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arigatouiris · 4 years

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the flame hashira // rengoku kyojuro

Author’s Note: This is just ANGST. It’s not happy, it’s not fluffly, it’s just bitter, bitter angst because Rengoku is my one true love (like so many others) but gosh, I think I cried writing this? Idk. This has some HUGE MANGA SPOILERS. So please read at your own risk!

Word count: 3353

Pairing: Spirit! Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

Warnings: angst, pining, mentions of death, spoilers for manga

❝

It was a bit hard to believe for people who didn’t know him, but Rengoku Kyojuro could feel softer emotions like love very intensely. It wasn’t as if his heart was stolen by someone already, it was just that it was possible and that he was in some parts a bit of a romantic.

Rengoku was driven; he knew what he had to accomplish and he wanted to be the big brother for his younger sibling; the big brother one could be proud of. And on his way there, he was certainly not too distracted. It wasn’t as if the prospect of love didn’t come to him at all before, but he would brush it off considering it was not his time.

Perhaps, that was where things went awry.

Of all things Kyojuro wanted to feel and admire, love was definitely one of them. But, knowing how limited his access was to these things, he believed it was quite difficult for him to approach a woman and court her, considering how there were demons he’d rather kill. Maybe, this woman could be a demon slayer? And they would be the duo that turned the world upside down. Rengoku may have been optimistic, but he wasn’t a dreamer.

It was at that second when Akaza killed him, and when he let himself go, did he feel Akaza’s, no, Hakuji’s sadness. He didn’t know what his story was, but there were some deep and troubling emotions swaying in the demon’s heart. Rengoku wasn’t one to hold grudges, he simply was satisfied that no one else had died there, and he had accomplished his task.

Maybe, that was why he was confused when he woke up.

He remembered his death rather well; it was an event no one could forget if they were given a chance to recall something. He looked at his hands, and then touched his face, shock plastered over his features. Kyojuro couldn’t be alive, not after that kind of injury—even he knew that. He looked around and saw nothing but farmlands, where the train once was. He looked down on the ground and saw no dried blood, his sword was no longer there, his haori wasn’t to be found either.

How strange... He thought, before attempting to stand up. He could stand up rather easily, but it was strange how he seemed so alive when he knew he was dead.

He walked over to what seemed like a clearing. There were people gathered there, minding their own business, tending to their tasks, heading to their homes—it was close to the evening, after all. Kyojuro attempted to speak to someone, his suspicions already placed in his mind, but the second his hand went through a man’s shoulder, he understood.

He had not passed yet. He was roaming here, in search of something.

But, what could it be? Kyojuro was certain that he had accomplished whatever it was that he wanted to. He had saved Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke and Nezuko’s lives, he heard his mother tell him he was good, he felt content—even when he thought about his own death. He had no regrets. Then why hadn’t he moved on? He had seen his mother before losing consciousness permanently, but then why? This didn’t make sense to him.

He wondered if spirits lingered because it was a thing they do. But, he saw no spirits around him. He then thought if spirits with unaccomplished tasks roam around, but he had accomplished a task. Whatever this was, was unexplained and could not be deduced.

“Maybe I’m supposed to meet someone?” He spoke aloud, no one around him could hear him.

He knew he was divided from the land of the living now, but how could he communicate? What was he to do?

Suddenly, his eyes caught hold of the familiar demon slayer uniform, and he paused. He had seen this demon slayer, he remembered her name; a strange name but sounded nice to hear. (y/n)? Yes, that was it. Kyojuro walked over to her, and stood beside her, taking in her appearance. What was she doing here? If he could recall, she was at the rank of Tsuchinoe. Kyojuro had met her once in between her own mission—a mission, which was later deduced that could not be completed without the presence of a Hashira.

“(y/n)-san,” Rengoku said, watching her as she stood, no emotion on her face. “I wonder if you can hear me.”

She couldn’t. She stood so close that Rengoku could touch her, but she was no one to him and he was no one to her. He was acquainted with her, and that was basically it. He had met her a couple of times otherwise, she was closer to Kanroji and Kocho than she was with anyone else. She spoke quietly, almost as if she would whisper, but she was loud when she had to be.

However, a second later, Kyojuro saw it. (y/n)’s eyes were filled with tears, her lip was quivering, and the second she realized she was about to break down, her hand violently wiped the tears away—she took a couple of deep breaths and attempted to calm herself down. It was strange how sad he felt for her right then, wondering what caused her pain.

“I’m so sorry, Rengoku-san,” Kyojuro’s eyes widened, “I should have told you before you...”

Should have told me what? He thought before blinking rapidly. He wanted to grab her shoulder and turn her around, ask her what she had to tell him. He could feel his heart race, at the mere thought of something left unsaid. He was no longer available—she could never tell him what she wanted to.

What was it?

“Rengoku-san,” Her voice broke as she said his name, so softly, almost as if she was scared saying it any louder would do her harm, “You didn’t deserve to die...”

He wanted to shake his head and tell her so badly that he didn’t regret it. Was she crying for him? Was she grieving because he had died? He recalled how their conversations went, and he remembered being nice to her each time—she wasn’t someone anyone could be rude to. She was funny with how clueless she was sometimes, but she would laugh it off each time someone mentioned it.

“(y/n)-san!”

(y/n) turned to spot Rengoku a few feet away from her. Smiling, she raised one hand and waved at him.

“Rengoku-san, how are you doing today?”

Smiling wide, “I’m good today! As I was yesterday, as well—”

She giggled at his words, confusing him a tad bit.

“Did I say something funny?” He tilted his head sideways.

She shook her head, “You’re always filled with so much energy! It’s nice to see.”

Rengoku couldn’t help the smile that came his way. He closed his eyes and offered her the kindest of smiles.

“I’m glad my energy could make you happy!”

He felt desperate, even, at wanting to comfort (y/n). She stood by herself, near the area he had died, crying for him. How many days had passed? Why was she here? Was she on a mission?

“I should have told you...” Tears leaked down her eyes, and Rengoku couldn’t bear to watch.

There was literally nothing he could do but watch her grieve in silence.

That night, Rengoku followed her to the wisteria house. She was given a change of clothes and food; he didn’t allow himself anywhere near her room except when she had completely changed and opened the doors herself. She walked out after dinner and sat at the edge of the house, the bags under her eyes were dark and heavy.

“Why do you grieve so much for me?” He asked, but knew she couldn’t hear him.

“Sometimes, I wonder if you knew,” She spoke, chuckling. She was looking down at her feet, dangling from the edge, and she let out a sigh. “I really did make it so obvious. Everyone knew,”

Obvious? What was obvious?

“Everyone knew, yes... But, I really should have told you, Rengoku-san. I wanted to, I really did. But, each time I tried, you’d... You were just...” Tears filled her eyes once more, her lip was quivering once more, her heart was breaking once more.

“You would just be yourself and I’d forget in all that happiness that I had to tell you I was in love with you.”

Kyojuro’s eyes widened. A breath escaped his lips, and he instantly understood why he hadn’t passed over yet. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what she was feeling, he didn’t even see her that often, but he knew what the universe was trying to tell him.

He didn’t know if he had to laugh or cry at how pathetic this situation was. To be asked to love after you’re dead.

He watched her sleep that night but dared not get any closer. Even if he was a spirit, and even if he couldn’t touch her, he didn’t want to invade her privacy. She cried herself to sleep, making him wonder how many nights she had done this. He wondered if he would have been able to return her love in any way when he was alive. He hadn’t noticed her approaches.

But, now they were so blatantly obvious, he wanted to slap himself.

“Rengoku-san,” (y/n) smiled at him when he entered the butterfly mansion.

He was to meet Shinobu for a medicinal pack she had promised him, and he met (y/n) there, almost as if she was waiting for him.

“(y/n)-san! Were you waiting for me?”

She nodded, before giggling and looking away. Rengoku smiled widely at her before nodding once.

“Were you aware of my coming here then? Of course, that’s why you were waiting!” He laughed once before saying, “Did Kocho give you my medicinal pack?”

(y/n) blinked, “No, I... I was actually waiting to tell you something!”

Rengoku blinked.

“What is it?” He smiled, and suddenly, he noticed her eyes widen.

“Um... You see... When you ask me like that... I... Well,” (y/n) fumbled with her uniform’s collar before breaking into a sweat.

Rengoku patted her shoulder, shocking her. Grinning at her, “You can tell me when I get back, is that alright? I need to see Kocho!”

“O-Oh? Um, yes... Okay.”

“You should get some rest. Your face is awfully red.”

Instantly, she covered her face with her hands as Rengoku laughed and walked inside the mansion. He had always enjoyed her company, but sometimes, he didn’t understand her.

It was not her fault, though. It was he who was blind. He let out a sigh as he left her room, leaving her to sleep. However, just as he exited,

“I miss you so much, Rengoku-san...”

Kyojuro looked down with guilt. Maybe, he hadn’t passed on because he had to know the pain he had caused by dying.

A few days passed and he could visibly see her pain slowly die down. However, she would never stop talking to him. It was as if she was talking to herself but would always mention him.

He found it strangely endearing. He watched her eat, sleep and talk to herself; he watched her train and interact with people, he noticed how kind she was, how sometimes she’d make a fool out of herself by not knowing something—but she was equally cute with her clumsiness. Kyojuro couldn’t help but smile at how simple she was with the way she lived but the part that Kyojuro respected and admired the most was how gracefully she carried her pain.

That afternoon, her crow screamed after her after a few days. (y/n) looked up at the crow before reaching one hand out, which the bird took and perched itself on.

“You have a mission! Mission!”

(y/n) giggled before rubbing the crow’s neck, listening to the details of the mission.

“Alright.” She said, but Rengoku felt a strange sense of fear envelop his features.

He had watched her do a great many things—everyday activities such as breathe, eat and sleep. But, this would be the first time he would be watching her put her life in danger, and that didn’t sit well with him.

She grabbed her things and packed some food before setting out, Rengoku following closely behind.

“Wish me luck, Rengoku-san,” She said, smiling to herself.

He watched her warmly before saying, “Good luck, (y/n)-san. I’m right here with you.”

A sudden breeze flew and she paused. Kyojuro noticed her eyes widen, and his heart beat a bit quicker and he wondered if she had heard him. She turned to the side and blinked a couple of times, before letting out a sigh.

“Sometimes, it feels like you’re by my side...” Kyojuro’s eyes widened. “But, why would you be?”

Why wouldn’t I?

She continued on, shaking her head about her own thoughts. His heart was breaking at the mere sight. Oh, what he would give to hold her! What he would give to just tell her he was sorry! He felt tears strike his eyes but he blinked them away.

When they reached a clearing, (y/n) grabbed the hilt of her sword. Rengoku was a spirit, after all, he couldn’t smell anything, he couldn’t tell if there was a demon nearby. He simply watched her movements and understood from that that they were not alone.

“Breath of (..),” She breathed, “First form.”

He had never seen her use her breathing technique before, and he was simply moved to awe at how graceful she looked. Her blade wasn’t too big, but it was big enough to behead demons. There was no demon in sight, but somehow, Kyojuro knew she knew what she was doing.

“Wavering whisper.”

She moved instantly before turning to the left, Rengoku followed after her. The demon was about to feed off a woman, but her sword had managed to cut off its tongue and hands that had pinned the civilian to the ground. However, she was a bit careless—there was another demon that grabbed her from the back, forcing her to drop her sword.

She cussed before rushing to the civilian, enveloping herself around her. The second demon approached (y/n), chuckling all the while and Kyojuro could feel his heart rampaging inside his chest. Please, he thought, please, he begged, please, please, please.

There was a small knife embedded at the back of her shoe—something she had learned from Shinobu Kocho. She pierced the demon at its neck before turning around and kicking in full force, beheading it in one full go. Rengoku’s eyes widened as she quickly grabbed her sword,

“Breath of (..),” She frowned, “Fourth form.”

She rushed toward the demon, whose eyes could see her and her only.

“Quietus.”

The demon’s head went flying, and that was that. Quickly, (y/n) unsheathed her sword and turned to the woman, running to her.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? Can you walk?”

Kyojuro’s heart went out to her. She seemed as worried as she would be if the woman was her family. She meekly nodded before embracing (y/n), and breaking down, while (y/n) sat there, wide-eyed.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

Tears filled her eyes. Slowly, she hugged the woman back but held her tears to herself.

That night, Rengoku sat beside her as she sat at the edge of the wisteria house. She was humming a tune he hadn’t heard before, and it had been all day since she had spoken to him. He missed her calling his name as if some part of her knew he was sitting right beside her.

“Rengoku-san,” He felt his heart skip a beat. “I think I now understand why you did what you did.”

He turned to look at her, a soft smile on his features.

“Why is that?” He asked, knowing she couldn’t hear him.

“I think... After I saved that woman’s life, I realized that we’re demon slayers to protect and not just win. And sometimes,” Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, “Sometimes... Protecting and winning can’t happen together.”

She cried heavily after that, lips quivering, snot-nosed, ugly sobs—all of which Rengoku wished he could hold her for. He hesitantly reached forward, stopping in midair once, before placing his hand on her back—a mere half-inch gap between his hand and her body. He wanted to feel as if he was holding her, even if it wasn’t real.

“Death is so cruel, Rengoku-san,” She said in between cries, “Passing days after a loss is far worse than anything anyone can imagine! I know that it’s simply going to get worse and worse and that I’m probably not going to be okay for a very, very long time,”

She breathed once, wiping the tears off her eyes, “Maybe... Maybe I’m never going to be okay at all.”

“Why do you say that, (y/n)-san?” Rengoku asked, his heart breaking.

“Because losing someone isn’t an occasion or an event. It doesn’t just happen once. It happens over and over and over again. I feel like I lose you each time I think of a warm fire. I lose you each time someone mentions your name. I lose you each time I kill a demon,”

Her face reddened from the constant rubbing. Her voice broke as she continued, “I lose you... I lose you each time I think of kissing you... Holding you or wanting you... I go to bed at night and lose you when I wish I could tell you about my day. And in the morning, when I wake up I lose you all over again.”

She calmed a bit after saying these words, shattering his heart into pieces. Rengoku couldn’t believe the amount of love he had left behind, but it was no one’s fault.

“When I heard the news, I didn’t cry or wail right away,” She looked up at the sky, “The loss hits me slow, each day.”

A lone tear streaked down Rengoku’s cheek as he watched her. His hand, which was on her back went to her cheek, and there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to just touch her once. Just once and that would be enough. There would be nothing more he would ever need.

“I love you, (y/n)-san. I wish I could have felt this sooner.”

(y/n) gasped before turning to her left, right where Rengoku sat. He gave her such a sad smile, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“R-Rengoku... Rengoku-san?” She whispered, unable to conjure what was in front of her.

“Oh, thank goodness.” He whispered, before leaning forward, pressing his forehead to hers.

His hand was on her cheek and somehow, he could smell her. He didn’t know how much time he had left, what was even going on, but whatever it was, he was going to make use of.

“I love you so, so much. I am so glad I could fall in love with you! You have completed my life!”

The same energy that she loved so much. Kyojuro opened his eyes and stared at her wide ones, before laughing hard.

“You’re... How are you...”

“No time for questions, my love.”

In an instant, she kissed him. Kyojuro kissed back, holding her as tightly as he could, pressing himself to her as much as he could, for as long as he could. A second later, when she was breathless, he pulled apart.

There was a light only he could see. And he knew he had to go.

Ah.

That was why he hadn’t passed on.

Letting out a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever had given him this chance, Rengoku whispered one last time,

“I love you, (y/n). We will meet again.”

When she burst into tears at his disappearance, she felt a bit more whole than she did before. Perhaps, it was because he was such a pure soul, he was given the chance to return again. She would never know.

But, the mere fact that he had come for her had now given her a new reason to live.

“I love you so much, Rengoku Kyojuro. Flame Hashira. Love of my life.”

❞

#rengoku x reader #rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #demon slayer rengoku #rengoku kyoujurou #rengoku x you #rengoku x y/n #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu manga #kimetsu no yaiba spoilers #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #flame hashira #hashira #flame pillar #flame pillar x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #rengoku imagines

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writer-or-whatever · 6 years

Note

I'm the anom from the Coffee one, your fic was sweet and amazing thank you very much Rory/Paris: Rory tries to be more sophisticated in one the Weller galas for Paris sake with hilarious results.

Hi, yes, I saw this and was like I know what I’m gonna do and then I proceeded to write all 3,253 words of it instead of reading my middle age lit for tomorrow because i really was not in the mood for old English, tbh.

Also, just a note, I may have taken the “with hilarious results” and sort of… chucked that bit out the window. I really didn’t mean to; I had a nice, funny, fluffly, fic planned out and then I got to writing it and I was about three quarters of the way done writing it and I was like what if, instead, I have angst and so I did.

Oops.

Anyway, enjoy (or cry your heart out, either way):

[Read on AO3 or FFN]

“Grandma, could I talk to you for a minute?” It was an odd request, not because Rory and her grandmother didn’t get along, but because she hadn’t once, in the two years of Friday Night Dinners, ever asked to talk to either of her grandparents alone. That was usually her mother’s thing, and, at least with Lorelai, it never meant anything good. Her grandmother, however, didn’t ask questions, merely nodded and followed Rory into her grandfather’s study, the closest private space she could think of.

“Rory, is everything alright?” Her grandmother looked concerned, and Rory felt kind of bad for worrying her over something that wasn’t even a problem. Well, something that wasn’t a huge problem, anyway. Just the little issue of her secret girlfriend asking her to come to her family’s super important, super formal, Hanukkah celebration that she had absolutely no idea how to act for.

No big deal, not at all.

“Everything’s fine, Grandma. I was just wondering if maybe you could help me with something?”

“Of course, Rory, but why are you asking me in here and not at the dinner table if nothing is wrong?” Ah, just another aspect of the problem at hand: not only did Lorelai not know that she was dating Paris, but she would be mocked endlessly if she knew that Rory wanted grandma’s help to act like a proper lady and impress Paris’s family, even if they didn’t know that Rory was their daughter’s girlfriend.

“Well, see, a friend from school invited me to an event and I don’t really know how to act at those sorts of things and I thought that you would know but you know mom, she’d mock my desire to learn about proper etiquette until the day she dies, possibly longer. You know how mom is when she sets her mind to something, nothing will stop her, not even death and-”

Emily interrupted her rambling before it could go on for too long, “Say no more, I completely understand. Now this even, when is it?” Her grandma’s interest was clearly piqued now that there was a chance to teach Rory something that was clearly important to her without Lorelai. The fact that it was about etiquette, Emily Gilmore’s specialty, just made it that much better.

“It’s on the seventh.”

“The seventh? Well, that doesn’t leave us much time, but it’ll be alright. So, who invited you to this, again?”

“Just a friend from school.” Rory really, really, hoped that she wouldn’t push any further because they were treading on dangerous ground here as it was.

“Someone whose family you want to impress by showing them that you’re a proper Gilmore? A boy you like, perhaps? Of course her grandmother would push, it’s Emily Gilmore, she’s the queen of pushing for information.

“Something like that.” There, hopefully Rory provided just enough to placate her grandmother’s need for information without actually confirming if there was a boy, which there most certainly was not.

“Alright, well, I’m glad you’ve moved on from that Dean, clearly to someone more suitable since they attend Chilton. How about you come over here a few days this week and we’ll have you all ready for next Sunday in no time.” With that, her grandmother lead the way back into the dining room, quick as you please, leaving behind a slightly grim looking Rory who could only nod her head and think about how, if her grandmother found out about who all this was for, she might actually prefer Dean.

Back at the table, she came face to face with a very curious Lorelai Gilmore, to whom she could offer no sturdy excuse for her talk to grandma.

“So, what was that,” she waved her hand between Rory and Emily, “all about?”

“Oh, you know, just asking grandma if I could come over here a couple of days next week and get a ride to the Hartford Library to get some books for school.” She could tell, before the entire excuse was even out of her mouth, that it would not hold up against her mother.

“What’s wrong with Stars Hollow’s library?”

“They don’t have the book I need, I looked.”

“And what book is that?”

Oh boy.

“I, uh, don’t remember off the top of my head.”

“You, Rory Gilmore, girl who actually likes school and studies for more hours than she sleeps, don’t remember something about school? About books?!” Her mom was in fine form tonight, both dramatic and relentless about something Rory would much rather not talk about.

Great.

“Well, I can’t be perfect all the time, right? Give someone else a chance, eh?” She could tell her mother wasn’t buying it, but, thank God, her grandfather changed the subject to his upcoming business trip to Utah. Her mom went with it, asking what else could there possibly be to insure in Utah other than cows, but Rory knew that this interrogation was far from over.

Mid-afternoon on Sunday the seventh of December found Rory in her grandmother’s house hiding in the kitchen on the phone with Paris. It’d been nine days of hiding etiquette lessons with her grandmother from her mother and hiding the person that was the reason for said lessons from her grandmother. Frankly, it was exhausting and Rory just really wanted to see Paris, formal event and etiquette be damned.

“I can’t believe you accepted her offer.” Paris was laughing at her, which, if it were anyone else trapped in the Gilmore house hiding from Emily and her personal stylist, she would be laughing too. But, it was Rory and Rory would just like some support from her girlfriend, thank you very much.

“Well, to be fair, when she offered it was less like an offer and more like an order.”

“You’re going to show up here looking like a proper seventy year old woman.” Paris was still laughing. “Oh, this is going to be great. You’ll really liven up my spirits; it’s the perfect Hanukkah gift.”

“Keep it up and I’ll bring her along to give you a last minute makeover. Then we’ll match. Won’t that be fun?” Paris stopped laughing, she was pretty sure Rory was serious.

“You’re not serious about that are you?” Oh, she did think Rory was serious.

“As a heart attack.” She still sounded serious, but just barely.

“I take it back,” and, with those words, Rory let out the laughter she had been holding in since she first threatened Paris with an old lady makeover. “Are you laughing, Gilmore?”

“I might be.” Not even two seconds after those words left her mouth, her grandma came into the kitchen. “Uh, gotta go, talk to you later,” and then she hung up on Paris, a thing that was basically a cardinal sin in the guide to dealing with Paris Geller.

“Who was that on the phone?” Her grandmother was looking at her with that look, the one that meant that she knew that Rory was talking to “the gentleman,” as she’d taken to calling the nonexistent boy that Rory was doing all this for.

“Just Paris, I needed to double check about the pages for the reading for history is all.” It wasn’t completely untrue, it was Paris on the phone, just not for information on the history reading.

“I see,” her grandmother said in a way that made Rory fairly certain that she believed that Rory was telling her it was Paris as a cover but didn’t want to pry, “well, now that you’ve cleared that up let’s finish getting you ready, shall we?”

When Rory left her grandparents’ house, she looked like an illustration pulled straight out of a modern retelling of Cinderella, tiara and all. She cannot believe she let her grandmother dress her like this, but there was nothing for it now. She approached the Geller’s house, which made the Gilmore residence look like a humble home in comparison, and rang the doorbell, secretly hoping that the butterflies in her stomach would take flight and take her with them. She was so nervous, what if Mr and Mrs. Geller didn’t like her? After all, they were not the most affectionate people in the world. What if they found out about her and Paris? What if Rory embarrassed herself? There was so much that could go wrong. Thank God the maid answered the door, took her coat, and ushered her inside.

She wasn’t even ten steps into the house when a hand grabbed her from one of the closets in the foyer and pulled her in.

“What the hell?! Let go of me,” She was yelling and twisting away from the hands that were on her arms in the dark closet.

“Gilmore, chill the fuck out. And stop yelling.” It was Paris. Of course it was. She came to see her in her own house at her invitation and she was still getting pulled into closets.

“Oh, hi.” She turned to face what assumed was Paris’s face, though it was too dark to see anything.

“Hi,” She flipped the light on as she said it, revealing the two of them and about four coats in the small space.

The butterflies were back, but this time it wasn’t because Rory was nervous, it was because Paris was fucking gorgeous. “You look nice,” she reached up to grab Paris’s hands from where they rested on her upper arms.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” not only did Paris look nice, but Rory really wanted to kiss her. Unfortunately, Paris chose tonight to actually wear a lipstick that would be very noticable if it were both smudged and on Rory.

“You do too, not at all like a grandmother.” Paris was smiling when she said it, very clearly holding back a laugh over Rory’s early hysterics over being turned into an old lady by her grandmother’s stylist.

“Thank you,” Rory did a little curtsey as she said it, just adding to the princess illusion.

“My very own princess charming, what do you know,” And Paris was leaning in, and, yeah, lipstick be damned because they were kissing and Rory was fairly certain that it was magical and that fact had nothing at all to do with her fairytale appearance and everything to do with the fact that it was Paris that she was kissing, being in love will do that to you. Not that Rory was in love with Paris or anything. Or, at least, not that she’d admit. Yet.

When they broke for air, Rory decided that she needed to point out the flaw in their kissing plan, “What are the odds that we’ll be able to make it to a bathroom to fix this,” she gestured to her lipstick smeared mouth, “without running into anyone and outing ourselves?”

“Very high, the maid knows and there’s a bathroom that’s for the staff three doors down from this one. She’ll give us a knock when all the other guests are here,” and, with her worries cleared up, they were back to kissing.

This lasted for about five more minutes before there was a knock on the closet door, clearly from the maid, since Paris pulled away and straightened up. “After you, her majesty, your public awaits.”

“Har de har har,” but Rory followed Paris out of the closet and into the bathroom anyway.

They got cleaned up and slipped into the midst of the party without anyone noticing, much to Rory’s relief. It wasn’t that difficult of a night, she remember to stand up straight, which fork was used for the salad, and how to politely exit a conversation every time someone asked her if she, a nice young lady, was seeing anyone.

It was all going fine, or at least it was, until the other guests had left and it was just Paris and her parents.

She was going to leave with everyone else, but Paris had asked her to stay for the lighting of the last candle on the Menorah, something that she typically just did with her family. It obviously meant a lot to Paris that Rory be there, and, if she was honest, it meant a lot to Rory to have been asked to stay. They lit the candle, followed the traditions, and everything was fine. Her parents were leaving, on their way to their separate wings of the house, when it happened. Paris turned to her and whispered, “I love you, thank you for coming. And thank you for staying.”

Rory was just about to return the sentiments when, faster than Rory would think possible for the large man, Mr. Geller was there and he was not happy. “What did you say? You love her? She’s a girl, Paris. You were raised better than this. You were raised to bring greatness upon the Geller name, not shame.”

“She’s not bringing shame, Mr.Geller. She’s being who she is, someone who is wonderful and ambitious and driven and intelligent and you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking such a thing, let alone saying it to your own daughter on a night that is supposed to be special and about celebration.” Rory couldn’t help it, she jumped to Paris’s defense, snapping and merciless, even though she knew Paris was completely capable of defending herself.

“It is a shame and she is not welcome in this house until she realizes it.” He turned away, resolute and hard in his decision, while Paris’s mother simply looked on.

“Good. There’s nothing here for me anyway, with parents that love their family name and money than they ever could me.” Paris was angry, and she certainly sounded it, but Rory could also see from the set of her jaw that she was moments away from crying.

“Let’s go, Par. Come home with me.” Rory’s arm was around Paris and guiding her over to the door where they both got their coats and a kiss on the forehead from Paris’s nanny, who Paris promised to call tomorrow.

They drove to Stars Hollow in silence, Rory driving Paris’s car and Paris glaring resolutely out of the passenger side window.

When they pulled up to Rory’s house, Paris finally spoke, “So, how are we going to play this? Poor Paris needed a night away from her parents so she’s spending the night at her friend, Rory’s, house?” Paris basically spat the word friend with more venom than she’d ever heard her use before, even back in their sophomore year when they were enemies and Paris didn’t spend a free minute not tormenting Rory.

“No. I’m going to tell her. I’m going to go in there and say ‘mom, this is my girlfriend, Paris, whom you’ve met, and I love her very much and she’s had a very rough night, can she please crash here?”

“You love me?” The hard edge left Paris’s voice, leaving a soft vulnerable whisper in its wake.

“Yeah, I do. And I’m so sorry that your parents are such homophobic assholes and I know that this won’t make up for it, but I do and I want you to know that.” Just as the last word left her mouth, Paris was kissing her, and it was salty and wet and sad, but it was Paris.

“Okay, then,” Rory said, getting out of the car and heading around to Paris’s side to open her door, “let’s do this, shall we?”

When they got into the Gilmore household, it was dark, but there were lights and sounds coming from the living room, so the tv was clearly on. And, when in the Gilmore house, where you can find a movie, you can find Lorelai, so the two girls made their way into the living room, divesting themselves of their heels in the process.

“Hey, Rory, how was the thing?” Her mom was very caught up in the movie, Casablanca, and hadn’t yet looked at Rory and so she didn’t see Paris, either.

“Not so great.”

“No? Nothing a little classic love triangle can’t fix.” She was still absorbed in the movie, despite having seen it approximately one thousand times.

“Not this time, mom.” That got Lorelai’s attention, alright, because, in the world according to Lorelai Gilmore, there was very little that could not be fixed by Casablanca. She was clearly surprised to see Paris standing there in her living room along with Rory, both of them disheveled and clearly upset.

“What happened?” She made her way off the couch and over to the two girls, Rick and Ilsa completely forgotten.

“Um, well, I went to the party at Paris’s, like I said, and it was fine until after everyone else left. I stayed to watch them light the Menorah because Paris asked me to and then, well, her parents found out about me.”

“Found out that you were there? Didn’t they invite you? Strange people, those Gellers.” At any other time, Rory really would have appreciated her mother’s attempt to make light, but not tonight.

“No. They found out that I am Paris’s girlfriend.” There, she said it. Now all that was left was to see how it went over.

“Girlfriend? Like friend who is a girl or…”

“The or option. Girlfriend as in hold hands, kiss, go on dates, kind of girlfriend.”

“Okay. So they found that out and what? They weren’t happy with it?” Lorelai sounded like she was teetering on the edge of the dangerous kind of angry that she only got when someone did something to hurt her kid, which, in a way, the Gellers definitely did.

“Definitely not.” Rory wasn’t really sure how much more Paris wanted her to say.

“They kicked me out.” Paris, apparently, had no qualms about telling Lorelai the whole thing now that it had been established that she didn’t care about the fact that they weren’t straight and were very much together.

“What’s your address, again, Paris? Tomorrow I’m going to go over there and give them a piece of my mind, I think. In the meantime, you’re more than welcome to stay here.”

Rory couldn’t help it, she practically leapt forward to hug her mother and whispered, “thanks, mom” into the embrace. Hugging one girl clearly wasn’t enough for Lorelai, since she pulled Paris into a hug as well.

Later that night, when Paris had gone to bed in her bed because Rory wouldn’t let her take the couch, Lorelai sat down on the arm of the couch by where Rory’s feet where, as she lay sprawled out on the couch under about four hundred blankets. “So, is this why you and Dean didn’t work out? I thought it was about Jess, but was it because you don’t like boys?” Her mom was quiet, something rare for her, which meant that she was trying to really understand, not make light.

“No. Dean and didn’t work out because I had feelings for someone else, but it wasn’t Jess. It was Paris.” She took a deep breath, “I really did love him, you know. I just wanted him to be happy, but, after a while, I wanted to be happy too. I hated hurting him, but it wasn’t because of Jess. I mean Jess is a great friend but that’s really all he is.”

“So, you like boys and girls?”

“Pretty much.”

“How lucky for you.”

“What?” She didn’t expect her mom to be made about it but lucky? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“You’ve got twice as many fish in the sea, kid.”

“Oh my god.”

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#ask response #rose writes #Rory/Paris #rory/paris fic #Gilmore Girls #gilmore girls fic

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