#kevin khatchadourian imagine

[slasherscream]

hey, i was wondering if you could do a crazy ass boys gang react to a reader who just likes break music/music about hating their bf or something but doesn’t actually relate to the song

❥  turn that shit off  ❥

Jason Dean/JD - You think you’ve stumbled upon the one thing JD is normal about because—at first—he has no reaction and thinks nothing of it. It takes a while for the doubt to creep into his mind. Even a shoddily built house doesn’t collapse under the first rainstorm it endures. It takes time for the water to seep into the walls and rot them from the inside out. That’s what the songs do. Drip. He wonders why you sing them so passionately compared to anything else. Drop. Have you grown distant? Drip. Are you kissing him differently than you used to? Drop. Is he letting his mind run away with him? He’s prone to it. It’s in his blood. But every time he’s close to tossing the whole thing up to the monstrous weight of his own paranoia… there you go. Singing again. JD wants to open up your head and peer inside. Sift through all the precious membrane and viscera until he can wrap his fingers around the truth of what you’re feeling. Whatever it is. Before he drives himself crazy. 

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - If Ben was told to describe his own personality, within his top three character traits would be: thick skin. Laughable. Truly laughable, considering that you can ruin his day by just singing a little “you must not know ‘bout me” while you lovingly make the two of you breakfast. It shouldn’t get to him. He knows it shouldn’t. But it does. In true Ben fashion—when he’s being irrational—he turns it back around to be your fault. You are clearly playing mind games with him. Yeah. He’s got it all figured out. You want him squirrel-y and on edge. You’ve interpreted him being affectionate with you (barely) and vulnerable (hah!) as him developing some pathological need for you. And now you’re holding it over his head. He’d respect the power play if it wasn’t happening to him. Expect sullen silence. Then explosive anger… followed by more sullen silence. 

❥  gritting their teeth and bearing it  ❥

David Mccall - Your first instinct is: no way should David be here. He’d absolutely tell me to turn that shit off. Well, you’re right! That’s certainly what he wants to do. However, that’s not what a normal boyfriend would do. And we all know that David wants nothing more in the world than for you to think he’s normal. On his good days, David likes to put on shows of sanity for you the way other people put on puppet shows for children at the local library. Relationships are about compromise. Sometimes the compromise is invisible. Here, it’s him not smashing the radio to pieces, so he doesn’t have to hear you sing another R&B-crooner-jam about leaving him any day now. As if he’d fucking let you. 

Kevin Khatchadourian - To be fair to Kevin, most everything is an exercise in tolerance for him. This is no exception. He very plainly doesn’t like music to begin with. Any of it. Why you think the exception to this rule would be music about not needing a man (him being the man in question) is anyone’s guess. Still, you can tell this irritates him more than most things do. If you ask why—which is a recipe for getting your feelings hurt—he’ll say it’s because your enjoyment of this particular genre is the modern pass-time of insincerity. Here you are, day-in-and-day-out, singing about having your heart-broken (while it remains intact) and not needing him (when you do). For just a moment, you’ll swear his ever-impassive face will twist with the heat of real anger… but he blinks, and it’s gone. Maybe it was never there at all. Or maybe it was. Either way, it’s probably safer to sing when Kevin isn’t around.

Nathan Prescott - Even before you were officially dating, the gnarled roots of his loathing for your little hobby were settling into the foundation of your connection. It’s the way you put so much feeling behind every crooned note. The way you close your eyes to relish the lyrics as they roll off your tongue. The only thing Nathan can think any time you’re in the passenger seat, not even looking at him as your head bobs along to the rhythm of your latest favorite song, is: Who are you missing? Who do you see when you close your eyes? Who do you wish he was? He wears insecurity like a second skin. There hasn’t been a single moment in his life where he’s been good enough. Where he measured up. Even when he didn’t have any fucking competition. There is something in him that is rotten and worthless. It’s knocked him out of the running for more races than he can count. Nathan knows it’s a miracle he has you. He spends all his time counting down the seconds before his luck runs out. Whenever you belt a song about leaving some good-for-nothing boyfriend, his stomach twists. But he grips the steering wheel tight enough to hurt his hands and keeps his mouth shut. He has to. The moment he says it out loud will be the moment it clicks in your mind. And then you’ll be gone. Like everyone else. 

Billy Loomis - At the start, Billy is too high off the honeymoon period to have complaints about anything. It’s so rom-com-esque. The two of you settling into domestic bliss together. Finding your rhythm and place in each other’s lives. Except, your Mr. Right is a serial killer. And you’re his plucky protagonist with enough of a dark side that you went, “Nobody’s perfect!” when you found that out. You two are living the perfect happy ending. But something in his stomach twists every time you belt along to your stereo. He can’t help but think back to his mother. The months leading up to the moment she packed a bag, and he never saw her again. There were signs. Billy’s picked his memories clean—down to the bone—to find them. He wonders if this is a sign he’s choosing to miss. Blinding himself like his father did to his mother’s unhappiness. Billy hopes you’re happy. Hopes you’re not a caged song-bird aching to fly away on the next breeze. God help the both of you if you are.

Josh Washington - Josh is grateful you’re even around. That you’ve stuck with him through everything that’s happened. After everything that’s happened. There are enough ghosts in his head to fill a small cemetery. His sisters. All his friends. Everyone he loves is dead and gone. Except you. Grateful doesn’t begin to cover the scope of what he feels for you. Neither does love. You’ve both been through something no one else understands. Seen things that no one else believes in. Josh wouldn’t even be human without your interference. The way you’d coaxed him from the mines like he was little more than a scared animal, all the while trying not to flinch at how his features had twisted to resemble the monsters that had killed all your friends. Josh doesn’t have the right to ask anything more from you. He certainly doesn’t have the right to ask you to stop singing. 

It’s harmless. It’s beautiful. Josh loves the sound of your voice. It pulled him from the edge of insanity. And you sing nowadays because you’re happy. Because you’re healing, and things like singing along to the radio don’t feel pointless anymore. It’s what you sing that’s the problem. That’s where the torture starts. Josh can never forget that he doesn’t deserve you. It keeps him careful with you. Careful with his words. Careful not to scare you. Careful in a way he’d never been before the mountain. But his mind is weak. It always has been, but it’s weaker now than ever. On his bad days, the threads of logic can be so hard to grasp onto. Almost impossible. His mind takes fragments of songs and throws them into his face over and over. Until all the pieces build up to one simple message: you’d be better off without him. Josh curls up somewhere dark and quiet and pretends it isn’t true.

❥ secret fourth worse thing ❥

Stu Macher - You’d think Stu, with his class-clown nature, would understand when something isn’t that serious. Mostly, he does! A familiar beat starts to play. He’ll turn to you with a: ‘we doing this?’ type of grin. And then he’s belting along to the break-up anthems with you. Supplying the essential back-up vocals and ‘you go girl!’ ad-libs. Sometimes, though, they get to him. There’s no rhyme or reason you’ve been able to decipher. No pattern you’ve started to crack. It’s unnerving. Not being able to tell when a song is going to lead to a honey-soft memory soaked with your shared peals of laughter… or when it will make Stu blow up. But the only thing worse would be making Stu feel like he’s too sensitive to take a joke. So, close your eyes. Ignore the chill running up your spine. And just hope Stu is feeling playful when your favorite song comes on the radio.

A/N: first time back in the saddle in months! thank you for sending this request. I love when the gang gets to be not normal about a non-issue like this. It’s a great character study… that’s still an x reader! my favorite thing to write! 

if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! this writer's only fuel is engagement. xoxoxo

[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/

[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.

[werezmastarbucks]

kevin khatchadourian x female reader timeline of relationship pt 2

first part

warnings: mutual abuse, mentions of school shooting, folie a deux, mentions of stalking, mentions of suicidal thoughts, self-harm, living with trauma, otherwise it's fun! also, Kevin gets way more jail time while I'm captaining this ship

• Kevin got a reduced sentence, because at the time of the shooting he was just three days shy of sixteen

• that shows that he was calculating from the beginning to the end. Moreover, he calculated exactly how much time it would take him to fuck you, and he managed to do it even with some spare time left

• the headlines screamed of despair. You heard that Kevin had killed his father and his little sister - that angelic, innocent, happy girl, before going to school

• there were many times when you asked yourself why he spared you

• but there were now other things to think about. Like, how you were supposed to go on living now. Your own little grudge about that night at the party dissipated and became a minor failure even before the calendar year was out.

• you heard his mum sold the house and moved away on the outskirts of the city. She didn't leave the town though, because at first, Kevin was held at the local facility for minors.

• even you got your share of hatred, to say nothing about his mother.

• the police investigated you mildly, because you were the only survivor in the massacre. They quickly understood you hadn't conspired with Kevin. But people didn't care.

• very soon, you moved away and left the town, and school, behind you.

• five years of therapy, contemplation, heartache, spent with total lack of comprehension of what had transpired. Weeks turned into months as you went into a frenzy, sitting in your room, staring at the walls, trying to find your place in this story.

• you were recalling all of the moments you spent with him, one by one, trying to find the second he snapped. You remembered how you marveled at the beautiful stack of arrows on his wall. Just like Robin Hood's.

• five years of therapy, and self-reflexion. And then, when you were twenty years old, you decided to google his name for the first time in all that time.

• "I don't know why I did it: Kevin Khatchadourian, school shooter with a bow, has been transferred to the adult prison". An article from three years ago. There was a lot of news about him, a lot of pictures of Kevin. Him in his orange costume, hair cut short, and he looked like a disgraced puppy, lost. He was almost nothing without his magical poetic hair.

• one of the videos from court displayed him crying, hiding his face in his hands. You knew these tears were nothing but an act; just a thing everybody expected, or maybe, he wanted to try, and see if the reaction would be to his benefit.

• "The Robin Hood school shooter feels remorse, apologizes to families"

• there were even articles about you, though, in fewer numbers. Still, some theories that you helped Kevin to lock the hall; or that you were his sex toy that he had mercy on. As you went deeper on the internet, there were even accusations of satanism and demonology.

• through the news articles you watched Kevin grow. He turned seventeen, eighteen, then, his hair grew a little. Today, he was being fried in the adult prison. Very soon, there was another school shooting in the same state, so everybody forgot about Kevin Khatchadourian. Plus, he killed so few people; just seven. Weak. Reading this number, every time all these five years, you were taken aback. The whole ordeal felt like it lasted at least an hour. You were seeing everything in slow motion

• the truth was, every time you closed your eyes, for the longest time after, you started seeing Kevin's distorted face. As he grinned with hatred while he was killing your classmates. Little tiger cubs make that face when they learn to roar.

• the latest pictures of him were from the last year; he was a young man of twenty now. His black slick hair brushed back, bruises on his cheekbones. He was a broken man, the light dull in his eyes. Only in the corners of his mouth, there was the old Kevin. The Kevin who laughed at dumb people.

• sooner or later it was inevitable that you started asking yourself questions you couldn't answer. Could I have prevented it? To what degree has he been using me? Why did he spare me? Not like he cared about me? In his eyes, as he looked at me in the yard, there was nothing but resentment.

• you went to see him in prison, thinking about how you looked to someone who hadn't seen you in years. Thinking about your classmates who didn't get to be twenty, nineteen, throwing hats in the air, buying cars, traveling the world.

• all your unrequitted loving, and the dark undulgence, the sense of being the chosen one aside, you thought of those teenagers they used to be and stayed forever, and you wished to be in their place. Because then, you wouldn't have to see Kevin again.

• he looked worn out, but wild in a way, the same pitch-black hair, the same empty stare. Only, it became completely hollow now. His eyes only lit up for a secons when he saw you entering the room.

• you trembled with the realization that this person on front of you, behind the glass, killed seven people you knew, and was now smiling to you. A grown-up cougar. Unaffected, bored, like your coming was a matter-of-fact occurrence.

• his first question was what took you so long. He thought you'd run with lectures and commeuppances ages ago.

• his face sported a split eyebrow, there was a bruise on his forehead. His cheekbone was cut, it seemed, some time ago already, and a pink scar made his perfect fucking face asymmetrical.

• "Did you get beaten up?" you asked. He replied that he had got into a fight. His knuckles were torn to shreds almost, it was unpleasant to look at them; his skin was pale, pulled over his skull. Black circles around the eyes told you he didn't sleep well. He looked ever more like a vampire. The unpleasant kind, not like from the Vampire Diaries.

• he tried to ask you again, why you didn't visit him earlier. His mum was the only one, he said, who ever came, besides the lawyers and the journalists. You scoffed at it and left it without the answer. His eyes were palpating you, examining. His mouth slightly agape. He hasn't seen a woman, you thought, except his mother, for a very long time.

• "I came to ask you one question", you said, and Kevin made the face of annoyance. You went on anyway. "Why did you kill my friends?" He mocked you. Why did he do it. If only you knew how many people came here and sat in your place, and asked the same stupid question. Have you people no imagination nor consciousness to bore him with that? Like he knew. "Because I could", he spat out, "because I wanted to, and I had the means. Because I was annoyed with those people, and they made me irritated. What reasons do you want? I have no idea why I fucking did it; to piss you off? To make you spend five fucking selfish years thinking about why I fucking did it".

• you were not impressed. You didn't expect a fifteen year old narcissist to comprehend his own actions completely.

• "Why did you spare me then?" He shrugged.

• "Because you were nice to me".

• "I punched you in the face".

• he shrugged again like it didn't matter. But it did matter to him back then.

• you're like a robot, you said, you're not supposed to feel anything for a girl who you fucked and threw out like a sock with dry cum. You're a machine and you shouldn't feel anything. It irritated Kevin, this comparison with an inanimate object. Truth was, you were trying to get to his core, to hurt him as bad as you could, to see if he's still alive at all.

• "What's your point?" why didn't you kill me with the rest of them?

• he clutched the phone and rolled his eyes like you were asking the stupidest possible questions. His eyes then drifted down to your chest, where, propped against the glass, was your arm with an old, long scar from the razor.

• "Why, you have a death wish now?" he whispered. A familiar lustful smile was curling his lips. You noticed another scar on his lip, from someone's fist. It must be tough for the pretty boy here at prison. You wondered if the inmates were afraid of him.

• "I could organise it, you know". You realized he almost never, if ever, called you by your name. At all, as if it didn't exist. You wondered if he even knew your name at all.

• "You can't, you're in prison. You're a rat behind the glass. Do you understand, Kevin, that some of the parents of my dead friends, killed themselves years later?"

• he swayed his head with a question, like, what's he have to do with this information?

• "And", you panted now, "all because of one angry boy, and you're... it's the lack of grey matter in your brain poless, Kevin. You're a psychopath. And it's not good, do you understand, you're less than others. You're a little bit less of a human than the rest of us".

• finally, you saw the look of indignation on him. It was rage and disgust, but so quiet that his face just elongated, like a cat's. He was silent, burying you with his stare.

• "We all need one thing, Kevin. All of us. But you can't have it. It is inaccessible to you. That's why you did it".

• Kevin's nostrils were flaring. You put down the phone and stood up to leave. You could hear him scream through the glass. You caught him right by the balls. He was so smart, so, so intelligent unlike all these dumb people. But he couldn't guess what you meant. All these years he'd been searching for the answer, and it was just out of his reach.

• "What? What is it? What is it? What is it, Y/N?"

• he got fifteen years, actually. So, he was out when he was thirty. Still very young, all life to live. He pretended a lot in prison to get the appeal, but he was never granted it. Still, just fifteen years, and then he was out.

• you haven't seen him for ten years.

• the 8th of April was shifting further and further from you. Watching all the school shooting happening in the country was strange. Like almost each of them seemed a next chapter to you, like you were supposed to puzzle them all in, into one coherent picture. You changed jobs, you got in and out of relationships, none of which stuck. You didn't talk with your best friend from school, you drifted apart. You moved out and lived alone, acquiring lonely hobbies and observing people.

• the short visit to prison to see Kevin left a bleak impression of frustration. The memory of losing your virginity to him seemed like a minor failure still. You remembered that night very vividly, and now all of the time you were spending with him, was very clear to you.

• looking back, you saw the manipulation and hot and cold approach he practiced on you. You were something of a practice dummy for him. You could travel back in time and stand there next to yourself on the porch of someone's house and watch yourself kiss him for the first time. You could see him now, from a great angle, how he trapped you in his cobweb. How his eyes were never warm or loving, or even interested, but always calculating, measuring. He always looked at you, you realized, as if he was trying to guess your height for a coffin.

• you've never thought of the life 'after'. In your mind, the fifteen years of prison were eternal. You thought it was the period of time during which you would kill yourself

• you tried to learn everything about ASPD as if it could help you in anyway to deal with what had happened.

• the year when he got released, you only learned about it from the news.

• "Kevin Khatchadourian, the Robin Hood shooter, to be released this May". The article reminisced of the tragedy, and speculated on whether fifteen years have shaken Kevin enough for him to become a good boy. Kevin, it said, had gotten a pretty good rehabilitation back in the minor facility, and very rarely was in trouble at prison. He was an excellent inmate, obedient, friendly and very active at the workshops. He worked at the hospital wing and cared for other inmates. You wondered how many people he made die slowly and painfully, getting high on the power he had over them.

• not immediately did it shake you to reality: Kevin was now about to be free in two months. You tried not to stress about it too much. He didn't give a shit about you. Not then, not now. The therapy groups organized specifically for his victims and the families gathered that spring more often than usual. You weren't accepted there, weren't welcome. They couldn't forgive you for surviving.

• a week after his release you noticed Kevin on the other side of the street as you left for work in the morning. You didn't much care and ignored him. But the sight of him was something to think about. His hair was now long, almost to his shoulders. He was broad-shouldered, tall, and even from across the street you could see his warning eyes.

• you were careful not to get any pets or close friends. It wasn't a problem before, and it wasn't now.

• you cut yourself sometimes, and now started to do it more often - every time you caught yourself thinking, finally he's out.

• you've never gone to a proper doctor, only had therapy for five years, which you quit after visiting him in prison. It was all useless, you thought, because I still want him, and even more now. Everything that's happened to you shaped you into this creature of guilt and need.

• but also rage.

• he once held you by the throat and aimed an arrow at you, and since then, you barely felt fear, like someoned switched it off.

• Kevin came to your place. You tried to shut the door into his face, but he caught it. Close up, you could see his face, thin and pale with the lack of sun.

• he wanted to talk to you. Like adults.

• he said that no, you were never that special, but you actively chose him, again and again, and he was interested to find why. When it appeared so easy to make you have sex with him, he lost interest, but then, at the night of the massacre, for some reason, he just didn't feel like killing you

• you were nobody, to each other, he hasn't even thought about you the first five years, before you came to visit.

• then the thought of you became somewhat of obsession

• he probably idealized you

• you asked where he lived now, and he said that his mum bought a flat in the city and had a room for him. You called him pathetic. At first, he didn't react; he looked broken.

• but there was still the same sense of grandeur in him; you, a feeble creature, thought you could outpower him with only your fury and jealousy, indignation at what he'd done

• but, as Kevin once told you, the world was so unfair to little, pretty girls like you

• he threw you on the floor of your kitchen

• you laughed with relief, saying, "Finally! I thought just fifteen years of prison broke you like a dry twig".

• the look of recognition sparked in his eyes; he kneeled over you as if to say something, and you got his nose with your fist

• one would say it was a happy (in the most infernal way) reunion

• you fought, and laughed, and kicked each other, and kissed with the blood dripping heavily in between your mouths. Only there, in the isolated square of your apartment, you could finally confess to yourself that you didn't give a shit about anything; you haven't for some time.

• the blood was smeared on the floor, on the table, on the cupboards of the kitchen from how much you fought and punched each other

• he left you half dead, and redeemed, it felt

• he said that he'd return soon, and he expected you to be there waiting for him. He didn't want you to go to work or see anybody.

• you laughed at this suggestion and got up to tell him something to his face.

• he was in the bathroom, washing his face. The blood was dripping from his nose onto his t-shirt; he looked like a painting

• and paintings are objects you could own.

• you said "Make me"

• and his smile was almost happy; Kevin could only master so much, that it looked like a deranged grin. The time he spent on the bottom of helplessnes in prison, with nothing but his own self, changed the way he smiled. There was nothing behind his eyes when he smiled now.

• he promised he would go out and fuck whoever he wanted, and then return to you, smelling like other women, and there was nothing you could do about it

• you clenched your fists, but you were now so weak you could barely stand. Your whole body ached.

• he helped you shower and washed your hair, tugging on it, giving you instructions, like an idiot, expecting that he had the same control over you

• after work, you go straight home, you don't text with your parents, don't see your friends, every time you leave your house, you tell him where

• you laughed like crazy at these words.

• Kevin, Kevin. His name was like melody. The pain in your body, bruises, were the first thing you felt in a long time, and, coincidentally, they were connected with the feeling of elation you had now, that his hands were on your neck and your shoulders.

• you could fuck whoever you wanted, Kevin, but it would only happen one time, because if you do, I'll cut your balls off

• and to make him sure that you weren't bluffing, you tried to stab him with manicure scissors from the bathroom mirror.

• his reactions were fast, and he caught your hand inches from his face.

• as he looked down at you, sitting in your bathroom in the pool of pink blood, blood on your forehead, your eyes rolling, he thought about the time he finally started paying attention at school. The girl who loved frogs so much she couldn't look at dead ones. Weak-gutted.

• he now almost admired how deranged you have become. At the moment of epiphany he realized he was the one who made you like this. He was so, so happy. Or what he thought was happiness.

• you pulled on his collar, biting your lip, and put his face very close to yours

• "Don't fuck with me". He saw all the fun coming and he didn't have any desire to disobey.

• Look, what was that damn thing you were talking about when you visited?

• you watched his sculpted face and his sharp bones, the tilt of the head and the vampiric malevolence in his eyes. What was love anymore? Would it have made any difference, morally, if you two had met in normal circumstances, and, more importantly, if he was normal? Would you even have fallen for him if he was a good boy?

• this life was a vortex that became tighter and tighter every year. Next to your memories of school, was this confined bathroom, like you existed on all of the planes at the same time. You laughed at your own naive young self that was looking for excuses for Kevin. uwu, his mum didn't want him. He's too pretty to be that bad. He didn't need excuses, he was always the villain. The good people are never that striking, that vivid and suffocating.

• nevermind, Kevin, it doesn't matter. I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about.

[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.

[dollepins]

kiss me, comfort me

kevin khatchadourian x reader. fluff, kisses, reader is afraid of the dark. might be a little ooc because it’s my first time writing for him. very short, 0.4k words.

warnings — none, unless the dark triggers you i guess? but it’s really nothing, and i use a curse word or two.

kevin, of all the things he did understand, did not for one second comprehend how someone could be afraid of something as simple as the dark. the logic did not add up, in his opinion. darkness is natural; the sun sets and moon takes its place, humans turn off their lights and drift to sleep.

why does that scare you?

you honestly didn’t know why you told him. all he did was smile a bit and poke fun at you, but when he turned away, you couldn’t help but feel it in the pit of your stomach—how stupid you were. how silly. why would you ever go to him for comfort when he barely ever offers it to you anyway? you bite the inside of your cheek.

maybe you thought there were monsters in the corner of your room sometimes. maybe it was just irrational and dumb, with no reasoning to back it up other than a simple cliché.

either way, you knew that later, when he turned the lights off to lure you both into sleep’s grasp, the teasing would begin once more. well, you thought.

your eyes were shut tight for a moment after the room encased itself in black, and after a moment you felt the weight of the bed shifting and kevin’s slender hands pulling you closer to him. it was easy for you to allow him to pull your back flush to his chest. this was your routine every night, but it felt different now that your secret was out.

kevin’s words—his words that, usually, never carry an inch of sympathy—possessed a certain protectiveness to them now. worry, adoration, whatever you’d like to call it. still, you heard a raspy, “you okay?”

your eyes snapped open. is he really concerned? or is this an elaborate trick?

“i’m fine. jus’ sleepy, kev,” and it was the truth, but not fully. the darkness was still scaring the shit out of you, but being in kevin’s arms added to your drowsiness made things a little better. you were calmer, not as tense.

his hum thrums through your ear and to the rest of your body. “okay. i’m here with you, you know?”

he says it quietly, almost unsure. it sounds foreign to you because you almost never witness him so— hesitant. your breathing slows a little as you begin to get the picture. he is offering you comfort. despite not completely understanding the concept, he wants to give it to you.

instead of choosing to respond directly, you sigh contently and say, “g’night.”

you’re happy when he presses a light kiss to the top of your head and says it back, even gentler. “goodnight, honey.”

— ( dollepins # 2023 )

[lichoulychou]

Dating barry and being a huge Flash fan without knowing his identity:

You and Barry had been dating for a while now, no secret were ever hidden from each other. Atleast that's what you think.

It was no secret to Barry that you were a huge fan of the hero, which makes him more nervous if he ever interacts with you outside in his superhero costume.

Unfortunately it did happen, he was patrolling seeing if any criminals were either harassing or robbing people.

Then he stumbled upon you when you were walking home from work, he panicked when he saw you and try to leave as fast as he can. But to no avail you saw him and decided that you should call for him.

"Mr. Flash! Mr. Flash wait please! " You said screaning for him as you ran and ran, Ofcourse Barry felt bad and stopped trying to ignore you and turned around.

"Hi! How may I help you?" he says nervously scared that he might slip something up that could make you identify that he infact was your boyfriend and not some random guy.

"Nothing it's just I'm a really really big fan of you!" You said squealing like a teenage girl who just got a date with her crush.

"I was hoping if I could get a picture from you, you know??" You said happily and almost giggling through your words. You started to take your phone out even if he had said nothing yet.

Despite that he was nervous he couldn't turned you down, you were excited after all and he couldn't bare to make you sad.

"Yes ofcourse! But please don't post this on any social media platforms!" He said shying away from your gaze. See he knew he could trust you but he couldn't trust social media and what people would say or do to you.

"Ofcourse I'll keep this to myself, I just badly wanted a picture with you since I'm a huge huge fan!" You say to him freaking out and smiley because you met your favorite hero.

After finally like a hundred poses and pictures you finally had enough and thanked him.

Once you got home you couldn't stop fangirling and staring at the pictures in your phone, you couldn't wait until Barry got home to tell what the events for the day was.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Once you heard the door open you rushed to get up and greet your boyfriend.

"BARRY, YOUR HOME!" You ran to him immediately and you embrace him tightly, also attacking his face with kisses.

Barry smiles at you, then pecks both of your cheeks before breaking the hug.

"Hi sweetie, how was your day?" He questioned knowing what happened for the most of it but you couldn't know now could you?

"It was fine, but then I met THE FLASH" You said excited to tell him about how you met your favorite superhero. You start to search for your phone in your pockets and when you finally got it out you immediately unlock it fastly.

Lets just say.. You talked Barry's ear off the whole night.

------------------------------------------------------------------

This was requested by @nagicats, I accidentally deleted the original request, I'm so sorry😭😭. Also please I'm very sorry if this is wasn't the one you wanted

[starvingmedievalpeasant]

you guys got no idea what i'm cooking in this bitch rn

[ghostbasin]

— BIRDS OF A FEATHER

Kevin Khatchadourian x Reader. You aren't quite normal, and Kevin can tell. 900 words. Warnings: None so far. Reader gender: Neutral. 🦇 Please feel free to submit requests! 🦇

Notes: This will end up being a series if people want it to be! I do plan on writing more for it and if it doesn't really gain traction I might pause, but for now, you can expect at least 2-3 more updates for this. I've also got some more romance-y imagines/HCs in the works for Kevin, so stay tuned.

In this world, there are more people like Kevin than we like to realize. 

You hadn’t met Kevin yet, but you knew this fact—that people pretended the “oddballs,” the “weirdos” didn’t exist—like the back of your hand. 

As a kid, people always questioned you. You didn’t play like other kids, didn’t flinch like they did when someone jumped out at them, didn’t cry about the monster under the bed and demand to sleep in your parents’ room. 

It’s not like you were ripping eyes out of squirrels or anything, but everyone always thought something was up with you. 

And while you didn’t quite care what constituted “normal” behavior, it was easier to pretend—less questions, less hushed speculations about you in the halls, and less overbearing concern from the grown-ups if you just acted like a normal student. 

Still, nobody’s perfect. 

And it’s no wonder that when Kevin saw a flicker of himself in you, he was completely devoted to unraveling you—dissecting you—to find out just what was so different about you. 

***

Junior year of high school rolls around, and your schedule is packed. Honors and AP courses wash down your schedule page like a tide, and you come to realize that maybe you should pay a little attention this year. That, however, didn’t stop you from assuming your usual position in each class—second row to the back, one over from the wall. 

Students filtered in, jostling bags around the haphazardly built desks as everyone scrambled to sit in at least near proximity to any friends who shared the same class. While the room was abuzz now, you knew that AP history wouldn’t facilitate such energy after a few weeks. No one in their right mind is pumped for history class at 8AM. 

You sighed, taking out a folder and a few pens, as the desks around you filled. To your right, a girl you recognized as a member of the cheer team. The row behind you filled with kids you knew planned to talk or sleep through every instance of history class, and then the seat to your right filled. 

Kevin. 

You’d never met him, but it wasn’t hard to see the name on his schedule placed neatly in the corner of his desk. You glanced discreetly at him as he settled in, then trained your eyes back to the front of the room. Within minutes, the teacher was droning on—the syllabus, the final, homework and late policies. Things that were already written down but, for some reason, needed to be verbalized anyway. 

You watched as classmates either scribbled in the margins of their syllabus, ripped staples out of it absentmindedly, or stared blankly at the front as the teacher spoke. You could already tell which kids were going to burn out halfway through the semester, which ones thought their AP history grade would make or break college, and which ones simply didn’t not give a damn about who won what war and where and when. 

As your eyes flickered from the back of one classmate’s head to the next, you couldn’t help but notice how everyone’s eyes were facing the front—everyone except his. 

Kevin’s. 

You glanced sideways at him and your eyes met, him studying you as you studied the class, neither of you focusing on what nonsense note-taking strategy the teacher swore would be a life-saver in his class this semester. 

And Kevin was, sure enough, fascinated. Anyone else would’ve looked away shyly, embarrassed to be caught staring at someone. You, however,  just locked eyes and looked at him with as much interest as he looked at you—which wasn’t much outwardly, but inwardly, you were both wondering the same thing. 

Why is this person looking at me, or, more importantly, what does this mean about this person? 

After about a minute, you did break eye contact. Not because you cared about making eye contact with some random classmate, but because you didn’t want the teacher to start up about focusing, paying attention, being a diligent student if he noticed you two locking eyes. 

The full class period passed without you two acknowledging the others’ existence again, and when the bell rang, students filtered out. You packed your bag orderly, with each folder and notebook having a place, and slung it onto your shoulder. Heading to the door, you noticed something. 

He was watching you again. 

Not in a creepy, “I’m about to come after you” way, but in the casual way you watch people passing by while waiting to meet up with a friend. Kevin leaned against the wall as classmates walked out the door beside him, and you approached as well. 

You stopped walking just in front of him, eye to eye. You tilt your head slightly and watch him—not looking at him, but watching him. His eyes flickered between yours, your hair, the way your bag sat on your shoulder, even how you stood as you watched him. He wasn’t staring, but taking you in, and you could only begin to piece together whatever story he was brewing in his mind about you. 

It lasted for about 20 seconds, before other students needed to exit and you stepped outside of the room to avoid blocking traffic—no need to make enemies for being slow. Without turning, you kept heading to your next class, but you wondered what would await tomorrow morning when you and Kevin saw each other again.

[weneedtotalkaboutliyah]

imagine a friend group with Patrick hocksetter , Kevin khatchadourian , Jason dean , miles Fairchild , Sam Monroe and Rodrick heffley

( I just chose my hyper fixations rn)

[slasherscream]

could we pretty please have just some general nsfw headcanons of kevin khatchadourian 🥺 i love my toxic lil boyfie xx

small nsfw headcanons under the cut. tw: consensual choking and light degradation

Kevin doesn’t really have sex because he craves sex. What Kevin craves is control over you, and sex is such an easy way to get what he wants. He wants you compliant. He wants you obedient. He wants you dependent. 

You argue with him so much less when he shuts you up with his tongue in your mouth. You’re less fussy when he turns off your brain. You don’t have to think when you’re with Kevin, you just have to feel when you’re with him. Doesn’t he make you feel good? 

What he most enjoys is fingering you or jerking you off. He likes to be above you when he does it, just watching. His face is a mask of impassivity. No matter how long he moves his hands, how many times you cum and stain his fingers, his face hardly moves.

His eyes are where you can see it. The desire. Desire is such a minuscule emotion for Kevin. He’s experienced it so rarely it hardly registers. And listening to the way other people describe sex. Craving it. Begging for it. Mindless slaves to their passions… Kevin is sure the emotion doesn’t affect him at all. 

But his eyes burn when he watches you. Shark like, never faltering, he hardly blinks. He wants to eat you alive. He wants to see your every reaction. He likes to watch the way your hips chase his touch. The shape of your mouth as you beg him to slow down, give you a break, give you less, give you more. 

He doesn’t do much talking, but when he does it’s usually scathing. Even his praise has a bite: You always gonna be this pathetic for me? / Look at the mess you’re making on my hand. Don’t you have any self control? / If you cum before I tell you to you’ll regret it. 

He likes to wrap his hand around your throat and watch you go breathless. He waits until your eyes roll back in your head and you start going limp before he lets you breathe. There’s something so fascinating about the way you put your life in his hands.

A/N: trying to get more comfortable with nsfw. if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. Xoxoxo

[blackfyrerebels]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Miscellaneous *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

smut = ❤️‍🔥 (please note I may forget to add the heart, so read the tags yourself)

This masterlist is mostly for my own use, but also serves as a recommendation to anyone who stumbles upon this blog, and an archive in case any fics are deleted or blogs go inactive. If you would like your fic removed please message me.

Allison Reynolds

tag: #basketcase "Obsessed" - @bloody-cupcakes Kleptomaniac - @lanawinterscigarettes

Angus Tully

tag: #angustully Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 - @anyarose011

Carl Grimes

tag: #carlgrimes My Parent's Rings - @carlsangel

Andrew Hozier-Byrne

tag: #hozier Double Babysitter - @man-i-love-fanfiction

Dale Cooper

tag: #dalecooper Bothered - @iwritefandomimagines Dale Cooper x Reader - @pinkdaiisies Dale x intern!reader - @4pologygir1

Edmund Pevensie

tag: #edmundpevensie Three Years - @writersmacchiato

Haymitch Abernathy

tag: #haymitch A Pawn Once More - @ama0310

Hawkeye Pierce

tag: #hawkeye Pediatrics - @callsign-scully It's Never Your Fault - @lunarsaturn88 Just the Way You Are - @shmaptainwrites "Care Package" - @myveryownfanfiction Good Enough - @make-me-imagine

Johnny

tag: #nakedjohnny The Couch Degenerate ❤️‍🔥 - @chicaboom-chic note: dead dove Thank You - @justagirlwholikesadam

Josephine March

tag: #jomarch We Fell In Love In October - @cauliflowertree

Kevin Khatchadourian

tag: #kevinkhatchadourian Tender - @unwantedshivering

Marty McFly

tag: #martymcfly All of You - @ash5monster01

Mickey Barnes

tag: #mickeybarnes I Won't Leave You | Part 2 - @strangecreaturewrites Not A Sin | Part 2 - @strangecreaturewrites

Nathan Caine

tag: #novocaine "Kissing in the office" - @scarletttries

Rustin Cohle

tag: #rustincohle Televangelism - @fallenprophets Bird In a Cage - @reds-writings

Sayid Jarrah

tag: #sayidjarrah Hope - @underratedbreadcrust

[unwantedshivering]

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

HEADCANONS for KEVIN KATCHADOURIAN as you try and figure out what he truly feels about you.

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: mentions of reader death, emotional manipulation, overall toxicity

FOR: Kevin Khatchadourian

NOTES: @slasherscream totally inspired this, their characterization of kevin made me want to write for him !! :) this is entirely too long to be considered hcs btw

HOW IT STARTS

Truly, you believed he hated you. Why else would he stare as though he was trying to telekinetically explode your head? It’s a wonder how you even started hanging around him. It wasn’t necessarily out of your own volition, really, as you were just the Khatchadourians’ neighbor tutoring and hanging out with Celia in exchange for your sibling receiving archery lessons.

You grew up practically adjacent to Eva’s household, so it was just a small, kind gesture you’d do when you visited from college. You remembered that weary, worn down visage of hers from your childhood and let it pull at your heartstrings. You were sensitive, and perhaps that’s what drew him in.

You were watching a kid’s movie with Celia, and unbeknownst to you: Kevin was eyeing you.

He wasn’t usually home, off in his room when he wasn’t attending his own classes. Quiet. Off-putting as he would taper down the creaking steps, barely acknowledging your presence before leaving. Usually he’d grab an apple, glance over you as if you were nothing but air.

It was intriguing to you. Kevin had always been intriguing to you. He was unnaturally, uncannily pretty. Like a bust set on display within his own modern-century home, you couldn’t touch or manage to decipher him. It was embarrassing to say he had been the face of several boyfriends in your silly teenage dreams.

It was pure happenstance as he came down just in time to watch as you hiccuped during the movie, tears streaming down your face. Celia was long-gone off in dreamland on the couch.

It wasn’t enthrallment that Kevin felt. It wasn’t even want. It was a sick, morbid curiosity. Celia, despite her humanity, wasn’t entertaining to Kevin anymore. Not as she was when she was eight and entirely naïve, cut bare in her love for her big brother.

You gave him something new. He halted in his steps. For the first time in simply years, you heard Kevin speak to you.

“Stay a little bit longer.”

Through your own bewilderment, you agreed. Kevin had no reason to continue his sweet, loving son act. Not really. Still, he smiled something that could only be described as honey. It was drenched in a sickening sweetness, something with a bite. A bit of blood in his teeth.

He took you archery shooting. It was way past the acceptable time for you to be in the Khatchadourian household, and yet you stayed. Fly wrapped in silk. Bug to be eaten, saved for later.

It felt magical to be the center of Kevin Khatchadourian’s attention. In school he was a little misunderstood and disconcerting, but nothing truly horrific happened. It was that same quietness he displayed that made him so elusive, so lovely to you.

He displayed amazing skill when it came to archery, a terrifying mastery. You only chuckled nervously when it whizzed past you, making your hair stand on end and fingers clench.

“I’m sorry,” he said, yet it was low, accompanied by eyes that seemed anything but apologetic. “You should really stand on the side, I must’ve overshot it.”

HOW HE IS IN THE BEGINNING

As you continued staying longer, mutual exchange forgotten, he grew more and more expressionless. The most he would usher you was a glance under firm eyebrows, a wry little twitch of lips when you did something particularly amusing. You felt like a piece of brain tissue on a petri dish.

Kevin was actually scarily kind to your sibling and family though. It was like a flip-switch: he went from helping your mother with carrying dinner to silently staring at you, trying to pick apart your body, all smiles and good-boy mirth gone from his eyes. Most of the time, he fiddled with his technology as you did your own thing. Reading? He’d be clicking away, his incessant typing as your white noise. Crochet? Doing it outside as he practiced archery. Talking? He’d stare to let you know he’s listening.

Unfortunately, this still left you neglected. Initiating physicality was on his own terms, and you’d get a quick look before being brushed off if he wasn’t into it. Speaking about your troubles with him is met with silence. At the beginning, it was even met with slight condescension and mockery. One step forward? It didn’t matter, Kevin himself was never going to be able to fulfill all of your needs.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t have other friends. Most of them didn’t know Kevin. If they did, they didn’t speak of him to you; speaking of him made you jittery, a little doe-eyed, but you always spoke of him fondly. They could never understand why.

Kevin knew all your friends. You were at a house party, introducing them with a blinding grin on your face. He disliked them. If there was one thing he held other than apathy, other than wanting to feel more than he’s capable of, it was the need to harbor your attention. You were his only source of anything. You were clearly fond of him, no matter how strange or unnerving he showed to be. You talked seamlessly and mindlessly about your interests. He knew sunsets were pretty, but because he saw them through you. He knew what cafés were the best, what to get his mother for a gift when Frank pressured him to.

In the same breath, Kevin resented and found himself thinking often on that part of you. There wasn’t a way he could name it, but the feeling was dull. It stung a bit, hearing you speak about anything outside of his reach. He liked the sting somedays: it was proof he felt. Other than his heart thrumming in his ears, he felt something other than disdain and unadulterated anger.

He hated feeling jealousy, though.

It was quiet like the rest of him. Your friend, Matt, kept pushing. It was becoming sickeningly obvious that he thought of you more than a friend, and yet whether it be your own denseness or the fact that you’d known Matt since forever, you didn’t stop him. Not the meaningless touches on your arm, not the compliments on things only Kevin thought he’d noticed about you. Sick. Sick. It was that old, juvenile anger he felt spike again.

There was a barely there acknowledgement of the fact that you were attractive. He found you attractive even faintly. Then, there was the notion of your attractiveness shoved in his face. Others found you attractive.

His family already assumed you were dating. You hung around too often for them to not believe so. Your friends? They didn’t know. Before this, Kevin didn’t necessarily care whether or not you were called his significant other or the person he kept around. It was only then where he realized the perks of you being his: no Matt.

It was impulsive. He kissed you. It was under the porch light after Matt hugged you goodbye, and as he started to pull out of the driveway Kevin ducked in for the kill. It was impulsive, a bit too strong, and left you lightheaded like you drank more than you should’ve. Being with Kevin was like being an alcoholic.

There was an emptiness in his eyes as he pulled away. He didn’t even hold your cheek, he simply ducked forward. You felt… odd. Confused and a bit embarrassed that you let him do that simply for his own whim. What you didn’t see were the indents of Kevin’s fingers in the cup he was holding onto the entire time, the way he fiddled with the lighter in his pocket, the way his jaw clenched.

WHY STAY

There’s a certain value Kevin placed on you. You don’t know if it’s that of a toy, lover, or a third scarier option. There’s a big chance you’d never know either.

What you do know is that he’d give you his jacket when it’s cold, and surprisingly he’d take off yours for you when you enter his house. It’s done so casually that you forget it’s typically uncharacteristic of him.

He played nice with Celia when you were around. He played nice with your family, to the point where you might even misunderstand and believe he wanted them to think highly of him.

Kevin could be awfully kind. It’s never a kindness for the sake of it, but it only ever distinctly shows itself around you. If you were ever sick or vice versa, you’re spending all your time around him for the day.

If he had the fever, he’d push his forehead against yours while you’re both lying down, lazily breathing with his eyes closed. If you were the one ill, Kevin sits on the bed instead, placing one hand on your hand or your forehead. It’s a cool, light feeling. His hand is large enough for it to fully encompass your face if he so wished, or at least your neck, and yet he chose to be gentle.

He doesn’t like the idea of you being special to him though; the fact that you’re exempt from even some of his antagonizing ministrations makes it frustrating. You shouldn’t be. You were something he hung around and dated technically, so the idea of you actually being the definition of a significant other made him heavy in the chest.

If you show that you like the idea of being special to him, at least in the beginning, it’s easier for him to pull away. Whether physically or emotionally, he can shut off completely from you. Deciding to stay is what does it for him. How can you stay? Even with all the silence and work it takes for him to do anything?

His kisses grow less rushed. They’re even somewhat experimental later on. Kevin doesn’t really know if he likes it, but he knows you do. A nip at your lip, eyes closed, fluctuating pressure. He’s a fast learner. He’d pull away prematurely, waiting to see how you’d react. Usually he’d just walk away afterwards like nothing happened, but if he’s feeling the reactive impulse to he’ll duck right back in.

Kisses with Kevin leave you panting. Sometimes you believe he truly is attempting to steal your breath, and he might just be. He has more often than not almost let the arrow hit you when you watch him practice archery. It never does, but it’s always close. There’s a furrow in his brow afterward, like he’s examining how he himself feels on you almost dying by his own hands.

He has also more often than not found that it leaves him annoyed.

[werezmastarbucks]

kevin khatchadourian x female reader timeline of relationship

(actually, a story I am too lazy to write, but which is just clear and palpable in my head)

• you meet him three times

warnings: violence, manipulation, underage relationships (no grooming), mentions of dissecting frogs, abuse (duh), toxic relationship, unpleasant and traumatic first sex, the OC is kinda very, very human and stupid, exactly as a fifteen year old girl should be. School shooting obv. Also, it's ve-e-ery long, but I'm really not in the mood of writing a book here, so, it's just bullet points. Sorry.

author's note: yes! I watched We need to talk about Kevin around 2014, actually. It seems, considering the nature of this whole blog, I've always had the hots for the worst kind of guys. Enjoy my sublimation!

it was so long I had to divide it into two parts. second part

• you're at the same school, and Kevin is closed, brooding and completely antisocial. You constantly see him smile when there's a fight. He never participates in scuffles but seems to observe people; the other half of the time, he just doesn't care about his surrounding at all. Seemingly

• you've been raised to sympathize with the outcasts, reading all the right books and youself, not being the most popular, the smartest or the most beautiful

• at the biology class, you flat out refuse to dissect a frog. You can't stand the sight of dead animals, to say nothing about cutting them with a freaking knife. You close your eyes and shake your head aggressively, while the teacher is getting angry with your childish stubborness

• until you feel that someone is standing next to you. Kevin says 'she doesn't want to cut the frog' assertively, and takes it to his desk. He doesn't look at you a second, but it feels like a momentary salvation

• you're thinking of thanking him; that seems like a nice thing considering he's never talking to people, and always having lunch alone. He has this loner allure, the misunderstood poet, the lone wolf, if you will. You're fifteen.

• your friends tell you 'are you nuts? he's the cat in the bag'

• there are all kinds of rumors about Kevin; about strangling someone as a joke, and swearing, and watching gore.

• "I didn't do it for you", he smiles, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and you misunderstood the incident so badly that it's funny and totally makes you look like an idiot. "I just like to dissect frogs". But he looks at you so intensely that it tells you something more.

• he never goes to PE

• Kevin is bullied from time to time; he doesn't really react to it, like the other children don't even exist. He never replies to nasty remarks, but just watches them, head tilted forward, like a dog ready to bite.

• you wonder why nobody else is worried about this gaze.

• sometimes you catch him watching you during classes as if he's contemplating something. You think yourself some kind of sacred redeemer, not less. You don't look away, you don't realize you're getting yourself into a swamp. You're fifteen

• at one occasion you tell Kevin he doesn't need to be alone all the time, and there are nice people at school who would accept him

• he just grins at everything you say

• the same guy who bullies Kevin the most acrtively, or is trying to, steals your folder containing some notes, your journal and you photo album. He doesn't admit it but laughs in a way that makes it clear

• you go to the teacher, to the principal, but the conversations do nothing to that guy. He's just a bully, just a dumb jock who has very little thought behind his forehead. You're worried; he might not know, but your personal diary is in that folder.

• you confront him with the fists swaying, to no avail

• the next morning, Kevin walks by your desk and throws the folder, complete with everything, in front of you. You watch his back, wondering when he had got it, and whether he had read your diary. One of the entires was about him, and it was embarrassing.

• "he's tall; taller than the other boys. His face is like milk, but he has this pitch-black hair and vampire stare thing going on. He is always quiet, just watches people. He's reeeeeally good-looking, but damn, Khatchadourian might just be nuts like people say"

• your friends wisely advise you not to get involved with him, but you feel so special all of a sudden

• you start fantasizing about being the only girl at school who managed to get through to him

• as you talk, he notices your desire to be special, and uses it. He observes you with your friends, focuses his laser attention on your grades, tries to get into what makes up your world.

• soon, he manages to make you feel like you really are the one person he reacts to. It is incredibly funny to him. He deems you fuckable.

• he's attacking someone in the yard. The guys from the parallel were getting the best out of Kevin, and rightfully so. This time he's had enough. When it's just talking, he didn't care, but physical assault, he couldn't tolerate, because that was crossing his personal borders. So, when one of the boys tried to steal his backpack, Kevin took out a razor he carried with him

• you try to stop the fight and get in between them just in time to shield the other boy, and Kevin slices your arm across

• the boys run away horrified, and Kevin just stands there, disappointed and dark.

• he evaluates the situation, sees that the cut is pretty deep, and watches the gushes of blood leaving your arm. The first seconds you're silent with shock; then it dies down, and you start feeling pain and yelp.

• he cuts off a piece of his shirt and bandages your arm tightly, saying nothing, just lasers you with his glance. The sight of this wound on you, not unlike his own scar, even in the same spot, accidentally. He finds it curious, invigorating. He watches the expression of physical pain on your face and brings you to the medic's office, saying "I sliced her". It feels good to say that.

• there's a conversation at the principal office. You're quiet, he's almost pleased with himself. His excuse is, I was going for another person ¯_(ツ)_/¯

• he gets away with it. You notice his dad dotes on him, and is absolutely blind to anything Kevin does. He buys the legend of 'I brought it for biology class, because I'm used to working with my own instruments' so easily it's astonishing.

• you don't speak for a while, and Kevin doesn't say sorry. He doesn't look guilty and is equally unimpressed that other students start to avoid him even more

• but his presence is like an oil stain, you can't avoid looking. You want to get to the bottom of him, you actively put yourself in this situation. You're fifteen, edgy, you have a crush on the sexy strange bad guy.

• you catch him after classes and tell him, whatever you're feeling, you don't have to. There are good people, that are worthy of your time. You don't mean yourself, but you're trying to make him defrost a little

• for some reason, the topic of feelings triggers him, and he does the thing he would repeat several times. He gets angry, standing right in your face, hovering over with his height. He puts his face as close as possible to yours and tries to make you pee yourself.

• "how the fuck would you know how I feel? What do you know about how I feel? Tell me, how can a person like you know anything about me?"

• he doesn't apologize for slicing you because he knows he didn't mean it, hense, there's no reason to say sorry. But he sees the prospect of playing with you, and he's so bored. So, he thinks about what a normal person would do in his place. ?

• once, you go to your locker and inside, find a little bunch of field flowers, neatly tied together with a yellow thread. No note, but somehow you have ideas what it means.

• you go on to a party in one of your classmates' house. You still rock a tight bandage on your arm. The party is good. You see Kevin and he looks at you like he wants to talk. You think, this is just like one of those vampire stories. You evade your watchful friends who think you dumb for playing a heroine from the Vampire Diaries. You need to grow up, they say

• you go outside in the terrace and sit down. You drink and ask why Kevin isn't drinking

• "I never drink. It dulls the concentration"

• you tell him that what he said sounds like 'I'm not like all of you idiots'. He confirms that's the gist of most of what he says. You ask if he considers you dumb, too. Biting his tongue, he avoids replying, saying that you're 'nice'

• you keep drinking, feeling the need to master up some bravery in his presence. For what, you don't know. Finally you ask him about how he feels, since he got so angry when you assumed

• surprisingly, Kevin says,

• "angry, bored most of the time. I guess it makes me angry how boring everything is. And dumb. Sitting there at school for six hours every day to do what exactly? It's like torture"

• it's a good thing he found a toy to play with.

• he tells you about his mother, and how she broke his arm when he was little, for shitting himself, on purpose. You talk about mums, and fathers, and how you don't have a very good relationship with your parents. Kevin finds it very interesting. You tell him how your mum mostly ignores your existence because she's more preoccupied with the shattering marriage with your dad, and your dad, finds you annoying and 'too girly'. He tells you about his little sister who is so annoying, and she constantly jumps around him and nags on him. You try to explain that a little girl sees that her brother is big, and strong, and pretty, and is forming a bond. He gives one of the worst performances, but it grills you

• "Pretty?" with a suggesting smile.

• you kiss, mostly because you're drunk, and you both think about each other's background.

• you think how tragic it is, that a boy like Kevin doesn't get the love from the person a child needs the most. Think about his mum, imagine her looking at baby Kevin with hatred and disgust. No wonder he is growing up to be this unapologetic, menacing, edgy guy who brings razor to school and takes it out on others.

• you're partially wrong

• Kevin thinks about how you have daddy issues and feel unloved, unneeded, mediocre

• although everybody at school knows that Kevin Khatchadourian had cut your arm in a violent fashion, the literature teacher pairs you for a half-year assignment. You're supposed to prepare a one-hundred pages analysis of the book of your choice, complete with the presentation.

• you're actually down to such tasks as you can ramble about your favorite books for ages, but you're not sure how it'll work out with Kevin. Casual friendship, if you can call it that, is strange and non-regular; sometimes he ignores you completely in the corridors, sometimes he starts talking about history, and awful things like Unit 731, out of nowhere.

• the first time you assembled to work on the paper was at the library, and it was pretty uneventuful; even boring a little. Kevin was not in the mood, and didn't talk much, and then, after an hour and a half said he was bored, and just left.

• you remembered the kiss from the party, but Kevin acted like nothing happened. Every time, though, when you almost decided he had played you, it was like he read your thoughts, and appeared to reinforce hope in you.

• he suggested you should go to his house at the weekend, and spend the day working on the paper. His family will be away as they usually do, so

• a gut feeling told you not to go, and you really listened to it, refusing the offer. Kevin smiled with his special smile that was like blood and honey, that was very difficult to resist

• "you think I'll do something awful to you?" "Will you?"

• he had a habit of speaking more with his eyes than with his mouth. One of the reasons you were so drawn to him was, he seemed adult, on the inside. Sometimes he said things you didn't expect to hear from a fifteen-year old.

• "Only if you ask".

• you skipped this weekend, and Kevin refused to go to the library, saying he had some things to do after school. But you were free to work on the project alone, of course.

• after a week more you caved in and agreed to go to his place. The whole week he was being uncharacteristically neat, friendly and pleasant. You saw him smile at teachers and even say hi to someone from class. You wondered if he had other friends you didn't know about.

• Kevin had a massive, cool home. Both his parents were rich, but you wouldn't tell it by looking at him act. You were amazed at the interior: artsy, light, with interesting living room and shapes on the walls. Kevin was bored, unimpressed by your interest. He was slacking, stretching time not to get to work that was clearly dull to him; he showed you the bathroom, and his parents bedroom (which made you uncomfortable). As he went downstairs to make tea that he almost forced you to have, you washed your hands in the bathroom on the second floor. Going down towards the stairs, you passed his room with the door open. A song you liked very much played on his computer. You wondered.

• on the wall, you saw the picture of the family. Kevin was smiling like the happiest boy ever, and it looked like a person from another world. His parents, blonde and dark-haired, were so different. The dad, whom Kevin described as 'the dumbest creature I've met', smiled carelessly, totally satisfied with the day. His mom, on the other hand, looked exhausted. The deep dark eyes, like Kevin's, didn't have half of demonic suggestion in them, but she looked weary. She smiled like a person who was wise, and had a death wish. His little sister 'that perfect little princess who never does anything wrong', whom Kevin clearly had very mixed feelings about, had only one eye.

• while having tea in the kitchen, you asked him about his sister.

• "Oh, yeah, it happened a while ago. She poured solvent into her own eye. Mum left the bottle on the table in the open". "Why would she do that?" you were horrified, painting a picture in your head. "Well, kids are dumb", he said so nonchalantly that it sent shivers down your spine. You could understand not liking a younger, more adored sibling, but talking about how they got a disability in such an unaffected way...

• Kevin added "I was there, with her. I called the ambulance. It was go-o-ory". And he smiled.

• you had the intention of working in the living room - light, spacious, with a broad sofa and a huge coffee table. Kevin insisted that he needed to work on his laptop and it was uncomfortable to bend over the little table. You needed to go to his bedroom. Eventually, you agreed, so now, you were sitting elbow to elbow at his desk, so close that you could feel the warmth of his body.

• the first thing you noticed about his room was how minimalistic and boring it was. Nothing on the walls, clean, tidy, impersonal. The only thing on display was a wooden bow, placed against the wall, and a stack of red-feathered arrows, beautiful, hanging above.

• "Wow, do you do archery?" He was unphased, like it was a totally usual hobby. "Yeah". Whatever tickles the rich people's bum, you thought.

• Fifteen minutes into project your phone lit up. Kevin asked who's messaging you and you said it was your common classmate, Paul, who is your good friend. Kevin knew your - your common - surrounding, so he knew that Paul was a good guy, and a good friend, and also had an innocent teenage crush on you.

• "Let me see", he grabbed the phone from your hand and stretched out his arm so that you wouldn't reach. It turned into a game. You both laughed, and giggled, as you tried to get to your phone. It was half-serious, playful 'hey, don't be a jerk!' and him, watching you reach for the phone helplessly. He then threw it on his bed and, as you raced after it, gave you a little push, and you fell.

• Kevin managed to create that feeling of comfort. As he landed next to you on his bed, he pretended not to see your unease. "Come on, let me see. You know I'm nosy". You sighed, deciding that there was nothing incriminating in messages between two friends. After all, there was nothing but memes and schedule discussion in your chat. Kevin scrolled it, giggling, discussing other classmates, and soon, you were snuggled against each other, talking about everything. You showed him your gallery on the phone and he grilled you for the insane amount of pictures of Damon Salvatore.

• "Come on. Come on now, you know they manufacture those dreamy characters specifically with the accordance to the desirable image for teenage girls. They cater specifically to you, and you buy it".

• "I know! But you haven't watched it".

• A long silence with growing smiles on both sides decided the destiny of that evening. You watched the show together, bonding, discussing, talking about how stupid everything is, and how the vampiric lore cannot possibly be depicted perfectly in any movie you've seen.

• he felt so normal, so human, so warm, that you were drunk on love. You felt safe, entertained, enfatuated. You thought to yourself that maybe, this whole thing about Kevin being different, and dangerous, was a front. After all, he had to protect himself, he hadn't gotten any love at home, and he didn't really know how to act around people. You felt appreciated, understood, wholesome.

• it was already dark when you've finished watching the sixth episode, and you were both a little sleepy. As the episode was over, the screen got darker, and you realized that there was barely any light. Kevin was silent beside you; you heard him breathe calmly, but you could tell he's looking at you. Like a snake aiming for your throat and waiting for the right moment.

• as you were about to say something to discharge the situation, your phone rang. It was your mum, checking on you, and you confessed you hadn't gone through with the paper at all. You explained how boring it was, and that the whole day, you drank tea, or talked, or watched the show. She laughed at it and told you not to stay the night. Maybe she did love you after all.

• "My mum", you explained, as the light from the phone died out, as well. "She's worried about you?" "Just checking". "Checking what?" You didn't find what to say here. "Doesn't your mum check on you when you're late and not home?" "No. Usually, I'm the threat".

• somehow, you were kissing. It felt exhilarating. Scary, amazing and fast. You didn't notice how twenty minutes have gone buy, completely taken by the intensity of it. I'm in his bed, you thought, and he's kissing me. The prettiest boy in school, and the most interesting. The rest were boring, you thought, and realized, this thing you had in common. You thought majority of people, even some of your friends, boring. Kevin was the only one who made you look.

• as he went for your thighs, you shivered. "I'm not ready". "Ready for what?" he asked, jokingly. Constantly dismissing your words, as if he always wanted you to speak clearly and not mumble behind the metaphors. "I'm scared, I'm a virgin". Kevin gave you a long look. "Who hurt you?" he immediately assumed there was some dark reason for your fright. Reality was, "Nobody. I'm fifteen, I'm afraid".

• you made him promise he won't force you to anything. Even the fact that you had to make him give you his word should've been a sign. Kissing him, and making out, was the best thing that happened to you the whole year though.

• Paul was strangely cold, even rude to you the last days. Every time you tried to bring up something funny to him, he dismissed you and made himself scarce almost instantly. You could feel, although Kevin didn't openly follow you, that he watched you, like before. Sometimes you had the urge to ask him the banal 'what are we?'

• you approached him in between classes to ask what he's done to Paul.

• he wouldn't tell you 'I confronted him in the bathroom and put my razor right to his throat, making him understand who you belong to; I pushed it so hard it actually left a mark on his Adam's apple. Must have hurt. He looked like a scared puppy. I told him not to text you anymore and not to look in your direction. He ran so fast you could tell he would be a great cast for the Flash'

• he said, "Oh, I spoke to him. You were clearly annoyed by his advances, or was I wrong?" You were annoyed when you talked about it at his place. You lamented your friendship and said you found it irritateing that every guy you were actively friends with, started to fall for you.

• you didn't believe he just 'spoke' to him. You tried to call for the good in him again, but when it didn't work, decided to threat.

• "Don't do the things you'll regret later, Kevin". You tried to walk away, but he put himself between you and the whole world, hovering again, his face as close as possible. His eyes, the eyes of a snake, cold, black, menacing, asked you.

• "What things?" "You know what I'm talking about". "No, I don't. Say it". He dared you. You wanted to say 'violent things'. You remembered his face, full of cold rage, as he swung the razor at that guy in the yard. You looked at his face now, changed from the peaceful everyday mask he always wore, and suddenly it hit you. He was psychopathic. There was no other way he would be so unaffected by things, then jumping into sudden fury, then pleasant and sociable the next moment. He could stand like this for hours, it seemed, burning you down with his trying stare as if he was forcing you to show what you're worth.

• your friend broke this intense exchange by exclaiming, "wow. Get a room?" her voice was casually laughing, like, ha-ha, I'm mocking a PDA. But when you looked at her, her face was expressing concern. Her eyes didn't laugh and were fixed on you. Kevin slowly focused on her with a slight smile and then walked away, saying nothing.

• he stalked you, although you didn't know about it. Listened to your conversations, hiding in the bathroom, and stole your phone for a lesson, and then returned it into your tote bag, making you think you're absent-minded. You were entertainment to him, a goal to reach, with no prizes. He was deciding what to do with you after, in spring.

• the other weekend that you spent working on paper, the Khatchadourian house was full. The previous one, his mum and his sister were away in the countryside, and his dad worked. Now the whole family was at home, and Kevin wasn't really happy.

• his mom was excessively happy to see you, shaking your hand, and giving you a motherly hug. You read in her face that she was glad that her son was socialising.

• his dad was a big booming guy with the lumberjack energy.

• his little sister was a little angel: silky pearl hair, nice little face, only one eye. She was airy, happy, unspoiled. She was everything Kevin wasn't. He stood at the top of the stairs as his stunningly normal family swarmed you. His sister was looking at you curiously, considering the new concept: his brother's friend. She has never encountered that before. You took her little hand and something horrible stung your temples, almost like a vision. Kevin smiling with his absent, self-pleasing smile as she was on the kitchen floor, her eye bubbling, sizzling, blood and goo coming out.

• Kevin lost his patience and ran downstairs, took your hand and led you away from them, giving his mum a certain look. He refused to be served lemonade, and snacks, he just wanted to be left alone with you.

• as you entered the room, he locked the door, and you started making out immediately. The thought of his parents at home made him almost blind with excitement.

• you collapsed on the bed, kissing, rubbing against each other, panting. You were very wet, for the first time in your life for a real person. It was exalting, to desire something so much and get it immediately, to be desired back.

��� he caresses the scar on your arm and kisses it. You take it as his way to finally say sorry.

• you don't know that he's never felt sorry, for anything, in his life. That he's calculating, cold, that he is only happy when it's physical satisfaction because all other is imitation. He's like a robot and he feels like a robot. To try to feel something, he used to watch the hardest porn he could find, the trashiest, goriest movies, he watched the nsfw news where the pieces of humans, chunks of meat and bones, were shown; he went to the dark web and watched snuff, and it made him feel nothing. The closest to happiness he felt when he was mildly entertained or cumming; and you were entertaining, for all the possible things he could do to you; and you almost let him cum.

• but you weren't ready for sex yet and, remembering the word he had given to you, he backed up. Building the tension was good for the eventual climax, and he would break you, he knew that, by the way you whimpered when he rubbed against you and kissed your neck.

• you finally had sex at the party once. Closer to spring, when the spirits were lifted. You snuck away from your friends who have half-way accepted that you were spending time with Kevin. You went upstairs and locked yourselves in someone's bedroom; you had been drinking for bravery because you knew what was coming. You wanted it, but you didn't know what to expect; maybe Kevin had a dragon in his pants for all you knew.

• he wasn't soft, but he was cutting the pain short. He made you feel hurt and kissed you tenderly the next second not to let you retaliate. At first, you just had to whitstand the pain, thinking it was normal. That's how it happens for the first time: the feeling of something tearing, and blood, and razor sharp pain. You were very aroused and very drunk, so even the pain ceased soon, and it was actually almost good.

• you went to the bathroom to clean yourself and cried, you didn't know why. Not like you now were a different person. You emerged, talking about the sad state of your makeup, and the room was empty.

• Kevin was downstairs chatting with a girl you didn't know, and when you tugged on his sleeve, he gave you a blind look, like he was seeing you for the first time. He was done with you, the look said. He didn't even smile anymore; he just looked tired, like you intervened in a mildly entertaining experience.

• for the rest of the month you were crushed. You didn't talk about it with friends: in fact, you lied to them that you had an argument with Kevin and never had sex. You were so ashamed to be a victim of such a simple, banal, everyday scam. You were now seeing him for what he was. Just a guy with the looks who was bored.

• you completely forgot about the project, it just came to a halt by itself

• you started alienating yourself from your friends, which wasn't too hard

• you started having lunch alone, and going to classes alone, too.

• you spent a lot of time thinking about the damn dress you wore at a party, as if it was the root of all evil that happened

• you were wallowing in the feeling of betrayal, the impotent desire to crash his face with a hammer. You were brokenhearted, being dragged down from the heavens of being special right to the pits of being played.

• after weeks of mourning your naivity, and your pure feelings for him, your past wish to awaken something good in Kevin, you felt so idiotic, perhaps even more idiotic than the stupidest person in this school. You were a laughing stock for your own self. Your pride was crushed, and your heart was broken.

• eventually you thought, well, it's schooltime. A lot of girls experience this. Maybe in fifteen years' time it will all seem like a minor failure and a useful lesson.

• right? In fifteen years?

• in the beginning of May, Kevin suddenly sat at your table at the closing of lunch. After weeks of literally no communication, dismissive, slightly surprised glances when you happened to be in his eye sight spot, he suddenly reappeared.

• "You didn't tell your friends even? Will you let me get away with it after all?"

• you looked at his face drawn with curiosity and laughter. He was laughing at you. His boyish, demonic beauty was now poisoned with the ugliness of his insides. Earlier, he was like a rare animal from the northern mountains, that was so evasive it seemed like treasure. He was mysterious, impeccable. Too good for you. Now, it was the handsomness of a used mannequin, with the paint faded. Too much blood in the smile.

• "What do you want, Kevin?"

• it's been moments after a short exchange that you felt rage in you. The rage you've been fostering this whole month. You stood up from the table and swung your arm with enthusiasm, and then landed your closed fist on his cheekbone.

• Kevin's reaction was slow, horrifying. In his eyes, you saw the immediate danger to your whole life. He didn't say anything as he rose from the chair, and you noticed his eyes scanning the yard. What if someone witnessed the punch?

• you tried to hit him again, on the shoulder, but he caught your hand, and suddenly, crushing pain sliced through your wrist. He was much stronger than you.

• this time, he approached you so decisively that for a second your only instinct was to fly, but your hand was caught up in his fist. Really, you got scared of him.

• "Never do that again", he said, as his hand took you by the back of your neck. He tilted your head back to look straight into your face, and all the possible trauma made you see the allure again. Yes, he was still laughably attractive, without even trying. He was just a walking trap, and all of your good intentions for him had just been horny.

• "Or I will snap your neck and forget about you in a second".

• the punch was good; a scarlett spot was forming on the side of his face. You were afraid to move because you could feel your wrist on the point of breaking. Such sharp pain, the third time in nine months, and the source of it, again, was Kevin.

• "Say you're sorry"

• "I'm sorry", you whimpered, "that you're such a monster who's unable to love, Kevin".

• you got ready to deal with the broken wrist and closed your eyes, expecting anything. He let go of you. "Love is a big word for you".

• you didn't know how jealous he was of Damon Salvatore.

• as the school year was drawing to an end, the school team started rehearsing

• the rehearsals were always fun; although you never even thought of getting into the cheerleaders, and you had exactly the amount of interest in basketball to understand what's going on.

• it was fun because the team consisted of all the people you knew; there was a lot of students you had good relationship with; the cheerleaders were all very easy going girls, and beautiful, at that. It wasn't like in the Mean Girls.

• and the spectators always brought pizza, or some snacks, to entertain themselves during the long, repetitive rehearsals. You liked to visit them because it was better than hanging out at home with your dysfunctional family.

• the last rehearsals were held in the evening of the 8th of April.

• as you sat there, you vaguely remembered, randomly, that it was to be Kevin's birthday soon; maybe in a week, or less. You pretended not to care, pretended to yourself.

• closer to the end of rehearsal, as people started leaving, your best friend, the one who was concerned about Kevin and even put herself in the position between you, said that her boyfriend had messaged her. She had to leave. You said goodbye and decided to wait for the end. Looking at the girls was mesmerizing; the way they did the combinations and screamed the chants. You thought it was very cool to be a cheerleader; but you weren't tall, or nimble, or beautiful enough.

• the main door was locked from the outside; probably the strings have gone bad again, and the entrance has been deemed a no go. So, your friend circled around the hall a little, tugging the doors with surprise. Finally, she found one working exit and left. As she was leaving, Khatchadourian walked into her, or rather, they ran into each other.

• "Leaving already?" he asked, with a smile. She said nothing and walked away.

• Kevin locked the door behind her. She turned around, puzzled, because her brain hadn't registered at once that Kevin was carrying a stack of arrows with him.

• As he started shooting his classmates, the swarm of people was lifted up, like an avalanche, and started making it for the entrance. The doors were locked. He repositioned, climbing up the spectator's rows, and finally had the perfect spot. From above, in the bunch of people, he saw you.

• you wondered, as all the noise left your brain, and the pale circles started pulsating in your eyes, why you didn't know earlier.

• in the moments he was swinging for someone's throat, or when he was threatening you, or when his face dropped the smile by the snap of the fingers. How do you even foresee something like that?

• you watched his face, a grimace of hatred, not indifferent anymore. He was aiming with his bare teeth, wallowing in every cry of the people he shot; the sound of arrows was almost comforting, whistling around like a seagull that passes over you quietly. Among the roar of the hall, the sound of arrows was so calming and so loud.

• you tried to group yourself, to make yourself smaller, because there were actually very few people left; seven or nine, in fact. But there was nowhere to run. Macey Walken, who ran for the side entrance, got a scarlet arrow into her back, and fell suddenly as if something pulled her. You looked at the floor, into a pool of someone's blood. Kevin was walking down carefully, between the seats, sending the arrows with accurate aim. He didn't even look like a human anymore; it was hard to describe him.

• he neutralized the three teachers first, then went for the students. Paul died in the other side of the hall in his purple and gold uniform. The cheerleader girls were running in circles, in zigzags, clearly entertaining him, moving targets. Kevin now almost approached the last group of five people, where you sat on the floor, numb with scream that never left your mouth, your legs paralyzed completely. He was killing you all one by one, from left to right. Ben, Mary, Meredith. Finally, the bow and arrow were turned towards you, mechanically.

• Kevin pulled the string and then relaxed it, keeping the arrow to himself, and moved on.

• you did manage to become the special girl after all.

[dazedvivenne]

REQUEST ARE OPEN!!!

WHO DO I WRITE FOR?

I currently write for

Rafe Cameron

Kevin Khatchadourian

Henry Bowers

Patrick Hockstetter

Donnie Darko

Bill skarsgard (characters + him)

Drew Starkey (+ Any other character of his)

Negan Smith

Tate Langdon

Kit Walker

James Patrick March

Kai Anderson

Kyle Spencer

Darry Jenner

IF you have someone specific in your mind, request it and I will try my best to write it!

WHAT DO I WRITE?

Literally everything, I have to no limits so go crazy.

Please go request something about your favourite character <3

[adamwatchesmovies]

We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011)

It’s impossible to imagine anyone calling We Need to Talk About Kevin their favorite movie. Even saying that you ‘enjoyed it’ would raise some eyebrows but that’s because it’s so well made. Watching it alone would be nearly traumatic but if you catch it with a group of friends and set aside some time to talk about it (the movie’s title says you should, after all), it will be an illuminating experience you won’t forget anytime soon.

Once a successful travel writer, Eva Khatchadourian (Tilda Swinton) has lost everything and now lives alone. Hated by her neighbors for a crime her son Kevin (played by Ezra Miller) committed, she thinks back to his upbringing, trying to figure out where things went wrong.

If We Need to Talk About Kevin has any flaws, it’s that 1) the story is unpleasant and 2) you can sort of piece together some aspects of it before the big reveal. I'll argue these flaws should not be held against the film because they're necessary.

There was no way to make We Need to Talk About Kevin a good ol’ time at the movies. Kevin is a horrible collection of cells. He is a manipulative psychopath whose life has brought nothing but misery to everyone who ever met him. When he dies, the world will be a better place. No insult you throw his way is too harsh and no punishment he endures could ever be agonizing enough.

As for that second “flaw”, the film’s predictable “reveal” during the final act, I’m going to argue that Kevin's crime is a forgone conclusion. The point of the movie is that we are revisiting the past through Eva’s eyes. She's exploring her memories, wondering how she could've missed all the hints that we see. It allows you to understand and maybe even sympathize with her, which is a difficult thing because you don’t like Eva. You might not want her to end up in the darkest, most painful circle of Hell Kevin is sent to, but even before her son completely destroyed her life, she wasn’t a particularly nice person, a good mother or a good wife (Eva's husband is played by John C. Reilly) either. Ever wonder how the parents of someone who overdoses on drugs, becomes a serial killer or abuses their spouse must feel when they learn that what they knew would happen actually happens? That's what We Need to Talk About Kevin is about.

We Need to Talk About Kevin is difficult to watch but in the end, it all builds to something so unexpected you have to pause and think about it. Look at the way director Lynne Ramsay uses the colour red, for example. It's an obvious choice for a story about violence like this one, but the true meaning of the colour is not obvious. It triggers memories or ties flashbacks to scenes in the present. Noises are used similarly. There’s the sound of sprinkler systems that come back over and over. You don’t know why at first. When we find out, that information recontextualizes everything. You're so busy thinking about the way the story flows and its themes that you nearly overlook the other technical aspects. The performances are the kind that are so convincing you'll overlook them. You forget you're watching actors; you just see the characters they're playing. Although the emotions the film raises are negative, the techniques used to generate them is nothing short of masterful.

Throughout We Need to Talk About Kevin, you’re unsure about how the mother and son feel about each other. Every fiber of your being tells you that Eva hates Kevin and that he hates her. You hate Kevin too, so how could she not? Everything he’s ever done has built up to a deliberate choice that has ruined her life. It's like everything else was just collateral damage. It was always solely about her. They are always on each others’ minds and the last scene makes you wonder. To me, it seems as though Kevin has kept ties with his mother just so he can continue to torment her, just so he can see his hard work pay off. If he can get her to say “I hate you”, he’s won. Sensing this - after all, Eva knows him better than anyone - she puts up with him. The big question is whether, in that final scene, something has changed. The last time we see Kevin there’s something different about him. Certainly on the outside. On the inside? It’s hard to say. Maybe he’s realized something’s about to change and he now realizes just where his actions are about to bring him. Maybe it’s just a new tactic. Maybe hatred has turned to love. Maybe there was love there all along. Figuring out what's actually happening in that final moment is what this movie is ultimately about, which makes it a powerful experience. I said powerful, not necessarily enjoyable.

As time passes, I find myself thinking about We Need to Talk About Kevin a lot. Are the thoughts loving? I'm not sure. Perhaps they're similar to the thoughts parents of terrible children have about their kids; yeah you hate them, but you know, they’re your kid so one way or another, you love them too. (February 25, 2022)