Work Text:
Nobunaga had called her to his tenshu that night. It had been a long day for both of them, the Devil King having returned from a long battle, the chatelaine busied by preparing the castle for his and the other warlords' arrival. She had been looking forward to a good night's rest, though it seemed as though fate had other things in store for her.
MC, in the two months that she'd spent in the Sengoku era, had grown close to each and every lord who frequented Azuchi castle, though perhaps none more than the very Nobunaga himself.
It wasn't because of anything she did. No— he seemed to seek her out, just as he was doing tonight. He'd call her out in war council, bring her along to battles with him, strapping her in atop his horse. As head of the Oda clan and hopeful unifier of Japan, he had quite a full schedule, but it seemed to MC that he really tried to make time for her.
At first, she had thought it was because he enjoyed making fun of her. That he got some sort of sadistic amusement from teasing her, the sort that he couldn't get from anyone else— for she did not come from this time period, unbeknownst to him, and was not well accustomed to the mannerisms of 300 years in the past.
She had no qualms in talking back to him. And he had none in his affections with her, crossing more lines than she thought truly necessary for something that wasn't real. For the first week, she'd thought he saw her as little more than a toy— a break from his tumultuous life on the battlefield.
But, little by little, he started to open up to her.
And, little by little, she started to doubt her original suspicion.
They were small cracks in his facade, often only a sentence or a forlorn glance to punctuate an off-handed comment. The sorts of things you wouldn't notice if you weren't well acquainted with the person they came from.
MC was many things that didn't belong in this time period— stubborn, fiery, and unafraid to truly speak her mind. But perhaps what benefitted her the most was that she was an excellent judge of character, and made a habit to pay very close attention to those close to her.
Maybe, she thought, she was a toy to him, but only at first. For, as time passed, he learned that his toy had great sympathy for him, excellent ears to listen with, and an expressive face that made her unable to lie. Something she viewed as a flaw of hers in such a world, where everyone kept their cards close to their chest, where emotions were weaknesses.
But one day Nobunaga told her it was that very trait, the one she openly and completely despised, that made her endearing to him.
He'd said it so casually it made her breath catch. Only a man used to his actions having no repercussions could ever put such a doting phrase in such plain terms.
She'd brushed it off just as she always did with his compliments, and their night had continued, her losing at Go per usual, him mocking her in his customary light-hearted way. But, that night, she'd been kept awake once she returned to her quarters. Something that hadn't happened before at the result of his words.
Something changed between them that night. MC didn't know if he felt it, too, or if she was imagining things, but every touch between them was no longer one between friends, but rather those of clandestine companions. She'd steal glances at him and find him staring at her. It seemed like his tone changed when he'd tease her, from something nonchalant to something deeper— something she couldn't quite place. A brush of their fingers together was no longer a simple accident, but a jolt of electricity, a striking reminder of the otherwise space between them.
Their peaceful friendship had disappeared, replaced by something much more exciting to MC. Something she was desperate to explore further.
And then he'd gone off to battle, leaving her utterly alone to wallow in her longing.
But now he was back.
MC takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders before she enters his chambers. It's been so long since she's seen him— he was one of the last warlords to arrive, hiding within the rear-guard as they returned from camp. She'd been too caught up with those who came before him to bother saying hello.
What if he was angry with her? What if whatever had been blossoming between them dissipated at her ignorance?
MC decides she is going to start with an apology. Better to be safe than sorry, especially when the person one is dealing with tends to have a murderous streak.
"Nobunaga?" She says quietly, knowing that he can hear her just fine through the thin screen. She would knock on the door if it made a sound, and she doesn't want to intrude on him if he's not ready to see her. He would certainly make that known.
But the door slides open. Nobunaga stands there, dressed in a rather casual kimono to his standards. It is burgundy, just a few shades darker than his eyes, which peer at her for a moment before his lips move.
"Come inside," he says, beckoning her forward. She can't shake the feeling that she gets every time he stares at her— for it's not as simple as looking at her, nor even checking her out the way men of her time did. Nobunaga's eyes, already so inhuman in their coloring, seem to peer right through her, taking in every secret, every desire of hers.
"Thank you," MC mumbles, looking away as she brushes past him. Whatever words she was thinking about saying before die in her throat.
He doesn't seem angry. He certainly doesn't look it, but the men of this time period are very good at hiding what they think.
"I'm sorry," she blurts out as he closes the screen door, her awkwardly standing in the middle of his room, fingers clutching the fabric of her kimono nervously. "I would have greeted you. But I-"
"You're very busy." He interrupts her in a calm, collected tone, facing her once more. Those eyes back on her.
Nobunaga never looked away, never averted eye-contact. Such was fitting to his dominant personality, MC supposed. The other warlords would shy away from her from time to time, but they did not hold his command. They did not have the world riding on their shoulders.
"Yes," she says slowly, drawing out the word as she struggles to think of what to say next. "I am glad to see you in good health," she finally settles on, hating the sentence as it leaves her mouth. Weren't they better friends by now?
She never had any difficulty speaking her mind before. It was as simple as breathing, for keeping things from Nobunaga was typically rather futile. Even now, she was sure he could tell she was nervously hiding something.
But what did she say?
I've been thinking about you every day since you left. I can't get your words out of my head. I missed you terribly, and I hope that you missed me too.
I don't know how I feel about you, but every thought of mine is consumed by you. And I have no idea how you feel about me.
Could you even love me?
Am I still just a plaything to you?
A thousand thoughts, yet none MC could say.
"Come sit outside with me," Nobunaga says, at her side and taking her hand before she even is aware he's moving in her direction. The movement is so quick that she jumps when his fingers brush hers, tensing in a way she was sure he noticed.
How many times before had he done this? And yet she'd never flinched. Never wavered.
Nobunaga was many things, but he was not stupid. In fact, he was one of the most intelligent men she'd ever met.
"Did I frighten you?" He asks, a wry smile on his lips.
"A bit," she admits softly, knowing that denying it was pointless. Frighten wasn't the word she was thinking of. But it would do.
"Perhaps I've been away too long, then." He speaks as he always does— terribly casual, not letting any indications of his emotions seep into his words.
"I'd say so," she dares to respond, twining her fingers with his. "Outside?"
"I've lost interest in going outside. This is much more entertaining."
"What is?"
"You. Your reactions to me."
Her eyes widen as he brings her hand, still enclosed within his, to his lips, and plants a kiss on her knuckle. His gaze never leaves her, eyes narrowing in amusement when a gasp leaves her.
"I missed you," he says simply, like they were having the most normal conversation in the world. "The camp is terribly boring without you."
"I-I'm sure the wounded soldiers missed me," she replies, hating the way that her own voice tells on her. She thought Mitsuhide was the only mind-reader in the castle— could it be that she as mistaken, and Nobunaga was listening as she thought over her maelstrom of feelings for him?
Did he know?
Why was he doing this?
"And what about you?" He asks, hand still grasping hers tightly. His thumb escapes to rub circles on her palm, and MC can barely think as she prepares her answer.
"What about me?" She swallows, dreading the question that is sure to come next. Any other day she wouldn't hesitate to tell him the truth. But today? When he was standing so close to her— when did he get so close to her? — and holding her hand so tightly?
"Did you miss me?" He asks, not to the least of her surprise.
MC fights to keep her expression, and her body's reactions, under her control, but he slowly tugs her arm up now, kissing the inside of her wrist this time as he waits for her answer. His lips were soft, and they barely brushed her skin, but it was enough to make her breath catch, her cheeks heat despite her best efforts.
"Y-yes," she stutters out as he pulls her closer, his other hand reaching to wrap around her waist. What was wrong with her? And what was he doing?
Was this another game?
"Nobunaga," she says breathlessly, her face only inches from him now, body hyperaware of the way that he was touching her. "Wh-"
"Stop talking," he commands, though his voice isn't harsh. Even still, it rings with authority, enough to make her clamp her mouth closed in surprise. Such was simply the case when you were one of the most powerful men in the country, used to people bending to your every whim.
"I've been away from your face for so long. Simply let me study it."
With her hand still clasped in his, his hand wrapped around her waist, it was almost as if they were dancing. All they were missing was for MC to rest her hand on his shoulder, the other on his hip.
Did she dare do it?
"My face is nothing special," she insists quietly, worried that the simple comment will set him off. But she is sick of the silence, feeling utterly scrutinized under his glare.
Things had never been awkward between them before. She had never hesitated when it came to doing what she pleased.
But now, every breath, every rise of her chest, was enough to make her question if she was doing the right thing. How did she want this to progress?
"On the contrary, I find it one of the most beautiful ones I've ever seen."
There was the sort of comment he'd make that she'd brush off as simple flirtations. He'd said as much on one of the first days they'd met, and MC simply took it as words, an effort to win her over just as he had so many women before.
But the timbre of his voice, the way that he smiled at her, his hold around her— why would he tease her now? Why would he bother to fluster her in this way?
"Nobunaga," she dares to say again. "What are you doing?"
"What I've wanted to do for a long time," he replies without a moment's hesitation, smirking at her in a way that she'd never seen before. It wasn't his usual derisive grin— no, this one was seductive, sensuous. MC didn't want to imagine what that smile had brought other girls to do.
Or what it was doing to her.
He was always an attractive man. Shining black hair, gorgeous and somewhat supernatural eyes, an unmatched, strong bone structure and perfectly shaped lips. Maybe it was their proximity. Maybe it was his prolonged absence.
Or maybe she was simply attracted to him in a way that she'd never considered before.
"Stare at me?" She asks, wanting him to elaborate.
"No." Of course he wouldn't. She'd have to force it out of him.
"Hold my hand? You do that all the time."
"Wrong again."
"Then what?"
He tugs her even closer, practically touching her now. She has no choice but to bring her arm up, resting her hand against his strong chest. She can feel his heart beating— it's racing, just as she's sure hers is. But his outward look suggests that he has the situation completely in control, just as he always does.
"Tell me," he whispers, leaning down closer to her, lips only inches from her ear. Without thinking, she tilts her head, letting him get even closer to her neck. His breath is hot against her skin, sending shivers down her spine and causing something to flip in her stomach. "How does this make you feel?"
"H-how does what make me feel?" She responds as he gently releases her fingers from his vise of a grip, now-free hand reaching up and lightly brushing the exposed skin of her collarbone with a feather-light touch. It's so simple, such an unimportant gesture, but her breath catches again, heart hammering against her ribs.
"I think you know," he murmurs, voice thick with something she's never heard from him before.
"I-I," she begins, but then his lips finally find the skin of her neck, and a tiny gasp releases from her lips involuntarily. Her knees weaken, but he is there to catch her, pressing her against him with his strong arms. If not for his hold, she would certainly fall into a pathetic puddle on the floor.
"Don't lie to me," he says between his ministrations, finding the spot where her jaw meets her neck. MC bites her lip to keep from crying out in contentment. She would not yield to him in this game of theirs. He would not be the winner.
Even though a part of her assuredly wanted him to be.
"I feel perfectly fine," she finally gets out as his hand moves to press into the small of her back, his free one joining the other around her waist. She moves her own to where there's one hand wrapped around his back, the other on his shoulder.
Her fingers tense as he moves southward, lips brushing the same skin of her clavicle that his fingers had brushed only seconds ago. "You're normally not a very convincing liar," he murmurs, and she can feel his lips moving against her, "but you're even worse today."
He can't see her face from his angle. So she closes her eyes, reveling in the feeling of it all. Simple actions. Tender, compassionate touches. And yet he makes her feel so good.
"See how your body betrays you," he continues on. "How your cheeks flush."
And then he lifts his head up, to where he is now looking at her, one hand tracing the curve of her cheekbone with the faintest of touches. "How your heart races," he adds, "how your lips are parted. Waiting.
"Waiting for what?" She asks as his finger brushes against said lips. His eyes aren't on hers anymore. They're staring directly where he touches.
"You can't lie to me, my MC."
"I'm not aware that I am." She doesn't know where the confidence comes from. His face is an inch away from hers, hands pressed against her back. She can feel his long fingers dig into her skin through the thin fabric of her kimono, and she struggles not to lean completely into it, to give herself entirely to him.
"May I kiss you?"
It is the simplest of questions. Not the sort of thing that she'd ever expect from him.
Nobunaga, the man who takes land with all the ease in the world, who has never once done anything but exactly what he wanted. Asking her permission to do the very thing she's been dreaming about against her will.
"Yes," she replies quietly.
And then his lips are crushed against hers.
Her whole body curves against him, fingers reaching up to twine in his hair. Pulling him closer to her for once.
She can feel him smile against her at her eagerness. There is no use hiding it any longer— just as he'd said, her body betrays her. The way that her lips eagerly part as his tongue pushes into her mouth, hot and demanding. Because of course it is. Kissing Nobunaga would never be sweet and innocent. He was a man who took what he wanted. A forceful, brave opponent.
And MC wouldn't have it any other way.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," he murmurs against her mouth when he finally pulls away for air, forehead resting against hers. There is no longer the rest of the tenshu, the rest of the castle. There is only Nobunaga, his beautiful eyes boring into hers.
"And I you."
"Do you know that I am hopelessly in love with you?"
With everything on the table, MC feels her usual courage coming back.
"No. Perhaps you should prove it," she responds, biting her lip to contain the eager grin that spreads across her face.
A matching one soon appears onto Nobunaga's face, though this one is hardly as innocent and coquettish as hers. This one is downright provocative, dark.
"You play a dangerous game," he remarks, and then his arms are back to wrap around her, though this time it is not in a sweethearts' embrace— he is carrying her, one hand on her back, the other just beneath her knees.
With the strength of a warlord and the tenderness of a lover, he lowers her onto the futon, keeping his eyes trained on hers the entire time. He hovers over her now, looking at her with a hunger she's only ever seen on the battlefield.
But this is no battlefield. She is no war to be won.
"How do I prove to you that my every waking thought is of you?" He asks, one hand on either side of her head. His knees straddle her hips, his hair hangs down in a curtain of black.
"I have a few ideas."
"As do I."
"Oh?"
MC raises an eyebrow, but soon his lips are on hers again, eliminating the usefulness of her expression. She reaches around him, pulling him flush against her. They can't be close enough.
When he pulls away this time, he has a dangerous look on his face. But he says nothing, just studies her as her chest rises and falls, panting. He is relentless in his conquering of her body, just as he is with the warring states, for just as soon as she collects herself and takes a deep breath, he has found her neck once again.
Gone are the soft brushes of his lips from before. Now he is dynamic, vicious, sure to leave a path of marks up and down her collarbone. How was she going to hide this tomorrow?
But she is lost in how good it feels, how natural it is to be laying in bed with Nobunaga, his attention focused entirely on her. When he finds a spot that makes her breath catch more than the others, he lingers there, brushing the tender skin with his teeth to make sweet, instinctive noises escape from her.
"Music to my ears," he murmurs after a particularly loud cry— MC tries her best to keep quiet, knowing that there were guards stationed everywhere, a potential friend lurking just outside the door, but she is completely at his mercy.
His voice is thick with adoration when it comes again, murmuring things she could only imagine the great Devil King every admitting. His ministrations feel too wonderful against her sensitive skin. Every breath of his, every brush of his lips, flutter of his eyelashes.
She wants more. Craves more.
"Nobunaga," she croaks, and he stops, concern evident on his features. Had he hurt her? Did he go too far?
"I love you," she says, because it is evident that he feels the same about her, and she's sick of dancing around it. Hadn't he told her before that her honesty was one of her best qualities? Their game was over. It was no longer a game.
For she was hopelessly enamored with him. Had been longer than she could tell.
"I know," he replies with a smirk, and she narrows her eyes, hating his smugness.
"I've already proclaimed how I feel about you. I will continue to prove myself, though, if there is even a fraction of doubt within you."
"Say it again," she commands, cocking her head, a sardonic, knowing grin spreading across her face. Who else could boss him around but her? Who else in the world had spoken to him with such authority and lived?
"As you wish," he concedes, leaning down until his lips are only a centimeter from her ear.
"I love you endlessly," he whispers, and she shudders, a new feeling stirring somewhere in her, beyond simple desire— hunger.
His teeth brush the skin of her earlobe, and that's enough for her. MC reaches up and pulls his lips to hers again, tugging the silk of his kimono.
"Eager, are you?" He remarks against her lips, but then continues on anyway, taking control despite her best efforts. His tongue slips easily back into her mouth, and it's not enough, it's never enough.
"Nobunaga," she mumbles when they pull away, eyes already lidded as she gazes up at him. "Can you prove it?"
"You mean I haven't already?" He asks, but he knows where she's going with this.
"More," she commands, and he lets out the smallest of laughs, a breathless little chuckle. And then that same grin spreads across his face— that seductive, dark one that makes every nerve on her body spark with electricity, that flipping in her stomach spread lower.
"If you insist."
With a need that is one part cautious and the other all-encompassing, his fingers find the tie of her obi. He looks up at her, as if to confirm, and she nods once, feeling a brand new heat rush to her cheeks.
How fast things were moving.
How slowly things took to get this far.