Place Of Adventures @puppyminie - Tumblr Blog

Masterlist

Arvo

#masterlist #stray kids #seo changbin smut #seo changbin #seo changbin x you #SEO Changbin x oc #stray kids smut #seo changbin x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios

formulafanfics13

hey lovely! are you up for a somewhat crackfic?? Reader is new driver on the grid, super talented and confident all smirks n flirty knows how to play the media. everyone is falling head over heels shooting their shot but she knowingly smiles n says she wont date someone on grid. then a leaked photo reveals her with a man! entire grid media evn Tps r dying with curiosity. thennnn she brings her man to the paddock(spoiler alert: its a retired driver)

okay you gave me an idea and i ran with it...

The Fastest Girl Alive

Masterlist

Summary: You’re the 21-year-old Red Bull phenom taking Formula 1 by storm — a media magnet, a threat to the grid, and completely untouchable. Until a leaked photo shatters your image and reveals your secret two-year relationship with none other than 45-year-old Kimi Räikkönen. Cue absolute chaos. From panicked team principals to feral drivers and Christian Horner’s nervous breakdown, the paddock loses its mind as you and Kimi go fully public, smug and unbothered.

Warnings: Age-gap relationship (21/45), public scrutiny, suggestive language, chaotic paddock dynamics, emotionally mature themes, sexual innuendo, power imbalance commentary, light media satire.

lightsoutandawaywewrite

The not so perfect couple pt.4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader(y/n)

Warnings: pregnancy, angst, mad george, bad words, arguing, mention of abortion (i believe that is a woman's right so don’t come at me please)

Summary: Bound by a flawless Monaco romance, you and F1 star George Russell have the perfect life, until a failed birth control test leaves you pregnant with the child of a man whose brutal championship ambition labels a baby his ultimate downfall. Trapped in the high-stakes paddock, you must hide a secret that could destroy his lifelong dream in a single breath.

Requested: No

Requests open

Word count: 4568

Masterlist

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The private aviation terminal at the Barcelona-El Prat airport did not belong to the world of ordinary travel. It was a secluded enclave of low-slung, cream-colored limestone and vast expanses of structural glass, tucked well clear of the commercial runways where thousands of tourists were currently shuffling through customs. Inside, the terminal smelled faintly of white orchid room spray, premium leather upholstery, and the clean, industrial tang of kerosene from the tarmac outside. It was a space designed specifically to provide the illusion of absolute privacy for people who spent their entire lives under the unblinking lens of public scrutiny.

Max Verstappen didn’t look back as he pushed open the heavy glass door leading into the VIP lounge. His wide shoulders were still squared under his navy Red Bull kit, his stride long and purposeful as he walked half a step ahead of you, creating a physical barrier between your trembling form and the terminal staff.

"Willem," Max said without stopping, his voice dropping into that low, guttural Dutch register that carried the force of an unyielding command. "Get the manifest updated. Two passengers for Nice. Tell the pilots we are ready to turn the engines over the second the luggage is on board."

"Understood, Max," Willem murmured from behind you, his boots squeaking softly against the polished marble floor as he veered off toward the handling desk with a briefcase in hand.

The lounge was completely empty, a vast desert of minimalist gray sofas and low glass coffee tables under the soft, recessed lighting. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the silver fuselage of Max’s personal Dassault Falcon 8X gleamed beneath the high-pressure sodium lights of the apron. The auxiliary power unit was already whining, a high-pitched, distant scream that signaled the aircraft’s readiness to escape the ground.

Max guided you toward a deep, secluded armchair in the furthest corner of the lounge, away from the wide windows and the security glass. His large, calloused hand remained lightly against the small of your back, not pressing, not forcing, but serving as a solid, unmoving compass that kept your legs from giving out entirely.

"Sit down," he said softly, his voice dropping into a gentle cadence that felt entirely out of place beneath the fierce branding of his team kit. "You are still white like a sheet. Sit."

You collapsed into the soft, dark leather, your knees buckling the moment the support of his hand left your spine. You pulled your handbag back onto your lap, your arms wrapping around the leather as if it were a life vest. The interior of the terminal was perfectly climate-controlled, but your skin felt ice-cold, a violent, internal shivering rattling through your chest and down into your fingertips.

Max didn't sit down on the matching sofa opposite you. Instead, he dropped his large frame onto his heels right in front of your chair, bringing his blue-gray eyes level with your face. The proximity was immense; you could see the faint, white salt lines from the podium champagne dried into the fabric near his collar, and the deep, exhausted lines etched around his mouth from sixty-six laps of intense racing.

"Look at me," he murmured, his hands resting flat against his own knees to keep from crowding you. "We are clear of the paddock now. George is still in the engineering office at Mercedes. His team principal will keep him there for at least another hour to look at the tire degradation. He doesn't know where you are, and he cannot get to you. Breathe."

A long, ragged shudder escaped your lips, your chin trembling as you looked into his calm, unblinking eyes. The sheer speed of the last forty-five minutes was starting to catch up with your brain. Less than an hour ago, you had been standing in a room filled with the scent of raw fish and shattered crystal, listening to the man you loved tell you that your pregnancy was a domestic crisis that would ruin his life. Now, you were sitting in a private terminal, preparing to board the plane of his fiercest competitor, fleeing toward a villa in France you had never seen.

The angst didn't feel like a sharp pain anymore; it felt like a heavy, cold fluid that had been poured into your veins, slowing your heart, making your limbs feel like lead.

"I didn't... I didn't pack anything, Max," you whispered, your voice sounding thin and hollow in the quiet lounge. "My passport is in my handbag, but my clothes... my life... everything is in the penthouse in Monte Carlo. All my things are there."

"It’s just clothes," Max said plainly, his voice carrying the absolute, uncomplicated logic that made him so lethal on a racetrack. "We can buy new clothes tomorrow in Nice. My mother has things at the house too. Do not think about the things in Monaco. The things don't matter. Only you matter right now, and the... the small one."

He stumbled slightly over the last words, his Dutch accent rounding the vowels, a faint, rare flush of color rising along his neck. It was the first time he had explicitly acknowledged the pregnancy since you had told him in the hills, and the mention of it sent a sharp, agonizing pang of reality straight through your chest.

You were pregnant. You were carrying George Russell’s child, and you were running away from him on a rival's aircraft. The sheer, terrifying mess of your new reality seemed to expand until it filled the entire room, suffocating you.

"What if he calls?" you whispered, your fingers tightening around your handbag until your knuckles turned white. "What if he realizes I'm gone and he calls my phone?"

Max’s face hardened instantly, the softness in his eyes vanishing, replaced by that cold, flat stare that made engineers shrink back in the Red Bull garage. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his own phone, and set it on the glass table between you.

"Then he calls," Max said, his tone dropping an octave, becoming dangerous and quiet. "And if he calls, he talks to me. He does not talk to you. I will tell him exactly where you are going, and I will tell him that if he wants to speak to you, he has to come through my gate. And George knows... he knows he does not want to do that."

The climb up the airstairs of the Falcon 8X felt like walking into a sanctuary. The cabin was a cocoon of high-end luxury, cream leather captain's chairs, dark walnut woodwork, and deep wool carpeting that completely absorbed the sound of your footsteps. The flight attendant, a quiet middle-aged woman named Sofia who had been with Max’s family for years, took one look at your pale, drawn face and your smudged makeup and immediately looked away, her expression settling into a practiced, professional calm.

"Welcome back, Max," Sofia said softly. "The pilots say the flight time to Nice will be just under forty-five minutes. Would you like anything before departure?"

"Just some ginger ale for her," Max said, guiding you toward the large berthable chair in the middle of the cabin. "And a hot tea. Black. No sugar. Put a blanket over her before we taxi, Sofia. She is freezing."

"Right away, Max."

You sank into the oversized leather chair, the heavy padding contouring around your exhausted body like a protective glove. Max took the seat directly across the aisle from you, unbuckling his team watch and tossing it onto the small side table with a light, metallic clink. He looked out the oval window as the aircraft began its slow, heavy pushback from the terminal structure, the twin engines under the tail whistling into a steady, powerful drone.

As the plane lined up on the main runway, the lights of the Barcelona terminal began to slide past the window in a rapid, blurred line. The engines roared to full life, a deep, vibrating surge of power that pushed you back into the leather cushions.

You closed your eyes as the wheels left the tarmac. Every foot of altitude the plane gained felt like a physical tearing away from the life you had known. For three years, your world had been dictated by the logistics of the Mercedes team. You knew the travel schedules by heart; you knew which hotels had the best gyms for George’s pre-race routines; you knew the exact corporate sponsors who required a smile and a handshake at the Thursday hospitality loops.

Now, you were in the air, suspended between the ruin of Spain and the unknown of France, carrying a secret that felt heavier than the aircraft itself.

The initial wave of violent crying had passed, leaving your eyes dry and burning, your throat so tight it felt as though you were swallowing sand. You looked across the aisle at Max. He had already unzipped his Red Bull team jacket, tossing it onto an empty seat behind him, revealing a simple gray t-shirt. He was staring at a tablet screen, his eyes scanning a series of lap-time graphs from the race, his face locked in that intense, analytical concentration that defined his career.

Even here, escaping a human catastrophe, he was still a racing driver. The realization brought a cold, sharp spike of angst back into your chest.

They are all the same, that cynical, wounded voice in your head whispered. They are all machines. George wanted to erase the baby because of his timesheet, and Max is looking at his data traces while I am bleeding out across the aisle from him.

Max must have felt your gaze, because his head snapped up from the screen. He looked at your face, seeing the hollow, untrusting expression in your eyes, and he slowly lowered the tablet onto his lap, turning it off with a soft click.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice low and quiet against the hum of the cabin.

"Nothing," you whispered, turning your face away to look out the dark window at the black expanse of the Mediterranean Sea below. "Just... wondering why you're doing this."

Max was silent for a long moment. You could hear the faint, rhythmic rustle of his clothing as he shifted in his seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Because it is the right thing to do," he said plainly, his Dutch accent blunt and unadorned. "You think I only care about the data, no? You think because I am a driver, I don't see what is happening around me."

"George cares about the data," you said, your voice cracking on his name, the bitterness tasting like ash on your tongue. "He cares about it more than me. More than... this." You pressed your hand against your stomach, the gesture instinctive and defensive.

"George is stupid," Max said, his tone flat and absolute, carrying no malice, just the cold weight of a factual summary. "He has been told his whole life that he is the special one, the polite one, the future of British racing. He thinks if he follows the manual perfectly, he wins. But the manual does not tell you what to do when life happens. He thinks because he is a driver, he can control the data. But you cannot control this. You cannot spreadsheet a child, and you cannot tell a woman she is a 'distraction' without losing your soul."

He stood up, crossing the narrow aisle, and sat down on the wide leather ottoman directly in front of your chair. He reached out, his large, warm hand covering your cold fingers where they lay tightly knotted on your lap.

"I am his rival, yes," Max murmured, his gray eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made the rest of the cabin vanish. "I want to beat him on every single corner of every single track. But outside the car? I am a human being. My father... he was hard on me. You know this. The whole world knows this. I know what it looks like when a family is broken by the pressure of this paddock. And I will not watch him do that to you. Not while I have a plane, and a house, and the strength to stop it."

The descent into the Côte d'Azur airport was a silent affair. The lights of the French Riviera appeared through the dark cabin window like a sprawling network of fallen stars, the glittering luxury of Cannes, the winding coastal roads of Antibes, and finally the long, dark tongue of the runway sticking out into the black waters of the Mediterranean.

The plane touched down with a soft, practiced chirp of the tires, the thrust reversers roaring to life to slow the aircraft down as it taxied away from the commercial terminals toward the private handling facilities.

When the cabin door opened, the air that rushed in was different from the dry, dusty heat of Barcelona. It was thick with the scent of salt water, expensive maritime fuel, and the sweet, heavy fragrance of jasmine blooming in the coastal hills. It was the air of the Riviera, the place you had called home for three years, but it felt entirely alien now. Every breath you took felt like a trespass.

Willem was already waiting at the bottom of the airstairs (don’t ask me how just fanfic magic), holding open the door of another blacked-out luxury vehicle. Max guided you down the steps, his hand firm on your elbow, shielding you from the cool sea breeze that was whipping across the tarmac.

The drive up into the hills behind Nice was a long, twisting journey through narrow roads lined with high stone walls and ancient olive trees. The higher the car climbed, the further the glittering lights of the coast receded, replaced by the deep, dark quiet of the mountain valleys.

When the vehicle finally slowed down, it stopped before a massive, solid iron gate set into a fortress-like stone wall. Max pressed a remote on the dashboard, and the heavy iron gates swung inward with a slow, grinding sigh, allowing the car to slide onto a long, gravel driveway lined with towering cypress trees.

At the end of the driveway sat the villa, a beautiful, sprawling structure of old, sun-bleached stone and terracotta roof tiles, its windows glowing with a warm, amber light that felt incredibly welcoming against the dark of the mountains.

The moment the car engine stopped, the front door of the villa opened, and a tall, elegant woman with sharp, intelligent eyes and a halo of blonde hair stepped onto the porch. It was Sophie Kumpen, Max’s mother. She was wearing a soft cream cardigan and dark trousers, her expression serious yet deeply maternal as she watched her son climb out of the car.

Max walked around to your side, opening the door and reaching in to help you out. His mother didn't stay on the porch; she hurried down the stone steps, her eyes fixing onto your pale, exhausted form with an immediate, instinctive understanding.

"Max," Sophie said softly, her voice carrying the gentle, melodic cadence of her Belgian accent. "Willem called ahead from the plane. Is she okay?"

"She is exhausted, Mom," Max said, his voice dropping into a quiet, respectful tone as he stepped back, allowing his mother to take his place by your side. "She needs to sleep. She hasn't eaten anything since the race."

Sophie didn't ask questions. She didn't look at you like you were a paddock celebrity or the girlfriend of a rival driver. She reached out, her hands warm and soft as they closed around your trembling shoulders, pulling you into a gentle, maternal embrace that smelled faintly of lavender and old paper.

"Come inside, child," Sophie whispered against your hair, her fingers gently stroking your spine. "It is cold out here in the hills. The fire is lit. Come."

The moment her arms wrapped around you, the final wall of your emotional defense crumbled. You didn't sob out loud this time; you simply let your head fall against her shoulder, your body turning heavy and limp as she guided you up the stone steps and into the warm, quiet sanctuary of the villa.

The interior of the villa was a world away from the cold, white minimalism of the penthouse in Monaco. The floors were made of wide, ancient stone tiles covered in thick, woven rugs; the walls were rough-hewn plaster painted in soft earth tones, and a massive stone fireplace in the corner was roaring with a bright, crackling oak fire that filled the room with a deep, comforting warmth.

Sophie led you straight to a large, plush sofa near the hearth, helping you sit down before wrapping a heavy, woolen blanket around your shoulders.

"Stay here," she instructed gently, pressing a warm palm against your pale cheek. "I am going to bring you some hot broth and some dry bread. Max told me your stomach has been turned over. You need to put something inside you."

You nodded dumbly, your eyes fixed on the dancing orange flames of the fire. The warmth of the hearth began to seep into your frozen skin, but the cold core inside your chest remained untouched, a heavy, dead weight that refused to thaw.

Max walked into the room a moment later, having changed out of his team gear into a simple black hoodie and sweatpants. He looked younger without the branding, his face less severe in the soft firelight. He stood near the edge of the rug, his hands shoved into his pockets, watching you with a quiet, hesitant intensity.

"You like the fire?" he asked softly, his Dutch accent sounding less blunt in the quiet room.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the crackle of the wood. "Thank you, Max. For everything. Truly."

Max walked over and sat down on the far end of the long sofa, leaving a respectful distance between you. He leaned his head back against the cushions, staring up at the dark wooden beams of the ceiling.

"My mother... she is good at this," he murmured, his voice low and reflective. "When I was young, and everything was crazy with the racing and my dad... she was always the one who made the house feel quiet. You are safe here. George cannot come through that gate, and no one from the media knows this place exists."

The mention of George’s name sent a sharp, agonizing wave of angst back through your mind. You pictured him back at the circuit, perhaps just now walking out of the engineering office, looking at his phone, realizing you weren't in the motorhome. Would he be angry? Would he be relieved? Or would he simply view your disappearance as another complication that needed to be managed by his PR team?

"He told me it would ruin his life, Max," you whispered, the tears finally starting to pool on your lower lashes again, reflecting the orange light of the fire. "We had everything. Everyone looked at us and thought it was the perfect life. And it was all a lie. The moment I needed him to be a man, he turned into a monster."

Max turned his head on the cushion, his gray eyes locking onto yours with a dark, heavy seriousness.

"It was not a lie," he said softly. "You loved him, and he loved you. But he loves the championship more. That is the problem with George. He thinks if he wins the title, he becomes untouchable. He thinks the trophy fills the empty spaces inside him. But it doesn't. I know. I have three of them, and when you go home at night, the metal is cold. It doesn't look at you, and it doesn't care if you are lonely."

Sophie walked back into the room, carrying a small silver tray with a steaming bowl of clear chicken broth and a few slices of toasted sourdough bread. She set it down on the low table in front of you, sitting down on the edge of the sofa to gently press the spoon into your hand.

"Eat a little bit, darling," she murmured, her eyes full of a deep, sorrowful empathy. "For the little one. You must keep your strength."

You took the spoon, your hand shaking so hard the broth spilled slightly against the silver tray. You managed to take a small sip, the warm, salty liquid hitting your stomach with a comforting heat. You ate in silence, the two Verstappens sitting on either side of you like a pair of silent, heavy guardians, shielding you from the storm that was currently gathering in the valley below.

The phone didn't ring until midnight.

You were lying on your side on the large sofa, the woolen blanket pulled up to your chin, your eyes fixed on the dying embers of the fire. Sophie had gone upstairs to prepare the guest room, and Max was sitting in the armchair across the rug, his laptop open on his knees as he quietly reviewed his sim-racing data, his face illuminated by the pale blue light of the screen.

Suddenly, the sharp, violent buzz of your phone inside your handbag broke the silence of the villa.

The sound felt like an electric shock straight to your heart. Your breath caught in your throat, your entire body locking into a rigid, terrified stillness as the bag on the floor continued to vibrate against the stone tiles.

Max’s head snapped up instantly. He looked at the bag, then at your wide, terrified eyes, and before you could move, he closed his laptop with a sharp click and stood up. He walked over, reaching down to pull your phone from the unzipped pocket of the handbag.

He looked at the screen. The pale light illuminated the name flashing across the glass: GEORGE.

Max didn't hand the phone to you. He stood in the center of the rug, his face turning into a cold, expressionless mask as the phone continued to buzz in his large palm.

"Do you want to talk to him?" Max asked, his voice low and steady, giving you the absolute right of refusal.

"No," you whispered, a sudden, choking wave of panic rising in your throat, your hands gripping the blanket until your nails dug into the wool. "No, please, Max. I can't. I can't listen to him shout again. I can't."

Max nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. He didn't turn the phone off. Instead, his thumb slid across the glass, accepting the call, and he raised the device to his own ear.

The room was so quiet that you could hear the frantic, tinny sound of George’s voice leaking from the speaker before Max even spoke. It was loud, rapid, and sharp with an unhinged, defensive fury.

“Where the hell are you?! I’ve been looking for you for two hours! Your bag is gone from the motorhome, and the hotel says you never checked out! What the fuck are you doing? we need to settle this matter before the flight-”

"George," Max said.

His voice wasn't loud, but it had the weight of an iron vault closing shut. The absolute stillness in his delivery instantly cut George off, the frantic babble on the other end of the wire dying into a sharp, stunned silence.

For three long seconds, neither man spoke. The only sound in the villa was the soft hiss of the dying embers in the hearth.

“Max?” George’s voice came through the speaker again, the fury instantly curdling into a toxic, defensive confusion. “Why the fuck do you have her phone? Where is she? Put her on the goddamn phone right now.”

"She is not going to talk to you, George," Max said, his tone flat, cold, and entirely unyielding. He stood with his feet apart, his chest expanded, looking exactly like he did when he was standing on the top step of the podium, looking down at the rest of the grid. "She is at my house. In Nice. And she is going to stay here where it is quiet."

A sharp, ragged gasp echoed from the phone. You could hear George’s breath coming in short, panicked bursts, the sound of a man whose calculations had just completely ruptured.

“Your house?!” George roared, his voice cracking with a mixture of intense rage and sheer humiliation. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! She is my girlfriend! You don't get to touch her, you don't get to take her from the paddock! This is a private matter! Put her on the phone before I call the team security!”

"Call them," Max said, a tiny, cold smirk touching his lips, his eyes fixing onto the dark window pane. "Tell Toto that you are sending Mercedes security to Max Verstappen’s private villa because your pregnant girlfriend ran away from you after you told her to get an abortion. Tell them that, George. See what the press says tomorrow morning when the statement comes out."

The word abortion hit the line like a physical blow. The frantic breathing on the other end of the phone stopped instantly, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence that felt darker than the night outside. George had been handled. The pristine, PR-scrubbed director of the GPDA had just been stripped naked by his worst rival, his ugliest secret laid out on the table in plain, unadorned words.

“Max,” George whispered, his voice shaking so hard it sounded like it was breaking apart. “Please. You don't understand the pressure. You don't know what is at stake here. I... I was panicked. Let me talk to her. Just for five minutes. Let me explain.”

"No," Max said. He didn't hesitate. He didn't look at you for permission; he knew the answer in his marrow. "You had three weeks to talk to her like a man, and you chose to shout at her in a locker room instead. You chose your timesheet. So now you can go to the airport, you can take your flight to Monaco, and you can look at your data traces alone. She is safe here, and if you come near my gate, I will handle you myself. Goodbye, George."

Max lowered his hand, his thumb sliding across the screen to terminate the connection before George could utter another syllable. He stood in the quiet room for a long moment, his chest heaving with a slow, heavy rhythm, before he walked over and set the phone face-down on the walnut table.

He looked at you, his eyes soft and serious in the dim firelight.

"He will not call again tonight," Max said quietly.

You sat under the woolen blanket, the tears finally overflowing your lids and tracking silently down your face. The absolute finality of the moment felt like a physical death. The life you had known, the dream everyone envied, the golden couple of the paddock, was officially buried beneath the stone floors of the French villa.

But as Max walked back to his chair, his large frame settling into the dark leather as he resumed his silent watch over the fire, you realized that the fortress hadn't broken. The rival had become the guardian, and in the deep, quiet dark of the mountains, your new story was finally beginning to breathe.

Taglist: @tboys4f1 @herdetectivetheorist @ashesandbone @kheurwen @spicyprocrastinator @reading-writing-737 @nusaa99 @sinbappe @wingedsandwichdefendor @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake

islagalaxie

BURNING BLUE Pt. 1 - Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Og character / Eventual Max Verstappen x Fem!Og Character

SUMMARY: Ana discovers that her relationship with Charles is not as perfect as she once believed. What begins as a suspicion turns into a truth much harder to accept.

Between lies, betrayals, and half-truths, Ana starts to realize that her life with him may not be as real as she thought. As everything falls apart, Max’s presence appears as an unexpected refuge, someone who makes her see her reality from a different perspective and question everything she once took for granted.

TAGS: Slow burn (kind of), forbidden love, infedility, cheating, secret relationships, emotional affairs, love triangle.

Note: Hello everyone, I’ve had this story in my mind for a while, but I didn’t have time to write it until now. The girl has a name, it works better for the plot, and it’s also narrated in third person so you can understand the perspective of all the characters. I hope you enjoy it, and yes, it will have a second part, maybe even a third. English is not my first lenguage.

masterlist

The first time Ana saw the sea in Monaco, she thought it looked fake. Too blue. Too bright. Too perfect.

Nothing resembled the beaches of her childhood, where the sand clung to your skin like a second layer and the heat forced you to search for shade every few minutes. Here, everything looked as though it belonged in a magazine: the white buildings, the enormous yachts, the immaculate streets.

She spent several seconds staring out the car window, trying to convince herself that it was real.

“Are you nervous?” Charles asked.

Ana turned her head.

He was smiling. He always smiled whenever he caught her taking everything in with that mixture of fascination and bewilderment.

“A little.”

“You don’t have to be.”

Easy for him to say.

Charles had been born for this world.

She hadn’t.

plottwistpotato

I hate it when I accidentally exit out of Tumblr when I'm reading something. 90% of the time it's lost forever, and I end up mourning a fucking fanfic.

Hi guyssss. I forgot alll about my Tumblr account!!! But I’m backkkk

#i’m back

I love my bf but he won’t eat me out :( I don’t wanna be a bitch and whinny about it but I really want him to!

#bf #lovers #relationship

Here are my pulls :)

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin #stray kids felix

Another funny story. I work at the local church to bring in some extra money.(I get payed to sing at funerals,weddings,and masses) it was Ash Wednesday this week so I sang at mass. Half way through, this old lady faints and the EMS was called. All that ran through my head was,”that’s a $3,000 car ride.” The whole thing was quiet and mass was carrying on like nothing happened. Idk how the old lady is doing

#catholic #church #church things #funny story #life #catholic things

Funny story. When I was a sophomore in highschool, I was writing down the word vitamin in health class but ended up spelling Vietnam because my spelling is worse than a first grader

#i can’t spell #idk why #my spelling sucks #true story #this is so funny #funnystories

Shinji Hirako is one fine man. I want him to blindfold me and smack my ass until it turns a deep shade of red. Then I wanna ride his cock and get filled with his cum. And gosh that Tongue piercing of his. PLZZZ tongue fuck me

#bleach x reader #shinji hirako x reader #shinji hirako #bleach #bleach smut #Shinji hirako smut

Coyote Starkk please fuck me

#Coyotestarkk #bleach

Stuff about me

Hello~~ My name is Puppyminie but you can call me Minie! I’m a 04’ and I work at a nursing home as an SNTA.

I love video games,kpop, and Anime! Here are my Favorites and my kpop biases, who I main, and my favorite anime and characters !!!

Video Games

Slime Racher

Among Us

Overwatch

Sombra

Widowmaker

Ana

Wrecking Ball

Mercy

Tracer

Winston

Genji

Hanzo

Kiriko

D.va

Legend Of Zelda

Kirby

K-pop Boy Groups

Stray Kids

OT8 but leans towards Changbin & Seungmin

Bts

JHope

Ateez

San

Big Bang

T.O.P

Mirae

Dongpyo

Khael

Xdinary Heros

OT6

iKon

Bobby

Astro

Moonbin

Eunwoo

The Boyz

Eric

Kevin

Hyunjae

BTOB

OT6 (7)

P1Harmony

Soul

Kehoo

NCT 127

Haechan

Johnny

Mark

Yuta

GOT7

Bambam

Jackson Wang

Youngjae

TXT

Hyuka

K-pop Girl Groups

Twice

OT9

Ke1per

Hikaru

NMIXX

Lily

Sullyoon

Blackpink

Rosé

ITZY

YEJI

Yuna

(G)-Idle

Minnie

MAMAMOO

OT4🙇‍♀️

2NE1

Sandara

Anime

One Piece

ACE

MARCO

SHANKS

ACE

Thatch

Luffy

Sanji

Zoro

Mihawk

Kid

Garp

Whitebeard

Gold Roger

Kuzan

Aokiji

Law

Sabo

Crocodile

Doflamingo

Naruto

MADARA

TOBIRAMA

INDRA

Kakashi

Sasuke

Izuna

Obito

Hidan

Kakazu

Kisame

Zabuza

Gaara

Sasori

Orochimaru (I know)

Bleach

COYOTTE STARKK

SHINJI HIRAKO

Ichigo

Renji

Byakuya

Ukitake

Kyoraku

Aizen

Gin

Grimmjow

Kensei

Rose

Urahara

Zangetsu(I know he’s a zanpakuto but hear me out)

Blue exorcist

AMAIMON

MEPHISTO

Rin

Yukio

Bon

Fire Force

BENIMARU

Koro

Shinra

Jujutsu Kaisen

TOJI

INUMAKI

SUKUNA

Gojo

Nanami

Megumi

Yuji Itadori

FMA

None

Inuyasha

None

Haikyuu

SAKUSA

USHIJIMA

Atsumu

Osamu

Hinata

Kageyama

Tendou

Oikawa

Tsukishima

Semi

Bokuto

Kuroo

Kenma

Yaku

Suna

Kita

Kuroko no Basuke

MURASAKIBARA

HANAMIYA

NASH GOLD JR

Kuroko

Kagami

Aomine

Akashi

Midorma

Kise

Demon Slayer

Muzan

Tokyo Ghoul

Tsukiyama

Uta

Disastrous life of Saiki K

Saiki K

Attack On Titan

LEVI

Eren

Zeke

Porco

Reiner

Erwin

Jean

Kenny

Armin

Fairy tail

Sting

Rogue

Laxus

Natsu

Freed

Lucy

Gray

Bixslow

Cobra

Midnight

Ouran Highschool host Club

Mori

Kyoya

Hitachii Twins

Hunter x Hunter

HISOKA

CHROLLO

GING(I have daddy issues 😐)

KITE

FEITAN

PARIS

Illumi

Shalnark

Uvogin

Phinks

Yuri on Ice!!!

Victor

Mila

Yuuri

Yurio

Phichit

Black Butler

UNDERTAKER

Sebastian

Grell

My Hero Academia

Bakugo

Todoroki

Aizawa

Shigaraki

Dabi

Chisaki

Fatgum

Amajiki

Death Note

Light

Hellsing

Alucard

Kakugurui

Soul Eater

Death the Kid

Lord Death(I need therapy)

Bungo Stray Dogs

Dazai

Chuuya

Kunikida

I’d so fuck Joker/Rascal from glitter force.

no shame

#why #glitter force #joker #rascal #i need therapy

I wanna cuddle Changbin

#seo changbin #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin x you

Cockwarming with Changbin in the studio while he’s working on a song. Every once in while rocking his hips to tease you. He doesn’t care if he gets caught by one of his members. By the end of the day you’re dripping wet. So when he’s done, he will lean you over the table and fill you up until your are dripping in his cum. Maybe he may record your moans to use in a song…..

#seo changbin #seo changbin smut #seo changbin x oc #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin x you #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #skz imagines #skz smut #stray kids fanfic #changbin smut #stray kids x male reader

If you don’t know who Yoo Myeong-Hwan, Kim Dong-Eon, Kim Youngwan, Park Junwoo, Jeong Hak-Young, or Park Junyoung are from Dynasty…. Don’t talk to me..👋👋

#owl #overwatch #Seoul #seoul dynasty

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