#inlemoon writes

[inlemoons]

the sun, a yuzu kiss ch. 4

ch. 4: sneak into my bird cage. Steam, and golden eyes, and the breathless cycle of saying "no" even though your whole stupid heart has signed "yes" in blood... Pairing: Tōga/Izayoi Rating: Upgraded to an E rating

Read on Ao3 plus long-ass a/n with content warning after the cut:

CW: gentle self-breathplay

It took me a minute to work through where I wanted to go with this, but ultimately decided to put an E-rating on it. Whenever I write erotica, I also want it to do some character work. I had to think on where I wanted Izayoi to go with her fantasies. Even if breathplay isn't your "thing", I feel like the gentle touches of it in the prose suit her character as written in here so please don't let it stop you if this isn't a trigger for you <3 I am still really enjoying writing Izayoi's register as airy, dreamy, internally sensual but externally sheltered, and craving freedom. I also enjoy writing Tōga's as decisive, with an amused self-awareness he notices from a wry distance. I view him as a sharp, tactical mind, with a hedonist's palate. Fitting for a powerful dog daiyokai with a soft spot for humans, I think.

Finally, the cycling perspective was technically inspired by @inuparentsday, even if it's more oblique in execution of the actual theme lol. I like the idea of two people being apart, but kind of cycling around the inevitable of being together.

[inlemoons]

yuzu-kiss ch. 5

ch. 5 West Summary: it's honestly ... Tōga backstory Rating: E CW: some brief dark/body horror elements, erotic situations (not at the same time)

Read on Ao3

a/n:

In general, when I reference HnY, I am referencing the manga, not the anime. I enjoy the Kirinmaru/Tōga dynamic in both, but I think the manga gave it a little more meat and potatoes. Regardless, if you are like me and love Kirinmaru and wish he’d gotten the writing he deserved, join me on this journey of small but impactful cameos (Also, I'm pretty sure Rion called Tōga 'dog uncle' in the original untranslated scans which makes me laugh, and that's really the inspiration for this chapter) Other textural headcanons for this chap you can probably glean from context but which I will expand upon anyway: before the events of the Grim Comet,  Kirinmaru has a few beloved concubines. I also expanded on the whole “beast king” thing a little, letting there be one for all four cardinal directions. I view daiyōkai as pretty cavalier about sex, with some caveats — daiyōkai with human lovers may be more protective of them, since mortal time is so short by comparison. So, enjoy the lil intimacy scene as well as some Kirin clan domestic cute stuff <3

On Tōga. I wanted his backstory to read as: generally, he figured things out a bit earlier in life than Sesshōmaru, that protecting/showing compassion for the weak made you stronger/more powerful. I also enjoyed lightly inverting the inugami/Tiangou folklore. Of course, think of this as in the spirit of the Inuyashaverse more than anything else, lol. 

Ch. 6 soon! 

beta'ed by @vaegtersang bc duh who else

[inlemoons]

the sun, a yuzu kiss ch. 3

Ch 3 : yuzu-kiss. Our beloveds meet, Izayoi is bad at etiquette, and it starts to get....well, it's something. Pairing: Tōga/Izayoi. Rating: M.

Read on Ao3

A long-ass a/n: One, I'm working on remembering to be consistent with the macron on Tōga's name. I just start writing and then I forget to change it. Two: I changed the title of this Tōga/Izayoi fic -- formerly called Madness, and also Love. The title never sat right when I would read it and I wanted something weirder and literally fruity

...anyway, I really have enjoyed writing Izayoi. Depictions of the Great Dog Demon/Izayoi romance sometimes read to me the way touching wet tissue paper feels, which is to say..... soggy. Despite the ship itself being....like, actually great? My favorite in the Inuyasha/Yashahime franchise? Worthy of its own series? Please give it to me

I want the fic to reflect Izayoi's sensory register -- bright, fresh, sensual, feminine, a little transgressive, self-aware....like, this is the era that produced erotic poetry discussing the the shapes of wrists in moonlight or whatever brand of sensuality we're edging around/into.

Of course, whatever I write will inevitably have western-ness to it (I'm Western, so...) and modernity (I'm modern, so...). But....still. Izayoi is a fragile courtly human, yes, sheltered in certain ways, but there's no reason she can't be a fully realized woman with a deep, sensual internal life, even before she catches a cherry-blossom loving dog and catastrophically trips onto his dick (more or less).

[inlemoons]

feast

blue water, ch. 2: feast summary: His back is slick with sweat and the cool night air finally drifts through the open windows and kisses his skin, softer than he deserves. universe: OoT pairing: Zelda/Link rating: M

read on Ao3

Years later, Link’s drinking hasn’t ceased, and if asked he would insist that the forest follows him, the scent of pine and pepper and fairy magic grabbing ahold of his senses like a choking hand around a throat. He usually passes out afterwards. The barkeeps tolerate it, though--he’s still a dashing hero, surely worthy of his grand portraits in the castle. It must be difficult to hold such burdens.

Malon has never had pity for it, though. Tonight, she throws a wet rag flat on his face with an unceremonious plop and tells him to get your shit together, fairy boy and this is why I don’t visit you since you moved here, but she does help him into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and setting a cup of water on the spartan nightstand.

In the morning, it’s fresh eggs and sweetbread studded with fruit. Malon looks beautiful, dressed in a green skirt and a silk scarf around her neck. She only dresses so fine when she is heading to the palace. The damp scent of the woods joins them at breakfast-- it’s so different from the cloying smell of a courtyard in the spring, and he’ll never escape this, will he?

~~~

The royal brats always like Link’s presence, running up to him when he joins them for a meal, curious eyes watching as he runs routines with the soldiers in the training yard. The eldest, already looking as though she will become a great beauty, watches him with a particular intensity, not with a shyness like so many girls her age. It is disconcertingly like her mother’s azure gaze and holds nothing of her father’s soft brown. Link imagines it is what Zelda might have looked like if it had been as it was supposed--standing on the parapets of the old castle as a girl of twelve, disheveled piles of weapons far beneath her feet as soldiers sparred to impress. The flow of time is cruel, indeed.

Dinner brings fine platters of soups and roasted meats and sumptuous cheeses flanked with molds of sparkling jellies, along with trays of breads and buttery vegetables. It is not a quiet affair, the royal children bickering and stumbling over their words to tell the Hero about their newest lessons and adventures, even as the eldest princess’ eyes bounce between her mother and Link with a gleam that he does not like. Their father is off on some diplomatic mission and it is not lost on Link that Zelda has little to say. It’s well into the meal when their eyes finally meet, her lids heavier than they had any right to be yet, and as he sips from another glass of Lon Lon’s Premier Milk, so drenched with vanilla-bean it was floral and deep, he wonders what he will feel more this time tomorrow-- the weight of her body on his, or the absence of it.

~~~

It’s so dark in the study, the kind of darkness that desires a cool wind instead of something so hot and stuffy. Sweat drips beneath her skirts. Link traces his tongue up her legs through the path of it and Zelda mewls above. She tastes like salt and vanilla soap and his lips attack the pearl between her legs with fervor. He hikes the fabric up until it bunches around her waist and nearly throws her onto the desk ...until a foot kicks against his shoulder and he stumbles back.

Her glinting eyes are blue and red ice. He groans.

“Fuck, Zelda, another one?” He buries back onto her again, though--gentler this time, even as daggers push into his chest.

Later, when they are done:

“You had a choice, you know.”

Link rolls over on his back and looks away. His back is slick with sweat and the cool night air finally drifts through the open windows and kisses his skin, softer than he deserves.

~~~

Tap tap tap tap tap

The eldest princess stares up at Link in the dark corridor. She was looking for him, he can already tell, and he crosses his arms instinctively. Golden candlelight flickers across her face as she lifts her chin to speak.

“What are you doing with my mother?” Except Link can tell that she knows--his limbs feel suddenly heavy, as though he’d climbed a thousand mountain peaks.

“You should be in bed, Princess.”

“You should be at the Lake. Away from here.” He hates her steely gaze. There really is nothing of the prince there.

a/n: god i am wondrous, updating two fics in a week

[inlemoons]

august

summary: She lives the life of many noble women, loathing her father but obeying him perfectly. Touga is in the room when she accepts Takemaru’s proposal, and he watches the words slip from her mouth as easily as a moan.

rating: M universe: pre-Inuyasha pairing: touga/izayoi

read on Ao3

They’ll never walk in daylight, Touga knows, but for all of his bloodsoaked seasons he still remembers the sun, a different and equal heat to war. Izayoi is his favorite summer so far, will inevitably be gone as soon as he has grown accustomed to her, the curve of her body fitting so well into his, their hair pooling together in silver and black on the blankets, or his furs, or the floor, or the--

He’s a reckless idiot.

She lives the life of many noble women, loathing her father but obeying him perfectly. Touga is in the room when she accepts Takemaru’s proposal, and he watches the words slip from her mouth as easily as a moan. He gives his warm blessing as Guardian of the West, ignoring the heady scent curling towards his nose and she meets his eye. He takes her for the first time that night, silently padding into dark chambers on the rush of the wind, leaving her breathless and bitten beneath his mouth.

“Our days are numbered, dearest,” he whispers another evening, tongue tracing the shell of her ear. Her skin prickles beneath his claws and thick tallow candles burn and drip their wax into puddles on the floor. And from swollen lips, bruised a little on the side, Izayoi announces his end:

“Fill me up, dog.” No gentle, submissive words from her, then, and it sends blood rushing to his groin.

“And you belong to him,” Touga groans as she swings her legs over his, trying and failing to muster a glare. She ignores him, a maddening habit of hers. She is fierce that night, arching her back and grinding her hips relentlessly against his, and he barely manages to pull out and finish on her thighs as sadness creeps into the corners of her eyes.

She isn’t the first willful princess he’s blessed then bedded-- he likes their curious, fever-filled gazes, before their fathers sell them off, before other lesser men douse away the flames in their eyes. But Izayoi is clever, and has a disarming way of maneuvering him into corners from which he could barely stand to extract himself, until one night, he doesn’t.

“It’s nearly been a year,” she says, yanking his sash apart and letting the fabric ripple to the ground. “I suppose we should stop.” She’s baiting him, he knows, but she means it, too-- tying rope around his heart and tugging on it until he relents and keeps her. Later, when she presses down, he comes inside of her -- filling her up is as easy as swiping his claws through the air.

So, he does it again.

He stays away for a week and she nearly slaps him when he returns. Face stoic, belly curling with anxiety, he can’t deny her, now-- she is a girl who loves a daiyokai and is careless enough to chase him. Her enthusiasm for this cursed life makes him want to grin so broadly he barely knows what to do with himself-- I should talk to Totosai--to the horror of her family, he rescinds his blessing. Then steals her away, peals of her laughter ringing through the summer air like bells.

Three months later her scent changes and there is hope here.

a/n: Touga’s dick is rated E for Everyone

[inlemoons]

blue water, ch. 1

Link's lone eye flicks to the center island. A sacred dais once lay there, spread out like a stone blanket--he’d stood and watched the Lake fill and clear from the very spot with another by his side. A taped finger had brushed against his palm but was gone before he could grasp it. And there’s no stone now, only tangled wildflowers and grass that grows lush and green-- it is, he supposes, what he fought for. 

universe: OoT pairing: Zelda/Link rating: M

read the rest on Ao3

[inlemoons]

whumptober day 3

prompt no. 3-- hair’s breadth from death

pairing: f!sheik/link universe: Ocarina of Time rating: M 

The Gerudo guard’s hair smells like clove and hangs over her shoulder like a winner’s red flag. Long fingers grip the dagger’s pommel and twist--at least twice around--and scrape down to the bone.

“Ugh, you bitch,” the guard hisses, “You got a hit on me!”

And if the blade wasn’t lodged in Sheik’s hip, if the excruciating turn of it didn’t steal her breath and erase all thought, she could have detected the gashes on the Gerudo's arms and belly, or the slashed veil hanging askew from cheek. But Sheik is blind to everything but dark yellow eyes boring right into her own, can feel nothing but the steel that will surely slash her in half.

“I’ll kill you,” Sheik whispers, on some instinct, and the gold eyes crinkle into pained laughter. “I’ll never die--”

“Yeah, you will. Now, even!” But as the dagger pulls out and slices down towards heart and lung, a shower of blood patters on the floor. The guard’s body slumps and the shine of metal glitters with the hall’s scant light. A younger guard-- garbed in a different ranking color -- holds her own blade above her head.

“You--” Gods, all Sheik knows is blood loss and nerve-fire licking at her skin. She would die if she moved. “You’re in Hyrule, not--”

“Except I am here.” The rebel wiped her blade off on the ground. “Our enemies are our sisters and our sisters are our enemies.” Her eyes, her unreadable eyes, are the same yellow as the other. She stoops down and unwraps Sheik’s turban, pressing the cloth to the largest wound.

“Die in the desert, Sheikah. I don’t want your stink.”

~

It’s a new desert moon and it is dark as ink.

Sheik reaches an abandoned outpost and collapses beneath the doorway, the usefulness of the makeshift dressings long lost. A few fairies once lived here, their pretty colors and chimes flitting through the harsh night, but they must have moved on, leaving Sheik with her red fingers and her red wraps and her split-open body.

Always carry a potion, she told Link once, and take the whole thing. Once the delirium sets in, you’ll be dead. He’d looked at her, impatient, blue eyes fighting the urge to roll, which was somehow more infuriating than just doing it. Seriously, Hero, always keep a bottle…Sheik often gave advice she didn’t follow. At present, she could use a bottle of something, potion or liquor or something else, if it helps her die faster.

Maybe the fairies moved to the next one…She should go. She should keep fighting.

Who would find her here?

Her mind screams at her body to move and her body screams at her mind to shut…the…fuck… The star-peppered sky illuminates the sand, and she’s crying, just a little, because even the moon won’t come out to wish her farewell--the tears flow freely, soaking the veil around her nose and mouth. And when Death’s leather hand cups her head and lifts her from the stone, the golden light of whatever-comes-next bobbing about her vision, she doesn’t fight it, for once, only tilts her head back and falls deep into the black.

~

Link licks his finger and threads a silver horsehair through the needle. Epona is angry, which is understandable. He wouldn’t like it if someone cut wefts of hair from his head.

But he’s never seen Sheik so bloodied. Her clothes are torn and her skin is laced with angry black bruises, to say nothing of the blade wounds on her hip and stomach. He’d tipped his last potion into her mouth right when he’d found her, but it would take several more for her to recover, plus weeks of rest. And, stitches.

At least she’d stayed unconscious through the wound cleaning. He didn’t want a knife in his neck.

Firelight glints off the needle. He stares at the freshly-washed skin beneath his hands, already reddening with blood.

Well, he might get stabbed yet.

As gently as he can, he presses his weight to her body, to hold her down if she wakes, before inserting the sharp tip and pulling the thread through flesh.

He’s never heard a gasp so violent. “It’s me, it’s me.”

“The fuck--!”

“You need stitches!” He looks over his shoulder, stares into feral red eyes. “It’s me!” her muscles are wound up tighter than any string.

“Shut up and let me finish.”

Any other time, Sheik would have clobbered him for that, but she relaxes, slightly, still no less incredulous. Link fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to her.

“Bite.” Sheik eyes him. “For fuck’s sake, it’s clean.”

She bites down. His work is silent, informed by his own (smaller) injuries. It takes a godawful number of sutures and the handkerchief is wet with drool by the time he ties the knot.

Link slides Sheik onto his bedroll and adjusts her legs as carefully as he can. She winces, but mumbles a small thank you, anyway. And then it’s silent for a long time. Navi crawls up his ear and into his hat, warming his scalp just a little as her wings still and she falls asleep. Link watches his guide as she watches the sky, the quiet blowing around them like a sandstorm, and he absolutely can’t stand it. It’s what the Sheikah wants, though.

~

“Okay.” Sheik lets out an almost imperceptible groan when Link finally speaks. He’s facing away, knees pulled to his chest. “What the hell happened? Why did you follow me? Why didn’t you have a potion? If I would have known you were there, I wouldn’t have--”

“How did you find me?”

He clicks his tongue. “I--I don’t know. You were humming the royal lullaby when I found you. I just knew.”

“You just knew.”

“I must have heard you singing. Like a delirious idiot,” he adds.

“And the rebel who saved me, somehow still at the Fortress.” Sheik glares at his neck. She hopes it burns. “Yet Hyrule is the rebel outpost.”

“Well, she’s at the Fortress--”

“She’s not a rebel, is she?”

“You told me we weren’t together.” The words tumble from Link’s mouth before he can stop them, falling out like the Goron’s most stupid rock rolling onto the world’s most stupid village. He snaps around and meets Sheik’s gaze.

Sheik inhales sharply, the pieces quickly falling into place. She’d followed Link to the Valley, knowing it was foolhardy to enter alone but also knowing he could be a fool. She’d given him distance, like he’d requested, staying out of the Fortress as he found the necessary ice weapons. And then she found him, nuzzled in the warm den of some Gerudo bitch, golden hair splayed out onto a cushion, girl trailing kisses down his bare chest and hips….

Link shifts closer.

“ She loves you.” Gods, why was Sheik whispering like that? “Why else would she kill her sister-guard--”

“She is a rebel. She loves the cause.” Link places one hand on the edge of the bedroll but does not dare touch. “And she knows you are my shadow.”

Fuck. Why does that hurt?

[inlemoons]

exile

from lore: inuyasha oneshots inspired by the track titles and vibes of Folklore. multi-ship ch. 4: exile pairing: inuyasha/kikyo rating: M i guess? summary: They’ve played this game often, one perched tight above and one pulled taut below, neither moving, nor making a sound.

It is a cold night in the forest; tree leaves rustle in the wind. An arrow slides from its quiver into pale fingers, within seconds it is nocked and ready to fly. Kikyo’s eyes scan up the bark, across the tangle of tree limbs, until they land on her target. Inuyasha crouches on a branch just above shoulder-level and she meets his gaze with cool composure. His eyes flicker, duller than in daylight, and she thinks she'd rather stare straight into the summer sun than admit she’s memorized the gold of them.

They’ve played this game often, one perched tight above and one pulled taut below, neither moving, nor making a sound. In some other life, she’d shoot him and the night would sing with his screams, or he’d reveal his undying love as his claws skimmed her skin and the silence between them filled up with her moans. Instead, they only meet in this clearing far away from home, pushing the bounds of what is acceptable, his gaze always breaking first to spare her human arms.

They’d screamed at each other once. Her arrow nicked his ear and he’d called her a bitch. He came back two nights later, though, ear healed but flicking more than it did before, his gaze harsh as lightning. Kikyo dutifully took aim once more, and it was then she knew herself to be the village skeleton, aching little by little until she crumbled to the earth.

Kikyo lowers her weapon first. Inuyasha startles—she has never moved before him.

She turns and waits, and it takes him a second to jump down and join her at her side. They press deeper into the forest, away from shrines and huts and jewels, walking in silence for the sake of it, and this, too, is a type of confession.