purple guy

Your bathroom used to be a painfully nauseating hospital white before Killer wanted somewhere to try growing his own catnip. The window-accented bathroom counter proved the perfect spot, and since then you became obsessed with the greenery.

You took the inspired liberty to add more—self-grown lantanas in a small pot on the same window sill, draping ferns atop the very height of the vaulted cupboard, and a little cactus between the catnip and the flowers that you don't know anything about but it lives.

Killer added onto your setup by gifting you a new shower curtain. With… the pattern is Neko Atsume cats.

A white backgrounded curtain with every one of the little kitty buggers sprinkled about evenly, separated by patterns of different colored hearts and sparkly yellow stars.

He must've actually bought this with real money. His money. This is absolutely custom-made, there's nowhere he could have stolen this from, right?

You went ahead and topped it all off with a bland blue bathmat you found at a Walmart.

It's… homey. It doesn't remind you of disease and sickness anymore, it reminds you of your bathroom.

Much more welcoming, much more 'yours', and has encouraged you to take your first real bathtub bath in years. Not a shower, but a warm and filled bath.

You had even brought one of your newest candles into here, with the window and restroom door cracked so you don't smoke yourself out.

The room smells like him. The candle. It's why you picked it out.

Like the ocean.

You can't get enough of the memories and feelings that the smell of his magic invokes.

The humid air you intake at a beach during the height of Summer. Being near Killer makes you think of warm and comforting sand, scouring the paths for the perfect seashells you stuff your pockets full of, wishing you'd one day find a shark's tooth.. And maaaaybe getting a very handsome skeleton to massage sunscreen into your bare back?

He's really good with his hands.

You wish he'd be here to wash your hair for you, your arms are getting a little tired smoothing and weaving and scrubbing the shampoo through your crown. You don't think your muscles usually get this worn out, though? Maybe it's how you're sat and a little hunched… But if you straighten, your chest rises out of the water and it gets cold fast. So… Kinda gotta just work through these aches in your arms, work through your scalp, catch the handfuls of bubbles that try to fall and return them to your head.

You don't have to catch the soap, of course—it's just fun to do it.

It's also… getting kind of stuffy in here? The air's thick with the rising heat of the water and the smell of the ocean.

You suppose you should draw this shower curtain back some, given you're starting to get a little lightheaded at the bottom of this warm bath, even with the door and window opened to help circulation.

It smells a little too much like Killer in here with that candle. Suffocating. Should you have opened the window much wider? You will the next time.

Hoping that just opening the shower curtain will do, you sit up onto your knees and whisk it back. You wouldn't want Killer to find you passed out naked and covered in bubbles in the bathroom, that would be a horrid blow on your ego—

"oh—! wow, you're bathing. whoops."

Whatever short scream you let out was muffled by how truly hard you jerked the curtain to cover you—metal hooks high pitched with a sound alike burnt rubber on asphalt with how fast you moved it across the curtain rod—desperate to blanket yourself in Neko Atsume. You swaddle yourself around the shower curtain.

But you know you weren't fast enough.

He definitely got an eyeful of everything. You were sat up high on your knees.

You sheepishly sink a little back into the warm water and out of the cold, knuckles whitening with how secure and tightly you're keeping the curtain around yourself, as Killer just stares with his consistent smile.

…

And then he pivots to the counter, reaching an unpocketed hand to the windowsill, his… catnip. He came here to check on his catnip. Your nips were just a bonus.

He dips a finger into the soil, testing the water content, and his finger's removed with no dirt attached. Plant must be dry. "got more nips than what i bargained for, comin' in here."

Stars have actual mercy…

"You're late to that joke." You adjust your posture, letting yourself get comfortable. He's not gonna do anything. You could probably even let go of your covering, but you think you'll stay modest a minute longer to breathe from that scare.

He cackles a little under his breath, rounded smile upturning an attractive tick higher, and fills one of your mouthwashing cups under the faucet.

The catnip gets watered.

Then shampoo suds you hadn't noticed finish their trail down your forehead and into one of your eyes, making you gasp and flinch hard enough to almost dislodge the curtain from its rod.

Tightening your eyes shut and reflexively rubbing the offended one into your shoulder with an awkward scrunch and bend of your neck, but the burn isn't immediately alleviating—Rinsing it in the soapy bath water wouldn't make it any better, and your curtain's made of plastic instead of soakable cloth.

In your eight-second-long freakout, you're just about to bite the bullet and get out into the nude to get your towel off the rack, knowing Killer would not care about seeing your tits and other bits, he already has numerous times before—

You hear the obnoxious creak of the bath's knob, the distinct 'click' of the shower control, and it rains down on you. Loudly pattering against the tub full of water, loudly against the plastic curtain wrapped around you, and rinsing the shampoo and suds from your hair.

Killer stepped in.

He took control of the detachable showerhead.

You keep frozen still and eyes shut tighter when soap and bubbles fall to and down your face as the worst of the globs are rinsed away by him.

The showerhead is encased in a layer of blue, coagulated mist, and when he lets go it's held perfectly in place. He takes his gloves off, pockets them in another quick motion, adjusts his posture to bend forward closer to you.

Killer tilts your head back with a hand just beneath your chin, and another cupping the side of your face.

"hold yer breath."

You do without thought.

The line is kinked with a squeeze of an extended blue manipulation, cutting the water pressure to something much gentler, and he guides it over your face as he holds you.

It all washes away. And once it is, you rapidly blink beneath the water to wash the worst of the sting out.

His voice is low and close—what with you being temporarily blinded, closer than you were expecting him to be—right against your ear, "y'alright, angel?"

You just hardly hold back a shudder at the proximity and tone of voice you weren't ready for, "Yeah, a lot."

Killer lets out a breathy laugh, bending a finger that makes the magic-encased showerhead move away from your face.

He cups your jaw again, this time with far less hurry and a lot more gentleness, and tilts your head back once more.

You're a little confused, but you let him do whatever it is he's up to.

The water returns to the back of your head, your still-soapy hair, and it's back to full pressure. He then begins to lightly scratch into and through your hair, rinsing the remainder of it all.

You let your eyes droop back closed, relaxing under the ministrations.

He's being very careful.

It feels really nice.

A loud, plastic ruffle and him suddenly grabbing a handful of the curtain at your shoulder kind of startles you out of that moment of bliss, opening your eyes to him hovering his own empty ones above you.

He whistles low, a noise someone makes when you catch something in the nick of time, smiling a little wider when he sees you're looking up at him. He adjusts the curtain to keep you modest, "you 'bout let the curtain slip off. unless you want me to see ya?"

—Oh! That's what he was doing. It threw you really off. You got a little lost in the sauce of very sweet head scritches.

He stops running his fingers through your hair, of which you can just vaguely tell is clean now. There's the bit of resistance that comes with squeaky clean hair, instead of the little slip that soap causes.

"i'm lettin' go. hold onto it if you don't want me seeing nothin', yeah?" He releases the handful he had of the curtain, and you take it back, tightening it to your body.

You watch him turn both knobs off with blue, the water stopping. He tenderly wipes your forehead to clear a small splattering of leftover water… And then his face turns sly, quirking a brow, "so.. there anythin' else ya need washed, orr?"

…I—

You really can't help but smile very fondly at that. At his antics. He's also a little too sweet for his own good, you almost want to say 'yes.'

But, alas, what he's asking for is to get dirty. And shower sex sounds dangerous, not even gonna lie.

You trust his grip and his ability to not drop you, but like… you dunno, maybe another time. For now, though… you think he needs a l'il something as 'Thanks.'

You sit up a little, the cold bathwater masked by the recent addition of warm shower water, displacing and moving with you.

Standing up on your knees, cleavage surely generously showing with how you're no longer whiteknuckling the curtain, you crook a freed hand's finger in a 'come here' motion.

He does with crinkled eyes and a raised smile, leaning in nearer down to your level, and you gently tug him even closer with two hooked fingers to the collar of his black turtleneck, pressing a hardly-there kiss to the corner of his mouth. A ghost of an endear.

He chases your lips with an annoyed smirk when you try to back away immediately after that tease, which you meet him for with your own smile.

He tosses the showerhead to dangle, loudly banging against the hollow shower walls, loud enough that it startles and makes you flinch, stopping the reciprocation to turn to look at here it collided.

He takes this momentary confusion to bring his free hands up. One to the back of your head, fingers splayed across your nape and pulling you into him, and his other resting at your bare shoulder, thumbing at your exposed collarbone.

The kiss is suffocating for the time it takes you to realize you can just breathe through your nose.

And when you do, he pulls away with a sharp, dragging bite to your lower lip.

There's a white ring to his eyelight as he looks down at you, "what can i help ya with?~"

The little laugh you let out is breathy and worn. You shake your head a negative, "Not a whole lot. I just wanted to kiss you."

His smile twitches in mild disappointment, but then he very overdramatically groans and hangs his head playfully low.

Low enough to dip his head into the space beside your neck, that he leaves a 'goodbye' peck at before he hops back up to his feet. "well, if the lady says so or whateverrrrr. not like i even caaaaare."

He stomps off in all his pout with baby steps and swinging legs, kicking at your small pile of dirty clothes and making fake grumbling sounds.

...He kind of pauses, looking at the clothes he just kicked, and then up to peer around at your counterspace. His regular demeanor back at the flick of a switch, "did'ya not bring clothes to change into?"

"Honestly wasn't expecting you to come over. I was gonna waddle naked to my room."

"—you still can!—nah, playing, but want me to getcha a pair?"

...That would actually be very, very sweet of him. "So long as it ain't lingerie."

He kicks your laundry again with another fake pout, "FUCK."

You hate this guy. You hate that you couldn't hold back a laugh, the same one he turns to look at. "You're literally so dumb. Get out."

He does with a proud cackle, leaving you to your privacy with a closed door on the way out. "i'll drop it at the counter!"

He's too sweet to you, seriously. You don't know what you've done to deserve him, but you're certainly so glad he's here. You'll be fine to finish up behind the curtains—he won't disrespect you like that when coming back.

…Okay, but he will prank your sorry, freshly cleaned and dripping wet ass.

You're soaking the blue bath mat with how you're continuing to not make any moves to dry yourself with the towel, staring offense and silent, playful slurs at what he left for you to change into.

His jacket. Hung from the towel rack. That's all he gave you to dress in, there's not even any underwear.

You—… Well, you'd say you can't believe him, but you can. This is very well within his behavior. And it's not like he's forcing you into it or anything, because you could easily shout for him to say a big 'no.' and to come get you something real to wear.

Like, this is all up to you. He'd take any objections seriously, he's just playing around. Probably really misses you, just as much as you've him. Bet he got giddy seeing you use that ocean scented candle as a replacement, too.

This is him subtly asking for permission. Can't fault someone for shooting a shot. Like, this is basically him going 'pretty please?' before cutting it out.

…

Could this be the one he was just wearing? Does it smell like him?

You take a quick glance behind you, and another at the door, like you're about to do something criminal and guilty. Like you'll be caught 'red-handed' for touching and messing with his jacket.

You're not sure why you're so nervous and shy, though. Just some kind of irrationality.

Still—your cheeks warm.

Seeking him out through his clothes of all things is a little story-book and embarrassing, despite having been with him for so long.

From how long you have been standing in place, you've about air dried already, just minus the hair. You take non-slippery steps off the mat and to the towel rack, reaching for his jacket.

First thing you notice is that it's warm. You take it off the rack with a slight creak of the rod, and already the leftover magic radiating from the inside of it sticks to you… He excessively rubbed magic off onto it before hanging it here, and you probably only didn't notice because of the candle you still have lit.

…

You awkwardly shift to make sure 'the coast is clear' again, and upon obviously confirming that it is, you press your face into the fluff of it.

…It smells a lot better than that lame as hell candle substitute.

You're dry enough to slip it on without anything catching on damp skin. It goes past your hips just enough to cover what needs to be, zipping it shut, and feels so comfortable.

His magic is heavy, briefly giving you memories of what it's like to be held by him.

…And another memory of how he held you steady by the back of your neck to kiss you, just a moment ago.

Another of his hushed voice right by your ear when he asked if you were alright.

…

One more memory, though this time about three weeks ago when he kissed a bruise he made on your thigh after—

There's a quiet knock on the door.

His voice is polite, and a tone lightly hushed like he's trying to not startle or upset you. "hey, uh—that was a joke, by the way. i have your actual clothes here if you—"

You open the door.

His previously nervous backpedal of an apology just two seconds ago was him making sure you were comfortable.

Him making sure you knew you had a choice, and that he wouldn't really force you to only wear his jacket.

So, seeing you double down on his indirect ask catches him very off guard. He freezes for enough time to get the longest of looks at you, in just his jacket. The same one he just had on a moment ago.

Killer's smile borders on an absolutely elated and giddy smirk as he gets his eyeful, momentarily forgetting what he was just doing.

"…please let me take that off of you. can i? please?"

He steps nearer, almost crowding, hands hovering just shy of grabbing your waist.

He's waiting for your permission. And you readily give it to him.

You place your hands over the both of his that were at your side, guiding them to make contact with you. "I think I was hoping you would, yeah."

And with that double check of permission, Killer's in your space. He halfheartedly breaths out a 'yeah?' while looking down at you—at your sides you guided his hands to. Where he tests the give of your flesh through his thick jacket.

"Yeah—"

He squeezes, "and where's all this confidence coming from?"

You blink through a flash of realization that Killer is Killer. And then your middle is gripped far tighter, like he's about to—

You're effectively swung over his shoulder at a speed that just about gives you whiplash.

A strong hand to the flat of your back to keep you steady and balanced, and an arm clasped across the back of your upper thighs in an extra securing movement.

Safe to say you've been—yet again—stunned by his casual display of 'holy shit' strength. You keep forgetting.

A giddy chuckle sounds behind you, "how you doin' back there, huh?"

You thwack the back of his head, but he only responds with a tighter grip.

"easy now, sweetheart!" He pinches the outside of your thigh, "wouldn't want my jacket to ride up with all that movement!"

"What, you want it to stay on me?"

He hums dismissively. And if you could have seen his face, you would've noticed his expression is genuinely contemplative at your comment.

You're walked to—instead of teleported—to your bedroom. The door clicked open with blue, nudged wider with the front of his shoe, and before you know it you're being so slowly sat down on the side of the bed where your legs dangle.

The jacket almost shifts upward in the movement, but he's quick to lean and tug it back down over you.

And staying where he is, lightly bent over you, he takes a moment to just… look.

His eyes stay on yours—in what you dare to identify as adoration—for the longest moment before breaking to trail downward to the other features of your face.

That sharp gaze keeps flicking to the fur of his jacket that frames you, like he can't possibly get enough of admiring you in his clothes.

"…you need to wear this more often."

He starts pushing himself into your space, dropping his head into the crook of your neck.

Nothing's happening, but you still let out a breath that trembles on the end. "Yeah? Why, do you think I look better in it than you?"

A hot breath of a laugh is felt against the sensitive skin where he is. "something like that."

You consider talking more, thinking that's what's happening, but you're proven incorrect when he lazily scrapes his canine against you.

Seems he doesn't want to mouth off right this second..

He lightly bites a second time, almost explorative with how bare the pressure is, like he's forgotten what it feels like to put his teeth on you.

Killer drags himself away from your neck to look back at you, and his expression is heavy with want. Mouth parted the smallest bit, gaze intense, "can we please safeword? please?"

He stalks closer, his mouth almost on yours. The both of your breaths mixing. "i want to ruin you. will you let me?"

You try to go for a few frantic nods, but one motion of your head was plenty of a signal for him.

His mouth meets the corner of yours in the barest little peck before he draws a hand to hold the back of your head, splayed and tangled through your hair, in place. Steady for him to shift and nip at the bottom of your lip for a brief half second, finally capturing you into a kiss. Something awful modest for him, but you know that'll change quickly.

It's slow and sweet. Nothing that steals your breath, but it does steal and erase the tension of first-few-minutes nervousness from your shoulders.

After a moment of gentleness, he hums against your lips, trying to move and swipe his tongue over for an almost hurried ask of 'please open your mouth.'

You almost think of denying him, just to be a pain, but that apparently wasn't a request.

He bites your bottom lip hard enough to make you flinch, and you're quickly starting to remember what Killer is like. And what happens every single time you two get together.

You get all confident, then he takes that from you. Like it was never yours to begin with and he was giving you that control to make you comfortable.

His overheated tongue brushes against yours, and you almost instantly melt under the tickling sensation.

It makes you want to back up an inch, which you try on reflex, and he lets you. In fact, he follows you.

Never breaking the kiss that only makes you more lightheaded, he continues to crowd you into backing up farther into the center of the bed. When you raise a knee to plant a foot in support of your balance, his hand is on that same thigh to trail after the jacket that rises.

His hand snakes and fingers outstretched as they very quickly reach your bare hip, where he lightly digs in to the skin in a possessive grip.

And then, paired with another hold, this time on the bottom of the jacket, you're roughly tugged back down to the edge of the bed.

You're beginning to think he doesn't want this jacket off.

Finally, his mouth leaves you—just to nip at the corner of your lips before really backing off this time.

Killer's got you breathing hard already, and all he's done is kiss you and do the smallest bit of manhandling.

He gives you a cheeky grin before he shifts to lean far over you and to the side at your bed's head, grabbing a pillow.

You simply watch him and how he's so enthusiastically getting to work. It's always funny when he's like this, like he can't decide if he wants to take his time, or hurry up and have you.

A pillow is set where your head would about be if you laid back.

And on a type of cue, you're lain back to rest your head on that pillow. Again unable to stay away from you long, he follows as he pushes you down.

He steadies himself on a knee placed between and high up your legs—a very intentional play—and two hands on either side of your head. Looking directly into you with a serious atmosphere. "tell me the safeword, pretty thing."

"Gatorade."

You're rewarded with a small kiss and a hand on the zipper of the jacket. "use it if i'm too much, you hear me?"

He gets his nod from you, and in accordance he sits up with the zipper in between his thumb and pointer.

It's pulled downward inch by revealing inch, his other hand trailing after, featherlight and ghosting down the center line of your skin.

Nothing's pulled open as he unzips the jacket, though. Undressing you is his favorite part, and given there's not a lot to work with, he's taking his time.

To your chest, then your navel, and finally fully undone.

With the click of it coming apart, he lets the now separated pieces fall right back where they were, and he stands to get a better view of you.

And… the longer he looks down at you, laid out all angelic for him, your body so prettily framed by his jacket, your head snug inside the comfort and warmth of his hood…

He's rethinking undressing you.

"…Killer?—"

He visibly frowns, "i don't want to take it off."

You blink, "The.. jacket?"

There's a pouty and genuinely upset whine that bubbles in his throat, "you look so pretty in it…" He crowds closer, his leg between the two of yours spreads them just the slightest bit to accommodate for him.

Killer's lower thigh brushes against your uppers as he steps to gradually open you, dropping a hand to glide against your skin yet again, like he can't get enough of feeling its softness.

"you wouldn't mind if i fucked you with the jacket still on, right?" His hand is inside of your thigh, pushing to spread you the rest of the way. But still, the jacket covers you. "when i'm ruining you for anyone else, you'd seek my comfort by burying your pretty face into the fur of it, right?"

He doesn't let you finish breathlessly nodding before he's already dropping himself to his knees.

Both hands on either of your partially closed knees, waiting a beat of a moment like he has to take a small second to calm himself, and then he opens you.

…But your center, where you naturally assumed he would gravitate to, is ignored in favor of simply squeezing and feeling at the softness of your inner thighs. Like he's not felt and explored enough of you already throughout your relationship.

He—aggravatingly—takes his time. A kiss as far away as the side of your knee, another small peck an inch higher, and then he stops.

It's not lost on you that one of his hands have left, nor the quiet sound of drawstrings being undone.

A kiss to your other knee, followed by the smallest bite with the side of his mouth.

Killer does this enough for you to be immediately sick of it; He drags it out and tries to piss you off. And it works.

And like he can sense you're a breath away from saying something this time, "i know, i know.. can you blame me, though? what am i to do but savor when i'm lucky enough to have you?"

A nibble higher up your thigh, one that lingers there, "what if you ran away from me, and this was the last time i got to stretch you out and have my way?"

Well…

"how many times do i gotta tell ya i'll take care of everything?"

His other hand returns to hold you. And then a kiss is placed onto the plane of your mound, making you flinch harder than when you got soap in your eye.

Killer's game certainly does the job of getting you pent up…

He chuckles at your expense and reaction, the heat of his breathy laugh against you just making you more tense. And impatient enough to say something.

You shift in place to look over yourself and down at him, "Killer—"

He kitten licks into you.

Not yet against anything directly, but the wait and suspense and the missing him had exaggerated the very first touch, making the sensation tenfold.

You were expecting to be firmly held down by the grip he has on your hips, but he instead lets you flinch. But all your jerk does is move toward him, and you feel his giddy smile in his next—longer—lick through you. The entire expanse of you, this time.

He ends it with the slightest little suck to your nub, a half-second sensation that has you immediately tensing up with a balled fist.

Your next response is to pull away from him, but he keeps you in place. "nope, c'mon. i've literally only just started. stay put for me, huh?"

He licks again, that same long stripe through your folds, and again ending off at the clit where he leaves a lingering kiss at. But instead of continuing that pattern you were expecting him to, he stays right where he's at, lavishing your clit in the smallest and barest of little licks that has your breath caught in your throat.

Consecutive and steadily increasing in pace, almost like he wants to get you to cum on that alone, and you'd say you know he wouldn't, but Killer's a wildcard of unpredictability.

The licks right onto your nub become more pressing and drawn out, a knot already building inside of you, and when you can't help but squirm from the onslaught, he dead stops. Fully pulls away.

In your confusion of being edged(?), you sit up on your elbows to look down at him, and his expression is positively elated at what he's just done.

You open your mouth to speak, but he places the pad of his thumb to rub and cut you off, "so, here's the deal."

He suddenly pinches, making you lose your balance and drop back to your pillow with a gasp. And then he continues talking like he didn't just do that, "i'm gonna spell my name into you—with my tongue, obviously. and if you move an inch or make a decibel of noise, i'm gonna start over. k?"

What?

He dips his thumb into you the slightest bit to gather more of your natural lube and runs it through you. "perfect! now sit tight, yeah? tight and still, tight and still. 'nd quiet."

There's the audible shift of movement when he returns to his knees in front of you, and you get about two seconds to process what just happened before he's already starting with the letter 'K' on your clit.

You flinch, obviously.

His near-sadistic smile is felt in his re-spelling of 'K', and he lets go of his manhandling grip on your hips so you can move much more freely.

It only takes you the third re-try to figure out what's going on, and you don't flinch on that one.

He gets to 'I' and you're fine, but the two 'L's throw you off when he flicks his tongue at the ends. You catch yourself on a deep sigh, but that apparently counts as 'a decibel of noise'.

You take the opportunity to whine and complain while he resets, "That was mean."

The puff of air when he cackles makes you shiver, "oh, my b. was i not treating you sweetly enough? yeah no, don't worry. i got you."

When he circles back to 'I', he changed it to its lowercase variant, but what he does with the dot is he suddenly inserts a finger into you to punctuate it.

That has you choke on a noise and reflexively move to close your legs, and your combo of a reaction makes Killer forget about his unfair game.

With one hand he keeps your legs spread for him, and the other he continues to slowly work and pump his pointer finger into you, palm upturned to aid in his last-minute decision search of your button, and his mouth returns to your clit to see what else noise and bodily response he can get out of you.

The image of your room's ceiling fan becomes fuzzy as the knot in your lower stomach returns full-force, very quickly increasing in pressure when he expedites his pace with both oversensitive parts of you.

You can very vaguely tell you're making a lot of sounds, but your focus is solely on how he's making you feel as your head lulls to the side and the rest of you tenses up.

Your orgasm breaks through after he pushes a second finger into you and very successfully finds the button.

He pulls his lips away from your clit just to be cheeky and say, "theere it is." As he keeps rubbing over it again and again, trying to drag your first finish out for as long as he can.

With every pass and hit of your g-spot, he slows the onslaught to give you reprieve and rises to stand on his feet.

When your next breathless whimper is almost pained, he pulls out of you.

Killer's pants are nearly in sync with yours as he draws his slick-covered hand to work himself while you take a breather with your arm slung over your face.

You can hear him lose control with his hand alone, and then you feel the mattress dip where he plants his free hand beside your head, leaning far enough to hang his face above yours.

And when you move your arm away to look at him, his mouth crashes on yours. Desperate and rough and needy as he immediately dominates the kiss and your breath.

There's the smallest string of saliva when he breaks away, and he's now panting heavier than you while stroking himself, "c-can i..? you have to let me—you've gotta. please? i need you so fucking bad."

You weakly lift your leg, trying to hook it over his hip, and he's quick to take it.

He lets go of himself to drop his shorts the rest of the way, kicks them away somewhere behind him, but leaves his tee on in favor of hurrying to get inside you.

The weight of your legs are held by him as he drags you further off the bed, hoists your legs over either side of his hips, and then he bends to hover above you with a hand by your side.

You can feel him.

"ready?"

He gets your approval with a nod and a hand atop his own.

Killer's exhale is shaky when he dips his gaze to look down at where he's about to connect the two of you, and with his free hand he guides himself to press into your opening.

The miss is purposeful, a detour to glide through your folds to wet himself in your natural lube and his saliva, and he smiles sickly wide when you impatiently angle and move your hips to try getting friction.

He was trying to be sweet with his slowness, but seeing you as desperate as he is makes him hum out an amused and breathless, "a'ight." And rocks his head into you in one motion.

A clean motion, a cleaner fit—the stretch isn't felt with how ready he had made you. Your skull falls back and shoulders tense regardless of how little of him is in you.

You take his head like he's meant to be there.

The both of you let out a breath of early relief at the same time—You throb in simultaneous with his own.

"atta'girl…" He shifts his hips the slightest bit, grabbing at your skin and digging his fingertips into your flesh, struggling to hold himself back.

"y'ok?"

More than. "Move."

That command punches a small chuckle out of him, and his head drops as he sighs. "k."

He's less careful when pushing half of himself into you.

You're not pulling away, but he's gripping you like you are regardless. Tight enough to probably bruise, but you can't bring yourself to focus on that when he rolls to get in another half-inch.

So, so steadily deeper and deeper.

But before he can consider bottoming out inside of you, he drags away to the tip and looks back up at your face.

Your eye contact is what he was seeking, and when you oblige—paired with a nod of encouragement—he thrusts.

It knocks the breath out of you, along with the tension in your muscles.

He sighs and posture eases, visibly feeling better now that he's inside you. "that feel good?"

Your 'mhm..' was small and the slightest bit weak, which only tells him that he's got work to do if he wants a much more enthusiastic answer.

Killer's not anything overdramatically 'pornstar big', but you still feel almost uncomfortably full as he lets himself sit still deep inside of you, giving you that moment to adjust before he has his way.

But he's not really a man keen on doing nothing while waiting, so he occupies his time by leaning forward to nuzzle his way into your neck, where he bites at and kisses. Almost suckling while he throbs inside of you.

The treatment to your neck becomes rougher and rougher as he so gently circles his hips to give himself that very minor and impatient relief.

He breaks away from your already-bruising neck long enough to mouth off, "feel that, baby?" Punctuated by one singular, agonizingly slow pump, "feel what you do to me? how fucking insane you make me?"

His response from you is a winded and drawn out sigh as he pumps like that a second time.

The third is faster.

"think i can find your g-spot immediately? you wouldn't mind if i abused it, right?" He's already setting a pace. "you'll let me, won't you?"

"Please."

He stutters into a faster pace at that small cry of yours, readjusting his hold on your waist to instead grab at your hips so he can angle you better, "yeahh, thought you would. holy shit, i'm gonna make you feel as good as you make me—just hang on."

Every thrust becomes ever so slightly quicker and heavier as he builds the both of you up to the perfect rhythm. The bed rocking, your eyes beginning to roll as your focus gets lost, Killer's breaths becoming almost more labored than your's—

And as said, it doesn't take long for him to get the perfect angle to find your spongy button.

Your first reflex is to hit at his arm from the shock of how good that felt.

His first reflex is to lift your hips from the mattress to pound in to that spot.

You register the fact you're yelling his name, and your nails biting into the skin of your palm, but you can't hear yourself over the overwhelming pleasure and the very rapidly forming coil in your lower stomach again.

Killer's not doing any better, like he's fighting himself to not be the one to cum first, "fuck, FUCK—sucking me in like you want me there, h-huh?" His hold on you slips, so he replaces it with a bruising one instead. "that's it, that's it… all y'gotta do is take me."

And you do. You try grinding your hips into him in time with his thrusts, but that only excites him further and prompts him to go faster.

He does also take your grinds as a sign that you need more, so he very helpfully uses blue to assist in keeping your hips up as he drops a hand to rub steady circles against your clit.

It becomes too much too fast.

Killer can tell. "let go. i see it, let go."

And as soon as you cum, he pulls out and drops your hips back to the bed. His thumb remains on your clit as he works you through your second orgasm of the night, breathlessly whispering praises into your ear that you can't really process the words of.

He slows down on your clit, allowing you a moment to breathe, but only the smallest minute before he's already flipping his palm upside and dipping two fingers into you.

Your legs shut tighter than what he was ready for, but he just sickly laughs and gets you right back open to continue.

He does intently watch your expression for a moment to see if you'll use your safeword, but upon finding that you're not going to, he starts the search for your g-spot yet again.

Immediately locating it.

And with his other hand, he works himself back up to cum, stroking his length as he watches you squirm and whine and beg all gorgeous on just his fingers.

Killer was forced to edge himself just to get you off first, so now it's his turn—but when you start to borderline paw at him, he reconsiders letting himself cum just yet.

His Soul is erratic in euphoria at the whole situation as he moves his face just right above yours to look into you, "i'm sorry, is there something you wanted?" Keeping that exact pace with his fingers. "c'mooon, where'd all that sass go? don't be so shy, tell me what it is you want."

But all you can do is whine. You're not even sure if you want him to keep going or to stop; far too fucked out to wrap your mind around a decision on your own.

All you recognize is that it feels way too good.

He obviously notices, and starts to cheekily list things for you, "slower? i could draaag it out for you, hm? that might feel nice."

You shake your head 'no' with more strength than you were expecting out of yourself.

Killer simply tilts his head to the side, his eyes scrunching in absolute mirth at your response. "no? you want me to go faster, then?" He speeds up the slightest. "make you cum right now? huh? a third time?"

..And then he abruptly slows down, hardly even making contact with that button inside of you. Ghosting over it in agonizing teases that almost have you seeing a metaphorical red instead of the literal of his Soul.

"Killer—"

His mouth crashes on yours, cutting off his twisted cackle and your angry exclamation of being denied an orgasm you were just on the cusp of.

In your justified aggravation, you try hitting at his shoulder, which he takes with pride by teasingly biting the bottom of your lip and pulling it to snap back against you.

But when he has to let go to have your lip returned in the first place, you take that split-second opportunity to speak, "Please—Killer, you can't do—"

And it seems like the only thing he was looking for was a sweet and whiny little 'please', because all the sudden he pulls his fingers out of you, gives you a final kiss to the worst of the developing bruises on your neck, and he's dropping down to his knees. Again.

You're spread wide open so fast it pinches a muscle, but you don't get time to mourn that slight pull when his tongue is already laving your clit.

Amidst the lewd sounds of him eating you out like a starved man on a mission, you hear the equally noisy slick of Killer pumping himself into his you-covered hand.

You don't think he's ever licked into you more greedily than this before.

…You also think your hearing just shot out.

The third orgasm of your night runs over and through you like it'll definitely be your last for a long time, and it only takes Killer about four more laps of your overused and throbbing clit before he literally has to back off when his own finish into his hand takes him with a broken and loud grunt.

And it all stops.

It… Holy shit.

It all feels cottony. Like you're not really here, but you know that you are because you feel good. Addictingly good. Overused good.

And what's even more grounding are the heavy, hot pants of Killer's catching breaths that're beating against your thoroughly used and oversensitive folds, where he still lays bent over between your legs. You almost want to jolt with every huff of air that hits, but the haze is preventing that reflex.

You feel the bed shift under his weight as he rises, leaning forward to kiss the plane of your stomach directly below the belly button, dipping lower to press more breathy kisses to your mound he has to hold you still for, and then right back up to your stomach where he continues his trail higher.

You squirm with every press, every minuscule movement of his making you twitch, more so flinching when he puts a barely there sucking kiss to the side of your breast. A peck to the nipple after.

You can't help but (weakly) grab at his shoulders when he gets to your neck and scrapes his teeth against the sore skin there, angering the bruises he's already left behind prior.

And when he tries sucking at one of the worst of the spots on your neck, air borderline punches out of you with a whistle through clenched teeth. "Killer—"

He stops with a gibberish exhale into your ear that might have been a 'sorry', but you dunno.

The both of you just… stay there. You, laid out all pretty and worn and used beneath him, and Killer lost in his head in adoration of you while watching your breaths catch up. Like he suddenly can't believe this is real, and that you're his.