Work Text:
I hate him! He doesn’t deserve to—to blemish your skin with his dirty fingers! I—I’m going to ki—”
“Shh, come here, Kylar,” you say to him, perhaps a bit too calmly in the face of someone threatening murder when you know very well that he’s capable of it. Kylar’s literally been shooting down people who try to harass you on the streets, and let’s not talk about how often you find him sniffing your panties or climbing into your bed while you’re asleep. It’s not even a challenge for him to kill someone like Robin, and truth be told, you usually don’t mind a little bit of murder. However, Robin’s your first friend. You’re not overly attached to him, but you don’t really think he’s deserving of death. You feel like you at least owe it to him to explain. “Robin is just a fellow orphan, he’s helped me with some stuff in the past. I won’t let him touch me again if that’s what you want.”
Kylar allows himself to be maneuvered onto the bed, and you sit side by side. Upon hearing your words, he deflates for a moment before firing up again. “What stuff? What can he do that I can’t?” he asks defensively.
Admittedly, a lot of things, but as you fix his fringe that’s gotten damp and sweaty from the summer heat, you tell him, “Nothing, sweetheart. You’re perfect for me, it’s just that we didn’t know each other back then, so I couldn’t ask you for help.”
Kylar melts at your touch, staring at you like the beautiful lovesick fool that he is, before muttering in a last ditch attempt, “But he—”
“If you keep talking about another guy while you’re in my bed, I might start thinking that you don’t like me anymore, Kylar. You don’t want that , do you?” you cut him off sternly.
As expected, he panics and grips your arm with a bit too much force, as if belatedly realizing where he is and who he’s sitting with. You wonder if it’s tight enough to leave a mark; maybe you can get the shape of it tattooed. “No, no, of course not! I’ll stop talking about him!” Then, his demeanor changes into a cuter, shyer Kylar and he averts his gaze. “Um. So, do you want to…”
Goodness, the way his face turns pink. It makes you want to choke him, watch him as he flails around in your grasp as he begins to turn blue. A form of cuteness aggression, you surmise, because surely your little boyfriend is the cutest in the universe. You wonder if he’ll let you, before shaking your head—of course he would. The only thing he wouldn’t allow you to do is to use condoms and birth control, when you both know neither of you can conceive.
Very cute, indeed.