Hullo! Are you taking prompts from that list? If yes, can I request #16 with Ieyasu please? You wrote tension so beautifully with Kojuro, I wonder what you'll do with this meanie tsundere^^ thank you!
Aww, thank you for the request! I haven’t played Ieyasu outside of his event route, but I’ll give it a shot. I’ve seen quite a few spoilers, after all ;)
#16: “Come back to bed.”
tokugawa ieyasu x mc
When he wakes up and finds the other side of his bedding cold, he is, to put it simply, outraged.
Some would say the great Tokugawa Ieyasu is simply difficult to please – but, when it comes to her, it’s a bit more particular than that. The fact that she had the nerve to disappear, making him drag himself (or, rather, jump up so quickly he nearly fell on his face) out of bed to go find her in the middle of the night, simply baffles him.
He doesn’t like being baffled. And especially not at this hour by his kitchen wench.
Stalking down the halls (let no one see the fear in his eyes), he wastes no time trying to find her. The tension works its way across his shoulders, down his spine and up into his jaw, his steps quickening until he’s nearly running through his own castle. The moon itself feels as if its bearing down on him, and, for a moment, just a moment, he is afraid.
He has enemies. So many enemies.
It’s a miracle – somewhere between circumstance and fate – that he manages to hear the quiet rustling in the kitchen. He can tell it’s her, easily; something about everything she does is always so markedly her that he needs only hear it to identify it. He swallows his relief and forces a scowl upon his face, because letting her have any sort of gratification for this behavior is completely out of the question.
But, damn him if he isn’t relieved to see her in the kitchen all the same, sleeves tied back as she scrubs at something in a basin of water.
He clears his throat after a moment, and she jumps, back stiffening and straightening as she drops whatever it is she was washing.
“L-lord Ieyasu!” She greets, voice an octave too high and words bleeding together hastily. Even so, he’s never been happier to hear his own name.
“What are you doing,” his voice is ice, and his eyes just the same as he rakes over her and her work. She wipes her hands on her apron and casts her eyes downward, stumbling over her words before she even begins to speak, and he wonders when this sort of behavior became endearing.
“I, well, I noticed the dish in your room hadn’t been cleaned, and– and if it doesn’t get cleaned immediately, the rice is impossible to get off, so I-I thought I should–”
“Dung-beetles don’t think, do they?” He interrupts, narrowing his eyes at her. She hardly bats a lash at the insult now, meeting his gaze steadily, waiting. He almost (almost) hates how well she knows him.
“You are to come back to bed.”
“You are in no position to argue with me,” he says, shortly, trying to quell the blush steadily rising in his cheeks. “Bed. Now.” He watches her struggling to do just the same as him, and he assures himself that his blush is much less prominent than hers.
“As you wish, Milord,” she says, and her tone makes it seem like she’s trying very hard not to laugh at him. He clenches his jaw and turns his back to her, ears burning.
“I don’t have all day, woman,” he complains.
“Of course, Milord.” He scowls, taking her hand and nearly dragging her back to his chambers. If she complains, he doesn’t hear it, fully intent on making her pay for her insolence, dragging him out of bed so late. His door is barely shut behind them before he pins her to the wall, swallowing her surprise and protest with a kiss that even he can admit is markedly desperate.
“Insolent wench,” he mutters against her throat, hiding his face from view. His shoulder tense and then relax when her hands find their way into his hair, carding her fingers through it. For a moment, peaceful silence falls between them, her touch gentle and her breathing steady.
He tightens his grip on her.
“You’ll have to be punished,” he says, blithely, and feels more than hears her breath catch.
“For making me worry, of course.” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, and the blush burns high on his cheeks like it does hers. She opens her mouth to speak, but he stops her with another kiss; he refuses to have anything but the final say.
They end up back in bed after all – but not necessarily sleeping, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.