#BUT THIS GUY HAS MY BRAIN IN A CHOKE HOLD AND I NEED AN OUTLET

[kakusu-shipping]

Someone come get this guy out of my head please.

[secondratefiction]

Smut Alphabet - Sweet Pea

Nobody asked for this, but I spent two days on it so I’m posting it anyway...

A=Aftercare (What they're like after sex)

• Sweets has a reputation, and it's not unwarranted, but there is something about you that just throws all of that right out the window. It always starts the same way, no matter how rough he may have been with you: Heavy breathing and small kisses against your shoulder or collarbone depending on if your facing towards or away from him, and stoking his thumb along your hip, back or stomach, wherever he happens to have a hold of you. Then, once he's able to actually focus on anything again, he's up, cleaning up, making sure your squared away and comfortable. Once you're taken care of, he'll fall back in beside you, hauling you into his chest and kiss the top your head, content to just relax for a little while longer, potentially (hopefully) even falling asleep with you warm against his side.

B=Body Part (Their favorite part of their partner's body)

• Your Thighs. Oh my god this boy is absolutely weak for them. He's obsessed... in his hands, around his waist, pressed against the sides of his head, all of it. Just all of it. Send help, he doesn't know what to do with himself.

You've developed a love hate relationship with summer and warm weather. On the one hand, your shorts drive Sweets absolutely mad and he can't seem to keep his hands off you. On the other hand, your shorts drive Sweets absolutely mad and you can't wear them for more than a day before they're marked up with so, so many hickeys and other love bites.

C=Cum (Anything to do with cum basically... I'm a disgusting person)

•The single fucking hottest thing he's ever seen was you pulling back after blowing him, sitting back on your heels, hair a mess, makeup smudged; positively, sinfully, debauched, and looking up at him with deceptively innocent eyes and traces of his cum at the corner of your mouth.

That image along getting him through more lonely nights than he'll admit to.

D=Dirty Secret

• It's buried so deep that even he doesn't acknowledge it, but there is a tiny piece of this boy that wants so badly to sub for you.

Once while you were riding him, you'd pushed his hands away from you, trying to take control. He humored you; and when you unconsciously pressed your hand against the base of his throat to steady yourself, he lost it. He honest to god whined, though he'll deny it to this day, and shortly after he came so hard he almost passed out on you.

E= Experience (How much do they have?)

• Experienced enough. It's not like there's some mile long laundry list of former flings, but he also wasn't above occasionally taking home one of the girls that had a habit of hanging off him at the pool tables.

F= Favorite Position

• Anything where he can pull you around to kiss him. Mostly facing him in some capacity, where he can grab a fistful of your hair, close to the scalp, and turn your head whatever way he wants it.

If not that then it's over the counter, the table the back of furniture, or against the wall. Basically anywhere that puts your ass out for him, where he can pin you down and plow away.

G= Goofy (How are they in the moment? Are they more serious or humorous?)

• Generally, Sweets tends to lean more towards the serious end of the spectrum, especially if you've made him jealous or caught him in a bad mood; but it's not like he's never laughed during sex. Especially if you two are purposely teasing and trying to rile the other up, you've had more than one occasion where sex somehow turned into a game of 'who can make the best sarcastic comment or innuendo before one of us comes.'

H= Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

• Decently? It's not like he's putting any great effort into it, but he's not just letting it go either. Some kind of low effort, easy middle ground.

I=Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

• Once again, it's one of those things that depends on what kind of a mood you happen to catch him in. If he's been under a lot of stress with Serpent business or god forbid another confrontation with the Bulldogs or even the Ghoulies, you're much more likely to get Sweets who's angry and frustrated and hasn't had a proper outlet for all the emotions.

On the other hand, there are some days he feels like he's hit bottom, like the only good thing he has going for him at all is you and there is literally no way he's ever going to be able to express how grateful and absolutely in love with you he is, but damned if he isn't going to try

J=Jack Off (Masturbation Headcanon)

• Given the choice, he'd 100% much rather be doing anything with you. Unfortunately, that's not always an option, and when it's not, he's still more than capable of taking care of himself.

Especially on long nights where you've been unable to stay over, he likes to draw things out. He's got a whole library of pretty images burned into his brain to draw from, as well as one very well hidden gallery on his phone of pictures and videos you've sent him to help with that.

K=Kink (One or more of their kinks)

• Size Kink - We all know this is a thing, but I don't see nearly enough people talk about it.

Dear god you just look so damn tiny stood next to him, let alone under him, and he's not entirely sure what to do with everything that stirs up.

• Dominance - Unpopular opinion: I don't see Sweet Pea falling into ??the specific category of "daddy kink". The boy is dominant and possessive af, but I think the line falls just short of the actual title of 'daddy'. I can see Sir though, and him calling you any number of pet names that absolutely should not sound that sinful.

L=Location (Favorite places to do the do)

• Honestly, he prefers back at his place, just because there's less chance of someone walking in or being interrupted in some other way.

M=Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

• You wearing his clothes, it’s cliche as hell and he kind of hates himself for enjoying it as much as he does, but he does nonetheless. Especially his leather jacket, the whole thing just seems to swallow you.

• Anytime he's walked out of the Wyrm, or anywhere else, to find you just sitting on his bike waiting for him.

• That look he catches you giving him anytime he's leaning across the pool tables to line up a shot, and he's not entirely sure if you're planning to fuck him senseless or eat him alive. But, with that look, he's good either way

N=No (Something they won't do, turn offs)

• Anything that could seriously harm you or cause more than momentary pain. Sweet Pea isn't exactly known for his gentle disposition, so of course he's rough with you sometimes: spanking, pulling and pushing you around, he almost seems obsessed with having his had wrapped around your throat. And yeah, that can leave bruises or sore muscles, but it's never been extreme, he's never been out to truly hurt you. The one time he thought he did, hyper extending your hip in the heat of the moment, he nearly had a panic attack and spent the next several days making it up to you.

Also, he's always been super careful not to actually choke you. Like I said, the boy loves putting his hand around your neck, but it's never been more than firm pressure for you to feel it while you breath in and out, or holding your head in place so you can't move it, but never going so far as to cut off your air.

O=Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

• Ok, yes, of course he likes receiving, c'mon, really, why would he ever say no to that? But in all honestly, if he could get away with it, he'd spend all day, every day between your thighs.

P=Pace (Fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

• Depends on the mood you catch him in. Usually it falls more on the fast and rough side just because only seems to know how to work through his emotions physically. Not that you're complaining all that much.

Q=Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

• The amount of times this boy has snagged you in the hallway and dragged you off to an empty classroom or storage closet in the mornings or during lunch... It is some kind of miracle the two of you haven't been caught and suspended or expelled. And that's not accounting for the times he's pulled you out behind the Wyrm or off to a dark patch of forest out of view of the bond fire

So, yeah, it's safe to say he's a fan.

R=Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

• He doesn't really care much one way or the other. More or less the rule of thumb is if you're comfortable and want to do it, then he's all for it.

S=Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they usually last)

• Generally you'll go anywhere from one to three depending on the kind of time and other extenuating circumstances you guys have. There have been rare occasions where it's gone far beyond that, but those are the exceptions, not the rule

T=Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them?)

• Does he own any? No, not yet anyway. But he's not opposed to including them if you're interested.

U=Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

• There is something about seeing you desperate and frustrated that just gets to him. He absolutely loves to drag it out as long as he possibly can, but he's also pretty good at reading the signs that he's going too far and needs to just back off and give you what you both want already.

V=Volume (How loud they are, what kind of noises do they make, etc.)

• Shockingly vocal, but surprisingly quiet. He's a not lout at all, but from the time the two of you really get started, until he comes, he almost never shuts up. Moans, groans, growls, the boy sounds like a damn animal, and that's not accounting for when he got his mouth pressed against your ear, muttering devious and immoral things.

W= Wild Card (Random headcanon)

• It seems like it should go without saying but this poor boy is so whipped it's almost pathetic. Behind the big, tough guy exterior, you've had him wrapped around your finger almost since day one.

X=X-Ray

• Technically, yes, he falls into the category of "well proportioned"... but, and let's be real for a minute, have you seen the proportions we're working with here?

Y=Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

• Before you, it was little to nonexistent, things cropped up once in a blue moon, but it wasn't like it was something he paid much attention to. After you... it's not like it's some crazy 180 turn around or anything, but it's still a lot more often than he's used to. As long as you're not complaining though, he's not going to worry about it too much.

Z=ZZZ... (How fast do they fall asleep afterwards?)

• After he's sure you're happy and squared away? Not that long at all. Once you're both cleaned up and he's got you tucked back against him. he's out within five to ten minutes and most likely not waking up for a while either.

[alexislevenson-blog]

Chapter One

Lauren had never failed anything before. Technically, she hadn’t failed this time either, but the technicality wasn’t much of a comfort. After two years in a biology PhD program at the University of California Berkeley, her advisor strongly recommended that she “pursue avenues other than academia.” Despite the fact that their meeting had taken place more than two weeks before, Lauren could picture every detail of the day. She had known that the meeting wouldn’t go well. Her anxiety had been out of control for months, and she hadn’t produced any meaningful results for longer. Lauren expected to be yelled at, to be warned, to be given one last chance, but she never expected a calm, nearly apathetic, recommendation to drop out of the PhD program. Her advisor never used the word “failed”, but Lauren recognized the code words. The Biology Department of the University of California Berkeley didn’t think Lauren had what it took to make a meaningful contribution to the field. After twenty years of schooling, her only career dream was officially dead.

Lauren had spent the last two weeks in a daze, mostly filled with gin and tonics, binge watching trashy television, long runs, and eating cheetos. Her only friends in Berkeley were fellow grad students, and they had been avoiding her since the word had leaked out. “Maybe they’re worried my failure is contagious,” she laughed to herself. Starla, an ancient golden retriever, was so startled by the outburst that she nearly fell off her perch on the couch. “Poor Starla,” Lauren said as she rubbed the soft, greying ears, “You’re not used to hearing anything but my incoherent sobs, are you? Maybe someone will ignore my quarantine and come visit.”

A couple of days after her final meeting with her advisor, Lauren had officially unenrolled from school. Savita and Nolan, two of her closest friends from the lab, took her out for drinks afterward. It was a nice gesture, but Lauren could tell that they wanted to talk about their projects. The whole evening had been awkward, and Lauren had gotten exceedingly drunk. Her memories of the night were fuzzy, but she had a vague memory of Savita holding back her hair while she puked. Lauren was also pretty sure that she spent at least an hour crying on Nolan’s shoulder before trying to sloppily kiss him.

Lauren was sure that all of her friends were talking about how she’d failed out of grad school and was now a drunk mess. The next few times Savita or Nolan texted, she didn’t answer, and the invitations had gradually tapered off. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t really mind the lack of visitors and human interaction. Starla made great company, and Lauren was able to spend her new-found free time exactly how she wanted. “At least I don’t have a roommate,” she thought. Though most of the time it embarassed her that her parents paid the rent on her studio, she was so glad she didn’t have to deal with someone else’s dirty dishes during her life crisis.

Over the last few months, Lauren had withdrawn more and more from her fellow grad students and lab mates. She knew her experiments weren’t going well, her classes were going from overwhelming to impossible, and she absolutely hated teaching. Her parents had tried to put a bright spin on things. “Look at it this way,” her dad had said, “at least you found out now, instead of after four more years of pointless research!” This had made her burst into tears, and her mom had taken the phone away from her dad, mumbling gentle platitudes. Now she ignored her parents calls, just sending “I’m alive” texts every few days, to keep them from calling the police.

Lauren glanced at her phone and saw a text from her mom.

<You alive? Don’t drink too much. I love you.>

She rolled her eyes, but replied.

<Yes. No. Love you too. Going for a run.>

Her phone immediately buzzed.

<Be safe. Oakland is dangerous. Text when you’re back.>

She rolled her eyes even harder. It didn’t matter how long she lived in Oakland, or how gentrified it became, her parents were convinced that their daughter had moved to the unsafest place in America. She remembered when she moved down to start school at Cal, both of her parents were more nervous than she was. Her dad had told her how proud he was, how he didn’t even mind that she was moving so far away, because she had gotten into such a good school. “Damn it,” Lauren choked. That memory brought back the tears. “No more thinking, I’m going running.”

Lauren had never been a fast runner, but she was built like one. She was tall with long, lean arms and legs. She wasn’t skinny, but had the look that made people think “athlete.” She pulled her long, light brown hair back into a tight ponytail and threw on a hat. Her normally pale skin had darkened from all the running she’d been doing lately, but she was trying to be better about protecting her face. “At least it is something,” she told herself.

Running had been her main outlet as her career aspirations spiraled down the drain. As she ran more and more, her pace had increased, and her body had remained wiry despite the pizza and gin diet she had been on.  Running cleared her mind, and she could go forever. She was happiest running on the trails, but today she settled on the path around Lake Merritt so she could get out there as soon as possible. In the middle of a Tuesday, the path around the lake was fairly clear. “There’s one benefit of having nothing going on in my life,” Lauren thought, “ I can run whenever I want, and I don’t have to dodge as many yuppies with SUV sized strollers.”

After stretching for a few minutes, Lauren put in her headphones and took off down the well-trodden path. She knew every twist and turn of the route, every bump and pothole. Though she much preferred exploring the Bay Area’s miles of trails, there was something wonderful about the familiarity of Lake Merritt. She could turn her brain on auto-pilot and not think about anything.

When she wasn’t running, Lauren’s anxiety caused her to obsess over what if scenarios and panic about the future. “What if I never found a job again? Would I have to become a waitress? I’ve never had a food service job, no one will ever hire me to become a waitress. I heard that trades are the fastest growing fields. Could I become a welder? What kind of training do welders need? Would I have to take out student loans for welding school?” These kinds of obsessive thoughts had taken over her life since the end of grad school. Running and gin were the only things that helped calm the incessant questions.

It took her less than a mile to get into her groove today. The rhythmic pounding of her feet, the routine beat of the music in her ears, even the ache in her lungs drove out all thoughts of her failure, and “running has to be healthier than gin,” she told herself as she started her second three and a half mile loop around the lake.

She was only halfway through her second lap when her phone rang, startling Lauren out of her mindless reverie. “Shit!” she yelled, then looked around guiltily, worried about nearby children. Who would be calling her, she wondered as she dug her phone out of her hip belt.

The screen flashed “Hannah” and a picture of a neon dot in front of a blurry mountain. “Why would she be calling me?” Lauren wondered. Hannah had been Lauren’s best friend in the world for six years. They met in the dorms freshman year of college, and were inseparable until Lauren had moved to California for grad school and Hannah had moved to to Oregon to “chase the call of the wild” as she called it. Lauren couldn’t remember the last time Hannah had called, as they had mostly communicated by text for the last year.

Right as Lauren’s academic career had started spiraling out of control, Hannah had started dating a new guy. “No surprise, she threw herself into that relationship,” Lauren remembered. Hannah had always done that, focusing on the guy of the moment instead of her friends. Between school being totally overwhelming and Hannah’s new love, their weekly phone calls and daily text marathons had devolved into sporadic texts and occasional emails.

“Did I even tell her about my absolute failure at life?” Lauren thought. Maybe she’d heard through the grapevine, and that’s why she was calling. But, no, Lauren had texted her right away. Even though they hadn’t had a real conversation in weeks, Hannah was the first person she wanted when times got tough.

<I failed grad school. I’m quitting. Guess I’ll become a cage dancer.>

<Bummer! I’m sorry. Give me a call if you want to talk.>

Lauren hadn’t called, and Hannah hadn’t either. Why was she calling now? Lauren knew Hannah, and this far after the crisis, she knew it had to be something unrelated. “Maybe it’s something to do with her boyfriend. What was his name? Tyler?” She let the call go to voicemail, and continued on her run. The call had shaken her nerves, though. She couldn’t get back into the groove and ended the run after seven miles, instead of the planned ten.

As she walked back to her apartment, she listened to the voicemail. “Hey Lauren, this is Hannah. Sorry it’s been forever since we’ve talked. Tanner and I have both been super busy, but anyway...I think I’m doing the John Muir Trail next month, and I was hoping I could come visit you on my way out. Anyway, give me a call back, and I hope you’re feeling better about your life! Bye!”

“Tanner, that’s his name,” Lauren thought. She wasn’t exactly excited to have a visitor, but Hannah would be different. No matter how long they went without seeing each other, being with Hannah was easy. She resolved to call her best friend back as soon as she got to her apartment. As she surveyed the mess that greeted her at the door, she thought, “At least I have a month to clean the place up!”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Hannah had just hung up the phone with her mom when Tanner walked in the door. “Hey, babe,” he said as he bent down and kissed the top of her head. “How was your day?”

“Eh, pretty good until just now. My mom called, and I decided I should probably answer it.” Hannah and her mom had a close, but often antagonistic relationship. “So that was as fun as it normally is.”

“What was Diane’s problem this time?” Tanner laughed. He got along with Hannah’s mom better than most people, but understood the nature of the mother-daughter relationship.

“You know, the usual, ‘Why aren’t you married? You should get a better job. You’ll get eaten by a bear hiking the John Muir Trail. It looks like you gained weight on in your pictures. You know the drill.” Hannah put on a nasally voice when she impersonated her mother. It sounded nothing like Diane’s voice, but it always made Tanner smile.

“I highly doubt she said any of those exact sentences,” he said, digging through the fridge. “Did you get any beer?”

“No Tanner. I went to work, and then I went to the gym, and then I talked to my mom, so no, I did not get you any beer. I’m not your housewife”

“God, Hannah. You don’t have to be a bitch about it. I wasn’t expecting you to, I was just asking. You’re just in a pissy mood, because your mom is right about the hike.”

“You seriously think I’m going to get eaten by a bear?” Hannah exploded. “You always side with her about stupid shit like this.”

“No, I don’t think you’re actually going to get eaten by a bear, and I don’t think your mom actually said that. I just don’t think it’s safe to go traipsing through the woods for a month with your flakiest friend.”

“She is not flaky...” Hannah began.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Hannah?” he interrupted. “She named herself Sage and goes to Burning Man every year. Has she ever had a job that lasted more than three months? She’s a white girl with dreads, but her name is actually Claire and she’s from Connecticut. You don’t get more flaky than that, babe.”

“Don’t ‘babe’ me right now, Tanner. I’m sick of your shit. You’re always trying to control what I do. You’re just pissed that my hike is during your stupid family reunion, and you’re mad that I didn’t invite you.”

“Well, no shit I’d like my girlfriend to come to my family reunion. And you know I don’t want to go on your awful hike! I can’t believe you’re passing on a free trip to Hawaii to play ‘Into the Wild’ with someone who smells like BO and patchouli on a good day.”

“Leave Sage out of this,” Hannah was yelling now, “You’re pissed at me because I’m not doing what you want, and playing the perfect little girlfriend so you can impress your family. I’ve wanted to do this hike for a long time, you know that! This might be my only chance.”

Tanner shouted back, “You’re so selfish, Hannah. It’s always the Hannah Show around here. Benefits of being an only child I guess.” At this, Hannah went white and stopped yelling. Tanner realized he made a mistake, “Babe, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. That was a low blow.” Hannah stayed silent, but turned on her heel and walked out the door. Tanner knew better than to try and follow her.

Hannah walked nearly a mile through their neighborhood and into downtown Bend before she cooled down enough to think straight. She was still mad at Tanner, but no longer irate. He was at least somewhat right. She was pissed about the call with her mom, and she had taken that out on him. “But he called me selfish!” she thought. “And a typical only child. That’s just unnecessarily mean.” She wondered if those insults hurt so much because they had a grain of truth. She quickly pushed down that terrible thought, and shoved open the door of her favorite local gear shop.

“Hey, Hannah,” called Gavin, her favorite gear salesman, whose beard, slight beer belly and flannel gave him a look straight out of a “Stereotypes of Oregon” calendar. “Finally getting serious about hiking the JMT?”

“I’ve had the permits for months, Gavin. You don’t get more serious than that!” she retorted.

“You know I’m teasing you, girl. At this point, you have more own more gear than we have inventory at the store.” Hannah rolled her eyes at that. “How is Sage’s planning coming along? Does she have all the equipment she needs for the moon rituals she’s going to do along the way?”

Hannah rolled her eyes even harder. Somehow, Gavin’s ribbing about her hippie trail partner didn’t get under her skin the way it did when Tanner said it. Maybe it was because Tanner was the exact opposite of the typical Bend resident, and just didn’t seem to get the outdoorsy, laidback vibe of their mountain town.

The first time she met Tanner, she’d been attracted to his complete opposite of mountain man style. He was clean cut, clean shaven, and he’d even been wearing those ridiculous pink shorts that he insisted were “Nantucket Red”. He was only a few inches taller than Hannah’s 5’5”. muscular and a little stocky, like a college lacrosse player who had let himself go slightly in the intervening years. He was still strong and athletic and could keep up with Hannah on just about any adventure he came along on. He just usually wasn’t that interested.

When she was in a better mood, she found Tanner’s lack of interest in adventure, nature and sports that didn’t involve a ball endearing. Lately it had just been pissing her off. They’d gotten in another fight last week, because he hadn’t wanted to go backpacking that weekend. Not that she minded doing stuff on her own or with her friends; she actually relished the independence and freedom to do her own thing. At least she did most of the time. Sometimes she just wanted to share the things she loved with the person she loved. “I go to Portland with him to go to his concerts,” she thought angrily. “Why can’t he come hiking with me?”

Hannah realized she was getting worked up again; she was angrily rifling through down coats, and had nearly thrown one off the end of the rack. She didn’t care what Tanner or her mom said. She was going to hike the John Muir Trail.

Suddenly, Hannah had a realization. She and Sage were planning on flying into San Francisco. “That’s where Lauren lives! Maybe I could visit her, we haven’t seen each other in forever. When was the last time we talked?” she thought guiltily. She had spent so much time lately obsessing about the logistics and physical preparations of her long distance hike. She had meant to call Lauren when she heard the bad news, but she had forgotten. Each day that passed made it harder and harder to pick up the phone.

Her fight with Tanner had made her feel like she needed to do something tangible, something to feel like she was really going. She took a deep breath, picked up her phone, and dialed, “Hi Lauren, this is Hannah…”