You Wanna Try To Get Back Into Writing? Say No More! The Other Day I Saw A Insta Reel (it Was In Spanish)

you wanna try to get back into writing? Say no more! The other day I saw a insta reel (it was in Spanish) but it was about a couple and the guy had asked his gf to shave his beard for him and that was the cutest thing ever. The delicacy of it all. So I was thinking, possibly write something like that but with joe? He needs to shave for an upcoming movie role and he asks if reader wants to do it, and it’s the most intimate thing ever!

girl... just, fuck all the way off, jesus christ Wordcount: 2.9K

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Love You A Twelve

"So, good news and bad news,"

"Uh oh," you'd only just gotten in and toed off your shoes by the front door as Joe appeared in the hallway to welcome you home.

You narrowed your eyes to gather how serious Joe was being.

Sometimes, the bad news was hardly bad news, but just some stupid silly shit like, "You've got to hang out with me all night." and you'd pretend to be so disappointed for a second.

Other times, it was the good news that was hardly good and didn't make up for the bad news at all.

Unfortunately, going by Joe's apologetic eyes, it was probably the latter.

"Bad first," you winced as you said it.

"They need me clean-shaven tomorrow,"

Your stomach dropped.

"What? But– noo," you whined, eyebrows immediately knitting, mouth pulling into a pout.

Joe copied your face and revealed he was holding a trimmer.

"Yea, sorry... it's got to go,"

"Is the good news that you're joking?"

Out of your coat, with your shoes neatly placed to the side, you didn't waste time to get your hands on his scruff.

"No, the good news is, I thought it'd be nice to let you do it," Joe said, sticking out his chin a little as your fingers curled to scratch him underneath.

You gasped a little gasp, eyes immediately twinkling.

"Yea?" Joe asked for confirmation on your sudden excitement.

"I mean, no," you let your eyes roam his jawline. "But, yes."

You loved your boyfriend either way, but there was something about Joe with a little facial hair. Made him look extra relaxed. Extra soft. And it helped that you got to see his hands more when he had a little scruff going. Joe was a fidgeter, and when there was a little bit of beard to touch, that's just what he would do.

Smooth bare-cheeked Joe was cute.

But ungroomed bristle-cheeked Joe was just... better.

Joe moved the trimmer he was holding until it hovered right in front of your face. You used your forehead to push against it, scrunching up your nose as you did. Made Joe laugh.

"Later, let me... I want to enjoy this for a bit first," you let your fingers comb through the hair underneath his chin, backcombing it and then smoothing it back down again.

"Will have to be before dinner, though," Joe said, struggling to get the words out because your thumbs were pushing his top lip down as you stroked his little moustache.

So shiny.

The light caught it just right.

"Why?"

"You'll have wine,"

That made you huff out a laugh.

Yea, all right. You understood wanting to avoid putting a double edge safety razor into your hands when there was alcohol in your system.

You suggested sitting down to watch a new episode of the show you were watching together, then shave Joe after, and then have dinner together. That would give you at least forty minutes to touch his face.

"It's just hair," Joe said, pretending for a second that he didn't like how dramatic you were about it. "Grows back."

"If they want you clean-shaven, they're not just going to want it for tomorrow, are they?" you reasoned, plopping down onto the sofa, reaching for him with grabby hands until he sat down next to you.

"You're judging me for loving you," you cradled his full head in your arms.

"Not judging," Joe mumbled, unable to hide his grin. "But on a scale of one to ten of loving me, right now? Ten."

"Always a ten," you argued, using both hands to scratch at his cheeks, careful to not hurt him with your nails.

"No," Joe laughed, turning his head a little to look at you. "Without this?" he pointed at his own face, looked up at the ceiling to think for a second, and then concluded, "Like a six, maybe."

You gasped through a shocked laugh and bumped your shoulder into his. "Piss off, it's always a ten, you idiot,"

Joe scrunched his nose up at you through a smile and used the remote to find the right show and right episode to turn on.

You took a moment to look at him a second.

"Maybe right now it's just a little more. Like, a twelve," you leant over to press a kiss to his cheek that Joe accepted easily. "Just a little extra."

"You love me a twelve?" Joe pretended like the extra numbers added made his heart explode in his chest as the TV launched itself into a short recap from last week's episode.

"So healthy," you mused, "For us to measure love in numbers."

It prompted Joe to whisper numbers at you all throughout the forty minutes of jaw touches and chin scratches as you stared at the TV.

"Seventeen,"

"Twenty-one,"

"Twenty-eight,"

You had your full attention with what was happening on the screen, but then Joe breathed, "Ooh, fifty-four," and you looked to see him with his eyes closed, relishing under your touch. You'd just started circling a fingertip in the little area underneath his ear, sort of on the edge of his hair growth.

"That's a big jump,"

"Mhmm," Joe hummed, leaning into you a little more. When you moved fingers to rake through the hair just below his jaw, where it was longest and thickest, Joe protested, said, "No, fifty-three," and used his own hand to place yours back where he wanted it. "Fifty-four."

It was so stupidly cute, it made you break into a slow smile because you just adored him so fucking much. Made you snuggle up a little more, thinking Joe's a dork and you just wanted to eat him up.

Just when Joe started considering not shaving at all, and letting hair and make-up deal with it tomorrow morning, the episode ended and you smacked his leg as you got up.

"Okay, let's do this,"

You weren't the biggest fan of Joe's bare face, not compared to what you were looking at right now, but you were the biggest fan of getting to groom him.

You loved it when Joe let you scrunch mouse into his curls. Or when you'd get to cut a weird eyebrow hair that stuck out. The big task of shaving the beard off had you excited. Nervous, but excited.

Stood in front of the mirror, Joe got all the things out that you needed and you squealed as you gripped tightly onto the trimmer you were holding. You made eye-contact with Joe in the mirror, and your wild eyes made Joe pause a second.

"Your nerves are making me nervous,"

You gasped dramatically. "You don't trust me?"

Joe carried on, found the shaving cream to place down next to the sink.

"No, I trust you. I don't trust that you trust you,"

Okay, fair. Maybe you didn't need to look at Joe's trimmer like it was a weapon of mass destruction, and maybe you didn't need to hold it like it was one either.

You placed it down next to the tub of moisturizer that Joe placed down as the last thing that was needed.

"All right," Joe turned, ready to give instructions. You directed all your attention towards him, back straight, expression open, ready to convince Joe you were an excellent student. Valedictorian top of the class sort of thing. Joe put his hands on your shoulders and smiled through a shaky exhale which told you you were overdoing it.

You softened your face and turned actual serious for a moment. You saw how it immediately relaxed Joe a little more.

"So," Joe pointed, turning your attention to the counter. "Trimmer first. We're going to get it as short as possible before we go in with the real scary stuff," his fingers moved from the trimmer to the razor.

You nodded. Sounded easy enough.

You looked up and saw Joe looking at you in the mirror, finger still pointing at the razor, and fuck, you loved this man with a beard. Just the look of him made you scrunch your features and reach for his face to hold for one last time.

"You're so cute, are you scared?"

"I'm not scared if you're not scared," Joe cooed.

You let your eyes twinkle, fingers curling to scratch, "Can I play?"

Joe's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Play?!"

You shrugged through a smile, petting his beard then, soft touches.

"Yea, cut you all up, slit your throat,"

Joe grabbed onto your wrists in a faux panic, making you laugh.

"No, like, give you a stupid moustache first, like, full Hulk Hogan, and like– no, what if... so, no moustache, get rid of that, and then leave a stupid thin line along your jaw," as you said it, you let your fingers draw a line from his chin up to his ears.

Joe pursed his lips into a smile and slow blinked at you.

"Fifty-five."

Sap.

You made Joe sit on the edge of the bath and stood between his legs, trimmer in hand. You turned it on, the buzz of it strong in your palm, and were about to move it over when you suddenly pulled your hand back, like you'd forgotten something.

"Sorry, sorry, bye, bye babes," you leant in and kissed Joe on each cheek a couple of times, quick little pecks. "So sorry, you've got to go or he won't make any money and we won't be able to go out to nice restaurants again,"

"Stop," Joe laughed, squeezing your sides.

"Do you need to take your T-shirt off?"

"Oh, you want it off, do you?" Joe wiggled his eyebrows, nearly making you roll your eyes.

"Because we'll get hair everywhere, won't we?"

Before you'd even been able to finish the sentence, Joe'd already pulled his T-shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor right next to you.

Clicking the trimmer back on, you got to work.

Your tactic was, clean him up first. Get the neckbeard gone and get the stray hairs up higher on his cheeks. You were concentrated on your task, brow furrowed and bottom lip bitten into your mouth, and Joe loved that he just got to look at you up close for a little while. You had him stand up to be able to get underneath his chin easier, and then sat him back down when you needed to get his sideburns. Careful fingers placed his head in the position you needed it for the easiest access.

Joe thought of flinching and scream ow really loudly to scare you, but how could he? You looked fucking precious all focussed, so close to his face. Made him think of higher numbers as his scalp tingled with the attention.

When you thought you'd cleaned Joe up enough, made him look as symmetrical as you could, you stepped back and smiled.

"Look," you said, stepping back to make room for him to stand up and see himself in the mirror. "This is what you'd look like if you put effort in," it was a half-joke, commenting on Joe's laziness in beard upkeep.

Joe smiled, turned his head to view it from all angles and then asked, "Do you think it looks better like this? Or like before?"

"Before, this is awful, sit back down," you pushed him back as Joe laughed loudly, holding onto you for leverage as he got sat back down onto the bath ledge.

Time to get most of it off.

With a little less precision, you got back to work and with a little more confidence now, you trimmed all that needed trimming and let Joe hold you by the hips.

You stopped when there were just two really long weird sideburns left, the rest all gone. You clicked the trimmer off and kissed the tips of your fingers, exclaimed, "I'm an artist," pronouncing artist the French way.

Joe touched his cheeks and grimaced. "I don't even want to see this,"

"Can I take a picture?"

"Absolutely not,"

"I'm going to take a picture," you reached for your phone in your pocket.

"No you're fucking not, give me that," a little wrestle broke out where Joe grabbed onto your arm before trying to take your phone from you. It had you shouting, "The artist's canvas isn't meant to talk back!" and "It looks so good, babe!" which was so obviously a lie, you weren't able to say that without giggling.

In the end, you didn't take a picture. Instead trimmed the sideburns down too, and then it was time to get your hands dirty.

Whilst shaking the loose hair from his body, Joe instructed you on how to apply shaving cream, gave you tips on how to hold the razor, which direction to go, how hard to press down...

"You're talking to me like I've never shaved before,"

You'd argue that you'd put far more time into shaving various body parts than he had.

"Not around an Adam's apple, no, so be careful,"

"Listen," you started, slapping shaving cream to Joe's face, slightly offended now because trimming his beard had been so easy. "This isn't a vicious attack, this is a loving shave. If I can shave around my own ankle bones and– my vagina, my literal vagina, my labia, my–"

"All right, all right, all right," Joe held onto both your wrists because you were getting shaving cream a little too close to his eyes. "Just, be careful, is all I'm asking."

He straightened his back and got a quick kiss in before you could move back, getting the white foam onto your face as well.

All right.

Time to get serious now. You wiped your own face down, made sure you had all of Joe's beard covered, left some water in the sink so you could rinse the razor in between strokes and got into the right position.

Joe wrapped his arms around you this time and you felt his thighs squeeze together on either side of your legs.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

You honestly didn't understand what Joe seemed so nervous for. You had this. Joe helped by moving his mouth to the side and sticking his chin out to pull the skin tight, and it was easy. So easy. You didn't like how scratchy all of it sounded, and how Joe's arms tensed around you when you moved around his throat, but the double edge razor worked like a charm.

You were definitely going to use it on your legs in the shower later.

You spent way longer than you needed to on him. The fact that the hair wasn't very dark and a little difficult to see in some areas was a good excuse, but you didn't need it. Joe just let you work until you declared it finished and enjoyed the time it granted him to stare at your features. At everything that made you you.

He'd be unaware how he'd slowly move his face to look at you, and you had to move it back to face the side several times. He tried to hide his smile every time you did that, but it was pointless. You witnessed every single little muscle twitch in his face and loved him more for every single one of them.

"There," you finally said, patting his face with a towel and admiring your work as you moved around him to see him from all angles. "Done."

Joe smiled into the towel and before going in to touch it himself, or getting up to look at the results in the mirror, he cupped your face with both his hands and pulled you into a kiss.

"Does it look good?" Joe asked in between kisses.

"Looks amazing," you answered. "I did a great job." Joe saw how you eyed the bare skin.

"Yea? Not a six, but a ten like you said?"

You grinned and leant back down for another kiss.

"Not a ten." you whispered, fingers now sliding down the new smooth softness of his face. Not as satisfying as freshly shaved dolphin legs, but still nice. "A twelve still."

Joe was expecting you to tease and give him a stupid number, like a negative four, or whatever. Going up more made his stomach flutter. Made him pull you into him even more. Made him kiss you stupid, which was extra enjoyable, because Joe was all soft and smelled all fresh now.

"Love you a twelve too."

"Just a twelve? Was a fifty-five before..."

Joe tilted his head, squeezed an eye shut as he looked up at you and he just felt drunk with love, it was a little ridiculous.

"Fifty-six, then."

"No, I think twelve is the highest number you're allowed to love someone."

Joe let out a frustrated sigh, clearly joking. A what-the-fuck-do-you-want sort of thing that made you laugh loudly.

"All right, a twelve then." Joe stood up, kissed you once more before taking a look at himself in the mirror.

He looked normal.

Like he'd just shaved himself.

Except when he shaved himself, he didn't have a beaming girlfriend stood next to him, giddily awaiting his reaction and approval of her work.

"Looks amazing,"

"Yea?"

"Absolutely." Joe curled an arm around your shoulder to hook your neck and pull you in to kiss you on the cheek as you each looked at each other in the mirror.

"Twelve out of ten."

---

The Taglisted

@a-time-for-wolvess, @adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddie-joe-munson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @ohmeg, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thefemininemystiquee, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @yelyahcardella

taglist currently full, sorry

"He Can't Know"

Y/N Wolff and her father have always had a rocky relationship. Formula One was bringing them together. She's not quite ready to let her relationship with a certain Ferarri driver ruin that

1.4K

Part Two

"He can't know," Y/N whispered as they met in the dark halls of the hotel. "If he finds out, he'll kill me, you and your entire team," she whispered, pressed up against the wall.

Her back was flush against it, her arms thrown around his neck. They were close enough that there was no space between them. If anybody was to appear now there would be no hiding it.

"We can't hide it forever," he whispered back, leaning down to kiss her.

Y/N pushed him away. "Yes we can. We need to be more careful, too. What if paparazzi is watching the hotel? What if somebody with a camera catches us when they think we're alone and they sell us out to the tabloids?"

Releasing his grip on her waist, Charles pulled away from her and let out a sigh. "You really want to keep me hidden away forever? Are you going to wait until we're married with kids before you tell your dad?"

She let out a sigh and went to say something else, but Charles had already walked away, leaving her standing in the hall.

That was the problem with Y/N Wolff, daughter to one of the biggest names in Formula One (outside of the drivers, of course). She found love and she couldn't express it, unless she wanted her dad to go Darth Toto on said loves ass.

Y/N and her father had never had a very close relationship. He was travelling a lot and Y/N never got to see him. She resented him for never being there. For missing all the school plays, the dance recitals, all of it.

Formula One was the reason Y/N hated him. Formula One was going to be the thing to fix their relationship. As soon as Y/N turned twenty one and she was done with university, she asked her father if she could join him as he travelled the world for the sport he loved.

Toto jumped at the chance. Y/N hadn't been to a grand prix since she was a little girl; he couldn't wait to take her around to experience it all.

Unfortunately for Toto, Y/N seemed to be preoccupied.

And she was. She really was preoccupied. With a driver clad in red and yellow.

Y/N made her way back to her hotel room. She kept her head down and pulled her phone out. With no other options, Y/N texted him. I'm sorry, she texted. I'm sorry and I will tell him, just not yet.

She stayed the messages, watching the three little dots appear for a few seconds, and then disappear right after. She threw her head back as she swiped her keycard against the door and pushed it open.

Charles wasn't happy with her, that much was clear. But what was she to do? Tell her dad and risk him killing both her and Charles? No way. She wasn't ready for that.

***

"Hey dad," said Y/N when she walked into the Mercedes garage. Toto looked at her and gave her a smile, already engrossed in meetings and work. She made her way to the back of the garage and sat alongside George's girlfriend.

He was just a little further down the paddock. He currently wanted nothing to do with her.

Y/N could do it now. She could rip off the bandaid and tell her dad everything. And then watch him rip off Charles' head.

She pulled out her phone to text him. Hey, she sent in one text. Good luck today.

Read but not answered. That was okay; he was a busy guy. Especially on race day.

“Good luck,” Y/N said to both Lewis and George. She reached down to scratch the top of Roscoes head as he came trotting past. It wasn’t long now until the race started. The drivers were doing their last minute prep.

When the race finally began, Y/N was still sat at the back of the Mercedes garage, headset on as she watched the race. When she first came with her dad to watched the Formula One, Y/N had found the races thrilling. Now, as she watched the two Ferrari’s driving around, her heart was racing in her chest and anxiety had her chewing her nails.

The race was over just as fast as it had begun (although not really, it lasted the amount of time it was meant to. For Y/N though, it felt like it was over just as quickly as it had begun). Lewis was on the podium and George just about missed out.

Charles, though, he was on the podium, alongside Max and Lewis. Y/N watched him, clapping her hands as he sprayed the champagne. She wasn’t going to lose him over fear.

After the race she made her way back to the hotel. Her father was letting her stay in the city for a little while, letting her have a little holiday. As she got out of the car and walked across the lobby, Y/N checked her phone.

Meet me in the hall.

Five little words. Five little words that meant so much to her.

Getting into the elevator, Y/N repeatedly pressed the button for the fourth floor. The elevator doors were too slow to close. The elevator was too slow going up. The elevator doors were too slow to open again.

Charles was waiting there, outside of the elevators. His arms were folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall. “Mon amour,” he said as she stepped out of the elevator.

“Are you still mad at me?”

Charles shook his head. “No, I’m not mad. But you need to tell your father at some point. I want to be with you, and I don’t want it to be in secret.”

Letting out a sigh, Y/N fell against him. “I really want to tell him,” she confessed. “I really want to tell my dad but I’m so afraid of what might happen.”

“I’ll protect you,” he whispered and kissed the top of her head. “We can tell him together.”

No, not together. This was something Y/N had to do alone.

***

“Hey dad.”

Once again, Toto was too busy talking to properly acknowledge his daughter. She awkwardly waited beside him, hands shoved into her pockets as she waited for him to stop talking. But Toto kept going. It was understandable; he was a busy guy.

“Hey dad,” she tried again. “Can we talk?”

“One moment,” Toto responded.

Not good enough. “Hey dad. Can we talk? It’s about something important.”

That finally got Toto’s attention. He apologised to those he was speaking to and followed his daughter as she tried to find an empty room.

Once they found one, Y/N closed the door behind her. She leaned against it as her father took a seat. This was maybe one of the hardest things she ever had to do. “I’ve been travelling around with you for all of the season so far, and, a lot of things can happen when… you’re… travelling.”

There was really no delicate way to put it. Toto looked at her expectantly.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say, is that I’ve been seeing someone. And they are in the business of Formula One.”

Toto stood up. His arms were crossed as he walked over to the door. “Which one of them is it?” He asked, pointing at the door. “Which one of them touched you?”

“What? Nobody touched—”

“Who do I have to fire?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide. “What? Nobody. Nobody in Mercedes touched me. I’ve started seeing Charles.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Toto was saying nothing, and that was putting Y/N on edge. “Dad, please.”

But Toto held up his hand, silencing her. “You’ve started seeing Charles Leclerc? The Ferrari driver?”

Y/N nodded her head.

“I’m going to kill him.” He was calm, which, Y/N supposed was good.

But he was smiling. And that was better than Y/N could have asked for. “I know dad.”

“I’m going to kill him right now.”

A/N: Hey guys! So I moved to finish my studies and my roommate is going to watch the f1 with me I'm so happy. Anyways, with my studies resuming, I'm not gonna have as much time to write.

"Bottom does not mean sub" might as well be occult knowledge to some of y'all

If homophobes weren't so awful to LGBT people, then maybe we'd be happier.

"Will Clem be anything other than steamed in Brazil?" Absolutely not, no. Is anyone watching from Brazil, have we got any Brazilians in the chat, and if so could you tell us what time it is in Brazil? […] Three AM, so yes, I would say that Novalak and Armstrong are currently in full flight in Sao Paulo. I'd be very surprised if they're watching the race, I'd be very surprised if they are asleep. I'll leave the rest up to your imagination.

James Harvey Blair on the Japanese GP commentary stream.

charles and baby chiara 😭😭😭 omg i’m dying marta posted a video on her story and it was 🥹🥹