#ahs kit

Christmas of 1966 arrives with a different kind of silence. It’s no longer the empty, agonizing silence of previous years, but a heavy one. The house is decorated, though with less fervor. The lights blink, the turkey is in the oven. The children, older now, exchange hopeful looks that you avoid holding for too long.

Kit’s letters stopped coming over time, so you didn’t allow hope to grow.

The day drags on. At lunch, which is no longer as silent as in years past, you catch yourself staring at the empty chair he always used. Over time, all of you had to learn how to live with his absence and make that the new normal, even though it hurt.

When night falls and the first stars appear in the colored sky, acceptance begins to settle in. It’s like the other Christmases, you think. You’ll survive. You always do.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

It’s not loud. It’s hesitant, but in the quiet of the house, it sounds like thunder.

Your heart stops. The children, however, don’t even seem to notice, too busy with the presents.

You stand and walk to the door, hesitant. You open it.

The icy air cuts across your face, but you don’t even feel it. Because there, on the porch, wrapped in a thin layer of snow and wearing a coat far too light for winter, is him.

Kit.

He’s thinner—much thinner. His brown hair is a bit longer now. He’s holding a small white box with the few belongings he has. His brown eyes are the same, with those golden flecks, but now they’re ringed by purple shadows of exhaustion. A poorly healed cut splits his left eyebrow and his upper lip, and you don’t need much imagination to see the yellowed bruises along his temples, his jaw, trailing down his neck.

He stands there, looking at you as if you were a mirage. His lips are slightly parted, trembling—from the cold, from emotion.

“Kit?” you whisper, the word coming out broken, hoarse with shock.

He blinks rapidly, as if waking up. A shaky breath escapes him, forming a white cloud in the air between you.

“I… they released me. Today. So I… I ran to the station, took the first train, then the bus, and…” He rambles, lost, his eyes tracing your face, but you don’t listen. You just throw yourself into his arms.

His skin is cold, rough. He shudders at your touch, a low moan slipping from his throat. He doesn’t wait a second to return the hug, letting the box fall to the ground.

He holds you tightly, as if afraid that if he loosens his grip for even a second, you’ll disappear. His arms tremble around you. Then you kiss him desperately, as if that kiss could fill all the lost time.

“It’s you,” you murmur as you pull back, your own tears already running hot down your face. “My God, it’s you.”

“I promised you,” he whispers, the words sticking to your fingers. “I promised I’d come back.”

From inside the house, small gasps are heard. You both turn toward the door. The children are there, standing in the hallway, staring with a mix of shock and joy. For a moment, no one moves. Then the youngest—who had only a few memories of him, since she was just two when he left—takes a step forward. And then another. She stops in front of him, her big eyes scanning the thin man who has knelt down in front of her.

“Daddy?” Her voice is a thin thread of sound.

Kit closes his eyes, holding back tears, a tremor running through his entire body.

“Yes, sweetheart. It’s me.”

Then she throws herself into his arms. The impact nearly knocks him over, but he wraps himself around her, burying his face in her small neck, his shoulders shaking in silence. The older brother follows, more hesitant, but when Kit extends an arm, he clings to it, his serious face hidden against his father’s shoulder.

You kneel beside them, wrapping all of them in your arms. It’s a tangle of trembling bodies, warm tears, and soft breaths.

Finally, you guide them inside, into the warmth. Kit stands in the middle of the living room, looking around like a man who has returned to a familiar planet that somehow feels strange. His eyes travel over the tree, the couch, the photos on the wall—the life that went on without him. There’s pain in that look, but also immense wonder.

You stay there on the living room floor for what feels like forever. Kit doesn’t let go of the children, as if making up for every lost second. His thick, calloused fingers—God, how calloused they are—stroke their hair with a gentleness that breaks your heart.

The oldest, now seven, pulls back a little, wiping his nose on his sleeve, but his eyes never leave his father. “You’re hurt,” he says softly, pointing at the cut on Kit’s lip.

Kit smiles, but it’s a weak smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Just a few scratches, son. Nothing that won’t heal.” He tries to sound casual, but you see the truth behind it: the way he moves slowly, as if every muscle aches, the way he avoids putting weight on one leg. You help him stand, and when your hand slips under his coat, you feel his ribs jutting beneath the thin shirt. He’s so thin. Your stomach twists with a wave of worry you can no longer hold back.

“Come on, let’s warm you up,” you say, guiding him to the couch. The children curl up beside him like little puppies starving for attention, telling him about the years he missed—the school, the friends, the Christmases without him. Kit listens, eyes shining with unshed tears, nodding and chuckling softly at the right moments. But you notice how he flinches slightly when the youngest jumps into his lap, and that sets off an alarm inside you.

Later, after the children go to sleep with smiles on their faces, you take him to the bedroom and sit him on the bed.

You help him remove the thin coat, which looks more like a rag than protection against the merciless cold. Your hands tremble as you undo the buttons, and when the garment falls to the floor, you let out an involuntary breath.

He has several bruises scattered across his torso, like smears of purple and yellow paint, marking ribs that stand out too sharply beneath pale skin. There are fresh scars—a long, jagged one on his right shoulder, another smaller one on his abdomen, as if someone had driven something sharp into him. He’s almost skeletal.

“Kit…” you murmur, your voice breaking as your fingers lightly trace one of the marks, careful not to press. He shivers at the touch but doesn’t pull away.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, trying for a smile that comes out crooked because of the cut on his lip. But his eyes give everything away: the deep exhaustion, the weight of memories he’s not ready to share. You feel a tear slide down your face, hot and salty, and he wipes it away with his calloused thumb.

“You’re lying,” you reply, your concern spilling over now, impossible to contain. “Look at you… all beaten up. What did they do to you in there?” Your voice trembles as you sit beside him on the bed, pulling him closer, as if you could shield him.

He lowers his head, his shoulders caving in as if the weight of the world were crushing him.

“It doesn’t matter, my love. It doesn’t matter anymore.” He pauses, swallowing hard, and you see the tremor in his hands. “I endured it all. For you. For the kids. I thought about you every night, imagined this moment. That’s what kept me alive. And it worked.”

His words cut into you, a mix of sweet relief and sharp pain. He’s here, alive, in your arms. You pull him into a tighter hug, ignoring the low groan that escapes him when you press against one of his injured ribs.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, loosening your grip, but he shakes his head.

“It’s okay.” His lips find yours again, this time slower, deeper, as if every kiss were a renewed promise. There’s desperation in it, a hunger built over years apart, but also a tenderness that makes your heart swell. Your hands roam his back, finding more scars. Tears mix into the kisses—yours and his—and when you pull away, breathless, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “More than before, if that’s even possible. These years… they made me see how strong you are. I swear, I’ll make up for everything. I’ll be the husband you deserve, the father the kids need.”

You nod, wiping his tears away with soft kisses, tracing the cut in his eyebrow with your lips. “We’re going to heal you. I’ll take care of every bruise, every wound. Nothing will ever separate us again.” Your words come out like a vow, sealed in the quiet of the bedroom, lit only by the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

You rise from the bed reluctantly, your legs still shaky with emotion, and hurry to the kitchen, the cold floor beneath your bare feet contrasting with the warmth radiating from your chest. You grab a clean cloth, a bowl of warm water, and some antiseptic you keep in the cabinet—things that in recent years were used to heal scraped knees, never something like this.

Your heart pounds as you return to the bedroom, your eyes fixed on Kit, who remains seated on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, breathing slowly as if each breath hurts.

As you approach, you kneel in front of him, dipping the cloth into the water and gently pressing it against the cut on his eyebrow. He flinches, a low groan slipping from his cracked lips, but instead of pulling away, he leans forward, brown eyes locked on yours, filled with a gratitude that needs no words.

For him, that pain is almost welcome—a tangible reminder that he’s alive, that he’s home, where wounds are cared for by loving hands instead of inflicted by cruelty.

“Shh, it’ll pass,” you whisper, your voice soft like a lullaby, as you clean away dried blood and scabs, revealing the red, swollen skin underneath.

Between one wound and another, you can’t resist: you lean in to kiss him—first on the forehead, then at the corner of his mouth, avoiding the cut on his lip. He responds with a shaky sigh, his calloused hands rising to frame your face, fingers tracing your cheek as if you were something precious, fragile. Care and affection intertwine—a kiss here, a touch there—turning the act of healing into something intimate, almost sacred.

He groans again when you pass the cloth over a bruise on his shoulder, but the sound dissolves into a low, rough laugh, the first real laugh you’ve heard from him in years. “This is heaven compared to what I went through,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours, and you taste the salt of tears mixed into the kiss.

Finally, after cleaning every visible bruise and bandaging what needs bandaging, you finish with one last lingering kiss.

all day kit had been teasing you. subtly kneading your asscheeks when he stood behind you whilst you cooked, kissing and biting your neck when the kids weren’t looking, and so much more that you couldn’t even begin to list it all

it only made sense that you made him pay for leaving you dripping wet at the most inconvenient times, which brings us to right now: kit eating you out whilst edging himself as per your wish

his tongue swirled on your clit in teasing circles before using the flat of his tongue to lick a stripe from your entrance to your clit, lapping up your sweet nectar which he craved to taste. his tongue probed your entrance with his nose bumping gently into your clit. his hand furiously stroked his shaft in aggressive movements of pleasure, but stopping every now and then to make sure he didn’t cum; he couldn’t disappoint you now, could he?

soft whimpers and grunts escaped from his lips, the sound causing vibrations to hit your already sensitive cunt which only made you shudder in pleasure. you looked down at kit with half-lidded eyes, seeing his soft brown eyes meet your own with a look of lust on his face

“suga’, please lemme cum” kit mumbled desperately in between licks, his eyes fluttering closed as he concentrated on pleasing you and not accidentally making himself tip over the edge into blissful euphoria. he bucked desperately into his hand whilst using all his self restraint not to cum all over his hand

“mhmh no” you tease in between your desperate and shaky moans of pleasure, each swipe of his tongue left you shaking in pleasure and involuntarily curling your toes in euphoria

he looked up at you with those intense dark eyes, meeting your gaze with a look of desperation plastered on his face. he kept his word though, holding back his orgasm and focusing on bringing you to your 3rd of the night. just the sight of you coming undone could make him cum, so it took all of his self restraint and then some more just so he could follow the one rule you set for him: don’t cum.

your back arched as you came, sending waves of pleasure from your throbbing clit all over your body. the sudden convolutions brought a smile to kit’s face, and he continued to please you, but doing so a little slower until you gained your bearings back.

“youre so pretty when you cum” he murmurs adoringly before lapping up your release, sending a shudder of pleasure down your spine when you felt his tongue make a quick sweep along your slit

“m’ good girl.” he praises, his lips and chin glistening under the dim light of the shared bedroom. he looked up at you with pleading puppy dog eyes, begging to be allowed his own release. “please hun, i won’t tease ya in front of the kids again”

“mmmh no. get back to licking” you say teasingly with a smirk, to which he instantly obeyed and went back to eating your cunt like a starved man.

The paper between your fingers was crumpled at the edges from being held so many times. You read the ad once more, as if the words would suddenly change:

Looking for someone to care for two children and help with the house. Immediate work. Interested parties, please come to the address below.

Simple, direct, and with a certain implicit desperation. It was your best chance. You had been in town for just a few days and needed a job, a roof over your head, some stability.

The house was small, modest, but cozy. The front lawn was a bit overgrown, and a tipped-over tricycle near the porch indicated it was indeed a home with children. You took a deep breath before knocking on the door, your heart racing.

The steps on the other side were quick, and when the door opened, you found yourself facing him.

Kit Walker.

The name was in the ad, but you didn’t expect him to be... like this. Brown, messy hair, eyes the same color, deep and somewhat tired, as if carrying more than a man his age should. He looked a few years older than you, yet young enough to be the father of two small children.

"Hi. You came for the ad?" His voice was raspy, slightly surprised. He ran a hand through his hair, as if realizing too late that it was disheveled.

You nodded, not fully trusting your voice.

"Yes—I… I saw the ad and... I’m interested in the job."

Kit took a step back and opened the door wider. "Come in. We can talk better."

You entered, smelling the warmth of wood and coffee, mixed with the unmistakable scent of a house with children: crayons, cookies, and a faint trace of baby cologne.

The living room was simple, with old furniture but well cared for. There were toys scattered here and there, a small blanket thrown over the couch, and some kids' drawings pinned to the wall.

"Well, I don’t want to make this formal or anything," Kit scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable. "To be honest, I need someone as soon as possible. I work all day, and I can’t keep up with everything on my own. The idea is for you to be with the kids, help with the house... those kinds of things."

You nodded. "I can do that."

Kit studied your face for a moment, as if looking for something beyond your answer.

"Do you have experience with children?"

"Not professionally..." You hesitated. "But I’ve taken care of my cousins when they were little. I like kids."

Kit nodded slowly, as if considering your answer, but his gaze was still sharp, evaluating you in a way that made your heart race. He seemed like someone who wanted to trust, needed to trust, but didn’t give that trust easily.

"It’s a full-time job," He crossed his arms, the thin fabric of his shirt stretching slightly across his broad shoulders. "You’d need to be here all day, sometimes at night, depending on my schedule. I work a lot."

You nodded, trying to seem as confident as possible. "That wouldn’t be a problem."

"Good. Because they need stability," Kit rubbed his chin, briefly looking away. "It’s already been hard enough for them."

There was something heavy behind those words, something he didn’t say, but that lingered in the air between you. You wondered what exactly had happened, but didn’t dare to ask.

Kit cleared his throat, refocusing on the conversation. "Can you cook?"

The question came without warning, and you blinked, a little surprised. "Yes. Quite well, actually."

A shadow of relief passed over his face. "Great. I get by, but..." He made a vague gesture, as if already used to eating poorly. "It’d be nice if they could have real food, you know? Not just sandwiches and instant noodles."

You smiled faintly. "I can take care of that."

Kit opened his mouth to say something, but then hesitated, shifting his weight. You noticed how tense he seemed, as if about to ask a question he didn’t know whether he should.

"Can I ask you something?" He narrowed his eyes, curious. "Are you married?"

The question caught you so off guard that it took an extra second to respond. "What? No! No, I’m not married."

Kit relaxed almost imperceptibly, and you couldn’t tell if it was because the answer relieved him or if he just didn’t want to get into trouble. "Sorry. I just... don’t want to hire someone with a jealous husband showing up at my door afterward."

You let out a short laugh, more out of nervousness than anything. "You don’t need to worry about that. No jealous husbands. No husbands, period."

Kit gave a half-smile, but quickly looked away, and it was at that moment that a fleeting thought crossed your mind.

It was sad that a man like him didn’t have a wife.

The thought came as a reflex, and you quickly pushed it away, as if you’d done something wrong. It wasn’t your business. But still... he seemed like someone who deserved it. Someone who loved deeply, who would do anything for those he cared about. A man like him shouldn’t be alone.

Before you could get lost in that thought, a sound echoed through the hallway—small footsteps, followed by excited laughter. Kit didn’t even need to turn around to know what was coming, and the smile that appeared on his lips was so immediate and genuine that something warm spread in your chest.

"DAAAAD!"

Two children appeared in the room, running without hesitation toward Kit. He bent down instantly, opening his arms to receive them. The first to arrive was a boy with light hair and bright brown eyes, who threw himself into his father’s arms with the force of a rocket. Right behind him, a little girl with dark skin and soft curls stopped beside them, eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Kit laughed, running his hands through the boy’s hair before turning to his daughter. "Hey, hey, calm down. You don’t even know her yet."

The two turned to look at you, and you felt as if you were being assessed.

"Who is she?" The little girl asked, her voice small but firm.

"She came for the ad," Kit explained, adjusting Thomas in his lap. "She might take care of you guys while I work."

"Can she tell stories?" Thomas tilted his head, his eyes shining with expectation.

"I can," you answered, smiling.

"Better than Dada?"

Kit scoffed, indignant. "Hey! I’m great at it!"

Thomas looked at his sister, clearly waiting for her opinion. Julia crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at you before asking, "Can you make pancakes?"

You laughed, crouching down a little to be on her level. "With chocolate chips and strawberry syrup."

Her expression shifted slightly, as if considering your answer. Then she looked at Kit and then back at you, still evaluating.

Kit watched the interaction with a playful gleam in his eyes, as if enjoying seeing how you handled the two.

Finally, Julia nodded, crossing her arms. "I think you can stay."

Thomas agreed with an enthusiastic nod, and Kit let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“this is great, hun’,” kit compliments, taking another bite of tonight’s dinner. you give him a tired smile, sipping on your glass of water. he quirks an eyebrow, setting his fork down. “you’re quiet tonight. what’s goin’ on in that pretty head,” he asks, his tone playful and light. you breathe out a laugh, shaking your head. “nothing at all, just a long day.”

kit hums in response, standing to take your plate to the sink. when he returns, he takes his place behind you, gentle hands rubbing your arms. “let me take care of you, suga’. wake you up a little,” he mumbles, lips pressed against your shoulder. you shake your head, pushing his face away. “kit, it’s late, we already took too long on dinner, we should get ready for bed. you have work tomorrow and i gotta visit my mother.”

he massages your shoulders, resting his chin on the top of your head. “i’ll call off work. you can go see your ma next week, you know it won’t be any different to her,” he coaxes, persistent to simply just please you. though with a sigh, you can’t help but smile, knowing he won’t be giving up anytime soon. “you are horrible, kit walker. cancel plans with my mother to have sex with you instead?” you tease, turning to look back at him

“sounds like a more-than-fair trade to me,” he responds, pretending to think about it for a moment. you scoff, standing from your seat at the table. “alright, you win.” with a cheeky grin, he’s off, pulling you with him into the bedroom, and shutting the blinds. “i knew you’d cave. you always do.” he had that stupid smirk, the one that you hated and loved all at the same time.

“i do not, you shut your mouth,” you laugh, kicking off your shoes and letting down your hair, setting the endless bobby pins on the bedside table. he wiggles his eyebrows at you, a dorky but endearing action, as he crawls into bed. his lips immediately find that spot on your neck that makes you go weak as if it were second nature to him. “i’ll shut your mouth as long as you open yours,” he jokes, pushing you back into a laying position. “god, kit!” you laugh, rolling your eyes at his words.

“i’m just kiddin’, tonight’s about you.” with that, he slowly unbuttons you blouse, lips trailing down to your collar bone. “i will neva’ get used to how beautiful you are,” he praises, unhooking your bra and sliding the thin straps down your arms. “so, so pretty,” he continues, cupping your tits, now bringing his kisses to the valley of your breasts. his mouth is wrapped around your nipple soon after, a hand finding it’s way under your skirt.

he revels in the whine you give him as his calloused thumb meets your clothed pussy, rubbing slow circles around your clit. “and to think you wanted to go to bed, but here you are, all wet from just a couple of kisses. what do you have to say fo’ yourself, sweetheart?” he teases, removing his hand, and working to get your skirt down your legs, bringing your panties with it. “i need you kit, i do,” you answer, giving him those eyes that he can’t resist.

that was all he needed, his head dipping between your thighs, tongue running through your slick folds. he groans at the taste of you, pushing his already had cock into the mattress. with your head thrown back, you couldn’t see that his eyes remained on your face, though you could feel his stare as you moaned, rolling your hips on his face. his nose brushes your clit, bringing another sweet whine from your lips, almost enough to make him cum his pants.

“you’re driving me insane,” kit says, sitting up and bracing himself with his hands on your knees. he drops his belt and pants to the floor, palming himself through his pre-cum stained briefs. “look what you do to me,” he grunts, grabbing your hand and placing it over his hard-on. “please kit,” you beg, giving him those eyes you know he can’t resist. he decides not to give you anymore trouble, much to your delight, and slides his briefs down to his ankles, kicking them off and wedging himself between your legs.

his painfully hard dick stands against his toned stomach, kit’s hands spreading your legs, gentle as can be. “so, so pretty, all f’me,” he says, lining himself up with your entrance, giving himself a few pumps. when he finally begins to slide in, the both of you moan, kit having to keep your legs open as you squeeze around him. “god, i love you,” he huffs, bottoming out. kit certainly was a bit of a chatterbox during sex, but it was something you liked about him.

“i love you,” you reciprocate, biting down on your lip as you watch his hips slowly start to move, his fingers trailing down your thigh. his pace remains slow, the moment sweet and sensual, the heat between the two of you suffocatingly warm. his grunts are so pretty, though your loud whines outshine them. “you are an angel sent straight from heaven, i swear,” he says, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he brings a finger back down to your clit.

squeezing around him, your eyes roll back, a long string of moans and his name falling out of that pretty mouth of yours, and it’s not long before he buries himself deep within your cunt, filling you up like you were meant to be. once he pulls out, he lays down next to you, pulling you into him and kissing your forehead. “so good to me,” he whispers, pecking your lips.

“i need to shower, kit.”

“just lay here with me for a minute.”