#we need talk about kevin

[nobodywantsyounow]

all fake movies

[unwantedshivering]

interested in nsfw head canons for kev if you take those sort of requests 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ i feel like sex with him would be really… strange so i’m curious on your take about it!

WHERE YOU END AND I BEGIN

HEADCANONS for KEVIN KATCHADOURIAN during sex.

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: sexual in nature, not totally explicit, no mention of body parts, mention of dacryphilia, light erotic asphyxiation, light fear-play, degradation

FOR: Kevin Katchadourian

NOTES: i’m still a bit unfamiliar with writing nsfw so be kind lol. please be mindful that this is NOT for everybody and much less for those under 18.

Intimacy with Kevin is very direct. You always know when it’s coming, and your breath always catches in your throat. He signals it with a lot of physical contact: the back of his hand ghosting your neck, collarbone, any sliver of skin. Kevin isn’t a stranger to desire, though they’re usually more darker and violent things, he doesn’t require sexual desire.

It makes him feel something. Like he’s alive. Physically, but during such times with you even emotionally. This doesn’t stop him from seeming like a ghost outside of his own body, but don’t be alarmed, he doesn’t disassociate. He’s entirely focused.

Your expression is forever etched in his lids, and unnervingly, he doesn’t close his eyes. His ministrations are borderline cruel, always. His fingers will chase, mouth following, and weight pressed against your own in an attempt to enmesh you to him, like an unbreakable chain. It’s possessive, and oftentimes enough to make you feel as though he wants to eat you whole.

It’s intense as well, and in his head he knows that you’d never go to anyone else for sex. Not when he can drive you to tears. That’s another thing he won’t admit.

He’s very much so into dacryphilia and degradation. Tears have always fascinated him, in or outside the bedroom. He can’t cry. He hadn’t since he was a child, but you, you cry so easily. You can cry like breathing. What else can make you cry?

Whether seamless pleasure or his biting tongue, he likes seeing you broken down. Something about the messiness, your pathetic shaking, he can’t stop himself from enjoying it. It’s a heaviness in his chest that buzzes, tingling to the rest of his body — it’s entirely sadistic.

“You’re squirming like some bug. Does this seriously get you off?”

“Have some decency. You’re so fucking loud, it’s grating.”

“If you can’t use your words, I’m stopping. Why can’t you speak? Are you dumb?”

Don’t think that crying will get you any leniency, though. If anything he’s meaner. It’d be worse if you tried not to cry or make a sound, and Kevin hates the idea of you hiding away from him.

He wants you completely bare in front of him. Emotionally and otherwise, and if you bite your lip to stop noises he’ll be downright brutal. Too much, too quick, too anything. He needs that reaction. Surprisingly, he’ll listen oftentimes, but if you’re willing he’ll pick apart your body to put you back together.

He’ll test the limits of what you can handle. He’s a fast learner as well, and so pace-setting, mouth movements, it’s all like flowing water to him. He knows what ticks you off, and he finds new things each time. A hand lightly on your neck, a flash of fear, a squeeze.

Kevin may unnerve you occasionally, but that underlying fear is something he plays with. When he realizes it can get you off, he makes you regret ever showing him that you like it sometimes. He may introduce other things that require your trust like that if the situation arises naturally, and yet he’ll make it seem like your idea.

“You’re sick, you know that?”

It amuses him to no end, and any shame you may feel will be unabashedly teased and probed at by him. You’re into something like that? Do you hear what your mouth is saying? You’re filthy. Despite him doing worse and saying worse, he can somehow make himself seem cleansed of this. He’ll always seem above his own dirtiness he’s partaking in.

Your pleasure is still a lesser priority than his whims despite this though, and his all-encompassing desire is to break you. If he can’t do it through violence, through his anger, he can morph this sickening feeling into something else. He can safely make you cry without driving you away.

Somehow though, this desire can still be unexplored to him. It’s all an act of trust to him. You trust him bare, crevices and dips for him to sink his fingers and teeth into, and he trusts you (if it can be called that) to touch him.

He might clench his jaw if you brush your teeth against his neck and ear, and you’d know immediately it’s a sensitive area for him. He likes his hair messed with, tugged maybe, but too harshly and he’ll bite you harder. His desire is something deeply-seated and only unveiled in these moments to you, just as his true nature is closed off to those around him.

Kevin is a sight above you. Sweat ghosting his forehead, dark locks beautifully blanketing your own face — it’s entrancing. He’ll allow you to hug him close in these moments before you finish, despite the obsessive need to watch your every facial twitch, if only because he’s just as ruined and out of it.

[girlshooting]

for @enazz …. hope u like

[multific]

Bloodstained Devotion

Kevin Khatchadourian x Reader

Summary: You were the only person Kevin ever showed kindness to, and even as he sits behind bars, you can't forget the way he spared you.

The first letter was an accident.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

You hadn’t meant to write it, hadn’t meant to address it to Kevin Khatchadourian, hadn’t meant to mail it. And yet, the moment the envelope slipped through the metal slot, you knew it had always been unavoidable.

Everyone hated you. Parents, kids, teachers. Everyone.

You had been in that school, had heard the screams, had seen the bodies. But you had walked away, untouched, unharmed, untouched by his wrath.

No one else had been given that mercy.

And you needed to know why.

The response came quicker than you expected. A small envelope, simple, plain.

You hesitated before opening it, but the moment you unfolded the paper, your breath caught.

His handwriting was precise and calculated, much like him.

You wrote. I figured you might.

A chill ran down your spine. He had expected this? Had known you would seek him out, even from behind bars?

Your fingers tightened around the paper as you read on.

Why now? After all this time?

You didn’t know how to answer that.

But you wrote back anyway.

The letters became something you couldn’t stop. At first, they were careful, filled with caution.

But Kevin had a way of drawing you in.

His words were sharp, teasing, filled with an amusement that unsettled you and thrilled you all at once.

You still think about that day.

You think about me.

I think about you too.

You should have stopped. But you didn’t.

Because when the letters changed, when his words softened, when he started to reveal pieces of himself, the real him, you realized something horrible.

You didn’t fear Kevin Khatchadourian.

You wanted him.

And worse, he wanted you too.

The first visit was different from the letters.

You had control when it was just ink and paper, the weight of his words carried only by your own thoughts.

But now, sitting across from him, control went out the window.

Kevin’s dark eyes studied you, that same unreadable smirk at the edges of his lips.

“You look different in person,” he spoke.

“So do you.”

He tilted his head, amused.

“Did you expect me to change?”

You weren’t sure how to answer that.

“Did you expect me to come?”

His fingers drummed against the table, slow, rhythmic. “Of course.”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver through you.

He knew. He had been waiting. Not just for this visit, but for you.

And the visits continued.

With each one, the space between you got smaller and smaller. The chains around his ankles and wrists became a barrier neither of you wanted.

And then, one day, Kevin leaned forward, voice lower than ever.

“I won’t be here forever.”

Your heart pounded. “I know.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “And when I get out?”

You swallowed hard. “Then we’ll see.”

Kevin smirked. “We already know.”

The day of his release, you told yourself you wouldn’t go.

That you wouldn’t wait outside the prison gates like some lovesick fool.

But when he stepped out, when his sharp eyes found yours without hesitation, you knew you had never had a choice. Not back then, and not now.

A slow, knowing smirk played at his lips as he approached.

“You’re early,” he said.

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t mean to come?” He leaned in, just enough for his breath to brush against your skin. “Liar.”

You should have stepped back.

But you let him close the distance instead.

Kevin tilted his head, studying you, waiting. Then, without another word, he lifted a hand. The touch was purposeful, testing.

You didn’t flinch.

His smirk widened. “That’s what I thought.”

The world around you blurred the past, the present, everything but him.

“You waited for me,” he murmured, voice soft, dark, intimate. “All this time.”

You swallowed. “So did you.”

Kevin’s expression changed, something unreadable, something dangerous. Then, without hesitation, he closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours.

And for the first time in years, the world made sense again.

The drive was quiet at first.

Kevin stared out the window, watching the world he hadn’t touched in years.

Then, after a long silence, he spoke. “I’m not going back to her.”

You turned to him, surprised. “Your mother?”

He nodded, fingers flexing against his thigh. “She wanted me to be a monster. And for a long time, I was. But with you…” He exhaled sharply, turning to you with something different in his eyes. “I don’t have to be.”

Your hands tightened around the wheel. “Kevin.”

“I mean it.” His voice was firm, steady. “If you’ll have me, I’ll start over. I’ll try.”

You had never heard him sound so raw. So open.

You reached over, resting a hand over his. “I was never going to leave you behind.”

Kevin exhaled, something like relief flickering in his expression.

Then, with a slow motion, he turned his hand over, fingers lacing with yours.

Deep down, deep in your heart, you knew what you were doing wasn't good, that one day you might regret this. But you failed to notice that you have long lost control over yourself. Perhaps is was the moment you first locked eyes with him, back when you were only eight. Perhaps it was the moment you stood up for him when others bullied him. Perhaps it was when you looked him in the eyes as he drew his bow. Perhaps it was the moment you picked up a pen and wrote your first letter.

You will never know.

But one thing was for sure, that even if you lost control over yourself, you were exactly where you belonged.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[dazedvivenne]

KEVIN KHATCHADOURIAN- METAMORPHOSIS

Short summary: The start of a new year, with the modified appearance of most.

The first day of Gladstone high after the summer break was chaos. Students roaming the hallways in groups of people, trying to navigate their way to their classes with the mystery of who will be in that class with them.

The tall wan teenager walked into the fulled classroom, his dark eyes examining where to sit without getting noticed.

The lanky boy made his way to a seat in the back beside a girl he hadn’t recognized before. Sitting in the chair beside her, attempting to ignore her presence.

However the scent of cinnamon drove him wild, it wasn’t strong but just enough to itch his skin. He couldn’t tell if he found the fragrance pleasant or unpleasant.

Kevin’s eyes drifted to the girl beside him, she seemed to have a more relaxed demeanour. Her head turned to the window, enticed in her thoughts.

Kevin’s eyes shifted to her thighs, her skirt riding up just enough to show a good proportion of her thighs. Kevin felt the sudden urge to grip her thighs, creating a reminiscent of something that didn’t exist but Kevin could picture it.

His hand moved from his side, the chairs were close enough to the point of his manspread legs touching her knee innocently.

Kevin’s finger tips tapped her thigh. The girl beside him quickly became alerted at look at Kevin with wide eyes. Why was he touching her?

Kevin doesn’t look her way but he can feel her gaze constantly glancing at his hand then back at his face.

He smirks as his fingers trail up to the flesh of hee thigh. Resting his hand on her thigh.

“Kevin Khatchadourian?” The teacher calls out for attendance. The pair hadn’t noticed that the teacher had already started the attendance list.

Kevin raised the hand off of her thigh, “Here.” His deep voice felt echoed in the silent room.

Once the teacher acknowledged him, he slowly lowered his hand to his side. Not bothering to give you any attention as you stared at him.

Had you noticed him since last year? He had went through puberty during that summer. His sharp boyish look became more apparent after puberty. No longer having the youthful appearance.

His jaw became sharper, the most noticeable part about his appearance. His lips plump without chapstick they became dry, always dry.

Kevin’s head turned to yours. His eyes smitten by the dewy charm in your appearance, the gentle look in your eyes made him feel something in his stomach. Was it utter disgust or adoration.

He knew the feeling of disgust, this wasn’t disgust. This was something new, but he hadn’t ever found something this attractive to the point of feeling something about it.

Of course he used to find Laura Woolford attractive. But that was middle school, when everyone found the same girl attractive but never went for her.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” The teacher called out of the list of attendance. The teachers eyes darted up to see a students raised hand.

Kevin watched as you raised your not, not a single word leaving your lips.

Kevin felt revelation of now knowing who you were. You were the girl he once used to call, “Poltroon.” Somehow he got every student in the school to call you that.

He couldn’t believe how much you had changed physically. Yet you stayed the same with the aberrance of your presence.

Kevin bite his lip for a moment, his head returning to face the front of the class with annoyance.

He couldn’t find you attractive. You were pathetic and spiritless. But you just looked so angelic.

Kevin’s jaw clenched with vexation. His fist tightening into a tight ball. Resisting the urge to force you bent over the table.

This was going to be a long school year.

[cabesswtaer]

i don’t understand how anyone can look at andrew and claim that he doesn’t care. he doesn’t care? the reason he went to juvie in the first place is because he protected nicky from homophobes who were trying to kill him (or at least hurt him). the reason tilda died was because andrew was protecting aaron!! he helped get matt clean so aaron could stay sober!!! “did he touch you?” how the hell can anyone say he doesn’t care?

[ghostbasin]

— JUST A LITTLE FURTHER.

Kevin Khatchadourian x Reader. Kevin loves to push you, to see how far you'll follow him. 2.1k words. Warnings: Questionable morality, psychological manipulation, NSFW actions implied/mentioned vaguely, minor violence, Kevin-typical hostility. Reader gender: Female. 🦇 Please feel free to submit requests! 🦇

Notes: I probably could have turned this into a full fic, but I was just in the mood to jot down some ideas. Might turn this into a fic later if there's interest!

For all intents and purposes, you'd always been a good girl. It's not like you didn't enjoy the general debauchery people your age got into every once and again, but you never did anything outright heinous.

For Kevin, his interest in you began as a very... clinical ordeal.

He craved you because of what you were when he met you — mostly innocent, very malleable, but not someone who was a snitch, or inauthentic, or dumb, God forbid. You were something he could work with. Something he could turn into a toy, one of his very own.

And with that, it started small.

It's not like he wanted you to commit murder or something. He was tip-tapping away at his keyboard, working on his latest "prank" for Eva — nothing unfixable, but an inconvenience to her computer no doubt.

"And if you press this button," he says, finger hovering over the return key, "her shit will be so fried for a solid day." You couldn't help but notice the sound of his voice, the closest he ever came to happiness — a dull tone of haphazard amusement.

"Why even bother," you ask, "it's just going to piss her off for that 'solid day' and then you'll do it again."

"It's fun," is all he replies.

Kevin gestures to his keyboard expectingly, as if to say, "go on, do it." You wait for him to elaborate before he asks, slight aggression on his tongue, "Are you pressing it or not?"

"Why the hell would I do that? I don't love your mom, but I don't hate her."

But as always, he wears you down. It's fun. It's temporary. It's not that bad, Y/N, get over yourself. After a few moments of back and forth, you hover your finger over the return key as he commanded, and before you can change your mind, he slaps your hand down onto the key and you feel strange as code rolls across the screen, working its "magic," if you can call it that.

"See? That wasn't so hard." It's the closest you'd get in terms of encouragement or pride from Kevin.

The next few days, Kevin leaves you alone. You didn't beat yourself up about inconveniencing Eva for very long, knowing Kevin would eventually give into her bickering and reverse whatever nonsense he caused. Meanwhile, Kevin dissected you like a bug in his mind, tapping your glass enclosure and wondering what would make you squirm.

You thought it was a one-off, just another thing Kevin wanted to do just to prove to himself he could. Oh, how wrong you were.

A week after, Eva comes home early from work, to see you and Kevin on the couch. Celia had begged and pleaded for you to watch one of her favorite movies with her, and of course Kevin couldn't leave you to yourself, even around his little sister. His sister, who you considered to be a sister to you, too.

Eva walks in and immediately says, "Celie, can you go upstairs for a few minutes? I need to talk to Kevin in private." Celia, naturally, complains a bit, but gives in, always eager to make others happy.

The second Celia's door is closed, she begins. You can't quite follow what she's talking about, as if she started in the middle of a story. Apparently, the school called her about a brutal fight, where one kid needed stitches, and Kevin was the only kid in class unaccounted for at that time.

"And?" Kevin asks, his voice bored and his eyes fixated on the neon colors on the paused TV. The dots connected in your head at last — what the hell had Kevin done?

The mostly one-sided back and forth between Kevin and Eva continued as anxiety wound itself tightly in your stomach, wondering why Kevin looked unscathed and what he was thinking.

"Well, Mummer, I'd love to take responsibility for the ass-kicking that guy got, but I wasn't at school at all today," he says. You look at him incredulously.

Eva asks where he'd been, then, if not at school—he was reckless at times, but a generally good student—and the words that came from his mouth would've sent you into a coma three years ago.

"Are you sure you want to know?" followed by Eva's nod, followed by, "I was too busy fucking Y/N's brains out to be beating up a classmate, Mumsy."

The dead shock on your face mirrors Eva's, and all you can think is, there's actually no way on God's green Earth he said that.

And Eva asks you, if you had in fact, "been in bed" with Kevin. He shoots you a glance that says, "you have one chance and one chance only," so you nod and say, "Yes, Mrs. K., I was." You hope the anxiety and shock in your voice passes for embarrassment, and later that evening try to give Kevin a "talking to," only for him to ignore you.

At the end of your tirade, if you could call it that—if anything it was a half-hearted attempt at trying to gain some respect from Kevin—he asks if you're quite done, kisses you, and pats you on the head like some dog of his.

Kevin takes you out to the backyard the next day. He says to you that you're going to learn to shoot, and it's clear this isn't a choice you have. He arms you with his bow and arrow, steers your arms in the right direction, and for hours you practice shooting at his target. Thankfully, you're a fast learner.

This becomes your little routine. Kevin pisses you off, you try to change things, he placates you with a kiss or a few extra moments in bed when you wake up before he leaves you deserted in his mess of blankets to go brush his teeth, and then he helps you practice after straightening up whatever minimal chaos had been caused in his room.

It only takes a few weeks for you to be a good shot. Far from as good at it as Kevin, but good enough. You could hit the target, and not poorly on a good day.

Later, after a practice session, you sit on Kevin's bed. The tiny twin bed was hardly big enough for one of you, much less two, but you sat cross-legged on his comforter as he remained fixated on the screen in front of him.

"Kev, we should do something," you suggest. His eye flickers to you for a second—didn't he say not to call him "Kev"—and back to his screen.

"Bored?" he asks. You hadn't known Kevin for years by any means, but you knew him for long enough to understand that the taunting way he asked meant you had done something, and he was going to take advantage of it.

Kevin stands up from his desk, the worn computer chair completing its circular revolution from the motion of him standing as he walks over to you. You look curiously at him, expectant.

"Get up," he demands — not an ask, but a command. You know better than to spend too long wondering what for, and stand up off the bed. You and him, face to face, eye to eye now.

Kevin doesn't speak at first. He watches you, the way you shift from foot to foot. He never did understand why people couldn't just stand still, and he grabs you to hold you into place. You jump.

He smirks. Did you really think he was going to hurt you? You can't play with a broken toy. His hands drop to his sides, but the expression doesn't leave his face.

"What would you do if you had to protect someone you love?"

The question is abrupt, confusing. What did that have to do with anything? So you tell him, you'd protect them. You love your family, your pets, your friends — and you'd protect them to the best of your abilities. You'd even go as far as to say that you'd protect his family if you had to.

"To the best of your abilities?" he taunts, something dark in his eyes. "What, there's a limit?" He steps closer, leans in. His nose comes millimeters from brushing your cheek and he whispers to you, "Would you kill for someone you love? Would you die for them?"

It feels like a threat. It feels like a warning, and so you say, "Kevin, you're scaring me." He smiles, sickeningly.

"You didn't answer my question, Y/N," he replies. If it were anyone else, and any other question, you might have found something attractive about the situation.

Without anything else to do, you nod. Yes, you would kill or die for someone you love. Of course. It's the right thing to say — isn't it?

"That's a good girl," he says, leaning in to kiss you. Your fingers feel cold, but you kiss him back and feel a little warmer. You forget about this, filing it away in your brain as "odd shit Kevin does for attention."

That is, until several weeks later.

You had no idea how Celia had gotten there. Kevin takes you to the backyard to practice, and Celia is somehow halfway up a tree, sitting on a branch. She could climb just fine, and she watched you practice in the backyard from time to time, but she was sitting there and collecting leaves from a branch way higher than you'd ever seen her climb — not too far to get down, but definitely an injury-worthy fall.

By now, Kevin had brought out one of his older bows so you could practice simultaneously. You keep an eye on Celia as you shoot, occasionally glancing up to ensure she's still firmly planted on the tree and not trying to get down on her own.

You had shot about four or five arrows at the target, all pretty clean shots, before you realized Kevin had stopped. All you could hear was your own breathing and Celia's humming as she happily played with the tree leaves.

You look at Kevin, and see him staring at his sister, arrow in one hand and bow to his side in the other.

"Are you okay?" You ask him. He would never answer questions like that, but you would ask anyway.

"You'd kill for someone you love, die for them," he says. It's not a question this time. And a feeling washes over you, one that says run! run!, but you stay put. He continues, "We'll see how honest you were being."

"Kev, wha-," you start, but he interrupts you. "You, or her," he says.

"What?" You shout in a hushed voice, trying to avoid stirring concern in Celia. What the fuck was he doing?

"It's time to pick. Are you willing to die — for her?" Kevin asks, the venom, the disdain clearer in his voice than ever.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" You ask, your voice dead serious. You realized what this was now. As he loaded the arrow and pulled back the bowstring, you realized — he was hellbent on firing at one of you, you or innocent, unsuspecting Celia.

Celia was as good as your sister. She had no where to run, and before your mind could catch up to your voice, you say, "Me."

Kevin was never going to kill either of you, he never planned on it. What good is a broken toy, he reminds himself. And so when he pulls back his bowstring and releases it, he of course aims just shy of hitting you.

But what Kevin didn't expect was that you weren't going to die for Celia, but you would kill for her if you had to. By the time he processed what was going on, you'd fired an arrow his way, too.

You missed. The one time you were ready to be fully, irrevocably on the mark, bullseye, you missed. But Kevin drops his bow and says, "You weren't lying," smug as ever. It shocked him that you would actually fire at him, but he wouldn't let you know that.

"You're one fucked up son of a bitch," you said, dropping your bow, speed walking inside, and then out the front door to head back to your house. He didn't see you cry as you walked down the street, and he didn't follow you.

It wasn't the end of your relationship with Kevin, far from it. As much as you wanted to stay away, he pulled you back in — and it went without saying that neither of you would breathe a word about that day.

What you didn't know when you left his house, however, is that that day was the beginning of your unraveling.

[gormlessdick]

okay so whilst i see the appeal of kevin playing for team usa (him reuniting with andrew and neil, finally playing on the same team as jeremy, him and jean working together on the court again ect) i would like to raise everyone: KEVIN DAY PLAYING FOR IRELAND

him reconnecting with his culture, feeling the closest to kayleigh he has since he lost her (playing in HER number), with a coach who knew his mother and tells him how much he looks and acts like her, finally playing with people who don’t look at him and see kevin day the raven but kevin day the son of a strong and proud irish sportswoman who inspired them all, him wearing her old cross necklace and finding his balance with the irish religious guilt and generational trauma, meeting other people who share his love of history and being able to talk about it because irish people understand more than anyone how important it is to know your own past, his irish accent coming back after it being beaten out of him by tetsuji, him singing the rebel songs he remembers his mother humming along to with his teammates after they make it to the finals, KEVIN DAY SPEAKING GAEILGE

just kevin day returning home and understanding what it means to be himself again

(also him replying with tiocfaidh ár lá when asked about neil in an interview because his english ass is getting hit on SIGHT once they face off)

[apt213s]

everyone forgot ab this movie but i didnt so hi

[celine-song]

We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011) dir. Lynne Ramsay

[take2thehighway]

KEVIN KHATCHADOURIAN NSFW HEADCANNONS

Kevin is bisexual. He doesn’t exactly feel romantic attraction due to his lack of empathy, although he does feel sexual desire— lots of it. He’s bisexual not in the way that he has a genuine attraction to men or/and women but in the way where if he finds someone even slightly infatuating his mind is plagued with perversion and desire. All he wants is to control and command for his own person gain.

Kevin gets turned on by pain. He gets beat up for being a creep, he doesn’t mind it. After all it only gives him a boner and more spank bank material- replaying the moment over and over again in his head while stroking his cock profusely to the part when hands get laid on him and blood gets drawn.

Kevin loves to use sex to blackmail. “If you don’t let me fuck you, you’re not waking up tomorrow.” “You wanna play dirty by avoiding me? I’ll play even dirtier.” He literally only thinks with his dick and does whatever he can to get his way, he doesn’t really love you.

Don’t even EXPECT a drop of aftercare from him.

Kevin is the master of edging himself, he’ll sit in his room stroking his cock and not letting himself cum almost intentionally torturing himself. He’ll do this over the weekend and let himself go to school hard just for the pure pleasure of the thought of people seeing his boner straining against his jeans. He’s a total voyeur

[unwantedshivering]

TENDER

Kevin is frighteningly, scarily soft with you after Eva mistakes your bruise for his doing and you refute it.

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: talk of DA (domestic abuse, but none actually committed), weird bruise kissing/touching, up for interpretation ending (could be sexual, could be cuddling), a hint of emotional manipulation and neglect. it’s kev after all

FOR: Kevin Khatchadourian (1.6k)

NOTES: so soft that i question myself if i wrote this with kev in mind, but i kept it as little OOC as possible

Kevin, for all intents and purposes, is like a cat.

This is not said to demean his true nature in any sense. You’ve seen firsthand the cruelty he can display with a brush of his finger, you’ve heard the things whispered along the walls of his home. You’ve spoken with Eva.

It was after your first dinner at the Khatchadourian household as his significant other. It felt more like a flimsy label sticker stuck on a can, but it was still a label rather than a sly tilt of the head — which, not surprisingly, was what you were met with in the first few months you hung around Kevin. Whenever you asked any variation of, “What are we?” it was faced with silence, a cock of the eyebrow, and then him ignoring you.

You came a long way.

After dinner you offered to help Eva with the dishes, and she politely declined before smiling and agreeing. It was awkward. Being alone with Eva in every sense of the word was just… awkward. It seemed as though she never wrapped her head around the fact that you stayed, and you weren’t going anywhere.

You placed a cup on the drying rack, making light conversation with her before she broke the lightheartedness abruptly.

“Does he… ah, Kevin — does he hurt you?”

It was uttered quick, in a short burst as though he could walk in any second and catch her. It felt surreal. You noted immediately that her eyes darted wildly from your face and the bruise you acquired from hitting your arm too hard on a railing.

“You can tell me. I can help, really —“

“No,” you interjected politely, blinking the shock out of your face. “No he doesn’t. I… yeah, he doesn’t. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry it’s not what you’re looking for.

She deflated immediately. Maybe she was trying to find consolation in the fact that his cruelty was something evident to others, bared to others like it was to her. Still, you couldn’t lie to her. He never hurt you. Sometimes emotionally he drove you insane, but physically he never hurt you in a way that screamed imminent death. Sure, he could grip your wrist a bit too tight, but that was nothing.

Kevin is like a cat.

When you went upstairs that night after awkwardly drying off the dishes with Eva, he was already waiting for you at the top of the stairs. Not a creaking wooden step was heard as he stood unnervingly still, like an apparition waiting for you to make the first movie. You gave him a light smile, a cautious and confused one. He simply pivoted on his heel, leaving to his room. Follow me, the silence said.

And follow you did.

His room was starkly blank, with nothing of interest but his bow and himself. It smelt of linen, and mornings of sun, but right then it smelt of nothing but Kevin. He had taken it upon himself to wear a white button up to dinner, a new development which left your mind reeling. Seriously, if his pale skin and lithe form weren’t emphasized before, the button up simply made him look angelic.

A deceiving sort of angelic, though. It was an uncomfortable sort of normalcy that he didn’t often display, and despite how lovely he looked in his all too-tight shirts, the looseness of the fabric made him look… soft. The exact opposite of what he was. The inky mess on his head only furthered this notion of softness, of, well, normal. He was a normal boyfriend, you could tell yourself.

He sat on the edge of his bed, and you trailed after him like a curious animal, hoping to be met with affection rather than harm. You told the truth to Eva, he never hurt you physically, but his mannerisms set off your base instincts as though he could. It was the possibility.

You stopped right in front of him and he looked up at you through his tussled locks, startlingly long lashes accentuating the darkness of his eyes. “What did she say?” he asked, though it was more like a statement than an inquiry. It was though he already knew.

“Nothing,” you murmured, soft. Soft, soft, soft.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You quirked the smallest smile, because his tone itself was intimidating enough for you to fold under the pressure. If you listened closely, you could’ve heard his heart dancing wildly under his skin, and his breathing catching for some reason. This some unknown and sanctified reason was, perhaps, you. He didn’t attempt to distinguish this, as if he did then he would truly be gone.

“I meant nothing that I could answer,” you reiterated, “nothing that could make me leave.”

Briefly, his intense eye contact broke, and he glanced down at the rest of you standing before him before blank eyes returned to your face. You tilted your head at this, as he was never one to randomly break eye contact, and nonetheless to return it afterward. It was either you had his attention or you didn’t. That was another reason why he was like a cat, you supposed.

In an instant, in a split second of thought, he gripped your waist, finding heavy purchase on the sides to pull you closer. You blinked, a small noise escaping your mouth in shock, your knee resting between his legs in an awkward fashion to not fall fully on him. He always got a little… odd when it came to his mother, and yet never was he touchy. There wasn’t a reason to comfort him when the oddness came in droves and mainly in the form of unfathomable anger.

His hands were large, fingers inching to dig into the flesh of your skin. Despite these urges, to dig as he pleased and not care of your cries, something stopped him. It was almost thankfulness, almost a twisted form of relief that Eva couldn’t make you run out the door screaming. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, the twinge so small that it couldn’t really be deemed feeling.

Other than sharing this with you, he hummed. It was a minuscule confirmation. “I heard what she asked,” he said, eyes looking up at you, grip firm. “She’s stupid to think that.”

Yes, stupid.

You smiled, your own hands finding loose comfort over his own. His purchase didn’t let up, and somehow his jaw set even firmer. “You don’t hurt me,” you answered. “I think you could, but you don’t.”

It was frighteningly bold of you to say this, as he could prove you wrong right then, though he wouldn’t. He could take it as a challenge, though he chose not to. It lit a small fire in Kevin, an annoyance that you were right yet no want to prove you wrong. It was uncannily unlike him.

“You’re stupid to think that.” There was no typical amusement in his voice. It was another statement, like he knew something you didn’t.

Yes, you were also stupid. Though you were still right, and Kevin instead did nothing to refute this other than a weak verbal rebuttal. He roamed your form once again, eyes crossing your collarbones, your shirt slightly lifting to show skin, and finally landing on the unmistakable bruise Eva thought was Kevin’s doing.

Without warning, he let up one of his hands to grip your elbow below the bruise, and you almost thought that yes, you were stupid to think that before his lips met it. It was a light, awkward thing he had to bend his neck for. It was way too soft to be his lips, way too soft to be him. In a fashion that was still himself though, you felt him smirk against the tender flesh as though he knew your brief fear.

You couldn’t lie and say that there wasn’t a staggering hint of terror that gripped your heart. There wasn’t a need a lie, it washed over your face. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of either, but it was the same fear and sense of accomplishment one would receive when a feral animal accepts food from their hand; it was unbelievable, something you could rave about in your head for months.

Despite the awkwardness of the position, Kevin was able to look graceful. His lips met it in a way that they would before taking a bite out of an apple, or perhaps a bruised peach or plum in this situation. Your base instincts told you he would sink his teeth into the skin, dig his fingers and nails into the darkened pit for nothing other than to hear you squeak. He did neither, and your instincts were wrong again. He kissed it once more. And again. And again. Each time a different angle, a different tilt of the head. Each time feather light, without pressure, like a ghost of lips to tantalize your flesh.

Finally, he let go, eyes still zoned in on that bruise as though he was thankful for it. It was a large thing, taking up a good amount of space on your inner arm as you had rammed front-first into railing on a crowded Friday. Kevin didn’t ask how you got it. You thought that aspect probably didn’t matter to him, it was just the fact that it was there.

It was also an ugly thing, growing yellow and purple and dark enough to be questioned in the first place. Despite its ugliness, it was being worshipped in that moment for a reason you couldn’t surmise.

Kevin’s dark eyes met yours again, lips still parted and breath escaping like stolen air. Your air, as you couldn’t believe what he just did. The inky blackness of his eyes under stern eyebrows roamed your face, your expression, tickling your skin with every trace over. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve assumed he wanted to engrave your every micro-expression to his memory.

In a singular moment, he pulled you forward, his back hitting the bed and taking you with him in a soft thud.

[rosegardendeprofundis]

Some not-so-light light reading for my lunch break today.

[impairedempathy]

bloodhail - have a nice life

[fratercrucis]

Supernatural 8.01 We Need To Talk About Kevin

[shirtlesssammy]

Dean Winchester every day -- 150/326

Supernatural 8x01//We Need to Talk About Kevin