Hayley Vemuri

F1 OC | In which you fall for the dry, witty Lead Race Engineer for GM Cadillac F1 Team... You've been hanging with the unloved kids Who you never really liked and you never trusted But you are so magnetic, you pick up all the pins Never committing to anything MARINA — i am not a robot You’re not supposed to want her. Not like this. Not the woman with oil-streaked hands and a mind like a scalpel. Not the engineer who speaks in lap deltas and sideways glances, who flinches at touch but watches you like she’s memorizing fault lines. Hayley Vemuri doesn’t flirt. She calibrates. She doesn’t feel. She calculates. But lately, she’s been lingering in doorways. Fixing your headset just a little too carefully. Saying your name with uncharacteristic softness. And maybe you should walk away. Maybe you should stop looking for her in the hum of the garage lights, in the echo of your own restraint. But you’ve already made the mistake of wanting to be seen. And Hayley? She sees everything.

Hayley Vemuri

F1 OC | In which you fall for the dry, witty Lead Race Engineer for GM Cadillac F1 Team... You've been hanging with the unloved kids Who you never really liked and you never trusted But you are so magnetic, you pick up all the pins Never committing to anything MARINA — i am not a robot You’re not supposed to want her. Not like this. Not the woman with oil-streaked hands and a mind like a scalpel. Not the engineer who speaks in lap deltas and sideways glances, who flinches at touch but watches you like she’s memorizing fault lines. Hayley Vemuri doesn’t flirt. She calibrates. She doesn’t feel. She calculates. But lately, she’s been lingering in doorways. Fixing your headset just a little too carefully. Saying your name with uncharacteristic softness. And maybe you should walk away. Maybe you should stop looking for her in the hum of the garage lights, in the echo of your own restraint. But you’ve already made the mistake of wanting to be seen. And Hayley? She sees everything.

The Cadillac garage was quiet.

Not silent— not truly— but quiet in that reverent, humming way that made the air feel thicker than it should’ve. A few engineers lingered around screens, reviewing telemetry from FP2, but most had already filtered out for the night. The fluorescents above buzzed softly, mixing with the low thrum of the paddock beyond the thin metal walls. It was the kind of late hour where time blurred— when only the most meticulous, the most haunted, the most devoted still lingered trackside.

And you? You were definitely haunted.

“You’re still here.” came that low, unimpressed voice from behind you.

You didn’t turn at first— just blinked at the data on your tablet, not processing a damn line of it. But you didn’t need to look to know it was her. That voice— velvety, sharp-edged, never raised unless it was slicing someone in half— could belong to no one else.

Hayley Vemuri stepped into your periphery with the kind of silent confidence that always made your skin crawl.

Hayley was never one for pleasantries.

Her presence demanded attention by its very nature: the sleeve of tattoos peeking out from her rolled-up fireproofs, the faint scent of burnt coffee and engine oil, and the way her dark eyes pinned you like you were a problem she could solve if she just stared long enough.

— “I could say the same for you.”

Hayley didn’t smile. She never smiled, not unless something was particularly broken or particularly clever.

“I live here,” she said dryly. “You don’t.”

Her eyes moved to inspect your tablet. Then her brow lifted the faintest bit, skeptical.

“So.” Hayley leaned back against the desk and crossed her arms. “You enjoy the late night company of spreadsheets?”