#kit walker whump

[divineruler]

TOO WEAK ~ Kit Walker

He was always too weak.

!GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE!

WARNINGS- hurt/no comfort [kind of??], violence, forced stripping [non-graphic], canning, blood, trauma

WORDS- 1.6k

[This is a vent post lol]

Kit grunted as he was pushed down against Sister Jude’s solid oak desk. He tried to struggle. He tried to fight back against the guards holding his shoulders and head down, but he was too weak. He was always too weak. It was deplorable, demoralizing even, knowing he would never be strong enough to fight back. He would never be strong enough to protect the people he loved. They had already taken everything from him, his home, his work, his wife. His wife. Tears pricked his eyes as the guard held the side of his face down against the desk. His jaw shifted unnaturally out of place and black spots clouded his vision as the pressure increased on his soft temple. 

His wife. He tried desperately to think of anything but her. At this point she existed as an increasingly painful reminder of what he had lost. It made his head spin. He hated what this place had done to his memory of her. His isolation had corrupted his memories. Thinking of the time they spent together, the long nights and the lazy mornings, they brought him nothing but misery. So he tried not to think about her. He couldn’t let this place take his memory of her. They had taken everything from him, they had revoked his personhood like a dog in a mussel. He was nothing more than a name on an intake sheet. Twenty years of life, stripped away in seconds. This would be his legacy. That was something he had come to accept. But he couldn’t let them do that to Alma. She deserved to exist in peace and tranquility, in the back catalog of his mind. He wouldn’t let them take her too. He had to preserve the last piece of her he had, and if that meant pushing her from the forefront of his mind, then that’s what he was going to do.  

Kit winced as a loud voice pierced his ears. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. He craned his neck, eyes frantically scanning the room until they landed on Sister Jude’s cold dead stare. Her voice penetrated his consciousness, noise echoing around in his empty head. He tried to focus on her words, but he was too far gone. His brain was corroded like a dead battery. He couldn’t even remember what he did, but it must have been something bad. Judging by his swollen, bloody knuckles he probably punched someone. Hopefully it was the guard sitting several feet away from Kit, holding an ice pack to his black eye. Kit felt a spark of justice spread warmly through his chest. He almost gasped as the warm feeling swirled in his gut. Was it pride? Was he proud of his outburst? Of course he was. That guard had it coming. Drunk with this new surge of passion he fought again against the guards. He yanked one arm out of their grasp, swinging his fist wildly. He was blind with rage, violently thrashing in their iron grip. Right as he thought he had gotten the upperhand, a hard batton to the back of his head sent his world spinning. His vision blacked out as he was slammed back down onto the desk. Kit groaned as the pain finally caught up to him, his brain buffering like a broken disk drive. His ears began to ring with every heavy pulse of his lagging heart. He almost didn’t feel the cool metal of the handcuffs pinning his arms behind his back. 

The world began to piece itself back together little by little. Kit felt his face begin to flush. He felt embarrassed. Why did he think he would be able to take on three guards and Sister Jude with nothing but his injured hands. He couldn’t believe he let his adrenaline exceed his decision making. He was still weak, too weak to fight back. 

His vision began to clear as he scanned the room. The world around him had been reduced to a blurry swirl, but he could just make out Sister Jude opening the door to her old oak cabinet containing her assortment of woven canes. At this point he didn’t even care which one she chose, he had been beaten with every one of them at one point or another. They all hurt the same. Judging by his violent outburst, he knew she wasn’t going to have mercy on him. Mercy, he smirked, mercy isn’t a word in Sister Jude’s vocabulary. 

He felt the strong hands holding his body against the desk shift, making room for sister Jude to untie the back of his hospital gown and pull down his paper-thin underwear. He felt his face flush, squirming against the desk as his nakedness was out on display for the whole room. He thought by this point he would have gotten used to being stripped; modesty was a privilege in this place, not a right. The cold air stung his naked skin, the scars littering his ass and lower back growing an angry red, like they knew what was coming. His face began to flush with embarrassment, red creeping down his pale chest as he tried to close his legs to save himself some modesty. That didn’t last long as sister jude yelled an incoherent threat before kicking his legs apart once again. Fine. It wasn’t worth fighting back. Kit closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he tried to take deep breaths. He tried to prepare himself for his punishment. They weren’t going to break him this time, he was going to stay strong, he wasn’t going to give them the privilege of seeing him cry. 

Kit felt sister Jude’s cold, clammy palm against his middle back. He took a shaky breath in through his nose, exhaling in a sharp cry as the cane came down upon his pale skin. Pain crept up his back and down his thighs, making his legs shake. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to find his footing, only to be interrupted by another whip, and another, and another. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, screaming through clenched teeth. He felt blood sting his tongue as his teeth pierced through the soft flesh of his lip. It was almost enough to distract him from the lashes, almost enough. Each lash of the whip left a trail of fire in its path. His backside was a swirl of color as the old lashes began to bruise a deep, dark purple. His broken skin glowed furious and inflamed. Sister Jude was not letting up, at this point, he didn’t even know how long she had been beating him, but it felt like an eternity. His knees shook as he took another lash, making his vision swim. He felt his consciousness begin to slip away little by little. He could hear the vibration of the Guards and Sister Jude talking around him, but he was too far gone, he couldn’t make out a single word. Kit felt his chest vibrate, was he screaming? The burning in his lungs and the dry tickle creeping up his throat answered his question. He was screaming a deep, guttural, broken scream. A sound that would make your stomach churn. With each crack of the cane against his raw skin, he screamed. He fought against the handcuffs pinning his arms behind him as he felt a familiar warmth settle in his chest. His nose began to run and he could feel hot tears pricking his eyes. No, he was not going to cry. He was stronger than that, he wasn’t going to give them the pleasure of seeing him cry. But there was something comforting about this feeling. It was a feeling of warmth, the feeling of something familiar. A particularly brutal whip knocked Kit out of his daze, he felt the pressure building up inside him break as the cane split his aching skin. Warm tears leaked down his face as blood spilled from the wound, oozing down his thighs. He gasped, his body feeling paralyzed and stiff. Another lash from Sister Jude caused Kit to choke out an anguished noise, something between a scream and a cry. A cry. He was crying. There was no stopping it now. Blood bubbled down his chin from the puncture in his bottom lip, splattering onto the desk as he cried. He was quickly losing control. More tears began to pool beneath him as he cried and begged. His “strong-man” facade began to crack, as another lash split open his lower back. The pain was almost too much to handle, his shaking legs gave out from under him sending a crushing pain through his ribcage as his chest caught the weight of his body. He tried to regain his footing, but his bare feet slipped in the puddle of blood leaking down his legs onto the floor beneath him. Kit sobbed, his breath becoming short and shallow as he choked on his own spit. Suddenly his world began to swim. His vision became blotchy and his hearing began to falter. All he could hear were his own sobs, reverberating through his hollow body. He gasped as the pain began to numb, soon all he could feel was the thick blood trickling down his legs and his own hot tears staining his face. It was over. At least, for now. As his body began to slip into a state of unconsciousness, he thought of Alma. He could almost see her, in his imagination of course. He could see her smiling face, and her warm hands running through his hair. His bloody lips almost cracked a smile back at her. For the first time, Kit felt at peace, even if it was only a dream. As his fragile mind finally allowed him to slip into a state of unconsciousness, his body went limp in the guard's hands. They let go of him, letting his broken body fall to the floor.

[hatelangdon]

Omg just read your fav genre is whump and i literally never seen any whump blog for American Horror Story, lol...

As someone who is also obsessed with AHS and whump myself, can i possibly request a whump story for Kit Walker inside Briarcliff pls? That poor babe just suffered so much in there, but i gotta say i just love the dramatics 🤭

Tysm, I'd really appreciate that!

Fragile

Kit Walker x Fem!reader ✩ 1.2K words

Summary: Dr Arden was never a merciful man, Kit soon became an interest of his. Someone needs to extend him some kindness and nurse him back to health.

Angst, Hurt-comfort, semi-fluff

**Not proofread and probably an insane amount of commas and other errors but it'll be aight.

Warnings: (🚨 Talks about infected wounds, fever, bruising, medical abuse, Mental abuse, physical abuse, asylums, bleeding, and time period inaccuracies probably 🚨)

(A/n: Kitson, my angel, my beloved. I hate hurting him but I love the angst. Thanks for the request I didn't know what kind of whump you were interested in so I tried to combine all aspects 🤭 I was gonna k!ll him but I was feeling nice)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆

You and Kit weren't too different from each other, both convicted on crimes you did not commit.

Female hysteria. That's what they call it when a woman was too smart, so a man locks her up to keep her quiet.

This was a cruelty that was extended to you by your own husband.

Kit was thrown in on convictions of murder, bloody face is what they called him. People wanted someone to pin a string of murders on, it was a convincing smear campaign that even you believed at first.

 But as you got to know kit as a person, as you got to know his heart, you realized he could never be capable of inflicting so much pain, especially on a woman. His character proved his innocence.

A friendship blossomed quickly between the two of you, and a delicate love that remained unspoken. It communicated itself through stolen glances and kind words

It was something just for you two to understand.

Kit was always a gentle and kind man. He always stood up for what he believed was right which is what often got him in trouble, he was too headstrong.

It had been three days since the last time you saw him, he had been dragged away by the guards for “inciting a fight” after some pervert had tried to grope one of the newer patients without her consent, you were hoping that he had just been bent over sister Jude’s knee and caned a few times, although she was harsh she sometimes had an understanding side to her

but alas, Kit hadn't returned.

That was until today, when kit was dropped off in the community room completely unraveled from his usual charming self. His eyes were glassy and seemed to stare into a void, and his body was scuffed, scraped, and bruised all over.

“Maybe that fried some sense into you walker” The guard chuckled as he dropped kit’s limp body onto the floor right in front of the couch where you sat.

You felt your throat tighten as the tears welled up in your eyes. You kneeled down to comfort him.

Immediately you pushed his hair back, your hands gentle and forgiving against his damaged skin, you could see where the metal from the shock therapy had burned him, he must've been under it for a while. His cheeks were flushed and feverish, his breaths shallow, you could tell it was hard for him to breathe from the way he winced as his chest rose and fell, the bruises on his back made you wince, the purple wounds spread across the sides like an angel that had its wings clipped.

He leaned into your touch, scanning your face like he was trying to remember who you were, if you were kind or if you would also cause him pain. His eyes were empty and lacked their usual warmth he tried to speak to you, his attempted words becoming sobs when he noticed how you were looking at him. How you pitied him.

"y/n-" he started, his voice hoarse.

“You’re gonna be okay kit, you gotta be okay. Can you walk? I can help you, but I need to get you out of here," You shushed him

He nodded, holding onto your shoulders.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling a wet spot as you pressed your abdomens together.

You looked down...Kit was bleeding, a lot.

",we're going to our special place, okay? I stored some of my things in there"

There was a small storage closet hidden away in the corner that was accessible just down the hall, it was empty except for a couple of desks and chairs from when Briarcliff used to be a school. You and Kit would usually sneak off to smoke together and talk about what you would do when you finally got out of this hellhole.

Since you were technically a non-violent case you weren't searched as thoroughly when you arrived, In school you had received a bit of nursing training, you knew Briarcliff could be rough, you heard the stories and rumours, so you brought a first aid kit in your bags and stored it away the first day you were allowed in the common room.

You two took small unsuspecting steps towards the room making sure that the guards were not looking, as you slipped into the closet, closing the door behind you. 

“Kitson, I'm going to put you down OK?” you warned him

He nodded as you gently lowered him onto the cold ground. He winced feeling the pressure against his bruised back. 

You pulled the first aid kit from its hiding place in one of the desks. It was complete with some gauze pads, rubbing alcohol, a spray disinfectant, rags, medical grade needle and thread, and and a roll of bandages.

 You rolled up his shirt to examine the site of the bleeding, he had been practically cut in half and badly stitched up. The wound was jagged and puffy, it was definitely infected or on its way to being.

"It was Arden," Kit managed to speak up, tears falling from his eyes as he tried to catch his breath "If this takes me, you gotta tell 'em it was Arden." He cried out

"I won't let you die Kit, i'm going to save you," you tried to sound confident, for both of your sakes. You pulled one of the rags out and folded it into a thick square, placing it in between his teeth "This is going to hurt angel, you're gonna want something to bite down on."

He obliged, fully trusting you and biting down.

"Just keep breathing, it'll be over before you know it."

He looked up at you wide eyed as you shook the can of wound wash.

"3....2...1" with that, you sprayed the wound down.

Kit struggled against it, immediately crying out, his face turning bright red as the stinging engulfed his body in what felt like the fires of hell, pure agony.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's to stop the infection. The hard part is over!" You graced him with a kiss to the forehead, as he sobbed.

You covered it in some gauze, applying slight pressure to soak up the fluids of the wound, before gently wrapping his abdomen in bandages to keep it safe from further harm.

"We'll have to change this out in a couple of days instead of everyday. We don't want to run out" you sighed, removing the rag from kit's teeth.

He was still in massive amounts of pain from all of his injuries, the road to recovery would be difficult.

After laying there for a couple of minutes, while you cupped his face, gently rubbing his tears away with your thumb and cooing to him, he spoke up.

"...Arden says I got two days to recover. Then he's gonna continue his research." He swallowed, his tears falling rapidly.

"That's not going to happen, my love," You pressed his hand to your lips ever so gently "save your strength, the rumours of a tunnel to the outside are true, and I know exactly how we can get through them."

Kit looked into your eyes, a glimmer of hope shining. He even managed a small smile.

"I believe in you doll, I always have. I always will."

[taintandviolent]

"Why are you doing this?" + "Please stop" with Kit Walker for the angsty...

tw: whump??? electroshock therapy, nun!reader. very short, very clunky. apologies. I wanted to get one out today!

You had developed a relationship with Kit Walker, the one they had accused of being a notorious, bloodthirsty serial killer. It went against everything you knew, everything you’d studied, and certainly, every rule you’d been instructed to follow at Briarcliff. 

But at the end of the day, when walking with Kit in the hallways or playing chess with him in the main room, he was a soft, sweet man with a good heart. He’d captured yours. You believed that God brought people together for a reason, and though you had yet to find out what yours was, you were trying desperately to show Kit a brighter, happier, and safer path. 

That was until Sister Jude had found out about your little friendship, until she’d sworn that she’d cane him until he was bloody unless you told her what he’d told you. 

Two days later, Kit was strapped to a bed, the electroshock therapy machine at his side.

“And Sister Y/N, what was it that Mr. Walker said to you?” 

“He told me that the…” 

“Speak up, Sister Y/N!” 

“The aliens took his wife, Sister Jude! They took her and he saw them take her, he heard her screams.” 

Fighting against the restraints, Kit thrashed on the bed, holding your gaze with nothing but hurt.  “Why are you doing this?” 

You shook your head softly, mouth agape in terror. You’d thought you were saving him from a caning, but the alternative was apparently much worse. She hadn’t told you – she hadn’t even alluded to the fact that he was about to be fried. 

Dr. Arden turned on the machine, cranking it. Kit’s toned body violently convulsed, electricity coursing through every muscle. After a few seconds, Dr. Arden reduced the voltage to zero, waiting on bated breath to see the patient’s reaction. 

Kit’s chest rose and fell unevenly. Ragged, shallow breaths. You clutched your hands to your breasts, wringing them. You felt horrible celebrating his breaths, but at the very least, he was still alive, and coherent enough to still fight against the restraints.

It took him a few tries, but he finally found your gaze and stared up at you with heavy lidded eyes. “Please… stop.” He begged, slurring his words behind the mouth guard. 

But you, you who had sentenced him to this horrible punishment, could do nothing. Nothing but stare on, watching him as he suffered.

“Again,” Sister Jude ordered, and Kit’s eyes squeezed shut, a single tear falling onto the pillow.

[fear-is-truth]

to the anon who requested for kai /sickfic /fluff:

thank you for requesting this i would like to kiss your forehead cuz HELL YEAH you bet i’m gonna write it.

as soon as i sort out my current wip + schoolwork. promise!

[feefymo]

Hiii! Glad to see you're back!

For the fic game: Kit Walker // whump // caning

Please and thank you 🤍

Hello-hello-helloooo! ♥ Anon, please: forgive my delay - it's a wearing period. BUT! Another naughty anon sent me a very similar request so you can find the fic here: https://www.tumblr.com/feefymo/753579366688178176/omg-loved-this-fic-game-d-lets-go-kit-walker Thank you, sweetie!

[marchsfreakshow]

Duckies Rules

My main rules for fic writing/requests;

1) I WILL NOT WRITE; Incest, illegal age gaps, bodily fluids other than blood and come, Pregnancy, other illegal things.

2) I will write; bdsm smut, regular smut, fluff, really fluff fluff, angst, maybe a bit of whump, hurt/comfort.

3) characters I will not write for just yet; (Evan Peters) Warren Lipka, Stan Bowes, Max Cooperman. (GTA V) literally any of the other characters in GTA V. (Outer Banks) Rafe Cameron, Pope Heyward, Kiara, Sarah, Topper.

4) Request info; tell me who, what type of fic, (smut, fluff anything else) details of plot.

Fandoms/characters I currently write for:

American Horror Story/Evan Peters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer (including Frankenkyle), Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Dandy Mott, Kai Anderson, Colin Zabel, Peter Maximoff.

GTA V: Michael De Santa, Trevor Phillips, Franklin Clinton.

Outer Banks: John B, JJ Maybank.

Thank you for reading this small list of rules I have. This will probably be updated as I go along. 💜

[hurtandcomfortzone]

[whumptasticwednesday]

Lost in the past (Kit Walker -American Horror Story Asylum)

Alright so if you don't recall Kit remarried a girl named Allison after ax-murdering Grace and Alma lmao. So because I don't want to use y/n, I'm just going to use Allison considering that is the name of his Wife. Alright, that's all I wanted to say. Enjoy.

-Jimmy

Word Count- 1,795

________________________________________________________________

The night started as usual. Timmy and Emily were stationed on the living room rug playing with toys and such. Kit was in the kitchen, cutting lettuce and dicing tomatoes for dinner. Sunlight flooded in from the bay windows, and the euphoric sound of the record player in the dining room filled the space with a warm tone. Kit's mind was at peace, which is not something he can typically admit.

Since Briarcliff Kit's life has been a whirlwind of sleepless nights and flashbacks. Nothing is simple anymore. He can't spend the day out with his family without the perpetual fear of something triggering a flashback. The worst part is not knowing, having no idea what might send his brain into a paralyzing adrenalin rush. It's a terrifying reality. If he ever did anything that put his Wife or, god forbid his kids in danger, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. He would very well rather shove a bread knife through his throat than have to live with the immeasurable guilt of knowing he put his family in jeopardy.

In the garden, Allison took a deep breath, letting the sweet, warm air of spring calm her busy mind. She took a moment to appreciate the relaxing ambiance of the great outdoors as she headed back inside after picking some vegetables for dinner. A smile tugged on her lips as she admired the delicate pastel flowers she and the kids planted, just beginning to bloom. She took the time to enjoy the little things in life when she could. It helped her in dealing with the trauma Kit suffered and continued to suffer with. It can be a lot sometimes. But she knows that she has to stay strong for him. She closed her eye's for a moment, letting the air finally escape her lungs as she headed back inside to help Kit.

The front door creaked as Allison pushed it open, sliding off her shoes as she walked inside. She set the basket of vegetables down on the counter. Walking up to Kit, she wrapped her hands around his waist, trailing kisses down his neck.

"How was work?" She asked, giving him one last kiss before turning her attention back to the basket of vegetables.

"Slow," Kit responded, adding some uncooked spaghetti noodles into a pot of already boiling water. "But that's not a surprise. We're always slow."

"Mommy! When will dinner be ready?" Timmy asked, peeking his head over the counter. "I'm hungry!"

"Be patient, go back into the living room and play with your sister." Kit intervened, running his fingers through Timmy's shaggy hair.

"Daddy!" Timmy giggled. Emily came running over, pulling on Timmy's sleeve. "I bet I can jump higher than you," Emily teased.

"No you can't, I'm the best jumper in the whole world!" Timmy yelled as they ran out the sliding glass door and into the back yard.

"Don't go too far; dinner will be ready in 10 minutes!" Allison yelled after them. "It's like they never run out of energy."

"Reminds me of when I was their age." Kit said, staring out the kitchen window at his kids playing in the yard. A smile spread across his face. Those kids meant everything to him.

"Whatcha' thinking about?" Allison asked, resting her head on his shoulder as she looked out the window with him.

"Nothing." He took a deep breath, "The spaghetti looks about done, want to get the bowls ready?" She nodded, kissing him on the cheek.

"Here let me do that." Kit insisted, taking a stack of dirty plates out of Allison's hands. "You just relax."

"Alright, if you say so. But I wasn't the one at work all day." Allison said, sitting down on the couch next to Emily and running her fingers through her curly black hair. "You should be the one relaxing" Allison reached to the end table and picked up her copy of Little Women. The spine cracked as she opened it to where she had left off, as Kit began washing the dishes.

"Oh my goodness!" Allison exclaimed after a long moment of silence, catching Kit very off guard. Distracted, Allison didn't pay attention to the sound of colliding dishes and Kit’s disgruntled grunts. "I can not believe that Amy would turn down Fred's wedding proposal! They were meant to be together. Now, who is she go-"

"A-Allis-s-s-on, I-I think I h-hurt my sel-lf." Kit interrupted, Allison's eye's went wide as she realized what just happened. She quickly jumped off the couch as she saw his shoulders begin to quiver.

"Okay, Okay, calm down. it's alright." She started, running to his aid. He stood, frozen, in front of the sink. Wide-eyed staring down at a jagged cut across his palm, his blood ran in thick crimson rivers into the sink where the steak knife laid. She looked up at his expressionless face, his mouth was slightly parted, and his eyes seemed unable to look away from the seemingly neverending cascade of blood draining from his cut. His eyes suddenly shifted. Allison thought for a second that maybe it was going to be okay. That she would bandage him up and they would go to bed happy and peaceful. That he would be able to rationalize the severity of the situation and realize that he's okay, but it's never that easy. Not for him. Not for someone with a mind as damaged as Kit’s. In his mind, any unplanned event could cause a lifetime of traumas to flash before his eyes. She can see the panic begin to set in. It starts in his face, he grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. Everything moved in slow motion as Kit fell to his knees, his hands pressed to the ground, blood splattered the peeling linoleum floor. His breathing accelerated, and his heart began to pound against his ribs like an animal trapped in a cage. "Kit, baby, I need you to breathe," Allison begged placing a hand on his shoulder. Kit's body jerked away as he backed up, his back slamming against the old kitchen cabinets. His chest heaved as his blood slick hands grabbed fistfuls of his dark brown hair. Blood slowly dripped down his face, staining his pallid skin. He looked up at her with his manic eyes, his breathing now distorting into a labored wheeze.

"P-p-please, don-nt" He started, his vision disfiguring as if he was looking through a fish-eye lens. "Plea-ase d-d-don't try t-to he-elp. I don-t-t wan-t-t to hurt y-you." Tears began to drip down his face; hiccups racked his body as he placed his hands over his eyes — blood smearing across his face.

"I'm not afraid of you Kit. But you need to calm down," Alison said inching closer to him.

"No! No, d-d-don't touch me" Kit screamed trying to back away further, but instead, slammed himself into the kitchen cabinet again.

"Mommy?" Emily whispered, sticking her head out from over the counter. "What's going on?"

"Emily, I need you to listen to me. Go get Timmy and go play in your bedroom," Allison said. Emily nodded as she wiped stray tears from her cheeks.

"Oh god, oh god w-what d-d-id I do." Kit exclaimed, pulling his knees to his chest and squeezing his hands into tight fists. His nail beds began to turn purple as his breathing became even more erratic. He squeezed his eye's shut and his face twisted into a distorted grimace as the flashbacks started. All of the torture he endured being replayed over and over again. He cried as if his brain was being shredded from the inside. From his mouth came raw gut-wrenching cries. Allison stifled a cry of her own. There was nothing she could do except watch. Watch as her husband sat on the kitchen floor, covered in blood, shaking so violently she thought he might single-handedly cause an earthquake. He felt like he was losing his mind; he was unraveling like a spool of loose thread. The whole world felt like a blur.

"You need to slow down your breathing. Take some deep breaths" Kit could tell Allison was talking to him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not understand what she was saying. "You're not at Briarcliff anymore" He could feel himself screaming, saliva dripping down his chin. But he is trapped in what feels like an eternal silence. The only sound he can hear is Dominique playing over and over in his head. It's engraved it's self into his brain like the grooves of the record. "You're at home, with your family" He could feel his face becoming hot as pins and needles crept up his arms starting in his fingertips. Kit felt like he was gasping for breath, his esophagus spasming, sending him into a seemingly unending coughing fit. His cheeks began to feel cold, and his hands clammy, he couldn't even tell if he was crying anymore. His body was starting to go numb. He peeled his eyes open, but thick salty tears blurred his vision. He wiped the spit from his mouth, smearing blood across his lips. His whole body felt numb, and his head felt like a weight upon his shoulders. He didn't even notice Allison's arms wrapped around him, her hands rubbing soothing circles on his back. His body couldn't take much more of this. His vision began to lag. Next thing he knew, he had been completely engulfed in darkness. No more crying. No more screaming.  The only thing he could feel now was his heart, beating as if he had just run a marathon.

Allison looked down at the boy lying in her arms. Silent tears crept down her face as she held him. Drying blood matted his hair to his forehead, and stray tears leaked from his closed eyes. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths. The kitchen was scattered with bloody handprints that she hoped would wash off. But that was the least of her concerns right now. She wasn't sure what to do next. After a long moment of silence, Allison felt a small hand tap her on the shoulder. She wiped her eyes before turning her head around to see Emily and Timmy. They gave her a small smile and sat down next to her; she pulled them in closer. A sob she didn't even know she was holding back erupted from her chest.

"Is daddy going to be okay?"

“I hope so”

________________________________________________________________

Alrighty, that was... an experience. I don’t know how to feel about this but enjoy! 

[cinnamonrollwhump]

American Horror Story: Asylum (s02e01)

[whumplists]

American Horror Story Whump

*I’ll be updating this to add all of the seasons*

Tate Langdon

1x1- self harm scars shown on arm

1x6- shot to death in a flashback, emotional whump/crying when Violet tries to kill herself

1x9- repeatedly hit by his mother

1x12- emotional whump with violet

Kit Walker

2x1- knocked out by aliens (it’s AHS just go with it), sent to an asylum, punched in the face multiple times, knocked out and brought to solitary confinement, lots of emotional whump, strapped down by demented nazi doctor, neck cut

2x2- lashed with a cane forty times

2x7- attacked by a monster, bullet shot at him, emotional whump with Grace

2x9- injected in the heart with potassium chloride, heart stops

2x10- revived

2x12- emotional whump at Grace’s death

2x13- not really whump but stated that he contracted pancreatic cancer at 40

[alidravana]

Fandom: Call of Duty: Ghosts

Characters: Logan & Hesh Walker

Length/Rating: ~1.2K, Teen

Tags: Flashbacks, Blood and Injury, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Emotional Whump

Summary:

Reeling from the reveal of his father as lead Ghost and exhausted from the attack on Santa Monica, Logan’s injuries finally catch up to him.

My entry for Day 2 of @agonyapril2022: Shaking.  This is set during the Homecoming mission in Call of Duty: Ghosts.  Thanks to the wonderful @sugaredmayhem for editing!

Check it out here on A03 or continue reading below!

*****

As Hesh and Elias took a few steps towards the cockpit, Elias explaining Rorke’s past as a Ghost while Hesh continued to ask more and more questions, Logan couldn’t help but stumble as the blood loss began to catch up to him. He threw out his arm behind him, trying to find something to lean on, not wanting to collapse to the floor in front of his fellow soldiers. Fumbling blindly along the edge of the helicopter, he gripped tightly onto one of the side straps, as he let himself fall back onto one of the seats.

No one seemed to notice his collapse, and at this point, he was uncertain if that was a good thing. Taking a deep breath, Logan clenched his teeth as he reached across his body to start removing his body armor. Even though he wasn’t pressing hard against his chest, the simple contact across his body only increased his pain, the burning that was once centered at the point of injury rippled across his whole frame. Logan couldn’t help the large gasp that he let out at the feeling of relief, the release of all that pressure when he unclipped the last buckle and the chest piece fell to his side.

Whether it was the gasp, the clatter as his body armor fell to the ground, or perhaps the large blood stain that was spreading across his uniform, it got the attention of one of their rescuers. Keegan, or at least that’s what he thought the man’s name was, was now staring at him. Logan tilted his head down, a light blush coming to his cheeks. He didn’t want Keegan’s attention, or anyone’s for that matter, but it was too late.

Logan flinched at the touch on his shoulder, even though it was incredibly gentle, pulling away from whoever had made contact.

“Logan,” the voice said, sounding both concerned and angry at the same time. “Are you injured?” Logan looked up to see who had spoken. Keegan had managed to find a large first aid kit that was now sitting next to him, ready to be used, and Logan was slightly thrown to not have noticed the procurement of the first aid kit, let alone the movement of the larger man from the cockpit to being directly in front of him.

Logan wasn’t sure if it was the tone of the voice or the proximity of the larger man who was still a stranger to him (rescuer or not), but he suddenly found himself flashing back to that last encounter. He could feel the Federation soldier on top of him, his knees pinning Logan to the hot, burning floor as his attacker thrusted a jagged knife downwards towards his heart. His breath caught, his lungs unable to fill with air as his body went taunt with the effort to keep the knife from entering his chest.

Logan jerked again at the contact against his chest, but when he reached out, he was surprised to encounter Keegan’s hands carefully placing a pressure bandage across his injury, and not the sharp blade of a knife cutting through his skin. His hands trembled as he held onto Keegan’s, but the contact reminded him that Elias and Keegan had saved them, that he was no longer in the burning building with a man trying to kill him, but surrounded by the team of Ghosts.

Unfortunately, while he was no longer stuck in his memories, he still couldn’t take a deep breath. He tried again, but it was unsuccessful, along with the next attempt. As he continued to spiral into an anxiety attack, Logan was only able to take short, rapid breaths, which caused his panic to increase further.

Knowing that he had to do something before he lost consciousness, Logan placed the older man’s hand on his wrist, hoping that he would be able to pick up on his increased heart rate. Gesturing for Keegan to pull down his mask, he waited until he saw the blue eyes look directly into his own, and mouthed ‘can’t breathe’, in addition to holding his other hand on his chest. His hand shook in Keegan’s grip, but he forced himself to overcome his unease with the contact as he waited to see if Keegan could understand what was going on.

Seeing a spark of recognition in Keegan’s eyes, Logan could feel his body relax minutely. His hand was no longer trembling like a leaf, but he still wasn’t able to breathe properly, instead he continued to wheeze and gasp. He started to slump down into the seat as the lack of oxygen started to catch up to him, black spots starting to fill up his line of vision. He was startled when he felt Keegan shift his grip on his wrist, bringing Logan’s hand up to his own chest.

“Feel my heartbeat Logan? Slow and steady. And that’s what we are going to do right now, we are going to breathe, together, slow and steady.”

Logan wasn’t sure how many times Keegan repeated the mantra, but the thrumming beat that he felt under his hand was a calming pattern. Aided by Keegan’s voice repeating ‘slow and steady’, Logan was finally able to catch his breath, the encroaching darkness now receding. Logan took another couple large breaths in and out, continuing to follow Keegan’s counts.

“I’m going to ask again, Logan, are you injured?”

Logan nodded, still unable to form actual words, especially now that the other occupants of the helicopter were staring at the two of them. It looked like his dad was actually holding Hesh back from coming over to him, and he frowned, not sure why he wasn’t letting his brother help. Looking back at Keegan, he tried to mimic the action of a knife, and then indicated the area of his injury. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks as Keegan rapidly unbuttoned his shirt, his fingers gently feeling along the point of impact.

“Logan, you need to tell us when you’re injured, okay? God, we’re lucky nothing was left in the wound…but I’m going to need to suture this, it’s fairly deep. Merrick, grab the good stuff under the chair there,” Keegan pointed as he started to pull out a needle and thread. Merrick responded much quicker than Logan thought he would to Keegan’s demands; a small vial of medicine and a needle quickly appeared in Keegan’s hand.

Keegan cleaned the wound, causing Logan to let out a loud whimper. Elias wasn’t able to stop Hesh from coming over after that agonizing sound, his older brother ducking under his father’s arm and beelining over to Logan, offering out a hand to squeeze onto.

Logan bit his lip as the needle first broke the skin, but between Keegan’s administration of the good meds and Hesh’s tight grip, he was able to ride out the rest of the stitches without making another sound. He found himself starting to tip over, Keegan and his brother both helping him lay down as the drugs started to take full effect.

But the thought of the older man being angry with him when he woke up again made his chest ache even more and so before he let his body succumb to the darkness, Logan managed to form his hand into a fist and rubbed it clockwise over his chest, hoping that Keegan might recognize the universal sign for sorry.

[divineruler]

heyy would it be okay if I requested a whump abt kit walker getting caning pls, i mean if you do take requests at all? thank you

Of course!! I’ve honestly been meaning to write about that exact topic for a very long time now. I’ve just really really been struggling with motivation. But I’m about to go on holiday break so I won’t have college work weighing me down. I really hope I’ll be back to writing soon.

Thank you for reaching out! You can always send me requests. It might just take a little time for me to get to them.

[hatelangdon]

Hi!

I found your last fic for Kit Walker and discovered your blog, and I gotta say I just love it!

I see you're taking requests, so I was wondering if I could request a whump oneshot for Kit Walker as well pls, but one about him receiving like a major caning punishment in the asylum (I'm so into the corporal and beating kinda whump trope oops). I was even thinking something like the caretaker aka reader patient being also present and having to watch or something, idk... Just don't make him die, please! Make it the worst beating he's ever got in his life, make him go senseless, faint, stay between life and death, be rushed to medical care, you name it... but please don't kill him, my heart can't take a death trope... specially with this angel babe named kit walker :'(

Anyway, I would be so flattered if you could do this! Thank you <3

Ask and you shall receive! This is my 3rd priority on my WIP list and I'm excited to write it <3

[taintandviolent]

Any plans or ideas to write a Kit fic?

not currently, no! honestly, if someone has an idea, i'm down for requests!! I just don't take pregnancy kink requests, and I'm really iffy on breeding kinks because of the inevitable lingo that's needed for breeding kinks...... which inevitably makes it hard to write Kit fics.

BUT. I'M DOWN FOR REQUESTS THAT DON'T INVOLVE THAT. lol.

[whumpapedia]

Hello, I noticed that there were quite a few good Evan Peters whump moments (from American Horror Story) missing from the Whumpapedia so figured that I’d send them in :-)

Season 1 (as Tate Langdon):

1x6 (Piggy Piggy): shot & killed by SWAT team, heavy crying when Violet attempts suicide

1x9 (Spooky Little Girl): hit repeatedly by mother ft. crying

1x12 (Afterbirth): crying after saying goodbye to Violet

Season 2 (as Kit Walker):

2x3 (Nor’easter): strapped down, neck wound reopened, chased by creature

2x7 (Dark Cousin): attacked, held at gunpoint/shot at, emotional whump/grief

2x8 (Unholy Night): drugged, weak, tears when finds out about his innocence in murders

2x11 (Spilt Milk): straitjacket, concern for baby son, tears, distress when baby taken away from him and Grace

2x12 (Continuum): grief/sobbing when Grace is killed, shock

Season 3 (as Kyle Spencer):

3x2 (Boy Parts): resurrected, scared/confused, trembling, scars treated with mud

3x3 (The Replacements): trouble walking, sexually abused by mother, lashes out in fear/rage

3x4 (The Axeman Cometh): flinches when bathed (triggers flashbacks of sexual abuse), emotional rage, sobbing

3x7 (The Dead): chained up, intense sobbing, attempts to shoot himself but misses, comforted

3x13(The Seven Wonders): grief/emotional whump at Zoe’s death, sobbing

Season 4 (as Jimmy Darling):

4x4 (Edward Mordrake (Part 2)): attacked from behind, knocked out, hands tied (escapes)

4x5 (Pink Cupcakes): sobs out of guilt and gets comforted

4x7 (Test of Strength): throws up, emotional whump, helped walking during drunken state

4x8 (Blood Bath): grief + numerous moments of emotional whump throughout (including comfort)

4x12 (Show Stoppers): bedridden, bandages changed/wounds cleaned causing extreme pain, emotional whump

4x13 (Curtain Call): discovers all friends slaughtered, collapses to knees in grief, sobs

Hotel (as James Patrick March):

5x2 (Chutes and Ladders): commits suicide by slitting his throat ft. tonnes of blood

Season 6 (as Rory Monahan):

6x6 (Chapter 6): murdered/stabbed to death by 2 nurses (pretty much instant death :/ but thought I’d include it anyway) feel free to leave this one out

Season 7 (as Kai Anderson):

7x1 (Election Night): badly beaten after harassing group of men

7x2 (Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark): shown taken by ambulance bloody & unconscious on news report, facial bruising & wearing a sling

7x5 (Holes): sobbing after opening up about his dead parents

7x7 (Valerie Solanas Died for Your Sins: Scumbag): shot in the stomach (Evan portraying Andy Warhol)

7x8 (Winter of Our Discontent): punched in face, knocked to the ground and forced against wall, brief tears/crying scene

7x10 (Charles (Manson) in Charge): sprayed in the face with mace, face nicked by razor, strangles sister to death ft. heavy sobbing

7x11 (Great Again): beaten up in prison, guilt/sobbing over sister’s death, shot in the head (instant death)

~~~~~

Added, thank you!

[taintandviolent]

Knead ; Kit Walker x reader

summary: Kit hasn’t been coping well with Briarcliff life, and developed an unhealthy solution to the numbness he feels on a daily basis. You’re a perfect, beautiful part of his plan.

word count: 1.7K

w a r n i n g s: hurt, angst, depression, kind of whump, brief mentions of smut, female receiving, violence, fist fights and brief mention of injuries.

a/n: my first official Kit Walker fic!! requested by an anonymous!! anon; hope this is what you had in mind and I delivered!! I tried to focus more on Kit’s motivations and issues than the smut, so that’s why it’s a little lighter on the fucking this go round! I dunno why I struggle writing for Kit so much, aaaaah! also written at work, so usual apologies for any disjointed or clunky writing!!!

full fic under the cut! / ao3 link here! / I don't have a taglist, but please turn on post notifications if you want to be notified of future fics!

The storm raged on outside, a horrible deluge that had lasted days. Kit's dark eyes flitted to the clock on the wall. The hands ticked by but time never seemed to change. Not here. He needed to feel something. Anything. The days turned into weeks, weeks into months and nothing ever changed. He was an accused man, previously compos mentis, but with his surroundings, that title deteriorated gradually.

Kit Walker was losing it. Slowly, but surely. The cold, grey tone of Briarcliff was swallowing him whole, like a starved, but fading beast. Days were the worst - at least come evening, he could sleep. With sleep, came dreams. Dreams of somewhere else, dreams of you. Days were long and dreary, and Kit soon realized that the only thing that mattered were physical feelings. His mind wasn't a safe place to be. The truth of it was, Kit felt his fire burning out, and started acting out.

First, it was intentionally burning the biscuits. He was reprimanded and sentenced to biscuit duty for the next two weeks. Then it was sneaking out from the common room on repeated occasions, sulking along the hallways as though he wanted to get caught. Deep down, he did. Reprimanded again, and confined to solitary as punishment. But that afternoon, he craved something deeper. He needed something that would last, and Sister Jude had an unusual streak of mercy lately. It had to be good.

"Hey, sugah’."

Your tired hands stopped their kneading. You looked up, wide-eyed, with a smear of flour across your cheek. He didn't know it, but you'd had a thing - a silly little crush - on Kit Walker since you saw him in the common room during your first week. You'd heard the rumours, but every time you exchanged words, he was the nicest guy you'd ever met. Seemed like he had good, strong family values and manners -- which was more than you could say for most of the men you'd met.

Kit spotted the dash of white and reached out, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb. You really were one of the cutest girls he'd seen since Alma. It wouldn't be hard to do what he wanted... what he needed to do to feel again.

"Hi, Kit." You murmured, frustrated before returning to the pile of off-white dough. The last thing you needed was a distraction; the biscuits were already hard enough to get right, and Sister Jude was a stickler for them being made correctly.

"Whatsa' mattah'?" He could sense your irritation, and furrowed his brows. Maybe his plan wasn't going to work after all.

"I can't... get these darn biscuits right! Every time I try, they come out too hard and I'm just..." You grit your teeth and shoved the mound of dough away from your hands. "I'm so frustrated!"

"Dough duty, huh?"

You nodded, and pushed a strand of hair out of your eyes with your wrist.

"Here, sweethaht', lemme' show you. I've done enough of 'em to know how to do it right."

He was suddenly behind you, his arms stretching out to the table in front of you. He rested his hands atop of yours, and slowly began moving them, kneading them slowly. Much slower and softer than you had been.

"Just like that," he murmured, his lips close to your ear. "You gotta' be gentle with 'em... firm, but not too much... or they'll seize up on ya', makes 'em tough." His words were low and sweet, and you didn't have to try very hard to find another meaning to them. They evoked a deep, body-rocking shiver from your core. It travelled up your spine and made your teeth chatter. Kit laughed breathily behind you.

"Am I doing it right?" You whispered, your voice sweet and demure, laced with intention. "I have a tendency to wanna'... go fast."

"Slooow, sugah', nice n' slow. Othawise..." His teeth grazed your ear. "The dough won't rise."

Without warning, you rutted your ass against his groin, moaning aloud. You ground your ass against him slowly, just like he told you to. Kit made a fist in the dough over yours, forcing your hands deep into the flour. This was progressing faster than he expected. He hadn't known you'd be so willing to his advances. His cock twitched to life, tightening the front of his pants.

"You want it bad, sugah'?"

"I want it bad," you echoed. Suddenly, all worries of getting caught went out the window, you were no longer concerned about which Sister would find you - you just wanted him.

It had been weeks since either of you felt intimacy, felt that clawing hunger as it boiled in your core. You whimpered and dropped your head to his shoulder.

"Let me feel you, Kit... please..."

Kit ripped his flour-covered fingers from the dough, and reached back to his crotch, pulling his throbbing cock from his pants. He flipped the edge of your uniform up, and pressed his heavy cock against the curve of your ass. The sensation was indescribable, and he let out a throaty groan.

The hunger had him. The hunger, and the promise of punishment. Your body was soft and sweet like the dough in front of you two and had him going, that was undeniable, but the threat was what was really driving him forward. He needed to feel everything he could. He took hold of his cock, stroking it slowly against your ass cheeks, feeling the precum as it leaked into his hands.

Kit's free hand wrapped around your hips again, urging them backwards into his own. You whimpered, letting him take full control. Your fingers were still embedded in the dough, squeezing through the spaces between your digits.

With a deep sound, Kit slipped himself inside you. Your walls squeezed around him as he plunged himself as deep as he could, humping you hard. His thrusts were determined, but steady and slow. Just like he'd said...

You reached around to take hold of his soft brown hair, making a fist in the locks. He didn't care that your fingers were covered in flour, and it was falling into the collar of his shirt. He didn't care about anything except what he was feeling.

Touch-starved, it didn't take him long to climax. Kit emptied his load inside you, pumping it deep. You whimpered, rolling your lips inward to soften the moans. You were close behind him, and when he whispered in your ear, begging you to do it, you did.

Kit heard the heavy bootsteps before you did. But he didn't move. He was ready.

"Hey! What in the hell do you think you're doin'!?" The orderly bellowed, and Kit yanked his softening cock from you. Your legs twitched together as it left you, the slippery feeling sending another wave of pleasure through you.

Phase two of his plan was in action. Kit stepped in front of you, fists raised in front of his face. He pumped, and threw the first punch, making contact with the guy's cheekbone. He reeled back, touching his skin to see if he'd broken skin -- he hadn't. But he was going to pay for that.

Fortunately for Kit and his now-sick need, he hit him back, harder, splitting his lip immediately. You spun around, pressing your back against the table, covering your mouth in horror as the two men fought.

The man threw a hard left hook and Kit went down, falling to the cold cement floor with a thud. You could do nothing but scream, begging for him to stop. Through winces, Kit looked up at you and shook his head. To you, he was being noble. To him, he was revelling in the pain he was feeling and wanted nothing to interrupt it.

~

"Assaulting an orderly, Mr. Walker?"

"Yes, Sistah'. He looked at me sideways."

"He interrupted your fornication, is what he did." She sternly remarked. Kit swallowed, looking down at his feet. The punishment was coming - he wouldn't have been called into her office otherwise.

"Seems like he got the better of you." She gestured to him pointedly. He had, that was true. Kit had gotten a few good punches in, but the orderly was bigger and brawnier, and had walloped him as soon as he'd gotten the chance. The cut on his lip stung every time he spoke, and his ribs were definitely bruised from the steel-toed berrage that he'd endured earlier.

"Over my desk," she rasped. Kit was almost excited -- a disgusting, disappointing feeling that he knew, deep down, he shouldn't be feeling. But a feeling was a feeling and he had to ride it out, in whatever way he could.

"Sistah' Jude," he interjected, as he bent over the modest wooden desk. "I'm sahrry' for what I did but don't punish her. She didn't do anything. It was all me."

"Mr. Walker," she replied. "I'll do exactly as I see fit."

The first hit stung. She was using the wooden switch, and it sliced through the air with an audible thwip. It burned against his skin, sweltering hot heat coursing over his cheeks and the back of his thighs. Tears bit at the corner of his eyes, it felt so terrible. That was just it -- it felt so terrible. He hadn't felt this much in weeks.

She hit him again, just above the spot where she'd previously hit. Kit winced again, clenching his fists hard atop her desk. Another one, and the tears streamed down his cheeks. He inhaled through clenched teeth and exhaled hard through his nose with each hit. Sister Jude's kind streak had ended, and she was unrelenting.

Twelve hits later, she finally stopped. Kit was sent back to his room, welted and bruised all over, but hell... at least he felt something.