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Erotes' Touch by DelphinieN


Erotes' Touch

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, all the characters belong to their rightful owner, Rumiko Takahashi. No money or profit is made on this fiction (This disclaimer applies to all chapters after this unless it is stated otherwise).

Warning: This story is about love affair(s); if you don't like this topic, don't read it. But you do, you are in for a "wild" ride.

A/N: Grammar might be wrong because English is not my first language and I do all the spell check by myself. This fan-fiction is inspired by lyrics through various songs by VIXX and different fan-fictions I have read. Also, I do not own all the names and descriptions next to the phrase "chapter" nor the brands mentioned in this story. They belong to their rightful owner(s).

I do not intend to plagiarize anyone; any stories that have the same plot that has happened before this story is published is merely a coincidence. Furthermore, this fan-fiction might be filled with cliché if you have read a lot of fan-fictions. Finally, I leave it to your imagination to decide whether Sesshouramru is youkai or not.

If you want to influence the events that are happening in my story, leave a review on the story/chapter; I will see what I can do to make your request come true.

" " is for conversation. ' ' is for thoughts.

Reviews are not mandatory but are welcomed and appreciated.

Edited: June 2nd, 2018

Chapter 1Caerus: fleeting moment and a favorable opportunity opposing the fate of a man. Such a moment must be grasped; otherwise, the moment is gone and cannot be re-captured.

The shimmering moonlight illuminates the dark sky; tree branches move slightly as the soft breeze passes by. Stores lit up the street with their neon signs and indoor lights; people are walking aimlessly on the sidewalks from stores to stores, seeking to get the last minute shopping done. The temperature is low enough for snowflakes to fall but dissolve instantly once they reach the ground. This night in the city seems calm and tranquil.

But his instinct is on edge. Something is going to take place tonight.

At ten o'clock, he decided to call it a day and left his office; his paperwork can wait another day. Grabbing his Armani jacket and car key, he heads to the elevator. As soon as he exits the building, his sixth sense wants him to keep tabs on something. His brain is working at peak capacity, paying attention to every little detail for every step he takes. He thinks nothing of this, blaming this result because of remaining in one place for a lengthy period.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he dials the number of his housekeeper. The receiver returns the call after one ring tone; he instructs his servant to pick up his black Tesla at the office and bring it to his apartment. He does not want to drive home; he distrusts his ability to control the vehicle when his mind is preoccupied. He chooses to go for a stroll; perhaps fresh air will ease of uneasiness in his guts as well as stretching his muscles.

Before he knows it, he has been wandering for the last hour, not paying attention to where he is going. His body feels refreshed due to the little exercise; his lungs are filled with cold crisp air. But his intuition is still in suspense.

He finally realizes his feet have taken him to the street of bars and clubs without him noticing. He exhales as a puff of smoke escapes from his lips; maybe a glass of liquor will help to clear his mind. He chooses to go to the bar that has a yellow neon sign said "Jazz"; it is the only bar in the whole street that does not have loud horrible music coming out.

His ears will be protected from the heavily used bass; he prefers to be able to hear his grandchildren's voices without depending on another machine. As he steps inside the bar, warm air surrounds him, and the sound of soft jazz greets his ears.

The place looks nicer and livelier from the inside. In the middle, there is a small dance floor, with some folk dancing along with the tunes of jazz, which is actually produced by an actual band at the back. He is amused; not a lot of bars have a real band nowadays. There is also a narrow lounge and dining area on the left of the dance floor; some people actually nod their heads along soft music. He turns his head to the right, hoping to find the bar area.

Suddenly, his time ceases to exist; his mind becomes blank. His eyes lock to a figure across the building.

He is no disciple in any religions nor being a believer in magic. But, for the first time in his existence, he whispers in his mind: 'Abracadabra, let her not be an illusion. Abracadabra, make her be mine.'

She is sitting in the right corner of the bar; one hand under her chin, the other holding a glass. She is talking to someone he does not care to notice; she is laughing softly as if she listens to a joke.

He drinks in her appearance: She is wearing a deep blue spaghetti strap dress; her curve hugs nicely along it. The dark delphinium colored attire exposes her perfect bosom just enough to tease a man; it also displays her light skin in the back. Unfortunately, her wavy raven hair covers up her smooth skin. The four-inch black heel compliments her lovely shapely legs, making them seem to run for miles.

Unlucky for him, again, she puts her long dark brown coat against her legs, covering them for his hungry eyes. Her red lips make him want to devour it to find out what she tastes like. Even though there is a crowd of people in the between them, his ears can still pick up the sound of her soft laughter. All of a sudden, he envies the person that makes her create such beautiful sound; it is music to him.

He bet she is an enchantress, who is secretly casting a magic spell on him right now. That must be why he cannot take his eyes off her. That would also explain he was whispering an abracadabra charm before. But, even if he knew how to break whatever spell she puts on him, he would be in too deep to realize it.

Time begins to flow again as someone taps on his shoulder, asking him to move. It is that moment that he realizes he has been standing at the entrance for a while, admiring her. He wants to say "what are you looking at?" to a group of girls gawking at him from behind, but he changed his mind, there is no point in doing it.

The sound of his heartbeat drowns out the music currently playing on the dance floor as he gets closer to the bar. He quietly hopes she would not be able to hear his heart beating as loud as he does. His eyes still focus on her figure as he moves closer.

He puts his jacket on the bar stool' back, straightens it out. Taking a seat next to her companion, he signals the bartender to come. He orders whiskey, hoping the drink would relax him a little bit. His mind is working at its best to find the best way to approach her. Despite the war raging inside him, a cold mask is still firmly on his face. As the bartender hands him his drink, he pulls out the money and slides it over the counter. Then, he washes the drink down immediately.

The whiskey leaves a hot trail from his mouth down to his stomach, warming his body up and smoothing him. When his ears pick up the enchantress's conversation with her companion, he can see how the night is going to end: with her in his arms. He asks the bartender for one more whiskey drink. He does not want to calm himself down any longer; he needs to loosen up now. He slowly consumed the liquor as it is handed to him as he hands over another bill for the bartender.

She wants to stay for a little bit longer, as her friend is ready to leave the place. She thought talking and laughing with her friend would help her to be herself again; it does not. She is still in low spirits. Turning to the mixologist, she asks for a rum and coke. She, once again, thinks about the source of her sorrow.

The thought alone makes her want to cry all over again.

In retrospective, she should have realized it right away when he started acting unusually. He started being distant to her, always made excuses not to spend time with her. She knew that he is a busy person, so is she; that was why she brushed it off, saying that there is nothing to worry about. Instead of meeting with each other, she just left voicemails asking about his day, but he always replied back in texts instead.

Last week, he had, again, declined her invitation to go out for dinner that night, saying that he had a pile of work that needs to finish urgently. So she decided to purchase some new clothes instead. During her shopping, she also bought something that would, hopefully, surprise him on their upcoming anniversary.

In her opinion, it was a pain to find it. Some stores just did not have the right shade of his favorite color, some just did not have the design she liked. She went to so many different stores to find the perfect thing that she lost count. After finishing her shopping, she decided to walk home instead of taking the bus; she wanted to enjoy the fresh evening air.

Looking down on her packages, she imagined his expression when he saw her in the lingerie she bought just for him. She wanted to giggle as she visualized it; somewhere deep down, she also hoped that the lingerie would also help to re-ignite the spark in their relationship.

Without warning, her feet froze in place; the packages in her hands hit the ground. People walking around her gave her a strange look, some even bumped into her accidentally because of her sudden stop, but she did not notice. Her eyes were glued to the other side of the street.

She could not breathe in the chilled evening air, no matter what much she forced her lung to work; she felt like she was drowned. Her knees felt weak and wanted to give in; her eyes were burning from trying to keep the tears from falling. Her ears were ringing with the sound of glass breaking inside her head.

Her world was shattered into million pieces. So was her heart.

A voice in her head was screaming, trying to deny the possibility that he was cheating on her. It was making an attempt to convince her that they were just friends, walking next to each other casually. But the voice fell silent as he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.

The image of them kissing engraved in her mind. It always appeared somewhere in her subconscious

She did not remember how she got home, but her legs gave up their strength as soon as she closed the apartment's door. As she was sliding towards the cold floor, her head was filled with questions related to his betrayal: Did she lack appearance? Was she not smart? Was she not charming enough for him? Or, was she not young enough for him? What did that woman have that she did not?

For the past week, those questions made her want to scream, smash everything in her apartment to vent out her anger. But she did not do any of them; she kept it all to herself, not even sharing the information with anyone. The only thing she did was crying to sleep every night.

Even in her sleep, the image still haunted her; turning her dreams into nightmares.

Today is the end of the week, and she is tired of pretending to the world that she is okay. She is tired of crying; shedding tears will not bring his heart back to her. That is why she decided to go to her favorite bar with her friend after work. She likes this place because the drink is affordable, and the location plays her favorite type of music: jazz. Very few bars play classical music nowadays, they all play the kind of music that makes her ears want to bleed because of the loud bass.

She needs to get rid of the negative thoughts; she wants to clear her mind. She needs to make a decision on what action should she do next: she can yell at him, making him come clean about his affair with the other woman and end their relationship right there.

Or, she can pretend she never saw anything; she can just forgive him and never mention about this.

The sound of the bartender clearing his throat brings her back to reality. She glances down, realizes the empty glass in her hand. Then, it hits her: she has consumed her drink while being lost in her thoughts. She gives the bartender an apologetic smile while trying to find her purse in her coat. Her friend insisted she put her wallet at home, saying it is a treat for her, but she brought it anyway. She swears that she puts her purse in her coat before leaving home. Where is her wallet when she needs it?

"Another drink of the lady's choice, another whiskey for me," a smooth deep sound causes her blue eyes to widen a little in surprise. She turns to decline the person's offer as her hand finds her purse.


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