Koga Gets A Scrubbing (TK, 18+) (Original)

Disclaimer: THIS STORY IS NOT OF MY CREATION. It is a repost, with permission and credit, of a fanfic written under my supervision. The original author is Indigo-Bunny; if you want to see more of their work, check out their DeviantArt website linked above!

Happy Halloween, y'all! This is Indigo's half of an art/story trade we did which we figured would be perfect for this occasion. I'm the artist behind the pic at the very end of the story, but the entire fic is Indigo's work albeit with some edits from me for both the beginning and ending portions, and as such, it has been entirely unchanged for this repost. A big thanks again to Indigo for this amazing fic, and as always, if you want to check out more of their writing, go click or tap the link above to see their dA website!

Original post: https://www.deviantart.com/indigo-bunny/art/Koga-Gets-A-Scrubbing-18-M-F-M-F-M-989775124
Ending illustration source: https://www.deviantart.com/skaeadaimonion/art/Commission-Koga-Gets-A-Scrubbing-776231192

Word Count: 13,280

InuYasha: A Feudal Fairy Tale (c) Rumiko Takahashi

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Happy Halloween, everyone! This 'Inuyasha' story is a story that I did as part of a story/art trade with the talented artist, SkaeaDaimonion, and it was decided that tonight would be the perfect time to post it. This story features Koga being tickled after stopping by what appears to be a haunted bathhouse. Credit for the idea and all of the details goes to SkaeaDaimonion, who also drew the picture at the end of the story.

Contains graphic content

Work Text:

 

"Ugh, I'm beat..." Koga mumbled aloud to himself, letting out a sigh. It had been a long day for the young leader of the Eastern Yokai Wolf Tribe; he'd been on patrol for so long that he'd lost track of time or direction, and now, the dark-haired, muscular young man was unsure of which stretch of the woods he had wound up in.

He knew that it wouldn't be hard to navigate his way home, but the night was full of other kinds of yokai even more dangerous than him, and often more than happy to take apart an outsider. As such, he preferred to find a place where he could spend the night rather than walk around. Trying his hardest not to mind the odd change of scenery, he let out a great yawn, stretching his arms as he continued to trudge his way through the thick and foreboding woods, illuminated only by the bright moonlight above.

"Jeez, this neck of the woods sure is creepy," he muttered, checking his surroundings. "Guess there's nowhere else to set up camp, though. I've slept through worse, at any rate..."

It would certainly appear unsettling to those that weren't familiar with the area, the shadows giving way to thoughts of paranoia and worry. There was no telling what kinds of creatures or demons that could be lurking within the darkness, hiding behind the twisting trees, some of which appeared to be dead. Leaves crunched under Koga's large feet, the yokai doing his best to remain alert despite the fact that he felt a bit fatigued. It was nothing that he couldn't handle, though.

"Seriously, though, where the hell am I?" As he continued, Koga could hear different noises around him, from the wind rustling the leaves, to an owl hooting nearby. He could also hear a bit of scampering, the darkness concealing whatever it was that made those noises... not to mention there was always a chance that it could be home to other, more sinister things. Even with his confidence in his own abilities to protect himself, he wisely decided not to stray from the path he was on.

"Not that I'm worried," he mused aloud as he made his way through the woods at a slower pace than usual, "but you just never know what's gonna jump at you around here. Gotta be on my guard, just in case..."

There seemed to be a heavy fog, making it a little harder for him to see up ahead. Of course, he could rely on his hearing, as well as his nose, to help to guide him, so the lack of visual wasn't particularly concerning for him. If anything, he was merely annoyed that he had yet to find a suitable place to stay for the night.

That was when his nose detected something strange. The out-of-place odor of water that was fresh rather than stagnant, and... laden with soapsuds?

"Huh... What's that weird scent?" Koga sniffed the air, wondering where it was coming from. "It can't be... can it? But what's it doing out here?" Deciding against his better judgement to investigate the scent, he followed it as carefully and silently as he could, trusting his sense of smell to help lead him to the source.

It was a few more minutes of tracking when he found it. The wolf-boy's eyes widened when a tall, wooden structure came into view, surrounded by a high stone wall; every rock comprising it bore a luminous symbol, most of which were clearly meant to keep the demons of the forest from nosing in. The building therein appeared to be a traditional sento, a type of public bathing facility that had been around since before the feudal era. The building itself seemed old enough, but oddly, it didn't look as though it was on the brink of collapse, though he couldn't help but wonder if it was abandoned.

"A bathhouse, huh? Eesh, I don't really like having to wash up." Koga rubbed his chin in thought. "Buuuuuut maybe I can sneak in for a quick rinse, at least..."

It wouldn't hurt to wash off any dirt and grime that he'd accumulated during the day, if nothing else; if there was anyone there, hopefully he would be able to slip in and out without being noticed by anyone. He wasn't sure if he wanted to spend the night at the creepy bathhouse, but he'd worry about that later. For now, he had only one goal in mind.

A Haunt Of A Jaunt: Part 5 (TK)

And here it is, the grand finale of this spooky scary commission! I had so much fun with writing the worldbuilding, the character chemistry, and the various creative and oftentimes lewd scenarios throughout this entire story, and I hope you've all enjoyed reading it as well. Once you've finished with this final part, I have a little game for you to play should you consider a second reading - specifically, see if you can identify all of the references to folklore, fiction, and even Internet and meme culture throughout all five chapters, from names to dialogue to narrative details. Some are of course more obvious than others, but the old mantra of "if you know, you know" applies for every single one of them. I certainly hope this story is enjoyable enough whether or not you get most if not all of the in-jokes, though!

By the way, I hope you don't mind me casually spoiling the ending to some extent: it was agreed from the very start between myself and the commissioner that it would be an unambiguously happy one for all four leading cast members. I know I pulled a lot from various works of horror and dark fantasy as inspiration for this story's overall feel, but we ended up getting so invested in the core cast that having them be subjected to the "downer ending" common to a lot of horror media was unthinkable to us, especially after I got so carried away with the character arcs you've seen throughout the previous four chapters. If you wanted at least one named character to meet a horrible fate, though, don't worry - I did write exactly that, too, but as you'll see once you reach the very end of this story (think of it as a post-or mid-credits scene or something), it was my plan all along to reserve said fate exclusively for the one who deserved it the most. ;)

Happy Halloween, everyone!

 

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A Haunt of a Jaunt

by Skaea

Contains: */M+, M/M, and *M/M tickling and a lot of sexual foreplay and other naughty things. NSFW.

Word count for this chapter: 9,376

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PART 5: EPILOGUE

 

The Finale

With a cacophony of cackling and a gale of giggling, the tickler wraiths descended upon the four boys from all sides, gleefully beginning their torment by grabbing their wrists and ankles and pulling all four of them up and off the floor. Morp’s muscles were useless against the ghosts, but his great weight made it difficult for them to carry him, so they’d settled for holding his arms straightly over his head and spread to either side like branches from a tree trunk, forcing him to stand on the balls of his feet with his heels raised off the ground. Fanindra’s wrists, still desperately hanging onto the spellbook he’d recovered after Turindal had kicked it down into the ballroom — the same one he’d brought from the library after Pinkerton had rescued him — were held directly over his head, with his waist bent at a right angle so his feet were pointing towards the ceiling, his bottom pointing downwards and his pants pulled down to his ankles. Turindal was flipped and turned so he was floating face-down with his limbs spread-eagle and the soles of his incredibly long feet turned skyward. And as for the elastic, distorted Pinkerton, he was quite literally tied up, his wrists and ankles knotted like rope behind his back as several spirits held him aloft like a woven basket, his body stretched out so his shirt and coat rode up to expose his smooth stomach.

“It’s starting…” the bogeyman gulped. “Whatever you have at the ready, use it NOW! Before it’s too late!”

Fanindra nodded. “I-I’ll do my best…”

The spirits began by skittering their clawed fingers into every bit of exposed flesh they could reach, their digits bending at unnatural angles to reach into every armpit, probe every navel, dance across every plantar arch, and weave in between every toe. Needless to say, all four boys exploded into fits of helpless laughter within a matter of seconds. It wasn’t long, however, before they started getting creative.

“WAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHH! HEHEHEHEHELP! CAN’T STAHAHAHAND IHIHIT!” Morp howled, his sensitive, smooth pits being assaulted by ten claws each, some forming blunt, soft drills that whirred against the skin while others took on a shape like long, thin feathers. For all his struggling and squirming, the wraiths on either side matched his every movement as they teased the tender hollows with wild abandon. He tried to kick wildly about as another ghost went for the backs of his knees, but a pair of ghost hands phasing through the floor grabbed onto his ankles, keeping his legs pointed downward. His toes against the floor, he was powerless to stop another phantom wiggling all ten of its fingers against the arches of his huge size 20s. “OH NOHOHOHOHOHO, NOT THAHAHAHAT!”

Fanindra had opened the book he was holding up to the page he had in mind, but his concentration was broken almost constantly by the tickles delivered all over his body. In a cruel twist of irony, the animated sculpture was being assaulted by all manner of phantasmic brushes, dusting his sides, his underarms, the backs of his knees, the balls of his feet and the pads of his toes; every one of these spots sported an arcane glyph that glowed and flickered like wildfire as he was subjected to a thorough, ticklish dusting, as though he were a statue in an art museum. “WAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH STOP IHIHIT! I’M ALREADY CLEHEHEHEEEAN!!” he cried, before he started trying to read the spell incantation again. “?◇●\$&£¤☆*%^ — PFFFT— ?◇●\$&£—HHHHEEHEHEHEE — ?◇●\$& — OHOHOHOHOHO SHIHIHITTTT WAHAHAHA!!”

Turindal’s screams, yowls, and cackles could practically be heard for miles. Still shirtless with only his pants on, he was powerless to defend his chest and underarms as a spirit straddled his waist, wiggling ten long fuzzy tentacles for fingers into all the nooks and crannies upon his upper body. Another spirit was floating right in front of his face, leaning in to nibble upon his long furry ears and flick its long tongue upon them, its long talons toying with the sides of his neck and under his chin. Below him, one more small, serpentine wraith was scuttling up and down his chest and stomach with multiple pairs of arms like a ghostly centipede. But it was his enormous feet that were getting the worst of it. All ten of his toes were spread out and bent backwards, restrained by translucent tentacles, his long, wide soles taut and completely vulnerable. A host of smaller spirits were dancing upon his arches and the balls of his feet, gliding and skating with the tips of their toes stroking the sensitive skin in elegant loops and spirals. Another, larger spirit floated in front of his feet, fluttering its feather-like digits against the pads and stems of his toes and extending multiple tongues that slithered into the spaces between. The assault from all sides left him incapable of forming any words whatsoever — all he could do was take it and laugh.

“STOHOHOHOP! I AM YOUR MASTER! DESIHIHIST! YAAAHHH NOT THEHEHEH — HHH — NONONONOOOOOHOHOHOHO!” Pinkerton screeched, shuddering and writhing helplessly. The hapless bogeyman was now being reminded that despite his status as the master of all the ghosts in this manor, he hadn’t reached the top without a lot of suffering. The instant the phantoms had sensed his emotional weakness, they were all too willing to capitalize on it, and in his case they were deploying phantasmic silverware to dine on the stretched expanses of ticklish flesh now utterly at their mercy. A fleet of forks dragged their tines lightly against his chest and stomach. A squadron of spoons were tapping up and down his sides, as though attempting to commit a horribly slow murder with weapons that weren’t nearly as inefficient as they looked. And needless to say, his huge furry feet were getting all the attention the ghosts felt they deserved, with at least three of them employing a pair of chopsticks each to poke, prod, stroke, and scribble upon his tender arches, wiggling toes, and the plush balls — even the surprisingly sensitive roots of the hairs upon the tops of his feet were teased and tousled on occasion. “HEED MY COMMAHAHANAND! EEEEYAAAHAHAHAH MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STAHAHAHAHAAPPP!”

All four men were powerless to stop the tickles, and it seemed like there was no end in sight for them all. But things were about to get more exciting still…