My name is Mason, but you can also call me M1lk (he/him). I'm not comfortable with sharing my age, but I am above 18 :3 (ps, I love emoticons ٩( ᐛ )و )
What I write: smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, most kinks, reader x character, character x reader x character, male reader, gender neutral reader, trans masc reader, trans character, etc.
What I don't write: angst, underage smut, child x reader (romantically), reader x real person, real person x real person, fem reader, cheating, etc.
Fandoms I write/will write for: The Pitt, Red Dead Redemption (just not Micah), Supernatural, Gravity Falls (mostly just the Grunkles), NCIS, Criminal Minds, Marvel, any Pedro Pascal character, CoD, House M.D., etc.
Side note: I mostly write for male characters (I love men)
thinking about trans!dennis getting off to the thought of michael and jack using a vibrator on him that they pass between each other after each orgasm.
dennis comes home from a shift knowing he’s got the next day off and decides to give himself a little self-care night, including: filling himself with good food, putting on face masks with trinity, giving his sore feet and legs a much-needed massage, and ripping three orgasms out of himself with his little vibrator after he’s sure his roommate is asleep (trinity’s a bit of a snorer).
dennis didn’t mean to touch himself for so long, it’s just… the vibrator lasts a long time (even on the highest setting!), and he has nothing to do tomorrow except laundry. of course he’s going to indulge in his months-long fantasy. he doesn’t even remember what he fantasizes about to get himself off the first time… just flashes of freckles, wrinkles, thick hands, and grey hair.
the young doctor finally settles on it by the time he elected to go for another orgasm: imagining michael and jack laying on either side of him, their eyes focused on him, and jack’s hand steady on the vibrator pushed up against the underside of dennis’ clit. “oh, what a desperate pup, look at him, robby,” jack would coo at him as robby carefully trails his hand down to move his labia aside, leaving his puffy clit fully exposed. “i don’t think i’ve seen him so needy before,” robby would reply, pupils blown out and a soft blush spreading on his face. dennis would feel jack move the vibrator down to his entrance to collect the wetness spilling out of him before slowly moving the vibrator up and down his clit, easily making him squirm and come again. dennis can’t help turning his head away because of the stimulation, and jack would caress his jaw and turn his face toward him, “nuh-uh, look at me, good boy”.
then it’d be michael’s turn. the vibrator never turns off, just one orgasm after the other. michael would prefer to keep the vibrator still and simply watch his pup’s face contort with pleasure while he brings dennis to his third orgasm, which he does successfully. michael’s eyes soak in the erotic scene he’s causing, looking between dennis’ messy cunt and face portraying pure bliss and desperation. meanwhile, jack leaves wet kisses along his chest and neck, occasionally whispering sweet nothings in his ear, “so pretty all laid out for us,” “wanna use the vibrator until it dies, hm?,” “be still, baby, let michael take care of you”. dennis, once again, feels the warm wave of pleasure come over him and looks at michael out of [a new] habit. “that’s it, keep your eyes on me… move those pretty hips for me… very good, dennis,” he’d praise. dennis comes again after accidentally crying out “ah! yes…” to his dark and empty bedroom.
he prays that it wasn’t loud enough to wake his roommate. and that the large wet spot he left on the sheet will dry overnight.
You titled the first time you fucked Jack Abbot co-mistakes between co-workers under co-drunkenness; meaning you've both committed the mistake of fucking each other (co-workers) under the influence of liquor (which you mutually decided to partake in).
The second time you fucked him was just the same, albeit teetering less on black-out, more on tipsy.
The third and final time you fucked him, you were sober. Unsurprisingly, the next morning, when you declared you wanted to end things, you were also sober.
...he started opening the curtains at dawn. Robby had mentioned offhandedly once that Jack does naked yoga at sunrise, and you never thought you'd see it.
But you're his next building neighbor, and he's opened the curtains.
Fuck, you're gonna be late.
Nothing's stopping you from stepping away, except... except him, the way he stares at you knowingly, the way his body contorts: how his dick stands proud in tree position (either morning wood, or it's because of your stare), how his ass looks in downward dog, how his tits look as big as his ass in cobra pose.
He knows you're staring. You're making eye contact, even. Him, in all his naked goodness, in his stretching muscles and indecencies; and you, in all your ready for work-ness.
When you stand up, it's self-restraint. When you close the curtains, it's refusal.
But when you pull down your pants in the comfort of darkness, it's something else.
"You're early."
"You're slacking."
Your shift is almost over. You needed fresh air... barring the cigarette between your fingers. You needed to relax, is all, why is he judging you with that face?
Oh, that's not judgement.
"Not gonna head inside?"
"You're right, I'm early. Maybe I should just keep you company instead." He stares at you intently, arms crossed in that way that show off his biceps.
Your cigarette suddenly seems unappealing right now. You stare at it, at its dying tip and the ash that forms around it, just to stare at anything that isn't Dr. Abbot.
Anything not to look at his dark eyes, because they'll bring with them the thought of his naked body, both under you and on display. The thoughts of this morning resurface in your mind with a twist in your chest that you don't want to interpret.
Your head finds itself attracted, anyway, and you can't stop it. It looks his way, and you lock eyes again.
"I get it. Everyone needs to relax every now and then." His voice is low, familiar to you only in the bedroom and its preamble. He's doing something. When finally you bring yourself to decipher that look on his face, you realize it's desire: mouth slightly open with a peak of his tongue, half-open, intent eyes; his unashamed proximity.
You huff a scoff out of your nose, "What game are you playing at, Jack?"
"No game." He promises, except his hand reaches around your face to cup the back of your neck. "Is it a crime to look at you?"
Your eyebrows furrow, conflict on your face. You haven't even begun to ponder your own decision to break things off, now Jack is making you ponder the aftermath. The twist in your chest is desire.
Your cigarette falls from your grip, because you're much more interested in getting a grip of the muscle beneath his scrubs; and your lips forget words, because they're much more interested in answering with contact.
You kiss with a fervor reciprocated, matched. It feels like nothing's changed.
His lips burn just the same, electric and good, familiar. You've only had him three times, but you know the way he kisses and the way he tastes, because it's unforgettable.
Your lips move like they want more, even between the closeness, the noses knocking against each other. Jack answers with his tongue, because he knows your body and the way it twitches under his touch, and its need.
When your tongues meet, you flinch, or maybe shiver with pleasure. He doesn't tease you about it, he just pulls you closer by the back of the neck, forcing you to kiss him harder.
It's so easy to want Jack Abbot when he kisses you like this. It's so easy to want him when the tension is thicker than the blood that rushes between your legs.
His foot drags over the pavement in a screech, putting out your cigarette butt. You hear that before you feel him pulling away, though you keep chasing after his lips with pecks until you can't.
"Your shift is over." He speaks in a careless whisper, while his calloused hand leaves your neck. "Go home. I'll clock out for you."
You bite your swollen bottom lip as you watch him turn heel and walk into the ER. What the fuck was that?
Door's open.
A single text, late into the night when Jack finally ended his shift and returned.
Door's open, he says, two simple words that imply everything: that he wants you, that you still want him too, that he's ready for you to barge in and fuck him.
No game, he'd declared before, but goddamnit, he's a liar. He's playing a game, with his open curtains and the way he kissed you.
You watched willingly, you kissed him too.
Yeah, you want him. Of course you do. You want to lick every salty inch of his body. But it's his fault that you do.
The doorman lets you in, he recognizes you. You recognize the way to his apartment. The door stares at you with its neatly printed numbers, imposing, impenetrable; until you push it open.
When you find him, he's in the bedroom, of course. Naked, also what you expected, and yet you can't control what the sight of him does to your body.
The covers are pulled aside, and yet the pose he's splayed in isn't cliché like a porno magazine, it's fucking hot. Arms behind his head, ankles crossed, every bit of him on display. Cock proud, too. No game, he said.
Your arousal concentrates in your face, with the redness of your cheeks and the way you cover your mouth and rub it raw to try to contain every possible thing you want to spew from your mouth. You want to do so many things to him, it's unbelievable.
"On all four."
Jack smirks something victorious. The smirk remains as he gets down on his hands and knees. You know it's there, even though you can't see it, because the both of you know he's completed his mission of goading you into sex; add onto that his endless, oozing confidence.
You've just thrown your shirt off your back when you climb onto his bed. When you grasp his hips, you've only unzipped your jeans enough to dig your aching cock out.
In mind games, he controls you, because he knows that you still want him, that the sight of him tempts you.
In physical games, you're gonna fuck him until he his voice goes hoarse. You press his head into the mattress with a hand on the back of it as you push into him, all the way in. You're in charge, supposedly, but he's prepared himself for you. His body is yours, but only because he has allowed it.
Do you fucking care though?
You've got everything you could've wanted right here: his hole 'round your cock, milking you dry.
"Fuck."
There's no waiting. You can't. He protests with gulped groans, you can't care for those either.
You fuck him with a fervor, with a need. His hole tempted you today, gaping as he did whatever those fucking yoga positions are called; and it keeps tempting you now. You watch your cock disappear in and out of it, and you realize, Jack wants you too.
At least, his greedy hole does, sucking you in. You don't know games, not like the ones Jack plays, but you know his body. You know that the way his hole flutters closed around your cock, how his walls tighten, means he feels fucking good.
You slide your chest over his back. You're not sweaty yet, but soon you will be, and your skin will stick together in the hot mess. Your lips find his ear, where they whisper, "You like that?"
Any other time, Jack might reply something snarky like "of course I do", but right now?
"Fuck yeah." He spits the words out, their evidence on the pillow.
You push two fingers into his mouth, not to gag him, but to claim his tongue between your fingers and make things filthy. His tongue swirls around them, tasting their salt, he takes them easily.
"Yeah you fucking do."
The mattress shakes, the bedframe whines, his spine trembles. The neighbors will complain, but the only fucks you give are Jack's.
Whatever reason you gave to stop fucking this ass and grinding against this strong back, you take it way back.
abbot is the type of freak to respond to a normal, cute, not suggestive selfie from robby or whitaker with a 10-minute long audio of him jacking off to it
Someone give me more scenarios, I’m runnin dry, (any character)….
Thinking I’ll post a real drabble after this, not just whimsy and smut
Jack unzipped the fly of his jeans, hurriedly dug himself out before he was in an embarrassing predicament with himself soaked and utterly too turned on by it. Just as his stream hit the toilet, the men’s bathroom door was swinging open and you were beside him, mirroring his actions.
In moments like this, God really tested Jack. He felt simultaneously blessed and tortured to see your taller frame at the urinal beside his, yourself look all too pleased to finally let your bladder go after holding it all shift
Jack swallowed and shifted his weight off his prosthetic—or at least that was his alibi, if you asked why his eyes kept snapping leftward, then down.
And it didn’t help that, in all of his shameful fantasizing about his close friend, you seemed to be just as keen on catching a glimpse. Jack was drained out now, standing before the urinal with nothing left but a pink in his cheeks and a swell of heat distending his abdomen. Then both pairs of eyes caught briefly on each other and everything twisted up inside Jack.
Your stream tapered off and left Jack drooling over that fat dick you tucked away like a temptation, wanting nothing more than to swallow down as much of it as he could and make you see stars. He washed his hands extra thorough after that thought and followed you out of the bathroom.
—
Jack felt fucking ruined.
he’d choked on his own fingers, making a mess of drool down his chin, while his other hand worked over his cock at a slow pace. He’d imagined you’d do that to him—snap his name or click your tongue every time he decided to get too carried away on himself. Mainly because: his lips, his hands, his flesh at that (hypothetical) moment were meant to be trained on you. While he sat back on his knee and two quarters, giving you the best eyes he could while mumbling out “Yes, doctor.. of course, sir..” until you got sick of it and told him to speak up properly. And if he got too snappy, too ambitious… you’d drag him up and flip him onto his stomach and tell him all about how filthy he was, how much he needed discipline.
If Jack’s cock wasnt slobbering all over his fist and stomach at the moment, himself in real time would’ve flipped over, arched up like a damn yoga pose and let his imagination take him over the edge. But his body spasmed up too quick for Jack and he was letting out a pathetic little noise, vision blanking for a few moments as he made himself into a sticky puddle.
jack abbot had you in a supply closet with a sealed condom in between your lips.
“bite,” he said, his voice deep with intent. “if it falls off your pretty mouth i’m leaving you like this, understood?”
you nodded. batting your lashes to gaze upon his hazel eyes.
he had your hands pinned on the wall, pants around your ankles while jack stroked your leaking cock. you could feel his own erection rubbing against your behind, he needed this too.
“flirting with me while we’re on the same shift,” he nipped your ear and kissed the skin behind it. “i should drain you here before i fuck you at home.”
his calloused hands felt so good on your wet sex, stroking on the sensitive head with lazy flicks of his wrists. his other hand explored your hard nipples, pinching and twisting.
“or should i put that remote controlled vibrator to good use, hon?” you shook your head, overwhelmed with all the stimulation.
you pressed your sweaty forehead on the wall the air tasted clean and heavy. you felt the condom slip from your mouth.
“so you want everyone to see you like this? leaking precome all over my hand and rubbing your ass on my cock?”
jack noticed your breath go quick and your body tremble. he stroked your cock faster and harder, the wetness leaking to the floor.
“you wanna come for me?” you nodded, hair wet and cheeks burning. “attaboy, come for me.”
he ordered you to clean up your mess and meet him in his apartment. dr. robby wondered why you were late the next day walking around with a limp.
When Abbot first meets Dennis, it’s only from afar. The younger man just gives him pretty little smiles and shyly walks away whenever he gets close.
Not his usual type, he likes them with a little more fight and bite to 'em, but he is cute. Really cute.
And he’s smart, emphatic, and selfless to a fault. Jack can’t help it if he feels some sort of infatuation for this man. It'd be a wonder if anything ever came out of it
And one night, instead of hanging out in the park, they decide to go to a nearby bar because there are discounts and everyone loves discounted alcohol.
When Jack is nursing a beer, Whitaker walks over with a small smile and sits right beside him, thigh brushing against Abbot's.
“You’re over here all by yourself, lonesome.” He notes, tilting his head curiously. "Not having fun?"
Jack shrugs, taking a swig from his bottle. “Eh, nothing too interesting going on.”
Dennis hums but doesn’t leave like Jack thought he would from the short reply. “There’s pool. We could play a game, just you and me. If I win, you have to try one of their crazy cocktails instead of another boring beer.”
Jack raises an eyebrow, a grin unwillingly stretching across his face. “You sure you want that? I’m a pool master. If I win, I won’t be nice just cause you're cute.” He warns, waiting to see if that scares Whitaker away, but he just sees a sparkle in the other man's eyes.
“If you’re sure you can keep up, old man.” Dennis teased, placing a hand on Jack’s upper thigh as he stood up from his seat and sashayed over to the pool tables, throwing a little smirk over his shoulder.
Oh.
Jack feels his fucking scalp tingle. Dennis was exactly his type, but hid it so easily. A secret brat that was running wild? Yeah, Jack would love the challenge of taming him.
Jack hops from his seat and follows Dennis eagerly.
when robby showing dennis the house he thinks "ah fuck it I'm killing myself after anyway might as well do this one crazy thing" and kisses dennis
and dennis kisses him back so eagerly and whispers "finally" into his lips and presses his whole body to robby's , all warm and soft, and robby suddenly feels like maybe it's worth living a little more
and then he keeps postponing leaving on his "trip" until he just decides to stay and spend his sabbatical with dennis
when he comes back to work and people keep asking him about his trip he just awkwardly scratches the neck because instead of riding through the states on his bike he spent three months tangled up with dennis every evening
dennis says random thoughts at the most inconvenient times
he and robby be laying in bed after sex and dennis goes "you been fucking longer than I've been alive, that's crazy"
and just like that he's asleep and robby is staring into the void and having an existential crisis. just laying there thinking "oh my god I am some old perv" because he finds the idea hot
Robby breaking and screaming at Dennis in front of everyone, saying the most vicious shit he can think of, just like with Mohan
Dennis listens silently, head cocked to the side as he takes it all in
When Robby is finally done, panting from all the yelling, Dennis finally speaks
“Okay. Wanna try that again?” His voice is calm and unfazed; he’s seen Robby at his worst on his first fucking day to the ER, he can handle this
He’s yet to cry in this hellhole; a little yelling from his boss isn’t gonna do him in
I dunno, maybe Robby breaks down again, but in tears as he realizes that he can’t get rid of Dennis for some reason
He’s been doing his best to burn every bridge so he feels no guilt when he leaves, and no one will feel sad for him when he dies, but Dennis just won’t allow it
dennis has always had a sensitive neck. it’s just something about his body. maybe he had more nerve endings there than average, maybe it was the mental aspect of it being really vulnerable, maybe it was something else entirely.
he’d realized this in college when a light kiss to his throat made him come in his pants. humiliating, hot, also completely ever present in the rest of his sexual encounters.
his first hickey felt life affirming.
and here robby was, touching his upper arms, his shoulders, and more recently, primarily his neck.
the older man couldn’t have known it was the same as feeling him up. robby couldn’t have predicted the way it would make him shiver, how when he would squeeze his palm over the place where dennis’s hair was just growing out, dennis would have to force himself to focus on whatever the current objective was.
sometimes, robby would grab onto the junction in between dennis’s shoulder and neck, fingers sort of trailing upwards lightly, skimming the sensitive skin. he made a noise that should’ve surely gotten him sent straight to HR.
only robby did it again the next hour. and the day after that. he wanted to hear that strangled gasp-moan-yelp again. over empathetic, ever giving, sensitive dennis. that boy was made for him in a lab or something.
He doesn’t talk about his personal life a ton at work, especially not with his boss, but Trinity does. She casually mentions it to Robby and says that he’s “so old” because it’s not like it’s a secret Dennis has a middle aged boyfriend. Dennis just doesn’t think to share that sort of thing when he’s in Doctor mode.
Robby hates this imaginary guy. He complains to Jack that Dennis might be getting taken advantage of and someone needs to put a stop to whatever’s happening.
“You never know,” Jack tells him. “This guy could be really smart, and nice, and funny. He probably makes good money and is really hot.”
Robby’s just like why the fuck would you say that. No this old bag of bones is using Dennis.
A few weeks later and Robby still can’t get any real information on this guy. All he knows is Dennis is showing up to work tired and covered in bruises.
Robby makes a surprise visit to Jack’s place after work one day because he needs to vent about it again. But surprise, surprise: Jack doesn’t open the door.
Instead, Dr. Whitaker is standing there in one of Jack’s old college shirts and the tiniest briefs known to man.
