i have this thing for censoring the doors to the soul


Originally posted by jeonify

Word count: 2.2k

Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, loads and loads of angsty shit

A/N: Be Mean by DNCE made me do this, though its didn’t inspire the whole story lol but yes there will be something smutty in the later parts also wow @ the gif,,,,, also i feel like this is kind of a filler chapter lol also feel like i shouldn’t have ended it there but idk i cant continue also this was kinda short iDk SORRY

A lot of people deserve forgiveness, a lot of people deserve to forget but all they receive are reminders after reminders after reminders of the mistakes they’ve committed. 

First, it was a scandalous relationship with a girl. The newspaper article headlines with his secret connection with this nobody, including the explicit (but not too explicit, of course) details of his sadistic and masochistic sexual requests.
If that didn’t cause a whole bunch of ruckus, the next one did. Jeon Jungkook was sitting by his window ledge in his secret hiding place, a “temporal safe haven” as his manager puts it. His doe eyes glossy as the light from outside reflected. Though the ray did reveals his tears, his eyes still seemed dull as compared to before. Like a light, that had inhabit his vision before, had been torn away. It was drooping at the sides, so were the sides of his mouth. You could clearly see the toll that he had taken. Exposing his emotions, clearly plastered on his face, vulnerable as the sound of his empty house started to turn deafening. His pupils following the tiny amounts of snow that descended gracefully from the sky. His palm warm against the cold glass of the window, soon to transfer its heat, turning the heated hand into numbed flesh. 

The crestfallen boy knew he was going to have to face the public soon. He didn’t know what the fans thought, getting mixed responses as he read the tweets. He didn’t know what the conservative public of Korea thought of it, he didn’t know what his parents thought. He also didn’t know what the members thought or what you thought. Jungkook was desperately avoiding thinking about the latter, especially. The thoughts would harass him till he’s ruined.
His ringtone chiming interrupted his thoughts. The ringing got more violent as all the notifications flooded in.
“Jeon Jungkook Nude? BTS’ Golden Maknae Nude Video Leaked.”
#Jungkooknudes trending on twitter.

Moving before his eyes on the screen was two familiar figures. Jungkook’s memory of that special night was slowly tortured and decaying further by every embarrassing moan that blasted out of the speaker of the device. Or by every spank that could be heard in the audio, resounding in the room. Both bodies were moving at the same pace, before his manager pulled the phone away from his face. Now, he was sitting in an office with eight pairs of eyes all on him.
His manager had spoken. But the bunny-tooth boy paid no mind to the stressed man,it was probably something along the lines of,
“Do you know how much trouble we’re in? If you dare pull some more shit like this. You know what’s coming, kid. Watch out, alright?”, the last part had a hint of sympathy and care, not being as harsh as his few previous sentence. His manager knew that this isn’t what Jungkook wanted, he was human too. He obviously didn’t leaked it himself. But, it did put his job and the rest of their jobs at risk of being taken away, he needed the younger boy to know that his actions have consequence and to be careful with what he does.

Jungkook just sat there silently, staring lifelessly at the table. Nobody could really disclose what he’s thinking about, not the boys as they sat in the room with him, not his manager, no one. They all just stared at him as he was to the table. The dispirited boy had his fringe covering a little of his vision as he stared into the matte black that covered the table, still trying his best to avoid the thoughts of you from popping up in his mind.
Nobody had foreseen that the youngest of BTS would’ve been so, well to put it simply, problematic. Nobody thought he would’ve been so sexually promiscuous, everyone speculated that he was the innocent little boy that everyone assumed and portrayed him to be. Some made up rumours that he wanted to get rid of this image, thus causing all this commotion. Others said it was for publicity, quote “These celebrities will do anything to get their face onto the cover of a magazine, be it bad or good news. Absolutely pathetic.

Amidst all the chaos, nobody asked Jungkook how he felt about this whole situation. Of course, he felt pretty damn shitty. After all his privacy was being pried into. That little minute dust of freedom he had, that he had the right to have, was blown away in a violent wind straight from his bare hands. No amount physical work could have snatched it back as it scatters all over the place. It was out there for the world to look at, the uncensored image of his naked body and the girl he loved on display for the whole world to see. His sultry words, that was supposedly only for his lover to hear, was now heard by millions.
Jungkook also felt irritation amongst all his emotions. Why did he have to apologise when he never did anything wrong? What kind of goddamn social contract was it to apologise for his own leaked nudes? It was his privacy being violated here. The person who leaked the nudes and everyone who watched that god-fucking-damned video should be sending their apologies to him instead.
Jungkook also felt a tiny sense of happiness lingering at the back of his mind, however he was confused by this emotion. He almost caused 8 other people to lose their jobs, a girl to lose her dignity and pride and not able to face the public. He allowed the familiar elderly couple to be tortured by the hushed whispers spouting more and more rumours about them and him, especially about their relation and how he was badly brought up and nurtured by the couple. He jeopardised a company’s reputation and his own. How could he have felt happy in a moment like this? 

Next thing Jungkook knew, he was, back in the house, lying in the silence and on the extremely huge and empty kingsized bed. The loose string of the smooth silk bedsheets caught in the crooked cut of his nails on his finger as he thought about some of the people he did owe an apology to. Jungkook knew he had to make some amends. He apologised to the members, all of them forgiving and accepting his apology quite easily. They understood what he did wasn’t on purpose and that they all had their own things to hide. He apologised to his parents, his parents also being very forgiving. He was exceedingly thankful for all grace shown by his members, the company and his parents.

Now, it was time for the harder part. He walked through the dark cold street, step after step to the familiar address. His hands pushed into the pocket of his coat, in great need of warmth. The air conditioner in the house broke before this, he’s been living without heat for about 12 hours. He couldn’t escape the house either as he was suppose to be in hiding. Just his luck, he also forgot to wear gloves tonight.

He knocked against the wooden door, a crack in the door causing a splinter to prick the skin of his knuckle. He knocked again and waited. After 15 minutes, still not a single soul.

“Hey, I know you’re in there.” His voice sounded rough. As he hasn’t spoken much in the past few days, Jungkook was surprised by his own voice.

The door then opened with a creak, his large eyes engulfed into the small lifeless ones that stood before him. Despite being lifeless at first sight, he saw fear and sadness swimming around in them too.

“What do you want?” The soft, but hoarse voice ruptured in the quiet night. The air so chilled that her hot breath condensed in the contrasting temperature. Silence stood all around them for a moment before Jungkook sighed.

“I just wanted to apologise.” He said quietly, almost a whisper. Feeling guilty and for the first time, he felt small in front of the petite woman.

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it.” For someone so small, the girl spoke with so much hatred, Jungkook couldn’t believe that much hostility could occupy one being. Booming, so sharp that it cut the silence straight into half. The boy was shocked, expecting an easy and smooth forgiveness. But, his naive mind never ran over the possibilities of what was going to happen. Alas, he was, now, confronted and the infamous feline has really grabbed his tongue, this time. Maybe, even tied it into a knot as it felt like he couldn’t talk.

“I’m a girl. You’ll never understand what it’s like for me. For you, it’s a bump in your life, its a mistake that’ll soon be forgotten by many. For me, however, I’ll live with it forever. Instead of people telling me that it was just a mistake, they blame me for this. My reputation forever tarnished by you. I’ll always just be known as the girl that had that sex scandal with that idol. People at my workplace talk about me, I’ve been forced to resign to protect the company’s reputation. People at the convenient store talk about me, I see the censored thumbnails of that stupid fucking video on the covers of magazines while walking in the goddamn supermarket. People are making violating comments about my body, right in front of me. All thanks to you, the whole world knows what I look like when I’m fucking you, completely naked.” Her voice once again, firm and loud enough for Jungkook to understand the emotions she was projecting, but not loud enough to wake the neighbours. Jisoo wouldn’t risk that, there was enough talk going around town.
Jungkook, then, realised the double standards that was still alive. He’ll be able to move on and build his career again and soon, everyone would forget. But, a female body. The female anatomy wasn’t easily forgotten especially by people who sexualise it so much. Even, Jungkook could still remember what his first love looked like. But, not her face first, if you asked him in this way. He remembered the curves in her body and the way she moulded so perfectly with him. The sole reason why he remember her face was because well she's his first love.

“You said you’d always protect me. Why didn’t you keep your promise?” She whispered, her voice broken. Though, she was quick to compose herself again, blinking the tears away. Refusing for the, though downhearted too, boy to see her so broken. She knew how it’d affect him, because through everything she still does love Jungkook.

“I know, Jisoo. B-but this is different, I-I couldn’t-“ Jungkook stammered, not being able to say what he wanted properly. Shoving his tears to the back of his eye socket, clearing his throat so he could properly discuss this. 

“I think we should breakup. If that wasn’t obvious enough.” Jisoo interrupted coldly. 

“No. Please.” Jungkook whispered as he begged. The only words he could muster up. 

“Please never look for me again.” She said almost reluctantly.

“Jisoo, we can talk it out. Please, just stay.” Jungkook had a tear running down his face at this point. Jisoo wiped at the tear with a small smile, her’s also threatening to fall.

“Goodbye Jungkook.” With a kiss on the cheek, slowly Jungkook felt her hands slip away and she retracted back into the house. 

This love died too early, Jungkook did love her but the unhappy boy’s eyes weren’t as glossy as he thought it would be. He was hurt, he did feel the sour squeezing in his nose and the closing of his throat. Yet, it didn’t hurt as bad as he expected. Above all, his mind, contrarily, hasn’t occupied by Jisoo at all. These few days, it had been set on avoiding thinking about you. Although, the boy was trying to circumvent, eschewing these thoughts seemed to make them worse. Avoidance wasn’t going to make him feel any better, he had to come to grips with it.

Everyone advised him that it was a mistake to leave. But, Jungkook didn’t care. He’s been in their restraints for too long, as much as he liked being restrained. He didn’t like it this way. As the male sat in his gigantic kingsized bed, once again. He thought all was right in the world again, like the stars had aligned in the world, except that it’s not. He felt he was missing something as his eyebrow scrunched together, then your image popped up in his mind. His eyes widened in realisation as his stared into the white ceiling. His raised eyelids start to falter as he thought about what to do. There was a shit load he had to do, he was muddled as to where to start. 

He had to find you. Jungkook stared at the map, the leather seat beneath him getting warm. As he drew on the map, the red ink smudging on the glossy paper, he narrowed down his options to you two’s hometown first. His lean legs reached for the gas pedal, his ink stained hands found the steering wheel and sped down the roads. He went out to venture, close to a pilgrim, on a journey to search for you. Your name is his permanent safe word, you are is his permanent safe house.

Circumstance, Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader (one)

Prompt: The Lin Angst fic with extra doses of pain

Word-count: 1,156

Warnings: The regular warnings fam. Cursing and a lot of SAD. So much SAD. 

Note: Chapter One: As Easy as Breathing

It’s hilarious how quickly I’m coming up with these chapters. This is such a departure from how I usually am, as you all know because it’s the reason why I’m so flaky with the writing anyway. Something to note, I guess: Chapter one occurs maybe three or four days before the prologue, which I’m guessing should explain a few things. Maybe. I don’t know. 

By the way, shout out to @butlinislin because they’ve been an absolute joy throughout my writing of this. I hope this meets your expectations, darling. :)

To counteract all this sad, the last part of Perks will be coming up soon. 

Much, much love. xx

Prologue | Chapter Two

P.S.: This is, indeed, Heights!era Lin. Enjoy!


“So my vacation is in two weeks,”


“And you still haven’t pulled your shit together.”

Lin groaned, but agreed nonetheless. “Yes, okay, your point?”

Karen only raised an eyebrow, expression caught between amusement and pity. Lin kind of hated it. “The moon-eyed look might work onstage, sweetheart, but keep it up offstage and you’ll be wearing a sign that says ‘I am desperately in love with this woman right here. Nobody else, just her’ around your neck in no time.”

He buried his head in his hands, rubbed at his eyes. A beep of a horn caught Lin’s attention and he watched as a taxi rolled perilously by, much to the aggravation of everyone else behind it. He wanted to take a photograph of this scene in front of him, apart from the renegade taxi; when the light hit Manhattan just right, the people are suffused with a honeyed glow and the streets breathe in the heat and noise. His view from the outdoor seat of a coffee shop wasn’t so bad, but they had a show in two hours. He told Karen so, and she rolled her eyes at his inelegant change of subject.

“All right, you mopey bastard, let’s get this shit running.”

They left a few bills as tips and Lin downed the last of his coffee, turned cold by the autumn winds. They barely dawdled for a few more moments before standing up to leave.

He didn’t know how many people knew—Karen knew because she was Karen and she got her way with things like this—and he could only hope that no-one else would find out. (Although at this point, it was kind of futile; he didn’t miss the sly looks and the carefully raised eyebrows that came his way whenever he so much as stood next to Y/N. From Chris especially.)

“How have rehearsals been?” Karen asked as they walked down 157th street, the words slightly muffled behind the heavy scarf she’d wrapped around her neck.

Lin shrugged. “They’ve been okay.” A bit of a lie, that one. They’ve been great, amazing really. And he knew he didn’t have to censor himself in front of Karen but anything concerning Y/N was territory he’d rather not share. And lately, a lot of things became related to Y/N.

Karen rolled her eyes once more. “Don’t bullshit me, Miranda. I know rehearsals have been bomb; you’re not the only friend I have in the company, you know.”

Lin laughed in spite of himself. “Why’d you ask me then?”

One edge of Karen’s lip quirked upwards, smug. “I wanted to hear it from you, dumbass.” She hit him over the head, Lin yelping at the brunt of it. God, Olivo could swing an arm. “Although, I am still of the opinion that you need to stop wrapping that large brain of yours around that girl; as if she isn’t already wearing your heart on her sleeve like some fancy cufflink.”

Lin already knew that. He’s heard this speech approximately more than fifty-three times.

He only shrugged, something of a smile lilting at his mouth. Karen shook her head, strands of her ebony hair whipping in the breeze.

When he arrived at vocal practice the next day, you were strangely absent.

It wasn’t that strange, for you were often late, but the fact that not even a wisp of you could be seen or heard was slightly unnerving. Lin, for the most part, managed to hide the fact that he was preoccupied with your absence, but he could not hide from Chris (and to be fair, he couldn’t hide much from Chris anyway), who cornered him thirty minutes in and questioned him not with words but with a look.

“I’m fine,” he said hastily. He was not having this conversation with Chris, because heaven knew he’d already done so enough times. “I just didn’t get any sleep—“

“Sorry, sorry!” A crash cut him off, followed by hurried, thundering footsteps and the slamming shut of a heavy door. “I know I’m super late, I’m really sorry.”

“Nice of you to join us, Y/N,” Karen said slyly, and Lin turned to the girl in question, who was panting and sheepishly running a hand through her hair. “Who were you fucking before you came down here?”

The cast and crew laughed, Y/N reddened, and Lin’s heart stopped.

“Shut up, Olivo.” Y/N said, still pink in the face, which only added to the amusement.

Lin laughed along with the others, but he could feel his heart slipping down to rest somewhere near his ankles.

Things carried on as usual, with only a few more casual japes concerning Y/N’s admittedly disheveled state being made in between breaks. You handled them with a swift punch to the shoulder and a flustered laugh.

“So,” Lin said as he slid into the seat next to you, something clenching in his stomach, “who’s the lucky one?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile that decorated your lips told him that it was safe to ask. That might have made everything worse. “I thought you would be the one kind soul who wouldn’t ask,” you said teasingly, tongue bit between your teeth as you grinned. Lin’s heart almost couldn’t bear the tug of war; it was being wrenched up with elation and weighed down with despondency all at once and he was surprised his soul hadn’t fallen through the void it created. “I’m disappointed in you, Miranda.”

He could love you forever, he knew. If there was anything he was capable of, in that he was sure of.

Lin shrugged, the smile coming easily, because even when it was killing him, you could conjure happiness out of him as easily as breathing.

You fiddled with the phone in your hands now, your grin tempering into something smaller but no less powerful. In fact, your smile grew tender. The soft look that beheld your face both robbed him of breath and breathed life back into him.

(There were times when he was sure that he hated you, because it would be easier if he did, it would be much easier than doing whatever this was, standing aside as you took on lovers, as you looked elsewhere, because he wouldn’t push you if you didn’t want him. And you didn’t. But then he’d see you the next day, eyes bright and smile wide and his heart would yearn, and he couldn’t hate. He’d never hate you, he wasn’t capable of—)

“Robin,” you breathed, the name a sigh on your lips, and he took notice of how it sounded so sweet coming from you.

Lin smiled at you then, and his chest was going to burst, he just knew it, and then there’d be a mess on the wall because of it and god, Karen was right, you had his heart in your hands, and you didn’t even know—

“His name is Robin.”

5SOS Preference #10.

Preference: Everyone Has Their Soul Mate’s Name Tattooed on Their Wrist.

Luke: It was a cold, rainy day in your small Australian town. The sky looked dark as if it was nearing midnight, but as you looked over to the clock on the wall of your work building, you saw that it was just around four in the evening. You sighed, feeling the dreary weather take a toll on your mood; it didn’t help that you were stuck at work, either. Even though your job paid well, it kept you busy most of the time. If you weren’t in your classes, you were working as a receptionist in the emergency room at the local hospital. Your mind trudged through multiple memories you had gathered over the years of working there: when there was a man that came in because his eye had popped out of socket, when a woman had came in because her hip shattered, and even now, as a young boy with wild looking hair came in looking quite embarrassed as he strolled up to your desk. You crossed your legs neatly, clearing your throat so that you could sound professional. “How can I help you this evening?” You greeted him, looking him up and down while he awkwardly fiddled with his thumbs. A blush crept across his cheeks as he tried his hardest to avoid eye contact with you. He went without saying anything, and you cleared your throat yet again to catch his attention. “Sir?” You called, and he instantly let out a yelp of surprise, as if he hadn’t seen you sitting in front of him. “Uh, I sort of have this, uh, rash growing. I need to get it checked out.” He whispered, looking around to make sure no one had heard his medical problem. You nodded your head shortly, a smirk growing on your lips. “Where is the rash?” You asked, going to your computer to type in his information so you could give him the band he was supposed to wear around his wrist. “On my, er, pelvis region.” He muttered, feeling too embarrassed that he was having to tell the pretty girl behind the front desk something that made him sound like he was a gross person. You raised your eyebrows, eyes still locked on the computer as you typed everything in. He gave you his name, his birth date, and his social security number. Your mind held onto his name, Luke. But, there was no possible way he could be your Luke. There were a lot of men with the name Luke, who’s to say this was the one you’d been cursed to wear his name around on your wrist? Your eyes glanced over the cursive, black ink across the skin of your arm. You knew that he had noticed it, because he stared intensely at your hands for a minute before his hospital band had printed out. “Here, this is your identification bracelet.” You told him as you stood up, grabbing his left wrist to wrap the band around. However, a gasp left your lips and your eyes widened as you looked up at Luke, his eyes meeting yours in a comfortable silence. His wrist pulsated, the black ink seeming to disappear as you read the same name over and over in your head: (Y/N). There he was. He was your Luke, and as you held your wrist up to his, the both of you noticed that the ink had disappeared. He was here. He was your soul mate.

Ashton: “Get a grip on yourself, Jacque! You can do this!” You shouted at your younger sibling, seeing her miss yet another ball that was pitched to her during her junior high softball game. The crowd members around you were staring and making fun of how enthusiastic you were, but you didn’t care. You were there to support her and make her feel less nervous about playing, and that was what you intended to do. The pitcher from the other team threw another ball, and Jacque swung with her bat and hit the ball close to the outfield fence. You stood up and cheered, screaming as loud as you could as your sister ran around the field to third base. You felt so proud of her as you sat back down, shooting her a quick thumbs up to assure her that she was doing well. “Aren’t they just so cute when they play sports?” A voice beside you spoke, causing you to slightly jump and cover your heart with your hand. The owner of the voice happened to be a young guy around your age, with golden eyes and pretty brown hair. He smiled widely at you, taking the seat on the bleachers next to you. “My little sister plays, too. She’s number twelve.” He told you, motioning to the girl who just slid into home plate to get your sister’s team a point on the scoreboard. You grinned at him, nodding. “This is Jacque’s first game actually playing. She’s never been so nervous.” You giggled, eyeing your sister as she intently watched the next pitch being thrown to her teammate. The boy next to you nodded his head, looking at your sister and shooting his own a thumbs up like you did moments ago. “She seems like she’s doing pretty good, even though I just got here.” He chuckled, a slight blush coming to his cheeks as he thought about how he’d ended up getting caught in traffic and couldn’t be here at the start of the game. You shrugged and continued talking to the guy, finding yourself to enjoy his company. He was actually quite funny, and just as enthusiastic about watching his little sister as you were about watching yours. The two of you were the only ones to stand up and cheer, while the rest of the crowd just sat in their seats and screamed. You even ended up sharing a bowl of nachos, both of you munching away while you talked about memories from your middle school days, cheering when necessary. It wasn’t until you reached to grab the last nacho that you saw it: his wrist. You examined the black ink on his skin, trying your hardest to decipher what it said in the weird angle it was. You so desperately wanted it to be your name, since you had been growing fond of his presence. You grunted under your breath as you tilted your head with his arm, causing the guy to laugh at you. “If you wanted to see it so bad, you could have just asked me.” He told you, turning his arm so that the name on his wrist was now in full view. Your eyes widened and your heart sped up as you read (Y/N) in cursive letters, your excitement growing as you showed him your wrist, Ashton blossoming and fading at the same time. He grinned, sticking his hand out for you to shake. “Nice to meet you, soul mate.”

Calum: Every Thursday, it was the same thing. You would wake up, get yourself ready with make up and an acceptable outfit, and then you would go downtown to your weekly lecture for your college courses. You would sit for fifty minutes in a room filled with people that were just as bored or as exhausted as you were, and then you would end up going home to do nothing besides eat ramen noodles and watch Netflix. But this particular Thursday was way different. You were supposed to be getting a new enrollment in your class, which was odd since it was the middle of the semester. It was a male student, that much you knew, and you wondered if it would be your person. Your eyes glanced down at your wrist, the tattooed name seeming to pulse with anticipation as your eyes switched between your professor and the door. You were waiting anxiously for the male body to enter the classroom, you couldn’t wait to meet him to see if it was finally your time to be connected with your soul mate that you’d waited for more than nineteen years to meet. The professor assigned a book assignment, calling out for it to be finished and turned in at the end of the class, and you sighed as you knew that your attention was going to be diverted from the waiting of the arrival of the new student. You gripped onto your pen and began writing, but as soon as you’d opened your book, the door opened and your head snapped up to catch a tall boy with colored skin and dark hair entered the room. You blushed at his physical attire, your eyes scanning his face to see his features. He walked up to your professor, talking and chatting happily as he explained why he was late and that he would never be late for another lecture from now on. The professor talked with him for a moment before he told him to find a seat and begin on the assignment, and that’s when he turned and made eye contact with you. He smiled and walked to the empty seat next to you, motioning towards it as if asking for permission to sit down. You nodded your head and scooted over for him to have room to sit, and as soon as he did, your eyes went directly to his arms. You saw multiple tattoos, but you could not place if there was one that was his supposed soul mate’s name. You noticed a tattoo that said Mali Koa, but you weren’t sure if that was his soul mate, a family member, or an old flame that he’d mistakenly gotten tattooed on his body. “Hi, I’m Calum.” He whispered as he opened his new book, searching for the assignment page. You let out a small breath, your tattoo on your wrist suddenly itching as he told his name. He was your soul mate. He was the one you’d been waiting for, and thus far you hadn’t been disappointed. However, you were still unsure if you were his soul mate as well. “I’m (Y/N),” You told him, trying to ignore the annoying voice in your head that was screaming at you to ask him what his tattoo said. Calum’s lips twitched into a smirk, looking at you, clearly interested. “(Y/N), huh?” He inquired, causing you to nod your head slowly. Calum grinned and moved his arm purposefully, showing you his left wrist that held your name in cursive, fading letters. Your heart began to hammer in your chest as you felt relief lift off of your shoulders. “Say, can you help me with this assignment? Seeing as in how we’re soul mates and all,” Calum casually asked, causing the both of you to laugh at your first meeting.

Michael: “You don’t want that album.” You said, looking at the girl before you as she picked up an Ariana Grande album. She looked at you confused, looking down at the disc she held in her hands. “The songs are all censored, and half of them aren’t fully downloaded. I’m not sure why our owner bought them, burnt discs are never really guaranteed to be full quality.” You snorted, nodding as the girl put the album back on the shelf and continued looking. Moments like these were the highlights of your days when you had to work. Of course, you loved your job! How could you not? You were surrounded by music and music lovers all day; you just hated being stuck inside when there were so many things outside you wanted to do. Actually, the main thing you wanted to do that involved being outside currently was searching for your soul mate. You were born almost twenty-one years ago, and you’d had that stupid name tattooed on you for all those years. You were beginning to get frustrated that you’d never been able to meet the so-called person that you were meant to be a match with. Your eyes ventured to your right wrist, seeing the name circling around your skin perfectly in bold, cursive letters. “Damn Michael. Just who the hell are you, anyway?” You growled to yourself, ringing the girl who wanted Ariana Grande’s album up for a Bruno Mars exchange instead. You told her to have a nice day with a smile, and then the store was empty. You took this to your advantage and you moved towards the juke box in the corner of the store, putting on a Nickelback album as you blasted their hit song Savin’ Me throughout the store. You began to sing along to the song, your voice purposely off tune and your head banging a little too extreme for the song of choice, but who cared? You had the store to yourself until eleven, and it was nearing ten now. No one would come in for the rest of the night. Or so, that’s what you thought, but you were proven wrong. A young looking guy, dyed hair and a baggy jersey shirt on his shoulders entered the store. He looked up from the ground and nodded his head at you, a smirk on his pink lips as he went straight to the rock section in the corner of the store. You scoffed at his cocky attitude, walking back behind the register so you could wait to ring him up when he left. “How good is this album?” He called out to you, catching your attention yet again as he held up a Falling in Reverse album. Your favorite song Goddamn was on that album, so you smiled widely, completely forgetting his cocky attitude he held when he first entered the store. “That’s actually my favorite album by them! My boss didn’t buy a burnt selection, either, so the songs are all great quality.” You answered him sincerely, waiting for him to make a final decision before he picked up the album and a Panic! At The Disco album before he walked to your register. He handed you the two albums, catching a glimpse of your name tag as another smirk came onto his face. “(Y/N).” He read aloud, causing you to stop bagging his albums to look at him. You gave him a questioning glance, but Michael just laughed and grabbed onto your wrist, seeing his name just as he expected. “What’dya know about that?” He joked, holding up his wrist as he showed you his name tattooed on his arm. The ink began to fade on both of your arms as he released his grip on you, nodding towards the albums you were currently bagging. “Our music taste is similar, so it’s no surprise we’re soul mates.” Michael spoke, laughing at his own corny joke. You rolled your eyes, but smiled anyway. You were glad you finally met him, even if it was due to your job. “You wouldn’t mind any company while you check these albums out, would you?” You asked him, and Michael rose his eyebrows at your question. “Company? From my soul mate? I’d take that anytime.” He grinned, paying for the albums as you clocked out and followed him out of the store, your goal for the past twenty-one years finally completed.

CEO Calum // Part 1

Pairing: (F/n) and CEO!Calum

(F/n) // Your first name
(L/n) // Your last name

It was a burning feeling by your chest and waist that pulled you slowly out of sleep, your hazy mind—which was sprouting the beginnings of a dreadful headache—coming to terms that going out into a club to celebrate the end of final exams probably wasn’t a good idea after all.

It felt like you were a trapeze artist at some circus, except when you jumped for that perfect catch to glide in the air, you fell flat against the wooden boards of a stage below with a crash.

You’ve gotten drunk enough times to know you were having a hangover, but it was never to a degree where slamming your head against a wall entered your mind as a possible remedy to the pain swimming around in your head.

You also knew your tolerance level to alcohol, and you always did handle yourself well as it wasn’t really a good image for someone in the scholarship list to get wasted. Right now however, it was safe to assume you got beyond that limit and was completely knocked out drunk seeing as you don’t remember anything after that one too many tequila shots with a guy your age.

You do remember you were in a different country though, and the hazy sounds of you shouting to your friends over strings of bass and flashing colored lights.

But that was as far as your memory went regarding the events of last night.

You see you and your friends were thoroughly slaughtered by the last week of exams before summer break started, and what better way to bid riddance to hours of useless information than by drinking to your heart’s content, right?

At least by their standards that was the best way, because honestly, after endless nights of cramming and useless group study sessions you had (that all ended in a movie marathon and a half finished box of pizza by the way), you were good just passing out on your bed in the school dormitory and hoping you did good enough to keep the scholarship that’s giving you the three meals a day that you need.

But in all honesty, you knew that your friends suggesting a night of getting wasted and buying you whatever you wanted in the bar was a way of saying ‘thank you for saving our asses’ because you always found the time to drag them through the doors of the university library and sitting them down for a good long session on actual studying, knowing all too well that promises of studying later at night were never going to amount to anything.

So with one of them being the daughter of the best airplane company’s CEO in the country, after a couple strings being pulled here and there, you and your circle of six or seven friends were flying first class across the world to this popular bar where you’d start day one of a two week vacation in a resort.

It started off nice you recalled from your repertoire of hazy memories.

There were a few stories about terror professors and some questions you didn’t quite get on this one exam. But once the drinks rolled around you were in a sea of loud laughter, never ending giggles about the smallest things, laced with chicken wings in between.

That was really it, your memory as it stood was a complete mess.

You didn’t even know in what chronological order your memories happened, just that they did occur for sure.

Deciding you weren’t going to get answers just lying around in some comfortable bed, you groaned and stretched your limbs, one of your friend’s name then coming out of your mouth in an incoherent mumble before you felt your hand smack something.

Or someone rather, from the resulting groan that met your ears.

With eyes wide you nearly fell off the bed as you sat down with a jerk in your movements, which wasn’t a good idea when your head spun a little as an aftermath of the action, but you hastily rubbed your eyes and couldn’t stop muttering curses under your breath.

Hurriedly, you’d stood up and distanced yourself from the bed where this groan came from, a particularly loud ‘fuck’ then spilling from your lips when you almost tripped at what felt like a couple boxes at the side of the bed, you then using an elegantly designed standing lamp near a closet to steady yourself.

Then slowly, as you awoke from your sleepy stupor with only the slightest hints of a hangover due to the shock, you’d taken the moment to assess what in the world the drunken you had gotten yourself into this time.

And at the sight of a man on the bed looking probably just as wasted as you before you woke up, you felt your blood run cold in horror at the fact that you’d probably just had a one night stand with a stranger you picked up who knows where.

What was odd was that he wore a suit though, a bit crooked and crumpled, but very much intact, completely contradictory to this idea of a one night stand you thought you had. He even had the coat of the suit on and the tie neatly pressed and tucked inside the jacket as well, a yellow rose then peeking out of his suits left breast pocket, causing you to furrow your brows at the scene before you.

He was sleeping so soundly—a great contrast to you who was visibly in a state of panic—his lips slightly parted, black hair ruffled from tossing around in bed (at least you hoped it was the case), and his skin a shade of brown that was littered with some tattoos from what you could see from his hands.

Your staring was abruptly broken at the familiar tune of your friend’s calling ringtone, and you scrambled to your feet to get the phone you hadn’t noticed in the bed, your eyes squinting in the brightness of your screen before you opened the phone with a quick swipe and answered the call.

In the backdrop mixed with a small tinge of static, you could hear your group of friends’ unmistakable giggles, and you resisted the urge to shout in panic as you took one last look at the person sleeping on the bed, before you hurriedly went outside the door which led to some posh living room.

It was pretty safe to assume you were in a penthouse from the view on this glass wall overlooking the city of wherever this country is. But aside from the layout of a beautiful urban city, what made your heart stop was your reflection by the glass wall.

Looking down had you only noticed the burning feelings by your stomach when you woke up was because you were wearing a very constricting corset underneath soft silk strewn with what looked to be real pearls and some other jewels you couldn’t name, embedded in the fabric in careful sewing.

And just below your collar bone was what looked like the very same yellow rose the guy on the bed had in his breast pocket. Given you were probably a messier sleeper, seeing as yours looked to be in terrible shape, and you’d just about ripped it out from yourself when your friend spoke through the messaging app she called you with, reminding you that you were in the middle of a call.

“Hello? (F/n)?” A worried voice said, and you’d just about let out incoherent curses, eyes still fixated on your reflection in the glass wall before you mumbled out an inaudible string of panicked words.

Your friend took your mumbles as a response and followed it with a laugh though, probably not sensing your distress over the static.

“So, how was last night?” She chuckled, and you could only gulp at the words she spoke.

Because honestly, what in the world happened last night for you to wake up with a terrible hangover, a blooming headache, and clad in something that greatly resembled a wedding gown, that probably amounted to the cost of your life and your next hundred lives.

It was a bit hard to see from the glass reflection with the sunlight from the outside, but your were sure your hair was done up in some high-end style and when you reached behind your neck you pretty much guessed you were wearing a veil too.

“What the fuck did you make me drink last night?” That was the first thing the spilled out of your lips as the panic bubbled up your throat, completely disregarding your friend’s question, which she didn’t seem to mind seeing as she giggled at your statement.

“You know the usual.” She said. “Just that you went all out and probably tripled what usual should have been.” 

You heard the sounds of footsteps and a door closing, a few faint protests from your other friends in the background being heard before everything was plunged in a silence only consisting of stating and the occasional chirping of the birds outside the penthouse suit you were in.

“Ri, I am serious, I woke up with a guy I don’t know, and the dress, and—fuck—fuck, fuck—”

“I get it, you fucked.” Your friend giggled with sarcasm.

“Fuck you.” You groaned again, not really in the mood for her games, and you imagined from the shuffling of clothes you could hear from your phone that she was shrugging her shoulders and then crossing her arms after, a little quirk of your friend suggesting she was getting serious, or intrigued.

“So did you or no?” She said, amusement clear from every syllable she spoke.

“Okay, the thing is he’s wearing a suit and it doesn’t look like anything happened. But I may be wrong? I don’t know? What the fuck did I do last night?” You rushed out, not even caring to censor your words because this event definitely merited a slew of cusses as it was a legendary entry to the small list of fuckery you ended up with in your lifetime.

The other entry, was thinking this one clown at a party was out to get you, so being your six-year-old self, you pushed him into a garden fountain before reanimating some wrestling match you saw on TV. An that encounter, ended up with you in an arm sling, and an angry clown with crutches.

But well, that was a story for another day.

“Okay so clearly something happened.” You heard your friend chuckle, and you stomped a bare foot to the carpet in frustration at your friend clearly not realizing the distress to your rushed sentences.

“Ourianna Ryder I am in a fucking wedding dress that looks like I sold my soul for it, my head feels like I was hit by a truck, and I’m in a penthouse with a guy sleeping in the next room, that I swear I have never seen in my entire life. If this is some elaborate prank you rich fucks have planned I am going to hunt you down and mur—”

“Wait, a wedding dress?”

You groaned when you were cut off and you rubbed soothing circles in your forehead with the palm of your hand before grumbling your response.

“Yes, a fucking wedding dress, complete with a veil.” You sassed.

It was quiet on the other line for a moment, and then you heard your friend mumble a small ‘shit’ followed by a couple more rushed footsteps.

“Where are you (F/n)?” Ourianna said, and you thought you’d heard the sound of a faint door closing and an engine starting, making you understand she probably went down into the parking lot of the hotel you were supposed to be at with your friends.

“Do you think I have a clue?” You said a little more harshly than intended, and you shook your head before sighing. “I’m sorry, Ri, I really don’t know. I’m just tired and this situation is scaring me and—”

“I know, listen I need you to look out a window and tell me what you see?” Your friend said in a more worried tone, and you quickly walked closer to the window, relaying what you could see to your friend.

Thought you were only able to say something along the lines of a ‘labyrinth garden with a statue of a cupid’, when your friend let out a relieved sigh and said something that sounded like “The Valles Hotel”.

You could hear the traffic from your friend’s side of things, your curiosity at the rather loud sounds of the city on her side, prompting you to look at your phone’s screen and realize that it was about ten in the morning.

After the quick look at the time, you brought the phone to your ear again, just in time to hear your friend speak.

“I’m on my way there, I’m just a couple streets away I think, but with the traffic, just stay there for half an hour I guess.” She said.

“Alright…” you managed to say, busying yourself with now looking around the place for any traces of the clothes you wore the night before.

With some luck you found a paper bag with the black constellation patterned hoodie and leggings you wore the night before, and a pair of flats (you went straight to the private jet after a math exam so that explained your wardrobe). Wasting no time, you began to take off the wedding gown you were wearing but it proved a hard task than expected.

“Okay so… do you remember me saying I was born here?” Your friend spoke.

“Vaguely, but yes.” You replied while laying the wedding dress hastily over the sofa, thankful you were wearing a white tube top underneath the dress as you got on to work on the corset squeezing the life out of you.

“I want you to tell me one thing (F/n). Do you… is there something like a yellow rose in the room with a blue ribbon?” Ourianna muttered a bit reluctantly.

“Yeah, it has a chain too.” You said, hands still working on the ribbons at your back while you talked with your phone pinned between your left ear and shoulder.

“Shit.” Your friend muttered, and that made you drop your hands from the corset and quickly hold your phone closer to your ear.

“What—” You barely began to say when your friend cut you off.

“It’s my country’s symbol for marriage.”

“I already said I was in a wedding gown—”

“No, (F/n).” Ourianna rushed, she now seemed more panicked than you were. “I mean officially.” She stressed, and then you heard her faintly shouting a cuss at some driver probably, then a few agitated honks following before she sighed. “It’s for official marriages. It’s only given to people in real marriages. There should be a crest with a rose and thorns by the chain too. It’s the symbol of the royal family who once ruled the country centuries ago.”

“I don’t understand?” You said, clearly everything that’s been happening from the moment you woke up had been one big mash-up of confusion and panic.

“No one could be pranking you in this because the roses are only given by the priest, or the judge, or whoever presided a wedding ceremony.” Your friend said.

At her statement you felt your blood grow cold, but before you could offer a panicked response at what you’d just heard, you’d heard a door click and the guy who was sleeping on the bed with you emerged with a distressed expression, eyes closed as he rubbed his forehead, and he had a phone pressed to his ear, looking clearly as agitated as you were at the moment.

“What do you mean I took out a hundred thousand dollars through the company?! I only went drinking last night—”

The person stopped mid-sentence when he saw you by the glass walls of the penthouse living room though, where you stood with your own phone pressed to your ear, clad in a white tube top and a still very tightly wound corset, with many layers of petticoats emerging from just below your waist.

You both stared at each other for what felt like an eternity though was only half a minute at best, and you couldn’t even understand what Ourianna was talking about anymore except that she was nearing an intersection leading to where you were.

And that was the last thing you heard as you blacked out in a mix of panic, fear, and frustration.

Though it was most likely that your dip in consciousness was due to the fact that you’d been standing in direct sunlight in constricting clothing, with nothing but rushed breaths leaving you as a result of the realization that you’d somehow gotten yourself fucking married to a stranger after just one day of what was supposed to be a relaxing vacation. 

✖ A/N: Finally got around to posting this! Let me know if you want me to do any of the other members or if you want a part two, and as usual, please tell me what you think about it!

Also, I was having a hard time thinking of a title I liked for this and my cupcake @calvm2k16​ suggested just making it CEO!Calum so that’ll be sticking for a while ^^’

It’s also late but Happy Valentine’s Day! ♥ It was also my birthday that day

How I Waste My Days Wishing You Would Come Around (Just to Have You Around)

So, this story is for the lovely and talented tantoun, who did an absolutely, insanely, wonderfully amazing piece of Skimmons art for me. I promised you a story, I’m sorry it took me so long to write it! I hope this is what you had in mind you you gave me the prompt! Thank you again for the art and I hope you like it! (Title comes from the song 12/17/12 by The Decemberists) 

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I got inspired while out at dinner earlier, with all the decorations around the restaurant. Also known as, “The Continuing Adventures of Killian Jones v. Holidays on Earth”.

“Don’t tell me,” Killian started, “This is another one of your bloody holidays.”

The diner was festooned with red, pink, and white hearts and streamers and glitter–thank you, Ruby, for that–and it would be almost nauseating if it weren’t for the tenderness he also felt flowing in the air. Couples seemed closer than usual, sweeter on one another–and that was saying something, in the town where ‘happily ever after’ was taken to extremes.

Henry glanced up from his mathematics. “Yeah, something like that. It’s called Valentine’s Day. You give gifts to people you like, go on dates and stuff. Mushy love stuff.”

Killian grinned. He recalled a time–so very, very long ago–when he was Henry’s age and he largely felt the same about the fairer sex and anything to do with them. Henry, though he was the son of a product of true love, seemed not to be entirely immune to the same sort of feelings about romance. “Indeed. So you won’t be presenting gifts to that charming girl I saw you talking to the other day?”

Henry’s ears turned bright red. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he muttered to his notebook, and then cleared his throat and said louder, “But you’re taking my mom out tonight, right?”

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Attention Idiots: If you see this post in the WestAllen tag, then I have a special message for you. What you’re looking at right now is not the WestAllen tag, it’s the results of a search menu. While you guys certainly own the WestAllen tag, you don’t own the WestAllen search results, and I have no desire to censor myself simply because you don’t know or care about the difference between a tag and search.

I have not tagged WestAllen in the tags bar below. I always get more than a few idiots telling me to stay out of the tag when I’m not in their tag.

I see a lot of potential scenarios happening in the future, many of them with predictable results. I’d like to go over them.

  • WestAllen Breakup

I’m sorry, but anyone who doesn’t believe this is going to happen is an idiot. The first attempt for a ship NEVER works on the CW. Now don’t get me wrong, the reason for that breakup will be beyond stupid, another CW tradition, but they will breakup. It’s a guarantee. It’s going to happen. I don’t need to be a time traveler to know that, it’s just basic pattern recognition.

The result of this is so predicable you can practically envision it happening right now, and it will be accurate in the future. People who are not delusional and know the network they’re watching won’t be happy about it, but they’ll be reasonable.

The others will go batshit insane and play the race card. This is a surprise to absolutely no one, those people say something is racist with every other sentence. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting better at tuning them out. Or just laughing at them.

Those people will be far louder if the next thing happens though…

  • Snowbarry Happening

I’m a pretty hardcore Snowbarry shipper, and I want to be honest with you guys for a moment: There is no guarantee they will happen.

I personally like that. They’re not the safe bet. WestAllen is a safe bet, and that’s so incredibly boring. However, I do believe the chances of them happening are higher than not. It would be stupid for the show not to explore it and see what happens. The CW does “what if” relationships all of the time, so it’s not unheard of.

It will likely happen a while after the WestAllen relationship ends. I’m predicting around mid season 4, because it’s unlikely WestAllen will last beyond season 3. Impossible? No. If it extends into season 4, they’ll be broken up my mid season, no doubt in my mind.

This is a slow burn ship everyone, and we’re only done with the second season. If you wanted Snowbarry to happen quickly, then you picked the wrong ship. ;)

I can understand them being reluctant to pull the trigger on this one. The racism accusers in the WestAllen fandom mostly just make me laugh, but even I’m a little worried about what will happen if Barry and Caitlin start seeing each other after the WestAllen breakup. That’s going to be…interesting.

May God have mercy on our souls…

  • WestAllen Back Together

This one is a little trickier, but I’d still say there’s a high probability of it happening. A very popular CW trope is to put a couple together, keep them together for up to a full season, but more than likely a little more than half a season, then break them up for some ridiculously stupid reason that could have been avoided, have them date other people for a time, and then throw them back together again.

It’s like clockwork. It’s the oldest play in the CW playbook. It happens on almost every network, but the CW basically swears by it. The thing that makes it tricky is it’s source material. Iris doesn’t always survive, WestAllen doesn’t always get together, there’s dimension hopping all of the damn time.

So could WestAllen get back together after a breakup? Yes. Could it be over permanently? Less likely, but yes. The uncomfortable reality that many WestAllen shippers like to ignore is that in some realities they get together and stay together, while in some they most certainly do not.

This could be a reality where they end up together, or it could be one where they don’t. Both have happened in the comics, and both are canon.

Which, again, puts the writers in an unfortunate position because of the racism accusers. Can you imagine how they’ll react if Iris dies? Can you imagine how they’ll react if the series doesn’t end with the two of them together? I don’t envy the writers of this show.

  • Conclusion

For the time being, the rage induced backlash gives Iris some serious plot armor. The comics don’t get her any armor at all because she’s died in them before.

But in my opinion, that plot armor doesn’t extend to the ship itself. The CW has a loooooong history of the writers of their shows not giving a fuck about your anger over their decisions.

Olicity is a huge draw for Arrow, and they still, at least temporarily, sank that ship the season after putting them together. They permanently sank at least two other ships.

Steroline shippers waited half a decade to see their ship together, and within that same season Caroline got magically pregnant with another man’s children, Steroline broke up and started seeing other people, one of them got engaged, only for things to turn around in the finale.

The Originals permanently and almost entirely killed off every single ship they had. Legends of Tomorrow sank like three ships in it’s first season. The Flash itself played battleship with most of their relationships and no one came out of that without sinking or taking heavy fire.

And their response to the backlash from all of that? General apathy. So while in this situation, Iris certainly has some plot armor, but WestAllen does NOT. To be fair, Snowbarry doesn’t have any plot armor at all, and neither does Caitlin.

The fact that there are WestAllen shippers out there who actually believe their ship will be the only one to not suffer through a ridiculously stupid plot that breaks them up is kind of hilarious, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s going to happen.

WestAllen will break up, and when that happens the door will be wide open for Snowbarry. It will be up to the writers to decide whether or not they’ll go through with it. And as I mentioned above, may God have mercy on their souls if they do, because the response from the WestAllen fandom is going to require a bomb shelter.

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