[callsign-maverick]

" i ain't worried about it right now "

good morning, aviators. this is your captain speaking.

welcome to my blog. requests are closed.

the crew - fandoms, characters pt. 1

the staff - fandoms, characters pt. 2

the pilot - about me, my rules

" don't think. just do. "

[callsign-maverick]

HUGS 🫂 plz don't beat yourself over it! Take care of yourself and we'll still be here when you come back 💝

y'all are too nice to me :( ❤️

[callsign-maverick]

Father... come home.... we miss u....

i know :( i'm so sorry for letting y'all down like this, but a lot of shit is happening at once, i'm struggling a lot and i'm exhausted in every way

[callsign-maverick]

“why do i still get 100 notes a day”

bc everyone still loves you pookie! the account may be dead but the fans are STILL very much alive🫰

you're too nice to me :(

thank you

[callsign-maverick]

guys this account is like dead dead, why do i still have over 100 notifications every day ??

[callsign-maverick]

Heyyy, can I ask for a ftm!reader X Stu Macher??? Please? (⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠)

— acting up

pairing: stu macher | ftm! reader

warnings: mdni, trans reader, bottom reader, oral (reader receiving), brat taming, throat grabbing, use of the word 'cunt', color system (green, yellow, red)

(y/n) should’ve known better than to push his luck.

It started earlier that night with him teasing Stu just a little too much. Eye-rolls. Soft scoffs. Subtle taunts. Wearing that tiny tank top and pretending not to know what it did to Stu. Biting back when he usually obeyed. For the first time, (y/n) wanted to test how far he could go.

Spoiler: not very far.

Because now he was here, back arched over Stu’s bed, shirt ripped open, arms shaking from holding himself up. His thighs trembled, spread wide, while Stu knelt between them, that crazed, amused grin plastered across his face.

“God, you’ve got such a fucking mouth on you, huh?” Stu muttered, one hand tight on (y/n)’s waist, the other lazily stroking over his inner thigh, brushing the slick mess between his legs. “Actin’ up like you run shit.”

“I-I just..-” (y/n) stammered, but the words died when Stu leaned down and bit into his neck, hard enough to make him jolt and moan, soft and high.

“Oh, you ‘just’ nothing.” Stu pulled back, licking his lips like he could taste the bratty attitude on his skin. “You forget who owns this little hole? Huh?” He smacked (y/n)’s thigh, watching him squirm, all flushed and needy.

(y/n) whimpered, fists bunching the sheets. “You do…”

“Damn right I do.”

Stu didn’t waste time. He ducked his head, diving between (y/n)’s legs with the same hunger he’d shown while carving someone open a night ago. He devoured him, mouth hot, tongue filthy, moaning against (y/n)’s cunt like he was drunk on it. (y/n) cried out, body twitching, back bowing under the pressure.

“St-Stu..-!”

But Stu just held him down harder, arms wrapped around his thighs now, locking him in place. He moaned against him, lapping and sucking with messy, wet slurps. When two fingers slipped in with no warning, crooked just right, (y/n) gasped, legs threatening to close from the overstimulation.

“Nuh uh,” Stu hissed, pulling back just enough to speak. His chin glistened. “You act like a brat, I treat you like one. Gonna fuck you dumb. Fill you up until it sticks.”

(y/n)’s brain short-circuited.

He didn’t even get the chance to fully recover before Stu was on him again. This time above him, fully undressed, cock heavy and flushed between his fingers.

“Color?” Stu asked, almost mocking, but there was a dark glint of genuine care behind his eyes.

“Green,” (y/n) whispered, breathless. “Please…”

And then Stu was pushing in, slow at first, too slow, making sure (y/n) felt every inch. The stretch burned just right, slick and hot and overwhelming. (y/n) clawed at Stu’s arms, gasping, mewling when he bottomed out.

“God, you take it so well,” Stu muttered, voice low and gravelly, hips grinding into (y/n) like he couldn’t get close enough. “Made for me. Fuckin’ made for me.”

Then he snapped his hips forward, and the world went white.

(y/n) cried out, legs kicking, body rocking with each brutal thrust. Stu didn’t let up. He fucked like he killed, wild, ruthless, messy. Sweat dripped down his temple as he pounded into (y/n), one hand gripping his throat, not tight, just firm enough to make (y/n) whimper.

“Say it,” Stu moaned. “Say who owns you.”

“Y-you..- fuck..- Stu, you..-!”

“That’s right.” Another thrust, harder. “Gonna breed this pussy. Fill you up so good, you feel me dripping out for days.”

(y/n) sobbed, half from overstimulation, half from how fucking deep Stu was. Every thrust hit that spot, relentless and raw. The coil in (y/n)’s belly was tight, ready to snap. And Stu could tell.

He leaned in, mouth pressed to (y/n)’s ear. “Come for me, baby. Show me who you belong to.”

And (y/n) did, loud and shaking, legs trembling around Stu’s waist as he came hard, clenching tight. That was all it took for Stu to spill inside him with a moan, hips stuttering, grinding deep as he painted (y/n)’s insides.

They stayed like that for a moment, panting, slick, ruined.

Stu eventually pulled back, watching with dark satisfaction as his cum slowly dripped out of (y/n)’s sore, fluttering hole.

He chuckled, breathless. “Told you not to act up.”

(y/n) blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted.

Stu grinned wider. “But damn, you make it so fun when you do.”

words: 751

published: 05.aug.2025

[callsign-maverick]

Hello can I request (top) male reader x könig? Where reader is bigger in size than him? Like at least 7'5 (228cm) and könig is just really really flustered about their size difference bc he's never met someone so much bigger than him

Could be either fluff or smut (or both), up to u really! I don't mind either:3

— look up at me

pairing: könig | male! reader

warnings: mdni, tall reader, top reader, dom reader, size kink, oral (reader giving), throat grabbing

The door slammed shut behind them.

König swallowed thickly, sweat still cooling on his skin from the mission. The adrenaline hadn’t even had time to drain from his veins before he felt a whole new kind of tension coil in his gut.

(y/n) was huge.

Not just tall, monolithic. Built like a fortress, all hard muscle and slow, commanding movement. He stood at least a foot taller than König, who was already used to towering over most people. But now, for the first time, he had to look up.

And fuck, that did things to him he couldn’t even name.

“Take your gear off,” (y/n)’s voice was low, almost lazy, but thick with intent. It wasn’t a question.

König’s breath hitched under his mask. He shifted, boots heavy on the old wooden floor, fingers fumbling at the straps of his vest. He tried not to stare, but (y/n) leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes hooded, watching him.

“You’re nervous,” (y/n) said, his tone teasing, warm, but edged with command. “You weren’t like this on the field.”

“I..” König cleared his throat. “I’m not used to… this.”

(y/n) stepped closer. Slowly. Letting König feel the size difference as his shadow fell over him. He tilted König’s chin up with two fingers.

“Used to being the biggest in the room?”

König’s breath caught again. “Ja…”

“Not tonight,” (y/n) murmured. “Tonight, you’re mine.”

His mouth crashed down over the edge of König’s hood, finding his lips through the fabric, kissing him hard, all teeth and heat and hunger. König shuddered, knees nearly buckling from the force of it. (y/n) pulled back just slightly and whispered, “Take it off.”

König hesitated only a second. The hood came off and his flushed face was beautiful, cheeks red, mouth parted, eyes blown wide. His chest heaved, skin damp with sweat.

“Good boy,” (y/n) muttered.

König whimpered.

(y/n) pushed him back gently, walking him until his back hit the wall. Then he dropped to his knees, not to submit, but to drag König’s pants down with complete control. He wrapped one hand around König’s thick thighs, pressing a kiss to the inside, while his other hand palmed the growing bulge in his briefs.

“Sensitive already?” (y/n) teased. “I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“You’re…” König gasped. “So big..-”

(y/n) grinned, voice dark and rich. “I know.”

He tugged König’s briefs down, slow and deliberate, letting his cock spring free. König moaned, head falling back, but (y/n) grabbed his hips and held him still.

“No hiding,” he growled. “I want to see every reaction.”

Then he leaned in, tongue licking a slow stripe along the underside of König’s cock. He took the head into his mouth, lips tight, humming when König groaned so loud it echoed. König’s hands flew to (y/n)’s shoulders, but he didn’t dare push. He let (y/n) control the pace.

Which he did. Thoroughly.

König was trembling by the time (y/n) pulled off, saliva glistening on his lips. “Bed,” he said, voice sharp. “Now.”

König stumbled over, panting. (y/n) followed behind like a storm cloud, stripping as he walked. Shirt first, revealing thick, broad muscle that rippled with every step. His cock hung heavy and thick between his legs, bigger than anything König had ever taken, and König’s heart pounded.

“You’re scared,” (y/n) said, crawling up onto the bed.

“A little,” König admitted, breathless. “But I want it.”

“Then relax,” (y/n) murmured. “I’ll take care of you.”

And he did.

(y/n) prepped him slowly, carefully, fingers slick and skilled. König was gasping into the pillows, his thighs trembling, his hole stretching wide around (y/n)’s fingers. When he was finally ready, when he was begging, whispering, “Bitte, please…”, (y/n) lined up behind him, held König’s hips tight, and pushed in.

König moaned into the mattress.

The stretch was unreal, brutal, and perfect. (y/n) was so deep, so thick, and he didn’t give König time to catch his breath, just leaned down, wrapped one hand around König’s neck, and fucked him slow and deep.

“Look at you,” (y/n) growled. “Falling apart under me. Who’s the big guy now?”

König whimpered, legs wide, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He’d never felt so full, so owned. (y/n)’s hand moved to König’s cock, stroking in perfect rhythm with each thrust.

“You’re taking it so well,” (y/n) breathed. “God, you’re beautiful like this.”

“Fuck!” König sobbed, choking on a moan. “Don’t stop..- please..-”

“I’m not stopping until I’m done,” (y/n) said.

And when he did finally come, deep and hard, hips slamming forward as he filled König full, König could only cry out, undone by the heat, the stretch, the utter control.

(y/n) didn’t pull out. He just laid over König, chest to his back, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“You’re mine now,” (y/n) murmured.

König nodded, still trembling.

“…Ja. Yours.”

words: 837

published: 30.july.2025

[callsign-maverick]

— stripped bare pt. 3

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley | johnny 'soap' mactavish | male! reader

warnings: mdni, omegaverse, top reader, alpha reader, heat, omega ghost, omega soap, knotting, mating, bonding, slight power play, begging

side note: read part one and part two !

(y/n) barely got the door shut before Ghost was on him.

“Mine,” Simon growled low against his throat, already pushing him back into the nearest wall. “Took too long. You fucking reek of base.”

Soap wasn’t far behind, smaller but desperate, his soft whine curling around (y/n)’s spine like a leash. “Please (y/n)..- we need you, I need..- I can’t..-”

The scent in the air was thick with omega heat: syrupy sweet, heady, intoxicating. (y/n)’s instincts snapped into place with brutal precision. He shoved back against Simon, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and dragging him in for a bruising kiss, sharp and messy.

“You forget who the alpha is?” he hissed into Simon’s mouth.

Simon bared his teeth but melted under (y/n)’s grip with a pleased, needy noise. “You better fuck me first.”

“Get on the bed, both of you,” (y/n) growled. “Now.”

Soap scrambled ahead without hesitation, shucking his clothes like they were on fire, already panting and flushed. Simon held (y/n)’s gaze a little longer, eyes burning with challenge, but even he wasn’t immune to that voice. He obeyed, slow and deliberate, stripping layer by layer like he wanted (y/n) to watch.

(y/n) followed after, shirt already halfway off, his body aching, hard, and starving.

He was going to wreck them.

The nest was a mess of heat-musked blankets and (y/n)’s stolen clothes. Johnny was curled into the middle, thighs slick and parted, already grinding down on a pillow for friction.

“You’re dripping,” (y/n) muttered, settling between his legs.

“Can’t help it,” Johnny whined. “Smelled you..- needed you..-”

(y/n) didn’t wait. He pushed the pillow away, hiked up Johnny’s thighs, and ran his fingers through the wet mess between them.

“So wet for me already,” he murmured. “Good boy.”

Johnny keened, back arching. “Please..- please, Alpha..- want your cock..-”

(y/n) gave him exactly what he wanted.

He lined up and shoved in with one deep, brutal thrust. Johnny cried out, head flung back, body trembling as (y/n) filled him, thick and pulsing.

“F-fuck..- (y/n)..- so big..-”

“You were made for this,” (y/n) growled into his ear, biting down just shy of his gland. “Fucking perfect omega.”

Simon watched from behind, growling low in his throat. “You better not knot him first.”

“You’ll get yours,” (y/n) bit back, fucking into Johnny with short, punishing thrusts. “You’ll both get everything.”

Johnny was a mess beneath him, moaning, clinging, choking out pleads between each thrust. (y/n)’s hand curled around his throat, not squeezing, just holding, and the way Johnny whimpered at that..

He’d never seen him this submissive, this pliant. Johnny’s omega instincts had taken over completely, and it was beautiful.

When (y/n) felt his knot swelling, he forced himself to pull out, despite Johnny’s desperate sob of protest.

“N-not yet,” Johnny panted. “I was..-”

“Later,” (y/n) rasped, shoving him gently into the nest. “Simon’s next.”

Simon was already bent over, slick dripping down his thighs, one hand fisting the nest for control. “Took you long enough.”

(y/n) didn’t bother with foreplay. He gripped Simon’s hips and slammed into him from behind, burying himself balls-deep in one motion.

Simon choked out a curse, back bowing, but pushed back against him like the needy brat he was.

“Thought you wanted to be first,” (y/n) growled, pounding into him mercilessly.

“I am,” Simon snarled, even as his knees shook. “Make me come before him, prove it.”

So (y/n) did.

He drove into him harder, fingers digging into his waist, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls. Simon was tighter, rougher, biting down on every sound he made, but (y/n) knew exactly how to unravel him.

“Still bossy, even now,” (y/n) panted, leaning over him. “But you’re mine, and you’ll come when I tell you to.”

Simon shuddered under him, the words hitting like a switch. “Fuck, yes, Alpha..-”

(y/n) reached around and stroked him hard, timed with his thrusts. “Now.”

Simon broke.

He came with a growl, shaking violently, buried face-first in the nest, body locked tight around (y/n)’s cock. That was all it took. (y/n)’s knot forced its way in, thick and pulsing, locking them together.

He rutted through it, gasping, hips grinding as he filled Simon full. Thick, hot spurts of cum pumped into him, overflowing, marking him thoroughly.

“Mine,” he bit down on Simon’s neck, hard enough to bruise, mating. “Mine now.”

Simon moaned and arched into it, body limp, his cock twitching uselessly against the blankets.

(y/n) collapsed over him for a moment, knot locked, breath ragged. Then Johnny whined.

“Alpha.. please,” he whimpered, rubbing against (y/n)’s side. “Please..- don’t forget..- need you again, please..-”

(y/n) was shaking. His body was already on fire, hips screaming, but the scent of Johnny’s slick, the sight of him begging, was too much.

He pulled out of Simon slowly, knot still swollen, cum dripping between Simon’s legs. Then he turned and gathered Johnny up like a doll.

“You want my knot now?” he breathed.

Johnny nodded frantically. “Yes..- need to be full..-want you to claim me..-”

(y/n) didn’t even lay him down. He took him like that, on his knees, holding Johnny by the waist and impaling him on his cock in one thrust.

They both moaned, the stretch brutal, the pace frenzied. Johnny sobbed into his shoulder, legs wrapped around him tight, already so sensitive from before.

“You’re such a good omega,” (y/n) whispered against his temple. “Taking everything I give you. So fucking greedy. So wet.”

Johnny’s claws dug into his back, and then..

“Mark me..- Please, I wanna be yours..-”

(y/n)’s control shattered.

He sank his teeth into Johnny’s gland with a growl so deep it rattled through both of them, and Johnny moaned, coming again untouched, clenching tight around him.

(y/n)’s knot slammed in deep, locking, and he came so hard his vision blacked for a second, stars bursting behind his eyes.

He could feel Johnny’s belly swell from how much he filled him, heat-slick and seed mixing, locked together in the ultimate bond.

“Mine,” (y/n) gasped. “Both of you. Mine.”

When the world came back into focus, (y/n) was on his back in the nest, both omegas curled against him like overgrown kittens.

His hips were throbbing. His thighs felt like jelly. His knot had gone down, but his dick was still twitching, too sensitive to touch. His neck was covered in hickeys and scratch marks, and there was definitely a bite mark on his shoulder that wasn’t from either gland.

He’d bred them both.

He didn't remember how many times.

And the night wasn’t even over.

“Simon,” he groaned, “you bit me.”

Simon, half-asleep, smirked. “You liked it.”

Johnny giggled softly, cheek pressed to (y/n)’s chest. “We made you come so hard your eyes rolled back.”

“I didn’t come,” (y/n) wheezed, “you squeezed it out of me like a goddamn toothpaste tube.”

They were warm. They were so soft. And both of them smelled like his. Mated, bonded, bred.

(y/n) couldn’t even bring himself to care that his abs ached and he could barely feel his hips.

“Next time,” he mumbled, “you’re both getting leashed.”

Johnny giggled again.

Simon just purred.

(y/n) didn’t move again for hours.

words: 1248

published: 26.july.2025

[callsign-maverick]

Hi, could you write a Ethan Landry x male reader (bottom reader)? Based on the phrase 'Am I gonna die a virgin?' where the reader comforts him and helps him have his first time, but with a lot of consent, and also a lot of lust, lmao. Ethan is clumsy, nervous but very dedicated, and there is a lot of affection inside the hotness. Thanks!

— firsts

pairing: ethan landry | male! reader

warnings: mdni, bottom reader, dom reader, oral (reader giving), soft and affectionate, virginity loss, light begging

It starts with Ethan’s voice, strained and low.

“Do you think I’m gonna die a virgin?”

The words hang heavy in the air, absurdly out of place considering the chaos they’re hiding from, blood still drying on his sleeve, sirens wailing somewhere in the distance. But there’s something raw behind the question. Not humor. Not self-pity. Just fear. Real, shaking-in-your-bones fear.

(y/n) turns toward him. They’re crouched together in the dark corner of an abandoned lecture hall, pressed close behind a row of overturned desks. Ethan’s wide brown eyes search his face, flickering with something more than panic.

“Ethan,” (y/n) says quietly, brows knitting.

“I just.. I don’t want the last thing people remember about me to be how I never… y’know. Not even once. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic.”

(y/n) says it firmly, but Ethan doesn’t believe it. His mouth twists like he’s fighting the urge to cry. That boyish face, still streaked with grime, looks so heartbreakingly young when it’s that vulnerable.

“You’re not,” (y/n) says again. “You’re sweet. And brave. And stupid sometimes, yeah. But you’re good.”

Ethan’s breath catches. “You really think that?”

“I do.”

A long silence. Then, softly..

“Would you… stay? Just for a while? Just us?”

(y/n) sees the tension in Ethan’s shoulders, the way his hands tremble slightly. He knows what Ethan’s really asking. And despite everything, the blood, the danger, the fact that they could be hunted down at any second, (y/n) finds himself nodding.

“I’ll stay.”

They end up in a locked storage room two floors down. Ethan keeps fumbling with the keys, muttering curses under his breath, and (y/n) finally takes them from him with a raised eyebrow and opens the door with ease.

The room is quiet. Cold concrete and stacked equipment. Ethan stands awkwardly in the middle, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, not making eye contact.

(y/n) steps closer. “Ethan.”

“Sorry,” Ethan mumbles. “I just… I’ve thought about it before. Not like this, obviously. But… with you.”

That makes (y/n) pause. His heart skips a beat, then speeds up.

“Come here,” (y/n) says.

Ethan obeys. Clumsy, jittery steps. He stops a foot away.

(y/n) closes the space.

“Have you kissed anyone before?”

Ethan swallows. “Not really.”

(y/n) smiles softly. “Okay.”

He leans in, lips brushing gently against Ethan’s. The boy stiffens, just for a second, and then melts into it, kissing back with uncertain urgency. His hands twitch uselessly at his sides, not sure where to go until (y/n) takes them and places them on his waist.

It’s sweet. Messy. Ethan makes a small, broken sound when (y/n) nips his bottom lip. And (y/n) realizes Ethan’s breathing is already getting shaky.

“Relax,” (y/n) murmurs against his mouth. “Let me take care of you.”

“I want to take care of you,” Ethan blurts, flushing hard.

That earns a quiet laugh from (y/n). “Then you better pay attention.”

They undress slowly. Ethan’s fingers tremble too much to get (y/n)’s shirt off, so (y/n) peels it away himself, letting it drop to the dusty floor. His skin glows under the flickering ceiling light, vulnerable.

Ethan stares like he’s seeing art.

“I didn’t think..- Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

(y/n) doesn’t blush, but his eyes soften.

Ethan is all wide eyes and reverent hands as they touch. He trails fingers over (y/n)’s chest like he’s scared he’ll break him. But (y/n) isn’t fragile. He leans back against the desk behind them, legs spread slightly, guiding Ethan between them.

“You can touch,” he whispers. “Wherever you want.”

Ethan’s breath hitches. He slides his hands lower, over (y/n)’s stomach, down to the waistband of his pants. His touch is hesitant, too gentle at first, like he’s asking permission with every inch.

“Don’t be shy,” (y/n) says, voice low now, a quiet command under the warmth. “You want this, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I..- (y/n), I really want this.”

“Then take it.”

That flips something in Ethan. He kisses (y/n) again, harder now. Still clumsy, but eager. Desperate. (y/n) groans into his mouth, fingers tugging Ethan’s hoodie off at last. Underneath, Ethan’s lean body is shaking, but his cock is hard against (y/n)’s thigh.

He’s clearly aching.

When (y/n) sinks to the floor to suck him off, Ethan makes a noise, a choked, involuntary sound, like his whole body short-circuited.

“Oh my god, fuck..- (y/n)..-”

He’s already close. (y/n) can tell by the way he grips his hair, apologizing through moans. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t..- I don’t wanna come yet, I wanna do more..-”

(y/n) pulls off with a wet pop, licking his lips. “Then fuck me.”

Ethan’s knees nearly buckle.

“I don’t know if I can do it right..-”

“You will. I’ll tell you exactly what I want.”

There’s lube in (y/n)’s bag, because (y/n) is always prepared, and it doesn’t take long for him to slick his fingers, lying back on the makeshift mat of discarded jackets, legs open, watching Ethan watch him.

“You’re gonna stretch me,” (y/n) murmurs, sliding two fingers in. “And when I tell you I’m ready, you’ll fuck me hard. Got it?”

Ethan nods, lips parted. He looks dazed. “You’re so..- so fucking hot,” he stammers, hand palming himself through his boxers. "I wanna be good for you. Please let me make you feel good..-"

“You will,” (y/n) pants, voice starting to break from the friction. “Now get over here.”

Ethan’s thrusts are sloppy at first. He fumbles trying to line up, cock rubbing between (y/n)’s cheeks until (y/n) reaches down and guides him in, biting his lip as Ethan slowly sinks into him.

“Shit..- tight..- holy fuck, (y/n)..-”

“Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Ethan gasps. “I won’t, I promise.”

He tries to hold back, but (y/n) wraps his legs around his waist, heels digging in.

“Harder.”

“But..-”

“I said harder.”

And Ethan obeys. His hips snap forward, deeper this time, and (y/n)’s back arches. Ethan moans like he’s overwhelmed, thrusts picking up speed, hands clutching (y/n)’s thighs like he’s hanging on for dear life.

“You feel so fucking good,” he babbles. “I can’t believe this..- I can’t believe you want this..-”

“You’re fucking me, Ethan,” (y/n) groans. “Own it. Show me what that pretty dick is good for.”

Something in Ethan breaks. He slams into (y/n), again and again, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the empty room. His rhythm stutters, he pants against (y/n)’s neck, whispering, “You’re perfect. You’re everything. Fuck..- please let me come inside..-”

(y/n) grabs his jaw, forcing him to look down.

“Do it.”

Ethan shudders. With a broken cry, he slams in one last time and spills inside, cock pulsing deep, moaning into (y/n)’s mouth.

And he doesn’t pull out. Just keeps trembling, holding (y/n) like he’s the last safe thing on Earth.

Later, when they’re breathing steady again, (y/n) lets Ethan rest his head on his chest.

“You’re not gonna die a virgin,” (y/n) says softly, brushing sweat-damp curls from his forehead.

Ethan chuckles sleepily. “No. I’m gonna die ruined for anyone else.”

(y/n) smirks, eyes glinting. “Good.”

words: 1230

published: 22.july.2025

[callsign-maverick]

Hi! I'm just asking about the AOT list and if you're continuing it? If you are, can you make fanfics about a GN reader and the characters you like in a unrequired relationship until being together at the end? Angst maybe? It's my birthday as well! Thanks! ❤️✌️

hello. yes, eventually i will write for my anime masterlist. or someone requests something.

but i only write for male / trans male reader.

also my requests are closed right now

[callsign-maverick]

Hi! Can we have overprotective boyfriends billy and stu with a boyfriend who is sick and tired but won't admit to it, becoming stubborn and whiny and bratty because he just has to insist he is alright

— sniffles and stubbornness

pairing: stu macher | billy loomis | male! reader

warnings: sick reader, stubborn reader, protective boyfriends

(y/n) sniffled for the fourth time in under a minute.

Stu, sprawled on the couch like a gangly human octopus, turned his head lazily toward him. “Bless you, again.”

“I didn’t sneeze,” (y/n) croaked, glaring weakly through bleary, red-ringed eyes. His nose was tinged pink, and his cheeks were flushed in that specific I’m-totally-not-sick-but-definitely-sick kind of way.

“You’re literally leaking,” Billy muttered from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at the figure curled into a blanket cocoon. “You look like death warmed over.”

“I’m fine,” (y/n) insisted, attempting to sit up straighter and immediately wobbling.

“You’re not fine,” Stu chimed in, propping his chin on his hand. “You’re congested and cranky and your voice sounds like a dying frog. A cute dying frog, but still.”

(y/n)’s glare turned murderous. “I’m. Fine.”

Billy snorted. “You’re the most dramatic sick person I’ve ever met. And I’ve known Stu since grade school.”

“Hey!” Stu clutched his heart. “Rude.”

(y/n) sniffled again and tugged the blanket higher, burying half his face in it. “I don’t need coddling.”

“You need Sudafed,” Billy said, already moving toward the kitchen. “And soup. And to stop pretending like you don’t feel like shit.”

Stu leaned in close to (y/n), narrowing his eyes like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Is this like, a pride thing? Or a ‘don’t-wanna-be-a-burden’ thing? Because it’s cute, but it’s dumb.”

“I’m not dumb,” (y/n) muttered into the blanket. “And I’m not a burden. I’m perfectly capable of..-”

He tried to stand. Tried. Because the moment he got his feet under him, the world tilted and the blanket slipped off his shoulders, revealing just how pale he really was. His knees buckled slightly, and Stu caught him with an exaggerated gasp.

“See?! This is exactly what I mean!” Stu scooped him up bridal style with alarming ease. “You’re going down, little sickling. Couch jail. Now.”

“Put me down,” (y/n) whined, trying to wriggle free, but it was half-hearted at best. “I swear to God, Stu..-”

“You gonna sneeze on me?” Stu teased. “Go ahead, I dare you.”

“I hate you.”

Stu grinned. “That’s the fever talking.”

Billy returned with a glass of water, some pills, and a bowl of canned soup that actually smelled pretty good. He paused to observe the image before him: (y/n) curled in Stu’s lap like a grumpy cat, swatting at Stu’s chest with all the energy of wet tissue paper.

Billy’s expression softened in that subtle, rare way it always did when he looked at (y/n).

“Take this,” he said, kneeling beside the couch and holding out the water and meds. “Then you’re sleeping. No arguments.”

(y/n) looked like he might protest again, his lips parted, a stubborn fire still sparking in his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders gave way to exhaustion. He took the pills silently and downed them with a sniffle, then looked at Billy with a glare that didn’t quite land.

“You’re both annoying.”

Billy pressed a kiss to his fever-warmed forehead. “Yeah. And you love it.”

(y/n) blinked. His cheeks flushed redder, not from the fever this time, and he turned his face away, snuggling deeper into Stu’s arms.

“Shut up.”

Stu, never one to miss a chance, beamed and wrapped his long limbs around him tighter. “Awwww, he’s getting shy. You must be feeling better.”

“I hope you catch it,” (y/n) mumbled, but he was already dozing off between them, wrapped in warmth and comfort, no longer fighting it.

Billy leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching the two of them settle. “We’re not going anywhere,” he said softly, more to himself than anyone else.

And for once, (y/n) didn’t argue.

words: 628

published: 20.july.2025

[callsign-maverick]

Can I request Simon Riley with Reader who whenever he show expression literally like emoji. Like of they upset or pouting they look like this ☹️ or when they're look something that left them flabbergasted they look like this 😱 or when they got teary because something they look like this🥺. Their expression made people thinking he just big guy with silly personality or unserious guy. But despite that, they have a dead eye. Just imagine one time Reader got angry, someone truly get into his nerve and that expressive face become like serious and intimidating especially with that eyes. But Simon, instead of feeling like either weird or intimidated he find them hot, like "damn, I want this man in my bed". And there's how Simon start hit on Reader in any chance, like he subtle one

— emoji-faced and dead eyes

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley | male! reader

warnings: slightly suggestive

The first time Ghost met (y/n), he honestly didn’t know what to think. The guy was tall, built well, clearly capable in combat, but had the most animated face he’d ever seen.

One moment he was listening to Soap talk about nearly getting blown up in a training exercise, and (y/n) was nodding along, lips puckered in an exaggerated frown like a cartoon character. The frown was so comically dramatic that Soap burst out laughing halfway through his story.

Then Price walked into the room and called in a new mission brief, and (y/n) blinked wide, mouth agape like a frozen gasp, as if he’d just witnessed someone drop a wedding cake off a building.

And when Gaz shared a story about his dog having puppies, (y/n)’s entire face crumpled in sympathy. Eyes turned watery. Lip trembled. His hands pressed to his chest like he was physically clutching his heart.

Soap had snorted out his water and elbowed Ghost so hard it made his gear rattle.

“He looks like a walkin’ emoji keyboard,” Soap whispered, grinning from ear to ear.

Ghost didn’t disagree. Not out loud anyway. He watched the strange little display from behind his mask and balaclava, studying every over-the-top reaction. It was ridiculous. The guy was all but broadcasting his feelings like a live feed. But behind those expressions was something that didn’t quite fit.

It was the eyes.

Cold. Unflinching. Sharp as broken glass.

No matter what silly face (y/n) pulled, no matter how dramatic the pout or how starry-eyed he looked at puppies, his eyes stayed flat and unreadable. Like the life of a soldier had long drained the light out of them. Like he was just playing around with the rest of his face to keep people from noticing the dead quiet underneath.

It was strange. Surreal, even. Like watching a cartoon character in a horror movie.

And effective.

People underestimated him all the time. Thought he was too unserious to be dangerous. Smiled at his puppy-dog reactions, nudged his shoulder like he was just the team’s comic relief. It didn’t help that (y/n) never fought the image. He leaned into it. Let them think he was harmless.

But Simon could see it.

The silence between expressions. The stillness behind the noise.

That man wasn’t harmless. He was waiting.

And it took a single fool to prove it.

A rookie. New blood. Loud-mouthed and cocky. Too green to know what the hell he was doing. He must’ve decided (y/n) was an easy target. The emoji-face thing was too tempting, too easy to mock. He muttered under his breath. Bumped shoulders when they passed. Called him stupid things like “sticker pack” or “meme soldier.”

The team told him to knock it off. Price even gave him a warning.

But he didn’t stop.

He thought it was funny.

Then one day, in the training yard, the rookie pushed him too far. Ghost didn’t know what exactly triggered it, but suddenly everything stopped.

(y/n) turned toward the rookie. He didn’t frown. Didn’t scowl. Didn’t puff up like an angry cartoon. No pout. No emoji.

Just stillness.

And his eyes.. God, those eyes.

A chill rolled through the air. The warmth bled out of the space like the sun dipped behind a mountain.

“You got something to say?” (y/n) asked, voice steady. Calm. Almost gentle.

The rookie froze mid-step.

There wasn’t a single sound from anyone around them. No one laughed. No one cracked a joke.

It was like a switch had flipped. A friendly housecat caught standing over a corpse.

Simon felt it hit the base of his spine.

It wasn’t fear. Not for him.

No. What curled through Simon Riley’s stomach was something darker. Something hot. Something primal. It clawed up his throat and made his hands twitch.

He caught himself staring.

Not at the rookie, who looked like he was about to piss himself.

But at (y/n).

At the man behind the emoji faces. At the taut line of his shoulders, the slow precision of his movements. The way he could silence a room by doing nothing at all.

Ghost felt a low hum settle behind his ribs.

He wanted that man in his bed.

It hit him like a gut punch.

And from that moment on, Ghost — Lieutenant Simon Riley, grim-faced and guarded — started flirting.

He was subtle about it. Careful. Quiet.

He started standing closer than necessary during mission prep. Brushing shoulders. Glancing over gear.

“Need help tightening that strap?” he’d ask, voice low.

Sometimes he brought an extra protein bar. Handed it over casually.

“Figured you’d forget. You always make that face when you’re hungry.” He’d pause. “You know, the one like this.”

Then he’d mimic the expression. Just a flick of his eyes, a tug of the corner of his lip beneath the mask. Not enough for anyone else to see. But (y/n) always noticed. He’d make that shocked face right back, all exaggerated and wide-eyed.

“Did you just make a joke, Lieutenant Riley?” he asked once.

“Think I did,” Ghost replied, dry as sand.

They kept up the banter. The strange back and forth. The emojis and the cold glances. The soft grins and sharp stares. It was like a dance neither of them quite wanted to name.

Until one evening, (y/n) caught him staring again.

They were alone in the barracks. Ghost had stripped off his gear, still in a black shirt, gloves tossed on the cot beside him. (y/n) was tying his boots, muttering about a loose lace, face all frowny and dramatic like a schoolboy who got grounded.

Ghost leaned against the doorframe.

“You flirting with me?” (y/n) asked, not looking up. His tone was casual, but there was something under it. Testing. Curious.

Ghost tilted his head. His eyes gleamed.

“Would you say no if I was?”

(y/n) looked up at him slowly.

His expression flickered. Shock. Surprise. A flicker of a smirk. But his eyes stayed unreadable, cold and measured.

“Guess that depends. You like emoji-faced men or dead-eyed killers?”

Simon stepped forward. Let their shoulders touch. His voice dropped.

“Both,” he said. “Especially when they’re you.”

For the first time, (y/n) didn’t pull a face.

He didn’t overact. Didn’t mock gasp or exaggerated pout.

He just smirked. Real slow.

But his eyes?

They burned.

words: 1067

published: 18.july.2025

[callsign-maverick]

Don’t worry about them! I’m your friend!😃

aren't you a cutie 💕

[callsign-maverick]

got reminded today that coworkers are really just coworkers and not friends.

[callsign-maverick]

Can you do an imagine (maverick x bottom male! reader) wherein the reader formerly trained maverick (basically teaching him all he knows but they're the same age, reader's just a genius who ranked higher) before getting into an accident that leaves him disabled and unable to fly again?

Maverick— not allowing a person he respects (and loves) deeply to fall down a pithole of depression, he takes the reader flying before making love with him in a flower field that reader showed him a long time ago as a trainee, reminding him that not everything is over just yet.

Thank you!

— final descent

pairing: pete 'maverick' mitchell | male! reader

warnings: mdni, bottom reader, emotional sex, oral (reader receiving)

The old hangar still smelled of jet fuel and sun-scorched tarmac.

Pete stood in front of the plane, his plane, hands tucked into his jeans, trying to swallow down nerves he never used to feel. But then again, this wasn’t just another mission. This was him.

(y/n).

He looked the same. All lean muscle under a plain shirt and leather jacket that had faded over the years but never lost its authority. There were new lines at the corners of his eyes, a stiffness to the way he stood, ever since the crash. He hadn’t flown since. Not once.

But today, Pete had convinced him.

“Come on, one last ride,” he’d said earlier that morning, soft enough to give (y/n) an out, firm enough to let him know it wasn’t just about flying.

It was about them.

Now, the sun was setting as they taxied down the runway, the cockpit close and quiet. (y/n) didn’t speak much, he never did, but Pete kept stealing glances, cataloguing the way his fingers twitched at the controls, like his body still remembered.

They flew until the sun dipped low and golden, carving the sky into ribbons of orange and lavender. Pete didn’t say a word. He just let (y/n) feel it again. The speed, the freedom, the thing he’d once loved more than anything.

And when they landed, not at base, but a little private airstrip hidden near the cliffs, Pete could see the shimmer in (y/n)’s eyes. Not quite tears. Just memory.

“I can’t believe you still remembered this place,” (y/n) said quietly.

“How could I forget?” Pete replied. “You showed it to me, remember?”

They hiked down in silence, boots crunching on dry grass and pebbles, until the flower field came into view, wild, golden, endless.

(y/n) stopped just at the edge, blinking. “I thought it’d be gone by now.”

Pete stepped behind him, voice low. “It’s still here. Like you.”

(y/n) turned to look at him, and there was something raw in his expression. All those years of longing, restraint, shame from the crash and the guilt that came with it.

“I’m not who I used to be.”

Pete’s voice dropped an octave. “You’re still mine.”

(y/n) opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to speak his heart, but Pete silenced him with a kiss. Deep. Anchored. Years of tension exploding in the press of lips, the way Pete pushed him back gently into the tall grass.

Their jackets were shed quickly. Shirts tugged off. Pete hovered over (y/n), breathless.

“You remember how to take orders, Captain?” Pete murmured, grinning as he slid a hand over (y/n)’s chest.

“From you?” (y/n) rasped, voice tight with anticipation. “Always.”

Pete kissed down his stomach, slow and reverent, dragging his tongue along the soft trail of hair that led to (y/n)’s waistband. He undid his pants without ceremony, freeing (y/n)’s cock and wrapping a hand around it, just to feel the way (y/n)’s breath hitched.

“Fuck, Pete…” (y/n)’s hips arched, legs parting in offering.

Pete shushed him, sucking a bruise into his inner thigh. “You’ve been haunting me,” he said. “Every damn time I fly, I think of you. How you looked in the cockpit. How you taught me everything. How I wanted you even then.”

(y/n) moaned, fingers threading into Pete’s hair as he was taken into Pete’s mouth. Heat rolled through him, shivers climbing up his spine, every inch of him alight. Pete’s mouth was greedy, practiced, tongue swirling, jaw flexing as he took him deeper.

But Pete didn’t let him come. Not yet.

He pulled off with a slick pop, licking his lips as he fumbled for the small tube of lube he’d kept in his jacket pocket. He looked sheepish for exactly one second.

“You planned this,” (y/n) said, breathless.

“I hoped for it.”

He slicked his fingers and pressed one in slowly, watching the way (y/n)’s expression twisted into something desperate and sweet. Then another. Scissoring gently, curling until (y/n) gasped, grabbing fistfuls of grass.

“God, I missed the way you fall apart,” Pete whispered. “Let me fuck you, (y/n). Let me take care of you.”

(y/n) nodded, breath shaky. “Do it.”

Pete lined up and pressed in slowly, inch by inch, and they both groaned when he bottomed out.

The field around them swayed in the wind, petals brushing against bare skin, but all Pete could see was him. The flush on (y/n)’s cheeks, the way his eyes fluttered, his lips parted in wordless pleasure.

He moved slowly at first, rocking into him with care. Worshipful. Each thrust punctuated with breathy gasps and Pete’s low growl of “So tight…” “So good…” “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

And then faster. Rougher.

Pete gripped (y/n)’s hips, fucking him into the earth, the sound of skin against skin rising in the twilight air. He bent down to kiss him, still thrusting deep, swallowing (y/n)’s moans as his cock rubbed perfectly inside him.

(y/n) reached between them, stroking himself fast, desperate.

“Pete..-”

“Come for me, baby.”

(y/n) came with a gasp, body shuddering beneath him, and Pete followed not long after, thrusting deep and staying there, filling him to the brim.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just the sound of wind in the grass, the last light of day stretching over their spent bodies.

Pete pressed a kiss to (y/n)’s temple. “Let me take you flying again. Every damn day, if you’ll let me.”

(y/n) smiled, exhausted but full of something warm. “Only if you land me like that again.”

words: 964

published: 15.july.2025

[callsign-maverick]

Hey!! Could I request a mav fic where he and the reader are really close (maybe dating at that point or maybe not yet, whichever you feel works better) and mav crashes and gets injured, reader rushes over and stays with him until the medics arrive and then takes it upon himself to take care of him after he's released from the hospital and until he makes a full recovery? Preferably a lot of softness and cuddles involved :> The way you write mav is so yummy to me, thank you for your service my man

— stay with me

pairing: pete 'maverick' mitchell | male! reader

warnings: light angst, injuries, hurt / comfort, friends to lovers

The crash wasn’t supposed to happen.

Pete had done this a thousand times. More than a thousand, probably. He could feel the plane like an extension of his own body, had always said it knew him better than he knew himself. But today, that feeling had betrayed him. An engine failure. Sudden. Sharp. No warning. No time.

When (y/n) heard the comms cut off mid-transmission, something in his chest cracked.

He didn’t even think. Just ran, shoving past technicians, barking officers, the sound of someone yelling his name falling behind like echoes underwater. By the time he reached the smoking wreckage, medics were arriving, but not fast enough for him. Not for Pete.

“Pete!” (y/n)’s voice broke. “Pete!”

The canopy had been blown. Mav was slumped on the ground, groaning, suit torn, blood on his temple, already trying to sit up like the idiot he was. (y/n) dropped to his knees beside him, hands fluttering helplessly over him before finally settling on his shoulders.

“You idiot, you absolute idiot, what the fuck were you thinking..-”

Pete blinked slowly, bloodied but conscious, lips cracking into a faint smirk. “Hey… you should see the other guy.”

(y/n) choked on a half-sob, half-laugh. “I swear to God, if you ever do something that stupid again..-”

“I’ll try not to.” His voice was slurred. “Didn’t like the landing much myself.”

The medics pulled him away gently, and (y/n) let them, only because Pete’s eyes had fluttered shut.

But he didn’t leave the hospital for three days.

Pete was released with a concussion, three cracked ribs, a stitched-up brow, and bruises that ran like dark ink over his torso. He was quiet in the car, the way he always got when he was in pain, not whining or snappy, just… silent. He’d insisted on sitting up front, but the second (y/n) pulled into the driveway, Pete was dead asleep, head lolled against the window.

(y/n) looked at him for a long moment before reaching over, brushing a strand of graying hair from his forehead.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmured. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Pete didn’t stir.

That night, (y/n) set him up on the couch with blankets and painkillers, though Pete only muttered, “I’m not eighty, y’know,” before grimacing and laying down with a wince.

“You act like it,” (y/n) replied, fluffing the pillows beneath his head. “Stop arguing. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Pete looked up at him then, brow furrowing just a little. “I didn’t think you’d be there.”

“What?”

“At the crash. You were the first one I saw. Before everything faded.”

(y/n) swallowed. “Of course I was there. Where else would I be?”

Pete’s eyes lingered on him, like he wanted to say something else. But instead, he just nodded, eyes heavy.

(y/n) sat on the edge of the couch and gently ran his hand through Pete’s hair. “Sleep. I’ll be right here.”

The days passed slowly. Pete healed. (y/n) never left his side.

He made soup. Helped Pete into the shower. Watched old movies on low volume while Pete dozed, head resting on his lap. They didn’t talk about what they were, not even after Pete reached out one night, curling his hand into (y/n)’s hoodie and tugging him down beside him on the couch.

It was Pete who finally broke the silence.

“You know,” he murmured against (y/n)’s collarbone, “I never said thank you.”

“You don’t need to,” (y/n) replied. “I’d do it again. Every time.”

Pete was quiet for a beat. Then, in a voice so soft it barely registered: “I think I’ve been scared to want this.”

(y/n)’s breath caught. “Want what?”

“You.”

It was the rawest thing Pete had said to him in years. Maybe ever.

(y/n) turned to face him fully, taking Pete’s face gently in his hands. “You already have me. You always have.”

Pete leaned in then, not with the fire of a pilot or the cockiness of a legend, but with the slow, tentative warmth of a man who’d almost lost everything and now held it in trembling hands.

The kiss was soft. Careful. Pete’s fingers curled in the hem of (y/n)’s shirt like he didn’t want to ever let go.

“Stay,” he whispered when they broke apart.

(y/n) smiled through the ache in his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Later, they lay curled together on the too-small couch, (y/n)’s fingers tracing idle shapes across Pete’s chest, over bruises and bandages, learning the lines of a man he’d almost lost.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered.

Pete’s arm tightened around him.

“With you? Yeah. I think I will.”

words: 797

published: 13.july.2025

[callsign-maverick]

closing requests for now bc i have like 20 asks and still some unfinished wips

also i'm moving soon so i won't have much time for a little while