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souglias · 6 months ago

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cage of the unforgiving: chapter one [GINTOKI]

You have seen the Saviour of Yoshiwara before he earned that title. You have seen that wavy, silver-haired man before he stirred trouble with the Hyakka. You knew Gintoki even before he stepped foot into Yoshiwara. But you have forsaken too much to go back. Gintoki, on the other hand, holds onto too much to carry on.

Gintoki x f!reader. 16+ ONLY

c/w: Rated for the crude themes and also for my own comfort, no smut, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, reader is a courtesan, reader smokes, possibly toxic behaviours because the two won't communicate straightforwardly (content warnings will be added if needed as the chapters go and pointed out each time if any)

chapter word count: 3.1k

note: thanks for opening my fic! It's my first time attempting to write in this particular setting, writing themes and character development in a multi-chapter fic, so please forgive me for anything I lack in. I did my planning and research, but it's still something new to me :"). Any constructive feedback will be well appreciated!

cross-posted on AO3 (accessible from my profile)!

All likes and reblogs are appreciated!

There is a famed rumour of a room in Yoshiwara. A closed space that gives you the things you desire. Anywhere, anything and anyone. Most people believe it works because of some technology that the Amanto has installed. The more absurd reason going around is magic.

Word goes that only a select few high-ranking courtesans have seen it, and no one knows who exactly because none of them talk about it. You are of a high rank, but you are not ranked high enough to have been in it. Any thoughts of even asking about it is wishful. It’s bullshit anyway and likely entertainment among the courtesans.

But it doesn’t stop you from thinking about it. Does the grasp of the artificial neon lights reach the inside? What would you see if you ever stepped foot inside? You have a few guesses, and you always dream of them. You dream of the dojo back in Shoka Sonjuku when you hold a shinai in both hands. You dream of the classroom with sliding doors facing the outside wide open, the breeze tickling your face during lessons. You dream of your old home, your brother beside you at the small floor table before he had become bedridden from illness.

One night, you dream of Gintoki, squabbling with Takasugi in the sunny yard. It escalates to them jumping atop each other. When Shoyo finally stops the fight in his peculiar manner, Gintoki catches you staring at him. He calls your name and your heart soars. You loved it when he said your name. It was much sweeter when it fell off his tongue. He wriggles his arms out of the ground and outstretches it towards you. You reach towards it with your own to pull him up.

Before you reach him, you wake up to the sound of your screeching alarm. As if something slipped out of it, your hand feels a little empty.

It’s an absurd dream. Everything that played out in it never happened in reality. And you’re not sure what you saw in that idiotic, crude boy when you were younger. You would never admit to anyone that you liked him.

Gintoki will remain as just a stupid boy in your past, adored by your old self who has died.

But you can’t help but feel your heart drop as you linger in your futon, alone in your dark room barely illuminated by the neon lights outside. A cloud hangs over you as the day progresses. You reach for your kiseru much earlier than usual as an attempt to lighten up, before you’re done with all the customers for the date.

You prop your arms up on your window, letting your free hand hang freely outside of the window as you take a drag.

Then you see him.

A wavy, silver-haired samurai with several courtesans having their hands all over him. You almost drop your kiseru three floors down. You can barely hear what he’s saying, only catching the words “let go” and “clingy”.

He should not be able to see you, but you shift to conceal yourself at the very edge of your window. Your gaze does not stray away from him, following him until he disappears from view. And it is only then you fully realise you are hiding.

The sliding door of your room opens behind you, causing you to jump. Your attendant, a shy little girl who goes by Asami, notices your surprise as she addresses you by your professional name; your alias.

You put on a bright smile. “Is it time for the next appointment?”

Asami scrutinises you without her gaze being sharp, then nods. “I will guide them in when you are ready.”

Is Asami starting to see through you after all this while attending to you, or are you losing your cool over a mere samurai? You’re not sure which you would prefer. “Bring them in 10 minutes. Thank you.”

The next few hours pass quickly. You start by playing the koto for your customer. In between songs, you pour sake for him with a trained loving gaze. At some point, both of you are at your window, watching the smoke billowing from Hosen’s extravagant abode. The customer places a hand on your shoulder, which you assume is an attempt to assure you that everything will be okay. Perhaps it’ll do some good to pretend to be more alarmed, and you decide to slide your arms around his tightly as your show of anxiety.

Everyone thinks that is the end of a minor accident, and they resume whatever they are doing for some time.

Then it happened without warning. For you, it happens as you’re cleaning your room, a little after your customer leaves.

The ground quakes and a loud whirring noise surrounds the compound. Light enters the compound. First in a slow stream, then in a flood of rays.

For the first time, there’s a square of blue at the corner of your window. It expands like a black canvas being added with more bright paint as you shift closer to it. A pastel yellow stretches itself out at the tatami floor near your window. When you move into the sun’s rays, their warmth begins to kiss your skin. A little unfamiliar, your arm feels a little prickly with the heat. But you do not shy away from it.

This must be the work of Gintoki. A wild guess, but it is one from deep in your gut. Even as uncertainty for the future grows in your chest, you continue to bask in the light and drink in the azure sky above you.

Asami comes by and tells you that there is no news on what has happened. Before she manages to leave, you pat the spot right next to you. “Come, sit with me by the window.”

Her eyes widen and she asks, “What if a patron comes by?”

“That will be unlikely. Everyone’s too worried about what’s going on to come without an appointment.”

She remains kneeling at the entrance of your room, picking at her fingernails.

You add, “Don’t worry, I will take responsibility if anyone comes looking for trouble. Or you can take this as your order from me. Accompany me.”

You take a last puff of smoke for a while and keep your kiseru away in your kimono. You don’t like to smoke in the presence of children.

Asami is stiff when she sits next to you. You remain silent, letting her make herself comfortable at her own pace. Sometimes, you despise your rank, making you more intimidating than you want to be. The only ones who do not fear you are the ones who are above you or those who see you as their enemy. But you did not have the privilege to choose, and you let the recurring thought pass again.

The day passes with you unmoved from your window. You don’t realise how much you miss the sun until it sets at the end of the day. Even after Asami leaves, you continue to watch the hues of the sky shift. Only when the sun enters its deep slumber to make way for a hazy moon, do you reluctantly pull yourself away from your window.

Word goes around fast in Yoshiwara and you get up to date in less than a day. Tsukuyo is now the new leader of Yoshiwara. Hinowa has stepped down as the top favoured courtesan and she makes a living at a humble food shop behind the building that houses your room. A silver-haired samurai is one of those behind everything, and he is hailed as the “Saviour of Yoshiwara”. His popularity and reputation among the women have skyrocketed. His name has become a sweet candy on the tip of the tongues of many.

His name is everywhere now, mildly unsettling you with how it grates in your mind too.

Whenever you are not working, you wonder if he still comes to Yoshiwara to visit. Right before a scheduled appointment, you wonder if he is only a mere distance from you, eating dango at Hinowa’s shop. You wonder if he’s fucking other girls, letting them freely say his name as they please.

Gintoki, Gintoki, Gintoki. You are sure you no longer harbour any sort of puppy love for him, but his name echoes so torturously in your mind. You want to know how he’s been. You want to hear about what he’s been up to, and where the others are. You want to see if he has grown into a fine guy, worth the embarrassment of knowing you had feelings for his snotty younger self.

Hinowa may be able to fill you in about him, or maybe you could see him at her shop. If he isn’t there, perhaps she could reach out to him for you.

Yet along with this ever-growing desire, accompanies an increasingly bitter aftertaste in your mouth each time you serve a patron. Every lie you put out hammers a trembling nail into your heart.

You are now a far cry from who you were, especially with you having renounced your old name.

How would Gintoki see the version of you now?

Morning comes with rain. You head out to find Hinowa, an umbrella overhead. However, your steps become heavier and you stop in your tracks just as the shop comes into view. The rain beat incessantly at your umbrella.

How would Gintoki see you now? What would Gintoki think about you?

You turn back. It would be better for him to think of you dead or missing, with the memory of you untarnished. Gintoki will never find you. He does not know you are here in Yoshiwara, and almost no one in Yoshiwara knows of your real name. There is not enough of your past lying around.

You smoke again the moment you get back. The smell of smoke in your closed room soon gets on your nerves despite only a few puffs. Shoving your window open, you let the rain splatter in and onto yourself.

–

“I apologise if this is prying, but has something happened?”

Asami’s question almost goes unheard with the distance between the door and window, and how soft-spoken she is. You just smile, asking her what led her to that question as she remains at your door. She dismisses the question.

“It’s okay, you can tell me.”

Her averted gaze comes back to you briefly as you move closer to her. “You’ve been sitting at your window a lot.”

You fall silent, painfully aware that you’re seated right at the place she pointed out. Her statement unintentionally reminds you that you’ve been watching the streets of Yoshiwara a little too often, searching for someone you shouldn’t be. Too often for your liking.

Asami timidly looks back at you. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to be a busybody.”

You slide over to the entrance, reassuring her with a pat on her head. “No, it’s okay. Everything is okay. Regardless, tell me why you are here.”

“Lady Hinowa has requested for you to see her tomorrow at 2.30 pm at Hino-ya. You don’t have appointments during that time at the current moment.”

Your chest knots. You tell Asami to relay that you will be there, and she heads off.

There are many reasons why Hinowa would see you. It could be about your clientele, a request for help, or intel on a fellow courtesan. There are so many reasons, such that the reason for having to do something with Gintoki should be small.

Your night before is thankfully free of appointments, and you glance at the bright streets one last time before shutting the window. The window does not seem to filter the neon lights well tonight, and sleep eludes you with the myriad of colours on the other side of your eyelids.

After some tossing and turning, your mind idles with frivolous thoughts. Maybe if you could find that stupid room, it could give you some sleep. A room untouched by others, with temperatures unbounded by the weather outside.

You manage to drift to sleep at an ungodly hour. But whatever little sleep you got, it wasn’t good. You dreamt of a past that didn’t happen with Gintoki, again.

Gintoki was walking by your side to your home. His arms were crossed behind his head and he only looked straight ahead without a word. You walked silently too, feeling down for an unknown reason.

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know why he was apologising, and you didn’t feel any better hearing it. There was sincerity in it and weight to it, but it didn’t ease the unexplained storm in your heart at all.

You don’t remember stepping through the front door of your house. But at some point, both of you ended up in your home. A steaming, big bowl of miso soup was placed in front of each of you. He had finished his portion first and he picked his nose as he waited for you to empty yours at your pace.

You flung a tissue box at him, warning him not to flick his booger onto your floor. Then, you asked him if it was good. Your brother always made miso soup for you on your birthday. It wasn’t anything out of this world, but you held it close to your heart.

He hummed in agreement.

This time, you wake up without any sort of call or alarm. But you feel violently awakened and sick to the stomach. You swear off thinking about the ever-so-desired room. It’s a personal recipe for a disastrous dream.

When you leave for Hino-ya, the idling courtesans eye you. One or two who you’ve known to have a distaste for you look towards you sharply. They speak softly, but loud enough for you to hear.

“Why would Lady Hinowa want to see her?”

You don’t really know why they’re bothering to pry. Maybe Keeping Up with the Kardashians isn't enough to keep them entertained.

“Maybe she’s gotten into some trouble.”

With that follows some giggles that you ignore with practice.

Your feet get heavy once again as Hino-ya comes into view. However, you could not turn back even if you wanted to. Hinowa invites you to sit with a smile, as she wheels herself over to you with a plate of dango. She greets you with your alias, which slightly eases your worry.

Hinowa gets straight to the point.

“Do you know Sakata Gintoki?”

Your breath catches in your throat. But you quickly collect yourself.

“He’s the one who saved all of us.”

“No, do you know him personally?”

A moment of silence lapses between the two of you. Hinowa drops her practiced smile that she shows to customers and lets concern show on her face.

“[name], if you don’t want to talk about it, you can tell me.”

Hinowa is the only courtesan left who knows your name. It may have been a long while since you both talked, but her use of your real name makes you crack a little.

“Yes.”

“Did you know him from before you came to Yoshiwara?”

You nod, and she continues. “He has asked about you, looking for you with your real name,” she pauses a little as she searches your face for any emotion, “I didn’t tell him I knew you right off. He started to describe you to me… as if he knows you like the back of his hand. I only said I could do some searching on my part.”

Her next line chips off a little of your heart. “But he’s told me not to set him up with you, because he doesn’t have money.”

Your thoughts begin to run. You imagine his judgmental gaze on you. Does he think so lowly of you now that you’d want him to pay up to see you? If money isn’t an issue, does he want to see you at all?

Gently, Hinowa puts a pause to your thoughts with an offer. “If you would like, I can arrange a meeting for the two of you.”

He’s just making excuses so he doesn't have to see you.

(This is the bitter pill you choose to swallow. And that will put an end to whatever wishful thoughts you harbour.)

“I don’t want to see that piece of shit either, especially since he can’t pay.”

With that, you forcibly change the focus of the conversation to Hinowa. The two of you catch up till dusk, with a few pauses in the conversation for her to serve customers their food. At the end of the day, both of you ease back into the bosom friends that you were before Hosen had locked Hinowa up.

Despite the light-hearted end to your conversation with Hinowa, you drag your feet as the distance between you and her shop grows. You can still turn back. You can still take it all back.

But you do not succumb to the temptation calling you out behind in, only caving in when you are standing at the entrance of your building, where you can no longer see her shop. With the closed door of this opportunity, a knife twists in your heart.

That night, a client asks if you love him. Clients and patrons love to do this, and you utter it effortlessly and convincingly every time. There’s longevity with a customer only if you tell them what they want to hear.

But this time, you feel like you can no longer say it with as much faux conviction as you used to.

In the days after, you make yourself practice again and again. Until you’ve convinced yourself that you could love a stranger for a night.

A last-minute patron has been scheduled for the initially empty night. You berate the patron as you smear the pale white foundation on your face, though you begin to calm yourself as soon as you move on to your rogue. If someone could obtain time with you at the eleventh hour, he must be someone of stature.

As you await him in a seiza position, the shuffling of footsteps outside becomes louder. You mentally check your smile and rehearse your attitude.

When the door opens, you briefly see a half-worn white kimono with blue waves as you lower your head to the floor. Panic courses through your body and you feel your smile waver. He’s not supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be broke and unable to come. By sheer habit, you recite the greeting you give new customers like a recorder. The greeting contains your alias, sewn into a sentence with “sir” and “I will serve you tonight.”

When you raise your head to face him, your eyes meet a pair of widened crimson eyes.

Shoka Sonjuku. Shinai. Home. Miso soup. You almost forget where you are.

Shoyo. Takasugi. Katsura. You almost say his name, when you should not know it. You cannot, when you have chosen to start by introducing yourself as a stranger with a name unknown to him.

#sakata gintoki x reader #gintoki x reader #sakata gintoki #gintoki imagines #gintama imagines #gintama x reader #souglia.s #fkkkk Im so nervous about this story #if it's not well-received on tumblr I might just limit to posting on ao3 #also I'm sorry if I'm being very excessive in the content warnings but at the same time I want to make this blog a safe space for everyone #I will try to make it more in line with gintama's usual humour in the later chapters since gintoki will be actively in it then

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