Hello! I really love the way you do traditional art <3 Can I request MC, Yukimura, and Saizo hanging out together ^^ Thanks again!!
Sorry for the long wait. I drew the ending scene to Yukkins and saizos beginning route. I haven’t read their route in over a year so this is just what I remember. Hope you like it! ;D
Happy, Happy, Birthday toooo yooouuu~♪ ❤🎉🎂 ~mwah~😘How about prompt #39. "Hey, I was gonna eat that!" With Keiji+MC😉
(( Ann thank you so much!! I appreciate it <3 Ooh Keiji! I’ve actually really enjoyed his ES~ I hope you enjoy!! ))
“Heeeeeeey~ I was gonna eat that!”
“You were too slow.”
“Toshi~ Don’t be so cruel. You’ll never get a girlfriend that way.”
“Shut up! What’s that got to do with anything?!”
MC giggled as she observed the antics. Between Keiji and Toshiie (who she affectionately called “Inuchiyo”) lunch period was never dull. She took her seat across from them at their usual lunch table, unwrapping her lunch box.
“What happened you two?” She asked, as if she hadn’t just been watching.
“MC~ Toshi ate the last ohagi! And I’m sooooo huuuuungryyy~”
Keiji’s voice was filled with complete and utter anguish, and he collapsed across the table, arms outstretched towards her.
“It was my ohagi...” Toshiie mumbled. “And don’t call me that.”
She laughed. “How mean Inuchiyo. I think I have some extra in my lunchbox though.”
Inuchiyo only rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage him.”
Keiji perked up right away. “MC~ You’re so sweet I knew you’d never let me starve!”
Keiji’s bright, wide smile was contagious, and she couldn’t help but smile along. Inuchiyo sighed. “I can’t take you two right now. I’m going to sit with Hideyoshi and the rest of the kendo team.”
He rose easily, and MC watched with concern as he walked away. Keiji didn’t seem to be concerned, happily taking the ohagi straight out of her lunchbox.
“H-hey! Save some for me!” She chided, though her tone was playful.
“But MC~ I can’t help it, it’s so good~ You made it right?”
“Of course.”
“I knew it~”
He continued to eat, heedless of how many he was leaving. MC giggled. She supposed if he did eat them all, as long as he was enjoying her cooking that’s all that mattered. She turned her attention to the rest of her lunch, happy in listening to Keiji’s happy humms as he ate.
“Say ahhh~”
“Hm?”
MC looked up to see Keiji offering her the last ohagi with a bright smile. Her cheeks warmed. Did he intend to feed her? She glanced around, suddenly self-conscious. But he was having none of it.
“Come on~”
She couldn’t tell if her blush was out of embarrassment or...something more. She opened her mouth, allowing him to place the sweet in her mouth. She attempted to ignore the way his fingers lingered on her lips when she closed them around his finger, focusing instead on not choking.
“Good right~?” Keiji chimed, leaning his chin on his hand.
May I have a kiss from lord Ieyasu? 😍 Perdy please, with ichigo daifuku on top? ❤💋
SO funny story Nonny and @bulbaqueen - I’m horribly self-indulgent and took this opportunity to write a sequel to my Coffee Shop fic with a modern Ieyasu. I hope you still like it!
“You shouldn’t have antagonized him.”
Toramatsu’s soft chide fell on your ears, scarcely audible over the chuff of a steam wand and the quiet murmur of patrons winging over the acoustic music drifting down from over head. You glanced up from the pitcher of milk you were heating to find him staring over at you from his place at the bar beside you. His eyes soft, his mouth firm in its unhappy line.
You wrenched the steam off with a sigh, turning away from that weighted gaze. “Probably not, but I did.” A smile you barely stifled tugged at your lips, and you had to bite your cheek from letting it grow too much. “And it felt really damned good, too.”
His eyes flickered, falling away from yours uncomfortably. “It doesn’t make sense,” he murmured, half to himself. “Anybody else, and he’d have…”
The unfinished half of his sentence scratched at you. “He just doesn’t want to train someone else to make his drinks the way he likes,” you demurred, shifting beneath the burr of Toramatsu’s suspicion. His noncommittal hum of reply didn’t make you feel any less awkward about it either.
“Just be careful,” Toramatsu sighed at last, and you offered him a grateful smile. You knew his heart was in the right place, at least.
“I will. Don’t worry.” You laid a hand on his forearm and squeezed, touched by his concern.
And then the coffee shop fell unnaturally silent. A chill seemed to sweep through the room, and you glanced up to see if someone had left the door open and let the winter air in - only to meet a pair of titian-red eyes.
Bland and benign and utterly terrifying in their congeniality. You’d cleaned up after the brutal aftermath of that pleasant expression before, and it usually involved someone sobbing on your shoulder in the breakroom and an illicit Irish coffee or two.
“Good afternoon,” Ieyasu Tokugawa said, the very picture of civility as he tucked his wallet away, leaving the register behind. Looking divine and resplendent in a bold yellow suit this time, the way no living thing had a right to.
A small wounded sound limped from Toramatsu, and he snatched his arm back from beneath your hand to busy himself at the bar once more, his pale skin even more bloodless. “Afternoon,” he mumbled into the shots he was pulling, attention fixed pointedly on the espresso machine.
You rolled your eyes, refusing to be cowed now. You’d graced the man with a lapful of iced latte, after all, and lived to tell the tale. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tokugawa. The usual?”
Something unreadable flickered across his face, gone when you’d blinked again. “Yes, but…” His gaze swung from you, your hands pausing halfway to pumping strawberry syrup into the waiting cup, to land on Toramatsu. A smile as perfect and cold as hoarfrost blooming on his face. “I want him to make it.”
Sympathy welled up at the panic-struck look Toramatsu shot you, and you offered him your best bracing grin as he wilted.
“Of course.” Toramatsu’s subdued answer seemed to weigh him down, rounding his shoulders in resignation, and when he reached to take the cup from your hands he moved like a man on his way to the gallows.
“Wrong already,” you heard from behind you as you turned to change the drip pot, Ieyasu’s singsong voice stilted with an unholy sort of glee.
He showed up at closing time later that night. Lingering outside the doors of Tokugawa Tower, caught up on a phone call that had him pacing a short circuit, so preoccupied that it wasn’t until you’d made it to the swinging doors and found an arm already holding it open for you that you realized he was done with his call.
It wasn’t until the next crosswalk that you realized Ieyasu was trailing you.
“What are you doing?” you swung about to ask beneath the garish neon of a convenience store, turning to see his face awash in green and orange. Neither color managing to make him look anything less than perfect, you noted sourly.
“Walking.”
The way he said it, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, got on your one remaining nerve after a busy day of work.
“You don’t live this way,” you bit out, glaring at him over your shoulder, your steps turning over faster with your irritation as you set off again.
He tossed his head, swinging unruly bangs out of his eyes as he fell into pace beside you, the heels of his polished oxfords clicking faintly with each step. “You don’t know that I don’t.”
A counterpoint to his pettiness bubbled up within you, but you snapped your mouth shut on it. What was the point? He was clearly going to do whatever the hell he wanted. Your only recourse was to ignore him entirely - a plan that worked, for the most part. Although he seemed just as content to meander along in silence beside you, sometimes falling behind only to catch up again.
It was like being escorted by an alley cat.
“Cold?” His abrupt question startled you from your pensive march, and only then did you notice that you’d been hugging yourself, the light sweater that had worked so well that afternoon struggling to ward off the evening chill.
Before you could answer his suit jacket was around your shoulders, warm and heavy. Part of you wanted to refuse the gesture, but the other part was too busy luxuriating in heat and a few hundred dollars worth of finely tailored wool to muster any real protest.
A smug air clung to him as he glanced over at you. “You look absurd in that.”
“Gee, thanks.” you shot back, frowning. Too distracted by the scents that clung to the fabric for any wittier of a retort. His lingering cologne tickled your throat, something made with citrus and wood. Like drinking Earl Grey in front of a crackling fire.
Ridiculous to even compare something as homey and comfortable to Ieyasu.
You finished the rest of the short walk in silence, drawing to an awkward halt at the stoop of your apartment building. Grey and concrete, with all the dubious charm of Soviet Bloc architecture - but it was cheap and that was what mattered. “Well. Thank you. I guess?” You did your level best to plaster a grateful smile on your face as you rummaged in your purse for keys, still more than a little bemused by the bizarre turn your evening had taken.
He leaned in, hands in his pockets idly, and something feral hovered about his brow as his face filled your vision. Made something very un-idle of his polite tone. “Do you smile like that for him?”
The last word was flung like something distasteful. You didn’t have to ask whom ‘him’ referred to.
“Is this seriously why you followed me all the way home?” You snorted with disbelief, and threw up your hands in exasperation. “Of course I do. Toramatsu is my friend. I smile for customers too, you know. Because it’s my job. I hope that’s alright with you, your Lordship.”
He didn’t even so much as blink at the cutting title you slapped on him. “Is it your job when you smile at me, then?”
And you felt it, right there. The exact moment at which the ground became dangerous beneath you, the second you’d stepped into the quicksand and one wrong move would spell disaster. “You know it’s not,” you answered carefully, your heart listing slightly like a floundering ship.
“Do I.” His reply was deceptively mild. Arsenic and thallium and almond-scented tea, but you swallowed it down anyways.
“What do you care?” you muttered, suddenly sullen. Annoyed at how easily he got to you. “You never return the favor anyways.”
“Is that truly all it would take to please you? So easily amused.” His lips curved into a radiant expression and he tilted his head curiously. “Are you happy now?”
But you knew him too well to fall prey to that glittering smile. It was fool’s gold - bright and pretty and meaningless, even if it did steal your breath. Or mercury, perhaps. Equally as luminous, and yet infinitely more dangerous. “No.” Your fingertips lifted, touched the barest edge of his jaw, and the muscle there jumped faintly. “I want a real smile.”
His eyes held yours carefully. Sharp and hard as red flint, only waiting for steel to spark. “How do you know this one isn’t real?”
A small, humorless laugh caught in your throat at the idea of the disaster you were about to set in motion. But you were pushed on by the memory of a single good day. A table perpetually for one. “Because I’ve watched you, when you think no one does.” Your touch flitted up to ghost over his lips, traced his perfect cupid’s bow. The mouth of a little boy on a man’s face, petulant and brash all at once. “This smile isn’t lonely enough.”
The breath left him on a hiss, his expression going slack a moment before clouding over dangerously. Daring you to do something stupid. “Who are you to -”
Before he could finish the sentence you’d dropped your hand from his face to twist in the buttons of his shirt and yanked him forward, crushing the rest of his words beneath your lips. He made a small sound of shock, and you swallowed it down even as he stiffened above you. His fingers caught yours and wrenched them away from his clothing, and you braced for the moment he threw himself backwards.
Only it never came.
Fingers tangled between yours and pinned your hands, forcefully, to the wall above you as he leaned in. Pressed the line of his body against yours head to toe as he deepened the kiss, as if greedy for every inch of contact he could get. The cold concrete gnawed at your wrists and back as his hips tipped into yours but you were too enthralled to care. Bergamot a soporific on every breath you drew.
He kissed the same way he talked, the same way you suspected he’d love - sharp and cunning and ruthless. Flaying you with his lips and teeth, stripping away any pretense of politeness until you were a mewling wreck, only fighting him back out of habit. And when you finally surrendered he coddled you for it, rewarded you with long languid sweeps of his tongue that felt like praise, that had you wondering just what else he could do with that wicked wicked mouth of his. Paid recompense with the slow soft melt of his body against yours.
“Ieyasu,” you breathed, into the slight space between you, and you felt him shudder.
His lips left yours, pressing hot and needy against your jaw. “You don’t know me.” He ground that fierce statement into the hollow beneath your ear, and your knees trembled enough for him to slip one arm around your waist for support.
“Maybe not. But I’d like to.” The curls of his hair were soft and wrapped around your fingers eagerly as you cradled his skull with your free hand, as if even they were embracing you back. Your chin tipped, baring your throat to him, a subconscious gesture you didn’t even acknowledge. “And I think you want me to.”
There was something in his gaze when he lifted his head that made old wounds of his eyes, the rest of his features pulled taut like scars. “Presumptuous, aren’t we?”
But you noticed he didn’t deny it.
“Why are you here.” You didn’t bother making a query of it. You both already knew the answer.
Whether he was willing to accept it was perhaps the more important question.
He drew back then, levered his body away from yours. Letting his hand slide from yours slowly, as if reluctant to lose that last point of contact. Although his face had hardened again to that perfect seamless mask, when he ran a hand through his hair to fix the tousle you’d made of it you couldn’t miss the way his fingers trembled.
“Don’t give me a reason to have him fired,” he warned, finally, after the moments had stretched long and formless between you and your lips were finally beginning to feel something other than the memory of his. Ieyasu turned on a heel and made to stride off, before you snagged his arm.
“Your jacket,” you reminded him, shrugging it off your shoulders and holding it out to him.
His gaze bounced between it and you fitfully, until he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back for it soon enough.” He turned away again and threw the rest of his reply over his shoulder, thick with promise that stirred up the embers deep in your belly again. Left you glad for the solid support of the wall behind you still. “What’s mine is mine, after all. Don’t forget that.”
Sensei, can you draw the new battle event? i just found hilarous Mitsuhide calling the kitties and everybody looking like: what is he doing. And then Saizo gets all the kitties.
(Hmmm I live to please, but I’m not sure how to properly draw this scene….. let’s see what I can get away with.)
Hey there dear, sweet, lovely Anon-chan!! I gotta give ya something, so here, have a Mitsu-cutie being snuggled by a kitty! ( :D
