THIS BLOG IS 18+!!! NSFW will go in DMs and a warning will be made on any new thread made for sensitive topics. I highly doubt there will be very many but just in case. Iâll do my best to warn you if thatâs not your jam!
â ď¸Â PLEASE READ: Please keep in mind that Kit is a creepy character; he WILL flirt with your muse, he will be creepy, but nothing NSFW will happen without your express permission in DMs / tags. I will do my best to warn about anything. This character is not for everyone - he is off-putting, unhinged etc. Please keep his personality in mind. If you have any concerns, please read below for more information.â ď¸
He will: flirt, potentially kiss, touch (but not in a NSFW fashion), or otherwise corner your muse in an uncomfortable fashion. He will never do anything non-con other than kiss (and I will not do non-con things even if you ask. Please do not ask ;w;)
Full name is Dwight Kit Fairfield
Title is The Obsessed; his build works around the Obsession in a trial. If you aren't the obsession, you're his primary target.
Should the obsession die early or leave the trial somehow, he essentially throws in the towel in grief and frustration that he wasn't able to get his beloved. That being said, if you're the last one alive...well. He's going to make a move. He wants you all to himself. Should you reject him, you'll meet the same fate as your teammates. If you entertain his advances, well...I guess you'll just have to find out what happens, won't you?
His power builds the longer the Obsession stays alive in a trial. His terror radius invokes fear in a frenzy; you begin to panic just by being near him, frantic to escape, which makes his search for love nearly a paradox. His lust for blood increases with each death, meaning he becomes more powerful as well.
However, this means that seasoned survivors that figure out his motif will make it harder for him to get kills the more they encounter him - so the Entity has cut him some slack by giving him fresher survivors for his trials so he can still feed her adequately while feeding off of his despair in his endless search for love.
Between trials, any survivor he finds has the possibility of being his next love - and thus you'll have to deal with his loving stares and searches for affection, but you at least won't be under the influence of his terror radius, even in his domain.Â
For the most part, he finds other killers attractive as well. He's desperate for connection and romance. If they're within reason, he will try to court a fellow killer.Â
His outfit is always a white suit with black accents, even though it may change from time to time in exact style. He often carries a rose or wilted flowers and a black pocket knife.
His favorite survivor is Jake, hinting that he might have had a yearning for one when he was still a survivor. He will often be the most unhinged and desperate when around one. Jake will almost always be the obsession if he is present in a trial.
I am so sorry for the short notice but effective immediately this blog is on hiatus. I will return when I'm finished moving and my headspace is better. Thank you for understanding.
Kit could feel his beloved Kate tremble beneath his touch, and his heart thudded with delight in his chest; he knew that she, too, could feel their connection. They belonged together, he knew that well, and so did the Entity herself - that was why she had marked Kate so. There neednât be any reason why; Kate had been talking nonsense, asking such questions. Some things were just meant to be, right?
She gently pushed him back and he, love-stricken, gazed into her scared little eyes, curiosity flickering into them when he detected that growing terror. Why would she be afraid of true love? He parted his lips to speak, but it seemed that she had other plans - because in the mere few moments of silence they shared, she had decided to take action.
The pain wracked him in a sharp lightning bolt between the legs and he couldnât stop the yelp that left his lips, instantly dropping to his knees and bracing himself against the tree as she ran from him. Sheâd struck him so hard that he couldnât breathe for a moment, just struggling to endure the lingering pain, before it clicked in his brain that she was getting away.
Heâd been lied to, and she was escaping.
âKate!!â he barked out, stumbling his way to his feet again and rushing after her in a desperate attempt to stop her rush for the gates. She was far, far too ahead of him, though, and within a few moments of running, frustrated tears started to flood his vision, blurring the image of her back fading off into the distance. âCome back,â he cried, âplease!â This wasnât fucking fair! How dare she? How dare she!? Lied and tricked him, made him believe his desperate search was over, that heâd finally gotten what he needed - only for her to leave him in the dust like a fool.
Heâd get her. Heâd get her in his grasp again, and next time, she wouldnât be able to escape. He wouldnât let her whims fool him again. He was so frustrated he could hardly think, rushing around the tall walls of the realm toward the gate that started to creak its way open the closer he got. He knew he wasnât going to catch her - he knew that. He knew it was foolish to try. But his heart was twisting with grief, with anger, and if he couldnât catch her, heâd catch one of the other two bastards that had ruined his chances. If theyâd have just let the trial continue, then- then- surely he could have convinced her that he was all she needed. His mind was whirling with outrage, with despair, with loneliness, and he could barely do anything but sob and heave breaths into his lungs, looking utterly wild with desperation.Â
Fear always had people doing dumb things, making decisions that would be folly to those involved. In trials, it was detrimental to any survivor that caved in to that basic, primal reaction. Kate, thankfully, had only made a b-line to the exit gate, bare feet flying over the grass and dirt. Any rocks her feet met, she managed to block out the pain â she was usually barefoot by the end of a trial, so this was something she was used to.
In his haze of desperation, Kit saw an outline of someone running for the gate. No, no, no - not this time. He ran for the other person - a woman with short, black hair and a familiar, horrified expression as he caught up with her, tackled her to the ground, grinned in her face. Oh, this was all her fault - hers and the little motherfucker that had gotten away from him already.
âWhere is she!?â he spat in her face, grabbing her flailing arms and pinning them to the ground with fury as he gripped his knife tightly in his hands. âGoddamn it, tell me where she is!!â There was no more playfulness in his voice, no more patience, or warmth, or anything. To him, this little piece of scum was nothing more than prey, a canvas for him to paint on - the brush, his knife. The survivor beneath him writhed wildly in vain, screaming wordlessly, whether in frustration or fear he couldnât tell. Likely a combination of both, considering she had gotten so close to escaping.
This was getting him nowhere. Kate was still here - he could feel it. He could feel it in every throb of his heart, every creak of his bones, that she was still lurking about in the trial, still driving him insane with desire, still making him wish he could hold her in his arms. The clock was ticking down, and his desperation only grew. His patience wore out faster, however, and he leaned back, straddling the survivor beneath him and pinning her with his weight as he released her arms, poising the knife above her and taking his first vicious stab into her stomach. Watching her lurch with pain and clip out another scream was satisfying - it made him feel good, punishing her for her transgressions, and so he pulled the knife out with a rip, preparing to do it all over again. If he couldnât have Kate, heâd have another kill.
Kit could feel his blood pumping in his ears, his heart thumping in his chest, and for once, he found himself utterly speechless. There he was, staring hopefully at him - for once carrying no disdain, no disgust, no apprehension. JustâŚJake. Hopefully looking back at him with a twinkle in his eyes that heâd never thought heâd see again.
He was closing the distance before he realized it, throwing his arms around him, fingers digging into his back as he nuzzled into his neck, breathed in his scent, smelling so dizzyingly like his that he was utterly convinced, for a moment, that this could really be him, that his suffering had finally ended. That he could finally be reunited with the one person that had ever given him the time of day.
âI didnât think youâd ever come back,â he whispered, his voice wilting, shaking with relief. âI didnât- I thought I was alone again. I thought you left me. How-?â
He remembered seeing that dead, hopeless look in his belovedâs eyes before heâd finally vanished one day. He remembered the way heâd drained of will to live, had stopped running from the killers in trials, had just let them kill him every single time until there was nothing left of him to kill. He knew what happened to survivors that had lost their will to survive. But what made him come back?
Survivors never came back once they faded, he knew that. Something itched in the back of his mind, told him this was wrong, that this was a farce, but when he pulled back anyway, his amber eyes were still glowing with love, with that same unhinged delight he carried for every Jake he saw. But this timeâŚthis one had looked at him differently. Surely he wouldnât notice, too, that something was amiss. Surely he could just be his again.
Jake didnât hesitate to embrace him back with the same intensity, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Maybe heâd finally found him. Maybe Dwight was here all along, waiting for the two of them to reunite. It just seemed so possible, and it felt so much like him.
What a bittersweet lie that was. Kit had never forgotten the way his beloved Jake had been. The sharp tongue, always witty and crass with anyone but him - with Kit, it had always been tenderness, soft touches, sweet caressing that had always ended in them curled up in one anotherâs arms, swearing never to let go --Â
And then Jake had broken his promise.
It wasnât his fault. He knew that. No matter what heâd tried or done, nothing would have ever prevented the life from leaving Jakeâs eyes the longer they endured being in the Fog. Theyâd been there so long that Kit had lost count - heâd forgotten what year it had even been when heâd been taken, and Jake had been there even longer than he when heâd arrived. It had only been a matter of time before Jake had lost all hope and vanished into the void, and Kitâs only wish was that heâd gone, too. Then he wouldnât have had to suffer alone, then turned into a helpless little creature, and then -- this. This state that he was only conscious of when he was alone in his realm, stalking through a rose garden so lovely that it made him sick. Full of the smell of roses, not pine, not earth, not the smells of Jake that had made his stomach twist with delight and his senses sing with warmth, with remembrance.
But here it was, making tears flood his eyes and tumble down his face in a far from elegant flow, drawing a broken sob from his lips as he buried his face in a shoulder so familiar and yet not quite, making him feel all the more alone despite being in the arms of the one heâd wanted more than anything else in the Fog. In the world. In the universe.
He was pulled back again, and he stared hopefully into the eyes of Jake - and was so lost in the moment that heâd forgotten he was supposed to be playing along. Jakeâs brow furrowed, and then he asked a question - one that made utterly no sense to him. âGlyphs?â he echoed, unable to disguise the confusion in his voice, and his heart lurched. What are you doing!? he hissed to himself, anxiety swirling in his gut as he gripped Jake tighter, as if desperate not to let him go.Â
âI promise, itâs me,â he said, voice weakening with uncertainty now that heâd blown everything to pieces. Jake couldnât leave. He couldnât just go now that he knew. This wasnât fair.
Classic Ada - nonchalant, despite being cornered and left with nowhere to run. It was no surprise to him that she had failed to buckle under the pressure - not only were they not in a trial, where his presence was far more effective, but it was a woman who had thrived off of her ability to hold onto her composure in potentially (and certainly) dangerous situations. Getting her to melt would be quite the challenge.
He couldnât help the ominous grin that stretched across his features as she spoke and then yanked him by his tie down to her level - and a laugh left him, low and careful, more a chuckle than a cackle. âI would never use such crass language,â he hummed, his orange gaze glimmering with desire. Wrapped around her finger, he was, indeed. Her beauty matched her cleverness, as it did her smarts.
âIâve been told I can be persistent,â he purred, âso I think weâll be evenly matched, darling. Tell me - why is it youâre out here all alone? Did we think we could manage whatever lurked out here? Have we forgotten how vulnerable weâve become in a place like this?â His fingers crept out, gliding across her collar bone, ghosting in a hint of a touch as if to let his prints taste her skin. Testing the waters, in a way, without seeming cautious. Whether she lashed out or not, he still had the upper hand here - but he was a gentleman, after all.Â
Brad was smart, keeping his distance and avoiding Kitâs approach with even steps to mirror his own. That frustrated him. He could hardly think straight, Entity whispers swarming his brain, telling him to kill, telling him gibberish, just fueling him with bloodlust and desire entwined. He wanted to rip Brad to shreds just as much as he wanted to hold him in his arms.
Bradâs words made him pause, blinking slowly with surprise, before he laughed. Not quite a pleasant laugh; it was more of a bark of delirium, of delight. He found him handsome, did he? How flattering. Not many complimented him in the face of his affections, not anymore. It made his desire spike. Now he wanted to smother Brad with love, with kisses, his brain itching with the static that so many kills brought him. He couldnât focus. He couldnât make his thoughts stop racing.
âYouâll only end up like your friends if you run away from me,â he panted, wiping the sweat from his brow and streaking blood across his face in the process. âTrust me, Brad. I just want you to be mine.â His frantic, unsteady tone surely didnât provide much comfort, however. âIs that so hard to ask? Just come to me, darling. I wonât hurt you.â Kill him, his thoughts hissed, unintelligible whispers making his skin crawl and itch. Kill him, kill him, make him suffer- But all the same, he wanted to hold Bradâs face in his hands, to kiss him, to see him smile. It was such a difficult decision he was going to have to make once he finally caught him.
Brad and Kit danced around the pile.. This was getting Brad nowhere.. He had done this same pointless dance with so many killers. Kit was frantically flirt/threatening ending with âIs that so hard to ask? Just come to me, darling. I wonât hurt you.â
A part of Bradâs brain snapped. He was probably going to die anyways its happened so many times. Its not that he wasnât scared.. But you know what⌠He was going to call this guys bluff.. Kit didnât really like him.. That was all talk.. Heâs just like the other killers.
Brad came to a halt and then reversed direction and ran towards Kit . The move must have completely confused the killer cause Brad had enough time to come to a full standstill as he skidded to a stop in front of him. He was annoyed at this point so he poked Kit in the chest. â You know what! You like me so much prove it!â Brad doesnât really understand why he was doing this but he prepared himself for the incoming stab anyways. He figured at least it would soon be over.
Confuse Kit, it did; in fact, he was struck wordless as a finger was jabbed into his chest, spoken to sternly like he were being scolded by the other man. It made the frantic haze in his brain slow down, though the whispers in his ears were still demanding to kill him. He didnât listen.
No one had ever asked him to prove it before.
Kitâs glowing amber gaze studied Bradâs features as if to see if he were bluffing, if this were some fearful ploy to distract him from his fate, but another part of his brain was delighted. He was being invited to prove himself, not just dared, he was certain. And Brad was such a handsome little fellow, too; scared and resigned, yes, but that took little away from his natural allure.Â
The knife dropped from Kitâs trembling, bloodied fingers and he reached forward, grabbing the other manâs face in his hands and pulling him close to claim his lips in a rough, eager kiss, tasting him with vigor despite his brain going haywire with displeasure. Even through the haze, he knew what he desired, and he was going to have it.Â
[<<first][< prev] | @the-killer-kit â ď¸ tw: kitâs a creep.
Jakeâs grimace deepened as the knife was ripped from his numbing fingertips and tossed far and away, well out of reach of either of them and especially out of his own reach. He pulled loosely at Dwightâs fingers, and finally Dwight let go and let him breathe again and he coughed and hacked as oxygen flooded back into his lungs. He panted, still glaring up at Dwight with a furious look on his face, but he didnât fight or act outânot yet, anyway.
He needed to regain his strength before he tried anything. He didnât know what to try, really, but as Kit went on to him about how he needed to be a good boy it spurred him on just a bit more to fight until Kit was pissed off enough to either kill him, or⌠âGo on, leave me here,â he muttered. âLeast the⌠Trapper will kill me if he finds me.â Jake hated the guy, and the Trapper hated him back, but it was all business. His deaths tended to be both painful and quick. Much preferred over whatever this was.
Kitâs fingers ran through his hair and Jake thought about biting the idiot again, which Kit apparently thought of, too, grabbing him by the chin and pushing his head away. Jakeâs skin crawled, feeling Kitâs breath tickle his neck and he tensed, free leg drawing up while he tried to block the creepy bastardâs actions out of his mind and focus on what he needed to do. Rather, what he could do. Fight is what he wanted to do, he was really ready to sock Kit a good one, but he had no leverage from the ground and in this awkwardly-pinned position. He might be able to get a good kick in, but probably not good enough to piss him off enough to get Jakeâs desired resultâdeath or solitude.
Frustrated by his own inability to do something useful, he remained motionless. Just be patient, he told himself, even though he really, really didnât want to be fucking patient. If he got out of the trap, injured leg or no, he might be able to overpower the killer, at least for long enough to do⌠something. Lead Kit into a trap, or better yet, lead him to the Trapper himself. The killer didnât like intruders and, while Jake probably wouldnât get out of that one, it was preferable.
âWhat the hell do you want from me?â he asked finally, through his teeth, turning his gaze away to leer into the trees instead, focusing on a tangle of brambles in the undergrowth. âIâm not your Jake.â
âYou know I canât do that, sweetheart,â he murmured, soothingly running his fingers across Jakeâs brow to clear away the sweat forming there. Jake was nervous - that was understandable. Kit could be rather pushy, he knew that, but Jake was playing hard to get, and he could stop that any time he wanted to. Then, everything about this situation that was difficult could go away.
From where he was nestled into Jakeâs neck, he could feel the thudding of his pulse, erratic and panicked, and it made his heart seize. He didnât understand why all of this was so scary for him. Kit had hardly hurt him; sure, heâd almost had to put him to sleep to get him to calm down, and it had worked, but surely he understood that he just needed to accept him, right?
His head shot up as Jake hissed, Iâm not your Jake. Oh, he knew that. Kitâs Jake was gone. Kitâs Jake had suffered with him through the Fogâs harsh reality until he had lost his spark, his glow, everything that had made him shine, before heâd finally vanished into the void, never to be seen again. Kitâs Jake had been everything heâd ever wanted, and heâd been wanted, too - that was the only time heâd ever been wanted. And now he was being reminded of that. âNo,â he seethed quietly, sitting up and grabbing Jakeâs face with a vice grip to force him to look into his angry amber gaze, âbut you could be, if you just behaved. Itâs not something I want from you; you are what I want. Donât you get that!?â He was everything Kit could ever want, even down to the unnatural yellow gaze glaring up at him - if only he could just get over himself and see what he was being offered!
Sweetheart. The diminutive pet name made his skin crawl just as much as the kiss had. Jake hated it, genuinely. Why Kit was acting like he wasnât fighting tooth and nail, he didnât know. The violence was almost better than this, better than the attempts at soothing touches and with the way that Kit pressed against him. Despite the fact that he wasnât fighting and that he was laying still, nothing about the situation was making him feel calm, or calmer than before. Especially not with his leg still trapped and every movement jostling it, and not with Kitâs incessant, overbearing presence.
Jakeâs lip curled with displeasure as his face was grabbed again, gaze pulled from the trees and back to the man sprawled over him. Another rush of pure instinct to fight flushed through him and fizzled out without him moving. He couldnât fight yet, not until he was free of the jaws of the trap. He had to convince Dwight to let him go, somehow, because he wasnât going to be able to get the leverage to overcome the killer otherwise.
I donât fucking want you. Leave me the everliving fuck alone, he thought, and carefully didnât say. Holding his tongue wasnât something heâd done in a while, but it was his only chance. Wait. Just fucking wait.
âLook, Iââ Jake cut himself off. Paused, and breathed, and as if to remind himself that he could still do it, he thought about what he was going to say before he said it. âI canât justâIâd have toâget to know you. I donât know you.â And he didnât fucking want to know, at all, not even a little bit. âAnd itâs notâitâs not helping that Iâmâstuck in a bear trap in the woods after, after you just strangled me half to death. Sorry if Iâm a little on edge.â That last part definitely came off too sharp, but he was⌠he was doing his best.
Kit tutted crossly as Jake spoke to him with a snarky edge to his voice, though he hardly took offense to it. He understood this one seemed to have a bit of a bite to his tone, no matter what he tried; he would simply have to get used to that. He found it charming, really, that he seemed so sharp and angry, almost like it were a defense mechanism from a scared little pup that didnât know any better. He didnât understand how good he could be for him; he understood that now.
âWell, why donât we change that?â he said, voice softening as he brushed a few wild strands of dark hair from Jakeâs face before cupping his cheek. âI think the greatest way is...well.â He paused, before a wide smile overtook his expression, delighted by the idea heâd been struck with. Why, of course! What better way to introduce himself than to bring Jake home - that would charm him to death, he was sure. He had no doubt the other man was sick of seeing a sickly forest, or in this case, a gloomy estate that only a big (handsome) brute stormed about on in between trials.
âIf I let open the trap,â he said carefully, âwill you come with me? I want to show you something, Jake. I think youâll love it.â His eyes glimmered with excitement. âIâll let you go once I show you. I promise.â
Kit could feel his beloved Kate tremble beneath his touch, and his heart thudded with delight in his chest; he knew that she, too, could feel their connection. They belonged together, he knew that well, and so did the Entity herself - that was why she had marked Kate so. There neednât be any reason why; Kate had been talking nonsense, asking such questions. Some things were just meant to be, right?
She gently pushed him back and he, love-stricken, gazed into her scared little eyes, curiosity flickering into them when he detected that growing terror. Why would she be afraid of true love? He parted his lips to speak, but it seemed that she had other plans - because in the mere few moments of silence they shared, she had decided to take action.
The pain wracked him in a sharp lightning bolt between the legs and he couldnât stop the yelp that left his lips, instantly dropping to his knees and bracing himself against the tree as she ran from him. Sheâd struck him so hard that he couldnât breathe for a moment, just struggling to endure the lingering pain, before it clicked in his brain that she was getting away.
Heâd been lied to, and she was escaping.
âKate!!â he barked out, stumbling his way to his feet again and rushing after her in a desperate attempt to stop her rush for the gates. She was far, far too ahead of him, though, and within a few moments of running, frustrated tears started to flood his vision, blurring the image of her back fading off into the distance. âCome back,â he cried, âplease!â This wasnât fucking fair! How dare she? How dare she!? Lied and tricked him, made him believe his desperate search was over, that heâd finally gotten what he needed - only for her to leave him in the dust like a fool.
Heâd get her. Heâd get her in his grasp again, and next time, she wouldnât be able to escape. He wouldnât let her whims fool him again. He was so frustrated he could hardly think, rushing around the tall walls of the realm toward the gate that started to creak its way open the closer he got. He knew he wasnât going to catch her - he knew that. He knew it was foolish to try. But his heart was twisting with grief, with anger, and if he couldnât catch her, heâd catch one of the other two bastards that had ruined his chances. If theyâd have just let the trial continue, then- then- surely he could have convinced her that he was all she needed. His mind was whirling with outrage, with despair, with loneliness, and he could barely do anything but sob and heave breaths into his lungs, looking utterly wild with desperation.Â
Kit could feel his blood pumping in his ears, his heart thumping in his chest, and for once, he found himself utterly speechless. There he was, staring hopefully at him - for once carrying no disdain, no disgust, no apprehension. Just...Jake. Hopefully looking back at him with a twinkle in his eyes that heâd never thought heâd see again.
He was closing the distance before he realized it, throwing his arms around him, fingers digging into his back as he nuzzled into his neck, breathed in his scent, smelling so dizzyingly like his that he was utterly convinced, for a moment, that this could really be him, that his suffering had finally ended. That he could finally be reunited with the one person that had ever given him the time of day.
âI didnât think youâd ever come back,â he whispered, his voice wilting, shaking with relief. âI didnât- I thought I was alone again. I thought you left me. How-?â
He remembered seeing that dead, hopeless look in his belovedâs eyes before heâd finally vanished one day. He remembered the way heâd drained of will to live, had stopped running from the killers in trials, had just let them kill him every single time until there was nothing left of him to kill. He knew what happened to survivors that had lost their will to survive. But what made him come back?
Survivors never came back once they faded, he knew that. Something itched in the back of his mind, told him this was wrong, that this was a farce, but when he pulled back anyway, his amber eyes were still glowing with love, with that same unhinged delight he carried for every Jake he saw. But this time...this one had looked at him differently. Surely he wouldnât notice, too, that something was amiss. Surely he could just be his again.
Not long after, Kit was led inside. Admittedly, he was curious; never before had he seen a home inside the Fog. It brought back distant memories - ones he could hardly parse, but they were still there. Cloudy memories of home, of sleeping in a bed at night, of being â different. Normal. Not being the way he was.
Jed grins mischievously. Relaxed but excited inside, he sits next to Kit.
He secretly fishes the pocket knife out of Kitâs pocket while distracting him. âSay, have we introduced ourselves? I have the feeling you donât realize which house youâre in.â
Jed comes closer, his breath hovers near Dwightâs ear. âMy name is Jed Olsen, welcome to my home.â The Ghostface draws his knife and gently holds Dwightâs chin with the blade.
Suddenly tired, Kit was barely able to keep himself conscious as Jed slipped in next to him and snuck his hand into his pocket to steal his knife. Jedâs words hardly made sense to him; he was quite certain this was the house of a killer, no?
And he was. A killer...that, well, seemed to want to hurt him, not have a pleasant evening drinking tea and conversating. An annoyed expression crossed his half-awake face, flickering his amber eyes up to glare at Jedâs smirking (handsome) face as his own weapon was brandished against him. âAnd just...â He paused to yawn, his gaze swimming in darkness for a moment as his head bobbed before he shook off the wave of unconsciousness, muttering, â...just what do you plan to do...with my knife...?â He had to admit, he was...uncertain. His heart was throbbing with unease. But at the end of the day, the worst he could do was kill him - and Kit had died before. He was more annoyed that heâd been led into the situation under false pretenses - called sweetheart as if heâd been flirting, only to drug him so he could play with his knife. Slippery bastard.
Brad was smart, keeping his distance and avoiding Kitâs approach with even steps to mirror his own. That frustrated him. He could hardly think straight, Entity whispers swarming his brain, telling him to kill, telling him gibberish, just fueling him with bloodlust and desire entwined. He wanted to rip Brad to shreds just as much as he wanted to hold him in his arms.
Bradâs words made him pause, blinking slowly with surprise, before he laughed. Not quite a pleasant laugh; it was more of a bark of delirium, of delight. He found him handsome, did he? How flattering. Not many complimented him in the face of his affections, not anymore. It made his desire spike. Now he wanted to smother Brad with love, with kisses, his brain itching with the static that so many kills brought him. He couldnât focus. He couldnât make his thoughts stop racing.
âYouâll only end up like your friends if you run away from me,â he panted, wiping the sweat from his brow and streaking blood across his face in the process. âTrust me, Brad. I just want you to be mine.â His frantic, unsteady tone surely didnât provide much comfort, however. âIs that so hard to ask? Just come to me, darling. I wonât hurt you.â Kill him, his thoughts hissed, unintelligible whispers making his skin crawl and itch. Kill him, kill him, make him suffer- But all the same, he wanted to hold Bradâs face in his hands, to kiss him, to see him smile. It was such a difficult decision he was going to have to make once he finally caught him.
Jake had been wandering through the fog between trials, curious about what all was different from... Whatever it was he'd left. A lot of it seemed mostly the same. He found plenty of realms that were familiar to him, realms of killers he recognized and remembered.
This realm was different. The fog had gradually given way to something that looked like a huge garden. Manicured bushes and trellises surrounded him on all sides, each one absolutely covered in pure white roses.
It was definitely nothing he'd ever seen before. Out of curiosity he picked one of the roses, frowning as the flower immediately wilted in his hand. Something that was far too warm and viscous to be sap leaked out from it, staining his hand red wherever it touched.
Maybe he shouldn't be here. Jake turned around to leave, only to be faced with a forked path. Which way did he come in from, anyway?
In his realm, Kit was often all alone.
Sometimes other killers wandered in, explored, but they never stayed. Survivors never wandered in his realm - likely from being unable to find it, he was certain, but the loneliness never stopped echoing in his mind between the trials. It was why he wandered so much himself; he couldnât stand being alone in that garden, no matter how gorgeous and sculpted it was.
Heâd just completed a trial - two kills heâd earned - and was roaming the endless maze of roses when he felt a disturbance within his realm; another presence had entered. Another killer, most likely. If he approached, it was likely they would leave; it wasnât often that a fellow killer entertained his advances, after all. He was too much like a certain survivor to stir any real interest in those that werenât already infatuated with Dwight Fairfield.
Still, he found himself approaching the entrance, only pausing in his tracks when he recognized the black fluff of hair sitting atop the intruderâs head, his back to the killer. Jake? His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His heart throbbed in his chest, memories rushing back to his head as he stared at that familiar form, that unmistakable flannel he wore from time to time.Â
No survivor ever came to his realm. So why was he here?
Kit swallowed, for once found completely speechless. Was it you? he thought, seeking the whispers of the Entity, but she was silent in his head. She always was when he was free of a trial, and in the moment, it frustrated him. His heart started to race, and he hesitated before he slipped his knife into his pocket, adjusting his tie with shaky fingers. It had to be him. It was -- there was no way it wasnât, right?
His voice was uncharacteristically nervous as he spoke up, cloyingly thick with hope.
In the long, quiet moment shared between the two of them, there was quite a bit of studying going on. Apprehensive on Blairâs part, he was sure, but interested on Kitâs. There were very few killers that didnât look monstrous in some way - not that he minded that, for the most part - and this one didnât particularly seem that way, not yet. He was a bit like Kit; rather normal in appearance.
Well. For the moment, anyway. Kit knew better than to accept fellow killers at face value, especially since he himself was not a particularly powerful one. Heâd been thrown into a wall by many a killer that didnât entertain visitors, but this one didnât appear too threatened by him. Besides, he always came back if he was torn to shreds. Why not risk it? It wasnât like Kit had a fear of death anymore.
âSorry,â he replied, not sounding all that apologetic, âIâm not much of a reader. Iâm more...talkative.â If Blair couldnât tell already. âBlair,â he practically purred, âwhat a cute name. Arenât you a handsome one.â Handsome indeed, with raven-black hair and a curious expression on his face. âYou can call me Kit.â He reached out, offering a hand with his palm facing the ceiling as though he were offering an elegant greeting rather than a handshake.
Clearing through the bushes, the woman let out a sigh. She had the bright idea to go exploring through the woods by the campfire just to see how far theyâll go, but only ended up getting lost. Of course, with how stubborn Ada is, she refused to admit that. If anything, in her mind; sheâs just taking the scenic route. Coming to a stop, she took a moment to look around, hoping to spot some type of familiar landmark. If she were to keep this up, she might end up stumbling into the killer side of the woods. And God only knows what awaits her there.
Tapping her foot, she clicked her tongue. Looks like she was going to have to go in a random direction and hope for the best. Continuing her walk, she moved further into the woods, stopping at the sound of the smallest noise. She quickly glanced around, narrowing her eyes. Someone else was out here. Her face twisted into a look of annoyance. Seems like sheâll have company, and it couldnât possibly be the good type. Stepping back, she retreated into the darkness; her visitor yet to have notice her. She wouldâve managed to successfully sneak away, if it werenât for the sound of a twig snapping underneath her heel. â..Shit.â She muttered, hoping that the other didnât notice.
(- @ask-dbd-adawong <3)
Kit loved to wander the woods outside of the campfires. In fact, most of the time he got lucky in his searching - the odd little mouse loved to scamper away, to skitter about in search of escape or something new, and that was where the cat could pounce.
This time was no different. Heâd been following this woman for a while now - dear little Ada, who was far from little in personality; he knew that much. He knew all of his darling survivors so well by now, whether or not they knew him. He knew that many a Leon often sought her out, chasing after a woman that rarely looked over her shoulder, and Kit had to admit, that made her a nice target. He did love a woman tough that would take some work to swoon.
It was when she faded away into the darkness, hidden from sight, that he felt a spark of annoyance; slippery, she was, but she always had been. Slippery as she was crafty. However, not long after, he heard a twig snap, and a pleasant smile formed on his lips once again. Not slippery enough, sweetheart.
âOh, Ada,â he sighed, gripping a tree and swinging himself around it to find her, his amber eyes hooded with smug glee. âIâm not that easy to lose. Didnât you know? I never lose track of a little mouse that easily.â He approached her with confidence, not even brandishing his usual pocketknife; there was nowhere to run, not here. He didnât have to hurt her -- unless he wanted to, that is.Â
âNow, what are you doing all the way out here, darling?â he murmured. âLooking for a little special time with me? Iâm flattered.â
Ada was cornered, Kit had quickly closed the distance in-between them and there was nowhere left for her to go. If she wanted to get out to this unscathed, sheâll have to play her cards right. Thinking back, she tried to recall any knowledge about the man in front of her; with only bits and pieces sheâs heard around the campfire coming to mind. Ada could already tell this was going to be a tough one.
Oh well. She did enjoy a good challenge every now and then. Taking a step closer, she looked at him with her head held high. Matching the killerâs confidence, Ada gave him one of her more signature smirks. âI feel offended at the thought you would call me a little mouse, seems like youâre underestimating me.â She wouldnât allow for herself to be intimidated so easily, and she wouldnât dare tell him the truth as to why she was still out here either.
âLooking for a little special time with you? My, I thought you wouldâve known me better than that. Iâm not one for chasing after men. Iâm a woman who plays hard to get, though perhaps you knew that already. Seeing as you know my name, and I donât know yours, donât you think itâs a bit rude to put on the charmerâs attitude without even introducing yourself?â
Kitâs pleasant smile widened into a slightly ominous one as she met his stance with one of her own; classic Ada. Unsure of her situation, unsure of the stakes, but ever confident and smooth-coated to hide her uneasiness. It was one of the things he quite liked about her; she was able to hold quite the poker face, regardless of what situation she managed to be put in.
âAll of you are little mice to me,â he murmured, âdidnât you know? I used to be quite the catty fellow.â Never mind that, though; he was more interested in her challenging tone, the lack of fear in her voice - oh, he knew heâd chosen a good one here. So kind of her to wander out in the darkness alone for him to find.
He laughed softly, though it turned into more of a dark chuckle as the breath left his lungs. âI didnât think you cared to know my name,â he replied. âAfter all, you seem to like being chased. And you donât particularly care who does it.â He could name a few men that, after all, fit the bill in pursuing her. Too bad they just werenât as persistent as Kit could be. He twirled his shut pocket knife between his fingers, cocking his head as he continued to close the distance between them. He wanted to cage her in, but he knew that just wasnât possible with someone as slippery as Ada. Oh, well. Heâd bite and fool with some words for now. âYou can call me Kit, little mouse. Or should I call you a little snake instead?â
Donât call me that. He was surprised she was making requests, despite looking so scared. The fear in her eyes was palpable - hell, it was even present in her voice. It made his features soften with pity despite himself, and his index finger curled in her hair gingerly as he pondered her request.
âOf course,â he murmured, âanything for you.â Little Bird was much cuter, in his opinion, but if she didnât like itâŚwell. Heâd just choose something else. She wouldnât swoon for him if he kept doing things she didnât like. âI donât like that look on your face,â he declared after a moment. âWhat do I have to do to make you smile, sweetheart?â
His expression grew more frustrated, but it didnât seem menacing, necessarily; it was more of an annoyance that he couldnât seem to stop stressing her out, which was the opposite of what he wanted to do. âYou seem to think Iâm here to hurt you. I donât want that.â He stroked her cheek with a bent finger, leaning closer to breathe in her sweet scent. âI just want you to be mine. Is that too much to ask, Kate?â Her name felt odd on his tongue, but he knew it well.
He knew all their names; every single survivor, without fail. He knew what made them tick, their special little quirksâŚand yet none of them thus far had seemed interested in him despite his efforts. It was no different from his time as a survivor, although it was distant. Anger started to churn in his belly, though he let none of it show on his face. It wasnât her fault she was so indecisive. It was likely the other survivors poisoning the well for him, or the Entity making them despise him, anything but him being the reason for their disdain. There was nothing wrong with Kit! Absolutely nothing!
Christ, it was always so much easier outside of trials when face-to-face with one of the killers. In trials, it made it hard to think; and with Kit it was near impossible with the way her heart raced against her chest. Kate didnât know how he wasnât affected by it â it had to be beating loud enough for him to hear, right?
It was that quick rhythm that always made her want to run; made her enjoy it at times. Yet, cornered her, held in a gentle cage, it made running impossible, and the thought of even trying to run from Kit had her stomach turning. Even if she could run, Kit could have his blade back out in a matter of heartbeats; have it buried in her in less time. Funny, how so much came back to heartbeats in moments when remaining life could be measured.
Why me? she asked, and it made him pause. Why her, indeed. Heâd come into this trial just knowing that he wanted her, that it was her hand he wanted to grab, her hair to stroke, her lips to kiss -- it just wasnât something he ever questioned. Why Kate?
He could tell her it was because she was beautiful, because she could sing, because she brought so much hope to the other survivors. Because her eyes still held such a spark that heâd missed seeing in dark eyes that had faded long ago. He could say it was because she hadnât rejected his touch, because she made his mind stop spinning with desire to kill, or because her hair was so soft to the touch, but was that really why? He didnât know. It frustrated him to think about. Was it because the Entity had told him to want her, was it because he desired contact at all, or was it because he truly did want her and no one else? Did she make him feel the same way he had all that time ago for someone else? Did anyone? Would he just be cursed to feel this way in every trial until the Entity had lost its use for him? He didnât know. He just knew that if anyone else had come to them in that moment, to her rescue or otherwise, heâd have torn them to shreds just for a few more seconds with her.
âYou donât believe that I want only you?â he murmured, his finger tracing down to beneath her jaw, where it hooked and tipped her head up. âDo you need a reason?â Only one generator left. He was running out of time here. Soon, she would be taken from him, or she would run. âIâll show you how much I want you, pretty bird.â He didnât hesitate to lean in, to claim her lips with his own, his eyes slipping shut with a sigh of bliss. Her lips were so soft, so sweet, so much that it sated the bloodlust racing in his heart for the moment -- it made him feel sane, even if for just the time they stayed connected. She would surely push him away and run - they always did. Soon, he would be left feeling hollow and alone again, but for now, even with the last generator humming to life and the exit gates blaring their loud activation sounds, he was content. Kate tasted just as sweet as she looked.
[<<first][< prev] | @the-killer-kit â ď¸ tw: kitâs a creep.
Jakeâs grimace deepened as the knife was ripped from his numbing fingertips and tossed far and away, well out of reach of either of them and especially out of his own reach. He pulled loosely at Dwightâs fingers, and finally Dwight let go and let him breathe again and he coughed and hacked as oxygen flooded back into his lungs. He panted, still glaring up at Dwight with a furious look on his face, but he didnât fight or act outânot yet, anyway.
He needed to regain his strength before he tried anything. He didnât know what to try, really, but as Kit went on to him about how he needed to be a good boy it spurred him on just a bit more to fight until Kit was pissed off enough to either kill him, or⌠âGo on, leave me here,â he muttered. âLeast the⌠Trapper will kill me if he finds me.â Jake hated the guy, and the Trapper hated him back, but it was all business. His deaths tended to be both painful and quick. Much preferred over whatever this was.
Kitâs fingers ran through his hair and Jake thought about biting the idiot again, which Kit apparently thought of, too, grabbing him by the chin and pushing his head away. Jakeâs skin crawled, feeling Kitâs breath tickle his neck and he tensed, free leg drawing up while he tried to block the creepy bastardâs actions out of his mind and focus on what he needed to do. Rather, what he could do. Fight is what he wanted to do, he was really ready to sock Kit a good one, but he had no leverage from the ground and in this awkwardly-pinned position. He might be able to get a good kick in, but probably not good enough to piss him off enough to get Jakeâs desired resultâdeath or solitude.
Frustrated by his own inability to do something useful, he remained motionless. Just be patient, he told himself, even though he really, really didnât want to be fucking patient. If he got out of the trap, injured leg or no, he might be able to overpower the killer, at least for long enough to do⌠something. Lead Kit into a trap, or better yet, lead him to the Trapper himself. The killer didnât like intruders and, while Jake probably wouldnât get out of that one, it was preferable.
âWhat the hell do you want from me?â he asked finally, through his teeth, turning his gaze away to leer into the trees instead, focusing on a tangle of brambles in the undergrowth. âIâm not your Jake.â
âYou know I canât do that, sweetheart,â he murmured, soothingly running his fingers across Jakeâs brow to clear away the sweat forming there. Jake was nervous - that was understandable. Kit could be rather pushy, he knew that, but Jake was playing hard to get, and he could stop that any time he wanted to. Then, everything about this situation that was difficult could go away.
From where he was nestled into Jakeâs neck, he could feel the thudding of his pulse, erratic and panicked, and it made his heart seize. He didnât understand why all of this was so scary for him. Kit had hardly hurt him; sure, heâd almost had to put him to sleep to get him to calm down, and it had worked, but surely he understood that he just needed to accept him, right?
His head shot up as Jake hissed, Iâm not your Jake. Oh, he knew that. Kitâs Jake was gone. Kitâs Jake had suffered with him through the Fogâs harsh reality until he had lost his spark, his glow, everything that had made him shine, before heâd finally vanished into the void, never to be seen again. Kitâs Jake had been everything heâd ever wanted, and heâd been wanted, too - that was the only time heâd ever been wanted. And now he was being reminded of that. âNo,â he seethed quietly, sitting up and grabbing Jakeâs face with a vice grip to force him to look into his angry amber gaze, âbut you could be, if you just behaved. Itâs not something I want from you; you are what I want. Donât you get that!?â He was everything Kit could ever want, even down to the unnatural yellow gaze glaring up at him - if only he could just get over himself and see what he was being offered!
