summ. For renowned researchers such as yourself, an opportunity to study wild primates up close in the jungle is a desirable one. After an encounter with a seemingly wild man, however, you end up in an unprecedented relationship instead.
tags. tarzan AU, based off his myth rumors, and to feed those who want tarzan!caleb if thats not acc the theme, mainly an excuse to write feral caleb, researcher!reader, i cant tell if this is weird or peak, historical but more modern than tarzan, au where oral hygeine is unnecessary, humor, romcom, tara mention, xavier mention platonic, simone mention, might be crack, feral caleb, pu$sy drunk caleb, headlock, backshots, oral (fem rec), t!t sucking, p in v, jungle setting, smut 18+, not proofread srry
a/n. okayyy so i saw a tiktok of someone saying they want tarzan!caleb for his 3rd myth so i wrote ts, because im STARVED for his trailer already omggg. also i wasnt joking when i said i wanted to give caleb the gojo treatment. na'vi caleb next?
(also if you haven't seen that scene from the legend of tarzan (2016) where jane meets tarzan GO watch that rn its so hot tbh)
w/c. ~5.1k
There are many rules when it comes to conducting naturalistic observation as a researcher.
Rule #1, know exactly what you’re looking for and how to define them. It won’t do any good to observe variable that are useless to the overall objective.
Rule #2, never become too entwined with the subjects. Behavior should be observed when it is the most natural, not when it’s affected by your presence.
Rule #3, record everything of importance in a journal.
These are rules top researchers such as yourself are privy to follow. Especially when examining primates as intelligent, yet dangerous, as gorillas.
Which is why you’re trapezing off path into the wild jungle, throwing all caution to the wind, in search for your beloved journal.
Rubber boots sink into damp soil with a squelch, the heavy mud weighing down each of your steps. You steady yourself on a tree as you shake one foot free, dirt flinging everywhere, but you pause when you hear a twig snap.
There, on a nearby tree, were at least two of the pesky thieves.
“Hey,” you snap, as if chimpanzees understand English. They chitter, some of them scurrying, and you catch a glimpse of the brown leather of your bookbag. The sight only renews your determination.
Unsteadily, you storm over to the tree, chin tipped up to glare at the animals. You may be a scholar, but enough time spent in nature during field studies granted you significant experience in handling the outdoors.
With both arms wrapped around a low-hanging branch, you begin to heave yourself up, attempting to get high enough for your legs to swing over the branch. You manage it, just barely, grip slipping with each second—but you try not to look down at the forest floor that is now considerably far from you.
Arm outstretched, you swipe desperately for the bookbag that’s dangling just out of your reach. The muscles of your arm tremble under the strain of keeping you over the branch and grabbing for it. You grunt, teeth gritted, as the chimp only tilts its head in wonder, before one of its troop members flings a fruit at your head with a clunk.
You lose your grip immediately, stomach dropping as gravity takes its course. This is the end, you think during the 1.5 seconds you’re in the air. Death by chimpanzee. Forget about attending that conference.
But instead of hitting the cold muddy ground below you, you’re caught by two strong arms around you and cradled against a warm, human body. You hesitantly open your eyes, expecting to see perhaps someone from your crew, but instead you see an unfamiliar man.
A handsome face peers down at you, violet eyes curious. They’re framed by wild, yet silky brown hair—you’re guessing his hair is well past his neck, though the leopard fur headdress that sits over his shoulders like a cloak, furry maw gaping around his head, hinders your view. Other than that, he seems bare, which is bizarre for a human out in these jungles.
His bare chest is heaving against you, you register, and you squeal, scrambling against him. How improper. Not too kind of a reaction for the man that saved you, but he doesn’t seem offended—instead, he places you down gently against a pile of leaves, before scaling up the tree effortlessly,
You gape after his departing body, which climbs skillfully from branch to branch, as if he’s an ape himself. The chimps shriek, dispersing in a scurry that has the treetops swaying, and the chase quiets as the group flees further away from you. You remain where you are, still trying to catch your breath, only the sounds of singing birds accompanying you.
Finally, you hear a crack of a branch behind you, and you swivel around. The underdressed man is prowling to you hesitantly, leather bookbag in hand.
With a sigh, you rise, taking the bag eagerly. “Thank you,” you manage, unable to stop your eyes from dropping down towards his bare, toned legs, to his—oh. Your eyes widen as you quickly glance up and away.
“Are you from the nearby village?” Curiosity always gets the better of you, as it does for any researcher. But the man just stares blankly.
You tilt your head. He doesn’t look native, with his lighter hair and eyes, but with the way he seemed so in tuned to the environment, he might as well be. You ask the question again in the language native to the area, grammar broken yet understandable, but the man still only gazes at you with an unnerving intensity.
“Oookay,” you clear your throat, fighting to avert your eyes from his state of undress. “Forgive me, Mr..?, I just can’t seem to understand how else you ended up here. Are you…lost?”
His eyes darken at that, and you remember that though this is a human you are dealing with, he still seemed like a more animalistic being, with his furs and impressive agility. You suppress a shiver. Perhaps you should be more careful.
“I need to return to my camp,” you explain fruitlessly. You beckon him with a hand gesture— a signal you know is used by humans and primates alike— but he only backs away, before disappearing entirely in some thick foliage.
“Wait-!” You pause, listening for any sign of where he could have gone, but you can only hear the buzzing of cicadas.
That was the first time you meet him.
The trek back to camp is hurried; the encounter with the strange wild man has unsettled you far more than you had previously thought, and the croaking of frogs signaled an incoming thunderstorm. Your team expresses concern and fretfulness over your prolonged absence from camp, but you quickly gather them in a tent to explain your findings in an overzealous recounting.
“A wild man.” Simone repeats flatly. “Who can swing from vines like an ape and is naked except for a fur over his shoulders.”
“Yes!” You nod, pausing in your wild hand gestures. “And he didn’t speak any human language. He rescued my journal for me and left!”
Tara fronts, leaning in closer to peer at the bump on your temple. “Are you sure that fruit didn’t hit your head too hard? Or maybe you did fall and got knocked out?”
You sigh. “I did not hallucinate it. There’s a wild man out there, and I know because I met him!”
“She might be right,” Xavier chimes in, settling beside you with a folder. You take it eagerly, skimming through what seems like newspaper clippings from decades ago.
“When doing research on the area before coming here, I came across these.” He explained. If anyone was thoroughly prepared, it was Xavier. “Maybe he came from this previous expedition.”
You skim the newspaper headings. Breaking: Aristocrats’ bodies recovered near West Coast, child still missing. It was hard to analyze the little boy in the grainy, aged papers, but he didn’t look too different from the wild man.
“Maybe,” you breathe, fingers grazing the page in thought.
“Whatever it is,” Tara cuts in, looking at you with concern; she knows how absorbed you can get in new discoveries. “Try to stay away from him if you encounter him alone. The thought of a feral man in those woods gives me the creeps.
Later, when everyone has gone to bed, you log the encounter in your journal, pen scratching the worn pages as you scribble out words to rephrase them, agonizing over the details. It is then that you notice one of your pages is missing, torn out surreptitiously.
As the downpour streams steadily against the tarp of the tent, you can’t help but think of the wild man, how exactly he’s staying out there in these conditions. And, more significantly, how he ended up here in the first place.
Of course, days later, you set on hiking near the site of your first meeting with the wild man under the guise of searching for potential gorilla families nearby. Tara should have known, danger or not, your curiosity won’t let you heed her warnings.
You’re just near the stream, right by where your journal was stolen last time (you have it securely in your pocket now), when you hear it— a cracking of a twig from what can only be a deliberate footstep. You swivel, excitement making your heart race.
“Hello? I know you’re out there.” At first, there’s nothing, and you feel foolish for calling out to what might’ve been the wind. But then, the dense foliage in front of you parts, and there straightens the wild man, suddenly extremely close.
He doesn’t don his fur this time; he really is completely bare, so you have the decency to flush, especially when he begins prowling closer. He looms close until your face is level to his chest. At that, you can’t help but stumble, but his hand follows to drag a rough palm uncouthly down the tender side of your face.
“Oh- I have a group of people looking for me, I can ensure they’re on their way now, so don’t try anything.” You’re unsure to why you’re blabbering threats to a man who doesn’t understand English, but you can’t help be a little flustered and on edge as he practically feels you up, big hands trailing down your thinner arms.
You inhale sharply, taking in his earthy scent as you do so, as he steps closer, nose burying in your hair to sniff at you like he’s some kind of animal. He is, you remind yourself. This must be his first time meeting another human. Which is why you tolerate when he noses down the edge of your jaw, down your throat in a way that makes you shiver.
But what you don’t expect is when he crouches down further, fingers curiously tugging at your dress so he can bury his face underneath your skirt.
“Oh!” You shriek, smacking at his head lightly in pure shock. The man is quick to pull back, startling away.
Your chest heaves in embarrassment, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry,” you clear your throat. “But you can’t just do that to a lady. We humans have rules, y’know.”
He backs up further, seemingly ready to flee. You watch with mounting despair.
“Wait,” you try to lower your voice to a more soothing, indulgent tone. It’s a pitch that you usually use to calm apes, but it seems to be working with him. He stops retreating, pausing in anticipation.
You open your book to the torn page, gesturing along with your words to convey meanings. “Did you take this?”
He turns, but slower, deliberately looking back at you to make sure you’re watching, before heading eastward.
You follow gingerly, ignoring the common sense in your head that this may not be a good idea. But you’re led to a seemingly harmless cave that looks well equipped for a shelter.
Instead of going in, you linger near the entry; it was unclear whether his temperament may spike if you entered his territory. You watch him come back out, holding the paper in a large fist, unnervingly close again.
“There it is,” you exhale in relief, reaching for it. But he snatches his hand back.
Your forehead wrinkles with confusion, then annoyance. “I don’t take lightly to my work being stolen, thank you very much. So hand it back, then.”
He blinks a few times in a way you’re surprised to find adorable, widening eyes peering down at the paper. Now, he looks almost innocent with wonder, eyebrows knit in concentration.
You pause for a moment, realization slowly dawning on you, and you suddenly feel bad. He can’t read. If he was the missing child like Xavier suggests, then his childhood was likely stolen from him due to an accident, forcing him to live in the woods with limited knowledge of civilization.
“I can teach you,” you blurt.
Now, you were thinking less of a scholar working with a case study, and more as a human aiding a fellow human. And perhaps, if he learned to speak, then he could reveal how exactly he survived like this, his life’s story.
He doesn’t understand your words, of course. But you grab his hand and lead him to sit with you on a nearby log.
Unfurling his first to reveal the paper, you begin. “See, this here is the date. The 7th. A few weeks ago. You chose a earlier entry to tear out.”
He watches you trace the dried ink with your fingers blankly. You sigh, starting simpler.
“Here, I wrote ‘the.’ T-H-E.”
You don’t know how long passes as you use the words in your journal entries to familiarize him with English. You’ve gone through many pages together, perhaps for hours. Just as you’re about to leave, you pause, opening up to the entry from the night you met him to refresh yourself on the notes you had about the newspaper clippings.
“Caleb,” you say aloud. The wild man looks up, a flash of what may be recognition in his deep eyes. “The newspaper mentioned a young boy named Caleb. Are you Caleb?”
He stares at you for a lengthy moment, and though he doesn’t verbalize his confirmation, you can see it in the way he perks up at the name, the far-away look in his gaze.
A month has passed since you’ve began acquainting yourself with Caleb. You told Tara, Simone, and Xavier a few days after you found out that he was the missing boy in the newspapers, much to their chagrin.
“I’m off,” you announce, gathering a couple of more books in your bag. Tara and Simone exchange a look.
“To teach Caleb more English?”
You nod in response, eager about heading eastward. Caleb was a fast learner, making the meetings with him all the more rewarding. He was also fascinating to be around: he had the astounding ability to understand more than you thought possible, through gestures and tones and facial expressions. That fact could be a breakthrough in scientific understanding in your field, but you felt uneasy at the idea of studies being conducted on him, however benign. He’d already been through enough.
“You really are consistent with him, huh?” Tara hums. You’d convinced your team weeks ago that he was harmless, and they allowed your daily meetings with caution, though they agreed it was best if you were the only one to interact with him for the time being as to not agitate him with too much human contact. He had been a bit moody as of late, when you think about it, those darkened eyes boring holes into you when he thought you weren’t looking. You wonder what that was about.
“Of course. We’re making great progress. Soon, he’ll be more accustomed to human culture, and his joining into civilization will be smoother.”
“Are you sure that’s all you two do back there?”
You flush. Caleb was handsome, that much was hard to deny. What made things worse was his constant nudity, though that couldn’t be helped much. But you weren’t the type to try anything with a wild man. Rule #2, never become entwined with your subjects.
But was Caleb really a subject to you anymore?
“Don’t suggest anything strange,” you huff, turning and heading eastward, Behind your back, you miss Tara and Simon exchanging another knowing glance.
You meet him by the stream again, taking a bandana out of your pocket to spread it out on the ground like a makeshift blanket, before settling down on the leafy floor. Caleb looks up from where he picks at the ground, offering a timid but intelligible “hello.”
You grin, pulling out your books. “Hey. I brought more reading books.”
His eyes rove the covers. Highly intelligent, Caleb was always hungry for knowledge. You wonder where he’d be right now if he remained in civilization. “More books. What kinds?”
“Some science, some stories.” You had brought an ethnology textbook, the vocabulary too advanced, but there were perhaps some diagrams he could understand to learn more about human social cues. You also brought a dictionary and a romance book— the only book you had that was for a lower reading level.
He begins reading, but not before he tugs you close to his side, nuzzling into your neck.
You blink. “Oh, right.” His physical affections were something consistent, too, that you were beginning to become accustomed to. You chalked it up to him not having anyone else for comfort; thus, you felt sorry for him and restrained from setting any boundaries.
You open up your journal, lounging beside him as you worked. While meeting with him only took 2-3 hours of your time, you still had the rest of the day to conduct observations on the gorillas— the main purpose you were here. Though, you’d be lying if you said the gorillas were the most interesting part of your day. Quickly, your time spent with Caleb was becoming more cherished than your own research. How strange.
You startled out of your thoughts when a book is jutted into your line of sight. “This word?” He points.
You peer down, eyes narrowing where his finger points to the word*.* Immediately, your eyes widen again.
You snatch the book out of his hands in a flash, face heating as you quickly scan the rest of the page. You’d forgotten how lewd this romance book was, having read it a while ago.
“Maybe you shouldn’t read this.”
Caleb takes the book back immediately before you can protest. “I want.”
The idea of letting him read degenerate smut seems very poor to you. “Caleb, no.”
He only makes a face, like a dog about to bare its teeth. Giving in this quickly was undesirable, but you knew Caleb’s stubbornness, could see it on his face. You still, before exhaling in defeat. “Fine.”
“What does it mean?”
You pause, debating if you should tell him. Well, you did say you would teach him, after all. Besides, it’s just a body part.
“Female organ,” you say simply, gesturing around your lower half.
His eyes follow, but they don’t seem curious and thoughtful like usual. No, instead they’re hungry, dim, and fixated solely on your face, like he knows already.
“Ah,” he says, licking over his sharp canines.
You look away, cheeks burning. It’s hard to avoid the man when he’s still cuddling you like you’re his personal stress ball, but you try your hardest. After a while, though, it becomes nearly impossible to ignore the way the air has shifted, how he’s looking at you differently now.
“I have to go,” you announce suddenly, cringing at the way his arms tighten around you.
“Already?”
“Yes,” you slip out of his arms with great difficulty, heart leaping when the act gets a low growl out of him. When you stand and look down at him, the look in his eyes is enough to get your heart pounding.
Dark, needy, feral.
“Sorry,” you squeak, already leaving him behind with an apologetic bow. You rush away so quickly you don’t even realize what you left behind.
It’s been three days since you’ve seen Caleb.
On top of the work piling on top of you and your team, it had dawned on you that day that you and Caleb’s relationship was shifting into dangerous territory. The way he had looked at you— has been looking at you, was too real for you to comprehend.
His hooded, hungry gaze makes your heart flutter faster like birds trapped in a bony cage, prey waiting to be caught by his sharp, gleaming maw. It’s something you want to run away from and leap towards at the same time.
You feel awful, but there is nothing you can do about your sudden business. Besides, the three large books you had given him should be enough to entertain him for the time being.
Later that evening, when all work is complete, you decide to finally head eastwards once again.
It’s a risky decision; the sun would set in nearly an hour, and the trek took 15 minutes in itself, but, well, you’ve always been a bit reckless.
You’re about to call his name, standing outside his little cave, but soft noises make you freeze.
Tiny whimpers, uneven breaths. He must be injured, you think, and immediately enter the cave, boots crunching on the dried glass clippings on the floor.
“Caleb, what—” His large body is hunched over away from you, broad shoulders trembling and shuddering. You flush when you see your bandana clutched in his hand, pressed against his face desperately. The other large hand moves back and forth, in a pumping motion.
He freezes at the sound of your voice. You stop in your tracks as well, realizing you have deeply, deeply misinterpreted the situation.
Slowly, Caleb turns. It takes everything in you to focus on his face only. Dark hair frames his face, his gleaming, predatory eyes. You swallow.
He speaks before you can. “You are back.”
You nod once. “Yes.”
Your heart pounds. Caleb drops your bandana on the hay, stalking close to you.
Strong arms wrap around you quickly like a vice, tugging you desperately to his warm body. You gasp, palms hesitantly sliding to rest against his pecs to steady yourself as he nuzzles close to your jaw.
You jerk in his hold when his tongue drags a lewd lick across your cheek.
“Oh my God,” you gulp, heart pounding in a mix of fear and arousal. He looked about ready to eat you. “Caleb—”
Your words are cut off into a choked whimper when those sharp teeth bite down on your neck, lips suckling a brutish hickey on your skin. He pulls back with a lewd pop, tongue raving over his lips like he just tasted something decadent.
“Need you,” he pants, pressing his lips against the blooming bruise, before peppering them down to your sternum. “Need you, need you—”
You tug at his hair, and he whimpers, before you direct his face upwards so you can slot your lips over his.
The kiss is messy. He practically devours your lips unceremoniously, tongue flicking over yours, teeth catching your bottom lip to suck to the point of pain.
A string of saliva bridges your mouths when he pulls away, like a part of him never wanted to leave. His chest heaves in front of your face as you trail your palms downwards, sliding them across his toned abs. Teasingly, you slowly shift to grasp his shaft, making him shudder. But he fights the urge to thrust into your grip, instead baring himself to your sweet, slow torture for a moment.
Face muffled in the crook of your neck, Caleb whines when your thumb brushes his leaky tip, the other hand pumping tight around his velvet shaft. Even without seeing it— he was basically smothering you with how close he was, till your only view was his chest— you could tell he was large.
Finally, he lifts his face with a ragged pant, jaw tense, eyebrows lowered in agrigation. With a low hiss of your name, he tugs you impossibly closer. His erection presses into you obscenely as he slips a hand down the front of your pants.
“Need you now,” he repeats, tongue laving up your neck. You gasp as he tugs your panties impatiently; you show him how it’s done, unzipping and removing your trousers, before slipping off your panties— ignoring how he whines when you stop touching his cock.
He’s on his knees in a millisecond, large hands cupping your thighs to lift them so you’re forced to lean against the rocky wall behind you for support. Fingertips digging into the fat, pushing back spreading your plush thighs open like they held his favorite meal, before burying his face whole between them.
You jerk, crying out in pleasure as he eats you out like he’s starved. Spread like this, you’re dependent on his strong hands to hold you up and at the mercy of his ravenous mouth. Tongue pushing through your tight ring of muscle, curling just right so your pussy walls clamp around his buds. Lips latched onto your clit, suckling until you squeal and squirm. His slimy tongue rears around again to lap languidly up your whole pussy, rough buds creating delicious friction against the bundle of nerves.
“C-Cay,” you hiccup, hands tangled in his messy locks, attempting to tug him off and shove him closer all at once. He only grunts in response, solely focused on one thing only.
He’s basically salivating, a mix of your arousal and his own spittle dribbling down his chin and glossy lips. Caleb whimpers again against your cunt, burying his face further between your thighs until you can only jerk and moan. Your poor pussy is swelling with his attention, especially when he nuzzles his nose just right against your clit.
“Please please please,” you twitch and whine, attempting to grind against his face without losing your support against the wall. “I’m so close, please.”
His mouth latches onto your clit one last time, suckling like your cunt was a fruit, and you’re cumming, gushing down his chin and lips with a broken moan.
Slowly, Caleb lowers you to the ground, until you’re resting back on the comfortable strawy grass. Your eyes flutter open, and his face is looming close, bottom half covered in slick.
“Good?” He pants, licking his lips again as he waits expectantly for your reply. You nod, and he lights up at the praise.
“Yeah, good,” you rasp, taking the moment to shed your shirt. Caleb thumbs at your bra curiously, eyes darkening as he eyes your cleavage.
You tug off your bra slowly, flushing when he stares intently at the way your tits bounce when released. Immediately, he’s on you, crawling over to palm your breasts, before taking a nipple into his warm mouth.
Moans spill from your lips as he switches from one tit to the next, kissing and tonguing until your nipples are glistening and hardened. You bury a hand in his hair, gaze dropping to how his cock seems painfully hard, bobbing up against his taut abs and an angry red color.
“Need you, Cay,” it seems arousal had also rendered your speech to the simplest form. But Caleb understands, detaching his hungry mouth from your tits, before mounting you fully from behind.
A large, bulging bicep comes down to nestle your face against the crook of his forearm, your cheeks pressed against hard muscle. His hips rut against the soft curve of your ass, dick slipping back and forth between your pussy folds with lewd squelches.
This was nothing you’ve taught him. Because the need for lust, for sex, was not anything to be learned. It was innate, biological, and animalistic.
And Caleb had always been animalistic.
Slowly, he begins trying to push in, his fat tip burning your poor cunt, splitting your walls open. You whimper, squirming against him, and he only nuzzles you soothingly in a gesture of comfort.
With a nudge of his hips, and because you’re so wet, his tip slips in with a lewd pop!
Your chest heaves with each heavy breath you inhale, struggling to take him, cheeks flushed as he peppers comforting kisses against it. Your slick walls quiver around his shroom-shaped head, and Caleb whimpers in response.
Slowly, he’s feeding in more, and more. As soon as he’s an inch in, your pussy is gripping him tight, wrenching a low sound from him.
“Mine, mine, mine,” he’s mumbling against your ear, long cock now entirely in your cunt. You hiccup and gasp at the way it’s already nudging just right against that spongy spot inside of you.
Slow rocks of his hips quickly speed up until he’s pounding into you with startling intensity, sending your body rocking against the floor. The obscene plap plap plap! of your bodies smacking against each other— accompanied by your pleasured squeals— bounce off the rocky walls of the cave.
Your pussy is leaking all over his cock, fluttering and sliding against every delicious vein and forming a frothy ring around his shaft. His bulbous tip kisses past your g-spot perfectly and rams straight into your cervix with an intensity you know will bruise, sparking white-hot tingles up your tummy.
More nips are delivered to your earlobe. “Mine, my mate,” he pants this time, desperately crushing you closer with his bodyweight. He’s feral, impossibly possessive with the way he cages you close.
“C-Caleb,” you manage, unable to decide if you should tell him to slow down or not. But the man seems gone anyways, with the way he bites down on your shoulder to muffle a whine-tinged snarl. Those teeth nip more marks down the side of your neck, possessive bruises blooming on your sweat-slicken skin.
The grass blades dig against your sensitive nipples with each thrust, the rough friction sending mixes of pleasure and pain down your spine. You barely register it, all focus on the way his strong body pins you to the floor as he ruts into you from behind, the way his sweaty pecs stick and slide against your arched back. Drool leaks from your kiss-bitten lips, getting all over his tensed bicep that’s got you in a headlock. You bite him as well, chomping on the ripe muscle in front of you to offset the intense pleasure. Caleb moans in approval.
The smacking of his hips against your ass picks up in tandem with your pussy’s flutters. You’re both close; Caleb whines openly now, letting out needy sounds against your neck when your cunt restricts hard.
“I’m, hah, gonna cum,” you babble, drooling nonsensically against his bicep.
“Cum- cum f’me, honey,” he grunts, and you wonder dazedly just how much he had learned in that romance book, before you cum hard with a squeal*.*
Your cunt squeezes and milks his tight shaft, squirting arousal down onto the grassy area below. Warmth floods you as Caleb cums with a broken whimper, chest shuddering against your shoulders. You stay there, limp and satisfied, eyes shut.
You hear the rustling of grass, and you groan weakly as your gently pulled to lay on your side, face nestled between his firm pecs.
A dotting of kisses on your cheeks awakens you slightly, enough to lift your chin and meet his concerned, puppy-eyed gaze.
“Okay?” He asks, brushing a rough finger across your drool-soaked lips. You smile sleepily, nuzzling against him.
“Great.”
As you lay there with him, breaths synced, you think about whether your team is panicked over your prolonged departure from camp. Oh well. All you know is, in wilderness and civilization, you want Caleb by your side.
If you take the bus, wave to the driver and thank them as you're getting off the bus.
Being a bus driver is an underappreciated and difficult job but still very vital to society. They still have to do customer service and deal with rude and even aggressive passengers, and on top of that have to deal with traffic and other drivers all day (and let's face it, there's a lot of bad drivers out there who aren't considerate about sharing the road). All while providing an invaluable service of getting us where we need to go. Showing them some appreciation can go a long ways for someone doing such an important job that usually gets little to no recognition or thanks.
Synopsis: Your Cat Hybrid!Xavier is a menace every single time you are baking. But unfortunately his bratty behavior catches up to him. You just so happen to be caught in the crossfire.
A/n: Yet another lovely Commission as a gift! Remember I’m running my special until Christmas!
Cooking and Baking with Xavier was far from easy.
Xavier's ears perk up mischievously as he watches you move around the kitchen from his spot curled on the couch. His tail flicks with barely contained excitement.
"Mm... rules?" He blinks innocently, stretching languidly before padding over, because yes, he absolutely knows he's not supposed to be in the kitchen while you cook.
But that's never stopped him before.
He slides up behind you, tail curling around your ankle possessively as he peers over your shoulder at whatever you're preparing.
"...Smells good," he murmurs, nuzzling against your neck. "I could help, you know..." His definition of "help" involves stealing bites when you're not looking and attempting to distract you with affection.
He knows he's being a menace. He doesn't care.
His ears twitch smugly as he reachesvery deliberatelyfor a slice of whatever ingredient is within paw's reach.
Xavier watches with a resigned pout as you procure the dreaded spray bottle. His ears go flat against his head, and his tail droops in disappointment. That just makes him look more like a remorseful kitten, which is not helping his case.
"Come onnnnn ..." he whines, giving you his best pleading look. His eyes are huge and watery, and his lip is jutted out in a childish, sulky expression.
Xavier knows he's being overdramatic but he also knows you tend to crack whenever he gets like this.
Sure enough, Xavier sees the hint of a smile flicker across your face, and he quickly pushes his luck. He shoulders up to you, his tail brushing against your wrist as he leans his head against your shoulder, still looking pitiful.
"Pleaseeee...? Just a little taste...?" he asks, peering up at you through his eyelashes. His ears are pointed backward and down, and his eyes are wide with faux guilelessness.
He's laying it on thick now, and he knows it.
Xavier's attempts at persuasion have only been met with your steadfast resolve so far. You're immune to his cute but manipulative act, it seems. Your expression stays resolute, and you brandish the spray bottle with a firm shake.
"Absolutely not." You say, keeping your voice stern. "No begging, no stealing. Go back to the couch and wait patiently like a good kitty."
Xavier's ears flatten completely against his head in frustration. He huffs out an annoyed sigh, but it still sounds like a petulant mewl.
His tail flicks irritably as he shuffles backwards with exaggerated slowness, dragging his feet like a scolded child. Every step away from the kitchen is clearly agony for him, and he keeps glancing back at you with wounded eyes, as if hoping you'll suddenly change your mind.
When he finally flops dramatically onto the couch, he curls up in a sulky little ball, making sure his back is turned toward you pointedly. His ears stay drooped, but occasionally twitch toward the sounds of cooking, betraying his continued interest.
He lets out one last, dramatic sigh just in case you missed the first ten.
"...This is cruelty," he mutters under his breath, but there's no real heat behind it. Mostly just pouty resignation.
The moment your back is turned, Xavier slides off the couch with feline gracelike liquid trouble incarnate. He moves silently, creeping closer with the exaggerated stealth of a cat stalking prey, tail twitching with anticipation.
Attempt #1: "Accidental" Distraction
He knocks over a small decorative vase not hard enough to break it, just enough to make a noise then gasps dramatically.
"Oh nooo, clumsy me" His paws are already reaching for the cooling rack while you turn to check the commotion.
Attempt #2: The Reverse Psychology Ploy
He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, trying to sound casual.
"Y'know... I could be supervising. For safety. So nothing burns." His ears flick innocently but his twitching tail betrays his ulterior motives.
Attempt #3: The Fake Emergency
He suddenly clutches his stomach and groans, flopping against the counter.
"Ughhh... I think I'm starving... Might faint... Only freshly baked cookies can save me" He peeks through his fingers to see if you're buying it.
Attempt #4: The "Helping" Sabotage
When caught midsnatch, he instantly pretends he was just "tidying up."
"These crumbs were clearly a mess! I was just-nom-cleaning. See? Responsible." His mouth is already full.
Every failed attempt only makes him more determined, his schemes growing increasingly ridiculous until he's practically resorting to full on acrobatics just to steal a single bite.
Eventually, he collapses onto the floor in exaggerated defeat, tail flicking indignantly.
"...I hate rules," he grumbles, but there's a playful gleam in his eyes. He’s not done yet.
With all his usual tactics foiled, Xavier shifts strategies, dangerously so. His sleepy, playful demeanor drops into something far more deliberate. A low, rough purr rumbles in his chest as he slowly rises from his defeated sprawl, stretching with exaggerated languidness that makes his sweater ride up just a fraction too high.
The Final Gambit: Faked Rut
His ears press back, pupils dilating as he stalks toward you with slow, calculated stepstail flicking in restless, needy arcs behind him. His voice drops into a throaty growl, edged with just enough desperation to sound convincing.
“...Can’t help it,” he breathes, pressing close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off him, “Instincts are bad right now...” A shiver rolls through him on cue, and he nuzzles against your neck with a whimper that’s just pitiful enough to make you hesitate.
His hands slide around your waist conveniently maneuvering you away from the oven as he doesand he presses a line of kisses along your jawline, each one punctuated by a soft, pleading noise.
“...Need you,” he murmursand then, because he can’t resist one last push, “...Kitty rules. You’re supposed to spoil me...”
And damn it all, it works. Between the nuzzling, the shamelessly theatrical trembling, and the way his tail coils around your thigh, you finally cave with a sigh, letting him steal a victorious bite straight from the tray.
The second the treat is in his mouth, his entire demeanor shifts back to smug, satisfied contentmentears perked, tail high, and a distinctly unremorseful grin on his face as he chews.
“…Told you I’d win,” he mumbles around the mouthful, utterly unrepentant.
Xavier wakes up the following day feeling... odd. There's a restless heat coursing through him, an itch just below the surface that demands attention. It's familiar, but the intensity of it catches him off guardhe's never felt this desperate, this hungry for contact before. It's overwhelming, and it takes all his selfrestraint not to immediately pin you down and take what he needs.
He tries to shake it off, convincing himself it's just lingering effects from his "performance" last night. But as the day goes on, it doesn't fade. It becomes inescapable. His skin burns, his tail puffs up in agitation, and his breathing grows uneven. His ears twitch erratically, betraying how overstimulated he feels. His instincts scream at him to seek, claim, devour, but he grits his teeth, trying to maintain some semblance of control.
Except-
You innocently brush past him in the hallway, and that's all it takes.
With a choked noise, he moves, crowding you against the wall in one fluid motion. His hands tremble where they press against the surface on either side of you, his chest heaving.
"...Fuck," he rasps, pupils blown wide, ears flattened back in frustrated desperation. "T-This isn’t-Hng-fair!” His hips jerk forward involuntarily, rutting against your thigh as his tail lashes behind him.
And oh, the irony is deliciousbecause now he's the one utterly at your mercy, his little act from yesterday coming back to haunt him tenfold.
He glares weakly, panting.
"...L-Laugh and I’ll bite you," he threatensbut it’s undermined by how he nuzzles helplessly into your neck, his entire body trembling with need.
Karma’s a bitch, kitty.
The moment his rut truly takes hold, Xavier dissolves into a shuddering, needy messwhining high in his throat as you guide him down onto the couch, his body pliant under your touch. His claws flex and knead anxiously into the plush yarn ball you press into his grip, his thighs trembling as you straddle his hips, your fingers teasing slow, deliberate strokes along his length.
"Nnh! S-S’too much" His back arches, tail lashing beneath him as he tries…and fails….to stifle the desperate little noises spilling from his lips. His ears twitch violently, pinned back in overwhelmed pleasure, his grip on the yarn tightening until his knuckles whiten.
Every flick of your wrist has him gasping, hips jerking erratically, but the yarn keeps him groundedhis instincts torn between clinging to the texture and rutting helplessly into your hand. Drool dampens his chin, his breathing ragged as he stares up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes utterly wrecked already.
"P-Please! W-Wait, w-wait" He mewls, legs kicking weakly when your thumb swipes over his leaking tip but his protests dissolve into broken purrs as you continue, his body betraying him by pressing up into your touch, greedy and shameless.
By the time he finally spills over your fingers with a strangled cry, he’s limp, boneless and dazed, his chest heaving as he blinks up at you in dazed wonder. The yarn lies forgotten beside him, his claws still half-curled around it as he nuzzles clumsily into your thigh, murmuring slurred praise between panting breaths.
"...Y-You… ‘m yours…" He slurs, already halfway to passing outthoroughly, thoroughly tamed.
The afterglow doesn’t last nearly long enough.
You barely have time to wipe him down with a damp cloth, all soft murmurs and gentle fingers smoothing over his flushed skin. You wait until his breathing evens out into deep, sated sleep. His tail twitches lazily in contentment, his body finally still for once, his fingers still loosely curled around the halfdestroyed yarn. Peace, at last.
Two. Hours. Later.
A sharp tug on your pant leg interrupts your frosting technique. You glance down to find Xavieralready a mess againkneeling at your feet, his teeth latched onto the hem of your clothes like a territorial kitten. His pupils are blown wide, his cock already hard and dripping between his thighs, his tail flicking in restless, needy arcs behind him. The yarn is clamped tightly in his other handchewed to absolute shredshis claws flexing impatiently.
"…Again," he demands, voice rough with renewed desperation, nuzzling against your hip like he hasn’t just been thoroughly taken care of. "Now."
His ears twitch when you sigh, as if sensing your hesitation and he growls, biting down harder on the fabric in warning.
"…Or I start climbing," he threatens, licking his lips with shameless intent, because he will, and you both know it.
…Guess baking is on hold for a while.
You barely get the words out "Be quick" before Xavier lets out a rough, triumphant noise and pounces, claws catching the fabric of your shorts and yanking them down in one impatient tug. His hands lock around your hips, pulling you flush against him before you can so much as blink, his mouth already searing hot against your skin.
Quick? Oh, no. Not happening.
The moment your fingers tighten around the mixing spoon, Xavier growls low and possessivehis teeth nipping at your inner thigh in reprimand. His claws dig in just enough to sting, his tail lashing behind him as he presses feverish kisses along your hipbone, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
"N-No distractions," he slurs, tongue dragging slow and filthy over your skin, "Only-ah, fuckkk- me."
His hands tremble where they grip you, his hips rutting up against yours in erratic, desperate little thrusts, cock slick and burning against your thigh. Every time you try to focus back on the bowl, he whines high and wounded his teeth sinking in just a little harder in protest.
Eventually, the spoon clatters uselessly onto the counteryour fingers instead tangling in his hair as he finally, finally gets what he wants, his purrs vibrating smugly against your skin.
Yeah. The batter’s gonna have to wait.
Even though you've indulged Xavier's feline needs before, your body never quite gets used to the way his cock feels, the way those subtle barbs catch and drag inside you, sending sparks of pleasurepain racing up your spine. They're not sharp enough to tear, but they're just pronounced enough to make every inch of his thrusts feel impossibly more, the ridges teasing your walls with a relentless, overwhelming friction.
The moment he pushes in, your thighs shakehis cock stretching you in ways a human’s never could, his hips rolling against yours with feline grace. His claws dig into your hips, his breath hot against your neck as he ruts into you with needy, uneven thrusts, his tail lashing behind him in unrestrained pleasure.
"S-So tight" he slurs, voice wrecked, his fangs catching your shoulder as he buries himself to the hilt, "F-Fuck, fuck y-you take me s-so gooooddd."
Every drag out is torturethose barbs teasing your oversensitive wallsand every push back in has you gasping, your nails scratching down his back as he fucks you with single minded desperation. His purrs are ragged, his ears pinned back as he chases his release, his body burning against yours.
When he finally spills inside you, his entire body goes rigidhis cock pulsing as those barbs lock him deep, his hips stuttering through the aftershocks. His teeth sink into your skin, his tail wrapping possessively around your thigh as he murmurs broken praise against your sweatslicked skin.
"M-Mine," he pants, "Alll-ahhh mine…"
The moment you feel those barbs catch, locking him deep inside you, your whine turns into a fullblown, breathless gasp. Your fingers scrabble at his shoulders, legs trembling as Xavier growls low in his throat, his claws digging into your pliant flesh.
"Nu-huh," he slurs, already dragging you down with himhis hips rolling lazily to keep himself sheathed as he collapses backward onto the kitchen floor. The tile is cool against your flushed skin, a sharp contrast to the feverish heat of his body pressed against yours. His tail wags beneath you, his ears twitching with smug satisfaction.
The cookiespoor, forgotten thingsare left to their fate on the counter, the scent of vanilla and sugar mingling with the musk of sweat and sex as Xavier nuzzles against your neck, his tongue dragging over your pulse point.
"C-Cookies later," he mumbles, nipping at your jaw, "M-Me now."
His hips jerk up experimentally, just to feel you clench around himand he groans, his entire body shuddering as those barbs drag inside you all over again. Your thighs tighten around his waist instinctively, and he purrs, nosing against your collarbone with hazy adoration.
The cookies are definitely burning.
He also starts refusing to let you cook, insisting on providing for you himself, even going as far as to swipe ingredients off the counter if he thinks you're going to use them.
Determined to prove himself as your devoted provider, even in the throes of his rut, Xavier takes it upon himself to bring you meals, despite your ironclad "no kitties in the kitchen" rule.
His efforts are... well-intentioned.
Day 1: He presents you with a bowl of cereal proudly, as if he’s slayed a beast for you, except the milk is suspiciously warm he held the bowl in his lap for twenty minutes before remembering to bring it to you and the cereal is half-crushed from his nervous tail swishing against it.
Day 2: He attempts scrambled eggs, whisking them with a fierce intensity only to forget the pan is still heating up. The result is a smoky disaster that sets off the fire alarm, sending him scrambling back to the nest with his ears flat and a mortified hiss.
Day 3: He resorts to takeout but even that becomes a territorial ordeal, his tail puffing up when the delivery guy lingers too long at the door. He snatches the bag with a low growl, then promptly drops it in the nest beside you as if he hunted it himself. "Eat," he demands, nudging it toward you with his nose.
The worst offense?
Day 4: He finds your hidden stash of emergency snacksa secret chocolate bar tucked in the nightstandand brings it to you with an offended sniff. "You don’t need this," he grumbles, tail flicking. "I provide." He then proceeds to gnaw on the corner of it himself, just to prove some bizarre point about sharing.
By Day 7: you’ve accepted defeat, tnestled in a cocoon of blankets while Xavier drapes himself over you like a oversized, purring cape. Occasionally pressing half-chewed treats against your lips with a stubborn, sleepy insistence.
At least he tries.
After days of relentless, barbed claiming, Xavier finally wakes up one morning back to his usual selfno longer lost in the feverish haze of his rut. His ears twitch lazily in the sunlight, his tail curling in contentment as he stretches... and then immediately nudges your thigh with his nose, blinking up at you with his best "adorable but spoiled" expression.
"...Hungry," he announces, as if he hasn’t spent the past week hoarding snacks and setting the kitchen on fire. His voice is back to its usual soft, sleepy drawlbut the demand in it is unmistakable. "Want cookies. Fresh ones."
You groan, dragging yourself out of the tangled nest of blankets with all the grace of a half-dead zombie. Your legs are sore, your back aches, and there’s definitely a bite mark on your shoulder that’s going to bruise. Xavier watches you shuffle toward the kitchen with zero remorse, his tail flicking in anticipation.
Just as you reach the doorway, his voice pipes up again, sweet and completely void of mercy.
"...With extra chocolate chips," he adds, flopping onto his back with a yawn, as if he hasn’t just ruined you for a week straight. "And milk. Cold this time."
I just watched a video about students getting their papers falsely flagged for using AI, even when they didn’t, and the advice was things like, “Leave in incorrect grammar,” “If you’re quoting something, don’t copy and paste it, type it out manually because it leaves a metadata trail that you used the copy/paste function and that's a flag,” “Write in the cloud so there’s a version history,” and the one that really got me, “if you find you write in a manner that can sounds too robotic or professional and it gets flagged, go to the writing center so a writing tutor can help you sound more humanly flawed,” and like what the actual fuck.
Like I get that is practical advice, but people should not have to fucking do that. They should not have to train themselves around not sounding like AI, when AI only sounds like that BECAUSE it was trained on them.
I spent so much of my life learning how to write, I shouldn't have to unlearn that because some computer algorithm learned from me.
Help save this kitten from cancer - kitten updates and fundraiser
Noah the Orange Cat has been diagnosed with cancer a few months ago. It would not have been possible to save him without the help of everyone who donated — however, it's not over yet. you can still help him and his owners.
He began chemotherapy. this is what his fundraiser website says, "UPDATE: My heart is breaking. We are just 3 days away from Noah’s next chemotherapy, and we’re still short of what we need to move forward. Every single dose matters — the oncologist was very clear about that. Missing even one round can give the cancer a chance to regroup, spread, and build resistance. We’ve come too far, and fought too hard, to let that happen now."
Help him. Share this if you care, it takes no time. it's a real fundraiser, you can check on his socials, Orangecatnoah, which is the same everywhere. help people see this. donate now, share it. do not just leave a like and scroll. reblog. send it to people. his life it at stake.
stormborns
jacobvanloon
annaxmalina
jbbartram-illu
areudirty
germansingergirl
