𓆩♡𓆪 Kikyan 𓆩♡𓆪

God knew he couldn’t deny his sweetheart’s plea, not in a million years.

“Ichabod.” Okay, so there was some venom in his voice. Just a little. He had to hold back from not seething the name out like it was a slur.

You knew they didn’t exactly get along. Crowe was friendly towards everyone, but Sol seemed reluctant to be polite to him. Every time they were in the same space, you kinda wanted to die to avoid the awkwardness of the tension. 

“Crowe? What about him?”

“He obviously likes you.” And he knew you liked him back at one point, he’d been watching you for a long time. And though you've been a couple for three weeks now, the uncertainty of it all still hadn’t left.

He trusted you. Your best friend on the other hand…well, not so much. If only you knew how extreme his jealousy could be—you were lucky Crowe wasn’t six feet under already. It would only take one mistake for you to be attending a funeral. It’s fine, he’d be there to console you. Nonono, bad Sol, don’t even think about it. 

“What?! No he doesn’t!” Maybe you shouldn’t be raising your voice, he seemed upset enough as is. You sighed, muttering an apology before continuing. “We’ve been friends for years, I seriously don’t think he sees me like that. And even if he did…you’re my boyfriend. So he’d just have to deal with it, I guess.”

Oh. He liked that answer. Ichabod suffering emotionally because his dream lover was out of reach? It was a wet dream come true.

Taking a peek at him, you noticed the upturn of his lips. “That certainly made you cheer up.”

“You always make me happy, pumpkin. I just don’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t.”

“That’s not a good reason. He’s my friend and he’s important to me, so can you at least try to act civil around him? He always tries to talk to you and you just…glare at him.”

Now he was a little scared. Biting down on his lip, he mulled over your request. The last thing he wanted was for you to break up with him after he had finally won you over against all odds. “Fine, I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” you held onto his hand and gave it a squeeze, one that he returned as you both started walking again.

Three blocks and a flight of stairs later, the comfort of your apartment lured you both to the couch, backpacks discarded onto the floor without care. He sat right next to you, and you curled up against him, pulling your phone out your pocket.

“We always come to my house, I wanna see what yours looks like too.” 

“I like your house more but…sure, just let me know what day.” Yeah, so he had time to hide everything he’d stolen from you. 

Ding. 

His eyes flicked to the notification with a certain someone’s profile picture. His expression soured, and he looked away with a petulant huff. Clearly, he wasn’t over it. Not that he’d ever be, but you thought it was just a phase that would go away with some reassurance. How naive of you.

“Sol…”

He wasn’t budging, nose in the air as he waited for you to read the message. Or well, that’s what he was expecting anyway. 

“You’re so stubborn.” With a sigh, you toss your phone aside and instead move to straddle his lap to get his attention. 

His shoulders stiffened immediately, and a certain area under his pants sprung to life like clockwork. He gulped, the tips of his ears turning red. He loved being under you, but that usually only happened in his fantasies late at night when he stroked himself with your undergarments.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Cupping his face with one hand, you let your thumb glide over his bottom lip. “I can’t have you getting jealous every other minute.”

“I can’t help it.” He murmured, arms finally relaxing and wrapping around your waist to tug you closer. Having you close wasn’t anything new, he was clingy to the core. It always felt different when you initiated it, though. 

“I know…I just don’t want you feeling bad or insecure. I like you, I want to be with you.”

He grinned. “You promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

Godyou’resosweetandbeautifulandfuckIwantyoutofuckme. From 0 to 100. His mind was already running rampant. You were sitting on him so prettily, how did he get this lucky? His eyes were drawn to your lips, his stomach felt warm now. 

“Tell me I’m yours and that you’re mine.”

You really shouldn’t encourage his possessive behavior, but it was kinda…hot? You’d play along.

You leaned down, lips nearly brushing against his. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

His dick twitched. Before he had the chance to sigh dreamily, you kissed him. He whimpered pitifully and kissed back, already attempting to deepen it. 

He had thought about getting a tongue piercing, but he wouldn’t be able to go weeks without kissing you now that he’d gotten a taste of what it was like. Though, maybe that torture would be worth it if it meant being able to make you feel good in the future.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Then, a bombardment of kisses a day must keep the psychologist away, it felt like all your problems had been washed away the minute your tongue met his. 

His hands roamed your sides, squeezing whenever you tugged on his hair or bit down on his lip. In only five minutes, it went from slow and sensual to fast and needy. 

Your living room was only ever filled with TV noises and conversations. Now, it was nothing but heavy breathing, shaky whines, and the sound of clothes rubbing against each other.

And shit—no, no, no—he was close to making a mess in his pants. “Waitwaitwait, slow down,” he pleaded, voice a pitch higher as he held onto your hips. How embarrassing would it be if he came so quickly from simply kissing? Maybe you’d think he’d only last two fucking seconds in bed (he probably would the first time, and he knew that). 

“What’s wrong?” You ask breathlessly, eyes fluttering open to look at your boyfriend. 

“Nothing, just…” He sat up straighter so he could dip his head down and press his lips against your neck. It felt infinitely better than doing so when you were limp like a ragdoll. 

“Oh,” your eyes rolled back, your hand instinctively went to the back of his head to keep him in place. His cool piercings sent a shiver down your hot skin. Maybe if your mind wasn’t so busy spinning and seeing stars, you’d notice the ever so prominent bulge begging for attention against the side of your inner thigh. 

“Does this feel good?” He asked before starting to gently suck on you. If he was lucky, he’d mark you up. For once, he was eager to see Crowe tomorrow. He’d be sure to wrap his arm around your shoulder and then lean down to press a kiss against the hickey you’d have after all this just to spite him.

“Uh huh…” Your sweet moans fanned against his ear.

He thought this would save him from cumming, but your reactions were just making it worse. There was no way out of it. His stomach was tensing, and his eyes were getting teary—this always happened. “Haa….haaa…”

For someone who usually had little to say, he was so loud. But you didn’t know what was happening in his body, not until it was too late.

“Oh fuck…” His forehead rested against your shoulder as his body shook, black nails digging into you like he needed you close to handle the waves of pleasure. Luckily for him, his words were unintelligible because of how fast he gritted it out. “Iloveyouiloveyoufuckiloveyou.”

You snapped out of your pleasure-induced dazed, hearing him pant heavily and slump against you. You stayed frozen, and moments later, he tipped his head back instead to get air.

“Did you just…” 

Pressing your hands against his chest, you leaned back to get a better look. He did. Fuck he was pretty. Cheeks flushed. Lips swollen. Drool trickling down his chin. Brows furrowed. Eyelashes wet from tears.

You’d never been more turned on in your life. You hadn’t even touched him down there!

He opened his eyes, hiding his face with his shaky hand the second he saw you. “Fuck…I didn’t mean to. I was trying not to.”

You took his hand to pull it away, smiling at him. Geez, it was like you were proud of yourself, and he found it endearing rather than annoying.

“Um…I don’t think I have any spare pants for you. Or uh, you know.”

“…”

“I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“No, don’t leave yet.”

“I’m not leaving! The kitchen is literally right there.”

“Stay here.” He held you close, burying his head against your shoulder again and letting his temperature return to normal.

1ST ANNIVERSARY | FUTURE PLANS & PROGRESS

On this day, "The Kid at the Back", a dark thriller Visual Novel made by fantasia_kitt was released a year ago.

Hello! Fantasia here, with a quick devlog.

First and foremost, Happy Anniversary 'The Kid at the Back'! I did not expect my very first visual novel to get this much recognition and up until now I am still not used to the attention, it just feels really baffling! I would like to thank everyone who has been there from the very start, pre-rewrite and post-rewrite, to my friends who enjoyed my content, to my editor and my beloved co-writer (and number one Crowe simp).

On to business, I've been thinking it quite a while and I've decided with how I will be publishing the next 5 days, this might come as sad news to some but this is for my own mental health and that I don't feel pressured to update my game every time but I will be releasing days 3-7 in one MAJOR update.

Yes, I won't be releasing it by 2 days with day 7 being the last, I'll be developing the game up until the last day so please do not expect an update for next coming months whatsoever because I will be focusing on writing and polishing my script with my editor (give me a year or two idk).

Again, I will be publishing the next update as COMPLETE DAYS 1-7.

However, you are able to see some of my progress if you're a Soulmate in my patreon so do check it out if you want to see what I've been cooking (but none for now since I'm on my hiatus!).

Next is that I'll be making some short mini games based on TKaTB, they're not canon to the real universe, if I feel like making a spin-off then I will make them, don't be surprised if I just randomly dropped a short gag VN since it is also part of my experimentation with renpy.

So the roses stop blooming at your door, tied up with pretty twine and ribbons. Instead, you receive bones and carcasses. A mouse skull. Deer teeth. A mangled bird, its wings snapped and bent at the joints. A rabbit’s foot, warm and still bleeding, the bone jutting out from severed flesh. The roses, you think, were a preview of what was to come—of what you’d soon be mourning.

These macabre presents are wrapped sincerely, shrouded daintily with frilly cloth. They come with their own set of cards, each one typed just like before. 

I can see you.

Good luck on your exam today. Carry this rabbit’s foot with you and you shall know fortune.

This naughty bird is always cawing outside of your window. It wakes you up, so I silenced it for you. It is most beautiful in death, is it not?

Are you going to bring that friend of yours around again? I don’t quite like the scent they leave on your sheets. :(

So you share these morbid anecdotes with your friends over dinner. They don’t believe you.

“You’ve one persistent dog after you,” one of them remarks, eyeing the pictures with a curious, doubtful eye. “A real rotten mutt.”

“But I don’t have a dog,” you reply.

“Well, something’s coming home to you every night.”

“It’s just me. I live alone.”

“Do you? You sure nothing’s following you? You don’t hear the jingle of a collar? The soft padding of paws on tile, loyally trailing after its owner?”

At the time, you thought these were foolish questions.

“The flowers? Definitely a person,” your logical friend suggests. “The dead stuff? Probably a wild animal. A hawk once dropped a mouse in my yard. It’s normal. Someone’s just making a nasty time out of it, leaving those notes to scare you.”

That sounds reasonable. You choose to believe it even when there are inconsistencies and clues that prove otherwise.

You check the locks on your doors and windows. You consider buying cameras, but maybe that’s misplaced paranoia. No one’s inside your house. No person or thing could possibly get in. You’re not sure what would be worse: a tangible human being with human hair, human eyes, and human teeth, or a thing. A thing with claws and a razored maw. A thing with inhuman strength and the eerie quietness of a phantom, plucked right from your nightmares and dropped in reality.

A human being is tangible. A thing could be anything. It could also be nothing.

“I’m not interesting enough to have a stalker,” you tell your logical friend. “Not special enough or rich enough. Not attractive enough.”

“You don’t have to be,” they tell you. “Sometimes all you need to be is alone and vulnerable. Sometimes all you need to do is exist so that they have something to latch onto—something they can covet no matter what.”

“Do you think they’ll kill me?” you ask next, hesitating around that word. Kill. It’s so final and exact. “If they can do such gruesome things to those animals…”

“Or it could be a dog. Dogs don’t kill their owners. They’re loyal.”

“But it’s not a dog. I don’t even think this thing is domesticated.”

“Then what is it?”

“Something.”

It is something malevolent. It is something malicious. It is something you can’t quite fathom—something you can’t picture in your mind because it is always swapping shapes. One minute it’s a nest of mice dwelling within your walls. The next it’s a shadow creature—a demon or a monster. The next it’s a human with strange proportions, too-long legs and too-long arms and a too-long torso. The next it’s a dog with a long, long snout and very human eyes, with human hands for paws, with a curling smile that reveals gaps in its pointed, bloody maw. It feasts on flesh and hunts little, defenseless songbirds, and it’s after you because it wants something you can’t give it.

What does it want? Is this thing even real? Perhaps the anxiety is making a monster out of nothing.

You twist and turn in the dark, wrapped up in sheets that feel more itchy than they do comforting. You’re cold all over, sweating an ocean in your bed. You think your heart might burst out of your chest at any minute. Every creak and groan of the house unsettles nerves that are already pulled impossibly taut. You gaze into the dark doorway, squinting through shadows that look like they’re waltzing in and out of focus.

Or…

Is the door breathing? Is someone there?

You rub your eyes and relief filters in. There’s nothing.

Or…

Your phone cuts a slice of light through your bedroom. You shine it towards the door from where you cower on your bed. There’s nothing.

Your friend—the unfunny one—texts you then, and the vibration scares you more than your imagination. A text is tangible, easily categorized, and yet it’s the scariest thing you’ve just received at this moment, however ghoulishly playful it may be.

u need a leash for ur dog?

You drop your phone. It illuminates the space beneath your bed for a second before the screen shuts off.

You think you hear someone breathing or a heart beating. It’s yours.

Or…

Swallowing thickly, you reach for your phone. You feel soft, fluffy hair. At first, you think it really is a dog when a warm, wet tongue laves over your palm. But you don’t have a dog, and it’s then when you feel the rest of this…thing. Human ears. Human nose. Human mouth. Human teeth. 

Another text brightens your phone. The screen flickers on.

You peek over the edge of your mattress to find a distinctly human face smiling back at you.