#felix dom

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content. degradation, power play, light choking, semi-public fingering, light coercion (entirely consensual), dirty talk, wet panties, messy fingers, brat taming, felix is a fucking menace in a silk shirt

⍣ ೋ notes: changed the color!! idk if im burning out already but i decided to switch it up a bit just to see if it would make it better. kinda missing the pink already.

🧾 FORMAL INVESTIGATION REPORT

Filed by: ERROR Subject: ERROR Staff Member Under Review: ERROR Guest Involved: ERROR

INT. SKZOTEL – CONFESSIONAL ROOM (A.K.A. MAINTENANCE CLOSET WITH A RING LIGHT)

[Camera clicks on.] Felix is already in frame, lounging sideways on a folding chair like he owns the place. His uniform is pristine, hat tilted a little too stylishly. In his hand, a crumpled guest complaint—folded once, then again, then probably kissed before he slipped it in his back pocket.

FELIX (grinning): "Okay, so technically... this was supposed to go to Aeryn."

He holds up the complaint letter between two fingers, like it's something precious. His grin widens.

FELIX: "But I may or may not check the internal submission box every morning before she gets in. You know—just to be helpful."

He leans in, eyes sparkling with mischief.

FELIX: "This one? Yeah, this one's about me. And look—before anyone starts pointing fingers, I was doing my job. I did help the guest with their luggage. I was polite, charming, responsible… bordering on adorable, honestly."

A beat. His smile turns wicked.

FELIX: "And maybe... just maybe I lingered. Just a little. But can you blame me?"

______________________________________________________________

You didn’t think he’d actually read it. The note was meant to be private. Filed. Forgotten. Handled discreetly.

But now?

That unmistakable voice cuts through the spa corridor, slow and molten, thick with a smugness that curls heat right between your legs.

“Room 630,” Felix drawls behind you, syrup-sweet and scathing. “Is that what they’re calling you?”

You stop like you’ve been caught—and you have. You know that voice. That accent, dipped in honey and sin.

You turn slowly, spine straight, face schooled, but your heart’s already thundering.

And there he is.

The bellboy.

Leaning against the hallway wall like it belongs to him. Button-down loose, too many buttons undone, collarbone sharp, pretty smirk even sharper.

Your complaint’s in his hand.

Your complaint.

The one you slipped into the concierge box with trembling fingers.

His eyes are on you like he’s reading your mind.

“Didn’t even sign it,” he tsks, folding the paper once, twice—stuffing it casually into his back pocket. “Didn’t use my name. That’s rude, babe. I gave you so much to work with.”

He takes a step forward, slow and deliberate. You take a step back, eyes flickering to his name tag.

“Felix—”

“Oh no,” he cuts you off smoothly, “you don’t get to say my name now. Not after this.”

Another step.

Your back hits the wall.

And suddenly he’s right there. Crowding your space. Shadowing you. Hand against the wall beside your head.

His breath ghosts along your jaw as he leans in, tilting his head just enough to speak right into your ear.

“You think tattling makes you innocent?” he whispers. “You wrote me up, baby. Like a brat who didn’t get what she wanted. Like a needy little bitch too scared to ask for it.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“But you did.”

His hand skims down your waist, hot and possessive, just the barest tease of touch.

“Don’t lie to me. You knew exactly what you were doing. All those soft little looks, letting me carry your bags, ringing that bell like you wanted me on my knees.”

You gasp as his fingers dip under your dress, the brush of his knuckles ghosting your thigh.

“What was it?” he murmurs, voice low and wicked. “Was I too slow? Not flirty enough? Or were you just pissed I didn’t bend you over the cart right then and there?”

Your breath hitches. He feels it. Smiles.

“God, you did want it,” he laughs, cruel and soft. “Didn’t even bother hiding it. Could’ve just said, ‘please fuck me, Felix.’ Would’ve made this so much easier.”

His fingers slip beneath your panties, and you choke on a moan.

“Shit,” he groans, forehead pressing to yours. “Already soaked. You liked writing me up, huh? Got yourself wet filing a formal complaint like a desperate little whore.”

Your cheeks burn. He eats it up.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say you got off on it.”

You look away. He grabs your chin and forces you back to him.

“I said—say it.”

“I—got off on it,” you breathe. “Wanted your attention.”

He laughs—a wicked, delighted sound.

“There she is. My needy little mess.”

He pushes two fingers in deep, no warning—so fast and smooth you swear your knees might give. The stretch is sudden, perfect, and he knows it, groaning right against your ear as you choke on a moan.

You gasp, back arching, thighs trembling.

“Ohhh, yeah,” he groans. “Tight little cunt. All this for me?”

“Felix—someone could—”

“Let them. Shit—listen to that,” he pants, pulling his fingers back just slightly. The obscene slick, wet squelch echoes in the quiet hallway, and he laughs, low and filthy. “That’s you, baby. That’s how bad you want me.”

He curls them, finding your spot with practiced ease—pressing, teasing, dragging along that sweet bundle of nerves over and over until you’re clawing at his shirt, thighs trembling around his wrist.

“You write me up,” he hisses, fucking you with slow, deliberate pumps. “You tattle on me. But your cunt’s telling me the truth.”

His thumb drags up, just brushing your clit. Barely a touch—but it’s enough to make your hips jerk, to make your breath stutter out in a pathetic little gasp.

“There she is,” he growls. “There’s my needy little girl.”

His fingers start moving faster—deep and rough, the perfect rhythm that makes your mind go white. He’s relentless. Curling, thrusting, grinding his palm against your clit until you’re whining into his neck, hips grinding down like a slut in heat.

“You feel that?” he grits out. “Feel how tight you’re squeezing me? Like this hole’s been waiting for me.”

You whimper, trying to hold on, but he’s everywhere—his breath hot on your cheek, his fingers wrecking you, his voice in your ear like a brand you can’t shake.

“Gonna cum just from my hand, aren’t you?” he sneers, licking a stripe up your throat. “From getting finger-fucked in a hallway like the desperate little whore you are.”

Your whole body shudders.

He laughs again—meaner now.

“I can feel it,” he whispers, breathless. “You’re close. So fucking close. Gonna make a mess all over my hand, huh? You gonna ruin your cute little panties for me?”

You nod, too far gone for words, and he snarls—

“No.”

He rips his hand away like he’s punishing you—like you did something wrong—and your whole body screams from the loss, thighs clenching uselessly as the orgasm dies, denied and dragging like a blade.

You sob—a soft, broken sound—and he moans at the sound of it, gripping your jaw with his clean hand.

“Look at you,” he breathes, dragging his soaked fingers up between your legs and spreading them in front of your face. They glisten in the dim lighting—shiny, sticky, dripping.

“You see this mess? This fucking disaster of a cunt? All because I said your room number.”

And then he taps your cheek.

“Open.”

You do—so automatic, so eager it makes his pupils blow wide with satisfaction.

He pushes the fingers into your mouth, slow and deep. You moan around them, tongue greedy, sucking like it’s the only thing tethering you to the earth.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

He pulls them out—slower now, watching the spit trail cling to your lips before snapping messily to his knuckles.

“You taste how much you wanted me?” he whispers, filthy and smug. “Next time you need attention, you don’t go crying to the concierge.”

He leans in, mouth a breath from yours.

You moan, shameless now, licking him clean like it’s what you were born for.

He leans in closer, mouth brushing your ear.

“You wanna cum?” he asks.

“Yes—please—”

He smirks. Leans down, lips hovering over yours.

“Beg.”

You hesitate. He wraps a hand around your throat—light, a tease of pressure, just enough to make you still.

“I said—beg.”

“Please, please,” you whisper. “Please make me cum.”

“Louder.”

“Please—fuck—please, I need it, need you—”

He grins. A slow, devastating thing.

“There we go,” he purrs. 

And then?

Then he tugs you into the nearest guest suite—unoccupied, unlocked, perfect. He bends you over the bed before the door even clicks shut.

His voice is the last thing you hear before your moans drown everything else out:

“You want to file another complaint?” he hisses in your ear. “Better make sure it’s legible with my cock down your throat.”

INT. SKZOTEL – CONFESSIONAL ROOM (A.K.A. MAINTENANCE CLOSET WITH A RING LIGHT) [Camera clicks back on.] Felix is back in the folding chair, this time looking a little less pristine. His hat’s missing, hair mussed. One button too many undone. His fingers glint faintly with something that’s definitely not ring light residue.

He licks the edge of his thumb, slow and casual, then flashes the camera a crooked grin.

FELIX (shrugging): “Guest's satisfied. That’s all that matters, right?”

He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out the now much more crumpled complaint, and fans himself with it.

FELIX (mock-innocent): “I’d file a report about it, but... turns out my hands were kinda full.”

He lifts his fingers to his lips again—tastes the air like he’s savoring a secret. 

FELIX (deadpan): “And if Aeryn asks why the formal complaint never made it to her desk...”

He leans in, voice low and conspiratorial.

FELIX: “Tell her I handled it.” [END OF RECORDING]

series taglist: @nightmarenyxx @miyaluvvsyou @jisuperboard @fackeraccount @silly250 @lov3rachan @lze325 @angel-writes-here @jesuisstay @lov3rachan @lze325 @scribblesnsketches05 @jesuisstay @slut4junho @wickedbutlovely @woozarts @pixie-felix

[foxxnier]

thoughts of dom!felix...

warnings: breeding (at the end…), fem and afab reader, little dacryphilia, dirty words, good girl use, sorry I love imagining him saying that, I would sleep peacefully if he said that to me... tell me if there is any warning missing

Just thinking about the fact that I see a lot of sub!felix and I totally get the appeal, in fact I totally get the appeal of any of sub!skz, imagine them begging for you so desperately, oh my…

but I've always had a lot of thoughts about dom!felix… tell me if I'm crazy, but think with me:

Felix being affectionate with you all the time, being loving and caring towards you, he loves you after all, he'll make you feel like royalty, but things change when the two of you go to bed…

Imagine the way he marks your neck, running his hand over your crotch as he slowly opens you up, making you beg for him, beg for him to give you what you want.

"So pathetic… desperate."

"Why are you like this? I didn't do anything…"

"You're so wet, is it because of me?"

"What do you want? Tell me, I can't read minds, silly."

Imagine him mistreating your pussy, digging his nails into your thighs, enjoying the noises you make.

"So loud, do you want everyone to hear you?"

Imagine the way he pulls your hair, shoving your mouth on his throbbing cock as he watches your tears streaming down your face, you're so pretty, completely destroyed by his cock :(

"You're so greedy, wanting all of my cock in your mouth"

"Keep going… uh, at least you know how to use your mouth for something other than moaning so loudly"

Imagine the way he holds your face hard against the pillow as he fucks you deep, drool dripping down your chin as all the noises that come out of your mouth are moans and more moans

"Are you gonna let me fill you up with cum, babe?"

"You're gonna let me cum in that tight, sweet pussy, breed you and let everyone know you're mine, right?"

"I'm sure you'll be my pretty good girl and let me do this, you're perfect."

But of course, after all that he would go back to treating you like royalty, caressing you and kissing the marks he left, apologizing if it was too much for you.

He would give you a bath, wash your hair, clean the bed and wrap you in the blanket, hugging you and keeping you safe.

"I love you, darling…" he would whisper, letting you finally rest after long hours.

Just thoughts before bed… am I a little obsessed?

First time I've tried to write something dirty…

Sorry for the English mistakes, it's not my first language :(

to more see my fix!

[duskyskz]

Felix always knew you had a thing for his sweetness, and he loved spoiling you. He doesn't even have to think about setting aside an hour to make you lunch, just so he can drop it off at your workplace with a little heart note. He leapt at every opportunity to brush out your hair, wipe off your nail varnish in the bath as you let him curl up between your legs. He'd cradle your hands so gently in his own, dragging cotton pads over each finger until clean, and press kisses to your knuckles when he was done.

He's so attentive, so eager to please, everybody loves him! He adored you purely and wholeheartedly, it made you melt all the more how readily he showed it to anybody present. So who'd know he gets off on laughing at your cunt all pink and bruised with a whip in his hand?

His laughter mocks you, splayed out on your tippy-toes with wrists wrapped tight to the hook above your head. Your ankles bound by a metal bar between your legs, he adored you like this the most.

"Your cunt is so cute, my little slut," Felix keeps his hands to himself, even though you're panting for some kind of contact that isn't in the form of his riding crop. He drags the hard leather tip back and forth, back and forth over your slit and your eyes roll back at the stimulation. "Made you into a whore, haven't I? Desperate to get stuffed and fucked."

You can barely watch as he kneels down, eye-level with your core. You're so humiliated you could cum on the spot, thighs shaking from your own heat and the strain on your legs.

"Lixie, I'm so tired, please - ouch- sir!" Your words run into a cry when a sharp sting pulses your slit, impact from his leather cane. He's taken interest in your tits now, and you're so grateful he rewards you despite your missed honourifics. His tongue is cool and wet on your nipple, making sure to drip plenty of saliva onto the bud just to make you shiver from the open window breeze.

"D'you wanna get stuffed? You want something in this tight greedy cunt?" He whispers into your waist, dropping to his knees again. You nod, though you're sure your expression is entirely fucked out and hazy. "Pretty - you're so pretty, baby." Theres wonder in his voice as he pushes two fingers inside, as if he's never been face-to-face with your wetness before. Then something harder, stiffer and lacking his warmth is inserted inside you and you lose your mind when the vibrations switch on. Felix buries the plastic cock to deep inside you you can feel his own fingers gripping the base right at your folds, leisurely moving it inside and out, letting you ride it as much as your immobilised position lets you. You still rut pathetically, shuffling your hips without any set rhythm right before his eyes.

He must have squeezed some cooling lube onto the toy before inserting it to you, because you feel the leftover gel on his fingers when he gives your clit a pinch but at this point you're too far gone to move away from the overwhelming sensations. Lix replaces his fingers with his open mouth, swallowing as much of you as he can to graze his teeth along your nub. Your nails dig into the rope, which only makes it dig further into your wrists as you throw your head back. You should be watching him eat you - he likes the attention, you know, but your poor cunt is so abused your body only has enough energy to hang limply while he fucks the vibrator along your walls, lips sucking on anything else he can latch on to.

---

You're welcome @spilledtee :)

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content. dirty talk. fingering. unprotected sex. felix is a bit of a perv.

⍣ ೋ notes: hihi. for the internal service report, i decided that i've gotten a bit bored with the gc messages and instead wrote a little script that was inspired by the office lol. let me know if u guys like it or if i should just stick to the fake messages.

INTERNAL INVESTIGATION REPORT Filed by: Concierge Aeryn Subject: Staff Conduct – Inappropriate Guest Interaction (Alleged Misconduct During Welcome Assistance) Staff Member Under Review: Bellboy Felix Requested by: Guest (Room 1706) Requested Resolution: Formal Investigation & Internal Service Memo

The concierge’s pink clipboard is held tight to her chest as she rounds the corner and spots him—leaning against the wall just outside the staff lounge, uniform pristine, lanyard badge clipped off-center like he’s too laid-back to care. Felix.

He’s mid-laugh, dimples in full effect, teasing one of the housekeepers with some story you just know has been exaggerated beyond belief. He spots Aeryn immediately—her expression unreadable—and straightens with a boyish grin.

“Concierge~,” he drawls, bright as ever. “You look gorgeous today.”

“Felix.” Her tone is clipped, heels clicking to a stop in front of him. “We need to talk.”

He clasps his hands behind his back. “Is this about the towel thing? I swear he said room six-oh-four, not four-oh-six—”

“It’s Suite 1706,” she interrupts, flipping to a fresh page on her clipboard. “You brought their bag up earlier this afternoon.”

“Oh! Right,” he chirps, as if recalling a charming anecdote. “Pretty guest. Killer heels. Looked like they needed a little help.” He flashes a grin. “I was being nice.”

“Nice,” Aeryn repeats, deadpan. “You placed your arm around their waist. Fingers were… described as ‘kneading.’”

Felix doesn’t blink. “They stumbled.”

“You carried a single weekend bag.”

“They looked tired!” he insists, eyes wide, dimples deepening. “I was just making sure they got to their room safely. You know me—I’m all about guest satisfaction.”

Aeryn narrows her eyes. “That’s precisely what concerns me.”

Felix tilts his head, still smiling like he doesn’t have a single indecent thought in that pretty head of his.

“I’m being punished for being helpful?” he says with a pout that’s almost convincing. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

Aeryn doesn’t indulge him. “You’re being investigated because your version of helpful tends to involve unsolicited physical contact and a smile that reads less ‘customer service’ and more ‘lingerie catalog.’”

Felix gasps—dramatically, hand to chest. “You wound me.”

“You’ll survive,” Aeryn mutters, flipping another page with purpose. “In the meantime, I think it’s only right you go speak with the guest. Clarify the situation.”

His brows rise. “Clarify?”

“Tell her she must’ve misread your intentions,” Aeryn says, tone clipped. “Because you’re just an innocent employee making sure everyone checks in safely.”

Felix leans in slightly. “Innocent?”

“You’ll act like it.”

A beat passes. Then his smile slowly returns—less sunshine, more sin. “For accuracy purposes,” he murmurs, already stepping past her.

Aeryn watches him go, muttering under her breath. “We’re all going to HR.”

______________________________________________________________

The knock comes gentle, almost shy. You open the door halfway, and there he is again.

Felix, known to you by the name tag, in full uniform and faux professionalism, hands clasped behind his back, that same crooked badge still dangling off his lanyard like it’s got personality of its own. His smile is polite. Bright. Almost bashful.

Almost.

“Hi there,” he says, rocking slightly on his heels. “Sorry to bother you. Concierge Aeryn just asked me to, um, follow up on the earlier incident?”

You arch a brow. “The incident where you practically groped me under the guise of carrying a ten-pound duffel bag?”

He winces—adorably. Like a kid caught sneaking cookies. “Right, see, that’s the thing. There may have been… a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, there was no misunderstanding.”

“You sure about that?” His voice is light, teasing. “Memory can be a tricky thing.”

“I know what happened.”

“I’m just here to clarify for the report,” he says, eyes gleaming with something not even remotely professional. “Concierge’s orders. Not mine.”

You lean against the doorframe. “So what—this is damage control?”

“It’s about accuracy,” he replies smoothly. “We pride ourselves on it at the Skzotel.”

You narrow your eyes. “So now you’re going to pretend none of it happened?”

Felix tilts his head, all exaggerated innocence. “I helped you to your room. I didn’t do anything inappropriate.”

“Your hand was on my ass.”

“It was near your ass,” he counters. “And only because you were about to fall. You looked like a baby deer on a frozen pond. I was concerned.”

“Oh, you were concerned.”

“For your safety,” he says sweetly.

You stare him down. He stares right back, biting back a smirk.

“…You’re unbelievable,” you mutter.

“Mmhmm.” His eyes flick down to your waist. “Do you want me to demonstrate?”

“Demonstrate,” you repeat, flat.

“For accuracy,” he says, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “For the report.”

You exhale sharply, still not moving.

He does.

With slow, deliberate hands, Felix steps forward, edging just inside the doorway—movements smooth, rehearsed, almost predatory if not for the disarming smile still glued to his face.

“Imagine,” he murmurs, stepping behind you, “you’ve just gotten off the elevator. Your bag’s in your left hand. You’re wobbling in your heels. So I say—‘Let me get that for you, sweetheart.’”

His hands trail down your arms, featherlight.

“Then what?” you ask, breath just a little shallower now.

“Then,” he says, voice thicker, closer, “I guide you to the door…”

His palm finds your waist. Lingers. Fingers tighten—just enough.

“...Like this.”

“Seems excessive.”

“You’re still a little unsteady.” His thumb presses in, a slow circle against your hip. “I make sure you don’t fall.”

“By grabbing my hip?”

“I wasn’t just grabbing,” he whispers, and the grin is practically audible now, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I was making sure you were grounded.”

His hands wander. Lazily. Down your sides, thumbs slipping just under the waistband of your skirt.

“Do you need this for the report?” he asks, voice syrupy sweet.

You don’t answer.

“I can show you what my grip felt like,” he offers. “Right here.” He palms your ass, firm now—greedy, like the mask is slipping. “And maybe… how you started breathing when I leaned in close and told you you looked beautiful all flushed.”

“Felix,” you warn, but it’s weak.

He’s already pressing against you—hard through his slacks, smug through his smirk.

“You were flushed, weren’t you?” he hums. “Little whimpers. Like you didn’t want help but really, really did.”

“You’re skating on very thin—”

“Should I show you how I helped you into the room, too?” His voice is velvet, dangerous. “How my hand slipped under your skirt when you leaned against the wall? How I pressed the bag to your chest so you wouldn’t drop it, but really… so you wouldn’t cover your mouth when you moaned?”

Your breath catches. Just once.

He hears it.

He turns you gently to face the wall.

“Hands here,” he says, guiding your palms to the wood paneling. “For the sake of realism.”

“Realism,” you echo, palms flat against the cool wood, your voice unsteady despite how hard you're trying to bite it back. “Is that what this is now?”

Felix hums behind you, all sin in a smile. “Mmhmm. Gotta give the concierge a thorough account. For the paperwork.”

You feel the air shift as he leans in again—closer now, his chest brushing your back, warm breath fanning against your neck like temptation dressed in cologne and a crooked nametag.

“She’ll want details,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting just behind your ear. “Like how your skirt rode up right here—”

A sudden grip. His hand slides up the back of your thigh, hiking the hem just enough for his knuckles to skim the softness underneath. “—when you leaned forward to unlock the door.” You inhale sharply, instinctively pressing back, and that’s all the invitation he needs.

His body crowds yours, the hardness in his slacks flush against your ass, hands everywhere now—cradling, kneading, learning every inch of you like he’s been dreaming about it since the elevator ride.

“You let me help,” he says, voice like melted sugar and filth. “Didn’t even pull away. You just gasped—like that—” He presses in, hips rolling slow, savoring your reaction when your breath hitches again. “—and made that sound that’s been stuck in my head all shift.”

“Felix,” you warn, though it comes out like a plea.

“Shhh,” he whispers. “We’re still clarifying.”

You shouldn’t let this happen—you know you shouldn’t. But your thighs are already tightening, and your head’s tilting when he kisses the curve of your neck like it’s second nature. One hand slips to your front, fingers brushing over your waistband again, more confident this time. Teasing. Testing.

“And then,” he breathes, lips dragging lower, “I asked if you were okay…”

“You didn’t,” you pant, barely able to focus.

“I should’ve,” he corrects smoothly. “Would’ve said something like—‘You alright, sweetheart? You need help getting settled?’”

 His hand dips lower—bold now, past the barrier of your underwear.

Your knees nearly buckle. He catches you, arm banding around your waist, holding you up with practiced ease. Like this isn’t the first time he’s done it—like he’s wanted to.

“You were flushed when I said you looked pretty, weren’t you?” he growls softly, rutting against you once more. “Could’ve bent you over that luggage cart and had you begging.”

You let out a strangled sound—half protest, half broken whimper—and that’s when he pulls back just a fraction.

His voice is still low, but teasing now, playful.

“You gonna report me now, sweetheart?” he asks, breath ghosting against your cheek. “Tell the concierge how I touched you here—” his fingers dip again, just enough to make your knees quake—“and here?”

“I should,” you say, barely audible.

“But you won’t.”

“Why not?”

Felix grins against your skin. “Because I’ve got you just like I had you earlier—pressed up against a wall, moaning my name, pretending you didn’t want this the whole damn time.”

Your breath stutters, shame and desire tangling in your throat like barbed wire dressed in silk. You want to argue—want to tell him off, shove him back, regain some semblance of control—but all you can do is lean into his touch like it’s gravity itself, anchoring you to something far more dangerous than the polished floor beneath your heels.

“You’re such a—”

The insult dies in your throat when he dips his fingers again, this time circling—lazily, confidently, like he’s got all the time in the world and already knows exactly how you’re going to come apart for him.

“I’m such a what?” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw now. “A menace? A perv? Or just a really, really thorough bellboy?”

You groan through clenched teeth, head dropping forward against the wall.

“Thought so,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to your nape, open-mouthed and smug. “You’re not reporting anything, baby. You’re co-signing.”

His fingers start to move with purpose, dragging a slow moan from your lips before you can bite it back.

“You like this,” he says, more observation than question. “You liked that I grabbed your waist. That I held on a little too long. That I pressed in close and said you looked good enough to wreck.”

“Felix—fuck—” It’s a warning again, but it’s empty. Powerless. And he knows it.

“Say my name again,” he murmurs, fingers still circling, the wet sounds only making things worse. “Say it like you did when I pulled the bag off your shoulder and let my hand ‘accidentally’ graze your tits.”

Your cheeks burn hotter than your skin already is, slick heat blooming between your thighs. The way he talks, like this whole thing was inevitable. Like it’s a scene he’s played over a hundred times behind those wide, innocent eyes and charming smiles.

You twist your head just enough to look at him. “You planned this.”

He grins like you’ve handed him a tip.

“Thought about it,” he admits. “Ever since check-in. Ever since you looked me up and down like you wanted dessert before dinner.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” he cuts in, all teasing gone now, voice deep, dark, sincere. “And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. The way you licked your lips. The way you thanked me like you weren’t thinking about pulling me into the room and climbing me like a fucking ladder.”

You gasp when he curls his fingers just right, and he groans into your neck like it’s his body unraveling.

“Let me help you,” he breathes, no longer mocking. “Really help you. Let me make sure you get all the way settled in.”

Your fingers curl against the doorframe, nails scraping the wood as another sharp roll of his wrist sends a jolt through your spine. You're not sure what’s holding you up anymore—Felix, maybe. The door. Sheer need. But every part of you feels like it’s burning, dissolving under the weight of his voice, his touch, the intent in his eyes like gravity.

“You call this help?” you pant, and it’s not defiance so much as desperation—your last thread of composure snapping under his hands.

Felix chuckles low against your neck, the sound warm and wicked. “I call this hospitality,” he says, dragging his lips over your pulse. “Five-star treatment. The kind you don’t forget.”

He shifts behind you, one hand steadying at your hip while the other pulls back for just a moment—enough to make you whimper at the loss. But it’s only so he can hike your skirt higher, exposing the soaked lace clinging to you as his eyes drag down like he’s unwrapping the best part of the welcome package.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, reverent now, but still so goddamn smug.

He pauses, just long enough to kiss the back of your shoulder—soft, almost sweet—before curling his fingers one last time and pulling out, wet and slow, watching the way you tremble against the doorframe like your legs might give at any second.

He tugs you back with a sharp grip to your waist—one step, two—and the moment your heels cross the threshold, Felix kicks the door shut with the back of his foot like it’s a formality. Like he hasn’t already claimed you in every way that counts.

“Take off your heels,” he says, voice wrecked with restraint.

You obey, dizzy with it, shoes hitting the carpet one by one before he turns you around and lifts you—lifts you, like it’s nothing. Like you weigh as much as the breath he just lost seeing your face twisted in want.

Your back hits the door with a thud, and then he’s kissing you—really kissing you—hungry, open-mouthed, tongue sliding against yours like he’s starving for the taste. All that smugness starts to fray around the edges as he grinds against your bare core, the wet drag of your panties all that’s separating you from how hard he is.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he groans into your mouth. “How the fuck are you this wet already?”

“Maybe I like when pretty boys talk dirty,” you pant, tugging at his shirt, nails scraping the skin beneath.

He laughs—sharp, cocky—but it stutters the second you roll your hips up into him.

“Ohh, fuck, don’t do that—”

You do it again. He groans this time, teeth grazing your jaw as he drops one hand between your bodies, shoves your underwear aside with a snap, and lines himself up with a rough exhale.

“Fuck, fuck—look at me—”

You do, and that’s when he sinks in.

Slow at first, dragging it out like he wants to watch your face twitch with every inch. But the second he bottoms out, all the air leaves his lungs in a ragged, helpless moan.

“Fuck me, you’re tight—”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, the facade crumbling, hips jerking once, twice—then he’s gone. No rhythm, no patience, just raw instinct as he fucks up into you like he’s trying to etch himself into your bones.

“You—holy shit, baby—fuck—you feel so good, I can't—shit, I can’t even think—”

The cocky voice is gone. What’s left is Felix: wrecked, panting, clutching at your thighs like they’re the only things keeping him tethered to the earth.

You moan loud into his neck and he whines, high and real and so desperate it sends a throb straight through you.

“Been thinking about this all shift,” he pants. “About you dripping for me like this, clenching like that—ohhh fuck, don’t do that, you’re gonna make me—fuck, fuck—”

You clench around him again—tight, pulsing, deliberate—and it’s like setting a match to gasoline.

“Shitshitshit—” Felix gasps, a full-body tremor wracking through him as he slams into you hard enough to rattle the door. “You’re doing that on purpose—fuck—you want me to lose it, huh?”

Your grin is wicked, but fleeting—because he’s already fucking the smirk off your face.

Every thrust hits deep, brutal, a little messy now with how soaked you are, the lewd slap of skin on skin echoing in the dim hotel room like something obscene. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your head knocking back against the door, but he doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t let up.

“So wet for me,” he groans, voice gone completely ragged. “So fuckin’ needy—can’t believe I had you melting in the hallway like some spoiled little slut—”

You keen at that, the filth in his voice sending shockwaves through your spine, and he feels it. Feels the way you tighten around him in response.

“Ohhh—fuck, you like that?” he pants, hips snapping fast now. “You like being my little secret? All dressed up like you’re innocent, but you open up like a whore the second I get you alone—”

“Felix,” you whimper, “please, please—”

“Please what, baby?” he taunts, even as his rhythm falters, sweat slicking his chest. “Please make you cum? Please fill you up? Gotta use your words if you want my cock to ruin you properly.”

You drag your mouth to his ear, gasping it out between broken moans. “Please—need you to cum in me. Want you to fuck me full—”

Felix snaps.

A guttural growl tears from his throat as he shifts his grip under your thighs, lifting you higher, angling you perfectly. And then he slams into you, deep, relentless, the head of his cock punching against the spot that makes your whole body seize.

You mewl—there’s no other word for it—your orgasm blindsiding you so violently it leaves your ears ringing. Your walls pulse, clamp down hard, and he chokes on a moan, hips jerking erratically.

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck— gonna cum—gonna—fuck—take it—”

And then he’s spilling inside you, thick and hot, cock buried to the hilt as he whimpers against your neck. He doesn’t stop moving, grinding through it, pushing it deeper, chasing every last drop with a fucked-out desperation that sends aftershocks wracking your spine.

You’re both panting—sweaty, shaking, still clinging to each other like if you let go, you’d both collapse.

He finally pulls back enough to look at you. Hair stuck to his forehead, lips red and swollen, pupils blown so wide they’ve nearly swallowed the brown whole.

Then his eyes drop between your legs.

He watches, breathless, as your cunt flutters around his cock, his cum already starting to slide out with a slick drip that makes him groan again.

“God,” he breathes, wrecked. “Look at that.”

His thumb swipes through the mess, lifts it to your lips.

“Taste what you do to me.”

And fuck—you do.

📄 INTERNAL SERVICE MEMO // SKZOTEL STAFF MEETING

DATE: Today

TIME: Five minutes past chaos o'clock

CALLED BY: Concierge Aeryn

SUBJECT: Felix’s hallway dalliances (again)

[CAMERA ON: STAFF MEETING ROOM — SKZOTEL BASEMENT, SLIGHTLY TOO NICE FOR WHAT HAPPENS HERE]

A long mahogany table. Pristine water pitchers no one touches. A massive whiteboard with “PROFESSIONALISM???” scrawled in red marker.

Aeryn: (palms flat on table, eye twitching) “I’d like to begin by reminding everyone that SKZotel is a luxury establishment, not a sex dungeon with turndown service.”

Chan: (sipping coffee, unreadable) “I mean, depends on the package they book.”

Aeryn: “Christopher.”

Seungmin: (flipping through a file titled ‘Noise Complaints – Vol. 6’) “Suite 1703. Moaning commenced at 2:41 PM, escalated to screaming by 2:47. Ceased at 3:00. Fairly efficient.”

Lee Know: (idly polishing a silver tray that might be decorative or weaponized) “Must’ve been preheated. I usually take longer.”

Aeryn: “This is not a competition—”

Changbin: (cutting in) “Yeah, because I’d win.”

Jeongin: (angelic as always, sipping tea) “I could offer a post-coital scrub to calm everyone down.”

Han: (from a rolling chair he’s spinning in at dangerous speeds) “I was watching the whole thing on camera. Very cinematic. I give Felix’s stroke game a solid nine, but the wall angle could’ve been tighter.”

Aeryn: (losing it) “Why are there wall angles—no—nope. This is a staff meeting.” (points at whiteboard) “Professionalism. What does that mean to any of you?”

Chan: (calm, diplomatic) “It means we deliver… curated experiences. Personalized hospitality.” (beat) “And occasionally, orgasms.”

Aeryn: (rubbing her temples) "This is the third complaint this week involving someone being fucked against a wall, and two of those were from people not involved."

Hyunjin: (sips matcha) "Okay, but did they mention how clean that wall was? Because I just polished it with lavender oil and pheromones."

Lee Know: (deadpan) "Maybe the problem isn’t us. Maybe the problem is architecture."

Changbin: (nodding) "Right. Like, if you don't want people to get railed against the walls, why install walls? Build open-concept."

Aeryn: "Changbin, please stop advocating for an orgy-friendly layout. This is not a brothel. It is a hotel. A high-end, five-star—"

Felix:(softly) "—with exceptional hands-on service."

Bang Chan: (finally speaks, very dry) "Look. We all know why people really book here. Let’s not pretend the 'Do Not Disturb' signs aren’t just invitations. But Aeryn has a point. If we keep escalating, someone’s going to post a video, and then suddenly we’re not a hotel anymore—we’re a category on Pornhub."

Han Jisung: (shrugs) "We’d get five stars there too."

Aeryn: "Chan. Please. You’re supposed to be on my side."

Chan:"I’m on the side of guest satisfaction. But yes. Discretion. Let’s just agree to keep things contained. Fewer hallway incidents. Less public moaning. No full-body lifting unless it’s behind closed doors. Deal?"

Lee Know: (raising a single brow) "So elevator scenes are still okay?"

Bang Chan: "...Yes, but only after midnight."

Aeryn: (flatly) "I hate this place."

Everyone else: (in unison) "We know."

[MEETING ENDS IN DISARRAY. EVERYONE LEAVES WITH VERY DIFFERENT UNDERSTANDINGS OF WHAT "PROFESSIONAL" MEANS.]

[LAST SHOT: AERYN SITTING ALONE, STARING INTO A COFFEE CUP LIKE IT'S A CRYSTAL BALL.]

Aeryn (to the camera): “I graduated top of my class. I spoke three languages by sixteen. Now I chase horny employees around a sex hotel. ...I need a raise.”

Series taglist: @nightmarenyxx @miyaluvvsyou @jisuperboard @fackeraccount @silly250