#gintama fanfictions

[roseserpentpress]

Long time no post, but here's a post of a fanfic originally finished near new years... technically earlier, and then didn't like something and changed it which took. About a month and a half to get around too... and then promptly continued to dilly-dally in taking photos and posting it (I've also got another book I've bound that I finished in the early summer that I, uh... Still have procrastinated in posting. I do intend to do a yearly recap as well for my bindery fingers crossed as soon as I get the other one posted).

I personally fell in love with this Ginroki x Hijikata fic as I adored the writing style of the author since it is so incredibly beautifully and poetically written. I actually had a conversation with the author about the bookbind, which is why it was higher on the priority list (and since it was easily themed and shorter) but since I had first contacted them the fic had been instead switched to anonymous. As a result, I had to change some typesetting to represent the change, but nevertheless, thank you to the author for letting the fic stay up and a gentle reminder that choosing to orphan, rather than delete fics you don't want associated with you anymore is always an option!

Link as always below the read more :)

Lilac (17k, E)

Gintoki remains quiet, but there’s that twitch to his mouth that Toshirou recognizes as amusement. “It’s true what they call you, then.” He says, “A messenger of the devil.”

“No one has ever called me anything like that.”

“A demon.” Gintoki digresses.

“Yeah, that— I’ve been called.”

[youatemylollipop]

How do you think Gintoki would react to his partner confessing to him that he's their first when they're about to get intimate and they're a little insecure and embarrassed about this fact? 🩷💌

A/N: OMG!!😳 I’m sorry! I just couldn’t stop myself from putting this GIF!😂

Ft: Sakata Gintoki (Gintama).

Sakata Gintoki

➵ Freaks out, as if the world is ending.

➵ Despite Gintoki's cool and unbothered demeanor most of the time, he's the most likely among the Gintama boys to react this way.

➵ He honestly doesn't know what to do, and it's more likely that his partner will end up taking care of him instead.

➵ I swear! He's not trying to be mean, but poor baby just really has no idea what he's supposed to do! 😭

➵ He doesn’t mind the fact that it’s their first time, of course! It’s just that he doesn’t know how to continue with this newfound information.

➵ He's probably going to be extremely awkward throughout the whole process, constantly worrying about where to place his hands and how rough to be.

➵ The worst part is that he's too shy to even ask questions about how his partner wants things to go! It's just too much for his manly ego to admit that he has no idea how to proceed! 😤 His partner will have no choice but to guide him through it all.

➵ And if his partner wants him to be rougher, then they'll have to literally snap at him to get some action. Otherwise, he'll continue with the whole 'my s/o is too fragile to handle me' act.

➵ Somehow, this guy has managed to mix awkwardness with smugness. I have no idea how it works, but it does with him.

➵ In the end, everything will depend solely on how his partner decides to deal with him.

➵ If they decide to be the sweetest thing on earth, he'll turn into the king of smugness for providing such a night of pleasure.

➵ However, if his partner decides to tease him, he'll become the most discreet little mouse they've ever seen, blushing at the smallest things.

➵ Ultimately, it's all up to their preference. 😉

You find yourself in a cozy, dimly lit bedroom. You're lying next to Gintoki, who's lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a small smile on his face.

You glance over at him, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks as you think back on what just happened. Despite his usual sarcastic demeanor, Gintoki had been surprisingly sweet and attentive, taking his time to make sure you were comfortable and enjoying yourself.

You clear your throat, breaking the comfortable silence. "So... that was, um, nice," you say, feeling awkward despite yourself.

Gintoki chuckles softly, turning his head to look at you. "Just nice?" He teases, a smug grin crossing his face.

You roll your eyes, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips. "Okay, it was amazing," you admit, snuggling closer to him.

Gintoki's expression softens, and he reaches out to run a hand through your hair. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he says, his voice low and gentle.

"You know, for someone who's been with other people before, you were surprisingly clueless," you tease him, earning a blush from the usually smug samurai.

He grumbles in response, "Hey, I never said I was a pro at this. I just go with the flow." You chuckle at his nonchalant attitude, but you know that he's actually just too shy to ask about your preferences.

"It's okay, Gintoki," you reassure him, reaching over to take his hand. "I enjoyed it all the same."

He squeezes your hand back, relief washing over his face. "Good, because I was really worried I was too rough."

You shake your head, "No, you were perfect."

He grins, "What can I say? I'm the king of providing pleasure."

You can't help but laugh at his arrogance, but you know that deep down he's just happy that he was able to make you feel good. You snuggle closer to him, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.

There's a moment of silence as you both just lay there, enjoying each other's company. Then, Gintoki speaks up again. "You know, I'm not usually one for this kind of thing," he admits, sounding a little awkward.

You turn to look at him, curious. "What do you mean?"

Gintoki shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. "I mean... I'm not very good at the whole... emotional stuff," he says, frowning slightly. "I don't really know how to talk about my feelings or anything like that.”

You reach out to take his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "That's okay," you say. "I'm not exactly an expert either."

Gintoki gives you a small smile, looking relieved. "Thanks," he says quietly. "I just don't want you to think I don't care or anything like that."

You shake your head, feeling a surge of affection for the lazy, sarcastic man lying next to you. "I know you care," you say, smiling. "In your own way."

Gintoki chuckles, sounding a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I guess I do," he says. "I mean, I wouldn't have done all this if I didn't care about you."

You feel a warm feeling spreading through your chest at his words, and you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you," you whisper.

Gintoki wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. "Anytime," he murmurs, his eyes sliding closed. You both drift off to sleep, wrapped up in each other's arms, feeling content and happy.

[mubroom]

[sugisyakult]

A Date With Shinsuke

A/N: this is my very first fic, so please go easy on me! thank you to @lilac-5ky for helping me with some ideas and for giving me your honest opinion! i don't really have anything else to say except the lack of shinsuke fics is criminal!!

The warm air floating in through the window let you know it was a spring morning and you woke up to the lapping of the waves against the Kiheitai ship. You knew you were in Edo, for one reason or another. Probably so the infamous Takasugi Shinsuke could have a meeting with some high ranking official about supporting your cause. The Takasugi Shinsuke just so also happened to be your boyfriend. Although, what he meant to you could never fit that word. 

You wish the man would take a break from his hellbent ideas on revenge and just take a relaxing day to do something fun. 

When you awoke you already knew Shinsuke would be gone. He was always gone in the mornings because he was such an early riser, instilled in him from his Shoka Sonjuku days. You were the only one who he entrusted his past to and how he felt about his late mentor, Yoshida Shouyou.

You slowly made your way out of bed to get ready and find Shinsuke. He was probably still in a meeting with the other Kiheitai members, so there was no rush. You put on your favorite kimono that he bought you for your first birthday spent together. It was red with golden cherry blossoms cascading down it. Shinsuke always told you that you looked good in red and he would never admit it to anyone else, but when you wore the color it drove him wild. You pinned half of your hair back with a hairpin that he also bought for you and put your black boots on.

Making your way out into the main hall of the ship, you ran into Bansai leaving the meeting.

“Hey Bansai, where’s Shinsuke?” 

“Looking over some papers, I daresay.” 

“Of course he is. Thanks!”

Bansai waved you off as you made your way to Shinsuke’s room. 

You opened the door and immediately made your way over to where he was sitting at his desk. Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you whispered in his ear, “There’s my hard worker.” 

Shinsuke was used to your little antics so he just rolled his eyes, a little smile creeping onto his face. 

“There’s my lovely, yet bothersome Y/N.”

“Hey! I’m not bothersome, you just work too much.” You retorted back at him. 

He just hummed in return, not once looking up from his papers. Although, maybe it was better that way because then he wouldn’t see the look on your face currently. Shinsuke always told you, you had this certain look on your face when you were getting ready to ask a question, but were ultimately scared to. 

You needed a little bit of time to steel yourself before asking him if he wanted to attend Hanami that night — celebrating the beginning of the cherry tree season below a sky of vivid pink; who wouldn’t want that? But looking at the man in front of you, you already had your answer. You very well couldn’t ask Shinsuke if he was looking right at you, so it was better this way. 

“Soooo.. I was thinking…” 

“Lets see, you’re wearing your favorite kimono that I bought you for your birthday and it has cherry blossoms on it. It also happens to be the start of spring, which also happens to be the time when the cherry blossom trees are in bloom. I’m assuming this is your way of asking me if we can attend Hanami?” 

Damn, Shinsuke knew you way too well for your liking sometimes. 

Before he could start spouting off the many reasons as to why he couldn’t go or shouldn’t go, you cut him off.

“I know, I know. What if the people see you? What if the Shinsengumi find you? I get it, I do. But, I want you to have fun and take a break! We never go out anymore and I miss that. We’ll be careful. Please.” 

Shinsuke heaves out a sigh and turns around in his chair to face you, your puppy dog eyes and pouted lip at the ready. As soon as he took you in, he let out a little laugh. 

“I hate how you think giving me that look will work every time, but..” He drags his hands down his face in exhaustion.

“Buuuuut?”

“But it does.”

“So.. we’re going then?” Hope sparkles in your eyes as you sit down beside him on the floor, head resting comfortably on his lap. 

With a smirk on his face and his green eye boring into you from above, “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

The cool night air of the spring season bats against your bare legs as you walk along the streets of Edo, with Shinsuke following close beside you. He donned a sedge hat and a plain haori over his otherwise noticeable yukata. The streets are aligned with multiple vendors selling their wares, string lights hung, and of course the cherry blossoms in full bloom. Groups of people shuffle by the two of you as you make your way smoothly through the bustle. Each vendor pulls you in with something that you find interesting. The many smells of different foods floods your senses as you go from vendor to vendor. 

Shinsuke stops beside you at a vendor, his breath fanning against your neck as he whispers, “You had to pick the most popular Hanami spot, didn’t you?” 

“It was close by, and that way, if we need to make a run for it, we’re not far from the ship.” 

He sighs in agitation as someone accidentally bumps into him. You can clearly see his annoyance and let out a little giggle. 

“Shinsuke… its fine, I promise. Just take a deep breath and try to enjoy yourself.”

“Enjoy myself? I am a wanted terrorist, you know?” 

You turn away from him with a small smile on your face to receive the food and drinks that you ordered for the two of you. Struggling to hold both of your items, he gives in and helps you carry them. Walking side by side again you make your way through the crowd to find a spot to sit underneath the cherry blossoms. You find a secluded spot away from most of the other people and sit down underneath the shade. 

Shinsuke stops a few feet away from you, “I’ll be right back.” 

You look up at him with worry and curiousness in your eyes. 

“Is everything okay?”

“I just remembered something that I forgot about.” 

You side eye him as he starts to make the trek back to the vendors. What could he possibly be doing? He wouldn’t just leave you here by yourself to enjoy the cherry blossoms because he is afraid of getting caught, would he? Of course he wouldn’t and you knew better than that! Shinsuke is not the type to do that and he always longs to be by your side, the way you always long to be beside his. So what exactly was he doing? All you could do was wait for him to come back. 

The food you bought for yourself is nothing but trash now. Fireflies lazily flit around your vision as you stare aimlessly into the distance still waiting for Shinsuke to make his return. Its only been fifteen minutes at most, but it feels like an eternity. Your hazy vision slips over couples sharing loving whispers and soft smiles. Being alone makes your mind start to wander and you start to think about what it would be like if Shinsuke wasn’t a wanted terrorist. What it would be like if you two were just another normal couple able to bask in the daylight without potentially getting thrown in jail. Without having to hide in back alleys and making runs for it. 

Your ears perk up at one of the sickeningly loving couples making their loud laughter known. You start to think about the very first time you’ve ever heard Shinsuke genuinely laugh like that and softly smile. The way his right eye squeezed shut, crinkles forming in the crease, his pure white teeth showing, cheeks flushed with a bright shade of pink. Your earlier thought of being a normal couple fades when you realize that you don’t want or need anyone but Shinsuke. That’s enough for you. He’s enough for you. You wouldn’t trade all of the close calls that you’ve faced together for anything in the world. 

Light footsteps are picked up by your hearing and you know its Shinsuke. A warm, loving smile stretches your lips wide as you know his every move, every sound. 

“Welcome back.” 

A faint blush is detectable and he grows somewhat shy. 

“Sorry I took so long, I didn’t anticipate it.” 

Sitting down gently beside you, its obvious that he is hiding something behind his back. He takes a quick sip of the sake thats sitting precariously on the ground. Face still flushed he pushes a small black box towards you, “Here.”

“W-what’s this?” Eyes widening in semi shock, you poise your fingers to take the top off. 

The lid being fully removed, you find whatever is in the box is carefully protected inside of pretty pink tissue paper. Cherry blossom pink. Fingers move nimbly to reach the contents hidden inside. Out of the corner of your eye, Shinsuke eyes you albeit anxiously. The soft pads of your fingers reach a beautifully crafted kanzashi and you let out a soft gasp. The color is a light red, bordering on pink. Gently removing it from the box and holding it delicately in your hands, you realize there is a string of cherry blossoms hanging from a golden pin. There are golden accents throughout the kanzashi, from the pin down to the string that holds the cherry blossom flowers together. You can’t stop staring at the absolutely exquisite gift in your hands. Looking over at Shinsuke in awe and wonder, you try to speak a coherent sentence.

“Sh-Shinsuke… this is so beautiful! What.. why…?” 

You’re so flustered and touched by the gift that droplets of water form in the corners of your eyes. 

Shinsuke scoots closer and gently leans into you, a loving smile on his soft lips.

“I wanted you to remember this night. I wanted to get you something that you’d have to cherish from this night forever.” 

Your eyes shoot up to look into his green orb, “Oh…you didn’t.. you didn’t have to, really.” 

He shrugs in amusement, “I wanted to.” He tries to hide the soft shade of pink that starts to grace his cheeks as he looks away from you, taking the kanzashi out of your hands and whispers, “turn around.” You do as you’re told, turning around with a smile as you feel Shinsuke’s fingers nimbly fix the kanzashi in your hair. Taking your face gently in his hands and putting a finger under your chin to tilt your head up to look at him, he smiles.

“Beautiful…”

The chill spring air of the night helps cool your heated cheeks down. Hands fumbling for his own, you move closer to him and he places a piece of your hair behind your ear. 

You gather yourself and take a deep sigh, “I truly don’t know what to say.. I love it!” 

Shinsuke continues to gently play with your hair while staring into your eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything.” 

Shinsuke has almost never been one for public displays of affection, so you’re a bit taken aback when he passionately kisses you in front of the people gathered near you. You doubt they’re paying much attention, but your cheeks flame up just the same; the way his soft lips caress yours, your tongues dancing together. You can hear his breathing get heavier as he places his hand on your cheek to pull you in closer.

Breaking away, having a goofy smile on your face, “You kissed me..”

Shinsuke rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Yes.”

“In public!”

“Don’t go making a big deal out of it because its not going to be an all the time thing.” 

You fling your arms around his neck as you give him a warm embrace. Placing your lips beside his ear you whisper softly, “Its okay, I like keeping our intimate moments between the two of us, anyway… it makes them more special.” You place a quick peck on his cheek before leaning back to look at him. 

“I love you.”

Shinsuke doesn’t return it but you don’t need to hear him say it to know he feels the same about you. His actions make that clear enough as he smiles at you and pulls you into his side. His arms snake around your waist as he rests his chin gently atop your head.

“Happy Hanami..” Shinsuke whispers just loud enough for you to hear him as you both watch the cherry blossoms fall and welcome in spring and it’s new beginnings. 

A/N: i hope you guys liked it! let me know what you think! okay, i’m a little embarrassed now so i’m dipping, bye!

credit for dividers: @benkeibear

[sl33paholics]

    ── sl33paholics ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

    ── "The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff." - Carl Sagan

ㅤ☆̶̲ Call me Vic or Vega. I enjoy writing in my spare time. I'm a black writer (bisexual too), and hopefully, in the future, I can get into the habit of making character x black!reader content for my fellow POC people since it's rare you come across those. Also, this blog looks better if you have Goth Rave :P

ㅤ☆̶̲ This is a 16+ blog. Some writings contain explicit content. Dni if you're not comfortable with anything shown ✌🏾

ㅤ☆̶̲ Every banner made that'll be shown on this blog is made by the wonderful @cafekitsune 🫶🏾 go check her blog out

ㅤ☆̶̲ Requests are always open. I rarely get any (💔), so I'd appreciate it if...yk... shoot me a message 🐗

「 ✬ 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐬 ✬ 」

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹒Cowboy Bebop

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹒Super Crooks

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹒JJBA (part 1-5)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹒Great Pretender

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹒GANGSTA

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹒Baki / Baki Hanma

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹒etc

「 ✬ 𝐘𝐞𝐬 ✬ 」

ㅤ☆̶̲ I'll gladly write fluff, angst, yandere content, smut, kinks (to a certain degree), AU, headcannons, and some I'm too lazy to type here

「 ✬ 𝐍𝐨 ✬ 」

ㅤ☆̶̲ I'll definitely NOT be writing anything that'll involve piss, scat, or SHIT (💀) pedophilia, incest, non-con, r^pe, certain taboo tropes (like teacher x student like c'monnn), etc

──── Masterlists ﹒ One-shots ﹒ Drabbles ﹒ Headcanons ﹒ Mini-series ﹒ Series

[lilac-5ky]

Hi there! Your writing is awesome!!! I love your headcanons and fics as they feel so spot on ❤️❤️❤️

I have a request if you are accepting - imma be angsty today - do you have any headcanons for Gintoki when he realizes he loves someone who was in love with him too late?

Thank you for this awesome blog!!! Makes my day to see posts!

A/N: Hi! It's been ages since I've done a request, but I was feeling generous (bad about being this lazy) and thought I'd give it a shot! Turned out more like a mini thing than headcanons lmao oops. HOPE THIS WAS GOOD ENOUGH, HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING FOR GINTOKI IN AGES, and THANK YOU FOR YOUR WONDERFUL WORDS! Hearing such lovely words is enough to make my day!

Warning: Didn't proofread .-. Angst

Gintoki was a bastard. Nothing new or foreign in particular. Everyone acquainted to the silver-haired samurai could name at least 10 negative traits of his, struggling to name just one good quality that would redeem him.

Everyone, except of you, that was. You didn't see Gintoki as the lazy, parasitic, sleazy, sadistic, gambling-addicted drunkard (wow he really has a lot of negatives) they made him out to be. You saw Gintoki for the kindhearted man that he was. The one who went around risking the color of his soul just to save another. The one who was whatever those around him wanted him to be: a friend, a brother, a hero, and why not a lover?

Admiration turned into Infatuation, tricking your heart into thinking you loved him. You'd linger around Yorozuya, offloading whatever menial task you could think of just for the chance to see him. Be it cleaning the leaves from your porch, killing that one cockroach that had sneaked in (one that had him running laps around the house while screaming for help) and even being your plus one to the wedding of a friend.

You dreamed of a day when you wouldn't have to come up with excuses for his company, and seeing as there were only so many times you could call him up to unplug your toilet before you ran low on cash, you decided to pour your heart out.

Kagura and Shinpachi knew. So when you asked Gintoki if he could meet you at your place on his own, they dolled him up and sent him your way with a "Good Luck" whose meaning he didn't quite understood until he saw you cradling a heart shaped box of chocolates-- plush cheeks flushing red, while pink lips curved into a shy smile.

"Gin-toki," the name shattered on your tongue. "I... I love you. Go out with me, please."

He stared at you for quite a while, as if you'd just uttered the world's most complicated joke. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or ask you if he knew what kind of crap you'd spat, and him being eager to verify his reputation chose the second.

"The yard seems clean enough to me. I'll be going now," he said, rejecting not just you, but the boxes of chocolate as it fell open onto the ground.

The next few hours were the hardest. Sleeping on the same pillow where you daydreamed all about your future with him felt like sleeping on glasses of your shattered dreams. Not even an answer, not a single explanation. He'd broken your heart with such ease that it terrified you. How plausible was it that in this new era of canine looking Amanto and flying cars some alien had taken over his body and wore it around like a heart-less, soul-less puppet?

Denial.

It was easier to deny all that had transpired and pretended it never happened. You even passed by Yorozuya the next morning, willing to give this another chance, telling yourself that man wasn't Gintoki. But when you saw his apathetic face reading the newest Jump and picking his nose even in your presence, you couldn't stop the tears from streaming down your puffy eyes.

Anger.

It didn't take long for you to join the ranks of Gintoki's haters, seeing the man as nothing short of the Devil himself. Every terrible thing that happened, you pinned on him. Bumping onto the kitchen cabinet? He was jinxing you from afar. Running out of gas in the middle of town? He must have stolen it while you were asleep. A terrorist attack nearby? Weren't those goons Gintoki's old war-pals? Every natural phenomena, every misfortune of this world and the next was Gintoki's fault. Love? The mere notion that you once loved him made you laugh. Hatred was all you had left.

Bargaining

With each passing day, you felt your fury redirecting at you, gnawing and clawing at your insides, while small "What If's" plagued your mind like maggots. What if you hadn't confessed that day? What if instead of your place you'd called him to a restaurant? What if you'd gotten a different brand of chocolates? What if--

Depression

You couldn't remember when the last time you'd gotten out of bed was. Balled up tissues framed the four corners of the room, the tears contained in them enough to cause a shipwreck. You didn't want to see anyone anymore, afraid that if you did you'd spot a resemblance between them and the man your heart longed to see the most. You didn't hate him anymore... you missed him. You missed the sound of his name so badly that it threaded itself between pitiful chokes and sobs like a rosary.

You missed him.

Acceptance

The days in your calendar kept shifting until a month had passed. Taking baby steps, you'd done your best to return to an inchoate routine. You woke up, washed your teeth, showered, checked the functionality of your toilet's flush, ate breakfast and went to work, where you stayed until the stack of paperwork diminished, and until you were rewarded for your efforts in the form of a promotion. Your coworkers cheered for you, and for a moment life felt good again because you'd stopped searching for the familiar hue of a silver mop.

You were fine.

The route Gintoki took to and from the pachinko parlor he frequented was predetermined. On hot days, he'd stop by that one ice cream joint with the world's greatest (and most affordable) soft serve. On cold days, he'd trade that for a warm bowl of red bean soup. Then he'd be on his way to the convenient store to grab the latest Jump and finish his day with a drink at the old hag's place.

Gintoki always took the same route, except of that one day he hadn't. The worn-out soles of his black boots carried him in the opposite direction of all those places and even home, bringing him to stand outside the two-floor house with the porch that needing cleaning regardless of season; your house.

He hadn't heard anything from you since God knows how long, and why would he? No one needed to remind him how much of a jerk he'd been, for the words in his brain repeated like a broken record he couldn't afford fixing. He was worse than a jerk. A despicable caricature of a man that couldn't own to the fact that he'd grown fond of you the same way you'd come to love him.

The look of absolute endearment whenever your eyes spotted him, a look that didn't change despite the crudeness of his actions. He loved that. The shaky fluctuations in your tone whenever he'd sit close enough to feel your hair tingling his face. He loved that, too. The smile that shone as bright as the sun itself and the little hand that waved at him -gosh, how he longed to hold that hand in his and compare the difference in size- goodbye. He loved that all so much. Too much. He loved you.

Or else why would he be standing out there when his beloved weather girl had issued a thunderstorm warning?

With his hands buried in his pockets, Gintoki circled the picket fence of your porch, head tilting between the wooden cracks at a chance to see your face. How was he supposed to start? Would an apology do? Would letting himself be beaten by that rusty rake or drenched from head to toe by your garden's hose do? How many "I love you's" would he need to spell out to convince you he was any less of a bastard than you made him out to be? What would it take for your forgiveness?

His fingers weaved through locks of silver, threatening to pluck them out. If he told you the truth, that he thought you deserved something better than a basket case samurai with no more than 300 yen in his name, he'd seem like a complete idiot. If he told you that the ghosts of the past he'd tried so hard to evade were catching up to him, you'd mistake him for a coward. And if he selfishly grabbed your hand and forced it against his chest, he knew he'd never be able to hear the three little words that directly countered those you'd said before.

"Gintoki, what are you doing here?"

The track of guilt gave way to the sweetest melody known to his ears, hope daring spur him on. He wore his gentlest smile and turned around to face you, the same hope digging like a knife inside his wretched heart at the sight of fingers -ten, in total- intertwined together, five of them belonging to you and the other to a man whose face didn't matter. All that mattered was the joy plastered on your pursed lips, one he saw fade away the second your eyes locked. One that was meant for him no more.

"The yard seems clean enough to me," he pointed beyond the fence, boots diving in the first of Ketsuno Ana's warnings as the sorrowful record resumed.

"I'll be going now."

[senkutist]

macchiato caramel

tags 🏷️: fluff, first meetings, first dates, getting together, family fluff, AU - modern setting, AU - college, crime investigation, coffee shops, eventual smut.

warning: graphics description of violence and mature content!

university professor!gintoki and police vice-chief!hijikata

words: 23.7k (until now)

chapters: 6/?

→ read it here

OBS.: this fanfic is a remake of an old fanfic of mine (of the same name). this time, it contains a coherent story and improved writing!

[writing-badger]

The Drifter and the Stationary One

Pairing: Al-Haitham x Cyno

Summary:

The Mausoleum of King Deshret is a shrine to the dead; haunted by the mistakes of a man driven into madness. Only the dead linger there, waiting for the end of time to finally relieve them from their duty. At least, that's what the scholars who reside in Sumeru City are told.

After being exiled after a failed coup, Al-Haitham finds himself wandering into the abandoned mausoleum and inadvertently stumbling across something that he had never expected.

"Genre": Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting

Word Count: 3,946

Warnings: None

Ao3 Link

You and I are different. I'm a drifter; you're stationary. That's what it boils down to. When you're incompatible, you can't live together. You should know this. 

- Atsuko Asano, No. 6 (Volume 9)

~ ~ ~

It is often difficult to find beauty in dangerous things; fear manipulating the beautiful into the revolting. What was once a source of comfort can quickly become an intolerable nightmare, threatening to consume everything it touches. 

 It's a survival tactic; nothing more, nothing less. 

 Human perception has very little effect on physical reality outside of itself. A spider is a spider, no matter how much a certain roommate claims that it is some incomprehensible abomination. The Akasha is simply a system, not the replacement for a supposedly absent archon that the sages keep claiming it to be. 

 No matter how much Al-Haitham rationalises it, however, he can't shake the revulsion he feels when he thinks about Sumeru City. In all the ways he knows it, the city is the same now as it was when he was a child... and perhaps that is what causes him the greatest discomfort. The idea that, if only a few weeks ago, you had asked him to describe the city he calls home, he would have called it one of the most beautiful places in Teyvat makes him nauseous. 

 Sure, his reasonings would have differed from his roommate who would have pointed to the architecture, or his colleagues who would have focused on the views offered by the lush landscape. Al-Haitham would have looked to the countless books which line the House of Daena, or dwelt on how his home always has a warm glow emanating from deep inside. If he had been in a particularly sentimental mood, he may have even gestured to the divine tree which caresses the sky, or the crystal waters which lap at the harbour. 

 But the root of the problem is still there, buried underneath a fanciful illusion that there was ever beauty to be found there. 

 Now the very thought of the place sends a shiver running down his spine. He can only see Sumeru for what it truly is; a façade to hide the self-absorbed arrogance of the sages who yearned to become more than what they ever deserved to be. Even the divine tree, once a shelter from the roughest storms, ended up holding a prison for an archon who was never given a chance to grow.

 Is it possible for something so corrupt to ever be beautiful? How could the word even hold meaning when it is so loosely used and so easily defiled?

 These would be the types of discussions he would roll around in his head, sometimes seeking the opinions of others be them from the scribbled ravings of scholars from long ago, or from Kaveh’s impassioned ramblings about the most recent infringement on his artistic sensibilities. They would inform him of his own opinions, adding depth to his understanding, and anchoring his thoughts. 

 All he has left is desert which spreads out in front of him. The only sound which breaks through his thoughts is the sand-dusted wind, whispering in an illegible tongue. Small grains sneak under his clothes and bite into any exposed skin they can find.

 It irritates his skin, but he presses onwards. 

 There’s no telling how far he would have to go to escape the shadowy claws of the Akademiya. 

 The desert is the only place where he can have at least some guarantee of safety, with the Traveler pointing him to the Mausoleum of King Deshret. Apparently, they had opened up a path through the previously inaccessible temple, one that no scholar would be able to set foot in thanks to a copious amount of red tape.

 Perhaps, he muses to himself, that is one of the few advantages of his self-banishment. The laws of the Akademiya now hold little meaning to him. And with nothing to hold him back, a once muted curiosity begins to stir under his skin. 

~ ~ ~

From the instant he crosses over the threshold, Al-Haitham feels a chill sweep over his body, wiping away all traces of the scorching sun. Only the sand clinging to his skin remains. He readjusts his cloak, rubbing the exposed parts of his arms in an attempt to smooth the goosebumps which cover his skin. His attempts prove futile, however, as the unsettling sensation only becomes more prominent. 

 In an effort to distract himself, he begins working through the Akademiya's protocol for entering unexplored ruins. It's exceedingly long and mostly pointless. Still, it makes him feel a little more sure of himself; rooting his thoughts back to reality. 

 Since there are no immediate traces of activity, it’s likely that Al-Haitham is the only one wandering the mausoleum aside from the remnants of Deshret’s technology which sluggishly continue their endless patrol. It doesn’t necessarily mean that he is safe, but it is a damn sight better than wandering aimlessly in the desert.

 The Traveler claimed that there would be a vast network of barely explored hallways beneath his feet although Paimon had been quick to warn him of the primal constructs. Her attempts to mimic the machines had almost been enough to bring a small smile to his face. It was the best she could do to try and alleviate the consequences of their failure to usurp Grand Sage Azar. 

 The others tried to play it off, sharing responsibility and placing the blame at Azar’s feet. Dehya spent their last hour together cursing the man’s name while Candace sat next to her, sometimes brushing her partner’s arm in an attempt to calm her down. Nilou was still in Sumeru City, rallying all those she could, smuggling out updates whenever she could for the desert-based group. Tighnari had returned to Gandharva Ville in order to recover from his inures, but promised to help the second he felt able to. Al-Haitham knows that the blame lies at his feet. All he can do is put his trust in them now, leaving them with as detailed of a plan as he could conjure in the short time he had before his escape.

 Placing his trust in others, however, is something far easier said than done. He finds himself wondering if the Traveler was going to abandon him in the mausoleum, to add him to the collection of forgotten souls consumed by the desert. It’s a silly thought, one he acknowledges as nonsense, yet his mind still toys with it.

 Usually, he would turn up the volume of the music that plays through his headphones, but they ran out of power a couple of hours ago. If he's lucky, he might be able to repurpose one of the non-functioning constructs which litter the halls to become a makeshift battery. Some must have been taken out by the Traveller, based on the scratches which cover their metal coats. Others appear to have simply stopped working, perhaps giving up or running out of power.

 For a moment, Al-Haitham wonders what they must have looked like when they were first built, diligently guarding a near-empty Mausoleum.  

 They wouldn’t have been lonely, being machines created for a rather singular purpose, yet there is something rather… Al-Haitham can’t quite find the right word to describe the sensation in his chest as he thinks about it a little too hard. He can feel the vestiges of Kaveh lingering in the sentiment, perhaps born from one too many rambling speeches about Mehrak and the Akademiya’s callous approach to machinery. To be condemned to a fate that they had no control over, patrolling the halls until they grind to a halt, it doesn’t sit right with him. Those were the words he had used and Al-Haitham finds himself agreeing with them.

 Shaking these thoughts from his mind, he finds himself at a crossroads.

 Ahead is what he assumes to be the central chamber, a place where all of King Deseret’s wealth would have been hoarded. It would certainly be a spectacular sight although Al-Haitham isn’t the type of man to be impressed by gold. To his left and right are doors, leading to some other chambers which could be filled with who knows what treasures. What stands out most to him, however, is an elevator pad which is almost inconspicuous save for the dull blue button which juts out from the floor. While it would appear to not have any power, he can spot recent disturbances around the edge which means it’s been used recently. The Traveller hadn’t mentioned any underground passageways, which makes him wonder if someone else had dared to step foot in the Mausoleum. It piques his curiosity enough and, with a little bit of tinkering, he manages to get it working again.  

 The lower levels of the Mausoleum are far less well-kept than the upper level. Sand pools in the corners, wild fungi pop out every couple of metres, and the walls are marked by deep scratch marks. If he had to compare them to something, he would say that they resembled claw marks before immediately pointing out how foolish of a comparison that is. The only beings that would be capable of making such damage, in Sumeru at least, would be the consecrated beasts and, even then, they would lack the power to cut through stone.  

 It would be wise to proceed with caution, he ends up deciding. The last thing he needs is to inadvertently piss off whatever creature calls the mausoleum its home.

 The thought of returning to the safety of the upper Mausoleum never once crosses Al-Haitham's mind. 

~ ~ ~

There are dangerous creatures that scour the Mausoleum of King Deshret, some more so than others. It’s something that Al-Haitham is aware of, but he had no idea how much danger he was in until he came across a room that he suspects lies directly underneath the grand gallery. 

 It was probably once a subterranean chamber. Nowadays, the crumbling of its walls means that twisting roots have invaded it. The natural world, so opposed to the technology that King Deshret had once pioneered, entangles itself with the deactivated constructs. It's difficult to tell what its original purpose was. He only manages to light a small handful of torches with the equipment he has on him. 

 Al-Haitham would have spent time trying to light the room properly, but his attention is drawn to a pile of consecrated beasts that sits in the centre of the room. Each one has been torn to pieces, deep wounds marking any flesh that hasn’t been torn away from the bodies. Serpents, scorpions, and vultures make up most of the corpses, but he can spot the remains of a few crocodiles towards the base of the pile. With such a mix of elements, Al-Haitham is aware that his dendro vision may end up being of little use if he ends up confronting whatever was able to tear through the monsters as if they were little more than paper. 

 He's aware that there are two options for him. 

 The first would be to return the way he came, heading back towards the elevator and hoping that he doesn't run into whatever caused this carnage. The second would have been to try one of the other doors which line the hallway. If he had the time to think about it, he would have chosen the former. His curiosity may have been riled up, but he has the self-awareness to know when he is completely outpowered.

 Unfortunately, before he had been given the chance to consider his next course of action, his skin begins to prickle. Following it, the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up, accompanied by a faint whiff of ozone. It’s such a crisp smell that it cuts through the stagnant air of the mausoleum and almost makes Al-Haitham feel like he is outside, waiting for an oncoming storm. 

 The vision clinging to his cape glows in warning as he summons his weapons, knowing that he stands little chance without them. As he begins to slowly back up against one of the crumbling walls, his eyes darting around in an attempt to prevent an ambush, the faint sound of crackling electricity fills his ears.  

 “You should not have come here,” a low voice warns, drifting through the room with the same enrapturing energy as rolling thunder.

 Al-Haitham turns his eyes to the chamber’s entrance just as a purple glow begins emanating from the once-dark corridor. He starts to move toward the most collapsed area of the wall, thinking that he might be able to make a quick escape to whatever underground cavern the underground chamber intrudes upon.

 There are no distinguishable sounds, most being buried under the sound of crackling electricity, for him to be able to figure out how close the threat is. Instead, he finds himself relying on his instincts. The only reassurance he has is that the voice sounds remarkably human, perhaps giving him a chance to reason his way out of trouble. For now, he decides to keep his mouth firmly shut.

 “This is not a place for the living.”

 It’s closer now, and Al-Haitham readies himself in response. His ears ring in warning, drowning out the crackling sound and making it even more difficult to concentrate on the entrance. Then it falls silent, the thunder disappearing which leaves only the lightning to strike its target. 

 The room is plunged into darkness, the torches lining the chamber blowing out in an instant. It disorients the scribe, but not enough to completely dull his instincts as the ozone smell gets stronger. 

 Without wasting a single second, Al-Haitham launches himself towards the door; dodging a flash of lightning which lands where he had just been standing. The impact is so solid that the reverberations shake the ground, dislodging sand from overhead, and crumbling the wall he had previously had his back to. Stifling the burning urge to turn around, Al-Haitham keeps moving forward, managing to dodge a couple more strikes as he goes. 

 Based on his estimations there should only be a couple of metres left to the elevator, but he doesn’t make it.

 Claws latch onto his shoulder, piercing his skin as he is dragged backwards, spun around, and pinned against the wall. The impact of his head against stone sends a sharp pain shooting through his body, his eyes screwing shut in response.

 “Who are you?”

 The voice is so close that Al-Haitham can feel the words brush against his skin as whatever it is on his shoulder tightens its grip. He knows that he should look his attacker in the eye, otherwise, he risks looking weak, but he feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

 Fear. 

 No part of his body seems to be doing what he wants it to. His eyes won’t open, his breathing won’t steady itself, and his heartbeat is so loud that he can barely think. He knows that he could die in an instant, and no one would know where he went. 

 “There is no bravery to be found in death,” his captor says as if Al-Haitham isn’t already acutely aware of this. 

 The thing seems to scoff at the lack of response, loosening its clawed grip on Al-Haitham’s shoulder as the sound of crackling subsides. For a moment, he finds himself able to breathe when a more human hand wraps around his neck and lifts him up, raising him off the ground. His feet swing limply in the air, not even trying to kick his attacker.

 “Open your eyes,” the voice orders and Al-Haitham obeys immediately. 

 If he hadn’t already been struggling to breathe, Al-Haitham is certain that the sight in front of him would have knocked the air out of his lungs. 

 Rather than a monster towering over him, he finds himself staring down at a shorter man. White hair flows down from a jackal-shaped headpiece, and red eyes stare up at him, narrowed in warning. Al-Haitham can’t be sure whether it is fear, adrenaline, or some unknown feeling that stirs within him, but he feels like he is falling. 

 “I will only ask once more, who are you?” 

 The man loosens his grip briefly, allowing Al-Haitham to take a choking breath in. 

 “A lost scribe,” Al-Haitham struggles to answer, bowing to the implicit authority that the other holds but cryptic enough to maintain a sliver of control. 

 “I’ve known many scribes,” the man’s eyes are cold, “and they’ve always had a name.”

 “Al-Haitham,” he cedes. 

 “Scribe Al-Haitham, you must leave this place.”

 If it wasn’t for the precarious position Al-Haitham finds himself in, he would have made a snarky comment about his attacker not knowing the meaning of the word ‘lost’. Instead, he settles on a far deadlier response.

 “A name given deserves one in return.”

 The man frowns, his grip remaining loose, but Al-Haitham doesn’t move. 

 “Cyno.”

 “That’s it?”

 “You expected more?” 

 The muted surprise in Cyno’s tone doesn’t go unnoticed. 

 “Well, I figured you would have a title,” Al-Haitham clarifies. 

 “Most would call me ‘Monster’,” Cyno says, fully releasing Al-Haitham who collapses to his knees and his hand shoots to his throat. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that bruises are already forming where the man’s hand had once been. Cyno, for his part, considers his words for a moment before adding, “I suppose, before that, it would have been something akin to General.”

 As Al-Haitham steadies his breathing, he finds himself looking up at Cyno and wonders how anyone could dare call the man a monster. Everything about him is as close to ethereal as you could get, from his piercing eyes to his overwhelming strength. He hesitates when the word he should use graces his tongue, stung by it one too many times, but there is nothing else that fits. 

 Beautiful. 

 Cyno looks so very beautiful. 

~ ~ ~

Al-Haitham was quick to tell Cyno his story, detailing the events that led to him wandering the desert in search of shelter. He spins a tale of a traveler, mercenary, leader, and dancer who are putting their lives on the line to save an archon. He mentions a forest ranger in Gandharva Ville, and sprinkles in some other things that may be interesting. He complains about a hapless architect, and an overbearing professor who is far too passionate for her own good, sharing a couple of anecdotes to illustrate his points.

 Cyno, for his part, simply listens. At points, Al-Haitham is certain he has transformed into a statue with how still he could be. Not even the slightest muscle twitch, or feigned acknowledgement, makes its way to his face.  

 It’s understandable, Al-Haitham reasons, with how long Cyno must have been alone. Practising conversation must be extremely difficult when all you have are fungi and machinery to call friends. It would also explain why Cyno still struggles to talk for long periods of time, his throat growing hoarser after only a couple of minutes. Al-Haitham can’t help but muse to himself about how endearing the general is, especially when he starts talking about his passions. It took only one stilted conversation about ley lines for Cyno to spill his heart out, relaxing far faster than the scribe had anticipated. Although it still took some effort on his part, carefully choosing his words to avoid having a spear tip shoved in his face. 

 Still, the mausoleum wouldn’t be able to shelter the scribe for long. All the water sources had been depleted, and food was running scarce. After only three weeks, Al-Haitham finds himself standing at the main entrance to the large pyramid with a heavy decision to make. 

 He could try returning to Sumeru, braving the threat of the Akademiya... and end up putting the others in danger. He could flee to another nation; Inazuma or Mondstadt being the safest bets... leaving him completely. Or he could stay, allowing the Mausoleum of King Deshret to claim another soul but at least having company in his final moments. 

 “You’re leaving already?” 

 Cyno’s voice cuts through Al-Haitham’s thoughts, drawing his attention to the shorter man who now stands beside him. 

 “I won’t last here for much longer,” he says, acutely aware of the other man. Cyno doesn’t say anything for a moment, his hair swaying in the sandy breeze. 

 “This is a place of death,” he acknowledges, “it wasn’t built to keep people alive.”

 “Yet here you stand,” Al-Haitham mumbles, his gaze tearing away from the endless sand to stare at the captivating walking contradiction. 

 “Would you really say I’m alive?”

 “I can't say that you're anything else,” he says, watching as Cyno’s gaze turns to the floor. It is as stoic as ever, but Al-Haitham knows it’s because he’s feeling a little bit flustered. It's a look the scribe has learned to recognise, usually after the general shares a particularly painful pun that stops a conversation dead in its tracks.

 Al-Haitham knows that this should be the moment he leaves; delivering a last verbal jab before walking into the desert never to return. It would be the best option for both of them, yet he can’t move an inch. 

 “Don’t you ever want to leave?”

 The question falls from his lips before he can fully process what he is doing, the last vestiges of logic and reason fleeing from his grasp. 

 “I am bound to this place as the last remaining general,” Cyno finally says, an uncertainty briefly flashing through his eyes but not escaping Al-Haitham's attention, “I cannot abandon it so freely.”

 “But there is no one left,” Al-Haitham counters, playing on the general's momentary doubt, “you owe this place no loyalty. They condemned you to… to this loneliness.”

 “You see it as their condemnation, I see it as my duty,” he says, his tone not quite matching the feigned smile which falters on his face, ”of course, I would never expect a scribe to understand. Your loyalties are as fickle as your interests.”

 “My interests are not so fickle,” Al-Haitham argues, although he doesn’t push his previous point any further. He can recognise when someone is deflecting from the real crux of the issue. 

 “Oh, only yesterday you were obsessed with a bunch of scrolls, and now you’re talking of abandoning them without a second thought,” Cyno counters, briefly glancing at Al-Haitham from the corner of her eyes. 

 “You got me,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. The scrolls may have been left at the wayside, but that's only because he has something far more tantalizing in his sights.

 A comfortable silence falls over them as they watch a lone construct drift across the sands. It spins in a lazy circle before continuing on its predetermined course. 

 Cyno is the one who breaks the silence, his voice far softer than anything Al-Haitham had heard before.

“Even if I wanted to leave, I can’t live anywhere else…”

 Al-Haitham is quiet again, his mind turning those words over in his head as he gathers all the courage he can muster. In a swift movement, he turns to Cyno and reaches out his hand, leaving the palm turned up in front of the other.

 “Then will you die with me, Cyno?”

 It’s a selfish question born from a desire that Al-Haitham doesn’t fully understand. Later, when time has taught him and taken more in exchange, he would come to truly comprehend what he felt in this moment. But, as Cyno places his trust in the palm of Al-Haitham’s hand, he can only think one thing. 

 Falling alone is a terrifying thing, so it would be best to drag someone else down with him. 

[loserfictionalgirl]

I love gintama fanfictions because most of them have that character voice that is so unique to gintama and it is easier to imagine them as really being just an extension of gintama fr. That's because the gintama people are so unprofessional and silly. I love them <3

[uhhidkkenny]

First fic done, hopefully y’all like it (go check it out if you haven’t🤪) BUT I wanna write something else with y’all’s input so help me decide! Depending on what’s picked, it may be 18+! I’ll let y’all pick the character after this poll!🖤

[chugging-bleach]

give my gintama x reader fic a read if you desire searching the baby daddy after a regretful one night stand and somehow there are multiple baby daddies?

this is the first work i have ever committed to writing, so feel free to give me feedback!

[a-username-not-found]

Gintama x SpyxFamily: Babysitting for a day

[goldenlaquer]

REQUESTS OPEK??!?!?!;&@, I JUST WOKE UO IM NOT REAUD UM UN UHH UM

may i request Gintoki with a gn reader who just LOVES to spoil him and make him food but at some point just. stops and doesnt say why and while gintoki doesnt want to sound like "hey wheres my food☹️" he is lowkey wondering if they are mad at him and does a bunch of stuff to try make it up to them. rither like cooking himself or spending more time with them yknow?

but in reality its just that money got tight for a bit and they were embarrassed to say they were spending so much on gin lmao

sorry if thats like all over the place! love you lots professor💚

The way you always come as soon as I open requests, It's like you're in my walls 🥺🚓

Sakata Gintoki Headcanons:

Majority of his life, Gintoki been used to going without comforts, some way or the other. Warm clothes. Fresh underwear. Food. Good food, especially. And it ain't been all so bad since he started the Yorozuya. You can always catch a meal from behind Snack Otose's bar before the old lady catches you by the ear and tosses you out like a dirty mongrel. You can always dip your head in the fountain at the local park to gulp down some cold water. You can always get your 14-year old coworker to stand in a corner and beg for some spare change for your strawberry parfait at your favorite cheap family-style joint.

Point is, you put a street urchin anywhere, and he finds a way to survive.

Theoretically.

So what actually does him in is meals, hot meals, three times a day, seven days a week. The dining table these days is actually creaking, heavily set with the weight of those little side dishes. Side dishes. Gintoki now is getting choices with his meals. And after a delicious meal, then comes dessert. Not just any dessert— strawberry parfait. A tall glass dish filled brim with his favorite sweet, pushed under his nose with a sweeter kiss to his temple before you're happily clearing the rest of the dishes to the sink.

Gintoki has gained ten pounds since loving you.

Until he's suddenly back to square one, ten pounds lighter, back to three-way chopstick fights over every rotten grain of rice, back to scavenging in Sadaharu's dog feed bag, back to harassing Otose's rice cooker, back to swishing fountain water through his teeth to line his never-quite-satisfied stomach.

It's not his first rodeo, but this time, hitting the ground is harder than he remembers.

It's not about the food. In the past few days, you haven't even been looking at him in the eyes, while ladling a fourth of the food that you usually serve into his chipped bowl. Have barely peeped a few words, except murmured thank you for the meal's before quietly eating your portion, smaller than everyone else's. You've kissed him less, hugged him less. The Yorozuya doesn't carry your scent anymore, you're hardly there.

You're ignoring him, he's concluded. Gintoki knows, knows he's pissed you off because Sakata Gintoki always pisses everyone off at some point. You're sick of a lazy, no-good guy like him, he knows it. He knows it.

Fuck, he hasn't missed any anniversaries. On your third month together, he pissed your name in the snow in front of the Yorozuya! If that isn't the most ardent declaration of love, he doesn't know what is! On your birthday, he gave you a DIY, a lovely sculpture! And told you to use it when he's gone! And his performance in bed— no, that definitely can't be it. He puts his back into it! His dicking is flawless. S-tier!

Shinpachi suggests gifting you the newest Otsuu-chan CD. An advice expected of a cherry boy, damn him.

Kagura is more helpful— she's seen it all before. Papi always swallowed his pride and kneeled in the dirt and begged.

And so, Gintoki kneels in the dirt and begs.

And he says something not worth repeating. Blah blah blah blah I miss you blah blah blah blah don't leave blah blah blah blah You don't have to do anything blah blah blah blah just stay blah blah blah blah I love you or whatever blah blah blah blah.

And you're wrapping your arms around his prostrated head, maybe in tears, saying something like money was running short, you were out looking for a job that's why you weren't at the Yorozuya more often, and something like you were embarrassed to face him— which is the most ridiculous bullshit he's ever heard because look at him while he's wiping your tears away with a rough hand, you idiot— you're dating the sorriest, the poorest bastard in Edo! Getcher ass home so we can eat dinner.

And dinner that night— even with four pairs of chopsticks and one paw fighting over the last shriveled dog kibble— has never tasted better.

Happily ever afterrrr

[lilac-5ky]

Heyyyy😏 can you write something for Gintoki where you get in an argument with him (cause he’s a jerk) and then he says something so back handed to you (cause he’s a jerk) and you just walk of and like cry or sumn cause it hurt so much and he just tries to apologize and it gets a little emotional idk I just need something that’ll hurt me a little bit 😔😣

A/N: Hi! I feel like Gintoki is more likely to apologize through his action than his words, and so his apology is mostly done than said :p Not sure if this is super angsty, but I hope it's good enough!

Plot: Gin being a piece of shit who never cleans and upsets poor innocent reader with his attitude.

Warning: Gets a bit suggestive with language and some minor angst ig?

Arguing with Gintoki (x Fem!Reader)

(just look at him being disgusting and cute.)

There are many reasons for one to pick a fight with Gintoki. Be it Otose arguing with him over rent delays, or Kagura and Shinpachi demanding their pay, there’s always someone at odds with the Odd Jobs’ boss.

However, when it came down to you, perhaps you had an easier time letting things slip. You’d stayed around long enough to get acclimated to all those wacky situations Gintoki involved himself in, as well as his hectic and lazy persona.

At this point, you’d earned yourself the nickname “saint” from his peers, considering how you seemed to be the only one with enough patience to put up with him. But even a saint’s patience has its limits.

When you walked into Yorouzya on a day like any other, finding an absolute war-zone where his couch once stood, not even that Buddha’s patience of yours was enough to shield your faint heart.

No way in hell would you willingly pick up his dirty underwear off the fan, or clean after the millions of empty takeout boxes residing under the kotatsu (just how much food can a person consume overnight?!), while Gintoki remained idly picking on his nose like a primadonna. This had to end.

“Gin,” you asked in a near pleading tone that went unnoticed.

“Gin?” Your second attempt was too ignored, his attention monopolized by the weather girl inside the little black screen.

Frustrated beyond compare, you threw about the first object your hands could find onto his head, leaving him with no other choice but to face you. The noodle box ended up landing like a party hat, with a string of curry dropping down his forehead. He sported a somewhat disturbed look, though that wasn’t enough to prevent him from turning back to the tv the second the noodle box fell to the floor.

“Gin!” Unable to contain your temper, you jumped to block his view.

“Huh? Y/N?” Gintoki queried as if he wasn’t even aware of your presence in prior, something that only added fuel to the fire. “What are you doing here?”

“Not cleaning your mess, that’s for sure. What’s this?” You paused to point at the underwear and then his leftovers. “And this? Who’s going to clean all this?”

“Quit nagging, it’s not even 12.” He yawned, stretching his limbs across the couch. “Kagura will probably feed them to Sadaharu, or Tama will pass by later. Just leave them be.”

You couldn’t believe in your eyes, or rather your ears. How could someone this irresponsible be running a business, when this was the kind of reception he had in store for any poor soul that dared walk in? It wasn’t as if Yorozuya was ever the pantheon of work ethics to begin with, but this was too much even for him. Feeding the trash to the dog, just what was he thinking?

“Are you for real? Why would…? Who would… ?” One unfinished sentence followed the other while you struggled to find the right words. “Nevermind. It’s no wonder no one sets foot in here nowadays. Only an idiot would choose another hare-brained idiot to handle their job for them.” You spat bitterly.

“Then I guess that makes you into an even greater idiot, Y/N. Or else you wouldn’t be showing at my doorstep to bitch about something this trivial, especially when it’s none of your concern.” He followed in the same tone, bringing the already heavy atmosphere even further down.

“It’s none of my concern whether my boyfriend’s house reeks like a dumpster? Or whether it gets infested with cockroaches? Then whose is it?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “You know, since I too spend the night here from time to time, I would appreciate if the smell of soured ramen didn’t have to compete with that of your underwear.”

Gintoki sighed in response, lazily combing through his disheveled hair with one hand. You’d always been fond of that scruffy appearance of his, but right now, all it did was add more fuel to the fire, providing you with yet another reason to stay mad at his disposition.

“And do something about your appearance already! It looks as if a crow nested in there!”

“Oi, Y/N. Is it that day of the month? I don’t remember you being such an overbearing control freak.”

“I don’t remember you being such a bum.” You argued back.

“If I’m such a bum then why do you insist on coming here?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

The lack of sound succeeding your heated exchange was perhaps even more disturbing than the argument itself. You got so caught up in talking back to him, that before you knew it, such regrettable words came pouring out your mouth.

“What are you standing here for?” Gintoki asked, his otherwise dead fish eyes now beaming with resentment. “The door is right there. Leave.”

Was this really… it? Was he about to forsake everything the two of you had come to be over a silly argument?

With your questions unanswered and your steps heavier than before, you paced outside Yorozuya. This definitely wasn’t the kind of time you’d hoped to spend over at his place. Part of you expected to hear his voice a final time, to receive the affirmation that this was nothing but a silly lover’s quarrel, though silence came to be your sole companion. Silence, and whatever this gut wrenching emotion was.

Little by little, you felt the oxygen within your lungs igniting you whole, slowly burning at your fuse until you couldn’t go on anymore. Crouched near the ground, all you could do was bawl right outside Otose’s bar, meekly hoping that no one was around to notice your muffled cries.

Was it frustration or was it hurt? You couldn’t tell. The only thing you knew was that this was the first time you’d ever felt such uncertainty. Shoes of different color stopped before you, each pair belonging to yet another passerby who felt entitled to shoot his look of pity your way, but not entitled enough to pry any further, to approach any closer.

It was your fault. If only you’d kept your mouth shut, then nothing would have happened. Gintoki wouldn’t get annoyed, he wouldn’t raise his voice, he wouldn’t dare say such horrible things, and he…you…

No. It was his fault for being this messy and unjust. Even if you were a bit too harsh, you acted out of genuine concern. You had no intention to watch as he festered within the four rusty walls of his house. Gintoki had always been the kind to take care of everyone, but when it came down to his own self, he seldom bothered to lift a finger.

What others attributed as mere laziness, you knew better. It was almost as if by wallowing in such unspoken misery, he was atoning for something. As if he was repenting for past sins only he knew of. Either way, his disregard for his own well-being showed in every single aspect of his lifestyle. From the sorry state of his house, to his own unkempt appearance.

You remembered of the first time you met Gin. You recalled thinking how despite his exterior, he bore resemblance to a mirror. A blurred, borderline shattered glass, be it one that let you see an image of yourself clearer than any you’d seen before. The good with the bad, the beauty and the ugliness, the flaws and the imperfections. Everything that made you into who you were was right there, delving in those maroon eyes of his.

Perhaps Gintoki was never meant to shine on his own. Perhaps his strength lied in making others shine brightest, in reflecting not the image you longed to see, but the one closest to reality.

You liked yourself when you were with him. You felt certain and grounded at the same time. That should you ever lose your way, one look at him would be enough to guide you back. You liked that, but more importantly, you liked him. That silver gleam of his was what made you fall for him in the first place.

He was right. You were overbearing and overzealous and butted in his business without thinking twice, and that was precisely why you wouldn’t give up on him. No matter what it took, you’d never quit clearing his soul off the distortions haunting it. Not before making sure that the man known as Sakata Gintoki would never grow dim, that was.

And so, you wiped the tears with the back of your hand and rose to your feet. One by one, you climbed the steps to Yorozuya all the way to the top where you stood still. What would you say to him? Apologies were never your forte and neither his. Showing up to clean his apartment as if you were part of a clean-up crew didn’t seem like a great idea either, especially when one considered the nature of your argument. What if he pushed you away again? What if he demanded that you leave?

No. No, even if he did that, there was no way you’d run. It didn’t matter if he called you names, if he dragged you outside or any of these things, really. You’d made up your mind to clean after his own mess for however long he needed you to. Until he learned to do it for himself. Until he was forced to get a real look at who he really was. That self destruction bullshit of his had to end.

Before you had the chance to contemplate any longer, the door went wide open with Gintoki appearing on the other side, evidently taken aback by your sudden reappearance.

“I-” You said in unison, each stopping at the other’s interruption.

“You-“Another failed attempt.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to blurt out everything without giving him the chance to cut in a third time. Here goes nothing.

“I’m sorry for acting like an evil mother-in-law and yelling at you the way I did. You are right, I am an overbearing control freak, but I never meant to criticize you. I felt as if that was the only way to make you listen, and I honestly can’t stand to see you living life in a swap because, Gintoki, to me you are someone very important and I only want to see you thrive. Why are you so unkind towards your own self? No matter what happened in the past, you shouldn’t let it bring you down.”

You took a short pause. Perhaps giving him a lecture about past trauma would only get him to retreat further in his shell.

“My point is, I don’t intend to stop bitching at you. Whether you like it or not, I’ll keep interfering in your business, until you stop doing yourself injustice. So please, accept my earnest concern and, for the love of god, allow me to clean your house.”

Your outburst imposed a bemused expression on his face, one that was quickly replaced by a forced snort.

“What are you talking about?” Gin leaned against the frame with his index lazily poking past the shell of his ear. “I don’t recall you paying any visits whatsoever.”

“Wait- what?”

“You play weird pranks, Y/N. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Or is this a dream you are talking about?”

It was your turn to be dumbfounded. Was this a joke or was he simply going to act as if the whole incident never occurred in the first place?

“Why are you looking at me like that? Did I grow an extra set of balls on my forehead?” He asked, patting down his head.

You brushed his comment off, unsure of what to say next. The mood had completely shifted with Gin returning to his usual “charming” self, something over which you were truthfully thankful. Of course his throwing you out meant nothing. After all, this was nothing but a silly lover’s quarrel.

“No… but looks like your wish is granted.” You jested, removing a noodle that was dangling between silver strands of hair. “It’s finally straightening up.”

Gintoki frowned, looking away while you chuckled.

“If you have the time to be running your mouth, come in already.” He mumbled before scooting to the side.

Upon entering the hallway, the first thing to catch your attention was the scent. It smelled like primrose and magnolia, the sweet vanilla essence completely taking over the foul odor previously emitted by his living room. Did someone visit him while you were gone, or did he actually douse it with perfume?

As the two of you progressed to the living room, your surprise only increased, to the point of making you wonder whether you’d entered the wrong building. Rather than encounterig the same chaos you did earlier, you found a spotless table and an even more spotless couch. The noodle boxes, the plastic cutlery, even the half torn underwear; they had all disappeared.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d place your bet on a second Amanto invasion happening, but the moment you took notice in the half concealed mop lurking between the closet’s folds, there was no doubt anymore. He had cleaned. Gintoki had actually cleaned!

“Gin…” His name was cut in half by a sole sob.

“What are you crying for?” He asked, genuinely confused by your reaction.

“I can’t believe you did such a thing.” You went on, feeling truly grateful. “Everything is squeaky clean!”

Perhaps Gintoki sucked at apologies, but when it came to making things right, he never failed to impress. He always knew exactly what to do. A push was all he needed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gintoki said as he approached you from behind. “It’s always clean around here.”

You were about to object to that, when you felt a pair of arms snaking around your waist, pulling you closer for him to press his body against yours. Instinctively, you looked up at him, the look in his eyes indicating he was up to no good.

“But if cleanliness is not what you want, I know of a way to make things dirty again.”

On second thought, a bit of disarray never hurt.

[short-circuit-the-great]

Song of Wolves / Ch 34 / The Sun-Kissed Memories We Share, Part II

"For you, my friend, every star in the sky." -- Zura remembers Ikumatsu, despite it all.

Two chapters in one night? Have I snapped? Yeah.

[justpendule]

Just wrote a little fic about Gintoki and his relationship with silence:

Fandom: Gintama

Pairing: Gen

Main tags: Gintoki-Centric - Light Angst - Character Study

Words Count: 640 words.