I guess you can call me vroom? (23, She/her)
DM's are open, always down for a yap :]
18+ blog, minors dni
I like watching rich men drive around in fast cars and then writing fanfiction about them. Enjoyer of bugs, sweet treats, and building lego 😌
I post all my stuff on ao3: vroomvroomboopbeep [all fics, for the time being, are archive locked!! Please don't share my fics in non fandom spaces, keep to ao3 and tumblr]
Fic masterlist below:
☆ Fall into the hands of a greater unknown
• Jon Malvern/Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri/Logan Sargeant, minor Alexander Albon/George Russell, 31,141 words, 2-shot, complete, royalty au. Jon, Lando, Logan and Oscar versus the universe. Along with their pride, the love shared, and the rise and fall of a Kingdom.
☆ Frolicking in the woods
• Kimi Räikkönen/Sebastian Vettel, ongoing. Adventures of Faun!Seb and Not-hunter!Kimi, and maybe some of their friends in the woods too!
• Series masterlist
☆ Gnashing Teeth and Bleeding Hearts.
• Creatures, monsters, and supernatural elements au, ongoing.
The supernatural is real: follow F1 drivers, past and present, and see how they all handle the changes, the pressures, and the dangers of one man who thinks he can play God.
• Series masterlist
☆ Hurtcember 2025
• Hurtcember 2025 masterlist
☆ I guess the end of the world isn't so bad when I have you by my side.
• Zombie apocalypse au, ongoing
• Series masterlist
☆ Prompt-challenge fics
Stand-alone short fics that are written using prompt challenges. Each fic will have a little description and any warnings in the chapter summary!
☆ Random one-shots: [All complete]
• One-shot masterlist
☆ She said, "Ain't we all just runaways? We got time
• Daniel/Max, ongoing. Daniel retires from F1, leaving himself and Max to face a lot of unspoken feelings. As they navigate through the ups and downs, Daniel decides to start a small farm as a desperate distraction and Max is stuck chasing a dream he never knew he wanted until it was too late.
• Series masterlist
☆ Sicktember 2025
• Sicktember 2025 masterlist
☆ slow down, you crazy child (take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while)
• Daniel/Max, ongoing. Recently widowed Max moves to a city in an attempt to escape the past, setting a rule to protect himself: no more falling in love. What he doesn't account for is reuniting with his childhood friend Charles, who introduces him to Daniel and Arvid, which happens to completely derail Max's plans.
☆ The Premier Formula Intelligence Agency
• Spy au, ongoing.
• Series masterlist
☆ Would you like your receipt?
• Retail au, part chat fic, ongoing. FIA is a small collective of independent businesses/shops. Lando Norris, working as a simple retail assistant, decides to try to spice up his life by going to a drawing class. George never specified that it was a nude life drawing class, however.
And what he doesn't expect is the attractive nude model to also be a new starter at the store across from him.
summary: you and your soulmate are stuck in a time loop on the day you first meet until you figure out you're soulmates, and you're getting fucking tired of this race day.
contains: soulmate au, time loop, journalist!reader, cursing, crack, angst (this has it all fr), george goes fucking insane in this truly, 2019 rookies moments
word count: 5.7k
playlist: black hole fantasy — the crane wives; my moon my man — feist; dear fellow traveller — sea wolf; snow on the beach — taylor swift feat. lana del rey
a/n: this took........ so long and i'm SO sorry!!!!!! it's also not one of my best works but it's like. it's fine. i enjoyed it. i hope you guys do too!!! reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3 also special thanks for @lyricsandvenom for being my lovely amazing beta-reader as usual
ALSO DISCLAIMER i know this is not accurate to how the championships standings actually are HOWEVER i started writing it by. february or something? and i just couldn't be bothered to change it so. bear with me.
series masterlist! ◦ masterlist!
As usual, George wakes up right on time.
His alarm rings at 6am sharp. He gets up on the first ring. He puts on his clothes.
He eats a light breakfast prepared by his personal chef — nutritious enough to get him through the morning, but not too rich, never too rich on race days. His manager checks up on him, and he texts back immediately, like he always does.
George never gets excited about his home races. Yes, his family and friends are there, yes, he loves his country, yes, it's really nice to stay at his own house and not at a random hotel.
George is on pole. If he doesn't win, he'll have lost from pole on his home race during one of Mercedes' best seasons in years while being on the lead for both the Drivers' and the Constructors' Championships.
He has his schedule laid out in front of him. He has some media duties in the morning, per usual. He'll probably eat a very plain sandwich for lunch, discuss technicalities with his team, stretch, and then get into his car. Hopefully he'll win, so then he'll have many more media duties, and then he'll probably go to a club to celebrate with his team and friends, and then he'll go home, and then he'll wake up on Monday and start working on getting ready for the next race.
George has it all laid out in front of him. If he stays on track, everything will be fine.
So he stays on track.
He tells an interviewer that he's comfortable and confident in the car, and that he believes they can hold on to pole as long as they have a good strategy. His sandwich has chicken and lettuce in it. He stays by his engineers' side until he's almost dragged into the car.
George is staying on track. He's on track. He'll be fine.
He's not fine.
The pit wall notices it on the first lap. George isn't one to hold back, and the car is performing as it should, and everything is perfect.
But he's stuck on the hungry eyes of the crowd, on the way every single engineer and media outlet has been talking about his predicted home race win for days. He's stuck on his family waiting for him back at the paddock, at how his dad clapped his back and told him to bring it home before the race started. He's stuck on the championship lead, on the expectations, on that sure look on Toto's face.
George has never truly fought for the World Drivers' Championship before. He never thought of himself as someone who could collapse from pressure.
"George, you're holding back on the turns. Are you okay? Norris is getting closer."
Are you okay? He doesn't have an answer. He should be. Instead, he's freaking out inside the cockpit of his perfect, brilliant car, losing precious time through every lap because, for some fucking reason, he just can't pull himself together.
When he crosses the finish line, he's P6. P6. From pole.
He can barely look Toto in the eye. He hates the pitying look some of the other drivers give him. He hates the questions he gets from the interviewers, the way they feel stupidly condescending even when they aren't — how do you feel? Do you think this is a setback for the championship as a whole? You said the car was great, what happened? It didn't seem like a strategy issue, what happened? Do you think this race will determine your racing for the rest of the year? Do you think you'll be able to recover from this in time to do better at Spa?
George wants to drive his car into a lake.
Since he can't drive his car into a lake, he finishes up his media duties as quickly as possible and goes home. His parents invite him out to dinner and he makes up a lie about having a bad headache, says they can reschedule it for Monday night. They don't insist because they know he's sulking in his room, beating himself up over what was meant to be a perfect, easily-won race.
He doesn't cry and, if he does, no one needs to know. He's an F1 driver, for fuck's sake — he's supposed to be more mature than this.
But the frustration is hard to swallow. It keeps getting stuck in his throat, scratching his tongue.
George falls into a fitful sleep. He wakes up countless times throughout the night, eyes sticky and swollen from tears and exhaustion. Time stretches, bends, keeps him up, and, when he finally manages to rest, it feels wrong, tired, undeserved. He hates every second of it.
His alarm rings at 6am sharp. He slaps his phone away and turns around in his bed, closing his eyes tightly, wondering if he can will the disappointment away.
It takes all but 10 minutes before his phone starts ringing again. The sound of it is different, though — not his alarm, but a call. Someone with the fucking nerve to bother him at 6am in the morning after the most depressing race of his life must have guts, at the very least, and he lets out an annoyed curse as he reaches out for his phone.
George picks it up angrily without even bothering to check who it is, feeling way more well-rested than he should.
"What the fuck is it?"
"Woah, someone woke up in the wrong side of the bed."
His eyebrows furrow in annoyance, taking the phone away from his face to check if it's really his manager. It is. He brings it back to his ear.
"Of course I did," he answers, clearly irritated, "what is it? I told everyone I wanted the day off."
His manager laughs. The sound is fucking grating.
"What are you on about, mate? You're on pole in your home race, at least try to be in a good mood."
George blinks.
What?
That's—what?
"What?" He says it out loud, and he can almost see the puzzled look on his manager's face from the tone of his voice.
"Are you okay, mate? Did you hit your head during quali yesterday and didn't tell us? I just called because you didn't answer my text."
His heart hammers inside his chest. For a second, George can't fucking breathe.
Oh, this is not happening. No fucking way. Not with this fucking day out of all days.
"It's Monday," he tries to inject his voice with as much certainty as possible, but a hint of doubt creeps in.
Maybe they're just making fun of him? Maybe this is a prank to lighten his mood after his awful race? That must be it. It's a little cruel, sure, but that must be it. Alex and Lando are probably in on it, too. Yeah. It has to be a little prank.
"No, George," his manager says slowly, almost sounding like he's talking to an angry child, clearly confused as hell, "it's Sunday. It's race day. Are you sure you didn't hit your head? Maybe you just had a weird dream."
George scrambles to pull his phone away again, heart racing faster than his car did yesterday as he looks at the date.
Sure enough, it's fucking Sunday.
He hears his manager calling to him on the other side of the line, but George just stares down at the screen, trying to figure out how he should react to this. Is there a right way to react to this?
Everyone knows about soulmate time loops. You meet your soulmate, and you're stuck in a time loop until you figure out who it is, and George has been waiting for this day for years, ever since he was a little boy asking for his parents to repeat the story of their time loop again and again.
But, oh, it can't be today. Not today. Not on a race day, when he meets thousands of new people, when he speaks to more journalists and fans and race workers than anyone can keep track of.
If it's today, he'll have to relive the worst race of his life time and again until he finds a needle in a haystack.
"Are you fucking with me? Did you mess with my phone?" The words leave his mouth as soon as he brings phone close to his face again, growing more desperate each second.
"No? Mate, are you okay? Do you need to see the team medic?"
Oh. Oh, fuck.
You wake up late.
When you finally do, you text your boss that your alarm didn't ring, even though you're pretty sure it did and that your subconscious was just so scared it turned it off before you could fully wake.
You're excited. You're terrified.
You've wanted to cover F1 for years now, ever since you started working with sports journalism, interviewing karting champions and regional tennis players. Now, here you are — preparing to interview F1 drivers and to cover one of the biggest races in the calendar. You've been on the track since Friday, mostly talking to the crowd, but today you'll actually be on the paddock.
You can't wait. You're going to throw up.
It takes you only a few minutes to get ready, running through your apartment like a hurricane while you try to make sure you have everything you need — your phone, your purse, your journalist pass, your wallet. You thought you'd be able to do everything slowly, calmly, but it's fine. This is fine.
This is incredible. And horrifying.
You leave your place soon after, body trembling with nerves.
"You're late," are the first words out of your cameraman's mouth, looking up from his phone to shoot you an amused look when you finally arrive to the paddock, packed with journalists and cameras, hungry for any scrap they can get before the race.
You've known James for quite a few years — you've worked together since forever, back when you were scrambling for a spot at any sort of sports coverage. When you were told he'd be the one with you for this, you cried out of relief and out of this very particular kind of gratitude that you got to do this with the same person you did your first ever interview with.
"I'm almost late," you correct, positioning yourself next to him, your right foot tapping wildly against the floor, "I didn't run 2 red lights for you to say I'm late."
He barks a laugh at that, putting the camera away. "How do you feel?"
"Like this is a dream. Also, like I'm going to pass out."
"That's the spirit."
You chuckle, looking around the buzzing paddock while tingles run through your body. "What about you? Excited?"
"I threw up as soon as I got here."
Your nose turns in disgust as you move your head to shoot him a glare. "Ew. I don't want to know about that."
"You literally asked!"
"Yeah, but I asked in a fun, thrilling way. Your answer was horrible."
Time passes by so quick you can barely feel it. You manage a few interviews with a couple of McLaren engineers before the race, running around the paddock like a child in a candy shop, James trailing after you. By the time the race starts, your anxiety has given way to full blown exhilaration, and the entire day almost feels like a fairy tale, a dream come true.
You're an F1 journalist. You can taste the victory of it on your tongue.
The best part comes after the checkered flag. Your first driver interview is with none other than Alex Albon, and he smiles brightly while you keep from squealing out of pure excitement, managing to hold yourself together as you ask questions about the race, the car, his performance.
You go through the paddock with a bright smile and intelligent questions — Gabi Bortoleto, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz. You even manage a very short interview with George Russell, the main title contender, and you're so delighted by the entire day you don't even mind his clipped answers, knowing he's probably upset over his underwhelming results.
When the bright afternoon turns into quiet evening, you feel that sort of happy tiredness that makes you grin to yourself while you drive back to your apartment. You sing along to whatever's playing on the radio, and, when you get home, you giggle at the pictures James took of you throughout the day. You open a bottle of wine as soon as you get out of your shower, more than ready to celebrate with a glass and a nice movie and to talk about everything nonstop with your coworkers on the next morning.
You drink your wine. You watch Uptown Girls. You go to bed with a smile on your lips, sighing happily as you fall into a deep, easy slumber. It's been a lovely day, you did a great job, and the door you stared longingly at for years has finally been opened.
You actually manage to wake up on time the next day. Your body feels light like a feather, and you take your time stretching and getting ready before you leave for the office. It's supposed to be a calm day — you plan to review the footage from this race weekend, to write down notes, to prepare questions for next time. There has to be a next time.
The city is quite busy, probably from the leftover movement after the race. Either way, you get to the office building a little earlier than you usually would, your good mood emanating from you in waves.
You give your coworkers a happy good morning as you open the door. Before they can react, your boss is basically on top of you, eyes wide with terror.
"What are you doing here?" She all but screeches, attracting stares from everyone else inside the office.
You look at her with a confused expression, eyebrows furrowing.
"I've… come to work?"
"Are you insane?" You can see her hands trembling. "This is a joke, right? You've come to prank me, and now you're going to find a way to teleport to the race track."
Your eyebrows furrow further. "To the race track? What?"
"You're kidding me. You're joking. It's race day. You're supposed to be there. Did you fucking forget?"
"What?" You immediately grab your phone from your pocket, feeling slightly dizzy with surprise and the building anxiety inside your chest. "It's Monday. I—"
You stare down at the screen. 5 missed calls from James. In the corner, the tiny words are clear and unmistakable — Sunday, July 5th.
"Oh." You choke on the words, heart picking up and ramming against your rib cage like a wild animal. "Oh, fuck."
George decides that the best way to deal with this is to go through his day exactly as he did the first time and hope that, somehow, he'll just know his soulmate the moment he sees them.
They're also stuck in the time loop, so they'll be looking for him. Maybe that will change something and he'll figure it out.
It's easy in theory. Not that easy in practice.
He can't tell if there's someone missing from the crowd, can't tell if there's something wrong, if there's someone he talked to before that isn't here now. He curses himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings, to every single person around him, even though he knows that's impossible, even though he knows that he couldn't possibly know.
The day goes by as normal. He's still P6. He can't help but think even with a do-over he manages to fuck it up.
When he wakes up on Sunday again, he decides he needs to be less passive about this.
A few hours later, George locks the door to his motorhome as Alex and Lando get in, hair messy from running his hands through it, eyes flying around the room.
Lando's the first to speak, crossing his arms, clearly amused. "Okay, we're here. Do you want a hug or something? The race will be fine."
"The race won't be fine, but that's not my problem."
His friends exchange a sideways look, probably thinking he sounds a little insane right now. He knows he does. He feels insane.
"How would you know that the race won't be fine? You need to be more—"
"Alex, shut up. I'm— it's the third time I'm living through this day."
There's a very, very long beat of silence. And then they're both talking at the same time.
"Holy shit—"
"You're on your soulmate loop?!"
"Is this the first time you're telling us about this?"
"Who wins the race?"
"Alright, alright," George interrupts the torrent of questions, arms flailing around to stop them, "yeah, I'm in the fucking soulmate loop. Yeah, it's the first time I'm telling you about this — it's only my second repeat, remember? And fucking Lando wins the race."
Lando whistles at the information, eyes glinting with delight before Alex elbows his side, leading him to focus back on the matter at hand.
"Right, sorry. So, how do you want to go about this?"
"I'm not sure," George admits, hands coming back to his hair, pulling anxiously, "I just—I need this day to be over, okay? Really over. It sucked the first two times around, and I don't want to keep doing it again and again."
"I thought you'd be more excited about this," Alex counters, frowning slightly, "you've said you were excited about finding your soulmate before."
"I know, I know, I am," he sighs, "I guess I just wish it happened on a different day. It just sucks."
It really, really sucks. Losing his home race. Seeing the disappointment in everybody's eyes. Hearing the pity in his parents' voices. It was awful the first time around, and maybe even worse during the second. He doesn't think the third time will be the charm.
"Well, don't worry, mate," Lando says with a smile, hand clapping George's shoulder. "We'll find your soulmate in absolutely no time. Maybe we can make a new record for less repeats needed to find your soulmate."
"That's impossible, the record is one repeat, and he's already in his second."
"Albono, just—shut up and roll with it."
Despite his frustration, George smiles.
"Do you think it could be that pretty girl who gave us coffee after lunch?"
"I'm not sure, I haven't gotten to that part of the day yet. You're the only one who remembers the previous repeats, genius."
"Not the only one. It's me and my soulmate."
"Yeah, you and that poor soul."
You shove James' shoulder, walking side by side through the paddock as he chuckles.
"Stop it," but there's no bite to your tone, "we need a game plan, okay? How are we gonna find them?"
"I don't know. Maybe you could go by elimination? It's definitely not me, so that's one."
"Wow, thanks. That helps a lot," you roll your eyes, "maybe we could go see if the coffee girl is still there after lunch?"
Coffee girl is definitely there, still giving out coffee after lunch. When you greet her, she responds exactly how she did the way before, no hint of recognition or of any sort of hidden knowledge. She's not searching for you.
You think maybe that's what you should be looking for. Anyone who speaks or wanders or walks with a searching look on their face, anyone who might be trying to find their soulmate.
But everyone else seems to be living their day as normal. The coffee girl, that cute McLaren engineer, that yelling fan. Their answers to your questions are the same as they were the day before, and it seems like time hasn't stopped and restarted for any of them.
And then you interview Alex Albon.
You're not sure what it is. His answers are also the same, but there's something about him. His eyes wander across the crowd, his posture is slightly tenser. You notice because he was your first interviewee and you know it went a little more smoothly the first time around.
But your soulmate can't be Alex Albon, because it is public knowledge that his fiancée is his soulmate. Still, you can feel something changed, and that's your first clue.
When you do your quick interview with George Russell, who came P6 again, he's also weird. He seemed stressed and anxious when you interviewed him for the first time, probably due to the race, but now he's even worse. He can barely answer your questions, mind elsewhere, clearly distracted and frustrated and annoyed. The brief interview is even briefer, and you come to a staggering conclusion.
Your soulmate is on the move, looking for you, and, somehow, they're stressing out F1 drivers on the process. Your stomach flutters with excitement at the thought.
"They are probably team staff," James points out while he walks you to your car when the day is over, "maybe we can focus on that tomorrow."
"Today, you mean."
James lets out a sigh, eyes rolling with amusement.
"What if you announced you were on your soulmate loop?" Lando's voice carries through the motor home, his eyebrows furrowed.
It's his eleventh repeat. At this point, the failure of the race feels like part of his personality.
"Announced it? To the media, you mean?"
"Yeah, why not? Maybe your soulmate would come forward."
"No, that wouldn't work," Alex shakes his head, "a lot of people would jump at the opportunity to declare themselves an F1 driver's soulmate."
"Well, maybe his soulmate would do it on the following repeat. Then he would know."
"That's not the worst idea you've ever had," George shrugs, mulling it over in his head. "That could work. I could do it at the end of the day and just wait for some sort of contact from them."
Alex crosses his arms. George can tell he's considering it.
"If you wait to get contacted tomorrow—well, today—, there's no risk of there being any fakes. Everyone else will have forgotten about your announcement, including us."
Lando nods intensely. "Exactly."
George claps his hands together, a spark of hope burning in his chest.
"Okay," he says somewhat giddily, "I'll do it."
He doesn't stop to think about the fact that announcing it at the end of the day means you're getting ready to leave while he speaks it into a microphone, loudly declaring he's looking for his soulmate and that he can't bear to live through this day again. Doesn't think about the fact you're so tired from running around after him you don't check your phone when you get home, anxious to go to sleep and try again. Doesn't think about the fact the time loop is getting to you too, even though you were quite excited about it at first.
You're exhausted. You're still looking for him through the engineers, social media managers, physiotherapists, assistants. You're not looking up at TV screens — you're looking around the staff restaurant. Because what's the probability, really, that your soulmate would be a fucking F1 driver? None. That's a different world to yours. You work a 9 to 5. You pay rent. You drive a very used and well-loved car. It doesn't even cross your mind.
And George — he hopes until the very last second. He lingers around the paddock after the race on the following repeat (P6, P6 again, P6 every single time, P6 on twelve different repeats now), knuckles white while he waits, waits, waits. You don't come.
It shouldn't be that hurtful, but it is. Do you not want him? Is part of you disappointed? Is part of you so disgusted by his performance on this stupid race that you don't even want to find him? Even if you know who he is, the loop doesn't stop until he knows who you are as well. Would you rather repeat this day forever instead of accepting him as your soulmate?
Rationally, he knows he's projecting. He knows there are a billion reasons why you haven't found each other. Still, the thoughts repeat in his head the same way this day does: incessantly, annoyingly, mercilessly.
Maybe you just don't want a fucking loser.
"Did you see Russell didn't show up for the race today? Guy got sick or something," is whispered across the paddock on your thirteenth repeat, followed by a conspiringly loud, "can you believe it?!"
Your head snaps so fast your neck hurts, eyes widening comically. "What?"
"'What' what?" James doesn't mind the gossip, looking down at his camera, checking the little footage you've shot up until now. You've been going through the repeats as normal, making sure you'll still have your job when it all stops.
"That's different," you twist your body towards the whispers, trying to catch any more information, "that's different. He was here the other times."
James finally looks up.
"What?"
"Russell," your heartbeat picks up dangerously, "people are saying he didn't show up for the race. But he's shown up in every other repeat."
James blinks.
"What, you think George Russell is your soulmate? Mercedes F1 driver, drivers' championship leader, world known celebrity, that George Russell?"
Your face burns slightly. "Okay, maybe not George Russell, but someone that has something to do with him? Maybe they're sending me a sign?"
"Are you sure he showed up on the other repeats? Maybe you're misremembering."
"I'm absolutely sure. I even interviewed him almost every time."
Hope courses through you like electricity. It was fine at first, repeating your first day as an F1 journalist, getting better and better at it until you could conduct all your interviews flawlessly, words bouncing off you easily and naturally.
13 repeats is a lot, though.
You're tired. You want to have a normal day at the office. You want to eat lunch at a different place. You want it to stop, truly, maybe even more than you want to find your soulmate. Is this how this works? The time loop tires you out and then you're so relieved when you figure out who it is that you just resign yourself to them no matter what? Well, that sucks. This sucks. You want it to be over.
It's disheartening. Disheartening, and anxiety inducing. Will you be stuck here forever? Will you ever find your soulmate, whoever they are? Are you destined to repeat the same interviews over and over for months, years, decades? You're not sure you can do it. It's one of the best days of your life, but you've gone over it so many times it's starting to feel mundane. Boring. Repetitive. You want to go home, to hang out with your friends, to have a nice, relaxing day, without having to worry about searching for your soulmate in every corner and not finding them anywhere.
And if your soulmate is George Russell, can you even blame him for staying home? The guy is probably fed up after finishing P6 for 12 days straight. If points were being counted, he'd have lost the championship by now.
James notices the way you fall silent while the two of you walk through the paddock.
You've managed to get an interview with George Russell on basically every other repeat. If he shows up on the next, you can say something to him. You can say anything, you can give him a little hint, you can throw him a clue.
There's a very low probability George Russell is your soulmate. It seems, however, to be higher than none. Either way, if it's not him, the day will restart and no one will remember your silly mistake. It's fine. Yeah. You can do that.
The tiredness gives way to giddy excitement. You can do that.
You don't tell James about it. It's stupid. What's the probability, really, that your soulmate would be a fucking F1 driver? Microscopical. Still, you have nothing to lose.
On repeat 14, George decides he's fucking done with this bullshit.
He elected to stay home the day before and gather his thoughts. He cried a little. He ignored every single call from his team, his manager, and Toto, as well as every knock on the door from his family. He needed a day off, and he fucking took it, because it doesn't matter. It's Sunday again by the time he wakes up, and it's eating away at him.
The last few repeats he's stayed awake until midnight, staring obsessively at his phone screen until the clock goes from Sunday, July 5th, 23:59, to Sunday, July 5th, 00:00. The sight is unnatural and dreadful, and it makes him panic every time. The moment the numbers change, there's this feeling — like he can physically sense the way time warps, rewinds, restarts, all so he can live through the worst race of his career again. That sucks. This sucks.
So, on repeat 14, George decides he's fucking done with this bullshit. He's not gonna find his soulmate any time soon, so he decides he'll worry about something else.
Something else being the damn race.
When he gets to the paddock, he doesn't say anything to anyone. He doesn't even tell Alex and Lando about his predicament this time around. He eats his breakfast. He eats his lettuce and chicken sandwich. He stretches. He strategizes with his engineers on the pit wall. He prepares and focuses with a vengeance, and decides that, after going through it 12 different times, he can probably manage this stupid race.
And maybe if he wins once, just once, he'll no longer be tormented by his own thoughts. Maybe you'll change your mind about him.
He doesn't hold back on the turns. He trusts this car with his life, and he isn't afraid to push, even in moments when he would usually be a little more careful.
"You're doing amazing," his radio engineer tells him, voice coated in awe. He barely listens, and he doesn't respond. He's fucking tired of letting himself get beat over and over again by both himself and others. He's a Mercedes driver. If he can't win, he can at least give it his best shot, which he hasn't really done the previous times, not with all the expectations chewing away at his fingertips.
The laps go by as quickly as the hours back to midnight on every repeat have. George doesn't know if he's P1, P2, P3, P4, P5, or P6 again. His engineer must've told him but he didn't pay any attention. He just wants to get over it. He just wants to beat the fear and anxiety once, just once.
He wouldn't say he pulls himself together, not really. He still feels like a mess. He's been stuck, as if the time loop meant he had to do all the same things again, repeating and repeating and repeating until, magically, you can find each other. Maybe that's the problem.
Maybe he needs to stop taking the time loop as a prison. Maybe he needs to take it as an opportunity to do a little better than last time — to be a little nicer, to speak a little softer, to work a little harder. To make himself worthy of you. Maybe he needs to be a little better until you can meet each other in some sort of middle.
Maybe he needs to take it as a chance to win. For you, sure, for his family, his fans, his team. Mainly for himself. Maybe he needs to take it as a chance to have his goddamn first home race win. His chance to transform a shit day into a good one.
When he crosses the finish line, he's P1.
"So, how do you feel after your first home race win?"
"Oh, it feels absolutely incredible," his face is sweaty, his eyes burn bright, and, even though he's just had the worst 13 Sundays of his life, on this one, he feels ecstatic.
He feels like he's gone back time and changed the past for the better, and he doesn't care if it takes him 100 more repeats to find his soulmate. He'll keep looking and having a better day each time until you find each other. You'll find each other, and it's fine. Maybe he needed to go through all of it so many times. He had to remember that life isn't estatic, that he's not some still character. This is his time loop, and he can make it into whatever he wants.
"I've been dreaming of this ever since I joined F1. I can't express how happy I am, or how grateful I am for this car, for the team, for my family and friends, for everything. It's truly been an amazing opportunity to be here, racing again and again, and winning at this track. I'm beyond happy, truly."
"It's a long way from P6, isn't it?"
George looks at you. He's been looking at you ever since you found him for your brief, very brief interview, but now he really looks. Straight into your eyes, studying your face, gaze lingering on the very excited, very hopeful smirk on your lips. He notices all the little things about you — how your hand grips the microphone so tight your knuckles turn white, how your expression is a mix of overwhelming hope and desperate fear. After so many interviews, you feel almost familiar. Were you familiar from the start? Or did the time loop manage to get you acquainted to each other without either of you even noticing?
Meanwhile, your mind twists, whispers in your ear, keeps you alert. He doesn't answer for a few seconds, and your heart thumps against your ears. You lean forward slightly, almost trying to nudge him into speaking, into saying something, anything, into asking you why you'd say that.
George looks at you.
And then, slowly, as if he has all the time in the whole wide world, he grins.
Sunday, July 5th, 23:58
Sunday, July 5th, 23:59
Sunday, July 5th, 23:59
Sunday, July 5th, 23:59
Monday, July 6th, 00:00
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hope you enjoyed!!! reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated :)
series taglist: @wertyuizxcvbnm @ellelabelle @bluestarfangs @neon-simp04 @haylandthewoods-blog @waitwhatsthisblog @borikentaino
summary: you and your soulmate are stuck in a time loop on the day you first meet until you figure out you're soulmates, and you're getting fucking tired of this race day.
contains: soulmate au, time loop, journalist!reader, cursing, crack, angst (this has it all fr), george goes fucking insane in this truly, 2019 rookies moments
word count: 5.7k
playlist: black hole fantasy — the crane wives; my moon my man — feist; dear fellow traveller — sea wolf; snow on the beach — taylor swift feat. lana del rey
a/n: this took........ so long and i'm SO sorry!!!!!! it's also not one of my best works but it's like. it's fine. i enjoyed it. i hope you guys do too!!! reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3 also special thanks for @lyricsandvenom for being my lovely amazing beta-reader as usual
ALSO DISCLAIMER i know this is not accurate to how the championships standings actually are HOWEVER i started writing it by. february or something? and i just couldn't be bothered to change it so. bear with me.
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As usual, George wakes up right on time.
His alarm rings at 6am sharp. He gets up on the first ring. He puts on his clothes.
He eats a light breakfast prepared by his personal chef — nutritious enough to get him through the morning, but not too rich, never too rich on race days. His manager checks up on him, and he texts back immediately, like he always does.
George never gets excited about his home races. Yes, his family and friends are there, yes, he loves his country, yes, it's really nice to stay at his own house and not at a random hotel.
George is on pole. If he doesn't win, he'll have lost from pole on his home race during one of Mercedes' best seasons in years while being on the lead for both the Drivers' and the Constructors' Championships.
He has his schedule laid out in front of him. He has some media duties in the morning, per usual. He'll probably eat a very plain sandwich for lunch, discuss technicalities with his team, stretch, and then get into his car. Hopefully he'll win, so then he'll have many more media duties, and then he'll probably go to a club to celebrate with his team and friends, and then he'll go home, and then he'll wake up on Monday and start working on getting ready for the next race.
George has it all laid out in front of him. If he stays on track, everything will be fine.
So he stays on track.
He tells an interviewer that he's comfortable and confident in the car, and that he believes they can hold on to pole as long as they have a good strategy. His sandwich has chicken and lettuce in it. He stays by his engineers' side until he's almost dragged into the car.
George is staying on track. He's on track. He'll be fine.
He's not fine.
The pit wall notices it on the first lap. George isn't one to hold back, and the car is performing as it should, and everything is perfect.
But he's stuck on the hungry eyes of the crowd, on the way every single engineer and media outlet has been talking about his predicted home race win for days. He's stuck on his family waiting for him back at the paddock, at how his dad clapped his back and told him to bring it home before the race started. He's stuck on the championship lead, on the expectations, on that sure look on Toto's face.
George has never truly fought for the World Drivers' Championship before. He never thought of himself as someone who could collapse from pressure.
"George, you're holding back on the turns. Are you okay? Norris is getting closer."
Are you okay? He doesn't have an answer. He should be. Instead, he's freaking out inside the cockpit of his perfect, brilliant car, losing precious time through every lap because, for some fucking reason, he just can't pull himself together.
When he crosses the finish line, he's P6. P6. From pole.
He can barely look Toto in the eye. He hates the pitying look some of the other drivers give him. He hates the questions he gets from the interviewers, the way they feel stupidly condescending even when they aren't — how do you feel? Do you think this is a setback for the championship as a whole? You said the car was great, what happened? It didn't seem like a strategy issue, what happened? Do you think this race will determine your racing for the rest of the year? Do you think you'll be able to recover from this in time to do better at Spa?
George wants to drive his car into a lake.
Since he can't drive his car into a lake, he finishes up his media duties as quickly as possible and goes home. His parents invite him out to dinner and he makes up a lie about having a bad headache, says they can reschedule it for Monday night. They don't insist because they know he's sulking in his room, beating himself up over what was meant to be a perfect, easily-won race.
He doesn't cry and, if he does, no one needs to know. He's an F1 driver, for fuck's sake — he's supposed to be more mature than this.
But the frustration is hard to swallow. It keeps getting stuck in his throat, scratching his tongue.
George falls into a fitful sleep. He wakes up countless times throughout the night, eyes sticky and swollen from tears and exhaustion. Time stretches, bends, keeps him up, and, when he finally manages to rest, it feels wrong, tired, undeserved. He hates every second of it.
His alarm rings at 6am sharp. He slaps his phone away and turns around in his bed, closing his eyes tightly, wondering if he can will the disappointment away.
It takes all but 10 minutes before his phone starts ringing again. The sound of it is different, though — not his alarm, but a call. Someone with the fucking nerve to bother him at 6am in the morning after the most depressing race of his life must have guts, at the very least, and he lets out an annoyed curse as he reaches out for his phone.
George picks it up angrily without even bothering to check who it is, feeling way more well-rested than he should.
"What the fuck is it?"
"Woah, someone woke up in the wrong side of the bed."
His eyebrows furrow in annoyance, taking the phone away from his face to check if it's really his manager. It is. He brings it back to his ear.
"Of course I did," he answers, clearly irritated, "what is it? I told everyone I wanted the day off."
His manager laughs. The sound is fucking grating.
"What are you on about, mate? You're on pole in your home race, at least try to be in a good mood."
George blinks.
What?
That's—what?
"What?" He says it out loud, and he can almost see the puzzled look on his manager's face from the tone of his voice.
"Are you okay, mate? Did you hit your head during quali yesterday and didn't tell us? I just called because you didn't answer my text."
His heart hammers inside his chest. For a second, George can't fucking breathe.
Oh, this is not happening. No fucking way. Not with this fucking day out of all days.
"It's Monday," he tries to inject his voice with as much certainty as possible, but a hint of doubt creeps in.
Maybe they're just making fun of him? Maybe this is a prank to lighten his mood after his awful race? That must be it. It's a little cruel, sure, but that must be it. Alex and Lando are probably in on it, too. Yeah. It has to be a little prank.
"No, George," his manager says slowly, almost sounding like he's talking to an angry child, clearly confused as hell, "it's Sunday. It's race day. Are you sure you didn't hit your head? Maybe you just had a weird dream."
George scrambles to pull his phone away again, heart racing faster than his car did yesterday as he looks at the date.
Sure enough, it's fucking Sunday.
He hears his manager calling to him on the other side of the line, but George just stares down at the screen, trying to figure out how he should react to this. Is there a right way to react to this?
Everyone knows about soulmate time loops. You meet your soulmate, and you're stuck in a time loop until you figure out who it is, and George has been waiting for this day for years, ever since he was a little boy asking for his parents to repeat the story of their time loop again and again.
But, oh, it can't be today. Not today. Not on a race day, when he meets thousands of new people, when he speaks to more journalists and fans and race workers than anyone can keep track of.
If it's today, he'll have to relive the worst race of his life time and again until he finds a needle in a haystack.
"Are you fucking with me? Did you mess with my phone?" The words leave his mouth as soon as he brings phone close to his face again, growing more desperate each second.
"No? Mate, are you okay? Do you need to see the team medic?"
Oh. Oh, fuck.
You wake up late.
When you finally do, you text your boss that your alarm didn't ring, even though you're pretty sure it did and that your subconscious was just so scared it turned it off before you could fully wake.
You're excited. You're terrified.
You've wanted to cover F1 for years now, ever since you started working with sports journalism, interviewing karting champions and regional tennis players. Now, here you are — preparing to interview F1 drivers and to cover one of the biggest races in the calendar. You've been on the track since Friday, mostly talking to the crowd, but today you'll actually be on the paddock.
You can't wait. You're going to throw up.
It takes you only a few minutes to get ready, running through your apartment like a hurricane while you try to make sure you have everything you need — your phone, your purse, your journalist pass, your wallet. You thought you'd be able to do everything slowly, calmly, but it's fine. This is fine.
This is incredible. And horrifying.
You leave your place soon after, body trembling with nerves.
"You're late," are the first words out of your cameraman's mouth, looking up from his phone to shoot you an amused look when you finally arrive to the paddock, packed with journalists and cameras, hungry for any scrap they can get before the race.
You've known James for quite a few years — you've worked together since forever, back when you were scrambling for a spot at any sort of sports coverage. When you were told he'd be the one with you for this, you cried out of relief and out of this very particular kind of gratitude that you got to do this with the same person you did your first ever interview with.
"I'm almost late," you correct, positioning yourself next to him, your right foot tapping wildly against the floor, "I didn't run 2 red lights for you to say I'm late."
He barks a laugh at that, putting the camera away. "How do you feel?"
"Like this is a dream. Also, like I'm going to pass out."
"That's the spirit."
You chuckle, looking around the buzzing paddock while tingles run through your body. "What about you? Excited?"
"I threw up as soon as I got here."
Your nose turns in disgust as you move your head to shoot him a glare. "Ew. I don't want to know about that."
"You literally asked!"
"Yeah, but I asked in a fun, thrilling way. Your answer was horrible."
Time passes by so quick you can barely feel it. You manage a few interviews with a couple of McLaren engineers before the race, running around the paddock like a child in a candy shop, James trailing after you. By the time the race starts, your anxiety has given way to full blown exhilaration, and the entire day almost feels like a fairy tale, a dream come true.
You're an F1 journalist. You can taste the victory of it on your tongue.
The best part comes after the checkered flag. Your first driver interview is with none other than Alex Albon, and he smiles brightly while you keep from squealing out of pure excitement, managing to hold yourself together as you ask questions about the race, the car, his performance.
You go through the paddock with a bright smile and intelligent questions — Gabi Bortoleto, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz. You even manage a very short interview with George Russell, the main title contender, and you're so delighted by the entire day you don't even mind his clipped answers, knowing he's probably upset over his underwhelming results.
When the bright afternoon turns into quiet evening, you feel that sort of happy tiredness that makes you grin to yourself while you drive back to your apartment. You sing along to whatever's playing on the radio, and, when you get home, you giggle at the pictures James took of you throughout the day. You open a bottle of wine as soon as you get out of your shower, more than ready to celebrate with a glass and a nice movie and to talk about everything nonstop with your coworkers on the next morning.
You drink your wine. You watch Uptown Girls. You go to bed with a smile on your lips, sighing happily as you fall into a deep, easy slumber. It's been a lovely day, you did a great job, and the door you stared longingly at for years has finally been opened.
You actually manage to wake up on time the next day. Your body feels light like a feather, and you take your time stretching and getting ready before you leave for the office. It's supposed to be a calm day — you plan to review the footage from this race weekend, to write down notes, to prepare questions for next time. There has to be a next time.
The city is quite busy, probably from the leftover movement after the race. Either way, you get to the office building a little earlier than you usually would, your good mood emanating from you in waves.
You give your coworkers a happy good morning as you open the door. Before they can react, your boss is basically on top of you, eyes wide with terror.
"What are you doing here?" She all but screeches, attracting stares from everyone else inside the office.
You look at her with a confused expression, eyebrows furrowing.
"I've… come to work?"
"Are you insane?" You can see her hands trembling. "This is a joke, right? You've come to prank me, and now you're going to find a way to teleport to the race track."
Your eyebrows furrow further. "To the race track? What?"
"You're kidding me. You're joking. It's race day. You're supposed to be there. Did you fucking forget?"
"What?" You immediately grab your phone from your pocket, feeling slightly dizzy with surprise and the building anxiety inside your chest. "It's Monday. I—"
You stare down at the screen. 5 missed calls from James. In the corner, the tiny words are clear and unmistakable — Sunday, July 5th.
"Oh." You choke on the words, heart picking up and ramming against your rib cage like a wild animal. "Oh, fuck."
George decides that the best way to deal with this is to go through his day exactly as he did the first time and hope that, somehow, he'll just know his soulmate the moment he sees them.
They're also stuck in the time loop, so they'll be looking for him. Maybe that will change something and he'll figure it out.
It's easy in theory. Not that easy in practice.
He can't tell if there's someone missing from the crowd, can't tell if there's something wrong, if there's someone he talked to before that isn't here now. He curses himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings, to every single person around him, even though he knows that's impossible, even though he knows that he couldn't possibly know.
The day goes by as normal. He's still P6. He can't help but think even with a do-over he manages to fuck it up.
When he wakes up on Sunday again, he decides he needs to be less passive about this.
A few hours later, George locks the door to his motorhome as Alex and Lando get in, hair messy from running his hands through it, eyes flying around the room.
Lando's the first to speak, crossing his arms, clearly amused. "Okay, we're here. Do you want a hug or something? The race will be fine."
"The race won't be fine, but that's not my problem."
His friends exchange a sideways look, probably thinking he sounds a little insane right now. He knows he does. He feels insane.
"How would you know that the race won't be fine? You need to be more—"
"Alex, shut up. I'm— it's the third time I'm living through this day."
There's a very, very long beat of silence. And then they're both talking at the same time.
"Holy shit—"
"You're on your soulmate loop?!"
"Is this the first time you're telling us about this?"
"Who wins the race?"
"Alright, alright," George interrupts the torrent of questions, arms flailing around to stop them, "yeah, I'm in the fucking soulmate loop. Yeah, it's the first time I'm telling you about this — it's only my second repeat, remember? And fucking Lando wins the race."
Lando whistles at the information, eyes glinting with delight before Alex elbows his side, leading him to focus back on the matter at hand.
"Right, sorry. So, how do you want to go about this?"
"I'm not sure," George admits, hands coming back to his hair, pulling anxiously, "I just—I need this day to be over, okay? Really over. It sucked the first two times around, and I don't want to keep doing it again and again."
"I thought you'd be more excited about this," Alex counters, frowning slightly, "you've said you were excited about finding your soulmate before."
"I know, I know, I am," he sighs, "I guess I just wish it happened on a different day. It just sucks."
It really, really sucks. Losing his home race. Seeing the disappointment in everybody's eyes. Hearing the pity in his parents' voices. It was awful the first time around, and maybe even worse during the second. He doesn't think the third time will be the charm.
"Well, don't worry, mate," Lando says with a smile, hand clapping George's shoulder. "We'll find your soulmate in absolutely no time. Maybe we can make a new record for less repeats needed to find your soulmate."
"That's impossible, the record is one repeat, and he's already in his second."
"Albono, just—shut up and roll with it."
Despite his frustration, George smiles.
"Do you think it could be that pretty girl who gave us coffee after lunch?"
"I'm not sure, I haven't gotten to that part of the day yet. You're the only one who remembers the previous repeats, genius."
"Not the only one. It's me and my soulmate."
"Yeah, you and that poor soul."
You shove James' shoulder, walking side by side through the paddock as he chuckles.
"Stop it," but there's no bite to your tone, "we need a game plan, okay? How are we gonna find them?"
"I don't know. Maybe you could go by elimination? It's definitely not me, so that's one."
"Wow, thanks. That helps a lot," you roll your eyes, "maybe we could go see if the coffee girl is still there after lunch?"
Coffee girl is definitely there, still giving out coffee after lunch. When you greet her, she responds exactly how she did the way before, no hint of recognition or of any sort of hidden knowledge. She's not searching for you.
You think maybe that's what you should be looking for. Anyone who speaks or wanders or walks with a searching look on their face, anyone who might be trying to find their soulmate.
But everyone else seems to be living their day as normal. The coffee girl, that cute McLaren engineer, that yelling fan. Their answers to your questions are the same as they were the day before, and it seems like time hasn't stopped and restarted for any of them.
And then you interview Alex Albon.
You're not sure what it is. His answers are also the same, but there's something about him. His eyes wander across the crowd, his posture is slightly tenser. You notice because he was your first interviewee and you know it went a little more smoothly the first time around.
But your soulmate can't be Alex Albon, because it is public knowledge that his fiancée is his soulmate. Still, you can feel something changed, and that's your first clue.
When you do your quick interview with George Russell, who came P6 again, he's also weird. He seemed stressed and anxious when you interviewed him for the first time, probably due to the race, but now he's even worse. He can barely answer your questions, mind elsewhere, clearly distracted and frustrated and annoyed. The brief interview is even briefer, and you come to a staggering conclusion.
Your soulmate is on the move, looking for you, and, somehow, they're stressing out F1 drivers on the process. Your stomach flutters with excitement at the thought.
"They are probably team staff," James points out while he walks you to your car when the day is over, "maybe we can focus on that tomorrow."
"Today, you mean."
James lets out a sigh, eyes rolling with amusement.
"What if you announced you were on your soulmate loop?" Lando's voice carries through the motor home, his eyebrows furrowed.
It's his eleventh repeat. At this point, the failure of the race feels like part of his personality.
"Announced it? To the media, you mean?"
"Yeah, why not? Maybe your soulmate would come forward."
"No, that wouldn't work," Alex shakes his head, "a lot of people would jump at the opportunity to declare themselves an F1 driver's soulmate."
"Well, maybe his soulmate would do it on the following repeat. Then he would know."
"That's not the worst idea you've ever had," George shrugs, mulling it over in his head. "That could work. I could do it at the end of the day and just wait for some sort of contact from them."
Alex crosses his arms. George can tell he's considering it.
"If you wait to get contacted tomorrow—well, today—, there's no risk of there being any fakes. Everyone else will have forgotten about your announcement, including us."
Lando nods intensely. "Exactly."
George claps his hands together, a spark of hope burning in his chest.
"Okay," he says somewhat giddily, "I'll do it."
He doesn't stop to think about the fact that announcing it at the end of the day means you're getting ready to leave while he speaks it into a microphone, loudly declaring he's looking for his soulmate and that he can't bear to live through this day again. Doesn't think about the fact you're so tired from running around after him you don't check your phone when you get home, anxious to go to sleep and try again. Doesn't think about the fact the time loop is getting to you too, even though you were quite excited about it at first.
You're exhausted. You're still looking for him through the engineers, social media managers, physiotherapists, assistants. You're not looking up at TV screens — you're looking around the staff restaurant. Because what's the probability, really, that your soulmate would be a fucking F1 driver? None. That's a different world to yours. You work a 9 to 5. You pay rent. You drive a very used and well-loved car. It doesn't even cross your mind.
And George — he hopes until the very last second. He lingers around the paddock after the race on the following repeat (P6, P6 again, P6 every single time, P6 on twelve different repeats now), knuckles white while he waits, waits, waits. You don't come.
It shouldn't be that hurtful, but it is. Do you not want him? Is part of you disappointed? Is part of you so disgusted by his performance on this stupid race that you don't even want to find him? Even if you know who he is, the loop doesn't stop until he knows who you are as well. Would you rather repeat this day forever instead of accepting him as your soulmate?
Rationally, he knows he's projecting. He knows there are a billion reasons why you haven't found each other. Still, the thoughts repeat in his head the same way this day does: incessantly, annoyingly, mercilessly.
Maybe you just don't want a fucking loser.
"Did you see Russell didn't show up for the race today? Guy got sick or something," is whispered across the paddock on your thirteenth repeat, followed by a conspiringly loud, "can you believe it?!"
Your head snaps so fast your neck hurts, eyes widening comically. "What?"
"'What' what?" James doesn't mind the gossip, looking down at his camera, checking the little footage you've shot up until now. You've been going through the repeats as normal, making sure you'll still have your job when it all stops.
"That's different," you twist your body towards the whispers, trying to catch any more information, "that's different. He was here the other times."
James finally looks up.
"What?"
"Russell," your heartbeat picks up dangerously, "people are saying he didn't show up for the race. But he's shown up in every other repeat."
James blinks.
"What, you think George Russell is your soulmate? Mercedes F1 driver, drivers' championship leader, world known celebrity, that George Russell?"
Your face burns slightly. "Okay, maybe not George Russell, but someone that has something to do with him? Maybe they're sending me a sign?"
"Are you sure he showed up on the other repeats? Maybe you're misremembering."
"I'm absolutely sure. I even interviewed him almost every time."
Hope courses through you like electricity. It was fine at first, repeating your first day as an F1 journalist, getting better and better at it until you could conduct all your interviews flawlessly, words bouncing off you easily and naturally.
13 repeats is a lot, though.
You're tired. You want to have a normal day at the office. You want to eat lunch at a different place. You want it to stop, truly, maybe even more than you want to find your soulmate. Is this how this works? The time loop tires you out and then you're so relieved when you figure out who it is that you just resign yourself to them no matter what? Well, that sucks. This sucks. You want it to be over.
It's disheartening. Disheartening, and anxiety inducing. Will you be stuck here forever? Will you ever find your soulmate, whoever they are? Are you destined to repeat the same interviews over and over for months, years, decades? You're not sure you can do it. It's one of the best days of your life, but you've gone over it so many times it's starting to feel mundane. Boring. Repetitive. You want to go home, to hang out with your friends, to have a nice, relaxing day, without having to worry about searching for your soulmate in every corner and not finding them anywhere.
And if your soulmate is George Russell, can you even blame him for staying home? The guy is probably fed up after finishing P6 for 12 days straight. If points were being counted, he'd have lost the championship by now.
James notices the way you fall silent while the two of you walk through the paddock.
You've managed to get an interview with George Russell on basically every other repeat. If he shows up on the next, you can say something to him. You can say anything, you can give him a little hint, you can throw him a clue.
There's a very low probability George Russell is your soulmate. It seems, however, to be higher than none. Either way, if it's not him, the day will restart and no one will remember your silly mistake. It's fine. Yeah. You can do that.
The tiredness gives way to giddy excitement. You can do that.
You don't tell James about it. It's stupid. What's the probability, really, that your soulmate would be a fucking F1 driver? Microscopical. Still, you have nothing to lose.
On repeat 14, George decides he's fucking done with this bullshit.
He elected to stay home the day before and gather his thoughts. He cried a little. He ignored every single call from his team, his manager, and Toto, as well as every knock on the door from his family. He needed a day off, and he fucking took it, because it doesn't matter. It's Sunday again by the time he wakes up, and it's eating away at him.
The last few repeats he's stayed awake until midnight, staring obsessively at his phone screen until the clock goes from Sunday, July 5th, 23:59, to Sunday, July 5th, 00:00. The sight is unnatural and dreadful, and it makes him panic every time. The moment the numbers change, there's this feeling — like he can physically sense the way time warps, rewinds, restarts, all so he can live through the worst race of his career again. That sucks. This sucks.
So, on repeat 14, George decides he's fucking done with this bullshit. He's not gonna find his soulmate any time soon, so he decides he'll worry about something else.
Something else being the damn race.
When he gets to the paddock, he doesn't say anything to anyone. He doesn't even tell Alex and Lando about his predicament this time around. He eats his breakfast. He eats his lettuce and chicken sandwich. He stretches. He strategizes with his engineers on the pit wall. He prepares and focuses with a vengeance, and decides that, after going through it 12 different times, he can probably manage this stupid race.
And maybe if he wins once, just once, he'll no longer be tormented by his own thoughts. Maybe you'll change your mind about him.
He doesn't hold back on the turns. He trusts this car with his life, and he isn't afraid to push, even in moments when he would usually be a little more careful.
"You're doing amazing," his radio engineer tells him, voice coated in awe. He barely listens, and he doesn't respond. He's fucking tired of letting himself get beat over and over again by both himself and others. He's a Mercedes driver. If he can't win, he can at least give it his best shot, which he hasn't really done the previous times, not with all the expectations chewing away at his fingertips.
The laps go by as quickly as the hours back to midnight on every repeat have. George doesn't know if he's P1, P2, P3, P4, P5, or P6 again. His engineer must've told him but he didn't pay any attention. He just wants to get over it. He just wants to beat the fear and anxiety once, just once.
He wouldn't say he pulls himself together, not really. He still feels like a mess. He's been stuck, as if the time loop meant he had to do all the same things again, repeating and repeating and repeating until, magically, you can find each other. Maybe that's the problem.
Maybe he needs to stop taking the time loop as a prison. Maybe he needs to take it as an opportunity to do a little better than last time — to be a little nicer, to speak a little softer, to work a little harder. To make himself worthy of you. Maybe he needs to be a little better until you can meet each other in some sort of middle.
Maybe he needs to take it as a chance to win. For you, sure, for his family, his fans, his team. Mainly for himself. Maybe he needs to take it as a chance to have his goddamn first home race win. His chance to transform a shit day into a good one.
When he crosses the finish line, he's P1.
"So, how do you feel after your first home race win?"
"Oh, it feels absolutely incredible," his face is sweaty, his eyes burn bright, and, even though he's just had the worst 13 Sundays of his life, on this one, he feels ecstatic.
He feels like he's gone back time and changed the past for the better, and he doesn't care if it takes him 100 more repeats to find his soulmate. He'll keep looking and having a better day each time until you find each other. You'll find each other, and it's fine. Maybe he needed to go through all of it so many times. He had to remember that life isn't estatic, that he's not some still character. This is his time loop, and he can make it into whatever he wants.
"I've been dreaming of this ever since I joined F1. I can't express how happy I am, or how grateful I am for this car, for the team, for my family and friends, for everything. It's truly been an amazing opportunity to be here, racing again and again, and winning at this track. I'm beyond happy, truly."
"It's a long way from P6, isn't it?"
George looks at you. He's been looking at you ever since you found him for your brief, very brief interview, but now he really looks. Straight into your eyes, studying your face, gaze lingering on the very excited, very hopeful smirk on your lips. He notices all the little things about you — how your hand grips the microphone so tight your knuckles turn white, how your expression is a mix of overwhelming hope and desperate fear. After so many interviews, you feel almost familiar. Were you familiar from the start? Or did the time loop manage to get you acquainted to each other without either of you even noticing?
Meanwhile, your mind twists, whispers in your ear, keeps you alert. He doesn't answer for a few seconds, and your heart thumps against your ears. You lean forward slightly, almost trying to nudge him into speaking, into saying something, anything, into asking you why you'd say that.
George looks at you.
And then, slowly, as if he has all the time in the whole wide world, he grins.
Sunday, July 5th, 23:58
Sunday, July 5th, 23:59
Sunday, July 5th, 23:59
Sunday, July 5th, 23:59
Monday, July 6th, 00:00
check out my masterlist!
hope you enjoyed!!! reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated :)
series taglist: @wertyuizxcvbnm @ellelabelle @bluestarfangs @neon-simp04 @haylandthewoods-blog @waitwhatsthisblog @borikentaino
☆ slow down, you crazy child (take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while), chapter 3
Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, complete, 25,017 words, done for Starry Valentine <3
Recently widowed Max moves to a city in an attempt to escape the past, setting a rule to protect himself: no more falling in love. What he doesn't account for is reuniting with his childhood friend Charles, who introduces him to Daniel and Arvid, which happens to completely derail Max's plans.
Day 15: Pick a love song (or any song, feel free to shuffle or use the same as day one), use the last line.
You've got your passion, you've got your pride
But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Then Daniel, with his sun-kissed skin and brown, mocha eyes, a smile that rivalled the stars and a heart that only knew how to give, crossed over to Max. He moved around the kitchen island, skirted to where Max had subconsciously stood back, as if to distance himself, as if to let the gap feel cavernous and deep, as if Daniel wouldn't be able to wade through the water and reach him.
And you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you could just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through, ooh
Why don't you realize Vienna waits for you?
When will you realize Vienna waits for you?
hey folks, so here's the plan for Whumptober!! If all goes well, I'll be doing 31 prompts from @ailesswhumptober (go check them out if you haven't already; some of the prompts look so good!!)
my (ai-less) whumptober 2026 plan:
Also, if it looks like a mess, I do apologise lmao. Copied it straight from the doc lol. Bold prompts are the ones I am using from whumptober; the prompts that are highlighted and in italics are from the other events I am doing alongside whumptober! (Both @f1wingedfestweek and many faces of simi!)
Feel free to send in any questions/asks about my plans!! :]
October 1: Used like an object - Sacrificial lamb - "Can't you see you're hurting them?!" Robot Riot, Landoscar chapter 1
October 2: Pulled underwater - Electrical burns - "I never expected this from you." Gnashing teeth chapter 1
October 3: Magical affliction - Struggling to breathe - "Pain makes you taste sweeter." Gnashing teeth chapter 2
October 4: Substance withdrawal - Moments too late - "Shhh, shhh, you're okay." Landoscar personal
October 5: Life altering injury - Pushed to the limit - "Go to hell!" "Halloween" Killer!Seb and Cannibal!Kimi chapter 1
October 6: [redacted]
October 7: Trapped in a small space - Dehydration - "How many fingers am I holding up?" Alt: Tampering with food or drink "Halloween" Killer!Seb and Cannibal!Kimi chapter 1
October 8: Sibling caretaker - Whumpee trivializing their own trauma - "Me?! What about you?!" Alt: Haywire instincts Gnashing teeth chapter 3
October 9: Forced to fight - In the nick of time - "What happened? You look half dead." Kings and Queens, Traitors and Tyrants chapter 1
October 10: No sedation - Flinching - "Just hold on a little longer." Alt: "You don't have a home left to go back to." Gnashing teeth chapter 4
October 11: War prize - Gilded cage - "You'll live to regret that, I'll make sure of it." Robot Riot, Landoscar chapter 2
October 12: Psychological torture - Hallucinations - "This is where you belong." "Everyone forgets Icarus also flew" Fantasy au, hurt Charles, Seb 'myth'
October 13: Human shield - Surprised at being offered aid - "You're hurt because of me." "Look at it dance over the skyline" Wasp!Oscar
October 14: Thrown into a wall - Blood draining - "Look at you. Pathetic." "Once a chick breaks its wings" RedBull wings chapter 1
October 15: Last one left of a species - Raised in a laboratory - "Whatever happens, just remember that I love you." "Like a bird in its cage" RedBull wings chapter 2
October 16: [redacted]
October 17: Apotheosis/Deification - Resurrection - "I'm saving you from yourself." "Take shelter under my wing" RedBull wings chapter 3
October 18: Collapsing from exhaustion - Hunted like an animal - "This is how you repay me?" "Spread your wings" Galex wings, George hurt
October 19: Nonconsensual body modifications - Unconventional limb removal - "Be good." Alt: "Let me protect you for once!"Kings and Queens, Traitors and Tyrants chapter 2 (5 times Daniel protect Max, and the one time Max saved him)
October 21: Refeeding syndrome - Allergic reaction - "Don't move. Please, don't move." Pianortrell, vampire au, who knew vampires could be allergic to specific blood types? Hurt Max
October 22: Unconscious for days/weeks - Classic sickfic - "Hey, open your eyes. Stay awake for me." Kings and Queens, Traitors and Tyrants chapter 3
October 23: Unwilling witness - Blindfolded - "I miss it more than I can ever explain." Sci fi/dystopian/street racing/horror vibes au, kidnapped drivers, forced to watch, chapter 1
October 24: Everybody you once loved is dead - Scar torn open - "Please don't lie to me." Robot Riot, Danyierre, Pierre leaving
October 25: Living weapon - Forced to hurt somebody - "If you love me, you'll do it." Alt: Fight/Flight/Freeze/Fawn Sci fi/dystopian/street racing/horror vibes au, kidnapped drivers, hunted, chapter 2
October 26: [redacted]
October 27: Infection spread through bite - Rash - "Don't touch it, you'll make it worse." Sci fi/dystopian/street racing/horror vibes au, kidnapped drivers, rescue, chapter 3
October 28: Flogging/Whipping - Hanging - "I just want it to stop." Gnashing teeth chapter 5
October 29: Stabbed in the back - Untrustworthy - "At least I never pretended to be anything I'm not." Another dystopian au maybe sci fi. Max/Alex, with fighter!max and medic!alex with a side of some ship probably? Lawblad? George there too? Evil Carlos? And maybe some Norterll too tbh
October 30: Public humiliation - Involuntary tremors - “Takes one to know one, hm?” Omegaverse landoscar, alpha/alpha, McLaren 2025 title fight, muzzling
October 31: (Found) family but they suck - Reading the will - "You actually thought I cared? That's hilarious." Robot Riot, Merc, George POV
hey folks, so here's the plan for Whumptober!! If all goes well, I'll be doing 31 prompts from @ailesswhumptober (go check them out if you haven't already; some of the prompts look so good!!)
my (ai-less) whumptober 2026 plan:
Also, if it looks like a mess, I do apologise lmao. Copied it straight from the doc lol. Bold prompts are the ones I am using from whumptober; the prompts that are in italics are from the other events I am doing alongside whumptober! (Both @f1wingedfestweek and many faces of simi!)
Feel free to send in any questions/asks about my plans!! :]
October 1: Used like an object - Sacrificial lamb - "Can't you see you're hurting them?!" Robot Riot, Landoscar chapter 1
October 2: Pulled underwater - Electrical burns - "I never expected this from you." Gnashing teeth chapter 1
October 3: Magical affliction - Struggling to breathe - "Pain makes you taste sweeter." Gnashing teeth chapter 2
October 4: Substance withdrawal - Moments too late - "Shhh, shhh, you're okay." Landoscar personal
October 5: Life altering injury - Pushed to the limit - "Go to hell!" "Halloween" Killer!Seb and Cannibal!Kimi chapter 1
October 6: [redacted]
October 7: Trapped in a small space - Dehydration - "How many fingers am I holding up?" Alt: Tampering with food or drink "Halloween" Killer!Seb and Cannibal!Kimi chapter 1
October 8: Sibling caretaker - Whumpee trivializing their own trauma - "Me?! What about you?!" Alt: Haywire instincts Gnashing teeth chapter 3
October 9: Forced to fight - In the nick of time - "What happened? You look half dead." Kings and Queens, Traitors and Tyrants chapter 1
October 10: No sedation - Flinching - "Just hold on a little longer." Alt: "You don't have a home left to go back to." Gnashing teeth chapter 4
October 11: War prize - Gilded cage - "You'll live to regret that, I'll make sure of it." Robot Riot, Landoscar chapter 2
October 12: Psychological torture - Hallucinations - "This is where you belong." "Everyone forgets Icarus also flew" Fantasy au, hurt Charles, Seb 'myth'
October 13: Human shield - Surprised at being offered aid - "You're hurt because of me." "Look at it dance over the skyline" Wasp!Oscar
October 14: Thrown into a wall - Blood draining - "Look at you. Pathetic." "Once a chick breaks its wings" RedBull wings chapter 1
October 15: Last one left of a species - Raised in a laboratory - "Whatever happens, just remember that I love you." "Like a bird in its cage" RedBull wings chapter 2
October 16: [redacted]
October 17: Apotheosis/Deification - Resurrection - "I'm saving you from yourself." "Take shelter under my wing" RedBull wings chapter 3
October 18: Collapsing from exhaustion - Hunted like an animal - "This is how you repay me?" "Spread your wings" Galex wings, George hurt
October 19: Nonconsensual body modifications - Unconventional limb removal - "Be good." Alt: "Let me protect you for once!"Kings and Queens, Traitors and Tyrants chapter 2 (5 times Daniel protect Max, and the one time Max saved him)
October 21: Refeeding syndrome - Allergic reaction - "Don't move. Please, don't move." Pianortrell, vampire au, who knew vampires could be allergic to specific blood types? Hurt Max
October 22: Unconscious for days/weeks - Classic sickfic - "Hey, open your eyes. Stay awake for me." Kings and Queens, Traitors and Tyrants chapter 3
October 23: Unwilling witness - Blindfolded - "I miss it more than I can ever explain." Sci fi/dystopian/street racing/horror vibes au, kidnapped drivers, forced to watch, chapter 1
October 24: Everybody you once loved is dead - Scar torn open - "Please don't lie to me." Robot Riot, Danyierre, Pierre leaving
October 25: Living weapon - Forced to hurt somebody - "If you love me, you'll do it." Alt: Fight/Flight/Freeze/Fawn Sci fi/dystopian/street racing/horror vibes au, kidnapped drivers, hunted, chapter 2
October 26: [redacted]
October 27: Infection spread through bite - Rash - "Don't touch it, you'll make it worse." Sci fi/dystopian/street racing/horror vibes au, kidnapped drivers, rescue, chapter 3
October 28: Flogging/Whipping - Hanging - "I just want it to stop." Gnashing teeth chapter 5
October 29: Stabbed in the back - Untrustworthy - "At least I never pretended to be anything I'm not." Another dystopian au maybe sci fi. Max/Alex, with fighter!max and medic!alex with a side of some ship probably? Lawblad? George there too? Evil Carlos? And maybe some Norterll too tbh
October 30: Public humiliation - Involuntary tremors - “Takes one to know one, hm?” Omegaverse landoscar, alpha/alpha, McLaren 2025 title fight, muzzling
October 31: (Found) family but they suck - Reading the will - "You actually thought I cared? That's hilarious." Robot Riot, Merc, George POV
Have you ever submitted a prompt to a fic fest that never got a fill, but you are really obsessed with the idea and still want it written? Or have you found yourself submitting the same prompt to multiple fic fests, just in the hopes it gets claimed for once? Are you a fic writer that's claimed a prompt, wrote half of it, then missed the deadline and couldn't properly finish the work? Or perhaps you claimed a prompt and never got around to writing the fic for it at all, but you're still enamoured with the idea?
Then this is the Fic Fest for you! We're a kinkmeme style collection were you can submit prompts from other fests you'd love to see written or a prompt you've claimed that didn't get finished in time but you still feel inspired by! There's no deadline, no theme, and no need to come up with new material for your prompt.
The Fest will begin on Friday, August 28th and open at 12am UTC and the AO3 Collection can be found here.
For those interested, we have a Discord server you can join here. No minors are allowed in the server.
Rules:
All media is welcome, as long as you can figure out how to submit it on AO3.
Multiple Claims are allowed on prompts.
No word limit! No minimum or maximum, and multi-chapter fics are welcomed with enthusiasm!
We'd love if you shared where the prompt came from (or what fests it was previously submitted in) but that's not a requirement for submitting!
If you weren't the Original Prompter, please specify that in the prompt description! (Just adding "Posting as Prospective Author" or "Posting as Curious Reader" is fine)
Please tag warnings if appropriate
AI Generated fic is Not Welcome
For all your never before seen prompts, try the Kinkmeme first!
