Reader described as petite. She’s 4’11… she’s 5’2 maybe at a push 5’4 So cute, so adorable, so small, so tiny. She has to step on her tippy toes to be able to kiss her boyfriend. Oh nooo she can’t reach the top shelf, boyfriend’s clothes drown her she’s so itsy bitsy. She’s being mouthy on a night out just throw her over your shoulder, she’s so light and short you won’t even break a sweat. Lend her your hoodie when it’s cold, it’s like a dress. It just swallows her up, sweater paws it’s so cute. She can make herself so smol and sit on your lap whilst you’re streaming like it’s nothing. Car sex is never an issue, because she’s so tiny she can fit in the footwell and it’s borderline comfortable.

My 6’1 ass reading it: 🥲😬

Do you have to? A.B

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon in the Boyle household. The muffled sound of Radio Nova playing in the kitchen competing with the gentle hum of the tumble dryer filled the house with a relaxed atmosphere.

“Do you have to shave?” Y/N asked quietly watching her husband prepare to remove the moustache she’d rather grown to like. Her question was an apprehensive one, deep down she already knew the answer. But she could still hope at the eleventh hour he would change his mind.

“She’s not going to like it Ant.” the y/h/c woman continued slipping in the small warning hoping it would stop the man in his tracks. She chose to ignore the face the man in question pulled. “I don’t look that different without my ‘tache!” Anthony argued halfheartedly, running a hand over the dark facial hair that had become a prominent feature over the past few months. The Irishman was starting to debate if Y/N was right; Call it arrogant but he thought it rather suited him but nevertheless it wasn’t currently needed for future roles, therefore it had to go.

Having the triannual viewing of Leap Year… I know it never got many views/interactions but Matthew Goode is just so fucking cute in this movie. So simply put prepare yourself for some more Declan O'Callaghan domestic fluff 💗

I feel like nobody’s gonna be interested in this like at all, but I haven’t written anything in 2 years at this point. I’ve just written a roughly 1000+ word thing for Tony Soprano of all people…

Not to sound like a pick me but would you be interested in reading it or should it just stay in the dark forever?

I’m going to try and get back into writing this weekend - I’ve just been neglecting it for a good long while.

*if you voted yes, feel free to comment a one shot you’d like to see rewritten

I’m in a depression slump, extremely stressed and been day drinking watching Full Swing on Netflix and being brutally reminded of teenage me’s hard crush on Rory McIlroy. Please please for the love of all things good talk me out of writing fanfic for this man. Tell me it’s totally unnecessary and not needed, tell me I’m crazy and need to stage a serious intervention with myself. Otherwise buckle up bitches!

Just a reminder my requests are currently only open for wrc & wrc2, I’m sorry but anything else is currently closed

Winning always look good on me K.R

“Ergh Kalle no your soaking!” The y/h/c young woman squealed, playfully pulling away from the Finnish Driver. “It’s not my fault.” Kalle mumbled in response, still determined to wrap his arms around the girl. Winning was always magnificent, the feeling of being on top of the world was compelling. But what was truly addictive, what truly caused the youngest WRC champion in history heart to really swell was capturing those familiar y/e/c eyes from the top step of the podium. It caused a hunger in Kalle, a hunger that was only sedated by a celebratory hug from Y/N L/N.

“You're not seriously trying to blame poor EP.” Y/N teased breaking out of the Finns arms to finally turn and face the Driver. “Didn’t you see what he did to me?” Kalle pouted slightly, suddenly recognising the familiar feeling of damp stickiness caused by the rosé liquid just moments before. Reaching up to adjust the iconic black Pirelli cap perched on the young man’s blond messy locks quickly. Y/N smiled softly before bringing her y/s/c hands to rest on Kalle’s warm cheeks “You can’t say you didn’t deserve it… even just a little bit.” Y/N exclaimed quietly, she’d seen Kalle’s boyish grin from where she’d been stood.

Dipping down to capture the girl’s lips in a quick kiss the current champion couldn’t help but grin again. “I don’t know what you mean.” Kalle responded, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Pulling away slightly the y/h/c girl raised an eyebrow, small twitches coming from her upper lip as she tried to bite back a growing smile. “Winning looks good on you.” was all she said, this time pulling away properly this time. The soft rays of the Portuguese sun tracing Kalle’s face, highlighting each curve. He did look breathtaking, he always looked beautiful, post the post-rally win glow always made him look like a god among mortals. “Winning always looks good on me,”

Cold M.S

The late January Swedish sun had set, causing the already chilled daytime temperatures to plummet further. Despite January being cold in Switzerland, Y/N still hadn’t fully prepared herself for Pite Havsbad, the y/h/c girl found solace in the hotel's shower, the familiar scent of jasmine and patchouli slowly defrosting her aching joints. Once dried the oversized Race of Champions snow + ice dark blue hoodie Y/N had stolen from Mick added another layer of warmth. It smelled of him and It had become a welcomed temporary addition to her traveling wardrobe.

“Mick, are you ok?” the girl asked in concern, her e/y/c eyes falling on the unusually quiet German. Closing the bathroom door behind her Y/N couldn’t help but frown at the lack of response, she’d expected a tired hum in reply at the very least like most race weekends, but instead the young driver just nodded sniffling slightly “Think I’m getting a cold.” Mick added slowly, attempting to clear his throat when he realised how congested he sounded.

Don’t fuck it you muppet L.N

“I’m scared…” the man admitted, ashamed, his declaration lacked his usual cocky confidence but it was pure honesty. “I’m scared I’m going to fuck up.” The man spoke again, still uncertain but gaining courage. 

“Your Uncle Carlos told me to not fuck it up…. “Don’t fuck it you muppet.”” Lando laughed quietly at his awful attempt at the Spaniards accent, “Although I probably shouldn’t use that sort of language around you. Your Mummy would have my head.” Lando added teasingly, his denby azure eyes settling on the woman in question. Even after all these years just looking at Y/N made his heart flutter. She was wearing an extremely old Carlin team t-shirt, she looked so natural and at ease. A Goddess among mortals honestly. Even now he didn’t understand how he got so lucky with her, they’d met in the Karting World years before, back when Y/N towered over Lando and regularly showed the Tanned Brit what losing felt like. She’d been loud and mouthy in a lovable sort of way, even giving Oliver a run for his money at times. 

Luck C.L

Luck didn’t mean a thing to Charles, the Ferrari driver would struggle to contain his urge to roll his eyes if Y/N ever mentioned luck. Charles was a firm believer in making and being responsible for your own luck but even then it would be a push for him to claim it as luck. The Monégasque could count on one hand all the moments where he’d felt truly lucky. When he felt weightless but in the best way possible. Right now wasn’t one of those times, in fact he’d go so far to say he’d be unbelievably lucky if the past couple of hours were wiped from his memory. Perhaps even from existence but luck doesn’t exist so instead he remained awake as he tortured himself replaying every move, every thought, and more importantly every mistake that lead him to P4. Every time he closed his eyes he was reliving the whole race , starting to notice all the bad elements tainting what should have been his moment. His home Grand Prix was always special, it was a race that allowed the two parts of him to embrace. The Racer who loved the speed and smell of burnt rubber and the young boy who’d watched racers with wide eyes in awe. The part of him that everybody knew and the part that only those close to him view. And this year his need for a podium had tripled, this year he’d be able to celebrate his much desired win with Camille. Who despite only being three months old had become the apple of his eye. He’d wanted to make her proud. And he’d failed. 

Angie M.S

A/N this isn’t great but i haven’t posted anything in AGES bear with me also warning i guess talks of period pain

If Y/N L/N’s scrolled through her phone right now she was a thousand percent sure she’d see stories from her friends and family enjoying their Friday evening. In fact she knew her friend Y/F/N was planning a much needed night out but instead the y/h/c girl was at home. Time was seemingly passing but Y/N couldn’t quite be sure. She’d watched the f1 practices and even managed to catch some of f3 as she came in and out of consciousness. The girl had been feeling under the weather on and off throughout the day, cursing that after months of seeming painless visits from aunt flo that now she could barely move without feeling like she was being stabbed with a red hot poker. Medicine had managed to take the edge off but still.

Taking a bite of her slice of now lukewarm at best pizza Y/N frowned at the interruption of her Friday night plans. Despite having a Mick free weekend the y/h/c young woman was donned in a pair of sweats and an old worn hoodie that had definitely seen better days, an episode of Golden Girls displayed on the tv. If she was being honest Y/N hadn’t really been paying attention to the show, instead using it as background noise. It wasn’t  like the y/h/c girl hated her own company but with her feeling under the weather and lacking human company some noise was better than nothing even if it was three American ladies complaining. “Miss me already Schumacher,'' the y/h/c young woman hummed teasingly, answering the facetime request without hesitation before sluggishly reaching for the remote to mute the show.