Gintama x Reader One Shots

Okita Sougo x Reader: I Love You

It was the prevailing opinion that Okita Sougo couldn't be gentle. It was an understandable mistake, (F/N) supposed, given his sadistic behavior and bad attitude. Not to mention the fact that he had a bad habit of trying to assassinate his boss. Despite all this, however, there was another side to him. A side he showed only to (F/N).

She pondered this as she looked down at him, lying on his stomach with his head in her lap and his arms around her waist. He looked so peaceful, and (F/N) had to resist the urge to slip that sleep mask off so she could see the face underneath. Instead, she tangled her fingers in his hair, gently stroking it, and marveling at how soft it was. His breath hitched a bit when she hit a snag, and she paused, wondering if he was actually asleep, or just messing with her.

It was hard for (F/N) to put a label on her relationship with Sougo. On the one hand, friends was too platonic. On the other hand, lovers was too romantic. When asked to put words to it, all she could say was that they were two emotionally distant, horribly touch-starved people who'd managed to find the only person in the world they felt comfortable being vulnerable with.

She sighed, and looked back down at Sougo. His breath had gone back to the steady in-and-out, in-and-out of sleep, and (F/N) let her fingers continue their exploration, drifting from his scalp, down to the nape of his neck, and back again. She hesitated for a moment, eyes flickering to what she could see of his face. She wondered once again if he was actually asleep, but decided it didn't matter. He owed her for waking her up at three in the morning.

With that, she gently tugged a few locks of hair out from under his mask, and began to braid.

Yes, she thought. She'd gone through a lot of trouble for that idiot of a man. She put up with it when he showed up at her house uninvited, hid him whenever Hijikata was chasing him, and even brought him homemade lunches when he'd complained about the quality of food at the mess hall.

Come to think of it, maybe that was the reason all their friends assumed they were dating.

(F/N) finished the first braid, and sighed before collecting more of his hair, and continuing on to the next one.

The latest strange request of his had come just an hour earlier. He'd called her up at three AM insisting he couldn't sleep, and even though (F/N) knew that was bullshit—he could fall asleep anywhere and anytime he wanted—she'd still gotten up, gotten dressed, and headed to the Shinsengumi compound where he'd immediately sat her down, and fallen asleep with his head in her lap, and, like a good pillow, she was still there, staring down at his red sleep mask, and collecting his hair into hundreds of tiny braids.

Indeed, she went through a lot of trouble for him, but that wasn't what bothered her—she'd do anything for him, after all. What bothered her was the fact that she could never in a million years tell him why she was willing to go through all that trouble.

She could never tell him she loved him.

Her fingers paused in the middle of the fourth braid, and she looked down at his face, still obscured by that stupid mask. It was a good representation, she thought, of their relationship. To most, he must have seemed so vulnerable with her, but that wasn't true at all. Sure, he showed more of his emotions to her than he did to any other living person. Sure, he was willing to seek her out and embrace her when he was feeling sad, or lonely, but if one were to ask her why he felt a certain way, the answer would be that she didn't know, because he was never willing to tell her.

For example, she had no idea why he'd called her out to the Shinsengumi compound at three AM when he was obviously having no trouble sleeping.

A hand closed around her wrist, and she looked down to see Sougo rolling over, pushing aside the mask, and glaring up at her with narrow, sleep-crusted eyes. (F/N) immediately flashed him a smile, and waited as he sat up, and pressed a hand to the braided half of his hair.

"(F/N), what did you do to my head?"

"I braided it!" she answered. "Don't worry, it looks very cute! Do you want me to get a mirror?"

He shot her a look, and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, come on! It's the least you can put up with, considering you woke me up at three in the morning so I could come be your pillow."

He sighed, and after a moment, she felt his arms around her waist as he pulled her down onto the floor.

"If it bothers you so much, then get some sleep."

(F/N) froze. She was sprawled on the floor next to him, her hands against his chest, his arm settled around her waist. His other arm lay bent and tucked under her head like a makeshift pillow. She held still as he closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the rapid beating of her heart as his breathing settled into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep.

It wasn't the first time they'd slept next to each other—heck, there had been certain periods in their lives when they'd slept together more than they slept apart—but it was still a long time before (F/N) managed to relax. Once her breathing had finally gone back to normal, she looked up at him—at that gentle sleeping face, and the braids still stuck in one side of his hair, and smiled.

He really is handsome, isn't he?

She lifted a hand, and ran her fingers through his hair, letting it tumble down onto his forehead. He shifted a little, mumbling something in his sleep, and pulling her closer to his chest. She smiled, and her hand moved lower, trailing down the side of his face to cup his cheek.

That's when she realized he wasn't wearing his mask.

(F/N) couldn't believe it. Whenever he fell asleep in front of another person, he always wore that mask—always—but now it was lying on the floor, discarded several feet away like a dirty rag.

Of course she knew it didn't mean anything—he'd just forgotten to put it on, but to (F/N), it meant something. It meant he was starting to trust her a little more than he had before.

Seeing him like that made her think that, maybe, she could actually say it. Maybe she could tell him, at least while he was still asleep.

She let her hand fall from his face to his chest, and pulled herself up so her face was level with his. Then she leaned closer, and whispered, "You know, Sougo, I really do...love you."

The silence was deafening. Sure, she'd known he was asleep, but there was a large part of her that had hoped he was faking. That he would open his eyes, and say 'I love you, too.'

But that would never really happen, would it?

With a sigh, (F/N) slipped back down, and snuggled closer to him, her head against his chest, her legs tangled with his. He was warm—a nice, comforting contrast to the cold of the room. She'd heard before that once you got your feelings out, it would get better. What a fool she was to listen to that sort of advice.

Still, she was tired, and between the warmth of his body, and the weight of her exhaustion, she soon found herself drifting off to sleep.

With the last of her foggy consciousness, she was vaguely aware of an arm pulling her closer, and lips pressing against the crown of her head as a soft voice whispered,

"Idiot...I love you, too."

Author's Note: This is a request from Akyouni. Thank you for requesting, and I hope it turned out all right!

Anyway, thank you all for reading! If you enjoyed the story, please remember to vote! Thanks!

-Marguerite Partello