Corruption Kink!Felix Part 2
taglist: @drhsthl
(I wasn’t expecting much on part 1, but at least 15 people requested?! Here you go sweethearts, I hope it’s to your liking)
It had been three months.
Felix had kissed you for the first time three months ago, holding gently onto your waist as you lay underneath him. A short kiss compared to what he was craving, but a far safer choice when he looked at it as a stepping stone.
He kissed you like that for three months.
No teeth, no tongue, and pulling away far before the two of you ran out of air. He played the part of the caring boyfriend well, partially because that’s what he was. He knew this was all new to you and wanted to ease you into things.
...but he also wanted to hear you ask for more.
Every time his hands itched to caress more of your body, every time his mouth watered at the thought of sucking marks onto the pristine canvas of your neck, he held back.
But he only held back because he knew that’s what you were doing too. He could hear the whine you tried to stifle when his kisses stayed chaste, the hitch in your breath when he trailed his mouth across your cheek even when all he did was stay there. He could feel the way your hips squirmed and tensed from the effort not to grind down on him whenever you sat on his lap.
It was the sweetest torture, waiting for you. You were such a good girl, putting all your trust in him to decide when it was best for the two of you to get more intimate. He supposed he could throw you a little bone, change his plan a little bit to get you both what you needed faster.
“Oh, sorry.”
The words were whispered an instant away from your lips, his deep baritone easy and his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. Movie night on his bed had been put on hold for one of your oh-so innocent “make-out” sessions, your figure lain out on the plush mattress as he kneeled above you, a knee between yours with one arm above your head for keeping himself stable and the other resting feather-light along your jawbone. His apology was for an incredibly calculated slip-up he’d made: just about the time he’d normally pull away, he’d instead swiped his tongue along your bottom lip.
“No, it’s okay.”
Your answer was more breathed than said, a shy, delicate sound that wouldn’t have reached him if he was any farther away. Your eyes kept straying from his, flickering back to his mouth as if you didn’t know he had a tongue up until this moment. It took everything in him not to eat you whole when your own tongue subconsciously slipped from your lips to wet them, your mouth remaining slightly open as the sweet scent of your breath washed over him. The smile he flashed you then was angelic, a glowing beam that nearly hid the sin in the question he posed next.
“Okay? How okay is okay?”
You gulped, his favorite habit of yours. You always did it when you were frightened. It was the best when it was because of him. It meant you were about to do something that scared you.
“Okay is.....do it again Felix, please.”
You kissed him, insistent and urgent and needy. But not, he nearly groaned to notice, with tongue. He stayed still a moment, watching with rapt attention as you clung to him and crushed your form against his as best you could without being obscene. It was the little mutters of “please” that you started letting out between pecks that finally made him crack.
His grip on your face was suddenly demanding, his weight dropping down onto yours and holding you in place in a way that didn’t crush you, but didn’t allow you room to escape. His tongue was tangling deeply with yours, rubbing and teasing and exploring what he’d been denying himself. Both of you let out primal moans, your open mouths doing nothing to stop the guttural sounds of pleasure. It was your first french kiss but the way your eyes rolled back as he sucked on your tongue made you look as wanton as any porn star. He finally released you, your head dropping back onto the pillow as the two of you gasped for air. He could tell you were lightheaded, your eyes shifting in and out of focus. He sucked in a particularly harsh breath when he noticed the line of your combined drool glistening from your shining bottom lip to your chin. You were completely debauched, just from your first taste of a saucy kiss.
He gazed at it in a trance and decided he’d gamble one step further. The knee that rested between yours slowly rose up to press against your heat, hidden by thin pajama shorts. His whole body shuddered, his eyes slamming shut and his breath coming out hard through his nose as he focused all of his self control on not taking you then and there.
Your wetness had soaked through your shorts.
(Okay I lied part two isn’t smut but guess what that means~ Part 3 is already in the works darlings! I wanted to see how everyone felt about this new format, because this fic is turning out to be loooong, I promise. In the meantime, feel free to request blurbs from me! I’ll even take requests for this version of Felix, if you’re truly so insatiable)
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you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.
you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.
he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.
a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.
he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.
you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.
people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.
wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.
also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.
he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."
you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.
"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."
he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.
you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.
is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?
you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.
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Now that I've had time to Absorb mentally. Several things.
-Luffy going from overeating to swearing off eating entirely. Homie that CANNOT be good for you. And the fact that he's willing to not eat unless it's Sanji's food...that's so. INCREDIBLY significant. Bc it's been very clearly established how much Luffy LOVES food. His stomach is literally a black hole. Eating gives him strength and makes him happy. He enjoys food so much he steals it off other people's plates. He's so impatient when it comes to meals that he'll sneak into the kitchen to try and mooch before it's ready. And now he's refusing all that...for Sanji. He's going to sit there and starve himself, even though he doesn't like being hungry, even though food is one of the most important things to him, even though he has a CHOICE to eat and he CAN eat but he's not going to because it's not food Sanji made for him. The fact that food is such a central part of Luffy's character and who he is, and that we know he never does anything he doesn't want to do, it just makes me. GODDD. Why is he like this why are they like this I'm insane
-THE FACT THAT THEY LITERALLY DID THE MONTAGE OF ALL THEIR MEMORIES TOGETHER. JESUS CHRIST. That was a low blow. And also the gayest shit I've ever seen. Yeah let's just drive it in even further how important these two are to each other and how much it's tearing them both apart that Sanji's leaving by showing all their wonderful moments together. I was literally full on SOBBING at this point. Fucking RUDE smh
-Sanji being SO self sacrificial makes me want to cry I CANNOT with him rn,, It's to the point where he feels like he can't even rely on his nakama because he just wants to protect them. Like he could have easily told them what was going on. But he decided he'd chase them away, for their own safety, because Zeff's already in danger and Sanji can't risk losing his crew too. He couldn't bear to see any of them get hurt by the family that's been tormenting him for years. So he hurts HIMSELF by pushing them away. He loves them so so much that he's willing to cut ties with them completely and make them hate him so that they'll stay SAFE. GOD. Except Luffy sees right through that act bc he knows Sanji too well 😭 The fact that even Nami didn't realize that Sanji was just trying to protect them makes me so emo she really did think he'd been lying to them all along...GIRL have more faith in your nakama!!
-Luffy refusing to give up on Sanji, not ever, I'm going to explode, that is HIS nakama HIS cook and he won't stop until he can bring him home. BASHING my head against the wall
-Also I already talked about The Line in my last post but here I'll share my tags
I need to be put down I think I am so unwell rn
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It's 2 am and I can't sleep with the thought of Hobie Brown leaving kiss marks all over his s/o face
Like- Imagine it. supermodel Hobie Brown, chilling on the dressing room with his partner, just chilling with each other. Then, he just gets up, reaches for a container of dark lipstick and just... Slowly, teasingly, sets it on his lips...
S/o immediately turns away, pretending like they weren't watching practically not blinking how their boyfriend applied the paint to his pretty lips.
He chuckles, steps closer and sits beside them. Without warning, he grabs their face and just plants a big fat kiss in their cheek. Then on their forehead. Other cheek. Lips. Jaw. It goes on and on, all the s/o can feel at this point is his warm lips, cold piercing and the sticky feeling of the lipstick coating their entire face.
When he steps back, Hobie just has this absolutely smug look on his face as he sees his finished work.
"looking good, luv."
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