#she seems mischievous to me. but that is based on fan art and fics that I've read- I really need to watch more hermits

[tamblerdraws]

WAIT I HAVE IDEA what if fic based on the gem hotgal thingy. What if fic with gem and pearl as hotgal and cutegal, direct hero rivals of hotguy and cuteguy (they have lil competitions over how many people they save or how many villains they stop)

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

Am I forgotten ? (KitTy Fan Fic)

KitTy fan fic based on Kit and Ty’s flower cards (art by Cassandra Jean), to celebrate both the release of Ty’s latest flower card and Kitty’s appreciation week!

If you prefer reading it on AO3 or if you have missed the previous chapters, Link is here. AO3 Link - Am I forgotten?

Following Chapter is Chapter 6 - Lex malla, lex nulla

Kit and Ty did not make it far, as three Faeries suddenly appeared before them, blocking their path. As it was the case for Ty, to stay they stood out of the crowd was an understatement. The one standing in the middle was the tallest and the most elegantly clad. Dark velvet clothes with fine embroidery hugged the shapes of his lean body, the symbol of a broken crown visible on his silk shirt. He had long silvery blond hair framing his narrow face and tucked behind his pointy ears, and his deep blue eyes seemed to hold centuries of life in this world. He would have been stunning if not for the permanent scowl on his face. The other two, flanking him, had long dark hair and looked so alike they might have been twins. It was clear from their stance that they were Faerie knights.

Ty turned to Kit and whispered urgently. “That’s him. I need to interrogate him. Preferably without his two bodyguards.”

“Well met,” Kit said in his most cheerful voice.

“Well met,” the blond Faerie replied. “It seems as though you have lost your way.”

“Wrong,” Kit said. “I was lost, but I have been found.”

Ty shot him a disapproving look. The Faerie lifted a silvery eyebrow.

Kit dropped Ty’s hand to move his arm behind his back, slowly tracing his fingers along Ty’s side down to his hip until they finally rested on Ty’s… buttocks. He gently squeezed for added effect. God, how perfect. Ty startled, his eyes widening and his lips parting in shock, but made no further move. He was staring straight ahead, as if he could not bear to meet Kit’s eyes. A deep red had started to spread across his cheeks towards his temples.

The Faerie’s eyes had not missed the gesture and the scowl vanished from his face from one moment to another.

“Let me guess,” he said, his gaze moving between Kit and Ty. A genuine smile spread across his face. “You two are only here to have a good time.”

“Wrong again. We were here to have a good time, but my boyfriend is not feeling well. This place is too noisy, too… crowded. We are leaving.”

“Are you now?” The Faerie said, lifting both his eyebrows. His eyes, glittering with interest, were now roaming over Kit’s body. “The night is still young, and so are you. May I offer you some refreshments in a more private venue?”

Kit plastered a hesitant look on his face. “We are far from home. It would be nice if we could get our bearings before we leave.” The Faerie’s smile grew wider and, without a word, he whirled and started to move gracefully towards the back of the club, flanked by his two bodyguards. Kit and Ty followed.

“So, who is this guy?” Kit whispered in Ty’s ear, after - regretfully - dropping his arm from his back.

“A Faerie Prince. One of King Kieran’s many brothers. He was very close to the late King Arawn once.”

“Wow, wait a minute- a Prince ? How many laws are we planning to break tonight?”

“Twenty-seven,” Ty replied without blinking.

Kit whistled.  

Ty turned to him, his eyes glittering, and the corner of his mouth lifted mischievously. “Lex malla, lex nulla,” he said in a deep, low voice. Kit couldn’t help but stare at Ty, at the way his soft lips shaped the words, gently pressing around the “M”, at the way his tongue rolled in his mouth at the “Ls”.

He had always thought Ty was beautiful, but right now the word that popped in his mind was HOT. So freaking HOT.

Tiberius Nero Blackthorn, you naughty boy.

“What about your vows as a Centurion?” Kit asked when he had regained his composure.

“A good Centurion once told me that vows of friendship… and love are stronger.”

Did Kit imagine the way Ty put an emphasis on the word love ?

****

They were seated in a very large high-ceilinged room, with no windows save for a glass roof through which one could see New York’s night sky.

A vampire waitress came in carrying flutes of champagne and presented them to Kit and Ty. They both declined.

“I am fine,” said the Faerie Prince, when she offered him a drink. He didn’t even bother to look up at her. His gaze was fixed on Kit and Ty, and a small smile was playing across his face, as if he were enjoying a private joke. “I am already drunk with the sexual tension between these two.”

Kit couldn’t help but look over at Ty, and their eyes met for a second before they both swiftly glanced away.

“The two of you haven’t done the deed yet, have you?” The Faerie Prince’s eyes were now sparkling with excitement. “When you do..." He opened both his hands and spread his long fingers wide, mimicking an explosion... or was it fireworks? "I am willing to pay a fortune to witness that. Name your price.”

Kit glanced at the bodyguards. They were looking at Kit and Ty with a stern expression on their faces, as if it hadn’t all been a show. It had been a joke, right? But… Faeries didn’t lie.

Kit stood. “Can we have a moment alone together? Just you and me.” He looked pointedly at the bodyguards. “I would prefer to discuss... the terms, privately.”

As if they had received a signal, the two knights started to move to stand before the Prince, who lifted his hand in a halting gesture as he paused to consider. They both froze.

Kit seized the opportunity. With slow, deliberate movements, he started to take his jacket off. He threw it on the nearest armchair. “You will see that I am unarmed.” He took his shirt off next, the muscles of his arms flexing as he lifted it leisurely over his head. When he was half naked, he spread his arms wide. “You can ask your knights to check the rest if you don’t believe me. I have nothing to hide.”

They did. As their hands moved over Kit’s body in search of weapons, Ty tensed. He was watching their every move, his fiery gaze fixed on their hands, as if he could burn a hole through them.

“Leave us,” said the Faerie Prince when they were done.

Ty rose from his armchair and moved to stand before Kit, his back to the Faerie Prince.

“Kit- I don't like this plan,” he said in a hushed, urgent voice. Kit noticed with a pang that he had started stroking his pendant again.

“Ty- Please, trust me. I know what I’m doing,” Kit replied.

Ty held Kit’s gaze for a moment, searching his eyes. Kit tried very hard to convey a message of confidence he wasn’t sure he really had.

Ty finally gave him a curt, stiff nodd. As he moved past Kit, the back of their hands brushed, sending an electric current through Kit’s entire body.

Kit didn’t trust himself not to go running to Ty, so he stared straight ahead until he heard the door close behind him.

When they were alone, the Faerie Prince rose from his chair. “Finally."

In two strides of his long legs, he had joined Kit and stood before him, so close Kit could feel his breath over his skin. He smelled of cloves. The Prince lifted his hands to place them on each of Kit’s biceps.

“You love him,” he said without preamble.

Kit swallowed hard. “Is it that obvious?”

“The question you are asking yourself is, does he love you?”

“I know he doesn’t.” Kit tried to hide the despair in his voice but failed miserably.

The Faerie Prince lifted his silver eyebrows. “You know? Are you so powerful as to be able to read one’s heart?”

“He said as much. Or at least, that's what his words suggested. I don’t want to talk about it.” Kit had no intention to share his deepest feelings with a mere stranger. A Faerie Prince at that. There’s nothing if you aren’t there. Words meant for Livvy alone and no one else, especially not Kit. After all these years, they still stung as if they were new. A raw pain for an old wound.

“You make an interesting couple, the two of you,” said the Faerie after a moment. “The Shadowhunter who looks like a Faerie and... the Faerie who looks like a Shadowhunter.”

Kit gasped audibly. The Prince’s hands were now moving in circles over Kit’s bare chest, smooth fingers caressing his skin.

“You thought I would not be able to recognize my own kin? My own blood? I see him in you, you know… My father.”

Kit was unable to move, staring in shock as the Faerie’s long fingers started tracing the shapes of his abs. Distantly, he thought he heard the door open and close. The sound was so muted he wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it.

“Tell me, Christopher Herondale, who are you loyal to? Your royal blood family? Or your adoptive family?”

Tessa. Jem. Mina. Kit came to his senses and clenched his fists. He knew he didn’t need weapons to fight. The Prince would never know what had hit him. Kit would avoid knocking him out, of course, as Ty needed to interrogate him.

“I tend to stick with those trying to protect me instead of those trying to kill me. That’s how boring I am.”

As it turned out, Kit didn’t even have to lift a finger.

It all happened in a blur. The Faerie Prince’s hands which had moved over Kit's biceps suddenly froze, and his lips parted in shock. Ty had appeared behind him, as swift as a shadow, and was grasping a knife whose silvery blade was pressed against his throat. Ty’s hands were covered in blood… Probably from the two knights.

“I would have a few questions to ask you,” Ty said. His tone was as cold as ice. “But first... take your hands off my boyfriend, before I separate them from your body.”

*****

Tagging @arangiajoan @nenyx @naerysthelonesome @adoravel-fenomeno @unorganisedbookshelf @blindbandit1515 @whyhastgodfarsakenme @noah-herondale-lightwood @georgiaherondale @nicotheangel17 @joonjxne @that-dreamer-girl-m @mariiaarranz @writeforjordelia @shadowfae1878 @majollica-blog @mferraz @darkkitai @justanothermultifandomgirl @kitty-appreciation-week @gabtapia 

[brianandthemays]

Love is a Polaroid (Roger Taylor x reader) Part 10

A/N Wow I feel like I”m finally picking up some sort of fan base for this fic! Which is fun! I really hope y’all are enjoying it! I know I’m enjoying writing it, every chapter just gets more any more fun! 

Anywho I wanna actually start a spotify playlist so if you have any song ideas please send them here

I’d rlly love y’alls input so please send me some asks!

As always! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REBLOG AND SEND ME SOME ASK! IT MAKES MY DAY EVERY SINGLE TIME SOMEONE SENDS ME SOMETHING ABOUT THIS FIC AND I’D LOOOOVE TO DISCUSS IT WITH YOU!

Also! HUGE shout out to @sweet-ladyy​ who, with everything going on in her life, took the time to read and edit this. Y’all neeed to read Matters of the Heart it’s SPICING Up omg... 

Word Count: 3.4+

Warnings: Fluff, i guess angst, its cute

Other parts: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9 

______________________________________

That was how you somehow ended up in Roger’s car, heading to his family’s home in Norfolk. You were not ecstatic about the offer at first. 

               “Why don’t you come home with me?” His lips were soft on your neck but that didn’t stop you from turning in his grasp and scoffing at him. 

               “I don’t think that's a good idea.” 

But after awhile, Roger wore you down, convincing you to come with him. 

               “They’ll love you!” he insisted. “Think about it, just us for a week.”

You couldn’t deny that the thought of being alone with Roger in his hometown for a week was nice. But you still felt like things were moving quickly. So, you shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself.

               “It’s too soon, we’ve only been together for a few months, Roger!” 

He frowned at you.

               “We can go slow! We have a guest room, you can stay there!” His eyes were pleading you, his lip jutting out in a pout. “Please?” 

And that was it. Now you were sitting in his passenger seat with the window rolled down and the music blaring some Fleetwood Mac song as the wind blew through your hair. Roger’s hand was clasped tightly over yours, with his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the back. You look over at him as he drove, his dirty blonde hair was scattered in the wind and all you wanted to do was run your hand through it. He wore his sunglasses which he insisted helped him see better but you just scoffed at the fact that he bought prescription sunglasses because his normal ones made him look “like a tosser”. 

               “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He smirked, glancing over at you. You blushed but didn’t look away. Instead you raised your eyebrows at him and squeezed his hand once before releasing it to scrambled around in your bag. 

               “Good idea!” You presented the Polaroid that you had snatched from his room before leaving that morning. He flashed a wide smile in your direction as you flashed the camera. “Eyes on the road.” 

He grumbled at you but looked back towards the road. He flipped his hand back over, inviting you to hold onto it. You looked down at his hand an roamed over the course calluses over his fingers. You reached your fingers out and brushed over them softly. His hand was so rough from scars and scratches from various fights and gigs. 

               “They don’t hurt.” 

You glance over at him. His mouth was skewed to one side and his head was tilted as if he were thinking. You looked back down at his hand and shook your head. Your boyfriend could not have rough hands. You reached down in your bag again and this time come up with a small bottle of lotion. 

               “What are you doing?” he questioned, turning his head to look over at you. 

You move his face back towards the road with your hand, giggling softly. “Eyes on the road.” 

He humphed but obeyed. You poured a dot of lotion over his hand and slowly start to rub it in. You moved it over each finger, making sure to fill every crack and rough spot. Roger let out a small groan at the feeling of the cool lotion over his rough hand and you smiled over at him. “Feel nice?” 

               “Yeah…” he responded, stretching out his fingers. You slide yours in with his and squeeze slightly. A silence fell over the two of you once again, comfortable and relaxed. It didn’t take long after that before you started to see signs and buildings leading to Norfolk. You began to feel nervous again. You were meeting Roger’s parents after dating him for 4 months. What were they going to think of you? 

               “Hey, relax.” Roger kissed your knuckles softly. “They’re gonna love you.” 

               “Are you sure this is okay? I could find a hotel nearby. I could--” 

               “Stop.” He cut you off quickly, knowing where this rambling was going. “You’re coming home with me and that’s final.” 

You bit your lip, still feeling uneasy.                                                                                   

  “You’re the type of girl they’ve been begging me to bring home forever,” he mentioned. “Smart, respectful… everything they wanted me to be.”

You looked over at him. Roger was one of the smartest people you knew, he just wouldn’t let himself see that. Respectful wasn’t exactly the word you’d use for him but when it came to you, he was a perfect gentleman. Well, not perfect. There were often times he would say crude things in your ear while you were in public that would make you blush, but he treated you well and never pushed you too far. 

               “Roger, I think you’re being hard on yourself,” you told him. “Your parents love you.” 

He didn’t respond. He did, however, grip his wheel a little tighter. 

Eventually, you and Roger pulled up to a house a little outside the main city.  It was a quaint house, that didn’t quite match Roger’s look. But it was cute and you felt a little more relaxed in the comfortable area. You stepped out of the car and stood in the front lawn. There was a soft breeze flowing and it felt nice, it felt like home. 

               “Ready?” 

You turned and saw Roger holding yours and his bags, smiling softly at you. You nodded and let him take the lead up to the door.  He knocked on the door and came to stand next to you.

“It’s gonna be okay, love,” he insisted, placing a kiss on your temple. “Everything is going to be okay.” 

A moment later, the door opened revealing a women you assumed to be Roger’s mother. A big smile broke out across her face when she saw you. 

               “Roger!” she cried, pulling him into a hug. He grumbled before loosely wrapping his arms around his mother. 

               “Hey, mum.” He kissed her cheek before pulling away and taking your hand, tugging you towards him. “This is (Y/N), remember I told you about her.” 

She smiled at you, glancing up and down over you. You swallowed hard and held out your hand before introducing yourself. “It’s so nice to meet you.” 

               “Oh, honey, you don’t know how happy I am that Roger’s found a nice girl like you.” His mother ignored your hand and pulled you into a big hug, squeezing you tightly.  You yelped slightly before hugging her back, letting out a nervous chuckle. 

               “Mum, please don’t suffocate my girlfriend,” he groaned, embarrassment evident in his tone. 

               “Oh, leave me alone, child.” She released you letting you take a few steps back. You smiled at her, letting her know you appreciated her kindness. “Now, Roger, why don’t you take your things upstairs while I introduce (Y/N) to your father.” 

Roger glanced over at you, checking to see if you’d be okay on your own. You nodded at him, giving him the answer he needed before replying. “Sounds great, mum.” 

She lead you inside, Roger turning right to go up some nearby stairs. You watched him go, trying to shove your anxiety down and out of your brain as you followed his mother into the living space. 

               “Michael, come meet Roger’s girlfriend!” she called into the house. “Why don’t you sit here while I put some tea on you.” 

You nodded, sitting on the couch awkwardly, as she disappeared into the  kitchen. You sat alone in the quiet for a few minutes, looking around the room. It was a nice living space with a few couches and TV sitting on a shelf. It reminded you of what you had at home and a pang of guilt shot through you. You tried to ignore it by looking over at a picture sitting next to the couch. It was a picture of a young Roger that made you smile. He was so young and wild looking. His hair was shooting in all directions and his smile had a mischievous glint in it. 

               “So.” 

The new deep voice startled you, causing you to jump from your seat. You looked over at the new man in the room and saw him smiling at your reaction. 

               “Didn’t mean to scare you, dear. I’m Michael, Roger’s father.” 

Your eyes widened and you stood quickly to come shake his hand. “I’m (Y/N), thank you so much for letting me stay at your house this week, Mr. Taylor.” 

He waved you off, coming to sit in the cushioned chair next to the couch. “It’s Michael, Mr. Taylor was my father. And you’re always welcome here, dear.” 

               “Thank you,” you said you him. “Michael.” 

He smiled at you, and motioned for you to sit. “So, tell me about yourself.” 

You cleared your throat “Well…” desperately trying to think of something to say about yourself. “I’m studying at Ealing… for Public Relations with a minor in Design.” 

               “An art school!” He huffed. “Interesting. I don’t know how I would trust Roger there. Your parents must be very trusting.” 

You looked down at the floor. “Actually, my parents wanted me to stay home. Didn’t think I should bother with a real job.” You laughed lightly, trying to make it seem that you’re not as nervous are you are. 

               “Well, then it was kind of them to pay for your college education,” Mr. Taylor responded. 

               “Actually, I’m paying for myself.” 

               “What?” Roger’s voice came from the doorway. Your head whipped up to his, your eyes meeting. You had tried so desperately to keep your family struggles away from him, it wasn’t his problem. “You’re paying for yourself?” 

               “Um, yeah…” You shifted in your seat. “I’m on a lot of scholarship, though. It’s not a big deal.” 

He didn’t look convince, but as he opened his mouth to say something more but at that moment his mother walked in with a tray of tea and biscuits. You glanced at Michael who was staring apologetically at you. You took one of the cups of tea gingerly into your hand, avoiding Roger’s gaze. You could feel his eyes burning into your head as he wondered why you had left a major detail about your life out of your conversations. 

The rest of the evening went relatively smoothly. Creating conversation easily with his parents and avoiding the subject of school and your parents all together. Over dinner, Roger keep his hand on your knee, rubbing smooth circles into the soft skin on the side. You appreciated the gesture, resting your hand on top of his. 

               “So, how did you two meet?”his mother asked near the end of the meal. You looked over at Roger, smiling at the story. 

               “Well, I had just finished visiting my sister, who goes to Poly, and I had just sat down to read my book when Roger came running around the corner being chased by some--” 

               Roger’s hand squeezed your knee tightly, and you glanced over at him. His eyes silently pleading you to leave out some details of that story. 

               “By some… friends… and he saw me and tripped,” you finished. 

               “Guess you could say I fell at first sight,” Roger joked, trying to take attention away from your slip up. 

His mother cooed affectionately, going on about how romantic it was and how you were just destined to meet. You couldn’t help but stare at Roger, thinking about how circumstantial your meeting was. If you hadn’t been in that exact spot, at that exact time, you would never had met Roger. It made your heart ache just to think about that. 

               “Yeah, we really are lucky,” you murmured thoughtfully.  He looked over at you and gave you a gentle smile, a similar thought probably going through his head. You turned his hand over and slipped your fingers into his, loving the feeling of his hand in yours. 

               “Well, you seem good for him, (Y/N),” his mother concluded finally, pushing away from the table. You went to follow her actions, beginning to pick up your plate but she took it from your hand. “Please, you’re our guest!” 

               “I’m going to go show her around a little bit, ‘kay mum?” Roger pushed away from the table, resting his hand on the small of your back. 

               “Alright, don’t stay out too late, Roger Taylor,” she commanded, putting a hand on her hip. 

               “Mmhmm, alright mum.” He began to lead you out of his house, back into the open air.  He closed the door behind him and took a big breath. 

               “They’re sweet.” 

               “You don’t need to lie to me.” 

               “Roger!” 

He laughed loudly, grabbing your hand and dragging you down the street. You walked closely together, your his head bent to be near yours as you chatted and laughed together. His neighborhood was very small and nothing like the city of London. You liked it though. It was a place you could imagine settling down in. 

               “So this is where Roger Taylor grew up,” you looked up at him, grinning widely. 

He nodded, glancing around, looking fondly at the buildings. “Yeah, this is home.” He pointed at what looked like a primary school. “That’s where I played the drums for the first time. They had a little kit in the music room, and I just liked to make noise so my music teacher let me play.” He smiled at the memory. “Mum wouldn’t let me take my kits to Uni… so I just bought a new one when I got there.” 

               “That’s a cute image,” you commented. “Little Roger banging away at his little drum kit.” 

               “That’s not the only thing I can bang.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

               “That is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

               “C’mon, you walked right into it!” 

The two of you continued on, him pointing out buildings and telling stories along the way. You loved hearing his stories about his childhood. All the places he got in trouble, places he grew up and learned about life. It’s weird coming to his childhood town, he was so different now, at least when he was around you. 

Eventually, you came upon a bridge that was over a road next to a field of flowers. He climbed up on the railing then helped you to sit next to him. He kept his arm around you, helping you feel more stable on the railing as you leaned into him. His fingers brushed your arm softly as the wind blew smoothly through your hair. 

               “Why didn’t you tell me about your parents?” 

You knew the question was coming but it didn’t help you feel less uneasy about the topic. You looked down at your hands, twisting  your fingers around each other, leaning slightly away from him. 

               “It wasn’t important,” you deflected. 

               “Not important? Are you joking?” You couldn’t decipher his tone. Was he angry? Upset? Annoyed? Either way you felt yourself closing in again. You looked back up at him, still feeling uneasy. 

               “No, Roger, I’m not. You don’t need to know about my issues with my family,” you argued. 

               “Yes I do, that’s how a relationship works, isn’t it?” he shot back. “We have to tell each other things.” 

               “And how would you know how a relationship works, seeing as you’ve never had a real one.” 

As soon as the words left your mouth you regretted them. Your eyes widened at your own words as you watched his shoulders deflate. He moved his arm from around your shoulder, bringing his hands to rest in his lap. 

               “You’re right.” His voice was quiet, and it reminded you of that night 4 months ago when you put him to bed after his fight. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, with you.” He looked over at you. “But I’m trying my damn hardest not to let you get away.” 

You felt your eyes glass over as a tear dropped from your eye. Roger reached up and brushed the tear off your cheek. 

               “I just want to know what’s going on up there.” He taps your temple lightly, drawing a small laugh out of you. You wipe your nose, willing yourself not to let anymore tears fall. 

               “My parents… didn’t see the point in me going to a real college,” you began glancing over at him. He nodded, encouraging you to continue. “They just wanted me to go to some community college and get a basic education then settle down somewhere and have five kids.” You chuckled slightly at that. Imagining yourself doing just that, becoming the perfect trophy wife. “So when I told them I wanted to study Public Relations maybe minor in design or journalism. They told me that if I left, not to bother coming back.” You gauged Roger’s reaction. Confusion flooded his face, mixed with some anger so you rested your hand on his leg. “So I left. I’m on almost a full scholarship at Ealing and its grade based. Which is why I can’t afford to fail.” 

               “What about your sister? Isn’t she studying medicine?” He asked, his brain going through everything you told him. 

               “She was the oldest. She got to go to school and live her life. But my mother sheltered me. Thought I was her perfect little girl.” You shook your head. “Guess I’m just a disappointment now.” 

               “Hey, that’s not true.” He cupped your cheek and made you look up at him. “You’re bloody brilliant. You work so hard, and are so determined. You saw right through me the moment you met me, and had me-- quite literally -- speechless. You’re something I’ve never seen before, and everyone around you can see it.” You felt your lip quiver, as your struggled more and more not to break down right there. “You make me want to slow down and watch the world.”

You stared at him for a moment longer before leaning your forehead on his chest. He wrapped his arms back around you, rubbing up and down lightly. 

               “I just want to be here with you, Roger. I don’t want to think about anything else.” You kissed his chest softly. “Not school, not my shitty parents. I just want you.” 

               “You have me, love.” He kissed the top of your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

So there you sat, on the railing of the bridge, wrapped in each other. You sat there until the sun went down behind the trees and the stars began to specle the sky. At that point, he helped you off he railing and guided you back to his house. He guided you up the stairs and into his guest room. He stood, leaning in the doorway watching you walk around the room. 

               ��I’m just down the hall if you need anything,” he told you, quirking his lips to the side. 

You walked back over to him, placing your hands on his chest. “Okay.” 

He leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. You reciprocated for a minute before pulling away and smiling at him. He nodded before turning and walking down the hall away from you. You watched him for a moment before closing the door and settling in. 

You couldn’t sleep. You closed your eyes, tossed and turned but sleep would not come. Your fight with Roger kept playing over in your head. You didn’t know why you said those things. You didn’t know why you always shut people out. You really liked him. You were beginning to think maybe even love him, but it was still too soon. Now, Roger was the only person besides Freddie who knew about your parents. You rolled over again and looked at the clock. It had barely been an hour since you laid down. This was not going to work. 

So you got up. You rolled out of bed and walked down the hall to where Roger told you he would be. You opened his door quietly, trying not to wake him. When you opened the door, he was still awake; his arms behind his head, staring at the opening door. 

               “Can’t sleep?” he asked. 

You shook your head. “I’m sorry.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What for?” 

               “For what I said earlier…” You rubbed the back of your neck. 

He stared at you for a moment and then rubbed his eyes. “C’mere.” 

               “What?”

He opened his arms, and you realize what he meant. So you obliged, crawling in between his arms. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly to his chest and kissing your forehead softly before settling in.  Being in his arms felt so right, so natural and you never wanted to leave.

_______________________

I hope y’all liked it!

Tag list (SO VERY OPEN): @dove-turned-destroyer @16wiishes @angiefangirlworld-2 @queenismyrealdad @blondecarfucker @perriwiinkle @chlobo6 @wolverinesbeer @onevisionliz @catnissprior-blog @thewinchesterchronicles 

[hecamity]

this is all that’s left to look at

a/n: here it is, my submission for this year’s irbb!! it’s my first time writing ir so i was incredibly nervous. i want to give huge, huge thanks to @daethberry​ for putting up with me, throwing out some ideas for the fic, giving advice & looking over the first half of the fic back in decemeber,  @sequencefairy​ for being so sweet & helpful. thank you so much for beta’ing this incredibly long mess of a fic! the final result wouldn’t be what it is without your help! & finally, @princessmariedeathberry​ for being the best irbb partner i could ask for and throwing in some amazing suggestions for the fic (including the title of the fic). this is only the 1st chapter of the fic. you guys can check out the rest of the story on ao3.

ao3: ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch.3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 

*(edits with more art to be made later on) links to @princessmariedeathberry ’s art: 1

summary: Kurosaki Ichigo’s the lead singer in one of the most successful J-rock bands. Kuchiki Rukia is a Japanese native who’s gained international recognition for her outstanding vocal and dancing skills as a member in one of K-pop’s most iconic girl groups. They are now engaged to be the next virtually married couple on a variety TV show where they’ll be expected to complete weekly missions and live the newlywed life. An IR We Got Married AU full of pure, tooth-rotting IR fluff we all deserve.

“So, I was informed this morning you’ve been cast as one half of the next couple on We Got Married, Kuchiki.” Kuchiki Rukia, who was currently sitting across from her long time manager and close confidant Matsumoto Rangiku, in a trendy little café not far from her group’s entertainment company, nearly choked on the sip of scalding hot tea she had just taken at the sudden remark.

The taller blonde woman snorted in amusement and took a sip of her iced coffee. “Careful now, Rukia-chan.” Rangiku shifted to pull her bag closer to her and withdrew a yellow manila folder, sliding it across the table.

Rukia knew that because her group had had their comeback two weeks prior, she and her members would be making many variety show appearances for promotions but she hadn’t expected the casting on We Got Married. The petite vocalist let out a tired sigh. “Is it necessary?”

Having debuted nearly 7 years ago at the age of eighteen as a part of LUNA, an internationally and domestically revered idol group had definitely made her a variety show veteran but she wasn’t sure how she felt about having to pretend to be married.

Rangiku only gave her a pointed look and Rukia knew exactly what that look was trying to convey.

You know it is.

The smaller woman fiddled with the tea bag in her drink and sighed in defeat. “What’s in the folder?” She jerked her chin in the offending object’s direction.

“That, my dearest, contains your potential husbands for the next few months.” Rangiku grinned mischievously. “I’d choose wisely if I were you.”

Rukia raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I get to pick?” She didn’t know she’d get some kind of say in the deal.

Rangiku shrugged. “I mean your pick isn’t set in stone exactly, but the producers asked that you list them in order of preference and that they would do their best in casting.”

She immediately reached for the folder and tore it open.

There were a total of five profiles: the first one was a much older and well-known comedian she’d met several times, two actors she’d met at awards ceremonies and was well-acquainted with, and a solo musician that she hadn’t quite spoken much to before aside from quick greetings at music shows. The final profile though had caught her eye immediately.

Kurosaki Ichigo.

Her violet eyes caught sight of the small photo the profile provided and traced the familiar features of his handsome face: the always-present scowl, his amber eyes, and of course, his head of orange hair.

She hadn’t personally met him before, but she was no stranger to who he was; she enjoyed the music his band produced since their debut a few years ago. The last few months had seen a sudden popularity of the group in South Korea, their music making it onto the airwaves.

She’d also seen several interviews and he seemed like a very genuine person: passionate, kind, talented and she guessed he maybe had a temper. It could be interesting.

Rukia smirked to herself and reached for a pen to fill out the sheet the show producers had provided her.

In the number one spot she wrote, neatly: Kurosaki Ichigo.

One week later

Kurosaki Ichigo let out a long sigh and tapped his foot impatiently against the carpeted floor as he waited for Urahara Kisuke, the CEO and founder of UK Entertainment, the entertainment company he was signed to, to enter the room. The young musician had been called in for a meeting and had been waiting for the last half hour in the large office of Urahara’s entertainment company’s Seoul location.

The room was completely silent bar for his rhythmic tapping, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and some occasional sighing. His amber eyes wandered the room looking for any sort of entertainment, eventually settling for looking outside the large glass window with a great view of the busy streets and crowds in the Gangnam district of Seoul.

It had been nearly a month and a half since his and his band’s arrival in South Korea; HOLLOW had been active in Japan for six years now and with their newest album, their band had begun to gain a huge international following.

Urahara had thought that the next step for the band should be to promote in South Korea, one of the countries where they had gained a lot of recognition. They would promote their most recent album while working on a brand new one in Korean, which was to be released within the next year.

Ichigo’s crowd watching was interrupted when at last Urahara made his appearance. “Ichigo,” the older man smirked as he navigated towards his desk to take a seat. “You’re looking handsome today.” Ichigo rolled his eyes in response and ceased his tapping.

“And you’re late,” he deadpanned.

“I know, I know—but I’m a busy man,” Urahara pulled out some folders from a drawer in his desk. “So, Ichigo, I’ve called you in to share some news.”

Ichigo only raised his eyebrows at his light-haired boss and waited for him to continue. “You were offered a spot on We Got Married. I accepted the casting offer on your behalf. Filming starts next week.” Urahara gave him an expectant grin but only received a blank stare in return.

Ichigo certainly wasn’t an expert in Korean variety shows but the name of the show rung a bell and from the title, he wasn’t sure he liked the sound of it. He wracked his brain in attempt to recollect anything about the show.

He felt his stomach drop when realization came through; he vaguely remembered snippets of it from when he’d visit back home; his younger sister Yuzu was a fan of the show.

“No.” Ichigo made an attempt to stand from his chair but Urahara stood from his faster, making his way around to position himself in front of his longtime employee, blocking his exit.

“Urahara, do I really look like the type to do variety—especially a show in where I have to pretend to be married?” The orange haired singer gave him his best scowl.

“Well, no,” Urahara was frank. “but it’s good exposure for you and your promotions here. I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure you’ll be able to charm the audiences somehow—you do have quite the fan base already.”

“My Korean still isn’t that good.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Yoruichi will be around and there’ll be a lot of help with the translating if need be,” Urahara crossed his arms crossed his chest and gave him a winning grin. “You really don’t have much say in this, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo knew he didn’t but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. Closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh, Kurosaki Ichigo resigned himself to his fate.

“Can I at least know who,” he cringed at the next words that came out of his mouth, “I’m marrying?”

“That, Kurosaki, you will find out come next week when filming begins.” Urahara’s gray eyes travelled to his wristwatch. “Ah, well that’s all I had to say. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another meeting I’m running late for.”

With a smirk on his face and a quick pat to Ichigo’s shoulder, Urahara briskly walked out of the room, leaving behind an irritated musician.

Rukia looked around the large room curiously. This was where she would be stopping by every week to be interviewed for We Got Married. The walls were completely black and in front of her were several cameras, producers, and other staff.

Rukia ran her fingers through her hair as one of the producers made sure her microphone was properly attached to her top.

“Are we ready to shoot?” asked the cameraman, peeking out from behind the camera. The producer gave Rukia a warm smile that she returned and shot the director a signal. “We’re ready.”

“We’ll begin with you introducing yourself,” the cameraman instructed. “And…we’re rolling.”

The petite vocalist gave her best smile at the camera. “Hello, I’m Kuchiki Rukia from LUNA and I’m 25 years old. I’m very happy to be here and I look forward to the married life.”

 Unbeknownst to her, Ichigo was sitting a few rooms away, waiting for his own introductory interview to begin.

It was a new week—the start of December, and the gray skies outside quite seemed to capture his mood. He currently lounged, mug of coffee in hand, inside of moderate-sized apartment in Seoul as he waited for the camera crew to arrive.

It’s way too early for this, Ichigo thought to himself as he stared blankly at the TV that played a variety show he could hardly understand. He knew he needed to get himself perked up and to appear somewhat approachable for filming.

He was about to take another sip of his coffee when his phone buzzed next to him. He unlocked his phone to see a text message from Shihouin Yoruichi, his longtime manager.

I’m outside with the camera crew, Kurosaki. Let us in and remember to wipe your permanent scowl off your face.

Twenty minutes later, he found himself surrounded by lights, several cameras, and a crew of about 15 people. He was rather overwhelmed, to say the least.

“Are you ready to start filming?” the producer in charge asked Ichigo in Japanese. The musician looked towards Yoruichi, who only shrugged at him.

“I’m ready,” Ichigo replied. He ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. “So, what do I need to do?”

“Just relax. Show us around a bit so we can get some shots—people will be curious about how you live.”

Ichigo nodded and began to lead the camera crew around. “There’s not much to see, really.” He demonstrated his clean and fully stocked kitchen that garnered impressed murmurs from some of the staff. He led them back into his living room and watched as the cameramen walked around documenting his bookshelves that housed his extensive manga collection, the 3 different guitars he kept in a corner, several figurines he’d collected over the years, and the picture frames of his family he’d hung on his wall.

After a few minutes of them filming his apartment, the producer walked up to him. “We’re ready to start filming you now—just remember to act natural. Pretend the cameras aren’t around.” She extended a hand and offered him a red envelope. “In this envelope is your first mission.”

Swallowing hard, Ichigo took a seat on his couch and opened the envelope. It took him a good moment before he was able to decipher the Hangul characters.

 TO: Kurosaki Ichigo

 FIRST MISSION: Decide a time and place for your first meeting and notify your wife. 

Below is her contact information.

“I’m supposed to pick a place?” Ichigo glanced up and back down at the card. The orange haired musician was stumped. He didn’t know who the person would be or what she could possibly like. He also didn’t want to go for something mediocre like a café.

Wait, why did do I even care this much? I don’t even want to do this.

“Does anyone know any good places in Seoul?” he asked the crew hopefully, eliciting some laughter.

Left to figure something out on his own, Ichigo took out his cellphone and began to research ‘good places to take your virtual wife on a first date is it even a date’.

He’d clicked the first link:“10 Things to do with your Significant Other in Seoul during the Holiday Season”.

He scrolled down the list slowly, rejecting the first few options until his eyes landed on number nine: Ice-skating.

Ice-skating could work; it was fun and it could help alleviate some of the awkwardness that was sure to come with first meetings. Ichigo looked up and mumbled, “I think I know the place.” He still felt a bit out of place with the cameras around and he had to keep talking despite not having anyone to converse with other than himself.

Now came the hard part. He had to notify her. Should he text her? He was sure the crew expected him to make the phone call but he wasn’t certain. “Do I call her?” he asked in clumsy Korean.

Yoruichi, who stood with some of the crew in a corner, shook her head at him but was relieved to see most of the crew was amused at his awkwardness. The producer in charge gave him an encouraging nod.

With a long sigh some of the crew snickered at, Ichigo grabbed his phone once more and opened up the dial pad. He carefully tapped in the phone number provided on the card and without hesitation pressed the call button, setting the phone on speaker, ignoring the way his chest tightened a bit—he was most definitely not nervous.

The first ring filled the silence in the room. Ichigo tapped his foot anxiously as he waited. Two more rings. Click.

You’ve reached the voicemail of—

The orange haired musician looked up at the crew. “She didn’t pick up.” He stated the obvious. “I’ll try calling again.”

Rukia sat in her own apartment, surrounded by cameras and staff from the TV show. Her phone had rung at least four times already. She snickered as she saw her screen light up again, with another incoming call.

She knew it was her “future husband” calling and she wanted to mess with him a little. Rukia would answer the phone call—eventually.

“Gonna make him sweat a little.” She smirked mischievously. Once more, she rejected the call after letting it ring a few times.

Almost immediately after, her phone lit up once more with an incoming call. She looked up at the crew surrounding her with a playful smile and hovered her thumb over the answer button. “I think I’ll take the call now.”

With a swipe from her thumb, she let the call go through. She was getting curious to see if she’d be able to tell who her chosen partner was from his voice. “Hello?”

“Finally.” She heard a short grumble in Japanese. Rukia resisted smiling—it seemed that they were able to cast her first choice after all.

“This is—uh, this is your partner from the show,” the deep voice on the other line began awkwardly. “I was calling to give you a meeting location and a time.”

“You’re quick and to the point,” Rukia replied teasingly. “I’m doing fine, thank you. How are you doing?”

There was a deep sigh and a moment of silence before he responded. “I’m sorry—I hope you’re doing well. I hoped you would be alright to meet at Seoul Plaza tonight at 7PM?”

She raised her eyebrows at the mention of Seoul Plaza.  “What are we going to be doing?” Rukia asked curiously.

“You’ll find out tonight. Dress warmly—and I hope you’re not as bad at telling the time as you are at answering phone calls.” Click.

Rukia scoffed. “He hung up on me.” She had assumed right. He definitely had a temper. She glanced back down at her phone and noticed it was only 10 AM. She had several hours to prepare.

Perhaps she had riled him up a bit too much and should make some kind of peace offering.

She was no expert in the kitchen, so cooking and baking were out of the question.

She was, however, rather great at drawing;, she made sure to include a drawing in her monthly letters to her Nii-sama and he told her she’d improved quite a lot. The other members of LUNA also complimented her drawings when she showed them her sketchbook.

The petite, raven-haired vocalist stood from her spot and dashed to get her sketchbook.

WEEK 1 – First Date

 It was a few minutes before their scheduled first meeting and Ichigo stood at the entrance of the large skating rink that took up a majority of Seoul Plaza. The bitter winds nipped at his face as he waited for his “future bride” to show up.

Several cameras and plenty more staff than earlier that day surrounded him, he shifted awkwardly in attempts to ignore curious eyes from passersby and skaters alike. He also felt incredibly silly; one of the producers had forced him to wear a hat to cover his hair “because it would make him too recognizable”, large sunglasses despite it being night time, and a black scarf that completely covered his face.

All in all, Ichigo felt ridiculous but that came as no surprise as he felt that the entire situation he was stuck in was completely that.

He scanned the crowds of people, keeping them peeled for someone wearing a matching hat, sunglasses, and a white scarf, as the mission card he had received upon his arrival had told him to do.

Another few moments of people watching and his eyes finally caught sight of a head in a hat similar to his own bobbing, the approaching small figure attempting to weave in and out between the crowds of people much taller than them.

Was that her?

Ichigo stood straighter and tried to ignore the sudden bout of nerves that overcame him when he noticed one of the many cameras begin to shift, the staff also having caught sight of the approaching figure.

The figure’s direction became more certain the closer they came, and Ichigo was now 100% certain that this was his wife. The hat she was wearing was identical to his, a white scarf hid practically half her face, and a pair of sunglasses hid the other half.

With a better view of his wife-to-be, he was indeed able to confirm that she was very tiny, her body engulfed by a long, lavender winter coat, and her hands hidden by woolen mittens. Ichigo could see the curled ends of raven colored hair brushing her shoulders.

“Hello,” her voice was muffled but Ichigo could tell it was a hint amused. She bowed respectfully at the cameras and staff before turning back to him and offering a small mitten-covered hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ichigo lightly grabbed at her hand and stiffly bowed, mumbling, “nice to meet you.” She laughed quietly at his awkwardness.

“What an interesting choice for our first meeting,” She continued smoothly, transitioning from Korean into Japanese.

Ichigo’s eyes widened in response to the sudden change of language, “you can speak Japanese? Wait how did you know…?”

“Shall we remove all this? The scarf is kind of suffocating and as great as I look in these sunglasses, I kind of feel weird wearing them at night.” Rukia ignored his question, as she reached for the scarf around her neck.

Ichigo froze momentarily as he watched her unravel the scarf. She wrapped it around her arms and looked up at him expectantly, her hands suspended on her sunglasses.

“Aren’t we supposed to be doing this at the same time?”

“Er…yeah, sorry.” Ichigo quickly ripped off the scarf and hesitantly reached for the sunglasses. Now that the scarf was no longer covering half her face, Ichigo was able to see a smirk grace her face.

“On the count of three?” She asked, her hands still hovering over her sunglasses.

Ichigo nodded in confirmation.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

They both ripped off the sunglasses, her a bit clumsily due to her mittens and Ichigo’s breath caught in his throat.

Violet irises met amber ones and Ichigo could see mirth dancing within them. Now that her face was completely exposed, realization dawned on him.

“Kurosaki Ichigo, it’s very nice to meet you in person.”  Rukia kept smirking as she smoothly slid the sunglasses into her coat pocket.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked as she wrapped the scarf back around her neck, less tightly than before.

Without a doubt, Ichigo recognized the small woman in front of him. His younger sister Yuzu was a fan of Kuchiki Rukia and of the group she was a part of. She also had an immense fan base in Japan and although she was not as active as an entertainer over there as she was in South Korea, it was impossible not to recognize who she was.

“You’re Kuchiki Rukia,” he replied right away. “Do you know me?” Rukia snorted at his question.

“Of course I know you,” she stepped away from him and gestured towards the skating rink ahead of them. “Now aren’t we here to skate? What are we waiting for?”

“Oh—yeah,” Ichigo had forgotten for a moment where they were standing. Rukia shifted closer to him to get into line for renting out skates. Ichigo noticed that she hardly reached his shoulder

“I see you were able to make it in time.” Ichigo brought up nonchalantly. Rukia narrowed her eyes at him.

“If there’s one thing I am—it’s most definitely punctual.” She crossed her arms across her chest.

“Well, I just figured you may have trouble with getting to places on time considering you’re not very good at answering phone calls.”

Rukia scoffed. “I’m very good at answering phone calls if they’re from people I want to speak with.”

Ichigo’s eyebrows shot upward and scowled at her. Not even ten minutes together and she was already irritating him. So she hadn’t been answering on purpose.

Ichigo was about to retort when the woman renting out skates interrupted him; “Good evening, what size?”

A few minutes later, the new couple found themselves once more at the entrance of the rink. Ichigo was lacing up his skates and glanced up to see that Rukia had already finished putting hers on. “Have you ever been ice skating?”

She looked down upon hearing his question and shook her head. “Nope, never.”

At her response, Ichigo cursed himself internally. He hadn’t thought that perhaps she might not know how to skate.

Together, the two of them carefully approached the ice. “Just step on to it carefully. Here you can hold on to…” He let himself trail off, stunned and hand suspended midair, as he watched the raven-haired vocalist glide gracefully past him.

“Aren’t you coming, Kurosaki?” She grinned at him expectantly, before spinning around skillfully to join the other evening skaters.

Ichigo let out a sigh of aggravation, determined to catch up.

After an hour of Rukia outskating Ichigo, and her laughing at his irritation, the couple found themselves sitting in a nearly empty café. They sipped their teas in silence, a large slice of cake set in between both of them. The only sound was the quiet chatter of the few patrons surrounding them and the soothing Christmas music playing over the speakers.

Rukia lifted her gaze from her steaming cup to observe the orange haired musician in front of her. He didn’t seem like much of a talker, but he had definitely been too quiet since they left the rink. His lips were turned downward into a slight scowl.

“Are you sulking?” Rukia asked. Ichigo looked up, startled out of his thoughts and scoffed.

“I am not sulking.”

“You are so sulking! Is it because I’m a better skater than you?”

“You told me you’ve never skated before!” Rukia snorted at his aggravation and took another sip of her tea. “Eh, it was a little white lie. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You also admitted to not answering my phone calls on purpose.”

“I wanted mess with you a little,” Rukia teased back. Ichigo gave her a blank look and she sighed a little.

“Okay, okay, so maybe I messed with you a little too much today,” Rukia put her mug down and turned around to reach inside her coat’s pocket. She pulled out a large pink envelope and offered it to him with a small smile. “This is my peace offering. I hope you like it.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow and cautiously took the envelope from her hands. He carefully and slowly opened the envelope, trying to ignore the way her eyes lit up and her little wiggle of anticipation as he pulled out the card from the envelope.

The front of the card only had: To my ‘future husband’ written on it. He opened the card and nearly choked on his spit at what was inside.

The inside of the card was decorated with what seemed to be poorly drawn…bunnies? He assumed that these bunnies were supposed to be them as one of them had a mop of orange hair and the other shoulder length black hair. The bunnies were drawn in what seemed to be wedding attire; bunny Ichigo wearing a black tuxedo and bunny Rukia a wedding dress.

She had written underneath the drawing; I look forward to the married life!

“What do you think?” Rukia looked up at him with a child-like enthusiasm, seemingly anticipating his reaction. “Aren’t they cute?”

“I wouldn’t quite call them cute,” Ichigo said, with a snicker. Rukia narrowed her eyes and frowned at him, crossing her arms across her chest.

“So what would you say they are then?” She challenged, her gaze was piercing. Ichigo leveled his own stare at her and smirked.

“They’re hideous.”

Rukia’s mouth dropped open and she let out a huff. “Excuse me?” Ichigo sniggered at her reaction. “I said they were hideous.”

Rukia continued to glare at him but Ichigo’s merriment at her anger was short lived. He groaned in pain when he felt a sharp kick to his shin. Ichigo whipped his head up to glare at the petite woman sat in front of him.

“What the hell, Rukia?”

“You’ve obviously got no taste in art. And it’s Kuchiki-san to you.”

“If anyone’s got no taste in art it’s you.” he retorted with a scowl. “You should stick to singing and dancing because drawing is definitely not your thing.”

“You are so lucky we’re sitting in a middle of a café, Kurosaki.” Rukia deadpanned. She let out a breath in an attempt to compose herself. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you for the next few months.”

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you for the next few months. If I’d of known you’d turn out to be a lying, violent, midget who doesn’t answer phone calls on purpose...” he muttered to himself, ignoring Rukia’s protesting.

“Besides,” Ichigo continued, “you obviously drew this before meeting me.” He lifted the card and pointed at the bunny that was obviously drawn to be him. “You knew I’d be your partner. How?”

Rukia wiped her face of all expression and shrugged at him, picking up her mug of now cold tea to take a sip. “I’m not obliged to share anything with you.”

“You were probably tipped off. That’s—that’s cheating.”

“It isn’t cheating, you fool. This isn’t a board game.”

“I’ve known you no more than two hours and you’re already the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” Ichigo groaned and resisted dropping his head on the table.

Rukia snorted and slid the plate of cake closer to her, finally taking a bite. “Just for that I’m not sharing this with you.”

That of course, led to more bickering. The pair was completely immersed in their argument, completely unaware of the exasperated looks most of the staff were exchanging with one another.

One of the baristas stood by the table with a black, velvet box and red envelope in her hand, wary of approaching the bickering couple. She turned and gave the camera crew a look that said, Are you sure it’s okay for me to be interrupting this?

It was needless to say that the looks she received in return were pleading.

With a nervous sigh, the barista approached the musicians. “Excuse me.” her voice was bashful but firm. “I’ve come to give this to you.” She bowed respectfully as she placed the items on the table and then shuffling away.

Both Ichigo and Rukia reached for the items at the same time, the petite vocalist beating him to it. She grinned at his scowl and opened the envelope first. She cleared her throat and read aloud the mission card:

TO: Kurosaki Ichigo & Kuchiki Rukia

 In that box you will find your wedding bands. Exchange them as a sign of your love and union.

 “Do we really have to?” Rukia turned to the camera crew. “Is it not too late to change partners?”

“Oi! It’s not like I particularly want to be stuck with you either.” Ichigo reached across the table and snatched the box from her hands. He stood from his seat and made his way over to her. The orange haired singer opened the box and pulled out the smaller of the two rings. “Give me your hand.”

Rukia wrinkled her nose at him and held her hand out to him. He slid the ring on rather roughly, shoving the box in her hands and held his hand out expectantly.

“Much romantic, oh, I’m swooning,” Rukia mocked as she slid his ring onto his finger.

“Shut up.” Ichigo rolled his eyes. Rukia stood from her chair and reached for her coat, stepping around him.

“This has been the worst first date I’ve ever been on and I can’t believe I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen and have to be fake married to you for the next who-knows-how-many months.” she told him as she put on her coat.

Ichigo followed her lead, putting on his own jacket. “The feeling is mutual, believe me.”

“I want my card back, by the way.” Rukia held out her hand expectantly. Ichigo’s eyes bulged in surprise. “How are you going to ask me to return your so called peace offering?”

“You called my bunnies ugly, therefore I’m rescinding my offer for peace. I also do not share my artwork with those that do not know how to appreciate it.” Rukia pursed her lips, waving her hand at him.

Ichigo stood silent for a moment before shoving the card messily into his coat pocket and rushing past her. He hastily bowed at the staff members as he ducked out of the coffee shop, shouting a quick, “Thank you for your hard work!”

Rukia was momentarily stunned before realization dawned on her. “That child.” She fought the urge to chase after him and instead bowed at the staff. “I apologize for his rude behavior. Thank you for your hard work.”

Not long after, the shooting for their first segment finally wrapped up. As the staff members prepared to load their vans with their filming equipment, the producer in charge couldn’t help but think to herself that perhaps this had to be the worst pair-up in We Got Married history.

She could only hope they didn’t kill each other and the show’s ratings.

Location: We Got Married Interview Room

“Congratulations. As of this week, you have officially met your wife. What do you think of your partner?”

Ichigo looked over at the producer that asked the question and leaned back against his chair. He kept his expression neutral as he answered the question: “She’s tiny, full of anger, and her drawings suck.”

His response earned some chortles from surrounding staff members.

“If you had the opportunity, would you pick another wife?”

“Absolutely.”

An hour and a half later, Rukia found herself sitting in the same seat. She smiled politely at the producers surrounding her.

“Rukia, earlier this week you finally had the opportunity to meet your new husband. What do you think about him?”

Rukia did not hesitate to give her response. “I’m not very impressed. He’s got no manners and he does not know how to appreciate good art when he sees it.”

“Unknown to many of our viewers, you had the opportunity to share with us who you would be interested in being paired up with. Interestingly, Ichigo was your top choice. Now that you’ve met him, would you change your choice, if given the opportunity?”

Rukia raised an eyebrow. “Why? Is that allowed?”