in a ditch near Venice. Police in Germany over the weekend arrested Filippo Turetta, 21, who had been on the run since Nov. 11, when he was last seen arguing with Giulia Cecchettin. (Lucrezia Granzetti/LaPresse via AP)

The Associated Press

ROME -- Italy has erupted in outrage over the death of a young woman, allegedly at the hands of her possessive ex-boyfriend, with the Italian premier vowing to crack down further on gender-based violence that has claimed the lives of more than 50 women so far this year.

Police in Germany over the weekend arrested Filippo Turetta, who had been on the run since Nov. 11, when he was last seen fighting with 22-year-old Giulia Cecchettin, hitting her in a physical attack that was captured by roadside video cameras.

Cecchettin's body, reportedly with multiple stab wounds, was found wrapped in plastic on Saturday in a ditch near Lake Barcis, in the province of Pordenone north of Venice.

Italian newspapers had been consumed with the search for them both, given multiple reports from friends and family that Turetta had refused to accept Cecchettin's decision to end the relationship. Cecchettin’s sister, Elena, said she had been concerned about Turetta’s possessiveness of her sister but never imagined he could hurt her.

Police in the eastern German city of Halle said Sunday that they had detained a 21-year-old Italian man who was wanted by police in Italy after his car broke down on the A9 highway in the south of the eastern state of Saxony-Anhalt.

Italian news reports said police road cameras had traced Turetta’s black Fiat Punto as he drove on mountain roads through northern Italy, into Austria and then Germany.

Italian state-run radio network RAI said Turetta had agreed to be extradited, and Italian Foreign Minister Antonio Tajani said he was expected back in Italy within days. Venice's chief prosecutor, Bruno Cherchi, suggested Monday it might take longer and urged patience so the investigation can complete its course without external pressure.

The fate of Cecchettin, who had been due to graduate university Thursday with a degree in engineering, had dominated news reports for a week and led to an outpouring of anger when her body was finally found. Even Turetta's parents attended a candlelit vigil for her, and RAI led its main evening news program Sunday with a backdrop made up of portraits of all the women killed in Italy this year.

Premier Giorgia Melon i expressed outrage at Italy’s long history of violence against women by their partners or ex-partners, saying it has appeared to be getting worse recently. She cited data from the Interior Ministry saying of the 102 women killed in Italy this year up to Nov. 12, 53 died at the hands of their partners or former partners.

“Every single woman killed because she is ‘guilty’ of being free is an aberration that cannot be tolerated and that drives me to continue on the path taken to stop this barbarity,” she said in a statement on social media.

A government-backed bill that has already passed the lower Chamber of Deputies and is coming to the Senate later this month would boost preventative measures to protect victims of gender-based violence.

In addition, the Interior Ministry urged all schools to hold a minute of silence on Tuesday in honor of Cecchettin “and all abused women and victims of violence.” An organization of Italian university rectors, meanwhile, vowed to launch initiatives to make students more aware of gender-based violence.

The aim, the group said, was to “promote respect of the person and halt violence against women” through education that fosters a culture of respect and responsibility.

[ghosty-zero]

"My Sweet Shadow", a No Shadow Left to Chase ten chapter side story!

The ARK was quiet that afternoon, save for the gentle hum of engines and distant echo of researchers' footsteps. Inside a small room nestled near the observatory wing, warm lights cast soft halos over the floor. Maria Robotnik was sitting cross-legged on a pale blue rug, surrounded by open crayon boxes and scattered sheets of paper.

Beside her, humming faintly, was Shadow.

He was little—not just in size but in spirit too. Around seven years old, maybe, though it was hard to say with someone who wasn't entirely human. His fluffy black quills curled slightly at the tips, and his red stripes were a gentle maroon instead of the vivid crimson they'd become one day. His eyes, wide and shimmering ruby, were focused on his masterpiece: a drawing of the ARK floating through space, with little cartoon stars and a smiling moon.

"Look, Maria!" Shadow beamed, holding the page up proudly with both hands. "I drew you waving from the window! That's you in the pink pajamas!"

Maria gasped with a grin, one hand covering her mouth dramatically. "Oh, you even drew my freckles! Shadow, that's perfect!"

He giggled and tucked his head shyly into his shoulder, his ears twitching from the praise. "I... I tried really hard. I wanted to make it cute so you'd smile."

Maria leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, burying her nose in his fur. "You always make me smile, Shadow."

He stayed nestled against Maria for a few more seconds before his eyes wandered back to the crayon pile. A sharp teal caught his attention, and he perked up, slipping out of the hug to grab it.

"Now I'm gonna draw you riding a comet," he said, grinning wide as he lay on his belly and began sketching with little flicks of his wrist. "You'll have cool space goggles and a jetpack!"

Maria giggled and leaned over to peek at the work in progress. "Will I be a space explorer?"

Shadow nodded. "The bravest one in the galaxy. You explore planets and help everyone. And I'll be your partner! I'll have a cape and a laser sword!"

"Laser sword? Since when?" she teased.

"Since just now," he declared, tongue poking out in concentration. "But I won't use it unless the aliens are mean. Most of them are just lonely. Like... maybe they just want hugs."

Maria softened at that, brushing her fingers through his soft quills. "That's a very sweet way to look at the galaxy."

Shadow looked over at her, blinking slowly. "I don't like hurting people. I just wanna protect things. Like you. And this room. And our drawings."

Maria felt her chest tighten in the best and worst way. He was too kind. Too gentle. A miracle boy born to be something more, yet somehow so content to just draw on the floor and dream of hugs for aliens.

But before she could say anything, the door gave a soft chime and slid open with a mechanical sigh.

Gerald Robotnik stepped inside, his white lab coat slightly wrinkled, dark circles beneath his eyes. His smile was tired but gentle as he took in the scene—Maria with crayon dust on her knees, and Shadow mid-sketch with one foot in the air behind him.

"Shadow," Gerald said softly, "it's time for your afternoon tests."

Shadow's ears drooped ever so slightly, and the crayon paused in his hand.

"Oh," he murmured. He set the teal crayon down neatly and sat up, brushing imaginary dust off his chest fur. "Okay."

Maria frowned. "Can't he stay a little longer? He was just starting the best part."

Gerald's eyes met hers with quiet understanding, but his voice didn't waver. "He needs rest between cycles, and the data is most stable if we stay on schedule."

Shadow stood slowly and turned to Maria, his hands clasped in front of him. "Can I finish the comet when I come back?"

"Of course," she whispered, pulling him into a soft hug. "I'll keep your space explorer safe."

He nodded against her shoulder, then stepped away and walked over to Gerald. The old man rested a gentle hand on the boy's back.

Shadow walked beside him down the corridor, his footsteps small and careful. The hallways of the ARK always felt much bigger when he was alone with Grandfather—like the walls stretched taller, and the ceiling drifted up into the stars. Sometimes he wondered if the stars could see him through the windows, if they remembered the little boy who liked to draw them.

He glanced up at Gerald, searching the old man's face for clues. Gerald was quiet, his mouth pressed in a thoughtful line. Shadow wondered if he was tired or sad, or maybe both. Sometimes Maria whispered that grown-ups worried too much.

As the doors to the testing chamber slid open, Shadow tried to remember the order of things—first the chair, then the wires, then the gentle hum of machines. He didn't really mind the tests; they didn't hurt, not really. Some of them were even fun, like the memory puzzles or the colored lights. But sometimes the doctors talked to each other in low voices, using words Shadow didn't know. He always wondered if he was doing it wrong, if they'd be happier if he could be smarter, or faster.

Gerald helped him up onto the padded bench and started attaching the sensors. "You're doing very well, Shadow. This will be quick today."

Shadow nodded, trying to be brave. He squeezed his hands together in his lap. "After this, can I see the stars again?"

Gerald smiled, just a little. "Of course. You can sit with Maria in the observatory."

That made Shadow brighten. The observatory was his favorite place. Out there, the stars looked close enough to touch, spread across the black like glitter on velvet. Sometimes he tried to count them, but he always lost track. He wondered if stars got lonely, floating out there all by themselves. Maybe that's why there were so many—so they could keep each other company.

The machines started to hum, little screens flickering with lines and colors. Shadow watched them, curious, but he didn't understand what they meant. He wondered if they could see his thoughts, or if they just saw his heart beating.

His mind wandered as the tests ticked by: a flash of Maria's smile, the bright blue crayon, the idea of a comet-ride across the black. He pictured himself and Maria, flying past the moon, waving at all the lonely stars. Maybe he could collect them in his hands, like marbles, and give them to Maria so she'd never be alone.

"Shadow? Are you feeling alright?" Gerald's voice was gentle, but there was a crease of worry in it.

Shadow blinked up at him. "I'm okay. I was just thinking."

"About what, my boy?"

Shadow hesitated, then whispered, "About stars. I think they're my favorite. They look so happy, even though they're far away."

Gerald's eyes softened, and for a moment he looked less tired. "You're a very thoughtful child, Shadow."

Shadow smiled, a little bashful. "Maria says stars are like wishes. I think... I wish I could always stay with her."

Gerald didn't answer right away. He brushed a hand over Shadow's head, careful not to disturb the sensors. "You're very special, Shadow. One day, you'll do great things. But it's good to have wishes, too."

Shadow closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Gerald's hand settle his nerves. He didn't know what "great things" meant. He just wanted to go back to Maria, to their drawings and their stories, to the soft rug and the safe, bright room.

¥¥¥

Later, the ARK spun quietly beneath the soft hush of space. The observatory dome was cool and dim, its wide glass arching over Maria and Shadow as they sat bundled together in a nest of blankets. Maria's breath fogged the window as she pressed her nose to the glass, eyes round with wonder.

Outside, ribbons of emerald and violet shimmered and danced—the Aurora Borealis, swirling like a living river across the northern curve of Earth. The colors pulsed and flickered, painting the darkness with silent music.

Shadow leaned against Maria's side, his small hand curled around hers. He'd never seen anything like it. The stars were beautiful, but this—this was magic. It made his chest ache, in a way he didn't have words for.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Maria whispered, her voice full of awe.

Shadow nodded, eyes wide. "It's like the sky is drawing with crayons, too."

Maria giggled, squeezing his hand. "It's my favorite thing to see from here. I always wait for the right time each year. Sometimes it feels like the universe is saying hello."

Shadow watched the colors ripple, his mind spinning with questions. The lights looked so close, he wanted to reach out and grab them—maybe save a swirl of green for Maria's hair, or a bit of purple for her pajamas.

After a while, when the silence grew comfortable, Shadow spoke, his voice small. "Maria... why do I look different than you?"

Maria blinked, surprised. She glanced down at his dark fur and gentle stripes, his little paws settled atop the blanket. He was looking at his reflection in the glass—a soft, curious frown on his face.

"Is it 'cause I'm not like you?" he asked, not sad, just honestly wondering. "Why don't I have freckles, or hair like yours?"

She shifted, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Her voice was gentle, steady. "You're different because you're special, Shadow. You were made to be unique. That's not a bad thing—it just means you're one of a kind."

He was quiet, thinking it over. "But... will anyone else ever look like me?"

Maria shook her head, brushing his quills away from his eyes. "No one will ever be exactly like you. But that's what makes you wonderful. You make the world brighter just by being in it."

Shadow rested his head on her shoulder, eyes searching the swirling auroras. "Sometimes I wish I had freckles. Or could wear your pajamas."

Maria laughed softly. "I bet you'd look adorable in pink pajamas. But you know what? Someday, you're going to meet someone special, too—someone who'll love you just as you are. They'll think your stripes are cool, and maybe they'll want to watch the stars with you."

He gazed up at her, hope flickering in his ruby eyes. "For real?"

"For real," she promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "There's someone out there for everyone, Shadow. Even for you."

He smiled, shy and a little dreamy, and turned back to the window.

¥¥¥

The next morning, the ARK woke beneath the soft glow of artificial sunrise. Shadow blinked awake in his little cot, the one Maria had tucked beside her own. She was still snoring quietly, golden hair tangled in her pillow, one hand flopped over the edge toward him. He watched her for a few seconds, just soaking in the quiet, before slipping out from under his blanket and padding across the rug.

He liked mornings best. They were his and Maria's secret time, before the ARK got loud and busy. Sometimes Maria would wake and they'd build cities out of blocks—whole worlds with towers and bridges and little crayon signs. Other times, they'd turn the rug into a spaceship, blasting off for distant galaxies, Maria as the captain and Shadow as her loyal co-pilot with a blanket cape for good luck. Their voices would echo through the room, giggling out orders and making up rules for imaginary planets.

Breakfast was always a quick affair: Maria's favorite cereal, Shadow's own little bowl of fruit cubes, and stories traded back and forth. He told her about his dreams—usually colored with stars and comets and creatures with too many eyes. Maria always listened, like every word was important.

But soon enough, the grown-ups would come for him. Sometimes it was Gerald, sometimes one of the other scientists in crisp white coats. Shadow would trail along behind them, hands tucked behind his back, trying to remember which tests were which. Some days he solved puzzles on glowing screens or picked out shapes from swirling patterns. Other times, they watched how fast he could run, or how high he could jump. Occasionally, they'd put him in the big quiet room and ask him to concentrate, to think about moving something without touching it. He always tried his hardest, not because he liked the tests, but because he wanted Gerald to be proud.

The scientists never hurt him. They always spoke kindly, sometimes with a little awe that made Shadow shy. But their voices got quiet when they wrote in their notebooks. Sometimes, through the glass, he'd see Maria watching, her face pressed to the window, giving him a thumbs-up.

In between, Shadow would hurry back to Maria. They'd make up games—hide and seek in the storage rooms, drawing contests, or storytelling competitions where the winner got to pick which constellation they'd look for that night. Sometimes he'd catch Maria looking at him a little too long, her eyes worried, and he'd pull a silly face until she laughed.

Still, sometimes, when the lights were out and Maria was asleep, Shadow would lie awake staring at the ceiling and wonder. Why did he have red stripes? Why did the machines watch him so closely? Why was he here, instead of someplace else? He'd curl up small, wishing he had answers, wishing his purpose was something simple—like making Maria smile, or counting stars.

But morning always came, with new games and new stories and Maria's hand in his, and for a while, that was enough.

[ephemeralp1eces]

Crash Course - Part VI

Summary: The race goes as well as it can, except Max’s physio had to step away for a family emergency, leaving you in charge of both men. A last minute sponsor event has you all leaving again for a few days, away from the grid. Which, after the last trip, terrifies you.

What to know: Max x reader, minor injury, forced proximity.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Race day always hums.

There’s no other way to describe it, it’s not loud yet, not in the way it will be, but the energy is there. Palpable. The kind that clings to your skin and makes your pulse sync with the garage clock.

I keep my focus on Checo.

Warm-up stretches, final hydration, mental cues. He’s dialed in, joking just enough to loosen his shoulders but not so much that he loses the edge. He’s good at that: compartmentalizing.

Me? Not so much.

Max walks into the garage five minutes before the drivers’ parade. He’s already in his race suit, balaclava rolled down around his neck, jaw tight. We don’t speak. We haven’t all weekend, not unless forced to.

But I feel him like a shadow, like the air shifts the second he’s near. My chest pulls tight every time he’s within ten feet, and I keep telling myself it’s just anticipation.

It’s not.

—

The race starts clean. Checo holds his position off the line. Max makes a move early, aggressive, almost impatient, but nothing surprising. I watch both data streams like my life depends on it. The first twenty laps pass in a haze of telemetry, hydration reminders, and tire strategy updates. My headset is full of overlapping voices, and I sink into it, thankful for the distraction.

Then, lap 37.

Max’s voice cuts in.

“Something’s wrong with my hand.”

The entire garage stalls.

“Which one?” Someone asks, already flipping through settings.

“Right. Might be just, tight. Maybe nothing.”

But I hear it.

Not panic. Not pain.

Just enough concern to wedge itself under my ribs. I look up, heart thudding. Mechanics exchange glances. Christian steps out of the pit wall booth.

GP’s calm. “You want to box and take a look?”

“No.”

The next few laps blur.

Max stays out. Holds position. Drives like nothing’s wrong. But when he finally rolls into the box after the checkered flag, P2, the second he climbs out, I know he’s favoring his hand. And I’m already moving before anyone says a word.

—

He’s out of the car. Helmet off. Suit halfway unzipped. I catch him near the back of the garage, away from the cameras, just before he disappears into the motorhome.

“You need to let me check it,” I say, quiet but firm.

He doesn’t argue.

That’s how I know he’s actually worried.

We step into the physio room, just the two of us. I shut the door behind us, and suddenly it’s too quiet. Max sits on the edge of the table, flexing his fingers.

“You still ignoring me?” he says without looking up.

I ignore that.

“Which part hurts?”

He holds out his right wrist. I take it gently.

His skin is warm. Too warm. There’s faint redness along the tendons, overuse, maybe. No obvious swelling. No fracture signs. But I feel his pulse kick up the second my fingers press into the joint.

Mine isn’t much steadier.

“Grip anything too hard?” I ask, voice steadier than I feel.

He lifts a brow. “Do you want the honest answer?”

“Jesus, Max.”

A breath of dry laughter escapes him.

But the air is heavy now, too many things we’re not saying layered between every word.

“I don’t think it’s serious,” I mutter, more to fill the silence than anything else. “Strain at most. I’ll wrap it. You’ll ice it.”

He nods. Watches me as I move toward the tape and bandage kit.

“I meant it, you know,” he says after a beat.

I freeze.

“Meant what?”

He shrugs with one shoulder. “Everything I didn’t say.”

I close my eyes.

The tape crinkles in my hands.

“Not now,” I whisper.

He doesn’t push. He lets me wrap his hand in silence. And I pretend like my own hands aren’t shaking just slightly the whole time.

—

Sunday night hits differently once the engines shut down.

The paddock empties fast. Most of the media’s cleared out. Crew are packing crates and taping boxes, the clatter of tools echoing off walls that were vibrating with noise only hours ago. It’s always like this, race weekend collapses in on itself, and the silence that follows is deafening.

Checo’s already gone through cooldown. We’d done our usual: rehydration, breath work, a short tension release circuit.

I’d been looking forward to calling it a night. Until the knock on the physio room door. It’s one of the team managers, still wearing his radio headset, phone in hand. “Mateo had a family emergency. Caught the first flight out.”

My heart dips. So that’s why he wasn’t around earlier. “Is everything okay?”

“His mom’s in hospital. He’ll be gone at least a few days.”

I already know what’s coming before he says it.

“So for now,” the manager adds, “you’ll be taking care of both drivers.”

I nod. Of course I will. I’m a professional. I can handle this. Even if my chest is already in knots. Even if Max is standing three meters behind him, leaning against the doorframe with his injured hand resting gently against his hip, and that unreadable look on his face again.

“Fine,” I say.

It’s not.

—

Max doesn’t speak when we move to the private recovery suite. It’s late enough that most of the motorhome is quiet. No engineers, no press, no one to witness how brittle this silence feels. I set the ice packs down, grab the compression gear, and motion to the padded bench.

He sits, still watching me like I might vanish if he blinks. I kneel in front of him to check the bandage. My fingers brush against his skin. Neither of us breathes.

“It’s already better,” he says after a long beat. “I can move it more.”

“Good.”

I keep my voice flat. Not cold, not kind. Just neutral. I focus on the wrap, the way it presses against his wrist, the way his pulse jumps under my touch again. I pretend not to notice.

“You’re really not going to talk to me at all?” he asks, voice low.

“I’m here to help you recover, Max. That’s it.”

He exhales, frustrated. “You think I’m doing this to mess with you?”

“No,” I say, standing to get the cold therapy unit. “I think you’re doing it because you feel something and don’t know what to do with it.”

“We feel something.”

I turn back around. “Don’t.”

His jaw tightens. “You’re scared.”

I stare at him.

“I get it,” he says, and for once he sounds tired. Not defensive. Not angry. Just… honest. “You think I’m going to ruin you.”

“I think I’m going to ruin myself,” I whisper.

That shuts him up. I hook the ice pack into place and turn off the lights, leaving only the glow from the hallway filtering through the door. Neither of us speaks. The room is cold, quiet, too intimate. After a few minutes, Max shifts on the bench and leans back against the wall, wincing slightly.

“You should rest,” I murmur.

He nods.

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do I.

—

There’s no team schedule today.

No meetings, no media, no mandatory anything. Everyone’s been given a day to breathe after the race weekend, time to reset, to catch up on sleep, to leave each other alone.

I try.

I walk the perimeter of the paddock. Do admin work in the corner of hospitality. Stretch Checo’s recovery session longer than it needs to be, pretending I’m very interested in ankle mobility and lactic acid flow. But it’s all noise. Because I know what’s coming. I know I have to see Max tonight.

And I know exactly what it’s going to feel like, standing between his legs again, pretending I’m just there to do my job, pretending my hands aren’t going to tremble the second they touch his skin.

I spend all day bracing for it.

And somehow I’m still not ready.

—

Evening comes.

The sun’s low, casting long shadows across the paddock. The motorhome is quiet when I enter, a few lingering team members packing up gear, someone laughing faintly down the corridor. The physio room is lit warm and low.

Max is already there, sitting on the edge of the bench, elbow propped on one knee, wrist relaxed in his lap. His race suit is gone, replaced with a black T-shirt and joggers. Hair slightly messy, face calm. Too calm.

I shut the door gently behind me. The click sounds like a gunshot. Neither of us says anything. I cross the room, unwrap the bandage kit, and let myself fall into routine. Late-day stiffness. The wrist will be tender. I’ll need to recheck for swelling before taping again. I’m here to do a job.

That’s all.

When I step between his knees, he straightens slightly, looking up at me. His thighs bracket my hips, not touching, but close enough that I can’t move without brushing him. My hands find his wrist. Gently, carefully. It’s not as red as yesterday. Still warm, but not alarming.

“You’ve been icing,” I murmur.

“You told me to.”

His voice is low. Careful. I nod. Focus on the wrap. One loop. Two. My fingers fumble slightly as I adjust the tension.

He notices.

“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

I look up, finally. His eyes are steady. Kind. Nothing like the boy I met at the start of the season. There’s no arrogance, no smugness. Just Max. Quiet and patient and trying so hard to reach me without pushing.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper, because it’s the only truth I have left.

“You don’t have to know,” he says. “You just have to stop running.”

I press the final edge of tape down and go to step back. But his hand, the uninjured one, catches my wrist. It’s not hard. Just a pause. A touch that says don’t go. My breath stutters in my chest. He looks at me like I’m the only thing he sees. Like he’s been trying to say this all week and doesn’t know how.

Then he leans forward, just slightly, and kisses me.

Not fast. Not hungry.

Careful.

Like if he moves too quickly, I’ll vanish.

And I almost do.

Because my heart’s beating too loud, and my hands are trembling again, and I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something too big to name. But I don’t pull away. And when I kiss him back, slow, unsure, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment we got back from the retreat.

—

I don’t move right away. Neither does he. His hand is still on my wrist. My fingers are still resting lightly against his taped skin. The kiss has already happened, it’s over, but the space around us hasn’t changed. It’s still charged. Still heavy. Still too full of everything we’re not saying.

He doesn’t let go. Neither do I. When I finally step back, I expect him to say something. Joke it off, maybe. Offer me an easy out. He doesn’t. He just looks at me.

So I speak first. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

Max’s mouth twitches, not a smile, not quite. “Why not?”

I fold my arms, suddenly cold. “Because I’m your teammate’s trainer.”

“And you’re mine now too, apparently.” He lifts the bandaged wrist slightly, a half-hearted gesture. “Guess that complicates things.”

I shoot him a look, but he’s not teasing. Not really.

“Come on,” he says after a moment, voice quieter. “You can’t tell me that meant nothing.”

“I’m not saying it did.”

He tilts his head, watching me carefully. “Then what are you saying?”

I hate how warm my face feels. How fast my heart is still racing even though his mouth is no longer anywhere near mine.

“I’m saying this is… messy.”

“Maybe,” he says softly.

I glance away. “I don’t do messy.”

“You don’t let yourself,” he corrects, and it lands like a pressure point, precise and painful.

I grit my teeth. “Because it doesn’t end well.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that,” I snap, louder than I meant to. I glance at the door, make sure no one heard. “I’ve seen it happen. I’ve been the fallout. You fall for someone in this world and suddenly everything’s on fire.” Max doesn’t flinch.

He just studies me for a long, quiet moment. Then, voice low: “I’m not like them.”

That one sentence rattles me more than anything else could have.

“I know you’re not,” I whisper.

Silence again. Only the hum of the hallway beyond the door.

“You’re loyal,” I add, because it needs to be said. “You’re steady. And that scares the hell out of me.”

His brows pull together slightly. “Why?”

“Because if I let myself want you,” I breathe, “I will. I won’t just want you, I’ll need you. And if something goes wrong-”

“You think I’d walk away?”

“I don’t know what I think.”

Max stands then, slowly, and even though the movement puts space between us, it somehow makes the moment feel closer. He’s taller like this. Broader. And softer too, in a way I can’t explain.

“You don’t have to figure everything out tonight,” he says. “But I’m not pretending this doesn’t matter. And I’m not going to stop trying just because you’re scared.”

I don’t know what to say to that. So I don’t. I just nod. And for now, that’s enough.

—

By Monday morning, Max is done pretending. He doesn’t say anything dramatic. He doesn’t touch me in front of anyone. But the change is unmistakable, like someone’s peeled back a layer of armor and left it behind for good.

He looks at me differently now. Open, unapologetic. It starts small. I walk into the hospitality suite, and his gaze flicks up from his phone. He nods. Just that. But it feels like heat pouring down the back of my neck.

Later, during a strategy review, he chooses the seat across from mine. Not beside me, across. Where he can watch me. Where I can feel it. I focus too hard on the printout in my hands and say nothing.

Checo notices, of course.

“You two are being weird,” he mutters under his breath between sessions.

“We’re not,” I hiss.

“Right,” he says, nodding like I’ve just confirmed his entire theory.

—

Max doesn’t hide it. Not his attention, not his interest, not the fact that he lingers in rooms a little longer if I’m in them. He doesn’t flirt, exactly. He just exists with more gravity now, and the pull is directed at me.

And I? I’m losing my mind.

Because I feel it all, the way his shoulder brushes mine on the walk to the sim room, the way his voice softens when he says my name, the way he doesn’t look away when I catch him staring.

But I can’t meet him there. Not yet.

I still duck my head when someone passes us in the corridor. I still triple-check that my posture is neutral when I stretch Checo in front of anyone. I still flinch a little when Max is close, not because I don’t want him, but because I do.

So badly it terrifies me.

—

On Thursday, Christian calls a few of us into the debrief room for an update. It’s nothing major, just a last-minute sponsor event, off-track, private, low pressure. Media appearances, meet-and-greets, and a handful of technical presentations.

“The travel group’s small,” he says, scanning the list. “Mostly marketing staff, comms, and a few performance and medical personnel.”

I’m already bracing when he says it.

“You’re on it,” he tells me.

My stomach flips.

“Max and Checo,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “you’re going too, obviously, being the stars of the show and all.”

My heart drops. Max’s eyes flick to mine across the table. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t say anything. But he knows.

He knows exactly what it means, a few days off-grid, no cameras, no crowd, just the two of us sharing proximity and silence and all the things we’re still not saying. As we file out, Checo leans over and mutters, “this’ll be fun.”

“Shut up.”

“You know he’s going to make a move.”

“I know.”

Checo smirks. “I’ll light a candle for your sanity.”

—

The morning starts too early.

I’m half-packed and half-awake when the team shuttle pulls up in front of the hotel. One by one, we load in, comms staff, logistics, a couple of tech reps, and the drivers. Checo climbs in first, tossing his bag into the back and immediately claiming the window seat.

Max gets in last. Of course he does.

I sit in the middle row, headphones on, legs crossed tightly under me. I’m scrolling aimlessly through my phone when he slides into the aisle seat beside me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He doesn’t speak. But he doesn’t need to. His presence is… overwhelming.

Checo leans forward from the row behind us, peering between the seats. “Wow,” he says in mock surprise. “What a coincidence.”

I shoot him a look that could kill a man. He leans back, laughing under his breath. “Just saying.”

—

The ride to the airport is uneventful, at least on the surface. Beneath it, I’m coiled tighter than a suspension spring. Every bump in the road shifts us slightly closer. I keep my arms folded, my bag between us, my gaze locked on the passing scenery like it might save me. Max rests his elbow on the armrest between us, not touching me, but not trying to make space either.

At one point, our knees bump. I flinch. He doesn’t. He just glances down, then back out the window. By the time we reach the private hangar, I’ve memorized the stitching on the seat in front of me and developed a borderline pathological need for air.

—

The flight is smooth.

The silence between us is not.

Checo sits across the aisle this time, sipping coffee and watching like he’s front row at a drama he helped produce.

“Nice wrist wrap,” he says casually to Max, gesturing with his cup. “Very neat.”

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s good with her hands.”

I nearly choke on my protein bar.

Checo raises his brows at me.

I pretend to nap.

—

We land early afternoon and transfer straight to the hotel. It’s nicer than expected, private, modern, clearly handpicked for the sponsor event. Not over-the-top, but sleek. Clean. Exactly the kind of place where you feel obligated to behave.

I try to keep some distance when we check in, but the lobby’s not that big and the group is smaller than usual. Everyone’s trying to sort out logistics. Checo ends up with a key card and a shrug. “Guess I’m flying solo.”

Max leans on the counter beside me, unbothered. “Same.”

My fingers tighten around my bag strap.

I turn to the team coordinator. “Where am I?”

She scrolls through her tablet. “Room 502. Max, you’re 503. Across the hall.”

My stomach does something complicated and annoying. Max doesn’t say anything. Just glances at me. Brief. Quiet. Enough to undo every ounce of calm I thought I had.

—

We head up. The elevator ride is short and quiet. When we reach the hallway, Checo calls out behind me. “Try not to get too crazy tonight, yeah?”

I lift a hand without turning around. “Don’t wait up.”

Max unlocks his room. I pause outside mine, key card hovering. He speaks low, barely loud enough to carry. “You okay?”

I nod without looking at him. “Just tired.”

A pause. Then, soft: “I don’t believe you.”

The lock beeps. I slip inside before I can answer.

—

The room is nice. Too nice, I’m still not used to the luxuries that come with working for Red Bull. My room has two double beds, but they both feel bigger than that, almost queen size. The concierge had left some chocolates and one of those creatively folded hand towels at the foot of one of them. I drop my bag by the door and press my palms to the cool edge of the countertop, staring at my reflection in the mirror for a long time. It’s going to be a long trip. And we’ve only just arrived.

[lazarusawakens]

Don't Mine At Night (Unless You’re Holding Hands)

Summary:

After the defeat of Malgosha, Steve returns to his pixelated world expecting peace. Instead, he finds his home glitching—walls flicker, torches hum with static, and strange memory loops echo things he never said out loud. With reality breaking down and something unseen stalking the code, Steve reaches out to the only person he trusts to make sense of it: Garrett, the real-world game whiz with a serious grudge against Minecraft and a stubborn refusal to acknowledge just how badly Steve missed him.

Now stuck in Steve’s shelter, side by side with a laptop, some haunted data, and far too many apples, they’ll have to debug a world that’s remembering too much—and maybe confront the feelings they’re both pretending not to have.

(But definitely not holding hands. Yet.)

Wc: 2.5k

Chapter 1: New Beginningd

Garett was counting the till when the lights flickered like they were winking at him. He scowled.

“No. Nope. Not today, Not again.”

The speakers let out a burst of static like a dying fax machine. Then came the pop—like bubble wrap under pressure—and something warped in the air near the back isle.

Then he heard it.

“Heyyyyyy, Garett.”

Garett froze.

No. No way. He refused to turn around. He was imagining it. Hallucination. Stress. Low iron. Something like that.

“I come bearing friendship and mild existential dread,” repeated the voice, far too upbeat.

He turned.

Steve was standing there. Or sort of standing—he flickered slightly, like a video buffering mid-frame. He still had the same smug grin. Same scruffy hair. Same objectively stupid blocky boots.

“You are not real,” Garett said flatly.

Steve gave him finger guns. “Eh, Debatable.”

Garett blinked slowly. “You are not supposed to be here, aren’t you supposed to be, you know… mining?”

“Neither is the glitch eating the biome back home, but here we are.”

“I don’t do this anymore.” Garett pointed a finger at him. “No more magic cubes. No more weird quests. I retired.”

Steve held up his hands. “Whoa there, Mr. Midlife Crisis. I'm just asking for a little help. You were the guy who saved the day last time.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That.” Garett jabbed a finger at him. “That passive-aggressive cheerleader thing. And—what did you say earlier? Something about being soulmates?”

Steve winced like he’d been caught saying something unruly. “Okay, yeah, maybe that was a stretch.”

“It was weird and unnecessary.”

“Got it.” Steve mimed zipping his lips, though the motion glitched and looped twice.

Silence.

Garett ran a hand through his hair, breathing through his nose.

Behind them, the coffee machine sparked and coughed out a cube of dirt.

“I think I might’ve brought some of the glitches through with me,” Steve said sheepishly.

“Of course you did.”

“So... you coming or not?”

“I’m not holding your hand again.”

“I never asked you to.”

“You tried.”

Steve gave a sheepish shrug. “It was a dark cave, and I have bad night vision.”

Garett glared. “Whatever. Are we gonna do this or not?”

“Most certainly, replied Steve, follow me!” He led Garrett outside the back of his shop, down a dim-lit alley.

Then he saw it, the portal.

It fizzled like a dying neon sign. Steve poked at it with a stick.

"Totally safe," he said brightly. "Well. Eighty percent."

Garett crossed his arms. "I feel like that number keeps going down."

Steve looked up at him with a grin. “I’ve crossed over with way worse odds.”

Garett muttered something unrecognizable and stepped forward.

His foot hit the grass.

But it wasn’t grass. Not really.

It looked like grass but was too smooth, like a game engine forgot to render textures correctly. There was no sound. No ambient birds, no mobs. Just silence and a sky that shimmered like a broken TV screen.

Garett turned in a slow circle.

Everything felt... off. It's like walking into a stage set where all the props are slightly too small.

“I hate this,” he muttered.

“I missed it!” Steve said, hopping up beside him. “Well, most of it. Not the glitch mobs. Or the cave bees. Those are new. And horrifying, listen to me when I tell you, You DO NOT want to get stung.”

Garett gave him a sideways look. “You are taking this way too well.”

“Adapt and thrive baby,” Steve said, slapping him on the back hard enough to nearly knock him into a chunk error. “Or adapt and scream. Both work.”

He strolled ahead, humming some awful, chirpy overworld music like a typical Tuesday. Garett followed, stepping around a floating pig frozen mid-oink, its body flickering in and out like a hologram.

“I’m not staying,” Garett said. “I just want that clear.”

“Absolutely,” Steve said. “You’re here to help me diagnose an interdimensional glitch, fix corrupted biome code, maybe fight a few eldritch horrors, and go home. Super casual.”

Garett stopped walking. “You’re joking.”

Steve turned around slowly, his smile slightly too wide.

“…Sort of.”

They stared at each other.

Somewhere in the distance, sheep baa’d backward.

Garett sighed through his teeth. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

Steve patted his shoulder. “That’s okay. I’ve got extras.”

—-

The forest shimmered in the low light—sun slipping behind square-edged hills, casting long shadows between the blocky trees. The leaves rustled like static, and the grass flickered between two shades of green every so often, like the texture couldn’t make up its mind.

Garett ducked under a low branch, swatting away a glowing particle with a frown. “Is that... supposed to be floating?”

Steve glanced back. “Define supposed to. Some updates have... personality.”

“Is that your excuse for everything glitchy? ‘It’s just quirky’?”

“Hey,” Steve grinned, “quirky built this world.”

Garett stepped over a flower that dissolved under his boot like smoke. “Yeah? Well, quirky’s trying to kill my sense of depth perception.”

They walked silently for a while, their boots crunching on gravel, interspersed with occasional patches of what Steve mumbled were “just mildly cursed terrain.”

Garett slowed a bit, noticing the sky above them beginning to pixelate at the edges. Clouds jittered like bad buffering.

“You seriously didn’t think this was worth mentioning before?” he asked.

Steve didn’t answer immediately. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed ahead. “I noticed it a couple days ago. Thought maybe I was... seeing things.”

Garett narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess. You were also conveniently running on two hours of sleep and trying to solo-build a Redstone auto-farm simultaneously?”

“…Okay, rude, but yes.”

Garett huffed, adjusting the satchel strap slung over his shoulder. “Unbelievable. You ever think of asking for help?”

Steve shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d want to come back.”

Garett blinked. That stopped him.

Steve didn’t look back when he added, “I mean, I figured once you went home, that was it. Curtain call. Happily ever after, post-epic-quest fade to black.”

“I own at a game store in Chuglass,” Garett deadpanned. “There’s no ‘happily ever after.’ Just a lot of counterfeit game cubes and passive-aggressive receipts.”

That made Steve laugh—just a little. “Fair.”

They passed into a clearing where the light suddenly changed—just a shade off, like the sun was rendered in a lower resolution. Steve slowed, then pointed to a slight rise ahead.

“There. That’s it.”

A structure peeked from the hilltop: part cottage, bunker, cobblestone, and oak with a slightly lopsided chimney. It looked cozy—at first.

But Garett squinted. Something about it didn’t sit right.

“The shadows are wrong,” he muttered.

Steve looked at him. “You see it too?”

“I’m a visual thinker. Sue me.” He pointed. “The torchlight’s bending weird. And there’s something off about the door—it keeps jittering.”

Steve stopped just shy of the porch. “It was fine when I left it. Like... peaceful. Static-free.”

They stood there for a moment in the fading light, the silence between them stretching—not uncomfortable, but thick.

“You still sure you want to go in?” Steve asked, trying to sound casual.

Garett exhaled. “Well, you didn’t bring me here for a sightseeing tour, did you?”

“...I did consider that as a cover story.”

“I hate you.”

“You definitely missed me.”

Steve smirked and opened the door.

Inside, a faint light flickered, and the glitch gave another low, distant crackle somewhere more profound in the house—like electricity arcing in the walls.

Garett muttered, “...Okay. You weren’t exaggerating.”

“See?” Steve said, stepping inside and offering a hand. “Quirky.”

Garett didn’t take the hand. Just walked past him into the darkness.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if I get glitched into a decorative lamp, I’m suing you.”

Garett’s footsteps echoed in a way throughout the house that didn’t feel like it matched the room size. The interior looked fine—at first glance. Cozy wood-paneled walls, item frames here and there, a crafting table pushed into the corner, a few banners Steve probably made in a phase.

But the light… flickered wrong. Torches didn’t flicker, they looped. Every few seconds, they’d reset, casting the same exact flicker pattern again like a GIF on repeat.

Garett walked toward a chest in the corner.

“Do not open that,” Steve said quickly.

Garett paused, hand hovering. “Why?”

“Last time I did, it played cave noises in reverse and spawned a pig in the ceiling. Don’t ask.”

Garett stared. “And yet you live here voluntarily.”

“I have a strong attachment to the place!” Steve protested, then added, “…And nowhere else to go.”

Garett eyed him sideways but didn’t press it. Instead, he turned to the bookshelf nearby. The journals caught his eye first—sloppy handwriting, dog-eared pages, and one volume in particular with the title written sideways in blocky text:

“///MEMORY.LEAK.SHELTER//: DO NOT READ (Garett, if you’re reading this I’m fine probably)”

He picked it up.

“Hey—” Steve tried to stop him, but Garett had already flipped to the first page.

Nothing but scribbles. Frantic loops, numbers, lines that crossed themselves out violently. There was a sketch of Steve’s face—shaky and slightly warped like whoever drew it didn’t trust the lines to stay in place.

Then the next page.

“The sunset rewinds sometimes. The same skeleton shoots me in the same place every time. I think I’m stuck in a save file.”

Garett slowly looked up. “Okay. I take back the ‘quirky.’ This is full-on existential nightmare fuel.”

Steve scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I wrote that on day… uh, glitch-hundred? It’s all kind of blurry.”

Garett flipped to the next page—and this time, something hissed.

Like static in the walls.

The writing shifted. The words rearranged themselves on the page. Garett watched, stunned, as the letters twisted into a binary line.

Then a voice played.

Soft. Croaky. It came from nowhere and everywhere, like a broken record caught in a loop.

“Garett… come back… Garett…”

Garett slowly closed the journal and set it down like it might bite.

“...Did you record yourself being haunted?”

“That’s not me,” Steve said, voice tight. “I don’t know what that is.”

The room went quiet again. Garett turned, slowly taking in the house’s layout with new eyes.

The mismatched shadows.

The low glitch-crack coming from the empty furnace.

The way Steve’s reflection in the window blinked a half-second too slowly.

“…Okay,” Garett muttered. “This is definitely above my pay grade.”

Steve exhaled, finally slumping down into a chair. “Welcome back to Minecraft.”

Garett crossed his arms. “Yeah. Thanks. Thrilled to be here.”

Then, softer: “We’re gonna fix this.”

Steve looked up. “We?”

Garett glanced at him. “Well, I’m not letting you get turned into corrupted furniture or whatever. Besides, I never got to finish that absurd tower build.”

Steve smiled faintly. “The one shaped like a llama?”

“It was an architectural masterpiece, and you know it.”

Something clicked in the walls again. But softer this time. Like the house was… listening. Like it was waiting.

Steve’s eyes darted to the corner where a mirror used to be.

“It’s getting worse,” he said. “Faster.”

Garett adjusted his satchel, already pulling out a notebook and a USB drive that definitely wasn’t standard Minecraft issue.

“Then we better get to work.”

“Let’s see if I can connect to a metaphysical codebase that may not even exist.”

Steve leaned over the back of the couch. “You say that like it’s hard.”

Garrett shot him a look. “You get sugar from skeletons now, Steve. I don’t trust this world’s logic.”

The screen booted up with a faint ding, and he typed something rapid-fire. A small blinking interface appeared, overlaying blocky coordinates with jittery noise maps and a long list of corrupted chunk names that read more like a horror story than a debug log.

VOID_141-NOISE-MIRROR

SUNSET_REDO_03

SHELTER_ECHO

Steve peered at it, brows furrowing. “That one’s my house. Right?”

Garett nodded. “That’s the part that worries me.”

The room had dimmed considerably. The torches flickered out of sync, creating an almost strobe-like effect across the walls. Steve lit a lantern and set it between them, casting a warm, flickering glow across Garett’s concentrated face.

For a while, the only sound was clicking keys and the occasional sigh.

“...So what are you looking for?” Steve finally asked, half-curled on the couch like a large, anxious golden retriever.

“Anomalies. Patterns. Weird energy pulses. Anything that screams ‘the code is unraveling.’”

Steve watched him work for a moment, lips twitching like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

Then: “You always work like this?”

Garett raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Frowny. Intense. A little... feral.”

Garett blinked. “Excuse you—this is my focus face, and you should have seen my face in 1998.”

“It’s also your ‘I haven’t eaten in ten hours’ face.”

“...Okay, fair.”

Steve got up and rummaged in a chest. After some light cursing, he returned with two apples and what might’ve once been a suspicious stew but was now just suspicious.

Garett stared. “Is that steaming in reverse?”

“I’m not gonna feed it to you,” Steve said and tossed him an apple.

They settled into an almost-comfortable rhythm: Garett typing, Steve occasionally poking at command blocks or muttering about chunk borders, both of them trying very hard not to look like they were glancing at each other more often than necessary.

A line of code blinked across Garett’s screen.

>> ECHO DETECTED: USER_ID_STEVE // REPEATING MEMORY LOOP INITIATED

Garettvfroze.

Steve leaned in. “What’s that?”

“...You tell me,” Garett said, voice low. “You have a memory loop running.”

Steve’s face paled slightly. “I—I don’t know what that means.”

Garett clicked into the log. A crude video file opened, pixelated at the edges.

It was Steve—standing outside the shelter and talking to no one. His voice warped, repeating the exact phrase.

“You can go home if you want. I get it. I’d leave me too.”

Then it skipped. Back to the start.

“You can go home if you want…”

Steve looked like he’d been hit.

“I never said that out loud,” he muttered. “I thought it. But I never—”

“You’re glitching your memories.” Garett looked up at him. “Steve, this place isn’t just falling apart—it’s remembering things you never said. And it’s replaying them.”

The lantern light flickered again. A little brighter. A little closer than it had been before.

They both stared at it.

“…Okay,” Garett muttered. “That’s new.”

Steve sat down beside him, closer than before. “If this place is reacting to me…”

Garett slowly closed the laptop. “Then we need to be careful what you think about.”

Steve’s eyes met his for a second too long. “That’s… going to be a problem.”