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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 28 days

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Workin’ Hands (pt. 2) (Kit Walker x Reader)

Pt. 1, Pt. 1.5, Pt. 2

“You should do whatever you want.”

“I don’t really know what I want,” you confess.

“Well, we can figure that out together. I’ll teach you whatever you wanna know.”

warnings: making out. smut. fluff? to smut. innocent!reader. parents?. fingering

You expected him to honk, or wait in his rusty blue convertible down the street— you’d walk down, your hand over your eyes, shielding your face from passersby, and quietly get in his car. He’d put his top up and drive off, putting his hand on your thigh without even saying hello.

Instead, he came to your door at five minutes to five. He knocked twice, whistling on your doorstep. Your mother opened the door. You were lucky— your father wasn’t home that evening, he was out drinking with friends from work.

“Good evening!” you could hear your mother say from your room upstairs. You were applying one last dusting of powder before your departure into whatever this odd night would be.

“Hello, Mrs. (Y/L/N). I’m Kit,” he held out his hand for her to shake.

She shook it loosely, then replied, “Nice to meet you, dear,” she’d said, her nose turned up slightly. She’d, like all the other mothers in town, heard of one Kit Walker, town womanizer and delinquent.

You came down the stairs in your skirt a few inches above the knee, a short-sleeved collared blouse tucked into it, a shiny belt around the meeting of the two pieces.

You didn’t say anything, just looked at your mother. You walked to the door slowly. He held a singular rose in a brown paper wrapping, a thin pink ribbon tied around it.

“Mrs. (Y/L/N), I’d love to take your daughter out on a date,” he said with an intense tone of earnest.

“Oh, my,” she said, furrowing her eyebrows, putting her hand on her chest. “Honey, you know I can’t say yes without your father.”

“Please, ma’am. I’ll have her back by nine,” he smiled. “Your daughter is a lovely girl. I have every intention of being a gentlemen,” he held her eye contact, then glanced at you. You saw a flicker of something else in his eyes, but your mother had looked out the window, a concerned expression on her face, so she missed this little addition.

“Alright. I want her back by eight, though,” she said, her fingertips pressed to her mouth, eyes wide, clearly distraught.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you so much,” he smiled, offering you his arm. You wrapped yours around his and walked to his car.

“Oh, this is for you,” he smiled sweetly, handing you the rose in his hand.

You look up at him. “Thank you,” you put your nose to the bud, smiling.

He opened the passenger door for you, closing it as you situated yourself. Then, he walked to the drivers’ side, getting in the car next to you. He looked at you, staring until you met his eyes, as well, and he smiled, then looked to the road and drove away.

The wind blew in your hair, which was pulled half-up. His arm rested on the top of the door.

You watched him, periodically, and he’d turn and catch your gaze, and you’d look down at your lap. He would then stare at you as long as his driving allowed him, watching your cheeks flush pink.

About ten minutes into the drive, you rested your head on the top of the car door, the wind blowing your hair back. You stuck your arm out the window, feeling the harsh breeze of the moving car hit your skin. He looked over at you, getting flushed himself.

You drove down a tree-lined street, his eyes frequently flickering from the road over to you.

As you pulled up to a lakeside lot, parking atop the grass, he looked over at you.

“Where are we?” you ask.

“Ain’t never been to the lake before?” he asks, putting a toothpick in his mouth.

“Well, I’ve heard of it,” you flush. “But I heard it was where boys and girls go to… you know…” you tilt your head to the side, then back up.

He chuckles. “Aw, yeah, in the summers some late nights you got some couples out here in their cars, windows all foggy,” he shakes his head, “but mostly it’s just a nice place to sit, I think,” he pauses, then smirks, “Unless you wanted to… you know…” he mimics you.

You flush and frown slightly.

“Honey, I’m just kidding,” he says, putting his hand on your cheek. Then, he reaches to the back seat, grabbing a basket and pulling it to the front. “I brought sandwiches!” he beams.

You look inside the basket. There are two wrapped sandwiches, two apples, and two toffee candies.

“Not much of a dinner,” his Massachusetts accent was accentuated by the combination of words, “But you said you didn’t wanna be seen, so,” he shrugs.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you assure him, feeling somewhat guilty. “I swear it! I just… didn’t want people to get the wrong idea about me,” you fidget with your fingertips.

“I understand,” he says, taking the toothpick from his mouth and placing it in the pocket of the door.

“The food is lovely,” you reassure him. He smiles.

You sit and eat and chat about light topics— work, college, your families.

When you’re finished, he puts his trash back in the basket, taking yours as well, then puts the basket on the floor of his back seat.

“So, you really never been on a date before?” he smiles.

“Not once,” you say.

“Sure you’ve kissed someone before, though, right?” he asks curiously.

“No, I haven’t,” you smiled awkwardly.

That was all he had to know.

“I’d like to be your first kiss,” he says smoothly.

“Now?” you ask in a light, mousy tone.

“Only if you want that,” he lowers his face, looking at you from under his brow.

“I really don’t know how soon you’re supposed to kiss a guy…” you say. You both engage in a near-deadly eye contact.

“Honey, you’re not supposed to do anything. That’s all stuff your parents make you think,” he says. He puts his hand on your arm, rubbing it gently, his face a soft, encouraging smile, “You should do whatever you want.”

“I don’t really know what I want,” you confess.

“Well, we can figure that out together. I’ll teach you whatever you wanna know.”

“I think,” you pause, flushing a deep red, “I think I’d kiss you now,” you whisper sheepishly.

He stares at you for a moment, then puts his hand on your face. He leans into you, pausing a moment, feeling your warm breath on his lips. Then, he closed the gap, kissing you gently. It’s a still kiss, and it only lasts a few moments. He pulls away, eyes scanning your face once again.

You stare at him, gathering all of your will, then follow him back, pursuing his lips to kiss him once again. This kiss is more fiery, as he allows his mouth to work against yours. He moves the hand he had placed on your cheek back so his fingers became tangled in your hair, placing his other on the side of your waist.

When he realizes your hands are still on your lap, he reaches down, grabs them, placing them on each side of his neck. He inhales deeply, his lips growing momentarily harsher against yours. Those soft, small hands— he was tethered to them somehow.

He puts both of his hands back on each far side of your jawline, pulling your face towards his. Your kiss follows his in passion and movement, and you breathe in your proximity one last time before pulling away.

Your eyes flutter across each others’ faces, still inches away. You even smell sweet, he thinks to himself. Like cherries. He smiles at you.

He almost swallows his next question, afraid to ruin the moment, but he had to hear you say it. He had to hear it himself.

“So, you’re really a virgin?” he asks.

You pause, looking down at your lap. “I am,” you smile shyly.

He had heard about you around town.

A shame she’s a total smokeshow, boys would say when you walked into the diner, she’s a total prude. They called you stiff, stuck-up.

You were none of that. You were something completely different.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he muttered, lost in thought.

“You’re gorgeous,” you smile. Of course that’s what you would say.

He looked at you, raising his eyebrows, smiling, his dimples carving into his cheeks.

You breathe deeply, trying to re-center yourself. “I’ve never had this feeling with anyone else before,” you confess.

He smirks, leaning back, “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

“I don’t know,” you pause, identifying all your current symptoms before speaking again, “You make my heart race and my cheeks feel tingly and sometimes my stomach will feel tight, and it’s almost like a nervous feeling, but it’s not exactly the same.”

“Honey,” he says smoothly, laughing a bit, “Am I… Am I turning you on?”

You’d heard the phrase, however you weren’t sure exactly what it meant. It felt right, though; you did feel as though he was flipping a switch inside you that hadn’t been flipped yet. “I don’t,” you pause, “I don’t know what that means exactly.”

He smiles. Of course you don’t. He leans into you, then says, “Well, it’s,” he collects his thoughts, trying to find the best way to describe it to you, “It’s what makes men and women… want to… touch each other.”

You place a hand to your chest, concerned about the tightness and heaviness with which your heart was pounding. “How do I know if that’s what I’m feeling?”

“Well,” he smirks. As smooth as anything’s ever been said, he looks into your eyes and asks, “Do you want me to touch you?”

It’s the way you know you need water when you’re parched or sleep when you’re tired or air when you’re lightheaded underwater. You think of him touching you and you feel in your bones that it’s what you need. “Yes.”

“Can you do me a favor, honey?” hey says, caramel laced in his tone.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Can you get in the back seat for me, sweetheart?”

You pause, staring at him for a moment, processing his request. You realize you won’t say no to him no matter what you decide is the correct answer, so you simply nod and open the car door. He sprints around to the other side of the car, holding the back door open for you. Even in these circumstances, he’s ever the gentleman.

He waits until you are seated, then follows you in.

You look at him, flushed, a slight confusion set in your brow bone.

“I’m not taking your virginity, sweetheart, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, his one hand on your hip, the other brushing a piece of hair from your face.

You look into his eyes, cheeks flushed a bright pink.

He whispers, “Do you trust me?” he asks.

You nod without thinking twice on the question.

“Can you lay back for me?” he speaks in the most gentle tone he can, almost like speaking to a small, skittish animal.

You do as he asks, resting your head at the bottom of the car window.

He puts his two hands on the outside of your thighs.

Those big, calloused hands.

He kisses your knee tenderly. “Open your legs for me, please?” he asks, then adds, “It’s the last thing you have to do for me, okay? Promise,” he says.

You let your legs fall apart, and he kisses your other knee, whispering, “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

“Hmm,” you mumble, smiling, closing your eyes.

You look back up at him, biting your lip and fluttering your eyelashes as he traces the inside of your thighs with his fingertips.

You push your hips forward, straightening your back, his hand ending up a few inches farther up your thigh.

You let out a shaky breath, your voice caught in it momentarily, your eyes closed once again. Fuck, he thought, did you even know how lewd those sounds were? Did you even know what it could do to him if you didn’t stop?

He winces at the sudden rush of friction in his jeans. He’d have to cope with the discomfort for your sake.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he said. Your eyes snapped up to meet his. So obedient, he thought. “Have you ever touched yourself?”

You cock your head to the side, not understanding what he meant.

Your naivety alone was enough to make him go rock solid.

“Have you ever touched yourself where other people haven’t so you could feel good?” he rephrases.

You shake your head, eyebrows knit together, lip between your teeth.

He begins to inch his hand up inside your thigh. You watch his face intently, and he doesn’t take his eyes off yours for an instant.

When his fingertips finally brush against the lacy fabric of your underwear, you let out a high-pitched whimper, eyelids fluttering closed.

He pulls back a moment, tracing the inside of your upper thigh, then makes contact again, this time placing the entire area of his fingers against you.

You exhale loudly, looking at the ceiling of the car. You are flushed down your chest a bright red.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

You almost believe you cannot, so shy under his hand now, but you know enough about him to know he means what he says.

You meet his eyes and, unexpectedly, he feels himself go weak for a second. Your otherworldly gorgeous face practically tore him inside out already, and now it was almost unbearable to look at you.

Almost.

His eyes scanned your features, taking all of you in.

He rubbed against the fabric, flipping between the flat of his fingers and the back of his knuckles, teasing you.

Then, he reached up with both of his hands, hooking his fingers around your underwear, pulling down over your legs, throwing them haphazardly onto the floor.

He leaned down, pressing his fingers against you again, his other arm now around your back, pulling you into his chest, crowding you with his heat. He maintains your eye contact.

He rubs your clit in circular motions, smirking as you struggle to keep your eyes open, letting out choked moans from your lips as you stare directly in his eyes.

He moves his fingers down, feeling all the wetness pooling at your entrance. He has to rest his head on your shoulder for a moment to recuperate. He’d never felt a girl this wet before.

“You are very wet,” he mumbles deeply into your ear, almost growling.

“Is- Is that a good thing?” you ask him.

“Yes.” He felt guilty for being almost frustrated with your innocence. You were torturing him, his dick relentlessly hardened against the seem of his pants.

He pushed one finger into you as gently as he could, slowly. “That okay, darlin’?” His accent grew thicker as the moments passed.

You winced in pain. You’d never had anything inside you before.

He nearly came just feeling how tight you were.

“Yes, sir,” you mumbled, relaxing as the pain resolved. You realized what you had said, “Kit,” you corrected.

“Mm, uh-uh. Sir is good,” he says breathlessly, pushing another finger into you.

You moan loudly, closing your eyes tightly.

“Eyes on me, sugar,” he orders.

Your eyes quickly return to his. “Yes, sir.”

He plays with you, moving his fingers up and back from circling your clit to pushing in and out of you.

You whimper at the strange combination of sensations, your heart pounding.

His eyes trail down your body. His hand up your skirt is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, he resolves.

He begins to push his two fingers in and out of you, rubbing your clit with his thumb. It’s seems a difficult multitask, however he has clearly mastered it beautifully.

You feel a hot, tight sensation forming at the bottom of your stomach. He continues to manipulate your body with his long fingers, and you feel the tightness building.

He smirks as your face changes from pleasure to confusion, and whispers, “Breathe, baby.”

It’s like he can read your mind.

“I feel,” you mumble, “I…” you wrap your hand around his bicep, suddenly needing something to hold onto.

“Uh huh,” he smiles confidently.

Suddenly, a white hot sensation rushes over your body. You moan loudly, breathing heavily, squealing out a messy string of exclamation like, “Kit, oh my.”

He’s nearly gone lightheaded from the vision of your arched back, your soft hands wrapped around his bicep, your hips rolling against his hand up your skirt.

“It’s okay,” he comforts you, “It’s okay.”

After a moment of the intense, unfamiliar sensation, Kit kisses you, smiling into your lips.

“Kit, what did you do to me?” you pull away, whispering, a euphoric smile pushing up into your cheeks.

He grins back at you, putting his hand on the side of your face. “All you need to know is I never want to stop doing it,” he responds.

You finally pick your shoulders up off the door, looking to the dashboard of the car.

“Oh my God,” you say.

“What?” he asks with a dorky smile on his face, still reeling from watching you come undone below him.

“It’s eight thirty!”

#american horror story #kit walker #ahs #evan peters #evan peters x reader #ahs fanfiction #kit walker x reader #evan peters ahs #kit walker asylum #fanfiction #evan peters fanfic #part 2 #ahs asylum

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 28 days

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Working Hands (pt. 1.5) (Kit Walker x reader)

Pt. 1, Pt. 1.5, Pt. 2

the phone call before the date.

warnings: smoking

part 2 coming out later tonight girlies (and non girlies too 🫶)

You were sitting in your house on Tuesday night, painting your nails on your bed, when a call came through the house phone. It was a bit late for calls, so you were all but sure you knew who it was.

You dashed down the stairs, then slowed when you walked through the entrance to the kitchen, so you weren’t suspicious. “I think it’s for me,” you said.

Your mother looked at you, her hands full, hence why she hadn’t beat you to the phone. You thanked God.

“Good afternoon, (Y/L/N) residence,” you said smoothly, leaning against the wall, the phone wedged between your cheek and your shoulder.

“Hey, darlin’,” a deep, sexy tone came through the phone. “How are you doin’?”

Only Kit’s voice could be that dreamy.

“I’m alright, how are you?”

“Well, I wasn’t swell, but now I’m the happiest man in town, talkin’ to you.”

“Well, I’m glad,” you responded in a very platonic tone.

“Your parents home?”

“My mom is.”

“She in the room with you, honey?” he says, commenting on your tone. You could hear his smirk through the phone.

“Yes, Beth!” Your mom smiled.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” his low grovel rolling, making the phone’s garble even more noticeable.

“Oh, really?” you said as though you’d just been told fresh, girly news.

“Uh-huh. I can’t wait to see you,” you could hear that he was smoking a cigarette.

“That’s lovely, Beth,” you smile.

He laughs on the other end of the phone.

“You alright for five o’clock on Friday night, sugar?”

“I am!” you responded.

“Mm,” he mumbled into the phone, “You’re the sweetest thing in this whole town, you know that?”

Your breath hitches, but you play it off as a cough. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he says. “Cant wait to see those pretty eyes again.” Now he was just trying to get you worked up.

“Oh, sure!” you say.

He laughs. “Uh-huh. Can’t wait to hold your soft little hands. I miss your pretty smile, too,” he says.

“Alright, well, I have to go,” you say in a light tone, unable to acknowledge his words.

“Alright. Friday at five. Think about me before then, will you?”

“Certainly,” you smile, trying to hide your blush.

“That’s a good girl. See you Friday, sweetheart,” he says. You hang up.

“What was that all about?” your mother asks you.

“Nothing,” you shrug, smiling to yourself.

Thanks, Beth!

#evan peters #american horror story #kit walker #ahs fanfiction #evan peters ahs #ahs x reader #kit walker x reader #kit walker asylum #ahs #evan peters is perfect #beth

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 29 days

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how i feel when y’all compliment my writing

#american horror story #ahs double feature #ahs red tide #belle noir #i live and die for the republic #the republic of tumblr

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 30 days

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hey sexy bitches!

welcome to my lil blog, i write fanfics, i post my lil bloggy photo collections… 🧸 please follow if you like my content and give feedback! love hearing what y’all have to say!

send requests at your leisure!

love ya! 🖤🖤🖤

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 30 days

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Workin’ Hands (pt. 1) (Kit Walker x reader)

Pt. 1, Pt. 1.5, Pt. 2

can you resist the town player asking you out on a date after finding you on a lonely street late at night?

warnings: player!kit. smoking. misogyny?

Massachusetts, 1962

“Got a light, gorgeous?” you hear a voice out from the darkness behind you. You jump, turning to face the source.

Kit Walker. Town playboy. Gorgeous, but a total rascal. A dog, you heard.

“Yes,” you nod, taking a lighter out from your small handbag.

You’re stuck on the side of the road, car broken down, the hood popped, not that you knew anything about how you’d even begin to fix it.

You flick the lighter and he raises his eyebrow, smirking. He leans into the fire, putting the end of his cigarette to it, breathing. “Thank you, miss.” He pauses, tilting his head to the side. “Car gone bust?” he says, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Yeah, and I don’t have the slightest clue how ta’ fix it,” you sigh, looking at it, tilting your head as well.

He walked to the car, leaving his cigarette in his mouth as he talks. “This is why women shouldn’t be driving,” he says, smiling.

“Oh, really? Only women’s cars break down?” you check him.

“No, but you haven’t got the mind to fix it up, I’m sure,” he affirms, leaning over the hood.

“Girls are every bit as capable as boys, it’s just that no one bothers to teach us,” you cross your arms, looking at him. He turns around, walking to you.

“Show me your hands,” he smiles.

“Why?” you ask him, turning your head to the side slightly.

“I’m checkin’ somethin’, sweetheart,” he smirks.

You put your hands out. He uses his hands to turn them over facing up, then looks at your palms.

“Honey, these ain’t workin’ hands,” he says, running his fingers over the inside of your hand. “Feel mine,” he presses the end of his fingers against yours, rubbing them back and forth, “They’re all calloused so I can work with my hands. But your hands… your hands are soft as a daisy,” he says, running the back of his fingers over your palm to emphasize his point. “They’re for girls’ things. Ain’t no offense meant, it’s just true.”

You stay silent, looking up at him. He’s satisfied by this. He walks back to the car, then sits in the drivers seat. He gets out, looks at you as he shuts the door, and says, “Aww, darling,” he speaks like you’re a child, “The second brake was on, sugar.”

You blush, feeling foolish for not noticing your car had been fine, you simply pushed a wrong button.

“Aw, it’s alright, sweetheart, you couldn’t’a known,” he says with a condescending tone.

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Alright, well, thank you very much, sir,” you say, shaking his hand.

He shakes it firmly, then smiles, “Your hands are softer than most, I’d say.”

“Is that so?” you ask.

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods. “You’re a lovely thing, you know? You shouldn’t be out here alone so late at night.”

“Well, Gosh, I didn’t mean to, but I was working late and then,” you shake your head, “Well, you know the rest.”

He smiles, “I do.”

“Alright, well, have a good night,” you attempt to end the conversation again.

“I’m Kit. Kit Walker,” he says, stepping to the side so he was in line with your feet again.

“I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you say.

“Hm. Lovely name for a lovely girl,” he smiles, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “(Y/L/N),” he reflects, “Oh, yeah, Mr. (Y/L/N), he comes into the shop sometimes.”

“Oh, my, please don’t tell my father you saw me out here,” you beg him, panicking.

“Woah, woah, I’m not tellin’ anybody anything,” he put his hands up. “Why, your dad strict or something?”

“Oh, very,” you respond.

“Oh yeah? How so?” he walks closer to you, crowding your space slightly.

“Well, I ain’t supposed to talk to boys, first of all,” you say quietly, looking away from him.

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, putting a toothpick from his pocket between his teeth. “So you can’t date?” he smirks.

“You’re not being very appropriate,” I respond.

“Hey! I’m not askin’ for any reason, I’m just wonderin’,” he smiles.

“No, I can’t date.”

“Well, that’s a shame, I would have asked you out,” he rolls the toothpick around with his tongue.

‘Just wonderin’.’ You shake your head. “I’ve heard things about you, Kit Walker,” you shake your head, almost scolding him.

“Like what, sugar?” he smirks.

“That you hang around lots of girls,” you retort.

“Well, I don’t date none of ‘em,” he says. “I’d take you out, I’d make you my girlfriend. Easy.”

“Right,” you say, walking to your car door.

He runs up behind you, cornering you against the car. “C’mon, you owe me! Just one date, then you never have to see me again,” he smiles.

“Alright, fine. One,” you say. “And it stays between you and me,” you nod once.

“You got it, sugar.”

They’re so easy.

#kit walker #evan peters x reader #evan peters #kit walker ahs #ahs #american horror story #ahs asylum #american horror story asylum #kit walker asylum #kit walker x reader #tate langdon #kai anderson #fantiction #evan peters fanfic

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 30 days

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olivia rodrigo in obsessed music video (2024)

i can’t help it, i got issues, i can’t help it baby

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 30 days

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"this character wouldn't-" i had sex with him in my mind palace. come back with a warrant.

#it’s my party and i’ll tie him up if i want to #etc etc

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 1 month

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Superstitious (Kai Anderson x reader)

“swear on your life you don’t want me.”

warnings: smut. penetration w/o protection. dom!kai. oral (reader receiving). light degradation & taunting. bdsm themes. kinky. idk what else prob smth

You were Winter’s best friend since middle school. Two girls who grew up to have the same values, the same beliefs, and a lot of love for each other. She took care of you, you took care of her.

Every Saturday, you went over to her house for dinner. Sometimes you’d go out to parties, some nights you’d stay in and watch a movie.

So, as always, you knock on Winter’s door at 6pm on Saturday evening with a bag of take-out hanging from your left arm. You waited at the door, almost going to knock again, just before the door swung open, her asshole brother Kai, not Winter, standing at the door. “Hm. My favorite little brat. What can I do for you?” He cocked his head to the side, leaning his arm against the door.

“Uh… I’m looking for Winter?” You say, sliding sideways passed him, underneath his arm.

“She didn’t text you?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“She’s gonna be out tonight. She went to campaign. I thought you were going with her!”

“Oh, fuck!” you say, “I totally forgot. I’m such a flake.”

“It’s fine. She’s good on her own.”

“And she called me this morning. Damn. Whatever, I’m going next weekend. It’s fine,” you say, mostly to yourself. Then you turn and reach out to open the door.

“Hey, wait!” he called out, “You’re taking the food?”

“What, you want it?” you asked, raising your eyebrows, holding out the bag.

“Are you kidding?” he said, taking the bag from your hand and placing it on the table.

“Alright, see ya,” you wave dismissively.

“Bye, slut,” he responded, sitting down at the table.

You get in your car and turn the keys. The car stalls. Shit. You turn the keys again. The engine sputters.

You walk back into the house, your keys swinging around your finger. Kai is lifting weights in the living room when you get back in. He stops to turn and look at you. Those muscles. “Hey, big guy, any idea how to fix an old Honda?”

“Yeah. Get a fuckin’ new car,” he laughs to himself.

“Kai, seriously,” you say with a whiny tone, pouting.

He caves, exhaling. “Fine. You owe me.”

He saunters out to the car, popping the hood. He looks at it for a few minutes. “Well, I could fix it, but my box is in my car. Winter has it,” he says, leaning on the front of the car, crossing his arms.

“Shit,” You say.

“You can wait here ‘til she gets back,” he smirks.

“Uhm, I think I’ll walk home,” You say, looking him up and down, “Thanks…”

“Walk home? Across town? Alright,” he says, slamming the hood shut then walking back toward the house.

You looking down the street, the wind hitting your face, freezing cold. “Ugh,” you say, then run up behind Kai. He holds the door open for you.

“Attagirl,” he says, smirking.

“Whatever.”

“Don’t be a bitch or I’ll make you walk home.”

“You wouldn’t,” you say, smirking, leaning against the doorway.

“I would,” he says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I totally would.”

You walk to the sink. He watches you bend over the counter slightly and reach up on your tippy toes. “Why are your glasses all the way up on that shelf?” You say, frustrated.

He walks up behind you, grabbing a glass. He then raises his hand to hold up the glass out of your reach. You look at him in frustration. “Come get it,” he smirks.

“Kai, stop,” you say.

“Come get it or I’m not giving it to you.”

“Ugh!” you say, then try to reach up to grab the glass. He lowers it, then pulls it away. You reach up again. “Please?” you ask.

“There we go,” he says, handing you the glass. “Was that so hard?”

“You are a huge dick,” you say, filling up the glass.

“You wanna know about my huge dick?” he whispers in your ear from behind you.

You cringe, scrunching your nose, “Ugh! Gross.” You turn around, taking a sip from your glass.

“Right,” he smirks. He looks down at you, cornering you into the counter, slowly, so you almost don’t notice it. “So you don’t ever think about me?”

“What?” you say, turning red, putting the glass down.

“You don’t think about me fucking you? Ever? You’ve never thought about it once?” he says, leaning his arm on the cabinet.

“I- No! No, I haven’t,” you affirm.

“Really? Swear on your life?” he smirks.

“What?”

“Do you swear on your life you’ve never thought about me fucking you?”

“That’s not fair. You know I’m superstitious about that. I don’t know everything I’ve ever thought!” you retort.

“Fine. Swear on your life you don’t want me. Swear on your life in the past week you haven’t thought about me fucking you and liked it?”

“I,” you pause, panicking. “Fuck this! I’m not doing this with you.”

“I knew it!” he smirks, “I knew you had a crush on me,” he says victoriously, backing away from you completely.

“Oh, you are such an asshole!” you shout, embarrassed.

“And you like it, that’s the fucked up part,” he says.

“Stop,” you glare at him, blushing a deep red, “Seriously.”

He walks up to you again, pressing your back against the counter, putting one hand on the back of your neck, one on your waist. Your breath hitches. Your chest heaves. You blush, looking up at him, eyes flickering all across his face.

“Right,” he smirks, nodding like he had just proven what he knew all along. “Swear on your life you aren’t wet as fuck right now.”

He’s a fucking sadist.

“Kai, please,” you say breathlessly.

“Do it. Do it or I’ll find out myself,” he whispers in your ear.

You feel like you’re drowning, your breath is so heavy. He is relentless.

He waits a moment, smirking at your silence. He then puts his hand down your leggings, over your underwear. When he feels a large pool of wetness through the lacy fabric, he closes his eyes for a moment. “Fuck,” he whispers.

He pulls his hand back up, making sure to brush his fingers over your clit long enough that you ache when he puts his hand back around your waist, pulling you against him.

“How long have you had a crush on me?” he says, looking you in your eyes.

“I don’t know,” you breathe.

“Nah, you do. Tell me,” he said quickly, confidently, the words almost stringing together into one word.

“I don’t know, a couple years,” you mumble.

“A couple years?” he laughs. He slides his hand down over your leggings between your legs again, “Shit, you must like this then.” He rubs you, sliding his hand roughly, even possessively, farther down and up, his middle finger in line with your clit.

You moan, leaning your head against his chest. “Yeah… Yeah, you do,” he says in a mocking tone. You can hear his malevolent smirk. “You like it a lot.”

He uses his other hand to wrap around where your jaw meets your neck, forcing your face up to look at him. “So you do want my huge dick?”

You stare at him, biting your lip. Were you really about to fuck your best friend’s brother? Really? Seriously? No. You should say no. You’re gonna say no.

“Yes.” Shit.

He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his hips, holding you by the back of your head, stroking your hair, and around your waist. You lean your head over his shoulder. He carries you to his room.

He throws you onto his bed.

“You’re a fuckin’ slut,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss you, positioned between your legs.

“Not usually,” you deny mindlessly.

He grabs your breasts through your shirt, letting out a low growl. “So you’re just my slut, then?”

You look up at him. “I didn’t say that.”

He then pulls your one leg farther towards him so you’re forced on your side, then he smacks your ass hard through your leggings. You gasp, then blush.

He raises his hand again, smirks and brings it down harder than the first time. You whimper. He rears his hand up one more time, then stutters, searching for your anticipation. He sees your expression carved into your profile. Were you… smiling?

He was rock solid now.

“Shit, you like that?” he laughs. “Anybody ever do that to you before?” he pushes you again onto your back.

“Uh-uh,” you respond.

“Yeah… you are my little slut,” he affirms. Then, he kisses you deeply, holding you by the back of the neck, his other hand wandering down your body, squeezing periodically.

You lean up suddenly, so he offers no resistance. You put your hands up his shirt, pulling it up. He leans down to allow you to pull it over his head. You through it onto the floor.

Everything accelerates viciously after this one move.

He pulls off your shirt, throwing it to the floor. You begin to unbuckle his belt, and he attempts to pull off your pants. It’s chaotic; your hands are clashing, you’re getting in each others’ way.

It becomes, to Kai, at least, a race to see who can get the other bare faster.

Obviously, Kai wins. He pushes your hands to the side many times, pulling your leggings over your legs, unclasping your bra with his one hand (concerning, but you ignore it), throwing it to the floor. Then, he leans down to your hip bones and he pulls your underwear off with his teeth.

You haven’t even finished unbuckling his pants.

He throws your body so your head is against his pillows. He crawls up to you, leaning over you, necklace hanging in your face.

He’s a fucking animal.

Just like you imagined.

He kisses you harshly, nearly biting you. Then, he kneels, legs tucked under themselves, widely spread. He pulls your body up, wrapping you around his waist again. He is holding onto your entire body like his life depends on it, kissing down your neck, sucking on your collar bone. You are scratching at his back, head tilted to the bed, eyes closed.

He throws you back down again, then puts his head between your thighs.

“So easy to toss around,” he talks against you.

He begins working on you with his tongue. You wrap your fingertips in his hair, tugging at it, pressing his face farther into you.

He takes only a few moments of this before he comes back so his face is in line with yours. He grabs your wrists and presses them together above your head. He squeezes them hard for emphasis.

“Don’t move them,” he whispers. You know he’s serious.

He leans back down, continuing to you work you with his tongue. He wraps his arms around the highest place of your thigh, pulling you down into his face.

Your back arches and he chuckles against you. The vibration shakes to your core.

It hits you all at once and you unravel beneath his mouth. It’s so intense you convince yourself you’ve died for a moment.

He leans himself back up to hover over you, wiping his mouth with his hand.

You stare up at him in admiration. He does not miss this. You keep your hands above your head.

He pulls his belt off, laying it next to both of you. Then, he pulls his pants down, along with his boxers, all in one smooth movement.

Fuck. He wasn’t kidding.

What were you even supposed to do with it? Surely all of him wouldn’t even fit inside you.

He smirked as he saw your train of thought reflected on your face.

In one swift motion, he flipped you over so you were on top of him, hovering over his thighs.

He leaned up, grabbing your wrists, putting them together behind your back.

He held them together with his one hand, grabbing his belt with the other. Then, with a few moments and his two hands behind your back, looking into your eyes, he tied your wrists together. You struggled against the leather, but the crafty contraption was totally foolproof.

Then, he grabbed your hips, leaning back to rest his back on the two pillows stacked against his headboard.

“You okay?” he asked with a genuine smile, putting his hand on your arm.

“Very,” you nod.

“Good,” he said, and that was all he needed. He put his hand back on your hip, lifting your body up so you were hovering over his length. “Breathe,” he commanded.

You took a deep breath and he sunk himself into slowly, pulling you down onto him. You dropped your head back, letting a moan escape.

He groaned, also leaning his head back, “Holy shit,” he dragged out the words. “Holy shit. Fuck.”

His grip loosened on your hips as he was fully submerged in you. “Woah,” he whispered. You smiled at the commentary.

He kept his hand on you, pushing you back and forth. You worked on him, rolling your hips and pushing yourself up and down on top of him.

You moaned out as he thrusted himself up into you slightly. It had to be at least eight, you thought.

You both move against each other with an intense rhythm, your hands behind your back, his traveling all across your upper half.

He watches you intently, his mind worshipping the sight of all of you on top of him like this, eyes gliding down your hips, over your stomach, your face as you bit your lip and closed your eyes in ecstasy. He groans deeply, almost growling, digging his fingertips into your hips.

He pushes himself forward so he’s sitting, his one hand behind his back, propping himself up.

You rest your forehead on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you back and forth against himself, the entire warmth whole bodies in full contact.

“Fuck, Kai!” you moan.

“Yeah, baby?” he smirks, his forehead coated in sweat.

You feel that you’re going to finish again, and he feels that he will, too. You pull away, looking into his eyes. He looks back into yours.

Then, you rest your forehead on his. The knot in your stomach is wound so tight you can barely breathe.

His chest is heaving, which is saying a lot, considering his fitness.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan against his mouth. He nods.

You both release at the same time, him grasping onto your body, you moaning into his ear, him groaning against your neck.

When he finishes inside of you, you both pull away. He laughs, and you do, too. He undoes the belt behind your back.

You pull away from him, laying beside him.

He lays on his back for a moment, then turns on his side, propping his head on his hand, tracing his fingertips down the center of your stomach.

“My slut,” he whispers. You turn to him, pushing his shoulder playfully.

Then, he kisses you, smiling into your mouth.

When he pulls away, he looks at you, then smirks. You watch him, smiling, slightly confused. He pushes himself up from the bed, then leans down to look underneath it.

“Oh, shoot,” he says.

You cock your head to the side, “What?”

“Toolbox was here all along,” he smirks, putting his hands on his hips.

if you liked this pls tell me i love validation. also i will take requests asf

#kai anderson x reader #kai anderson ahs #kai anderson #american horror story #ahs x reader #evan peters x reader #evan peters #evan peters ahs #ahs fanfiction #ahs #tate langdon #kit walker #peter maximoff #i love him #badly

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 1 month

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Suck off the hand that fingers you or how ever that saying goes.

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 1 month

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i need to have him

i want to be that rat

#evan peters #evan peters photoshoot #evan peters ahs #american horror story #adult world #american animals #evan peters is perfect #my wife #my world #i love him

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 1 month

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what if we kissed in the in the car in the vintage the vintage car what if we k

#evan peters #evan peters photoshoot #evan peters ahs #american horror story #this is my wife #tate langdon #kit walker #evan peters is perfect #i love him

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 1 month

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I’ll never hurt you (Spencer Reid x Reader)

spencer reid can’t help but get involved when a guy moves into your apartment and he hears the fighting between you two escalate. he never meant for it to go farther.

warnings: relationship abuse. nudity. no smut. harsh language. angst

pookie wookie bear // draft from a few months ago

You moved in early September. Spencer met you the first week you came in, which you were in the process of unloading large brown boxes and small beige baskets of things into your apartment. Your first impressions of him were that he stuttered, rambled and, of course, was absolutely gorgeous.

He helped you unpack, after asking if it was alright, and the two of you had a friendly relationship going forward.

He took special note of your schedule. You'd leave around eight in the morning in a sweater and scarf with your hair up, a leather bag of textbooks, notebooks and a shiny grey laptop on your shoulder, and come home around eight p.m., makeup slightly worn and hair much softer and less organized than the morning, now in the same jacket as when you left, but a work uniform underneath, possibly for a barista or waitress. Your apron would be slung over your shoulder and your bag would have the scarf and sweater hanging partially out the side, and you'd always have this tired, sunken look in your eyes, but it was always replaced by bright cheeks and a smile in the morning.

You noticed his pattern, too. Always leaving in a nice jacket or button-down, sometimes to disappear for days. You always wondered where he went, but your interactions were bound to greetings and curtesies and not much else, mostly due to your nervousness around each other.

In November, a man started to come around every so often. Spencer had picked up from your chipper, however strained, greetings of him that his name was Ben.

By December, he was around every day. Spencer saw through the peephole boxes being carried to the apartment once again.

He decided not to think of it much. You were just a pretty girl who lived on his floor, meant to be with big, meaty guys like Ben. He couldn't help but wonder if he was smart enough for you, intense enough for you.

It wasn't until January that the yelling began. There would be nights where he could hear masculine yelling through the walls, these growling barks of words he couldn't always make out. He'd heard a few things, like, "Fuckin' bitch!" and "Stupid cunt!" Once, he even heard something along the lines of, "If you care so much what the neighbor thinks, why don't you go over there and fuck him!"

The quips were enough to make his blood sear red-hot, his eyes twitch and head ache.

One day, he hadn't heard your light, quick footsteps down the stairs, and he knew Ben had left had the night before because he had slammed the door behind him and said "Slut" just as he passed Spencer's door and pounded down the stairs. Spencer didn't sleep that night, waiting for Ben to return, but he never did. He wasn't sure what his plan was when he did return, but he knew something had to be done.

He decided to come to your door in the morning, alarmed that you were still in around 9:30 a.m. on a Thursday.

He knocked three times, then stood with his hands in his pockets. He heard your feet scamper to the door, then stop just in front.

"Spencer?" you asked, he assumed you were looking through the peephole. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, can I just," he paused, "Can I come in a second?"

"Uhm," you exhaled, "Now's not a good time."

"I just," he paused again, "I wanted to talk to you."

"What about?" you asked.

He became so alarmed by this answer, mind racing with every possible scene that could be behind the door. Maybe Ben had returned, he thought, maybe he was forcing you to stay home. Maybe you were crying, maybe he had hurt you. Maybe he had a gun on you at this very moment.

In a moment of complete irresponsibility and thoughtlessness, he touched the doorknob. When it gave way, he pushed himself through the door.

Ben was nowhere to be found, but you were, standing in front of him, eyes dry, but puffy from obvious crying, yellow makeup caked below your right eye, purple showing from underneath.

It was worse than he imagined, the feeling of seeing you in such a way.

"Oh, (Y/N)," he whispered.

When he looked at you with such sympathy, you broken entirely. You ran into his chest, shoulders shaking with sobs. "I couldn't," you breathe, "I couldn't cover the," again, "I can't go to class, I had to call out of work, I," you whispered, "I don't know what to do."

He just held you there, swaying back and forth, rubbing your hair. This was the first time he had seen it down.

"Look at me," he whispered.

You peered up at him with those red, glistening eyes, face swollen, hair stuck to the tears on your cheeks.

"You've gotta kick him out," he whispered, "You have to."

"I can't- he's- he's a cop," your voice wavered, "I'm a- I'm a fucking barista."

"I'm a federal agent," he stated.

You breathed out. "He'll," you pause, then whisper in a deadly flat voice, "He'll kill me if I make him leave."

He breathes, then whispers, staring deep into your eyes, hands on each side of your face. "I'll kill him if he touches you ever again."

He pulled you into his chest again, once again assuming the rocking motion from before, rubbing your back with one hand and stroking your hair with another.

This was easily ten minutes, possibly more. Then, the door handle jiggled. "Let me in, (Y/N)," Ben spoke, "I'm sorry, please let me talk to you."

Spencer whispered into your ear, "Go stand by the kitchen," and you did so.

Spencer then unlocked the door, then stepped as far as possible from the door, a few paces from you. He whispered to you, his head over his shoulder.

"It's open," he whispered.

"It's open!" you yelled, voice shaky.

When Ben walked in, his eyes went first to Spencer, then to you.

"What the fuck," he breathed, "You fucking bitch, you're cheating on me with this fucking asshole?"

"I'm not cheating on you," you spoke in a mousy tone.

"Oh, yeah? So you didn't fuck this guy?" he asked, stepping to get a better look at you.

"No," you spoke, not looking at him.

"Don't lie to me, bitch, fucking look at me," he stepped towards you.

Then, Spencer pulled a handgun from his pocket and pointed it at him.

"Don't fucking go near her."

"Oh my God, you're gonna fucking shoot me?" he laughed. "I'm a cop."

"I'm a federal agent, dick," Spencer glared intensely at Ben, your eyes stuck to Spencer.

"Oh, fuck, you're one of those BAU assholes?" he asked with a smirk on your face, "Well aren't you just a fuckin' angel?" He turned you, then says, "Have fun with this pussy, you're not worth the fucking energy." With that, he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Spencer ran to the door, locked it again, then returned to you.

"This is just temporary," he whispered, "I'm gonna get him put in jail for a long time."

You stared at him for a long time, then in a hushed tone said, "I'm gonna shower," you paused, then, quieter, said, "Do you want to come with me?"

He stares at you for a moment, blinking, then asks, "Do you want that?"

"Yes," is all you say, then grab his hand slowly, interlocking your fingers, pulling him to your bathroom. When you get there, you take off your tank-top first, which you have nothing underneath. Then you pull down your jeans, then your underwear. Spencer watching this entire process, not moving a muscle but his eyes. They wander across your body, then settle on your hips, which have a faded yellow bruise on the side. He winces, but then is washed by the sight of your bare skin. You're exactly as he imagined: soft, firm, perfectly balanced.

He then began to unbutton his skirt, peeling it over his shoulders. He was tall, slender, sculpted, but gentle looking so much more beautiful than Ben. His belt jingled as he unbuckled his pants, then pulled them down with his underwear, too, leaving both of you bare.

He closed the proximity of your bodies to kiss you, his hands around your head. He then pulled away to rest his forehead on yours and rub his thumbs on your cheeks.

You stepped into the shower and he followed.

He didn't try to touch you explicitly. He didn't press you against the shower wall, didn't choke you or whisper sick things about you into your ear. He didn't press himself into you or turn you around to fuck you from behind.

Instead, he took a handful of shampoo and began to wash your hair.

He first pushed your head back so it was full emerged in the water pressed his fingers along your scalp, allowing the water to seep into all the strands of hair. Then, he lathered shampoo in his hands and began to wash your hair. He turned you around so you were facing away from him, but he didn't touch you anywhere but your head. You instinctively tilted your head back to lean slightly towards his chest, eyes closed. You could hear his breath hitch. When he was done, he turned you around again, then tilted your head under the water again. When your hair was fully rinsed, you brought your head up so your eyes met his. You then kissed him again. Your hands slowly, shaking, trailed down his chest to his stomach. You trailed your fingertips along his waist, then pulled him towards you by his hips. He lifted his hands to your face again.

He looked deep into your eyes with his dark brown ones and whispered, “I’ll never hurt you.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader

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