i have a littlee rq ,, so this is w no alma and grace, but imagine, kit walker coming home to his kids babysitter, cleaning up the kitchen after dinner w nothing but an apron (the kids are put to bed and the babysitter is above age ofc 😇)
WARNINGS: mature content﹒mdni﹒fem!reader﹒smut﹒shitty writing ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ A/N: your mind is simply diabolical. imagine.. kit walker looking at you like that *swoons*
KIT WALKER steps through the door, wiping his hands on his work pants, the smell of gasoline still clinging to him. “hey, thanks for cleaning up,” he says as he walks into the kitchen. “you don’t have to do it. let me—” he stops mid-sentence, slack jawed and wide eyed. you’re standing at the sink, wearing one of his aprons, though it’s doing a poor job of covering your outfit—or rather, the lack of thereof. he clears his throat, trying to pull his gaze away. “uh… you didn’t have to stay this late,” his eyes flicker back to you, lingering a little longer than they should. “i can finish up.”
you turn to him with a sweet smile, leaning against the counter. “just trying to make your life a little easier, mr walker. you know how hard it can be to get those little rascals to bed.” “uh, right. appreciate it,” he stammers, shifting uncomfortably and trying to hide the growing bulge in his jeans. “but you really don’t have to—” sidling up to him, you look at kit through your lashes. “are you sure? i could always stick around for a bit longer… just to help.”
your palms are planted on the kitchen counter’s surface, arms aching from holding yourself up, standing on tiptoe as your employer pounds roughly into you from behind. your pelvis bumps rhythmically against the edge of the counter, but that’s the least of your concerns. “fuck…you feel so good sweetheart,” he groans next to your ear, one of his strong arms curling around your front to grope at the swell of your breast, rolling your nipple between his calloused thumbs. you gasp out a moan when you feel his cock press in deeply, the veins rubbing past your taut walls.
his frantic thrusts hardly allows you to get any coherent sentence other than a few senseless babbles without sounding so wanton. you cannot lose control and get too loud—not when thomas and julia are sleeping upstairs.
“hghmm– kit… ‘m close,” your knees start to tremble, the second you felt his tip kissing your sweet spot. you seriously can’t tell if it’s your innards twitching or if it’s his cock that’s throbbing inside of you. either way, fire builds within your bloodstream, molten and intense, electric pleasure prickles beneath your skin. Kit doesn’t slow down, doesn’t say anything else — just continue to push and pull back his hips, thrusting hard and deep, rubbing your oversensitive clit and coaxing the pleasure from your body until you’re mewling and squirting messily onto his cock. he gasps, his pelvis pressing snugly against the curve of your ass before warm spurts of cum paint your walls white.
SYNOPSIS! kit is a true gentleman at heart, and he does what kind men do : he protects the ones he cares about ( based on this req.!! )
WORD COUNT! 4.1k
WARNINGS / TAGS! angst, fluff if you squint hard enough, mature / suggestive themes, briarcliff asylum warnings, sister jude and her punishments + lmk of more if found
NOTES! my man my man my man . all the credits to the devider bellow belong to @/v6que !!
THE RAIN FELL IN RELENTLESS CASCADE, DRUMMING AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF BRIARCLIFF ASYLUM. The night was clothed in darkness and the only source of provided light was the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the gothic architecture of the asylum. The heavy rain had changed the surrounding landscape into a dark blur. The expansive green lawn, overgrown and wild, seemed like it came out of a horror story with its ghostly flashes, revealing the twisted forms of ancient trees and the labyrinthine tangle of bushes. The wrought iron gates, their ornate designs now almost swallowed by the storm, groaned softly as they were tossed around by the wind.
Inside, the atmosphere was equally grim. The asylum's corridors, long and narrow, were bathed in a dim, flickering light from the aging fluorescent fixtures that barely pierced the gloom. Each flash of lightning revealed glimpses of the asylum's interior: the scattered, old furniture, the barred windows, and the heavy, locked doors. The harsh light highlighted the grim details of the inside — rusting fixtures, peeling paint, and the long shadows cast by the iron bars on the windows.
The nuns had decided to host one of the famous movie nights. It was a tradition they upheld during every stormy night in an attempt to calm down the residents who would become agitated by the loudness that came with the storm.
The main common room had been transformed for the occasion. The dim, oppressive lighting was softened by the warm, flickering glow of a makeshift projector setup, casting a gentle, almost nostalgic light across the room. The walls, lined with faded, institutional artwork and peeling paint, were obscured by heavy, tattered curtains that had been drawn over the windows to shield the patients' wandering eyes from the storm's fury outside. The dusty curtains hung in uneven folds. The nuns had also arranged a selection of worn, overstuffed chairs and mismatched couches in a semi-circle around the small projector that sat on a makeshift table. The screen was a large, slightly yellowed sheet stretched taut across a wooden frame and its surface bore the scars of countless previous showings.
You sat on one of the overstuffed couches positioned in the back row of the common room, your figure partially hidden by the shadows cast by the dim light of the projector. The couch you occupied was a faded, floral-patterned relic, its cushions soft and sagging from years of use. The upholstery, once vibrant, had long since dulled to a muted palette, its once-bright colors now blended into the overall gloom of the room. Everything was dull here in Briarcliff. Your posture was relaxed because of the warmth the man beside you provided.
Kit Walker, a kind man once you got to know him, was the sanest person in the whole building besides yourself and you were glad to form an alliance with him. Although, there were feelings nestled deep inside you, ones you didn't have to say out loud for him to see and feel. That man had a strong jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a chiseled, almost heroic appearance and that alone gave your knees the right amount of shake to fall for him. You found out he had a natural ability to really listen and offer comfort and he carried himself with a quiet dignity, not seeking validation or praise but simply remaining true to himself despite the circumstances.
Kit Walker was the man of your dreams.
The screen was currently displaying an old, black-and-white film, its grainy images flickering in sync with the erratic flashes of lightning outside but you couldn't force yourself to pay any amount of attention to the supposed entertainment. The film's dramatic scenes, with their exaggerated gestures and artificial emotions, seemed almost absurd compared to the thoughts that were dedicated to the man sitting next to you.
And the same could be said about Kit. The way the occasional light from the projector cast soft highlights across your features, emphasizing the curve of your cheek and the depth of your eyes, made you seem almost ethereal and Kit was losing it. None of the workers could force him to sit on the moldy couch and torture himself with boredom when you sat quietly beside him, distracting him with just simply being there.
He noticed your subtle, distracted glances toward the screen, but your eyes lingered more on him than on the film. Kit could feel the way your eyes followed the play of light and shadow across his face, how you seemed to be drawn to the warmth he provided rather than the outdated drama on the screen. He found himself smiling softly to himself at your distraction with a knowing look in his eyes. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you.
Leaning slightly closer to your body, Kit's voice was low and warm as it hit the side of your face, barely above a whisper to avoid breaking the fragile atmosphere that had settled around the two of you. "You know," he began and a hint of playful amusement appeared in his tone, "we don't really have to stay here if we're not into the movie."
"What do you mean?" you asked in the same tone as him, your voice a gentle murmur that barely competed with the distant hum of the projector. When you exhaled, the warm air hit Kit's face.
Kit's honey-brown irises shimmered in the darkness, and he subtly nodded toward the exit of the dimly lit room, where the storm outside was barely audible against the noise of the film. "I was thinking . . . maybe we could sneak away, find a quieter spot where we can actually do whatever we want. What do you think?"
The suggestion was simple, yet it carried the promise of a more intimate and personal escape from the boredom of the asylum's common room. The thought of stepping away from the dreary atmosphere was an enticing one. Yet, the fear of feeling Sister Jude's sick pleasure held you back. Sister Jude, with her sharp eyes and ever sharper tongue, seemed to delight in catching the patients of the asylum in any moment of weakness or rebellion. Her authority was absolute, an iron hand that loomed over every corner of Briarcliff, and the idea of stepping out of line — even for a brief moment — carried a weighty sense of risk. You could already imagine the way Sister Jude's eyes would narrow in satisfaction, her lips curling into that smug, almost sadistic smile she reserved for moments when she exerted her control.
You still remember what she did to Grace. What she did to Lana.
And yet, the allure of escaping with Kit, even just for a little while, was difficult to resist.
"I don't know, Kit," you whispered in a trembling voice as you voiced your worries to him. "What if we get caught? You know how Sister Jude is. She'd make an example out of us, and I — I don't think I could handle that. I don't want to give her the satisfaction."
He could see the fear in your eyes, the way it held you back, and it only made him more determined to protect you. "[Name]," he said gently, his voice low and reassuring, "nothing's going to happen. I promise you that. We'll be careful, okay? And even if something does happen, even if Sister Jude catches us, I'll take the blame. She won't lay a finger on you."
"Kit..." you began but he cut you off with a slight squeeze of your hand. You didn't question when he took hold of your palm.
"Trust me, [Name]," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles repeatedly. "I won't let her touch you. I'll take the heat if it comes to that. But right now, let's just get out of here, even if it's just for a little while. We deserve that much, don't we?"
There was a warmth in his voice, a quiet strength meant to reassure you in ways nothing else at Briarcliff ever could. Kit was right — both of you did deserve this. And you could use the sweet release from the asylum's cruel grasp.
You took a deep breath, nodding slightly as you made up your mind. "Okay," you whispered into the darkness. Kit could feel the touch of your words against his lips. "Okay, let's go."
His hand was firm and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. Every movement of his was carefully done, as if even the slightest noise could shatter the fragile veil of secrecy he had cast over the both of you. The dim light of the common room flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the floor, but you moved with purpose, slipping quietly through the rows of seats, avoiding the eyes of the staff and the other patients who were too engrossed in the film to notice your departure. Sister Jude should hire more responsible staff.
Once you reached the doorway, Kit paused, glancing back to ensure no one was watching before gently guiding you with a strong hand against your lower back into the darkened corridor beyond. The heavy wooden door closed behind you with a soft creak, and the two of you were finally alone, the distant sound of the movie a only faint hum behind. You moved quickly through the long, lonely corridors of Briarcliff Asylum, footsteps barely audible on the cold, tiled floors. The rain continued its assault on the windows with no sight of stopping. Kit led the way, his grip on your hand never faltering.
As the both of you rounded a corner, the sound of distant voices reached your ears — staff members making their rounds. Kit's fingers tightened his hold on yours, pulling you closer as you pressed yourself against the wall, breaths held in unison. The voices grew louder for a moment, then faded as the staff continued down another corridor, oblivious to the two figures hidden in the shadows. Relief washed over you along with the vivid pictures of Sister Jude's punishment. You needed to find a place to hide, somewhere quiet where you could steal a few moments of peace away from the watchful eyes.
Finally, you reached the heavy metal doors of the kitchen, pushed open just enough to allow a sliver of light to escape into the dark corridor. Kit glanced around to ensure you were alone before gently pulling the door open wider, gesturing for you to slip inside first. He followed right after you.
The kitchen was quiet, dimly lit by a single overhead light that cast a soft glow across the industrial steel countertops and rows of neatly organized utensils. The scent of cleaning supplies mingled with the faint aroma of fresh bread that had long since been cleared away.
And before either of you could think or second-guess, you were drawn together like magnets. Kit leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with urgency. The kiss deepened quickly though, passion flaring between the two of you like a wildfire as everything else faded away — the asylum, the storm, the fear. All that mattered was this moment, this connection. His hands found their way to the small of your back for the second time this evening, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own. You responded in kind, slender fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if afraid that letting go would mean losing this fleeting moment of intimacy.
The heat of the kiss spread through you both when Kit's strong hands slid down to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The feel of your body against his was intoxicating, and he moved with purpose, carrying you to the nearest counter. With a fast and urgent motion, he set you down on the cool steel surface, hands brushing aside utensils and making space for you, painting his hands with flour in the process.
Your heart raced as Kit's hands roamed your body, exploring with both desire and respect. His touch was precise as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch of your skin to remember for the rest of his days. He kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the taste of your lips as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, then slowly up to your back, pulling you closer to his body and hiking your knees up even more, leaving white fingertips in their path.
You responded in kind, hands tracing the sculpted lines of his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. There was something so raw, so real about the way he touched you — as if this was the first time in a long time he had felt truly alive. Your fingers danced across his skin, exploring the planes of his body with the same amount of desire. Kit's hands slid up your sides and under the hem of your gown, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin just above your underwear, creating a shiver that traveled down your spine. You arched into his touch, breath hitching as you felt the tension coil tighter within you.
"Kit . . . I—" you couldn't finish your sentence, the words lost in a breathless moan as his hands wandered lower, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you.
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. The intensity in his gaze was undeniable, a mixture of raw desire and something deeper, something that made your heart pound even harder. That look — told you how much he wanted you, how much he needed this, how much he needed you — made you tighten your legs around his waist. "I've got you," he whispered, his voice rough. It was a look that made your heart race and your body ache for more.
The door swung open with a suddenness that shattered the intimate bubble you had created, the sound echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the kitchen. Kit froze, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively as you both turned toward the intrusion. The harsh overhead light of the corridor spilled into the room, illuminating the figures standing in the doorway.
A tall, stern-looking man in the uniform of the asylum staff stood there, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Kit and you. His presence was imposing, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light from the hallway, but it was the figure behind him that sent a jolt of fear through your chest.
Sister Jude.
She stood in the doorway like a dark omen, her presence dominating the small, dimly lit kitchen. The air around her seemed to chill, as if the very atmosphere cooled from her disapproving gaze. She didn't need to raise her voice to command attention; her mere presence demanded it. The rosary beads hanging from her waist clicked softly as she took a measured step forward, the sound eerie in the tense silence of the room.
The staff member followed the head of this asylum, his eyes flicking between Kit and you, the disdain in his expression unmistakable. "Found them, Sister Jude," he said with a cruel satisfaction. "Just like you suspected."
Kit quickly released you and his hands dropped from your hips to tug at your gown. The least he could do was to save your modesty as much as he could. The man stepped back, positioning himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from the inevitable wrath of Sister Jude. Your heart pounded in your chest, the warmth of the moment disappearing into the cold reality of the situation just like Kit's hands.
Sister Jude's icy gaze shifted from the staff member to Kit, and then to you, her brown irises narrowing further. "Well, well," she began loudly, her voice echoing in the silent room, cutting through the tension easily. "I always knew you had a penchant for trouble, Mr. Walker, but this . . . This is a new low, even for you." She took a step closer to you, her heels clicking ominously against the tiled floor. "And you, Miss [Last name] . . . I expected better."
The weight of her words pressed down like a leaden shroud, suffocating any remaining trace of the warmth and connection that had filled the room just moments before. It was as if the very walls of Briarcliff had closed in around you both, trapping you in.
Kit stood his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to protect you from the storm that was about to break. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. His hands, which had just moments ago been tenderly caressing your skin, now curled into fists at his sides. But beneath that facade, there was also a flicker of fear — not for himself, but for what you might endure at the hands of Sister Jude if his plans failed. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height, and locked eyes with the cold woman before him. "It was my idea," Kit declared, his voice firm and unwavering despite the tension that crackled in the air like a live wire. "Leave her out of this." His words were a shield, a desperate attempt to keep his promise, to protect you from the consequences that he feared would be far worse for you than for him.
Sister Jude's eyes flickered with something that you couldn't quite place — an emotion that lingered somewhere between suspicion and a twisted, almost predatory satisfaction. Her thin lips curled into a faint, humorless smile, and the cold glint in her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were savoring the moment. She took another slow step forward and her gaze shifted from Kit to you, who stood just behind him, face paler than usual.
"Oh, I have no doubt it was, Mr. Walker," each word was enunciated with deliberate precision, as though she were savoring the power she held over the two of you. "But both of you will be held accountable for this . . . indiscretion."
"I'm the one who's responsible," Kit's voice cut through the oppressive silence with a determined edge. "It was my idea, and I should be the one held accountable. Leave [Name] out of this."
Sister Jude's expression flickered with a moment of surprise, but it quickly settled back into its usual look. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Kit's words, her mind no doubt calculating how best to respond to his unexpected act of bravery. "Very well," she said, her tone clipped and devoid of sympathy. "If you insist on taking the blame, then you will be the one to bear the consequences." The woman turned her attention to the staff member who had followed her into the kitchen. "Go to my office. Fetch the cane. The one I reserve for my favorite patients."
The staff member's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't hesitate. He gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, disappearing through the door with a purposeful stride. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as he made his way to retrieve the instrument of punishment.
Sister Jude's gaze returned to Kit and Dahlia, her expression unrelenting. "You've chosen to make this difficult for yourself, Mr. Walker," she said, her voice dripping with a cold satisfaction. "And while I commend your misguided sense of honor, it changes nothing about the punishment that awaits you. And you, miss [Last name], shall watch what happens once stupidity takes over the mind."
Your heart ached at the sight of Kit standing his ground, his body tense with the weight of his decision. You wanted to protest, to beg Sister Jude to reconsider, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sheer weight of the situation. Instead, you reached out, your hand trembling as you grasped Kit's arm, trying to offer some measure of comfort and support.
Kit looked down at you, his eyes softening just for a moment before he turned his attention back to Sister Jude. "Whatever you're planning, I can take it."
"Your bravery is noted. But bravery will not protect you from the consequences of your actions."
The staff member returned, carrying the cane with a deliberate and solemn expression. The cane was an old-fashioned implement, its polished wood gleaming menacingly under the kitchen's harsh lights. It was a feared symbol of discipline, one that had seen many hands and many uses over the years, and its presence in the room only heightened the sense of dread.
Sister Jude took the cane from the staff member, her fingers tracing its surface with a possessive, almost reverent touch. "This is the cane I reserve for my most . . . memorable patients," she said, her voice low and chilling. "It is reserved for those who require a lesson in obedience. You will stay and watch. This is part of your lesson as well — understanding the consequences of defiance."
Kit's pants were pulled down by the staff member, exposing his bare bottom to the cold air of the kitchen. The sight of his exposed skin, vulnerable and waiting, was a sharp contrast to the determined set of his jaw. He braced himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckles white as he gripped the surface for support.
The cane was held firmly in her hand, and Sister Jude raised it with a practiced ease, preparing to deliver the first stroke. The sharp whoosh of the cane slicing through the air was followed by a resounding crack as it made contact with Kit's bare skin. The sound was a brutal reminder of the severity of the punishment, and Kit's body tensed, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as the sting of the cane seared into his flesh. The printed redness flared bright against the pale tone of his skin.
Your eyes filled with tears as you watched, heart breaking at the sight of Kit's suffering. The sight of his reddened skin, the way his body flinched with each stroke, was almost too much to bear. Every crack of the cane seemed to echo through your own chest and you felt like throwing up.
The punishment was relentless, each crack of the cane drawing a sharp gasp or low moan from Kit, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead, and he tried to maintain his composure, though the strain of the punishment was evident in the tension of his muscles and the way his body shook with each hit. His only concession to the agony was the occasional clenching of his jaw and the muffled sounds that escaped him.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sister Jude stepped back, her breath even and controlled. The cane was lowered, and she regarded Kit with a look of detached satisfaction, as if the punishment had been a necessary chore rather than an act of cruelty.
Kit's body slumped slightly, his breathing ragged and labored as he tried to regain his composure. His bottom was marked with the angry red welts of the punishment, the skin raw and tender from the relentless strokes of the cane. Your eyes were filled with anguish as you looked at him, the man who had taken the blame upon himself to protect you.
Sister Jude's gaze then turned to you, her expression one of stern disapproval, before she and the staff member exited the kitchen. "You've seen what happens when rules are broken. Let this be a lesson to you."
Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you rushed to Kit's side. Your movements were frantic, driven by a desperate need to offer him some measure of comfort and relief from the suffering he had endured. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you approached him, hands trembling more than ever as you reached out to touch him. "Kit, I'm so sorry."
Kit turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something softer, a flicker of gratitude for your concern. He took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to straighten up, though his body protested with each movement. "Don't," he said softly, his hand reaching out to drape over your shoulders for support. "It's not your fault. I chose this. And I would do it again."
UHMM HIII I LOVE UR WRITING SO SO MUCH ITS SO GOOD!!! uhm if ur taking requests,, do you think you could something domestic and smutty with a married reader x kit walker ,,, doing the do by the fireplace when he gets home from work,, feel free to change the prompt or not do this entirely i promise i dont mind ❤️❤️ u gotta do whats best for u!!
𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲 || 𝐤𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
♰ summary: kit has to work overtime, but knows it’ll be worth it when he comes home for a quickie
♰ warnings: cute kit smut (not a warning, a blessing) piv, short, definitely not proofread
♰ notes: WHAT? by far fav request - ALSO YOURE SO SWEET WHAT?? ILY BE MY BFF 4EVERA (also who wants to be a sweetheart and work with me, it would be so fun to have a partner omg)
also, can someone give me feedback on what i can improve on?? i’ve never been super great at smut writing and i really wanna get better, you can just drop it in the ask box (i already know i should be more detailed, i need tips on that) 🎀 also, what pov do y’all want these in? 1st, 3rd, or keep it 2nd??
while kit didn’t work late every day, it happened enough for you to know that he’d be extra tired when he got home. you currently stood over the sink, finishing up the dishes left over from making dinner. it was a quiet night, the house warm and dimly lit, your dog, pumpkin, curled up on the couch. a scratchy record spun on the player, the faint sound of one of frank sinatra’s christmas vinyls producing a cozy vibe in the living room.
the back door clicks, kit shuffling in and dropping his work over-shirt on the counter. “hey, suga’,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “hey, there,” you smile, feeling soft kisses being pressed against the side of your neck. kit was always a sweetheart, no matter how tired he was.
the poor thing was so overworked, you could tell. you turn, giving your husband a quick kiss. “go sit down, dinner’s on the table. i’ll make you some tea,” you offer, pushing him out of the kitchen and tossing his work shirt into the laundry room. “you’re a doll,” he grins, giving you a wink. with a playful roll of your eyes, you step back into the kitchen, putting a kettle on the stove.
as you wait for the water to boil, you peek into the dining room, where kit ate dinner by alone. checking the clock on the wall, you’re surprised by how late it had actually was. you felt bad for kit, wishing there was more you could do than just make him tea.
well.
pouring the water into a mug and dropping in a tea bag, you return to kit, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “here, hon. leave the plate, we can go sit on the couch, watch some tv if you’re not too tired,” you say, rubbing his back. he smiles up at you, taking the mug into his own hand. “that sounds nice,” he nods, standing and leading you into the living room.
he sets his tea on the coffee table, shooing pumpkin away. “get off the couch, dog, you’ve got a whole bed right there,” he huffs, pumpkin grunting and flopping over on the floor. “you gonna die anytime soon?” kit teases, nudging the poor old dog with his foot. “kit,” you gasp, smacking his shoulder. he hated that damn dog, it got on his last nerve, leaving fur all over his furniture and holes in his yard, but you loved the thing.
“he can’t even move, baby, you think he’s gonna live another 3 years?” kit jokes, raising an eyebrow. (surprise, pumpkin lived another four years, much to kit’s dismay.) “i thought you loved dogs,” you scoff, bending over to pat pumpkin’s head. “that’s not a dog, that’s the devil. he stands up and talks to me when you’re not around,” he teases, smirking down at you. “oh, yeah? what’s he say?” you ask, unamused. kit pretends to think for a moment, tapping his chin. “that he’s gonna take over my house, eat all our food.”
you shake your head, standing again and putting your hands on your hips. “pumpkin loves you, you be good to him,” you scold, pointing a finger at your silly husband. he just grins, bringing your hand to his lips. he looks around, noticing how dark it’d gotten. “i’m gonna make a fire,” kit announces, moving to kneel at the fireplace, sliding in a few logs. he pulls an old lighter from his pocket, lighting some kindling, and throwing it into the mix.
pumpkin stands, trotting off once the fire is lit. “don’t you go get on my bed,” kit shouts, though pumpkin’s probably already beat him to it. you roll your eyes, sitting down next to him on the carpet. “be nice to him, he’s old,” you say, though you couldn’t seem to hold back your laugh. kit chuckles, pulling you into his side. his lips find your neck again, the crackling of the fire soft.
“you could be real nice to me, y’know,” kit says, his hand finding the hem of your dress, tugging on it. you should’ve seen that coming, but your cheeks still heat up. “kit, it’s late,” you say, putting your hand over his. “c’mon angel, i need to be in that pretty pussy. work was killin’ me today, i couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you,” he mumbles, nipping at your shoulder.
his words drive you crazy, and not even a minute later, you’re letting him lay you back against the carpet. god, did this man have you wrapped around his finger. “you don’t even know how beautiful you are. make me loose my mind, those eyes,” he rambles, kissing your cheek and lifting your dress. you couldn’t tell if the fire was making you hot or if it was kit. he sits up on his knees, pushing his pants down with a sense of urgency.
“let me,” you tell him, hooking your finger in the band of his briefs and sliding them off. you repeat this action with your own underwear, letting the lace drop around your ankles. “i’ll be quick, i swear,” he says, tugging on your legs so they wrap loosely around his hips. “it’s alright,” you say, shaking your head. kit was always in a rush when he was tired, but you’d gotten used to the quick rounds around the house.
“is this alright,” he asks, bringing the palm of you hand to his lips as the head of his cock prods at your entrance. you nod, wiggling your hips a bit to get more comfortable. you were already dripping, something as simple as kits words could get you going. he leans down, kissing you sweetly as he buries himself in your cunt, letting out a sigh. “feels so good, always so good f’me,” he praises, kissing your chin and your nose. your hips buck against his, giving him the signal to move.
he brushes his thumb against your clit, sending a spark to your core. it wasn’t long before both of you were coming undone, kits face buried in the crook of your neck. “so, so pretty, i love you so much. my beautiful girl,” he huffs, thrusting into you one last time. you could feel his grin against your neck, you already knew he was going to say something stupid.
“maybe in nine months i’ll have two beautiful girls.”
“go to bed.”
urghh not my best?? i love him so much though
i’ve been imagining him as a girl dad because he’s the perfect girl dad but he’d be so happy to be playing catch with a son who wants to be just like him omg ☹️☹️
ok nvm just thought about him wearing a tiara and having a tea party with his daughter
i’ll probably read this later and fix any spelling mistakes but i’m exhausted
kit would definitely be questioning why you want ice cream in the winter, but you'd soon convince him just how good it is. he'd go out and buy whatever he could find to decorate your ice creams with whilst you went through various cookbooks at home to look at ice cream related desserts. the moment in which kit returns home begins a disastrous few hours, beginning with tedious scoops of neapolitan, ending with the kitchen more of a mess than either of you would want to clean. chocolate sauce sticking to the countertops, strawberry ends in various piles, ice cream melting onto the floor. neither of you would care though, after all - you'd had fun, and its all topped off with a delish dessert, and a delish kit walker!
Headcanon about sex with Kit? Let’s be honest, kit defo has a high sex drive and is a bitch when it comes to teasing...
Oh my god...yes, 110% agree with that, Kit’s just that kind of bitch, lmao. Here we go, boo...
Sex with Kit Walker
warnings: mentions of sex!, riding!, fingering!, public sex!, female oral recieving!
One quick thing, Kit’s a hopeless romantic so sex with Kit, at times, is passionate and tender. He makes sure to let you know that he loves you by the way he touches you and cherishes you.
This means that Kit’s more of a giving than recieving kinda guy. He loves going down on you, i cannot emphasise this enough
But Kit can also be a bitch in the bedroom when he wants to be - especially with the drawn out foreplay.
Kit would be painfully slow when it came to foreplay, doing whatever he possibly can when it comes to teasing you.
Whether it’s touching your clit for a split second before moving his fingers away or ghosting his soft lips over yours as he’s pumping his fingers in and out at a teasingly, slow pace.
But with a guy who has a sex drive as high as Kit’s, sex doesn’t always start with the drawn out foreplay...
When Kit wants you there and then, he takes no time getting straight to the point - ripping off whatever clothes you have on, t-shirt, pants, panties, EVERYTHING!
You and Kit have most definitely had sex in the office area of the garage more than once.
And he’d be lying if he said that the idea of public sex with you doesn’t turn him on even more...
Kit’s got some fairly vanilla kinks, the whole ass spanking is one of Kit’s favourites definitely. I think it would be fair to say he has a small daddy kink too...
Kit definitely prefers for you to be on top, since he loves the view. He gets the full show - watching you grind on him with your head thrown back in sheer pleasure whilst he’s praising you with his hands pressed firmly on your hips.
