M3³SHA

20 ── .✦

[mishmasho]

“I have looked all over the place, but you have got my favorite face,” — Liz Phair

WEL COME USER! haha get what i did with the space..ifykyk

🫐 MASTERLIST

🫐 RULES

🫐 meesha (she/her) — 20 <3

KEY:

meesha recs <3 = reccomendations

meeshamumbles = anything n everything/yapping

mishmasho = all writing

MDNI please and thank you !

most of my writing is reposted on ao3 under @mishmasho

[mishmasho]

i miss valko

[mishmasho]

oh infold……

they did us dirty cancelling that beautiful man’s release. okay I mean i sort of get where they’re coming from because like people hated on him SO much like oh my god people really have no chill, but like c’mon at the same time so many people (such as myself) were so excited for Valko.

And imagine how much work people put into the creation of Valko, all the hours spent, just to never release him? The people at Infold must be angry too. Im frustrated both at the hateful lads players as well as infold.

[mishmasho]

mind you i JUST re downloaded lads yesterday to prep for valko…

[mishmasho]

oh infold……

they did us dirty cancelling that beautiful man’s release. okay I mean i sort of get where they’re coming from because like people hated on him SO much like oh my god people really have no chill, but like c’mon at the same time so many people (such as myself) were so excited for Valko.

And imagine how much work people put into the creation of Valko, all the hours spent, just to never release him? The people at Infold must be angry too. Im frustrated both at the hateful lads players as well as infold.

[mishmasho]

i js know some of these people r boutta switch up on valko after the new trailer LOL

[mishmasho]

i had to get back on tumblr to talk about Valko bc omg i have soooo many mixed feelings.. im super open to the idea of him tho! Hmm… any thoughts?

[mishmasho]

guys….i lost motivation to write…someone help a girl out

[mishmasho]

the concept of me pre-ordering re9 and finishing it AND getting a boyfriend, all before my next post.. mb for the hiatus!! i’ll be back soon😭😭

[thewrldx]

diagnose me, doctor!

✮⋆˙starring!: doctor zayne li x reader

✮⋆˙cw!: established relationship, doctor/patient roleplay, doctor zayne serenading you w/ medical talk >.<, teasing, fingering w/ gloves, sex on an exam table meow

✮⋆˙wc!: 2.7k

tags: @medicli @ellie-cake @amazonabxtch @cybillwar (should i make a tag list :O)

Zayne’s private examination office is always a few degrees too cool, the air crisp against your bare skin where the paper lining on the table rustles beneath you. He insists on overseeing every detail of your cardiac care himself. It’s practical, he is Linkon’s most sought-after cardiac surgeon. 

And you are his wife.

The routine begins like any other. There’s not much for you to do or think about during these appointments. 

Until there is. 

Your breath falters the moment he steps closer. His fingers catch the collar of your shirt, drawing it down just enough. It's slow, almost absentminded in a way that makes it impossible to tell whether the intimacy is intentional or simply part of the routine. The stethoscope meets your chest, a shock of cold metal that steals a quiet inhale from your lungs. Though his touch is clinical, your body doesn’t receive it that way. It never does. 

He looks unfairly composed in his work attire. Those wire-rimmed glasses catching the soft overhead light, his name stitched in neat embroidery over the white of his coat. Zayne at work is all restraint and precision, and somehow that control is what undoes you the most. 

Your thoughts drift where they shouldn’t. To the steadiness of those same heads when they are not as gentle. To the memory of being his patient, and only his patient once, fighting the same treacherous warmth curling low in your stomach whenever he leaned too close. Wondering, back then, if he ever felt it too.  

You barely register the examination itself. You inhale when he tells you to, the breath leaving you in a controlled stream at the quiet hum of his approval. Only once does his eyes lift to yours over the rim of his glasses, giving a brief gaze which is somehow impossible to hold. Then the stethoscope lifts from your skin, and the air rushes back in its place. 

“Everything sounds normal,” he says, voice even as his stylus glides across the tablet he’d fetched. “Aether Core energy levels are stable.” 

Relief loosens your shoulder. The paper crinkles as you shift to slide off the table. 

“But.” 

You pause. The single word, delivered so calmly, sends your pulse leaping once more. Had you been too lost in your daydreams that something was really wrong? 

“Your heart rate is elevated,” Zayne’s gaze flicks up, observant. “One twenty… and climbing.”

Heat blooms beneath your skin. Before you can gather an excuse, he continues, tone still professional. 

“Flushed complexion. Dilated pupils. These indicators were not present at the beginning of the examination. They appeared only after sustained proximity to a stimulus.”

“Zayne,” you murmur, unable to hold his eyes as you remind. “You’re at work.” 

The faintest curve ghosts his mouth—not quite a smile, but the promise of one. You both know how flimsy that boundary is, given it has never once stopped you before. 

“Precisely,” he replies. “Which means it is my responsibility to address any irregularities my patient is experiencing.”

Something warm unfurls low in your abdomen at the deliberate wording. Your eyes dart to the locked door, then to the drawn blinds, the muted city light bleeding through their edges. When you finally look back at him, his expression remains composed, but his eyes have darkened, focus sharpening into something far more intimate than medical concern. 

The room suddenly feels much smaller.

And you suddenly fill the role of the patient who is in desperate need of a solution that requires very close attention. 

“I guess there is something that has been bothering me…” 

Triumph flashes across Zayne’s face, so fast you aren’t sure if it was ever really there. “Can you describe the symptoms? Be specific.” 

He adjust the hold on his tablet, the stylus poised as if to take notes. The contrast between the clinical gesture and the charged air in the room is dizzying. 

“I–” you stutter, hesitating. For some reason, you feel shy—embarrassed, almost, for the words you are about to confess. “I don't know… it’s like this weird… sensation. A lot of pressure.”

“Location?” Zayne’s voice is flat, purely diagnostic. “Where do you feel this… pressure?”

The heat on your cheeks feels like a beacon. Your thighs press together gently as you shift on the table. “Down… there.” 

Zayne makes a soft, thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. His eyes return to your face, then drop, tracing a slow path down your body before they settle low. He taps his tablet once. 

“On your thighs?” 

You scoff, crossing your arms. “No. You know where I’m talking about.”

“I do not,” he blinks, feigning innocence. “I believe I would have recalled learning about the body part, ‘down there,’”

Smartass. 

You roll your eyes, leveling him with a deadpan stare. Your voice is an annoyed, sing-song tease. “Try in between my thighs, Doctor Zayne.” 

Zayne isn’t bothered in the slightest, if anything he looks entertained, especially when he gives no reaction to your area of concern. “Hm. Is there any swelling? Any associated wetness?”

Your eyes widen at the bluntness, more so at calm, clinical composure with which they are delivered. “Umm… yes.”

He makes a note, the motion brisk and efficient. The soft tapping is unnaturally loud in the hushed room.

“Vaginal lubrication, possible enlargement of the surrounding tissue.” When he looks up from the screen, his hazel-green eyes are piercing with something that is decidedly not medical. “Any other sensations? Throbbing? Aching? A feeling of… emptiness?”

He sets the tablet aside, his movements unhurried as he direct his attention and leans closer, waiting. 

Your breath hitches. When you answer, your voice is so quiet it barely exists. “Yes. You describe it perfectly, doctor… I… I’ve never found someone who understood.”

Zayne’s expression doesn’t change, but something hot and possessive ignites deep within him, stirring his cock awake beneath his work slacks. The professional mask stays firmly in place, but it’s stretched thin over a raw, undeniable hunger. 

He stands and moves to the adjacent counter. A fresh box of gloves is opened, a pair tugged free. The snap of latex is startlingly loud as he pulls them on with practiced, efficient movements. 

“I believe I have a diagnosis,” he murmurs. “However, a proper examination is required before I can administer any treatment.”

Zayne rolls his stool back towards you, wheels whispering across the floor. He stops directly in front of you, gloved hands cool as they settle on your knees. The firm pressure sends a small shiver up your spine. With gentle insistence, he parts your legs, creating enough space to position himself between them.

“You’ll need to remove your skirt.”

You swallow, but oblige, fingers moving to the waistband.

“Bunch it up,” the command comes, halting your movements. 

“W-What?”

“There’s no need to fully remove it. Just gather the material up over your waist to expose the affected area.”

A fresh gush blooms on your panties as you obey, gathering the material until it bundles up. The white paper crinkles loudly under your shifting weight, and cool air brushes the exposed wetness, raising goosebumps along your thighs.

Zayne’s eyes do not once leave the motion of you completing the task he’d given. They assess the lines of your inner this before settling at the center of your complaint. 

He doesn’t move his hands from your knees. He simply observes, breathing even. “Visible wetness.” His latex-covered thumb brushes a slow circle against your skin before sliding higher. “The patient also appears to be hypersensitive to light pressure.”

You squirm as his hands glide up your thighs, the throbbing sensation he mentioned earlier intensifying. A low, approving hum vibrates in his chest when he reaches the edge of your underwear. 

His thumb presses flat right over the concealing fabric, applying firm pressure to your clit before moving in a circular motion through the damp material. A gentle moan coaxes from your lips, one that you clamp down instantly. 

“Involuntary vocalization upon contact,” he notes, glancing up. “It appears the patient is experiencing a heightened arousal to teasing stimulation. Is that correct?”

“Shit…” you whimper, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. “Y-Yes. Yes, doctor.”

“It’s important you don’t suppress these sounds. In order to provide the most effective care, vocal feedback is encouraged throughout the examination.” His thumb rubs slowly along the soaked folds of your panties. “Understood?”

“Mmmhmm…” your thighs twitch. “Yes. I-I understand.”

With a measured pull, he slides your panties aside. The air feels even cooler against the slick heat coating your pussy. Zayne is motionless as his dark eyes intentionally drink in the sheen of juices glistening around your tight hole. 

Two gloved fingers make contact, his thumb and forefinger gently spreading your folds, exposing you completely to his scrutinizing gaze. He suppresses a groan as your hips jerk involuntarily, a sharp, reflexive arch into his hand. He doesn’t chastise the movement, but the hand on your thigh tightens slightly, a silent command to stay still. 

For the first time, his words come not from a doctor, but from your Zayne. 

“You’re soaked. Practically begging for me to touch you,” the first unprofessional words are filthy. “Is that what you want? For me to touch you? Is that why your pussy is flushed so red?”

You nod, whining as he makes no contact. “It is. M’sorry, Zaynie… I can’t help it when I’m around you.” 

The answer is more than satisfactory—enough for him to finally touch where you're aching. His finger drags through the sticky mess you’ve made, slicking the latex before the tip of his gloved finger presses against your entrance, a firm enough to make you gasp. He only teases for a second longer before applying a steady pressure, sliding into you with a wet, soft sound. His eyes flick over your face as he watches your mouth fall open in a helpless moan. 

“You’re so tight,” he mumbles, then slips back to his medical tone. “Incredibly receptive to vaginal stimulation. I wonder…”

His sentences trails off as his thumb finds your puffy clit, flicking gently. Your pussy squeezes around his single finger in response. He doesn’t comment, but the corner of his mouth lifts in quiet satisfaction as he begins shallow thrusts. His motions are that of a surgeon exploring a delicate structure, the latex smooth and almost frictionless against your hypersensitive inner walls. It's barely enough, but everything you’ll take if it's what he’s willing to give. 

His finger crooks upward once, brushing that spongy spot inside of you. “I have a diagnosis,” he leans forward, breath warm against your ear. “The patient is experiencing acute arousal caused by prolonged restraint and a severe lack of self-control in the presence of her physician.” 

Your head tips back, the soft mewls he requested spilling free. “D-Doctor—! Is there—hmmph—a cure?”

His finger stills, savoring the pleading whimper you release. He catalogues every twitch, every gasp, every clench of your pussy trying to draw him back inside.  

“I’m afraid there’s no cure,” he says calmly as he withdraws, the latex slick and shining under the lights. He rises immediately, reaching for the clasp of his pants with his clean hand. “However, there is a treatment to relieve symptoms as they flare. It is… invasive. The objective is to fill the emptiness and apply rhythmic pressure until the symptoms cease.” 

His zipper sounds loud as he lowers his pants and boxers just enough to free himself. His cock springs out, firm and twitching with need—a blatant sign that whatever this “condition” is, it’s clearly contagious. A pearl of precome has welled at the tip, flushed a deep red against the stark white on his coat. 

“In other words, the patient requires an orgasm,” he states, simultaneously coating himself with the slickness from his glove. He clenches his jaw while stroking from the base to tip before removing the gloves entirely. Then he leans in, caging you with his arms. “Does the patient wish to have the treatment?”

Your eyes widen as he positions his bare cock at your entrance, the feeling a stark contrast from the latex touch moments before. 

“W-Will it hurt?” you ask. 

A low, husky breath escapes him—almost a chuckle—as the head of his cock presses more firmly against you without entering. “The initial penetration may cause a brief, sharp sensation of stretching,” his voice is thick, strained at the edges as he fights to maintain his composure. “But it will subside. My patient is very good at taking things her doctor prescribes, isn’t she?” 

“She is…” you mumble as you shift down, plunging just the tip inside your gummy walls.

He inhales sharply, hands flying to your hips to pause your motions. 

“Zaynie…” you cry. “Please. Yes—I want the treatment.”

The second consent leaves your lips, his composure fractures. The clinical detachment evaporates as his voice drops to a gravelly whisper, kissing your earlobe as he speaks. “Good girl.”

With a single thrust, he pushes fully inside you. The stretch is an immediate, burning fullness that steals your breath and fills the ache. A choked gasp escapes as your hands scramble to clutch at his coat. 

He withdrawals his cock completely before slamming back in, groaning as your pussy chokes and swallows his length whole. His rhythm turns punishingly slow, ensuring each thrust strikes that sweet spot inside you. The examination creaks under the force, your toes curling. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praises, punctuating his words by slamming deep inside you once more. “So beautiful—especially when you’re begging for my cock while I work.”

A moan is all you can manage, fueling Zayne’s loss of control. 

“Tell me,” he pants, fogging the glasses he thankfully did not remove. “Are you always this naughty? It seems—hhngh—you can never wait until we get home for me to take care of you properly.”

“Y-Ye—oh—nnngh—!” The words fall apart on your tongue, scattered by the relentless rhythm of his hips never once slowing their deep pistoning, jarring you against the crinkling paper.

As speech becomes impossible, your hands frame his face instead, pulling his mouth in a messy kiss he meets with equal fever. 

His breathing turns ragged against your mouth, a strained curse slipping out between kisses. He nips at your lower lip before pulling back, hands sliding from your hips to your ass, lifting and angling you up to meet his thrusts. It's brutal and exquisite all at once, each drive of his hip pressing his swollen tip directly against your sweet spot, sending electric jolts of pleasure through your core. The shlick, shlick, shlick of his fucking fill the room, your need soaking into his pants and covering your thighs. 

“Z-Zayne—! Oh my… fuck—!” Your internal muscles clamp around him in violent spasm.

For a fraction of a second, his rhythm stutters, eyes squeezing shut as another sharp groan rips from his throat, the grip on your ass tightening almost painfully.

You press your forehead against his shoulder, shaking with the feeling already coiling in your tummy. “M’gonna… oh… m’ gonna come for you—!”

Zayne’s voice is a raw, broken thing against your neck. “That’s it… give it to me.”

Your hips arch off the table, meeting his thrusts with a desperation so palpable it steals every other sensation. The crinkling paper beneath you becomes a frantic percussion, nearly swallowed by the slap of skin and the broken harmony of your shared moans. The orgasm crashes over you in a seismic wave, bowing your body taunt against the examination table, sending your pussy fluttering around his cock in hopes to milk it dry. 

“There it is… so good for me, angel,” his breath puffs against your skin before kissing your neck. “You’re going to take the full dose. You’re going to let me fill you full of it.” 

Lost in a haze of pleasure, all you can manage is a trembling whimper and a nod. His cock swells, pumping once, twice, before it’s twitching and spilling hot inside you, leaving you floating with the intensity.

His body engulfs you then, large arms wrapping around and bundling you tight against his chest. You both tremble in the afterglow, letting reality seep back in around you. 

When he finally pulls away, your composed Doctor Zayne is gone, replaced by something softer and sheepish. The tips of his ears are burning a bright pink. 

Still joined, he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. As he opens his mouth to speak, a soft rasp against his office door cuts him off. 

“Doctor Li?”

2026 © thewrldx

[mishmasho]

who else saw the valentines banner

🥹 i HIGHKEY want rafayel’s card even tho hes not my main like omg hes so beautiful

[slapmeshigaraki]

♡ caleb fucks insecure reader and makes them watch in the mirror

“Hey, did you need me to iron something for you? I was gonna’ do my shirt, so—” You listened, turning towards the bathroom door as the honeyed voice came to a halt. There he was, leaning against the wooden door frame, his muscled torso on full display, a white-collared dress shirt draped over his shoulder. His pants were held up by a fine leather belt that hung loosely around his hips, the buckle undone. The scent of his cologne enveloped you, its notes of cedarwood and lavender softly calming your hectic spirit.

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” His brow furrowed at the abnormally dry response, his violet eyes studying you as you frantically hurried around the small space, makeup and hair both half done. The dress that he’d seen in only five minutes earlier was balled up in a corner on the tiled floor now, your skin only covered by a matching black lace set. He was almost drooling at the sight, opting to bite his full bottom lip to keep himself from doing so.

“Everything okay, baby?” His tone was cautious, testing the temperature of the room. You didn’t bother to meet his gaze, too busy wracking your brain to put together a different outfit—or maybe you needed to change your hair? Should you even bother going at all? Maybe you should suddenly pretend to have a stomachache.

“I’m fine, just rushed.” Another short answer.

“There’s no rush, sugar. They can’t start without us after all.” You gave him a soft laugh, brushing off the comment, but he was right. This night was about him after all—a ceremony awarding him for his accomplishments with the fleet this past year. He’d been going over his speech with you tirelessly every day for the last week, picking apart every line one by one until it was perfect. This was Caleb’s night, so why were you the one feeling so much pressure?

“Hey, look at me for a second.” You did, eyes meeting his in the mirror as you ran another coat of lipstick over your bottom lip, suddenly questioning the color.

“You can tell me what’s wrong, ya’ know. We don’t have to go.” You shook your head in dismissal, breaking the eye contact that was quickly making something well up in your chest, tears stinging in the corner of your eyes against your will.

“Of course, we have to go, Caleb. I’m going—I want to go, I’m just trying to hurry up.”

“What was wrong with the last dress? Or the four before that?” He wasn’t teasing you but genuinely asking as he searched for your attention in the mirror again, to no avail. A single tear fell from your eye, effortlessly ruining your makeup, a line of foundation erased as you tried not to let any more escape.

“They just weren’t right. Nothing is fitting right for some reason.” He wasted no time moving over to you, shirt falling to the floor in the process, but he didn’t care. His eyes were locked on you, noticing the way your face slowly crumpled, head hanging as if there was a thousand-pound weight holding you down.

“Don’t cry, baby. Hey, hey, shh…” His arms wrapped around you, his toned chest pressed into your back, the warmth of his skin inescapable as he held you as tight as he could. Your body gently shook against him as you let the tears fall freely now, the thought of ruining Caleb’s night making your heart even heavier.

“You could wear a burlap sack and you’d still be the most beautiful thing in any room, you know that, right? Why are you being so mean to my pretty girl, hm?” His soft palm snaked its way across your chest and neck, cupping your wet cheek, sticking your skin to his. He gently lifted your chin, your reflection staring back at his now.

“Tell me what you didn’t like about the red dress.” You subconsciously shrank against him at the question, the visual of your bare skin against him, only covered by the thin pieces of fabric, sending shivers down your spine. The little hairs on the back of your neck stood up, ears growing hot—you were so vulnerable like this.

“Be honest with me this time. Please,” he said, voice honeyed, almost begging as he craned his head down, resting his chin in the crook of your neck and pressing a feather-light kiss to your face.

“My- my shoulders…they looked too wide in it.” His eyes grew wide at the confession before they shifted down in the mirror, locking onto your shoulders. He left another kiss on your cheek, then your jaw, your neck, trailing them across your collarbone before his full lips finally lingered against the back of your shoulder. Your head slowly fell again, before you heard his voice,

“Don’t look away, sugar.”  You watched his slender fingers graze across your skin, faintly dancing over your shoulders along with his lips, which were still peppering kisses over your frame. Your breath hitched at the sight of his body against yours, a tall and muscular physique towering over you, making you look so fragile in his grasp.

“What was wrong with the pink outfit, hm? I think I liked that one the best.” Your eyes rolled at the question, which Caleb caught in the mirror. You hated the way you looked in the pink dress. The outfit was accentuating every curve, the short length hugging your thighs just a little too tightly. You felt so… naked in that dress—every flaw you’d seen in the mirror on full display in that gown.

“My body just doesn’t look good in it.”

“Your body looks amazing in anything. If I didn’t think I’d want to break the bones of any man that looked, I’d suggest you go just like this.” His eyes were not the same when they met this time. They were dark, pupils enlarged, darkening his irises. He looked hungry at the sight of you, like a vampire that hadn’t fed in weeks. His lips watered at the thought of devouring you, getting to see sweat glistening on your bare chest, nipples hardened under his rough fingertips, back arched as he pressed himself into you. The thing he loved the most though was your faces, the way your mouth hung open, bottom lip almost bleeding from how hard your teeth grinded against it as you tried to silence your moans, tears welling up at the corners of your eyes that were desperate to escape once he hit just the right spot inside of your soft walls. Your face and body were the things he dreamed about in his sleep, but they were also what would keep him up at night while you were away. They were the things that made him fist his cock, eyes shut tight as he pictured the artwork known as his girl. He was ravenous for you—always, so why couldn’t you see what he did? Why didn’t the lamb understand what made the lion so hungry for it, what made him hunt day and night just for a taste?

You couldn’t help but notice the way his clothed cock hardened against you. He didn’t grind against you like you wanted; his focus was instead on getting his fingers on every inch of you. Your gaze fell again, embarrassment heating your cheeks at the sight of his digits languidly sliding underneath the cups of your bra.

“I won’t tell you again. Look up.” You did. Your core grew wetter, dampening the fabric of your panties at the contact.

“You know…” His free hand ghosted over your spine, causing you to shiver at his touch as he unclasped your bra, freeing your flesh. A small moan escaped his lips at the reveal. His fingers quickly found your breasts, large hands cupping them, much to his enjoyment.

“I’d kill anyone who talked badly about you. I would never let anyone speak about my girl the way that you do.” A harsh pinch to your nipple, forcing your chest to push out towards the mirror, your perfect French manicure gripping the edge of the marble countertop. The sight was absolutely sinful.

“So why do you think that you should be the exception, huh? Do you think you’re above the rules?” Caleb rolled your sensitive nipples between his fingers, reveling in the way you writhed beneath his touch.

“No…” You whined, head slowly falling forward at the sensation, your body going limp against his.

“No? Apologize then.” His voice was harsh, suddenly, as you felt your muscles give way, gaze being forced back to the mirror against your will as he used his evol against you. He did say he wouldn’t ask again; instead, he would make you look.

“I-I’m sorry,” It was barely audible, strained out between your soft moans as you pushed your ass against the man behind you, unabashedly wanting to feel some sort of friction between your thighs.

“No no no, not to me. Apologize to my baby, hm?  Look at her and say you’re sorry for being mean.” You tried to turn your head away at the humiliating request, but it was no use; you were practically immobilized between his arms. You looked at yourself in the mirror, body essentially laid bare, chest heaving, ass grinding against Caleb like a bitch in heat.

“I’m sorry for being mean.”

“Aww how nice. See, I knew you could be sweet for daddy. You always listen so well, my obedient, pretty girl.” His right hand left your chest feeling cold as middle and index  fingers found themselves pressed against your lips.

“Get 'em wet for me, baby. Go ahead, it’s okay.” So you listen—you let your lips part, sucking his fingers between them, running your tongue in circles around his knuckles as he slides them in and out of your mouth. “Fuck… you look so good.”

“You want my fingers somewhere else? Been grinding this pussy against me like you need something. Do you want me to make you feel good, hm? Will that make my pretty girl stop crying?” He was mocking you, reveling in the way you squirmed against him as he pressed your hips into the counter.

“Caleb… please,” You said, words muffled by his thick fingers pushing down against your tongue, your saliva dripping halfway down his arm at this point.

“But you’re so mean, baby. Only nice girls get treats. Are you gonna be nice from now on? Gonna treat my pretty girl better?” He watched as your reflection nodded up and down, pretty little eyes closed tightly, nose scrunched up like a bunny. He was in awe at this sight—he almost wanted to give you your reward without making you work for it...almost.

“Answer me, baby. C’mon, be good for me… please,” His words were strained, like he was getting off just as much as you were without even being touched. It made your knees buckle a little beneath you, forcing your limp fingers to grip around his forearm, desperately searching for some stability.

“Yes yes  I’ll be nice. I promise. Just touch me, please.” With that, he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, your spit glistened around his digits as they traveled slowly down your body, leaving you painted in your own wetness.

“You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen, you know that?” He pressed a soft kiss to your neck as his wet fingers slid beneath the edge of your panties.

“Fuck this pussy’s so wet already. I can feel this little clit’s already excited; she’s so swollen. Aw, does it hurt, baby?” His muscled thigh forced its way between your legs, spreading them wider as his fingers lightly toyed with your most sensitive spot, soaked fingers rubbing on each side of your clit. Your hole clenched around nothing, juices spilling out against the fabric, desperately wanting to be filled, hungry.

“Look so pretty when you don’t get what you want though. Maybe this is all you should get, huh? After all, mean girls shouldn’t be rewarded, should they?” You squirmed even more at his words, trying to force his fingers to move faster or press against you harder—something. Caleb was having none of it though, his big hand gripping your waist, pinning you still. Whines fell from between your lips at the denial.

“Didn’t you just say you would be good? Were you lying to me again or does this messy hole between your legs make it so you can’t think straight? Don’t tell me my fingers barely touching you makes you this dumb, darling. That’s cute… but a little pathetic, don’t you think?” He sloppily kissed your skin between words, teeth nipping against the flesh, tongue lapping at your wounds, only to bite into you again.

“I guess you can’t think. Is that it? You need me to tell you what to do, hm?” You nodded uncontrollably, that heavy weight moving your muscles against your control once again.

“Aw, aren't you my pretty girl with the sloppy cunt? Say it.” His thumb found your clit now, hovering over it, just barely touching the aching button… but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until you did what he told you to.

“Caleb, please…”

“No more whining. If you’re not saying what I told you to, then you shouldn’t be speaking at all. Say you’re my pretty girl.” He freed your waist, certain that you wouldn’t disobey when he had you like this. His hand made its way to your half-styled hair now, gripping it, as he pushed your face closer to the mirror, your body bent over the sink, reflection painfully close.

You said it… but not the way he wanted you to. Your eyes were on him, words barely audible, attitude palpable through the statement. Without warning the warmth of his fingers on your cunt was quickly gone as he slipped his fingers out of your panties to deliver a swift slap to your clit over the fabric. You screamed out at the painful sensation, which only resulted in another smack against your cunt.

“Do it the right way. Look at my girl while you tell her she’s pretty and mean it.”  You looked at your reflection, chest bare, sweat staining your skin, hair messy from the way Caleb’s fingers gripped it forcing you not to look away. Your eyes were glazed over, lipstick smudged onto your chin—you were a mess, but you said it.

“I- I’m your pretty girl.” Not even a second passed after the words left your lips before Caleb slid the crotch of your panties to the slide, fingers pressing all the way against you now. His middle finger, still wet from the impromptu blowjob you’d given it, made its way into your tight hole inch by inch.

“See what happens when you’re not a fucking brat? Don’t you know that only good girls get what they want?” You nodded, your head feeling fuzzy as his thick finger forced itself between your walls, their length allowing his to brush against your g-spot with hardly any effort.

“Say it again.” You did, looking yourself in the eyes once again.

“That’s right. You’re my pretty girl who listens so well. My god, you are fucking perfect.” You were rewarded with another finger amongst the praise, but he hadn’t touched your clit again. He knew that the second he did, you would fall apart in his arms. He just wasn’t quite done playing with you yet.

“Aw, my baby gets so fucking dumb when her holes get filled. How cute… you having trouble with your words again? What is it, sugar? Come on, tell me, you can do it.” His lips were so close to your ear as he spoke, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His tone was sweet, slightly higher in pitch, as if he were calling out for a stray dog to come eat a treat out of his palm. The condescending sound made you whine out once again, just like a puppy would.

“Poor baby, am I not giving you what you want? Am I being mean to you?” His fingers quickened as he watched you pant, your palms flattened out against the mirror as he rocked you back and forth against his hand.

“Caleb, please touch me.”

“I’m already touching you silly girl? What is it, did you want a kiss?” The thought of getting to feel his lips on yours as his fingers fucked harder into you, his tongue lapping at yours, brought more tears to your eyes.

“Yes. Please, wanna kiss so bad.” He pushed your head closer to your reflection until your lips were only a millimeter from the mirror.

“Go on then. Give her a kiss—such a pretty girl deserves a kiss.” His cock ached in his pants against you as he watched it—the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen so desperate for his fingers that she was kissing herself in the mirror just because he’d said so.

“Goood girl. Good job being so sweet. Tell her you’re sorry again for hurting her feelings.” His thumb finally nudged against your clit again, slowly rubbing rhythmic little circles around it. The stimulation made you cry once more as he found just the right rhythm to keep you on the edge as apologies flowed from your lips.

“You must be getting close, beautiful. This little pussy is grippin’ on my fingers so tight. She doesn’t wanna let me go. Do you need to cum, baby?”

“Yes yes wanna cum so bad for you.”

“Aw I know, I know. It’s okay. I’ll stop being mean to you since you’ve been so sweet. Tell me where you wanna cum, sugar.” The question only made you squeeze him tighter, your sloppy hole clenching and spasming around his fingers, and you pressed your lips to the mirror once more, leaving little red kiss marks all over the reflection of your face. Your hips free now, you pushed into his cock again, grinding against the fabric of his pants, making an even bigger wet spot than before.

“No no no, you can’t have my cock. This is about you, just wanna make you feel good, yeah?” You whined louder at the denial, your voice trembling as you shook from your sobs.

“Don’t cry anymore, baby. I’ll do you one better, yeah?” He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, despite the fight your hole tried to put up in keeping him inside.  His hand’s grip on your hair was gone, but not before he used to force you to turn towards him for the first time. He lowered himself to his knees, rough hands gently grabbing your thigh as he placed it over his shoulder.

“You are a fucking goddess,” he whispered as he brought his mouth between your legs, placing tiny kisses on the inside of your thighs. “Shouldn’t I pay my respects?” He wasted no more time getting his tongue on your cunt, pushing your lips apart as he savored your juices in his mouth. Your fingers tangled into his hair now, pushing your hips into his face as he gripped your thigh even tighter, making you moan out at the mix of pain and pleasure. You were already so close, the feeling of Caleb suckling on your puffy clit, the rhythm just how he knew you liked it, made you beg to cum once more in no time.

“So fucking gorgeous, grinding on my tongue. Go on, say it one more time for me. Say you’re my pretty girl. Say you’ll never be mean to yourself again, and I’ll let you cum for me.” He looked up at you as the words spilled out of your mouth, just like he said, the look on your face intoxicating as you screamed out his name.

“Gooood girl you can cum for me. C’mon, pretty girl, cum in my mouth, it’s okay. You earned it.” He held you against him, tongue continuing to harass your poor little clit as you writhed above him. Your legs gave out, quivering as he continued to lick up the mess you’d made,

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you. Keep cumming for me, let it out,” he said, voice sweet as usual once again as he steadied you with his hands as you rode out the rest of your orgasm.

“You did so good. I’m so proud of you.” He pressed one more kiss to your clit, as you finished coming down, your body finally feeling steady in his arms. He stood up, towering over you once again, face wet with your juices as he held your fingers between his. His other hand held your face, thumb softly wiping away your tears.

“I love you more than anything, and I want you to know that you have nothing to be insecure about. Even if you’re not feeling your best, you can always talk to me, and I’ll remind you of just how beautiful you are. Okay?” You nodded, looking up at him with big eyes, your heart hurting in your chest from how full it felt in that moment.

“I love you, Caleb.”

“I can tell because you let me ruin your makeup when we only have…” He glanced over at my phone on the countertop, “Thirty minutes before the car gets here.”

“Thirty minutes?” You shouted out, pushing against Caleb’s chest.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll make them wait,” he said, reaching down to pick up the white dress shirt that had been previously discarded onto the floor.

“And hey, put on that pink dress. I’ll need something pretty to look at while everyone else is droning on about how great I am.” You rolled your eyes, letting out a laugh that perfectly harmonized with his as you threw the balled-up dress towards him.

“Now you’ll have to iron them both.” He hummed in acceptance, violet irises glimmering at the sight of you.

“Anything for you, sweet girl.”

[mishmasho]

Omg I know the piss kink with sub!Choso isn’t winning but if you ever have the time, pls do that one too one day!! I recently found out that I have sorta a piss kink and who doesn’t love a good sub!choso😋

AHH SORRY I TOOK SO LONG ANON LOLLL here u go!!

no ur so real sub choso is peak and if we pair it with him pissing himself YUPPP

[mishmasho]

.ᐟ.ᐟ Choso has to go

CW: piss kink

Fat tears streamed down Choso’s face, his self control slipping more and more every time you pumped his cock which was leaking rivulets of pre down your wrist. His grip on the sheets under him tightened, trying his hardest to hold himself back for you. 

“Nngh—please, please I ca—ah—n’t hold it any l-longer,” Choso’s voice cracked, his chest heaving. You ran your thumb over his weeping slit, shifting closer to him to tun your tongue over the side of his face, tasting the salt of his tears. 

“No baby, you’re doing so good. You can hold it longer, I know you can,” You couldn’t help but grin as you spoke, very pleased with yourself for coaxing your boyfriend to drink far too much water. You knew the need to release was too much for him, and you relished in it. 

“Mmhng—fuck!” Choso cried, turning his head to the side to catch your lips into a wet kiss, licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue. You gently carressed the side of his face before trailing your lower. Your fingernails grazed his nipples, a giggle escaping you when Choso’s hips bucked up desperately into your hand. 

“Y-you’re teasing me,” Choso struggled to speak, his words slightly slurring together. You didn’t respond, trailing your hand even lower, resting your hand against his lower abdomen. As if on cue, Choso’s eyes snapped wide open, gaze flicking between your hand and your face. 

“No—no, wait—“ Choso pleaded. He knew what you were planning and he felt dumb to not have realized it when you’d made him drink a suspicious amount of water. Embarrassment made his face burn. 

You locked eyes with Choso, slowly pushing down on his bladder while your other hand continued to slowly move up and down his cock. 

“Baby, baby please. Ah—ah fuck, wait, baby,” Choso loosely wrapped his hand around your wrist, having no energy to stop you from applying pressure. He leaked, a small drop of piss dripping down your knuckles. 

“Cho, you said you’d be good for me,” you muttered, kissing the tip of his nose, under his jaw, then his adams apple. 

“‘m trying! B-but this—too much. Feels like…feels—ah—hot,” Choso stammered. You pressed down slightly harder, smirking against his throat when his cock twitched in your grasp. 

“Wait—wait, baby, please—dirty—“ Choso pleaded, biting down on his lip. 

“Dirty? No, baby. You could never be.” You ceased the pressure on his bladder, watching his eyes flutter shut with relief. 

“Cho?” He didn’t respond, too focused on holding back his orgasm for you. 

“Let go for me.” With that, you pressed down harshly on his lower abdomen. Choso cried out, his back arching violently as the pressure forced his release out of him and all over your hand. 

You watched, mesmerised as Choso pissed over himself, over your hand. Through his release, you continued pumping his dick, desperate to watch him cum as well. 

“Oh—oh fuck,” he whined, voice cracking. It was all too much for him, the sight of you staring at his leaky cock, the humiliation of pissing himself, the feeling of you pleasuring him, all of it made his mind go foggy. 

“Ah—cumming, ‘m cumming,” Choso whimpered, the sticky fluid coating your hand. 

“You’re so messy, Cho.” You smiled, a sadistic glint in your eye. Choso dumbly nodded. “I guess I should clean you up then, right?” 

You leaned down, running your tongue over the length of his cock, a burst of bitterness exploding on your tastebuds. You loved it. 

first time posting abt piss kinks howd i do

based on this request!

[damebrute-deactivated20260512]

dogboy!choso gets off on being a little bit vulgar ⟢

it’s so easy for him to whine and trot to your feet, hump your leg, too, and blame it on the fact that it’s just his “instincts” taking over !

no, of course he doesn’t mean to pin you down that harshly so he can use you to get off. rutting against the curve of your ass as though he were left to the wild. and he definitely doesn’t mean to cum all over you. leave a sticky mess all over your skin. getting hard again when you coo that “it’s okay” and he’s just a “silly little mutt who can’t help himself”, as you scratch behind his ears because he’s still your good boy.

he almost thinks it’s too good to be true—the extent of your naïveté; your ignorance. how you let him act however with little repercussions. turning him into a grimy thing. a spoilt, little house-pet.

…it’s entirely your fault, then, for what comes next:

a dinner party; all your close friends and family members gathered in one room to celebrate your recent promotion, and dogboy!choso sits in the corner and eyes you as though starved. ears twitching lightly. eyes hooded. watching as the hem of your dress rises little by little whenever you move.

he doesn’t exactly know when that itch started up again—that fire in his belly swelled—but all he knows is that he wants to touch you. wants to feel you. sink his canines past your supple flesh and watch you writhe—pin you to the table while your guests stare in horror.

but he’s patient. knows better, if only just barely. waits until the wine’s gone, the food’s picked over, and the rowdy chatter about simmers into something more subdued—before he takes his own serving.

(stretches his maw; readies himself for a bite.)

and then—quietly, smoothly—he creeps forward.

no one notices. why would they? he’s just the quiet, obedient pet, right?

wrong.

he slinks under the table, head low, crawling on strong forearms, and sniffs until he finds you. his pretty thing. his master. the scent of your cunt so distinct—honeyed—that it knocks the air from his chest. makes his head spin.

you’re wearing silk panties. the kind he likes. soft and thin and soaked through. like you knew he was coming.

he nuzzles close. presses his nose to your slit and inhales deep, then deeper. his tongue darting out to taste.

slowly.

he’s good this time. careful. doesn’t want you to shove him away and whisper scoldings in that condescending tone of yours that often leaves him puzzled.

instead, he laps softly—lazily—like he’s tasting something sweet for the first time. like you’re dessert and he’s starving. sating his sweet tooth.

and when your thighs twitch? when your breath catches mid-laugh and your hand slides under the table to grab a fistful of his hair?

he whines. humps the floor once, like a filthy, desperate mutt.

and he swears—he’ll be good. he will. if you just let him keep going a little longer.

your fingers tangle in his hair, nails grazing his scalp, and choso practically purrs.

his tail thumps once—twice—against the hardwood before he stills it, panting now, lips glossy with spit and slick. he mouths at you like it’s all he knows how to do. tongue dragging slow and wide up the seam of your panties, soaking the fabric even more until it clings to your folds and he can see the shape of you through it. smell it. taste it.

you shift slightly, trying not to squirm, biting down on a moan. and just your luck, someone across the table says your name, asks you a question.

“you okay?”

you can feel all eyes on you.

“just…a little hot.” you murmur, voice strained. high-pitched.

choso just grins into your pussy. nose pressed against the damp fabric, tongue slipping underneath to flick against your clit just once, just to see if you’ll flinch.

and you do.

he moans at that, a soft little rumble that vibrates right through you, and starts grinding into the floor like the fucking dog he is. cock dragging along the polished wood, sticky with pre already, throbbing with every twitch of your thigh.

you try to close your legs. try.

but he growls—a low, warning noise that’s more animal than man—and pries your thighs back open with rough hands. pushes them apart until the chair creaks.

he noses the fabric aside and licks directly into you now. slow, deliberate. broad strokes that make your eyes flutter and your belly tense. his tongue is messy, undisciplined, like everything else about him. he groans into you, drinks you in, rutting against the floor the whole time, leaking and whining, eyes rolling back as he buries his face in your cunt. licking, slurping, suckling, like he wants to crawl inside.

you know you shouldn’t let him.

you know there are eyes just above the tablecloth, people talking and laughing and sipping their drinks while your filthy dogboy fucks himself on the floor and licks at your cunt like it’s his last meal.

but he’s looking up at you now.

those eyes.

glassy and fucked-out, begging you not to stop him.

and how could you? he’s being so good. so good.

so you pet his head. scratch behind his ears. let your hand slide down to cup his jaw as he sucks your clit into his mouth with a low, wet moan.

“good boy,” you breathe, too soft for anyone else to hear.

and choso shudders. cums in his pants again without even touching himself, hips jerking wildly into the floor. the sound he makes is guttural, ruined.

but he doesn’t stop licking.

not even after your thighs start to tremble. not even after you tug his hair and hiss his name and try to push his head back.

no—he needs this. needs your taste, your scent, your thighs squeezing around his ears like you’re trying to kill him.

and when you finally cum? biting your lip and pressing your heel into his back to keep him there?

he whimpers. grinds his spent, twitching cock into the floor and moans like he’s in heaven.

like you just gave him the greatest reward in the world.

you gently pull him away. smooth his messy hair back. he pants against your thigh, dazed and warm and sticky.

and just before he crawls back to his corner—still dripping, still aching—he presses a soft, sloppy kiss to the inside of your knee.

your friends are still talking. still laughing.

and not a single one of them knows that your good, little mutt just made you cum under the dinner table.

masterlist !

[mishmasho]

.ᐟ.ᐟ Heyyy js an update

ik ive been lowk MIA even after posting that poll a week or two ago..TRUST I’LL POST SOON i have a few things in the works so i promise yall will be fed <3

heres a list of everything im working on (not in any particular order):

sub!choso piss kink (req)

dad!leon spending time with his wife (req)

puppy!caleb in a rut

+ a secret 500 follower special bc we hit that milestone at the start of the month <3

as always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my upcoming works !

[losermuse]

⋆˚🐾˖°

cw: 18+ (mdni), pet play, rimming.

It’s comical seeing Caleb, this towering man with his broad shoulders and muscular frame, perched awkwardly on your lap like an oversized puppy, the perky dog-ear accessory only making the contrast more ridiculous.

His thick thighs straddle your hips, heavy balls resting warm against your leg, while his extra-sensitive cock stands rigid, the flushed head leaking pre-cum in glistening trails down your jeans. Every brush of fabric sends jolts through him, drawing out whiny gasps.

Squelch. Squelch.

Your fingers plunge deep into his slick, lubed ass, scissorsing gently to stretch him open. “Look at you, taking it so well for your owner,” you praise, curling them against his prostate, making him shudder and whine high in his throat. 

“My eager little mutt.”

His hips buck, cock dragging along your thigh, pre-cum spurting as pleasure overwhelms him. “Oh god, that’s amazing—don’t stop,” he whimpers, clenching around your digits.

You add a third finger, praising his every quiver, “That’s it, baby. So tight and eager.” Pulling out, you coat the tail plug in lube and ease it in slowly, the bulb stretching his rim until it fits perfectly. 

Caleb yelps, whining as the fullness grinds his prostate, his sensitive cock twitching wildly. 

“Ah—“

“My brave boy, handling your new tail like a champ.”

He rocks on your lap, plug shifting deliciously, and whines turning needy. You wrap your hand around his throbbing length and pumping firmly. “Cum for me, pup—you deserve it.” 

“Shit—yes!!!“ he erupts with a broken cry, hot ropes coating your hand and jeans, ass milking the plug in bliss. You hold him close, kissing his forehead. “Good boy, you’re gonna get more treats soon.”

[willbyers-deservesbetter]

"i asked grok" "i asked chatgpt" okay well i asked mike wheeler and he told me that its not his fault that i dont like girls