All I ask is anything with M!Kylar- anything at all. I'm totally not obsessed with him or anything that would be crazy ahahaha totally don't want to hold him in a storage closet and milk him dry as I kiss his tears away
yas queen slay
I made this more of a reverse comfort + sex thing bc I need it soz
M!Kylar x AFAB!Reader
~+~
Taking Kylar to the mall was the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever done.
Godfuck, you knew he wasn’t popular, and you especially knew that your classmates weren’t kind, but you were never expecting to be in a situation like this.
Walking home quietly with his hand in yours, pretending not to notice his poorly concealed sobs and teary face.
The cruelty of the town you live in is always there, but sometimes it’s a bit easier to forget and pretend things are okay. Sometimes it’s a little easier to think that things can be good and kind.
But then you see people talking about Kylar, and prodding and poking at his every insecurity, every failure, every unsavory moment he’s ever had until he’s breaking down in public and people are looking at him as if he’s the weird one for it.
So here you are, at the door of his house pulling fucking garlic necklaces out of your bag so you aren’t torn apart by your lover’s parents while said lover is still choking on his tears.
It isn’t until you get to his room and you’re both sitting in his bed, still in silence (silence in the asylum, no one but yourself. too quiet so quiet make it stop make it stop make it stop-) that you decide to look at him.
His mouth is trembling, forced into a line to presumably hold back his cries. His face is stained with tear tracks, and his brows are furrowed, eyes red and watery and still spilling tears.
It breaks your heart.
Your hands cup his face, thumbs pressing into the skin of his cheekbones and rubbing soft, soothing circles into his skin. You look at him with a pitying, gentle glance.
“Oh, baby.”
And Kylar breaks.
Because everyone in this godforsaken place is vile, and you are his only salvation. Because everyone here is hard, and cracked around the edges, and you are gentle and soft. Because here, where he is safe, the rest of the town is outside, and you are here, with him.
He’s leaning into you, hanging onto you like a lifeline, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself from crying, too. (How long has it been since someone has held you without intent to hurt? How long since someone besides Kylar had held you so gently? Lovingly? Adoringly?)
You don’t realize you’re crying too until Kylar looks at your face and starts crying harder, at which point you’re both messes.
You hold each other with the kind of tenderness that only two broken people an possess, and you’re not sure whether to be grateful for this connection or mourn what had to be done to he two of you to achieve it.
“I love you.” You’re not sure who said it.
“Love you, love you, love you, love youloveyou-“
Your lips smash into his and there is no more words, only the desperate whines and pants of your lover and yourself.
Your legs come up on either side of him, straddling him and grinding down. His hips buck against yours wildly and his hands bruise you in his tight hold, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. (You are each other’s beginning, and you will make sure he is your end.)
Kylar lets out a moan against your lips—you swallow it greedily. Your hands tear at each other’s clothes and caress the skin underneath.
He removes himself from against your lips to mouth at your tits, your hands finding a home in his hair as your cunt drools against his thick cock pressed up against you.
“Kyla-ahn!”
He flips you over; desperate, frenzied, frantic, licking and biting like a man starved. He sucks bruises onto your skin with a passion, thinking of you all pretty on his cock, marked up as his, his, his. You’re moaning and writhing against him and Kylar thinks that the events of today may have been worth it, if he gets to see you underneath him like this.
Pressed flush against your skin, he thinks he’s going insane. (He thinks he already is.) “Let me fuck you, please let me fuck you, please please please-“
With lidded eyes, you look up at him.
“Fuck me, Kylar.”
And that’s all he needs.
One second you’re making eye contact and the next your head is thrown back as your cunt clenches around him.
God, he’s so big. No matter how many times you fuck, he always manages to force the breath from your lungs with the stretch that follows.
You feel like you’re breaking apart, he’s tearing you into two. And still, you want more, more, more. (More of his love, more of his devotion, more of his absolute worship of all things you. He’s going to ruin you for anyone who isn’t him again and you can’t fucking wait.)
His head is forced in the space between your neck and shoulders, drooling and babbling about how you’re his, and no one else’s. About how if someone tries to get in the way he’ll fucking end them and their entire bloodline, because he loves you. All the while he is rutting into you like an animal, grinding against your cunt as you swallow him whole.
He is frantic. You are desperate. Only one thought pervades your minds. You were made for each other. (A match made in hell. Pray that no soul is unfortunate enough to attempt to come between you.)
You are sent over the edge, spasming and shaking, moaning like a whore. Kylar soon follows.
You are filled up, hot and thick cum painting your walls white as his cock twitches and jumps within you. You hope he’ll never leave you.
Heavy breaths fill the room. He lifts his head up and leans it against yours. The two of you are sweaty and exhausted.
You look at each other, and a single word reverberates throughout the room.
“Mine.”
(You’re not sure who said it.)
