♡ ⑅˚₊ Rely on him a little more (NSFW Caleb x you) ₊ ˚ ⑅ ♡
Synopsis: Caleb finds your anonymous account where you’ve written all those secret horny thoughts. It seems you’ve forgotten who’s always there for you, the one you’re supposed to rely on. He gives you a thorough reminder, only he can truly help you.
Content: lacks a true plot/detailed setting, watersports/omorashi, Caleb has a raging piss kink, he jorks tf out of himself under that stream & drinks it, mentions of masturbation, kind of dubcon, pussy eating, nipple stimulation/sucking, fingering, some guilt/yearning, mentions of it being forbidden, slight manhandling, it gets messy and he loves it, a little manipulative, obsessive Caleb, codependency, mentions of him belonging to you/being marked as yours, both inexperienced, Caleb cums a lot on you, he’s pounding you raw after this, pet names (pipsqueak, pips, sweet girl)
a/n: likely contains grammatical errors and typos, I left multiple things not clarified (although I have some explanations in mind.) I may do a part two where it’s specified, mainly to write about the (delicious) destructive force that is Caleb’s massive cock <3
—･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ☆ ｡ﾟ･—
The universe itself must harbor some vendetta against you, orchestrating this out of spite.
Stumbling upon your account should be an unlikely occurrence; It’s anonymous, gaining minimal traction on a fairly niche platform. You never believed this would actually happen—become more than just a paranoia-induced thought.
He was so distracted in the living room and curiosity nudged you, suggesting a glance over his shoulder. There was nothing specific you expected to find, just definitely not this—the familiar layout, profile, handle—yours.
Hopefully, he didn’t notice the sharp burst of adrenaline that coiled around your heart, constricting your entire body.
“You know you can’t sneak up on me, pipsqueak.”
His focus doesn’t avert from his phone, each swipe of his thumb carries a heavy uncertainty. The situation is too unreadable to navigate clearly.
“What are you up to?” Your higher-than-usual pitch overcompensates. Fortunately, it’s not acknowledged.
“Gonna stand behind me this whole time? I’m just scrollin’ through some posts, come sit.” He pats the space to the left of him on the sofa.
You do as he says, hopefully in a manner casual enough. You overanalyze every movement—as if walking on a tightrope, any misstep could seal your fate. There are dots only he could connect, easily. He’s the very last person you’d want deciphering them. Neither idle observation or a slip-up can be afforded, both are far too risky; the fragility of such an already-delicate scenario climbs with each moment.
“Caleb, let’s watch a movie. Help me pick one, pleaseee?” That sugary tone is your best chance, its rescued you from plenty dilemmas before—his weakness.
Cute but not foolproof, it’s a tactic he sees right through.
“Sure, I’ll just finish this first. I can’t seem to put it down, it’s so compelling. Their descriptions remind me of yours—so vivid…” He laughs. “Maybe, there’s another you runnin’ around.”
You’re jabbed by the excruciating reminder of what’s in front of him—thoughts you’d never voice, secrets that can’t be shared. His statement seemed innocent but that offers no reassurance; he’s no fool. A miracle is likely all that could save you now. You doubt one exists that’s any match for Caleb.
Whether he’s onto you or not, no more time can be wasted, it’s dwindling. Carved into your surroundings, is a countdown
“Okay. I’ll get the tv ready.” Reaching for the remote, you find it immovable. It’s unable to be lifted. Your heart sinks, thumping so chaotically, you fear its audible. “Caleb, what are you doing? Let it go.”
“I wanted to show you something, it’ll be quick, just read it.”
Refusing would raise suspicion. Even then, he could simply pester you into agreement.
Every word on the screen stings as you scan it, but his piercing scrutiny propels you past reluctance.
He hasn’t even told you why you’re doing this. You’re afraid to ask, utter anything at all. Even if you tried, humiliation would be a hindrance.
“Such minor details could apply to anyone, but the timing…what a small world. Don’t you think it’s interesting how that happens—those funny coincidences? Doesn’t this kind of align with our life?” He ponders aloud.
Alarms blare in your mind, rejecting the scenario, imploring you to escape it. Your mannerisms do little to hide that—fidgeting excessively, bouncing your leg, assuming a more rigid posture.
This is losing battle, an ineludible one. You’ve been corned and you know it.
“You ok? You’re acting strange. Feelin’ sick or something?” His hand raises to examine your forehead.
As if it’s scalding, you shrink away from it. “I’m fine.”
“Hmm…so it’s something else that’s got you all warm? Don’t worry, you’re almost done. The end is the best part.”
Regardless of how well you fare under such pressure, the outcome feels predetermined.
Because, unbeknownst to you, it is,
the past couple of weeks.
Declining would just prolong what’s already solidified, so you follow his instructions, horrified with what you find. Your writing is far more explicit than you remember.
He’s seen that, now monitoring you as the realization hits with maximum impact.
“What’s wrong, pips? Surely, it’s not too vulgar for you—considering, you’re the one who wrote it.” That mock concern fades into bluntness with that final blow. “No point denying it.”
“How did you even find that?” The question comes out weak, voice conceding along with you.
Secretive, even now. As irritating as that is, you lack the energy to pry, more concerned with getting through this discussion. Hopefully, once this is over, you can proceed like it never occurred. Shame should eventually lose its potency with the passage of time.
“Why are you postin’ this kind of thing? For attention?” His tone is accusatory, backed by some cluster of emotions. Their specific presence seems out of place, completely contradicting what you expected.
“I wouldn’t even type something like that for something so unimportant.”
“I didn’t know another way to deal with it—” your exhale carries fear, the struggle to admit it, but he shows no indication of letting up. “Those things in my mind…there was no good outlet for them. Who could I possibly tell that sort of stuff to?”
“Same person as always. You’re not supposed to hide things from me.”
He’s not mad, or judging your character, he’s offended?
Is it more neutral to him because he views it differently—views you differently? Perhaps, If your mind hadn’t warped things, it may seem less weird.
The way you’ve been thinking about him began without warning, it was never supposed to change. If he had discovered that, he wouldn’t be so laidback. He must’ve stopped before reaching those buried posts, the most damning. He’s the inspiration behind them, represented in undeniable detail.
That makes his sweet smile even more unsettling, more ironic.
“When something’s botherin’ you, I need to know. No matter what, you can tell me anything.” His conviction nearly sways you, but you stay vigilant.
“How are you so chill about this?” You ask, waiting for the appearance of some consequence, certain it’s right around the corner.
What’s been gnawing at you is bubbling closer to the surface. It’s true that nothing can compare to the relief he provides—unparalleled support that envelops you like a soft blanket, the unique ability to lift any weight from your shoulders.
Would it be so wrong to confide in him?—the person knows you best, accepts you, would never leave you?
“Okay…” You trail off, building the courage. Upon resuming, a rapid current of confession tumbles out on its own. “I didn’t mean to think that stuff. I keep doing it anyway though, more and more. I don’t know much about that. I’ve never even done those kinds of things, I promise. I’m not sure why, I just get curious sometimes. I can’t seem to go a day without wondering about it. I know it’s bad to imagine such indecent things. What’s wrong with me?”
His words haven’t lied but his demeanor has—is. Unlike the illusion he’s crafted, he’s anything but calm. Every sentence threatens the restraint he’s spent years cultivating; the more you ramble on, the harder this gets—the harder he gets. The urges he’s suppressed feel far more assertive, forcing him to bite the inside of his cheek, to avoid doing something else.
Considering how often you’re together, you must’ve thought about that stuff—gotten all worked up, around him.
Did you do anything to satisfy it?
Maybe, as he did the same?—staring at your photos, conjuring up various scenes.
“It’s driving me insane…that feeling, it’s so—frustrating,” you huff.
He can truly see it, feel that frustration as his own. It causes his intentions to overlap; blurring perverted curiosity with a genuine aim to help. He does have an obligation to offer advice and encouragement. There’s no harm in doing so, it’s simply what his role demands of him.
“Do you always push them away?”
“Yes, I swear, I really am trying! I never give into them, but still—”
“When have I taught you to do something like that?” His head tilts forward slightly “I’ve told you not to suppress things, it’s ineffective. It’ll only hurt you.”
“I know, but It’s like they’re insatiable. I have to.”
You—can’t—just say things like that. The term sounds so enticing from the voice he adores most, the one that melts him so effortlessly. You’ve given it a whole new meaning, as you do everything else.
Insatiable—an unconquerable greed that consumes him, demanding all of you and no less. He relates to you entirely, always will, at a level no one else can.
You’ll never to suffer or be alone. He won’t let you. You can and should rely on him for all troubles, allow him to shoulder them, solve them himself. Like always, you need something—it’s granted. This is no different. Any issue of yours warrants attention, it’s just another way to properly provide for you—he has to provide for you. He could never neglect you.
“I can help.” His surprise mirrors yours as his words settle, but they’re fully sincere.
He’s studying your body as it communicates so clearly. You keep readjusting the way you sit, seeking a remedy for that ache. It’s gone ignored for so long, it would probably stay unacknowledged without his intervention. He’ll have to answer its pleas, finally alleviate that burden.
A feather-light touch trails up your leg, making your breath hitch. You push on his shoulder. “Hold on—what are you doing?”
Surely, you’re reading this incorrectly. He may just be teasing, exposing your desperation to mortify you. His earlier compassion could’ve been faked.
But, You don’t truly believe any of those explanations—unaligned with his current behavior and character as a whole. However, the alternative is even more unthinkable—that it’s exactly what it seems, void of ulterior motifs.
“I know what you need, have I ever been wrong about that? Thats what I’m doing, trust me.”
Watching him with wide eyes, your hand retracts slowly. He’s right. His judgment is near infallible, understanding you better than you do yourself.
“Good,” he coos, raising your feet, placing them in front of you on the cushion. Lying down, you somehow feel naked while fully clothed. Your shorts seem a little smaller, tank top a little thinner—once adequate coverage seems minimal under his heated stare.
This is uncharted territory, a shift so striking, it’s jarring. Not only do you lack experience, but the person before you adds to the surreality. You shouldn’t be doing this—it’s forbidden, at least, you’d always assumed so. Mentally, you’d labeled him off-limits, without room for any exception.
There’s no assurance that this won’t create an unrepairable rift. However, as intimidating as that is, you still want it.
You both do, so badly it hurts.
It’s difficult for him to even pick what to indulge in first. Years of built up longing urge him to devour you whole—right now. That selfishness is one he can’t rid himself, he’ll just have to keep it contained.
He’s doing this for you. He’ll need to help you adjust, ensure you’re relaxed.
Luckily, you’ve provided instructions without realizing. He noticed how your attention had flickered to his lips, multiple times. With all the feigned confidence he can muster, that’s where he starts. Hovering over you, he kisses you once, gauging your reaction.
He was terrified you’d recoil, run off and avoid him for days. You don’t. Instead, you yield to him, waiting for more.
Now emboldened, that’s what he grants you—much more, as much as he can physically give. Mouths working in tandem, you can practically taste his hunger. It mimics starvation as it infuses with your lips. Exchanged sighs mold the two of you together, blurring lines until they’re unrecognizable. Neither of you have the capacity to care anymore. The voice of desire drowns everything out, numbing your minds, luring you to a place where nothing else exists.
You peer up at him expectantly when he pulls away. He might’ve overestimated his ability to go as slow as he planned to. How could he possibly stay level-headed when you look like that underneath him?—like you’ll manage to ruin him even more than you have.
Every corner of his brain, the entirety of his soul, is in your possession. There’s only one last aspect you have yet to claim. It’s always belonged to you. Now presented with the opportunity, he’ll have you take it all.
Swallowing forcibly, he lifts your shirt. You reflexively cover yourself. The air seems more harsh than when you undress alone, reminding you who’s watching. This form of vulnerability is foreign—daunting. You can’t help but wonder if there’s a preference you won’t meet, if he’ll regret seeing you this way.
His intrinsic skill of reading you so accurately will make it much easier to satisfy you. Your nervousness and its origins are identified with ease. It’s just doubts that can be rectified.
All you require is reassurance.
“Don’t hide yourself.” He moves your arms to the side, tender expression reshaping into awe. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”
He loves every intricacy of you, excited to discover them all. He needs to know everything about you, everything your body has to say.
It’s so expressive. Tracing your chest makes you shiver, brushing over your nipples make you squirm. Once he kneads your breasts, you yelp. They must’ve been created for his hold. They rest so perfectly there, begging him to suck them. Of course, their request is instantly approved.
They’re worked with profound devoutness that buzzes through your extremities. Now connected to him in ways you never have been, you’re itching to take things even further, break every boundary. It doesn’t take much for that craving to become unbearable. Other parts of you grow painfully aware of his absence. Lifting your hips, you roll against his lower abdomen.
A smirk tugs at his lips from the overt act of desperation. He slides under your waistband, palming the wet spot you’ve formed.
“Oh, you needed my help more than I thought, should’ve told me, I would’ve done this sooner…” he coos, enamored by the result of your pleasure, how it saturates your entire being.
“Caleb, p-please—” You clutch his bicep, plagued by the winding tension within you.
“So cute when you beg—I can never resist spoiling you rotten.” In front of you, he rises to his knees and hunches over. Your shorts are discarded, mindlessly tossed wherever. Noting the design on your panties, his smile reflects immeasurable pride—little red apples, like you’re wearing him against such an Intimate area. “Thinkin’ of me? You were hoping I’d see them, huh?”
You get visibly flustered from that comment, he takes that as an indication of it’s truth. That shyness makes you even more endearing.
With a firm grip around your ankles, he pulls you directly in front of his face. In an instant, your legs are pried apart. His tongue glides over your pussy through the only barrier remaining—an extremely thin one.
It’s so good, you can barely stand it.
You writhe against him. As the pressure builds within, you distinguish an additional contributing factor. The need to pee couldn’t have arrived at a worse moment. He’d been nagging you to drink more water, concerned for your health. You’ve made a significant improvement in that area. With the increased intake, the fullness arises quicker than usual. The current situation obscured that heaviness, distracting you until it became unmistakable.
Surely, you can still wait just a little. His warmth against you is so heavenly, you can’t get up now. He’s addicting, in ways you never conceived of. The more you get, the more you want. You’re completely at his mercy, reeling with each consecutive lick. Once the fabric is pulled aside, he grazes your skin, igniting every sensitive nerve-ending. The contact elicits a jolt from you, freeing a small trickle—far too sudden to adapt.
You’re unable to disguise its descent over your bare cunt to your ass. Panic follows, spanning your entire body, diffusing into the air.
However, Caleb doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, quite the opposite. A large finger is inserted, followed by another, since you took the first so well. The way they curl, steals the oxygen from your lungs, stripping the ability to speak.
“W-Wait, I’m—have to—” He abruptly presses down on your lower belly, extracting a few droplets that complete the message for you.
A dangerous grin blooms across his face. “Yeah, I hear you, go ahead.”
The stimulation is unrelenting, precise, like he’s tailored it specifically for every ridge of your walls. More liquid escapes you, this time an aggressive short burst. The struggle for control is on clear display for him. Your inhales, noises, motions, all showcase it. Sensations intertwine—the brief respite, need for relief, humiliation, bliss.
“Need to—ah!—if you don’t—m’gonna—”
That’s exactly what he’s hoping for, he can’t help but facilitate it. Basking in each accidental release, his thirst for you has amplified—appealing to more primal impulses. He throbs at the mere thought of you pissing on him, anticipating the point where all restraint is lost. His free hand tugs at his pants, exposing his eager cock. It’s painfully stiff, tip oozing with arousal. The way you fixate on it is hypnotic, attention immediately drawn—a show of shock, timidity, and appetite for it.
“Don’t fight it, just let me make you feel better.” His tone is reminiscent of a prayer, earnest and soft.
He needs you to decompress, allow him to be your solace, surrender to everything you deserve. Preparing you to do so, his fingers are removed, transitioning to your clit. His excitement is beyond moderation. He pumps himself impatiently to the tune of those adorable winces, the knowledge that you can’t hold out much longer.
Within seconds, it all surges free from you, incapable of stopping. He groans as it cascades over his dick, deliberately aligned with the aggressive stream. His hands move swiftly, rubbing you while stroking his length as he he remains completely honed in on you; it’s like a declaration of profuse gratitude, an announcement that he’s yours.
“So perfect…it feels—you feel so—s’fuck—so, god—ngh—perfect.”
He can’t get enough of this,
His lips seal around the steady outpour, drinking it in. Now within him, is something from you, that makes you—you. All of his senses are pervaded by you; your folds on his skin as he inhales your scent, finally tasting you.
it’s all so incredibly you—a paradise that should be inaccessible outside of a dream. Yet somehow, the trembling against him, hand gripping his so tightly, are very real. You’re uninhibited for him, gushing down his throat, emitting the most captivating melodies. Now grinding against his face, carnal need has taken over.
“Thaaat’s it, s'my sweet girl gonna cum all over me?…Feels good, yeah? I thought so—mmhmm—knew you needed this—” The warm fluid from you diminishes to drops as he continues to lap at it. Snaking your arm around his neck, he’s pulled into you firmly.
Guiding you towards that pinnacle of trapped tension, he shatters it.
Your legs pinch together, drawing a moan from the one caged between them. Every cell seems to vibrate in unison as a dizzying euphoria crashes over you. It’s ruthless, leaving each muscle convulsing in it’s wake. He works you through it, greedily consuming your orgasm’s offerings.
He can’t last any longer. You’ve made it unachievable.
As he leans back, a series of whimpers slip from him, rippling into low growls. He twitches violently. Forceful spurts shoot onto your swollen pussy, spilling onto the sofa.
Outside synchronized panting, you’re both trapped in a silent haze.
Until, embarrassment claws you out of it, taking center stage.
“I-I should clean this…I’m so sorry,” you stammer, head chained to the spot beneath you in shame.
He grabs your chin, tilting it up. The lust storming in his violet irises hasn’t extinguished. It’s been inflamed. Contrasting your exhaustion, he seems invigorated.
“Leave it for a little…maybe, I’ll have you do that everywhere, etch your existence into every crevice of this place—evidence of how I made you feel. It’s only fitting, you are my only true home.”
There’s limited time to process, before you’re cradled in his arms, carried to his room. He smirks at the squeal you let out when tossed onto the mattress.
He’s manhandling you, throwing you around like you’re weightless. Normally, he treats you like you’re delicate. It’s rare for him to be rougher with you. There was always some underlying reluctance, fear of breaking you.
Now, he’s assertive—not too harsh but leaning into it.
You’re still covered in lewd substances, wearing an unholy mixture of you both. Lying on your side, you avoid dirtying anything else, unsettled by the damage already done.
Clearly, he doesn’t share that sentiment. You’re flipped over, limbs pinned to the material you aimed to spare.
“You’ve made such a pretty mess for me, I want it all over my bed.”
His vulgarities should mortify you further, but it doesn't. The pulse between your legs returns, stronger than before. You’ve never seen him like this. It’s a version of him so different from the rest—cautious to an annoying degree, guarded, and strict. Observing him closely, you wonder who he is, how long this form has resided in the one you’ve known.
This might be who he’s always been, kind of like you.
“I said I’d give you what you need. I haven’t finished doin’ that…” Towering over you, his thumbs circle your hips, as if soothing them proactively. “You’re gonna soak me again while my cock fills you up, alright?”
—･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ☆ ｡ﾟ･—
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