ginger ☆

married 2 the music baby

[alicewolfisalive]

play the greatest hits.ᐟ

𝜗ৎ ginger 𑣲 she/her

music is all i know ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 { oasis, 5sos, britpop, brockhampton }

directory:

calum hood

dont delete the kisses - part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / tbc

favourite for a long time

✎ more in progress ﹏﹏﹏﹏

[irwinashton]

slutty

[lovelikelandslide]

Tell me where it hurts most

tags: smut!!!, fluff!!!, making out, oral sex, car sex(ish?), praise, oral fixation, calum is a good boyfriend

word count: 2,536 words

pairing: Calum Hood/reader

a/n: should have been so much longer sorry. title from drive hheehehhhh ashton youre good at your thing

WARNING! RPF CONTENT DONT LIKE DONT READ

The week had been a total hell for you. Nothing dramatic had actually happened to justify the heaviness in your chest, it was just one of those weeks where everything seemed slightly wrong. You were tired all the time and too aware of yourself, you found yourself quiet in rooms that usually felt easy. Little things kept piling up until suddenly even answering texts felt exhausting.

Calum saw through it quickly. He was being overly attentive to you, like bringing you coffee without asking or resting a hand on the lower part of your back as he passed behind you. He tried asking you about it, but it was nothing really, you just said you were 'fine,' but he looked at you for a second longer than usual, like he was trying to figure out where your head had gone.

Saturday, he showed up outside your apartment without any warning.

You climbed into the passenger seat wearing a white linen blouse and denim cut-offs, and immediately spotted a paper coffee cup sitting in the center console—your order, exactly how you liked it, warm.

“Here.” Calum said softly, handing it over as you buckled in.

You wrapped your hands around the cup, the heat seeping into your palms, and felt your chest tighten embarrassingly fast at the gesture. “Thank you.”

“But what's all this?” you gestured to the situation.

“m'getting you out,” he simply said, pulling away from the curb. “Thought maybe we could go somewhere.”

You blinked at him tiredly over the rim of the cup. “Where?”

He shrugged one shoulder, his hand loose on the wheel. “Nowhere.” He continued, gentler. “Just figured you might wanna get outta your head for a bit.”

And he was right. You needed to step out of your routine, at least for a day.

The drive stretched out, the city dissolving into highways and then smaller roads, until the asphalt turned to gravel beneath the tires. Calum drove with that easy confidence, one wrist draped over the wheel, occasionally reaching over to squeeze your knee or run his thumb across your knuckles. You didn't talk much, just watched the scenery turn green and wild, sipping the coffee he'd brought—the gesture sitting warm in your stomach alongside the caffeine.

When he finally cut the engine, it was at the edge of a clearing where the grass grew tall and gold in the late-afternoon sun. Trees lined the perimeter, thick and dark against the sky. It was quiet enough that you could hear the wind moving through the leaves.

“Let's get out,” Calum said softly, already unbuckling. “Stretch our legs.”

You followed him out, the gravel crunching under your martens, and wandered naturally to the front of the car. He settled his frame against the hood, legs stretched out in front of him, and you stood right next to him, arms crossed, unsure.

Silence appeared and stretched for a minute, you could hear the chirping of birds in the trees nearby, the ticking of the cooling engine and the breeze.

"I snapped at my roommate on Tuesday," you broke the silence. Your voice soft and small, given the open air. "She just asked if I'd done the dishes, and I- I don't know. I threw the sponge in the sink. Hard. It was so fucking stupid."

Calum turned his head, looking down, facing yours. "What'd she do?"

"Nothing. She just walked away and has been somewhat distant. And then I felt like shit for three days but I couldn't apologize because that would mean explaining why I was upset, and I dont't even know."

You uncrossed your arms, let your hands hang at your sides. "It's not even about the dishes. I think I'm just... I don't know. Sick of my own brain."

"Yeah," he said quietly. He reached out, hooked his fingers around your belt loop, and tugged you closer—not hard, just enough. "C'mere."

You shuffled forward until you were standing between his knees, the denim of his jeans brushing your bare legs. He rested his hands on your hips, heavy and warm, his thumbs resting in the hollows of your hip bones.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, your shoulders dropping a fraction. His thumbs pressed gentle circles into your hip bones through the thin linen of your blouse, and you felt something in your chest loosen—just a little.

"I don't know what to do with myself when I get like this," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Calum's hands slid around to the small of your back, tugging you closer until your knees bumped his thighs. "Then don't do anything," he murmured, looking up at you. "Just let me take care of you for a bit."

You opened your mouth to argue—old habit—but he cut you off with a look, that soft, knowing one that said I've got you.

Instead, you let your weight settle against him, your hands finding his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt. He hummed approvingly and pressed a kiss to your collarbone, slow and warm.

"Remember that time we got lost driving back from your sister's?" you asked, your voice still quiet but steadier now.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. "The GPS died and I refused to admit I was lost for like an hour? Yeah, I remember."

"You kept saying 'I know where we are' and we were literally in a cornfield."

"A dirt road through a cornfield. There's a difference."

You laughed—a real one, small but genuine—and his face softened at the sound.

"There she is," he said quietly.

You ducked your head, suddenly shy. "Shut up."

"Never."

He shifted, guiding you to sit sideways across his lap, your legs dangling over one of his thighs. The hood of the car was warm beneath you, the metal creaking slightly as he adjusted. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you steady, and you leaned into him, your head finding the curve of his shoulder.

The breeze moved through the clearing, rustling the tall grass at the edges. A bird called somewhere in the treeline, answered by another further off. The sky was starting to soften, the gold of late afternoon bleeding into something warmer, pinker.

"I think I just needed to get out of my own head," you said after a long moment. "Away from my apartment, away from my routine. I was stuck in this loop of being tired and annoyed and then feeling guilty for being tired and annoyed."

Calum's hand rubbed slow circles on your hip. "That sounds exhausting."

"It is. It's so stupid."

"It's not stupid." His voice was firm but gentle. "You're allowed to have shit weeks. You're allowed to be tired and annoyed without having to justify it."

You looked up at him, at the sincerity in his eyes, and felt that familiar tightness in your chest but this time it wasn't like anxiety. It was something warm.

"You're staring," he said, with a smirk playing at his lips.

"Shut up. You're just pretty."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

You rolled your eyes but still leaned in, pressing your mouth to his. Softly at first, it was more of a thank-you kiss.

His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your head, deepening it before you could pull away. You made a small sound against his mouth, and he swallowed it whole, his tongue sliding against yours.

When he broke away, you were both breathing heavier. His thumb traced along the outline of your cheekbone, wiping away a smudge of nothing.

"Better?" he asked, voice low.

"Getting there."

He hummed, dipping his head to kiss your neck, just below your ear. Your breath hitched, and your fingers tightened in his shirt. His mouth was warm and wet trailing down the column of your throat, pausing to suck gently at the spot where your pulse beated the fastest. He bit down, just hard enough to make you gasp, and soothed it with his own tongue.

"Cal," you breathed.

"Mm?"

You didn't have words, so you just pulled him back up, kissing him harder this time. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging him lightly, and he answered with a groan against your mouth, his hands gripped your hips, and pulled you flush against him.

He backed you up until your spine met the side of the car, the metal cool against your bare shoulders through your open blouse. His body pressed into yours, one hand braced against the door panel beside your head, the other sliding down your side, fingers catching on the hem of your blouse.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured against your lips.

"I won't."

He smiled, that lazy, devastating one he always had in moments like these. His calloused hand slid under your blouse, palm flat against your stomach. You arched into his touch, and he took the invitation, his mouth trailing down your jaw, your throat,and the hollow between your collarbones.

He paused at the buttons of your blouse, looking up at you. You nodded, breathless, and he undid them one by one, slow and deliberate, pressing a kiss to each new patch of skin he revealed. When he reached the last one, he pushed the fabric aside, exposing the simple lace bra you had underneath.

"Fuck," he breathed, almost to himself.

You laughed. "Good fuck or bad fuck?"

"Good. Definitely good." He dipped his head, pressing a kiss to the swell of your breast, just above the hem. "So fucking good."

Your hand found his hair again, guiding him, and he took the hint, mouthing at your nipple through the fabric until it peaked, wet and dark against the lace. You gasped, your back arching off the car door, and he groaned in approval.

"Cal."

"Yes, angel?"

You whined, tugging at his hair. "More."

He grinned against your skin, then reached behind you, unhooking your bra with practiced ease. He pulled it away, tossing it somewhere on the hood of the car, and then his mouth was on you once again, his tongue circling your nipple before sucking it whole into his mouth.

Your head fell back against the window, moans escaping your lips, as he hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks down your spine.

He switched to the other side, giving it the same attention he'd just given, as his hand slid down your stomach, over the waistband of your cut-offs, palming your core through the denim. You bucked into his hand, desperate.

He turned to you. "Impatient."

"Your fault."

He pulled back, looking down at you— your hair was mussed, your lips were swollen and your blouse was hanging open, chest heaving against the side of the car. His eyes were dark and so fucking soft at the same time.

"Want me to make you feel good?" he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded frantically, unable to form words.

"Use your words, angel."

"Yes. Please. Cal, just—"

He didn't wait. He dropped to his knees right in front of you, there in the gravel, the stones crunching under his weight. His hands found your hips once more, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts, and he tugged them down your thighs, your underwear coming with them. You stepped out of them awkwardly, one foot at a time.

The cool evening air hit your bare skin and made you shiver, but his hands were warm where they rested on your thighs, slowly moving higher. By that moment, you were too caught up in everything to care about the cold anymore. You pushed your legs apart and lifted one over his shoulder.

He looked up at you from where he was kneeling in the dirt, eyes locked on yours. Something about the sight made your stomach flip. Maybe it was the position—your back against the car, him between your legs—or maybe it was just him.

"You're so beautiful," he said, like it was a fact. Like it was obvious.

Then he lowered his head.

His first touch was just a kiss to the inside of your thigh, soft but still noticeable. Then another, higher. Then his mouth was on your core, tongue flat and wet, you gasped as your hips twitched against his face.

He took his time. He always did. His tongue finding what made you gasp and what made you moan and what made your thighs tighten around his head. He worked you up slow, deliberate, until you were a mess of breathless sounds and trembling limbs, the gravel crunching beneath his knees as he adjusted, diving deeper.

"That's it," he murmured against you, his breath hot. "You're taking it so well. Such a good girl for me."

You whimpered, your fingers tightening in his hair, and he rewarded you with a long, slow lick that made your knees buckle.

"Cal—fuck—I'm—"

"I know, baby." His tongue pressed harder, exactly where you needed it. "Come for me. Let me feel you."

He doubled down, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open, holding you steady against the car. Your vision went white, your back arching off the door, a cry tearing from your throat as you came undone against his mouth, your hips grinding against his face as he worked you through it.

He didn't stop until you were twitching and gasping, oversensitive, a broken whine escaping your lips. Then he pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh, soft and reverent, and looked up at you, chin wet, eyes dark and satisfied.

"There she is," he said, voice rough. "Look at you. So pretty when you fall apart for me."

You could barely breathe, let alone speak. You just pulled him up by his shirt until you could kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips, messy and intimate.

"Yeah," you finally managed, your forehead against his, chest heaving. "Much better."

You could barely breathe, let alone speak. You just pulled him up by his shirt until you could kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips, messy and intimate.

"Yeah," you finally managed, your forehead against his, chest heaving. "Much better."

He laughed softly, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone, wiping away a smudge of nothing. "Yeah?"

"Mmhm."

You stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. The air was cooling around you, the sun sinking lower, painting the clearing in shades of orange and pink. His hands found your hips again, steadying you, and you let yourself lean into him, boneless and warm.

"You okay?" he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "Can we stay here a little longer? Before we head back?"

"Babe, we can stay here as long as you want."

You smiled, a small and genuine smile, and let him guide you back against him. You settled against his chest, your head finding the curve of his shoulder, his arm wrapping securely around your waist. The wind moved through the grass, rustling the hem of your blouse where it hung open.

And for the first time all week, your mind was at peace.

[imaginaryboyfr]

Take my photograph and lick it with a wet tongue

[alicewolfisalive]

can't wait for the new oneshots or fics!! Who are you thinking of writing next?

honestly i have no idea.. plsplspls send ideas and which member.. been too calumpilled lately tbh i have a fwb oneshot with him in mind😛

[alicewolfisalive]

final part for dont delete the kisses out around next week :)

[alicewolfisalive]

favourite for a long time. calum hood

requested by anon!

?: reader & calum are both musicians, cal finds out he used to be her celebrity crush

wc: 2.4k

i sat on the sun lounger in the backyard as the afternoon sun glared down on my half-covered body. the heat was heavy, but the occasional light breeze kept it from being unbearable. i had my back pressed flat against calum’s shirtless chest, his skin warm against mine, our legs tangled together in a lazy knot.

it was a perfect golden day, and for the first time in months, our only agenda was to absolutely do nothing. no interviews, no rehearsals, no flights, no meetings. just sunshine, silence, and the two of us.

an empty ceramic plate—which hours ago held a vibrant mix of a fresh fruit platter—sat slightly soaked in melted ice and leftover juice on the little wicker table beside us. the thick, quiet atmosphere was making my eyelids heavy, and i was just on the verge of drifting straight into a nap.

calum scrolled mindlessly through tiktok behind me while absentently drawing shapes on my arm. the rhythmic movement and warmth of his skin against mine had me drifting in and out of consciousness.

it was a rare occasion where both of us were schedule-free. him from 5sos and me from my own band, gotham.

i know, cheesy name. but me and my friends decided on it during one of our very first rehearsals when we were entirely stuck, throwing out terrible band names for hours, when james, our guitarist, looked over at his little brother’s lego batman set sitting on the shelf pointed and said “what about gotham?”

it stuck and we never bothered to change it.

by the time our debut album came out in early 2018, calum was already well established in his career. we'd been dating for around a year now after first meeting through a string of parties, gigs, festivals and industry events.

sound-wise, gotham is a lot heavier than 5sos—more gothic rock, gritty guitars, and dark, driving basslines. it’d be pretty weird if a band named after a dark, fictional city sounded like bubblegum pop.

i had always noticed calum, obviously. given who he was, it was hard not to. but also for the slight, secret fact that i used to be a massive stan back in the day. 

okay, maybe slight is a massive understatement. 

i may or may not have had a solid three or four of his posters taped to my bedroom walls as a teenager. 

the first time i saw him in real life, standing just a few steps away from me at a festival bar, i froze mid-sentence. i had to be physically shaken back to reality by my drummer, josh, who nudged me hard in the ribs.

“mate you look like you’ve just seen god”

i never had the balls to actually say anything to calum. it wasn't until josh went ahead and confidently introduced himself, and naturally the rest of the band, that the ice was broken.

"hey, man, love the music," josh had said, totally casual, while i was internally sweating bullets. "i'm josh, my band’s called gotham."

calum had smiled that warm, easygoing smile of his, shaking josh's hand before looking over at me. "gotham? dark name. i like it. nice to meet you guys." i managed a tight, polite nod, praying my hands wouldn't shake.

after that, we kept running into each other at various events, until one night at a dimly lit industry afterparty, he struck up a conversation himself.

like him, i held down the low end—we were both the bassists for our respective bands. when he first walked up to me alone, cornering me near the drinks table with two plastic cups in hand, i felt a deep, furious blush forming on my cheeks. i immediately looked down at my shoes, trying desperately to hide it.

"hey," he said, handing me a drink. "you're the bassist for gotham, right? i'm calum."

"yeah, i know—i mean, yeah, i am," i stumbled slightly, cursing myself internally. "i'm the bassist."

"i saw a live clip of you guys on youtube a couple of weeks ago," he said, leaning against the wall, his eyes locked on mine. "your bass tone on that one track... what's it called? the one with the massive breakdown?"

"oh– in between?"

"that's the one," he grinned, his eyes lighting up. "that bassline is filthy. the distortion you used was insane. i was literally showing michael the video like, 'look at this tone.'"

hearing calum hood praise my bass playing was an absolute out-of-body experience. we continued talking about our shared lifestyle—complaining about calloused fingers, comparing our favorite pedals, and joking about how the people always ignore the rhythm section until something goes wrong. from there, he started taking a genuine interest in the rest of the band, and eventually, me in general.

we ended up leaving the loud main room of the party, finding a quiet, dented set of stairs backstage. we sat there for hours on end, the muffled bass of the party's dj vibrating through the walls as we talked about music, life, and the unique, shared struggles of being a musician.

"it gets exhausting, doesn't it?" he asked quietly at one point, twirling an empty cup between his hands. "the constant pressure to write something better than the last record. sometimes you just want to play music without the industry noise."

"yeah," i agreed, looking over at him in the dim lighting. "sometimes i feel like i'm just trying to keep my head above water. especially being the newer band on the block. you feel like you have to prove yourself every single night."

he nodded understandingly, bumping his shoulder against mine. "you've got the talent. don't let the noise get to you. you guys are doing great."

after that night, we kept in contact. what first started as a regular, musician-to-musician friendship actually stretched on for a few years. we became each other's safe havens in the industry. it started with casual texts about song lyrics, which turned into late-night facetime calls when one of us was stuck in a studio on the other side of the world. whenever our tour schedules aligned, we’d meet up for low-key hangouts or casual studio jams, trading riffs and helping each other iron out melodies.

but after years of dancing around the obvious tension, he eventually properly asked me out. it happened during one of our usual low-key hangouts at his place. we had spent the afternoon jamming in his home studio, the floor littered with guitar picks, cables, and empty takeout boxes.

our relationship was still, though, a complete secret to the public. 

it was hard at times—especially whenever we just wanted to go out on normal dates without having to pull oversized hoodies over our faces and look over our shoulders. but we made it work. i knew he did it to protect me. he wanted to shield me from the prying eyes of a fandom that had peaked in the terrifying, stalker-obsessed days of 2013-2014.

calum knew i had been a fan of their music, of course, but he didn’t know how big of a fan i actually was. and i fully planned to keep it that way forever, purely to save myself from the inevitable lifetime of constant teasing and embarrassment.

though, things don’t always go exactly as planned.

as i was halfway to dozing off, the steady, repetitive sound of calum scrolling through tiktok on his phone blurred into the background of my mind. he let out a low chuckle, which i didn't think much of at first—he laughed at random videos all the time.

until he stopped scrolling, shifted his weight slightly, and tapped me on my shoulder.

"baby," he murmured, his voice laced with pure amusement. "i was your celebrity crush?"

my eyes snapped wide open. the drowsiness vanished instantly. i turned my head around to look up at him. "what?" 

he had an incredibly annoying, cheeky grin plastered across his face that made my stomach drop. he turned his phone screen towards me. oh no. oh no. 

"look at this."

it was a tiktok from a gotham fan account that had unearthed and reposted a clip from an old interview of me.

it was an old interview. like, old, old. it was from a magazine that wasn't even active anymore, the original video probably barely had ten thousand views. it was filmed back in 2018, during the very first year of my career during our media promo run around our debut album. 

in the clip, the interviewer was doing solo rapid-fire shots with each of us, asking stupid, fun questions just to let the world know a bit more about the new indie kids on the scene.

then came the question of answering our ultimate celebrity crush.

"calum hood," i watched my younger self say on the screen, without even a second of hesitation.

horrified, a loud shriek escaped my throat. i lunged forward, scrambling to snatch the phone right out of his hand, but calum anticipated it. he instantly raised his arm high above his head, entirely out of my reach, keeping the screen playing while he started laughing maniacally, his chest shaking against my back.

"calum!”

"nope."

"give me the phone." i yelled, stretching up fruitlessly

"absolutely not."

on the screen, 18-year-old me kept talking. "i saw him when 5sos opened for 1d in 2013, and i’ve been in love ever since," my past self gushed to the camera. "i remember when i first learned the bass, i literally learned every single 5sos bassline just in case he’d ever pull me up on stage and i could impress him..."

it just kept going. the editors had let me keep rambling on and hadn't even bothered to cut it. every member of gotham had a specific question where the focus was entirely on them, and of course, this trainwreck was mine.

in the video, i was giggling, twirling a strand of my hair in complete contrast to my current expression of pure dread. 

“his hair is really nice.."

calum snorted. "oh, thank you."

"shut up. please. just turn it off." i mumbled into my palms, my cheeks practically on fire.

i didn’t even remember this interview. having done hundreds of them later on, combined with too many chaotic things in life to handle, the memory had been totally wiped. i also certainly didn’t remember my 18-year-old self completely exposing the fact that i maintained a secret, highly active tumblr dedicated to my fangirl activities.

"and i used to have this tumblr account—"

i uncovered my face and let out a scream, not caring if the neighbors heard. 

"you had a tumblr?"

"everyone had a tumblr"

"did you make edits?"

i groaned into my hands. his laughter echoed across the entire backyard.

"did you write fanfiction?"

"shut up!" i mumbled into my palms, my cheeks practically on fire.

calum was practically breathless from laughing so hard, dropping his head onto my shoulder. he shut off his phone and tried to take my hands away from my face. “don’t be shy, baby. it’s cute.”

“no, it’s not. it’s embarrassing.” despite my hands now off my face i still avoided eye contact.

“why didn’t you tell me?” calum chuckled.

“because this! oh my god—” i gestured wildly between the two of us, finally looking at him, though my face was still burning a furious shade of red. “this exact reaction! i knew you’d never let me live it down. you’re going to hold this over my head until i die.”

“well, yeah, obviously,” he teased, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in closer, his chin resting comfortably on my bare shoulder. “but c’mon, i think it’s sweet.” he insisted, wrapping his arms securely around my waist to keep me from squirming away. 

“sweet?” i repeated, still refusing to look at him. i squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the wooden deck beneath us would split open and swallow me whole.

“means you’ve always had good taste.” i rolled my eyes. he was still grinning. i hated that grin. actually, no. i loved that grin. which was part of the problem.

“it’s a miracle i didn’t accidentally scare you off at that afterparty three years ago,” i muttered, finally letting my guard down a little and turning my body slightly toward him on the sunchair. “if i had remembered that video existed, i probably would have sprinted out of the room the second you handed me a drink.”

“everyone has celebrity crushes,” calum shrugged, his tone shifting into something a bit more tender as he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer against his chest. “you just happen to be one of those lucky people who actually gets to date theirs.” he leaned in, pressing a warm, lingering kiss against my flushed cheek. “what would past you think, anyway? if she could see us right now?”

i shifted in his lap, turning completely so i could finally look at him properly, my knees framing his sides. the afternoon sun caught the amber flecks in his eyes, making them look incredibly bright.

"i’d tell her that it turns out the real calum hood steals my food, leaves empty glasses everywhere, and sends me instagram reels at three in the morning." i said, poking his bare chest with my finger.

his smile softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "but?" he prompted gently, leaning his head back against the cushion. he knew there was a 'but.'

"but... he's still a million times better than the version i made up in my head."

for once, calum had no comeback. he just looked at me with that stupid soft look he got sometimes. the one that always made my stomach flip no matter how many times i saw it.

he slid his hand up to the back of my neck, gently pulling me down as he leaned in to softly kiss me. i couldn't help but giggle into the kiss. as embarrassing as all of this was, as much as i wanted to launch myself directly into the sun, i still got what i spent years daydreaming about. him. and honestly, it was all i could ever ask for.

“i love you,” i whispered against his lips. a grin immediately returned to his face. “well,” he said, “that part was pretty obvious.”

i groaned. “calum.”

“what was your username?”

“never fucking mind,” i mumbled into his collarbone, swatting at his shoulder. “i hate you.”

his shoulders shook with laughter. “sure you do.”

[alicewolfisalive]

don’t delete the kisses (6) calum hood.

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6

?: family reunion, moments of touring again w/ cal and the band (i have no idea how touring and tour buses work. so this is literally just me bullshitting + apologies for geographical inaccuracies), calum is SOOO downbad and clingy, FLUFF! might be a tad too cheesy sorry….. hehe. part 6/?

wc: 2.6k

—

getting back into the rhythm of touring was surprisingly easy. packing for ten days with only a few hours notice, however, was not. especially when your clingy ex-boyfriend-now-boyfriend-again kept interrupting every ten seconds. i had to keep hiding my smile because the truth was, i never wanted to leave him again either.

mid-way through gathering my chargers calum realized i’d technically only be joining them for the remaining uk dates which devastated him. “absolutely not,” he said immediately after doing the math out loud.

i looked up from my suitcase. “what?”

“you’re not leaving after, like, four days.”

“yes i am?”

“no.”

i stared at him. he stared back with equal stubbornness.

“calum.”

“evie.”

i narrowed my eyes. “you can’t just veto my schedule.”

“yes i can.”

“no you can’t.”

“i’m literally in the band.”

“that makes no sense.”

then began more begging. “please stay until germany at least,” he whined dramatically, following me around the bedroom while i packed toiletries.

“cal—”

“then after germany,” he continued sadly, hand over his heart, “i’ll continue the rest of tour in misery after my girlfriend abandons me again.”

i scoffed loudly. “you are so fucking dramatic. you left me all the time back then and we survived,” i reminded him.

“this is different!”

“how?”

“because now i know what losing you actually feels like.”

okay, how the hell was i supposed to argue against that?

“see?” he said smugly. “that one worked.”

i rolled my eyes so hard.

when we finally arrived at the hotel later that afternoon, i barely had time to set my bags down before i got tackled into hugs and screams of “she’s back!”

i burst out laughing while calum stood behind them looking ridiculously proud of himself. apparently sometime this morning he’d sent a photo of us into the group chat captioned: im the happiest man alive!!

“you told me work was piling up,” crystal accused dramatically while holding my face between her hands, “and now suddenly you’re joining tour?”

i laughed guiltily. “no comment.” 

“playing favourites,” sierra added. “absolutely playing favourites,” luke agreed and calum looked annoyingly pleased by that.

it hit me all over again how much i’d missed this. the chaos, noise and the feeling of always being surrounded by people who somehow became family over the years. this really had been my second family growing up. i had slipped right back into a life i thought i’d permanently lost.

i hugged ashton next, who immediately lifted me off the floor while laughing. “jesus christ, it’s weird seeing you here again.”

“tell me about it.”

little lua waddled toward me holding one of michael’s guitar picks in her tiny fist and my heart nearly exploded on impact. “oh my god,” i whispered, crouching immediately. “you got so big.”

crystal laughed. “she’s been hearing about auntie evie for ages.”

there were newer crew members too who introduced themselves politely while older staff looked at me like they’d seen a ghost. one of the sound guys literally pointed at me and yelled “no fucking way.” calum looked unbearably smug the entire time. i thanked the tour manager for letting me join on such short notice. he shook his head and gave me a hug, telling me he’s glad i’m back and joked how it would benefit everyone knowing calum would finally stop being miserable. 

as everyone got ready to leave, i stood back quietly for a second taking everything in and all the things that changed and stayed the same.

luke had dyed his hair black now, which still looked bizarre to me, michael somehow had red hair again giving me violent 2014 flashbacks. i noticed almost everybody in the band suddenly had dyed hair except me. “i feel left out,” i muttered.

“dye your hair pink again,” michael suggested. i snorted. there was a period during old touring days where i dyed my hair a completely different color every month for nearly a year. my hair never fully recovered from that trauma.

“i’ll literally go bald.”

“worth it,” luke said.

calum looked up from his phone. “you looked hot with pink hair.” he added.

“thank you, baby,” i replied automatically.

the room went silent and michael slowly pointed between us. “oh they’re bad bad.”

–

the first show back felt surreal. though it was good to be on the sidelines again, i got second-hand embarrassment from watching calum on stage. 

that man could not hide his feelings to save his life. 

calum looked backstage while smiling so hard too many times i had to mouth “stop it.” fans definitely noticed too. because tell me why this man was suddenly grinning during the same solo song he cried performing at the last stop?

sierra walked up beside me laughing quietly. “if he’s this happy on day one,” she whispered, “i fear for the rest of tour.” i shook my head while laughing softly into her shoulder.

during one of the breaks i cornered calum. “you need to calm down before fans figure it out.”

“what?”

“you keep looking backstage!”

“maybe i like backstage.”

“calum.”

“evie.”

i groaned. “there’s no difference between you and a golden retriever.”

“good. means you’ll keep me.”

idiot.

–

manchester → cardiff 00:14 am

i sat curled up on the tiny lounge couch wearing one of calum’s hoodies while he aggressively argued with michael over mario kart on the small tv. “this game is rigged.”

“you say that every time you lose,” michael deadpanned.

“because i’m constantly being sabotaged!”

luke snorted from the opposite couch. “mate, you drove into the wall six times.”

“i was distracted.”

“you literally screamed at the wall.”

i laughed quietly into my coffee while calum dramatically threw the controller into his lap. he still found it weird that coffee made me sleepy instead of awake. he turned toward me. “baby, tell them i’m good at mario kart.”

“eh…” i shrugged.

michael nearly choked laughing while calum looked offended. “you used to be on my side!”

“i used to think you had potential.”

“fake people everywhere,” he muttered dramatically before standing up.

the second he walked past me, i noticed how his hand automatically brushed against my knee. touching me had practically become an instinct again overnight. it scared me a little how naturally we fell back into place.

later that night, after everyone disappeared into bunks, calum and i squeezed into his together. the bunks felt ridiculously smaller now that we were adults when back then we fit perfectly. now his legs tangled awkwardly with mine while his shoulder pressed against the wall. 

“i swear these things got smaller.”

“you got bigger.”

his sleepy grin immediately appeared. “you saying i got buff?”

“i’m saying you’re built like a fridge now.”

“well open me wide, baby.”

i hit his chest. “disgusting.”

he just laughed softly before pulling me closer anyway. outside the small window, motorway lights streaked past in blurry orange lines. inside, his fingers lazily traced shapes beneath the hem of my shirt. “i missed sleeping next to you,” he whispered.

i missed this too. i missed his half-asleep mumbling, his freezing cold feet touching mine or the way he unconsciously searched for me even in his sleep.

“i used to wake up reaching for you,” he admitted. “then get pissed off when you weren’t there.”

i kissed the top of his head softly. “you’re clingy.”

“very.”

“i noticed.”

he smiled sleepily against my neck before mumbling. “missed your heartbeat too.”

–

paris 2:11 AM

“i can’t believe you made me walk this far for crepes.”

“you literally said, and i quote, ‘i would kill for nutella right now.’”

“you’ve never heard of midnight cravings and how you don’t always act upon them?”

“yeah.” calum squeezed my hand lazily as we walked. “i craved you every night for the past two years and didn’t get what i wanted, so now i’m making up for it.”

i looked at him flatly. “whose fault was that?”

he winced. “fair.”

i laughed quietly as he lifted our joined hands and kissed the back of mine as the quiet paris street glowed gold around us. streetlamps reflected against the seine while distant music drifted from crowded bars further down the road. cars hummed softly across nearby bridges. the air smelled faintly like rain, cigarettes, and fresh bread from some bakery probably opening in a few hours. touring europe again felt strange, it was like stepping back into an old life i buried years ago.  only now we were older, softer in some places and more bruised in others. but somehow better at loving each other.

calum stopped outside a tiny late-night crepe stand. “this one.”

“you say that with a shocking amount of confidence for a man who cannot speak french.”

“i know universal excellence when i see it.”

i snorted. we ordered horribly pronounced crepes from a visibly amused worker before sitting by the river afterward, paper trays balanced on our laps. both our crepes were overloaded with toppings. some habits never changed from our fro-yo days.

“you know,” calum said casually between bites, “you’re still the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

i nearly choked from the sudden compliment. “where the hell did that come from?”

he shrugged. “i don’t know. i just think about it whenever i see you.”

“cal, i literally look insane right now.” i say trying to ignore the rising heat in my face. 

“you look beautiful right now.”

i hated how it was always easy for him to make me feel seen in ways that terrified me. it was like every compliment physically hurt him to keep inside.

“you flirt more now,” i pointed out.

“i almost lost you forever,” he replied simply. “i’m making up for lost time.”

i stared at him for a second before leaning over and kissing the powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth. his eyes widened. “you can’t do things like that in public.”

i blinked innocently. “why?”

“because i’ll forget how to act.”

i burst out laughing. “you’re thirty and still dramatic.”

“correction.” he pointed proudly at himself. “i’m thirty and deeply in love with you.”

later that night, we wandered aimlessly through half-empty paris streets before heading back. the city stretched endlessly around us with the eiffel tower glittering in the distance. calum turned his head toward me. “you think if sixteen-year-old us saw this right now they’d lose their minds?” 

i laughed softly through the ache in my chest. “absolutely.” 

he grinned sleepily. “told you i’d buy you the world one day.” 

i smiled up at him. “yeah,” i whispered. “you kinda did.”

–

amsterdam 6:42 PM

the backstage courtyard had turned into a little family gathering. kids running around with half-eaten snacks. crew members sitting on foldable chairs. someone’s speaker quietly playing old fleetwood mac in the background. tour buses parked just beyond the fence while the smell of cigarettes, coffee, and catering food mixed into the evening air.

it felt warm and domestic in a way touring rarely did. i guess that’s what happens when everyone starts bringing their families along.

i sat cross-legged on one of the picnic benches while lua covered my phone case in stickers. “no, sweetheart,” i laughed softly, trying to peel one off before she glued a dinosaur over my camera lens. “i still need to use this.”

lua ignored me. “perfect,” she declared proudly.

sierra suddenly appeared beside us holding her daughter. “can you hold her for thirty seconds while i fix my bag?” the second the baby settled into my arms, something inside me softened. “oh,” i whispered instinctively, adjusting her carefully against my chest. “hello, pretty girl.”

she blinked up at me with huge curious eyes before grabbing the sleeve of my hoodie with tiny fingers. i laughed quietly under my breath. “she likes you,” sierra grinned while digging through her tote bag.

“well obviously,” i replied smugly. “i’m very likeable.” across the courtyard, calum had gone suspiciously quiet. which was concerning considering you could usually hear him from a mile away. i looked up as he just stood beside luke holding a beer he hadn’t touched in 5 minutes while staring at me. 

luke followed his line of sight. “oh no.” michael looked over. “what?” 

luke snorted. “he’s getting the look.” 

“the look?” michael repeated.

“the baby fever look.”

calum scoffed and snapped out of it. “shut the fuck up.” but his ears were turning bright red. i bit the inside of my cheek trying not to smile while adjusting the baby more comfortably against me. she yawned softly before resting her tiny head near my collarbone.

it had already been a week since i joined them on tour. a whole week of slipping back into old routines like second-nature. every single time i played with the kids or held one of them, i noticed calum got that same soft expression on his face.

“she looks natural,” crystal murmured smugly beside him. “don’t start,” calum warned, though his voice had noticeably softened.

seeing him around the kids did something horrible to me too. he was so gentle with them, so patient. lua absolutely adored him, constantly climbing onto his back or demanding he carry her around backstage like a jungle gym. whenever sierra’s daughter cried, calum was somehow always one of the first people to check if she needed something.

lua suddenly climbed beside me onto the bench and leaned against my shoulder. “evieeee,” she whined. “can you do my hair tomorrow?”

i smiled. “course i can.”

“i want braids like yours.”

“you’d look cooler than me.”

“i know.” i giggled. she’s definitely gonna grow up to be a troublemaker like her dad.

calum finally wandered over before quietly sitting beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. the baby in my arms immediately reached toward him and the smile that spread across his face almost killed me. “hey, darling,” he murmured softly, letting her tiny hand curl around his finger.

i looked and saw the softness in his face. calum glanced toward me after a second. “you okay?”

i nodded too fast. he smiled slightly like he knew i was lying. and maybe i was because watching him like this hurt sometime, knowing that maybe this could’ve been ours already.

later that night, after everyone got called back inside, i stayed behind helping sierra fold blankets while calum packed toys back into a bag beside me. the courtyard had gone quieter now. “you know,” calum said without looking up, “you still look really good holding a baby.”

i stared at him. “jesus christ.”

“what?” he laughed.

he zipped the bag shut slowly before finally looking up at me properly. “i mean it.” there it was again. that look.

“i don’t know,” he softly admitted. “seeing you with them today just…” he trailed off.

“made everything come back?” i finished softly.

he nodded slowly. “i still want that someday,” he admitted after a moment. “i don’t mean right now or anything—i know we’re still rebuilding and figuring us out again. i mean for fucks sake, it’s only been a week since we’re officially back together.” 

everything felt so normal already it was hard to believe we didn’t see each other for two years in the first place.

he stepped closer. “but yeah.” his voice softened. “i still want the house. the kids. you in my clothes while yelling at me for teaching our children bad words.”

i let out a weak laugh.

“and i know i don’t really deserve to picture that future with you anymore after what i did,” he continued quietly, eyes dropping for a second, “but i’d be lying if i said i stopped imagining it.”

god. “cal…”

he quickly looked back up. “i’m not trying to pressure you,” he said. “i swear. i just…” he smiled sadly. “i hope you still want it too.”

[alicewolfisalive]

Can you write a oneshot or fic where calum finds out that the reader (another artist) said in an interview the he was their celebrity crush?

FFFUUUUUUCKK YES.

anon you’ve just opened my eyes. coming very soon😛😛😛😛

[strengththroughwounding]

owner of the star of the stage

[b3sidey0u]

All at the same damn time

[alicewolfisalive]

Do you have twt?

im not active on twt anymore but i do lurk on there every now and then… i used to run 2 fanpages that id say did pretty well but thats all i’ll say 😶

[alicewolfisalive]

Hiii! I just wanted to tell you that I’ve been loving your don’t delete the kisses series!!!

I found it a couple days ago and finally binged it last night, keep up the good work!!!

this is so nice omg <3 thank u soooo much im so glad you like it!!!

[alicewolfisalive]

either 2 or 3 parts left for the dont delete the kisses series :) thank u for enjoying it

[alicewolfisalive]

don't delete the kisses (5) calum hood.

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6

?: the first morning back with calum. part 5/?

wc: 3.1k

08:37 am. april 5, london.

i woke up to sunlight pouring through my bedroom windows. i blinked against the brightness, confused for a second before remembering i forgot to close the blinds last night.

huh.

it was unusually sunny for london. then again, it felt strangely fitting. especially seeing i had him back in my bed. 

the realization settled warmly into my chest all over again as i turned my head toward him. 

i always woke up before he did. he still slept the same way too–with one arm still loosely wrapped around my waist like he was scared i’d disappear during the night. his blond hair was a mess against my pillows, lips slightly parted as soft breaths fanned across my shoulder.

god, i missed waking up beside him.

i carefully reached up and traced my fingers along his jawline. the stubble scratched lightly against my fingertips. his eyes fluttered open and he gave me a tired soft smile.

it was like i could feel my heart melt. how stupid.

“hi, pretty girl.” his morning voice was rough and raspy in that way that always messed me up.

“hi, calcite.”

calum burst into a grin so wide it changed his whole face before laughing. “fuck,” he groaned, pulling me closer. “you have no idea how much i missed those nicknames.” before i could even react properly, he hooked an arm around my waist and effortlessly lifted me onto his lap. he sat up, head against the headboard.

i squealed in surprise while he laughed against my neck. “jesus christ, you got stronger.”

“touring and emotional devastation,” he grinned. “great for upper body strength.”

i snorted out a laugh. there he was again. my calum. i cupped his face between my hands, still struggling a little to process that he was actually here. “can’t believe you’re here,” i admitted softly.

the teasing faded from his expression. “do you regret it?”

i shook my head before he could even finish worrying himself into a spiral. “i’d never regret you.”

he leaned in to kiss me before i turned my face away with a groan. “cal, wait–morning breath–”

“sorry,” he scoffed against my cheek, already laughing. “since when the fuck have i ever cared about morning breath?”

i rolled my eyes while trying, and failing, to push him away.

“it’s been two years,” he continued dramatically. “i’d kiss you after you ate an entire garlic bulb at this point.” 

i burst into laughter. the sound barely lasted a second before he pulled me back against him again, arms tightening around my waist while he kissed me properly this time. i squealed when he suddenly rolled us over so he was hovering above me, blond hair falling slightly into his eyes.

“hi,” i whispered, biting back a smile as i traced the roughness of his stubble with my fingertips.

“hi,” he whispered back. neither of us moved away. we just stayed there staring at each other like we were trying to relearn each other’s faces. 

i took in every little detail i hadn’t been allowed to see this closely in two years. it seemed like he was doing the same thing to me too, looking almost overwhelmed by finally being this close again.

“we’re idiots, aren’t we?” i giggled softly.

“no. i’m the idiot here, trust me.” his expression slightly shifted to something more serious, “evie—”

i immediately covered his mouth with my hand before he could spiral into another apology. he blinked at me as i shook my head. “i know, cal,” i whispered. “i know.”

i watched as his eyes softened, “i don’t wanna keep living in the past anymore, okay?” saying that didn’t mean it stopped hurting. sometimes my mind still betrayed me with flashes of that night and all that anger and heartbreak would come back. so i didn’t blame him for still carrying guilt either.

but sitting here now, with sunlight pouring across his face while he looked at me like i was still the most important thing in his world… i didn’t want us drowning in pain forever.

“i think after an entire album and everything you said last night,” i teased lightly, “i can probably trust you again.”

calum groaned loudly in embarrassment before burying his face into my neck.

“but i swear to god, calum thomas hood,” i continued, half serious despite my smile, “if you ever pull anything like that again, i will actually kill you.”

he lifted his head immediately and nodded, “yes ma’am.” 

i snorted, “i’m serious!” 

“so am i,” he insisted. 

“i’ll literally write a letter before you kill me telling the police not to arrest you. you can have all my inheritance too.”

i kissed him just to shut him up. he smiled against my lips. “okay, i’m sorry. i mean it, baby,” he murmured afterward, forehead resting against mine. “never again.”

something about the certainty in his voice made my chest ache. 

“i’ll spend the rest of my life making sure i never hurt you like that again.” his thumb brushed softly along my cheek. “i swear on everything, evie.”

i searched his face for something, anything that would warn me. but all i saw was a man determined, he looked like if i didn’t take him back he’d jump out the window right here right now.

i laughed nervously under my breath. “we’re really doing this again, huh?”

calum looked at me like the answer had always been obvious to him. “it’s your call, angel,” he said softly. he leaned down slightly, nose brushing mine, “look, i know we can’t magically fix two years overnight,” he continued carefully. “and i know i have to earn your trust again properly. i will. however long it takes.”

his voice dropped quieter after that. “but if you’ll let me… i wanna come home to you again.”

“i wanna relearn everything about you,” he whispered softly. “i wanna know what tube stop you hate the most, what your favorite pub is, your new favorite band…. i miss your playlists and music recommendations.”

his thumb brushed slowly across my waist.

“i wanna know all the little things i missed while we were apart.” he smiled sadly. “i just really don’t wanna lose you again because those were the worst two years of my entire life.”

my chest tightened and i ran my fingers through his hair, nodding faintly. “i don’t think i ever stopped being yours.”

the look on his face after i said that was a mixture of relief, disbelief. like he was trying not to break down all over again.

“jesus christ,” he laughed shakily, burying his face into my shoulder. “you have no idea what hearing that does to me.”

i smiled weakly and kissed the top of his head. “you’re clingier now.”

“now?” he looked up, offended. “baby, i was always clingy.”

“true.”

“i literally used to follow you into kitchens because i missed you.”

“you followed me into bathrooms too.”

“well yeah.” he shrugged shamelessly. “what if something exciting happened?”

i burst out laughing. how could this feel so normal already? like we somehow skipped over two years of heartbreak and snapped right back into us.

eventually though, reality came crashing back into the room. because unlike whatever bubble we’d built inside my flat overnight, the outside world still existed. and unfortunately for us, so did calum’s very real tour schedule.

his next stop was manchester. tomorrow night’s show. which meant he had to leave london later today to continue the rest of the uk leg.

“come with me.”

i looked over from my closet where i was pulling on clothes. calum sat at the edge of my bed in his boxers watching me.

“cal…”

“please.” his voice cracked. 

“last night was something i’ve been dreaming about for so long,” he admitted. “and even right now—having you here again—it still feels unreal.” hearing the desperation in his voice made me pause.

he stood up before walking toward me. “i can’t leave you again.” his voice cracked slightly. “i don’t want to.” he took both my hands into his. “please come with me, evie.”

and there he was again, emotionally rambling like last night. “we still have the rest of europe after the uk shows,” he continued quickly. “then there’s a month break before we go back on tour again and yeah, okay, logically we could reunite then—” he shook his head. “but i can’t get you back today just to leave you again tomorrow for another month.”

my heart hurt listening to him. 

“we’re taking the tour bus around the remaining cities,” he added.

“it’ll be like the old days again.” a smile tugged onto his face. “squeezing into tiny bunks together. you stealing my hoodies. except there’s babies now but i’m sure that’s nothing compared to ashton’s snoring.”

i laughed as memories immediately flooded my head too. late-night motorway stops, falling asleep on his shoulder while the boys argued over music, tiny backstage dressing rooms and shitty gas station snacks.

“it’s this afternoon, i think,” he continued. “and the team won’t care. the boys definitely won’t care. crystal and sierra would be more than happy. i mean, they like you more than they like me.”

i snorted. 

“they miss you, evie.” his voice softened. “everyone does. i do.”

i tried thinking of reasons to say no. but in reality, i didn’t really have any. most of my work was remote now anyway. any upcoming events could easily be shifted around or covered elsewhere. my entire career practically lived inside my laptop.

and if i was being honest, a small part of me missed that life too. i looked toward the window as bright sunlight spilled across the london skyline in a way that almost never happened. i looked back at calum, and had to hide my laugh from seeing the hope practically glow in his face.

i sighed dramatically. “it’s gonna be one hell of a surprise when i show up again.”

his entire face lit up. “so that’s a yes?”

i laughed despite myself. “yeah.”

before he could fully celebrate, i pointed at him accusingly. “but seriously—why did we have to get back together while you’re on tour? do you know how much harder this makes everything?”

calum grinned so hard his dimples appeared. “sorry, angel. horrible timing.”

then he immediately wrapped his arms around me again and lifted me clean off the floor. i yelped while he laughed into my neck. 

“holy shit,” he whispered breathlessly. “you’re coming with me.”

i realized then that he was wrong before: i was also an idiot in this relationship. 

what sane woman gets back together with her ex and immediately agrees to go on tour with him the next day? 

though calum hood never made me sane once.

10:42 am

after what felt like a million back-and-forth phone calls with management, crew members, logistics teams, and at least three stressed assistants, calum finally confirmed that i could join the rest of the tour.

apparently squeezing one emotionally unstable ex-girlfriend onto a tour bus last minute required a shocking amount of work. i felt a little guilty about the chaos. some poor logistics coordinator was probably staring at spreadsheets right now wondering why one of the band members suddenly needed an extra bunk assignment because he was never able to move on.

i made a mental note to buy the entire team dinner at some point. or alcohol. or probably both.

we had to meet everyone at the hotel by 3:30, meaning we needed to leave before one so calum could go back to his hotel and pack properly.

which also meant i should’ve been packing. 

keyword: should’ve.

instead, i was barefoot in the kitchen making breakfast while calum stood behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist like he physically couldn’t stop touching me now that he had me back. not that i minded.

the bacon crackled softly in the pan while lazy morning sunlight poured through the windows. calum pressed absentminded kisses along my neck and shoulder while i scrambled eggs. every few seconds he’d tighten his grip on me slightly like he was reassuring himself i was still there and not a hallucination like some type of shutter island shit.

“okay,” he suddenly said, voice rough with sleep. “but seriously.”

i hummed.

“did you actually like the album?”

i rolled my eyes. “obviously i liked it, idiot. how could i not? it was beautiful.”

he grinned proudly against my shoulder.

“but,” i continued, pointing the spatula at him, “i could only listen to it once because otherwise i would’ve thrown myself into the thames.”

calum burst out laughing. 

“i’m serious!” i defended. “you’re such an asshole for finally releasing a solo album after we broke up when i spent literal years begging you to make one.”

he hid his laugh into my neck.

“what? my love wasn’t inspiring enough material before?” i said half-jokingly, half-serious.

“no, baby—”

“yes actually, explain yourself.”

he turned me around gently until my back pressed against the counter.

“you were too inspiring,” he corrected softly, hands sliding onto my waist. “i think i was just terrified of writing anything that honest while you were actually still mine.”

i rolled my eyes. what an excuse. his thumbs rubbed absentminded circles into my hips before he smiled. “i’ll make another one.”

i raised an eyebrow. “oh yeah?”

“mhm.” he nodded seriously. “this one’s gonna be different though.”

“how so?”

he leaned down until our noses brushed.

“it’ll be about how the love of my life took me back and stopped me from being suicidal.”

i laughed. “you are so dramatic.”

“i’m an artist, baby.”

“you’re insane.”

“but you still love me.”

i rolled my eyes even as my smile betrayed me.

“stupid.”

“your stupid.”

“yeah, okay, now let me get back to cooking before the food burns and i have to remake everything from scratch which wastes the time we already don’t have. c’mon cal, i still need to pack and get ready.”

he laughed against my shoulder, arms still locked around my waist. “you never changed.”

i pouted. “you’re the one who convinced me to go on tour with you again all of a sudden!”

“convinced?” he gasped dramatically. “baby, you said yes almost instantly.”

i pointed the spatula at him again. “don’t test me.” he grinned.

“oh my god,” i groaned. “i haven’t even told alyssa yet.”

calum winced. “shit. she hates me, doesn’t she?”

“she did threaten to murder you multiple times.”

“fair.” he tightened his hold around me again before mumbling into my neck. “i’m scared of her.”

“you always were.”

“no seriously, evie. your best friend terrifies me.” he lifted his head slightly. “i have to face her again now, don’t i?”

i laughed harder. “yes. she’s my other soulmate, so unfortunately you’ll have to survive the court hearing.”

he groaned loudly.

“honestly if she kills you there’s no promise she’ll spare me as well. she leaves me alone for one night and suddenly i’m right back in your arms.” i turned the stove lower before finally facing him properly again.

he chuckled at me softly. it seemed like he was now incapable of looking at me without any yearn in his eyes. he looked like he still couldn’t fully believe he was standing here in my kitchen. well, it’ll turn into our kitchen again sooner or later.

“you really scared me, you know,” he admitted quietly.

“what?”

“when you sent your location last night.” his hands slid slowly up my back. “i thought maybe you were drunk and angry and wanted closure or something.”

i looked down. “i almost didn’t send it.”

his grip on me tightened. “but you did.”

“yeah.”

a quiet settled between us. heavy in the way only years of history can make silence feel. calum brushed a strand of hair behind my ear before speaking again. “i don’t think you understand how hard it was not contacting you these past two years.”

i swallowed. “cal…”

“no, seriously.” his voice softened. “every city reminded me of you somehow. every song. every stupid little thing.” his lips ghosted across my jaw slowly. “i’d see oasis shirts and think about you.” another kiss. “every time someone ordered extra pickles on a burger i thought about you, ya little weirdo.” another. “every time i heard someone laugh too loud—”

“okay, now you’re flirting.”

“i’m trying to.”

i rolled my eyes even as my stomach flipped. “you’re rusty.”

“oh, am i?” his hands suddenly grabbed my waist tighter before he lifted me onto the counter effortlessly.

i yelped. “calum!”

“what?” he grinned shamelessly, stepping between my knees. “you called me rusty. that hurt my feelings.”

“you don’t have feelings.”

“that’s not what my therapist says.”

i laughed so hard i nearly folded into him. god. i missed this.

the stupid jokes, the way he always knew how to make me laugh before i could overthink too much. his smile softened seeing me laugh. then his eyes dropped to my lips and suddenly the atmosphere shifted again. his thumb brushed slowly against my thigh.

“you have no idea how many times i imagined kissing you again,” he admitted quietly.

my breath caught slightly. “yeah?”

“mhm.” he leaned closer. “and reality’s better.”

his lips met mine slowly this time, not desperate like last night. he lingered like he wanted to memorize me all over again. i tangled my fingers into his blond hair, earning a quiet moan from him that sent a pulsing feeling straight to my core.

we really had learned each other’s bodies too well over the years.

the kiss deepened naturally, years of familiarity slipping right back into place like muscle memory. his hands slid beneath the hem of my shirt while mine tugged lightly at the strings of his hoodie. then suddenly—the smell of bacon burning hit us both. 

“shit!” i pulled away laughing while calum groaned dramatically into my shoulder. 

“you’re a distraction.”

“you were literally making out with me!”

“you started it!”

“i absolutely did not.”

i hopped off the counter to rescue breakfast while he stayed behind me grinning like an idiot. 

“well,” i huffed as our lips finally parted properly again, trying to catch my breath while flipping the bacon, “better get used to a lot more gas station stops than before.”

calum raised an eyebrow knowingly. 

“because seriously, what’s the difference between us being horny teenagers back then and us not seeing each other for two years?”

calum looked genuinely in thought for a second. “better stamina?”

i nearly threw the spatula at him.

[wishfuldreamingsos]

Flashlight (Michael Clifford)

Part Two (Part One)

Word Count: 4.348K

Blurb: On one of your evening mental-health walks, you notice a light moving through a house that has been uninhabited for some time, due to your neighbor's death. When you investigate, there's a suspicious looking man walking around the house, no overhead lights on, just a flashlight in his hand.

Warnings: explicit cannabis usage ; language ; talk of Death of parent/grandparent; grief; smut, inebriated but consensual sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, pleasuredom!Michael, praise kink, subspace, cum eating and chirophilia if you squint.

Note: I fucked myself up with this one. Taking a cold shower and a smoke break before part three.

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You don't smoke often, at least often in the sense of habitually. About once a month you let yourself indulge in a joint , maybe an edible if you were feeling really crazy. So when Michael looks to you in the dim light of the back porch and asks if you want to roll, you can't help but laugh.

"Everything I've smoked has been rolled for me," you say, leaning back into the metal chair. "You're definitely going to be better at it than me."

Michael cracks a grin and places a painted hand on his chest in mock hurt. You like the way the polish contrasts with his skin.

"And what about me says I'd be experienced in such deviant activities? Is it the twenty facial piercings?"

"Something like that," you deadpan, but the mirth drips from your voice nonetheless.

"Have you ever been taught?" he asks, bending over the part of the table you briefly cleared off, as he removes the stems from the bud.

"Yeah," you say, watching the way he works apart the flower with his fingers. His fingers are slender and delicate, even when crumbling weed between the soft tips of them. "It's the one thing I'm not great at."

Michael looks up toward you, his eyes noticeably green in the light.

"Well good thing I'm here to take care of you," he says.

You know the way he says it isn't meant to be sexual, isn't meant to mean anything, but it doesn't stop the way your stomach suddenly feels tight at his words. You try to chalk it up to the fact that it's been quite a while for you, but you know that's not it. You'd be lying if you told yourself you weren't attracted to him, someone who's basically a stranger.

Michael sprinkles the weed in a line on the center of the rolling paper. Not too thin for it to burn so quickly, just the right amount for you to be able to share. Michael's tongue dips to the paper, working along the edge as he goes to seal it. The way he licks swiftly along the seam forces you to avert your eyes.

You know if you have these thoughts before smoking, you're absolutely fucked.

When you look back, the joint is sealed, wrapped into a pretty little thing. Michael manifests a lighter from his pocket and slowly lets the flame consume the end, starting the red-hot cherry. When it catches, the smell of the strain fills the closed-in space. You can tell it's the good stuff from the scent alone, so many years of parties and dating stoners training you to notice quality.

"She's pretty," you say.

Michael's eyes goes to yours when you speak, but he says nothing, bringing his work to his lips and inhaling. When he exhales, the smoke curls from his mouth and gathers around him in grey tendrils. He passes the joint to you between his fingers and you reach to take it, letting the sensation of your brushing digits pass over you.

You inhale, holding the smoke in your mouth before releasing, the effects instantaneous. You feel the way the perpetual tension in your shoulders relax, how your mind eases into a more present state, the way your throat deliciously burns from the smoke moving into your lungs.

"Feel better?" Michael asks, and you redirect your gaze.

His eyes watch your face. It doesn't make you overthink, this time. You enjoy the way he looks into your irises like he'll find something there.

"Yeah," you say. "But I should be asking you that. You've had a crazy day."

You pass the joint back to him, the rotation beginning.

"You're right. Not everyday you get accused of being a criminal trying to get into your dead grandmother's house."

"Truly, my bad," you say, lightly, letting the early feeling of the marijuana induced levity wrap around you. "When two months had passed and no one came for the house, I gave up on the idea anyone would show."

Michael's lips wrap around the joint and you're drawn back to how pink they are. How pretty, in general he is.

"No one told me," Michael sighs, the cloud moving past the lips you are unable to stop thinking about. "Me and my mates, we have a band back in Australia and we were touring. Well, we had a band." He turns to you, his body loosening the way yours had. "When I came back home, my parents told me. Said they didn't want to ruin my opportunity to pursue music over something that could wait."

Michael says it so matter-of-fact, so like he's reciting a book he memorized and not speaking of something that hurt him, but you can hear it in the way he talks. He's tiptoeing around the true feelings, watching which words are safe to say without detonating the sadness, the betrayal. And even though you just met him, you know that's what he feels. Betrayed.

"I'm sorry," you say.

"Don't be." He passes the joint back to you, and you watch him as you take it. You notice the way his fingers linger against yours a micro-second longer than before. You blame the weed for his hesitation.

"You deserved to know when it happened," you say, remembering the words of your brother when you had called about your Mom. His exasperated sigh, the way he promised that he'd be making the drive within the hour, how he was grateful Dad wasn't around anymore to see Mom go.

"Yeah," Michael says, his eyes a bit glassy from the spliff. "Thank you. It's okay, though. I've been dealing with it."

You take another hit and immediately feel the high coming over you. The sensation starts moving through your limbs and to your fingers wrapped around the joint. You like the feeling.

"What are you planning to do with the house?" you ask, passing it back.

Michael sits there a second, contemplating. You like the way his face slightly scrunches up when he's thinking, how the ridge between his eyebrows deepens. It's endearing and suddenly it's a fight to not tell him that.

Maybe you should chill on the joint.

"Everyone wants me to get the house looking nice so I can sell it. I could really use the money back home. The way things are, I'm still living with my parents."

"What do you want to do?" you ask, sinking deeper into your seat, letting your body absorb the benefits of the weed. Your stance relaxes, and your knee accidentally rests against Michael's. He doesn't move, so you leave it.

Michael breathes deeply, the joint burning down with the stretch of his inhale. When he speaks again, the haze fans around him.

"I don't know yet. I like the idea of starting over where no one knows me." He cracks a sardonic smile toward you. "Well, I guess one person would kind of know me."

"Sorry I ruined the fantasy," you laugh, letting your head rest against the back of the chair and closing your eyes.

"Can't imagine any fantasy'd be ruined by you," Michael says.

The words rip through you. Even without the inebriation, his insinuation would strike straight to your core.

Your eyes open to his, watching him. His gaze doesn't move from yours, his green remaining on you. A challenge, almost. He's trying to see if you'll bite, and you know it.

"That's presumptuous," you say, trying to keep your voice even-keeled.

Michael still watches. You know he's searching for something, trying to figure you out.

"Is it?" he asks, his voice getting softer.

"Yeah," you say, reaching for the joint and pulling it out of his hands. You know you shouldn't take another hit, but you do. The burnt taste of the almost-consumed roll resting heavy on your tongue. You fight back a cough, clear your throat instead.

"What made you keep your parent's house?" he asks, shifting the conversation.

Necessity had always been your answer before when anyone asked. Your brother, your therapist, your ex-best friend who couldn't handle the way you turned in on yourself after you lost both of your parents within a year and a half. But now, with the weed in your system and the way Michael seems to be weighing everything you say with the feather of Anubis, you don't give the same answer.

"Loyalty," you say. "Maybe fear," you add. Then finally, "I don't fully know."

Your gaze goes to the joint smoldering out in your fingers. You realize you need to pass it back. You hand it to Michael, gesturing for him to finish it.

"I told myself if I didn't have the house then I was letting them down. They lived their whole lives dedicated to this place. How do you just let go of something someone poured so much life into?"

You don't notice Michael finish the joint; you just see the way he sets it down on the glass-top and lets it burn out.

"You won't go into their room," he says. It's not a question. Nor an accusation. It's just a statement. Just the truth. You don't need to ask how he knows; he just noticed. He's observant; that you've ascertained in the few hours of knowing him.

"Yeah," you say again. Not knowing how to say anything but the truth right now but also knowing if you open your mouth, only the truth will come out, the weed seeping into your brain and your rationale. What would hurt telling this man, really? The desire to say it sits heavy on your tongue, the marijuana coaxing you into truth.

"Being in there makes it clear that they're gone," you begin, the floodgate opening. "Obviously, I know they're gone. It's been nearly a year and a half since my mom died and three for my dad, but going into that empty room where they used to sleep and fight and have that goddamn TV playing way too loud feels like I'm stepping into a room full of memories and love that I'll never get back."

Your mouth goes dry, but you keep pushing forward.

"And that's what's stupid, right? I didn't even feel really loved by my parents. I knew they loved me in the way they could. But at the end of the day, it was always me. '(Y/N) will take care of it. She's our strong girl,' and they kept doing that until they fucking died. Then it really was just me taking care of it. Over and over and over. Telling my little brother, caring for their parents, everything. So it makes no goddamn sense that I can't go into that room. It makes no sense to compare that to an idealization of love, but I do."

Only now do you notice the tears running down your face. You swipe at them haphazardly, but let yourself finish.

"So I go to every other part of the house. My room stays the room I grew up in and my room will always be that as long as I'm here, and I tell myself I'm okay with that. Because I am okay, because I take care of things. Including myself. Including this fucking house because no one else will."

Your face is hot as the tears cling to your skin. You try to wipe them away, but they only seem to keep coming. Embarrassment floods into your chest. You can't make yourself look at Michael, but you feel the intensity of his eyes resting on you. Then, there's his hand on your knee. The warmth of his skin bleeds into yours, even through the grief swelling in your chest.

Your eyes move from his hand on your leg and follow up to his faded gaze. They're glassy, but present. He's here with you in the moment, and it knocks the air out of you more than the weed or grief could.

"You're allowed to still love them but also acknowledge they fucked up," he says. You feel stupid, because all you can focus on is the pink of his lips when he talks. How his hand on your knee sends your brain reeling even more. How it mixes with the sadness and the high into something exciting, something that you want more than to be talking about this right now.

"You're also allowed to want to not have to handle it all," he continues, his voice dropping low. "You're allowed to want to be taken care of for once in your life."

His mouth, his words, the way his eyes have spent all evening searching yours, it all wraps around your heart. The squeezing of the grief, confusion, the high, and desire taking up the space in the cavern of your chest. You don't know what to do with it besides reacting however is natural right now. You don't think you can stop it if you tried.

"No one's been able to ever handle it," you say, your teary eyes staying on his mouth as you whisper the truth. For a brief second, you're aware that he notices where your gaze rests.

Michael's hand doesn't leave your knee, but with the next words he says, it's like he's touching every part of you, caressing you from your knee to your thigh, up your arm, resting at the soft of your cheek, tracing the hollows of your temple.

"Let me," his voice is dry. Your eyes snap from his mouth back to his irises only then. "Even if it's just for tonight, let me."

"What?" you ask, the cracking of your voice not from the weed this time.

"You know what I'm asking," Michael says, voice desperate, not demeaning.

He moves from his seat, slowly. His eyes never leave yours as he goes to his knees, fixes himself between your thighs. The image of him in this position of petition, the silver of the piercings, how he doesn't touch you despite his expression already reading you, it makes a heat you've not felt from someone else in years pool in your stomach.

"Turn it all off," Michael says, soft and tender. "Let me handle it. I can handle you."

You don't want to have to make the right decisions anymore. You don't want to be thinking of everyone else over yourself. You want to let go, to have no true repercussions of letting go, for once. Despite the ghost of rationale in the back of your mind screaming that you can't do this, you let the way Michael's eyes feel like knowing and your desire thrumming in your chest to push you forward.

"Take it," you breathe. "Please."

Michael's hands cup your face and his warmth sends goosebumps flying over your skin. His eyes momentarily lock with yours, the longing in them irrefutable as he pulls your mouth to his. His kiss is tender like his words, but the metal of his vertical labret and the need bubbling under the surface sends want pulsing through you. Michael's mouth is soft, and despite the fact that you've never kissed someone with a lip piercing before, your lips move together with ease, finding each others, yet always searching for more.

He moves his right hand from your face and threads it into the hair at the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss. His tongue flits past your teeth the second you open up, a moan ripping from your throat at the sensation of his tongue piercing. You feel the way Michael smiles into the kiss at your reaction. Mind racing, you think of all the other places that piercing could find.

"All I need from you--" Michael speaks against your lips, then moves down the side of your neck, his hot kisses amplified by the marijuana. "--is to tell me if you don't feel good. I've got the rest. Okay?" His mouth goes to the most sensitive hollow at the base of your ear and sucks. You're not embarrassed by the whimper that leaves your mouth.

"I can do that," you pant, letting your fingers thread into the red strands of Michael's hair as he moves from your neck and to the exposed skin of your chest.

"Good," he says, and the praise sounds so sinful from his lips. "Turn that pretty brain off for me, baby. Just feel."

So you do, you turn it all off like you do when you need to disconnect from the pain and get through your day. Stick it into the back corner of your mind as something to go back to later. Not now. Not with this man kissing you like you're something to be protected, to be cherished.

Michael breaks the kiss and you hate the sudden desperation you feel at the loss of his mouth, but it's only momentary as he rises from his knees, pulling you upright with him.

"Inside," he whispers against your mouth before kissing you once more. "I want you to be comfortable."

You nod, letting him open the door and pull you into your room. You let yourself love the way his hands swallow yours.

As soon as the porch door shuts behind you, he's over you again, his mouth on yours, hands searching like his eyes over the curves of your body. His hands find your ass, and you groan as he uses your backside to guide your leg around him.

"I've got you," he says, lifting you up enough to lay you both back on your bed. You shudder under him when his mouth goes to your neck again, his lip ring grazing your skin as he drags his mouth across your chest. Every place his lips touch sets your skin ablaze. You don't know whether to blame the weed or the way your heart has thrummed in your chest since first meeting him.

Regardless, you need more, and your hips unintentionally rise against him when he shifts his weight, eliciting a hiss from your mouth when your clothed heat brushes against Michael's growing erection. You go to apologize but stop when Michael's eyes look to yours, his pupils wide.

"You sound fucking pretty," he groans. "Don't hold it back. I want to know you're being taken care of."

You nod, words never escaping you more than now.

"What did I say before?" Michael asks you, but you're in too much of a haze to recall properly.

"I don't remember," you say. It comes out soft and vulnerable, it almost makes your skin crawl, but the smile that comes to Michael's face is enough to eradicate any of that shame.

"If anything is too much, tell me. I need you to tell me, and I'll stop. But my only concern is to take care of you."

"I will," you say.

"Good," Michael whispers, and he presses a kiss to your temple as he pulls himself from you, bringing himself to standing at the edge of your bed. He watches you briefly, his eyes raking over you laying there before he eases your leggings off. You lift your hips to help, and love the feeling of his knuckles brushing against the back of your thighs as he removes your pants.

"Cute little panties," Michael says once you are exposed. You feel the wetness in gather in them at his praise. He slips his fingers through the waistband and drags them down your legs, tossing them past the edge of the bed.

He looks over you again, eyes resting on the swell of your pubic mound, his tongue darting out over his lips when his eyes travel south.

"Fuck," he says softly. There's no elaboration as he lowers himself back onto the bed, slotting his body in-between your legs until he's face level with your cunt. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and you can't ignore the twitch of your clit at his touch, the heat growing in your core when he has yet to actually touch you.

Then his mouth is on you. Hot. Wet. The shock of the metal lip ring sending your fingers immediately to the sheets of your bed. Michael presses his tongue flat, swiping it up through your center. The barbell of his tongue piercing catches on your clit and the groan that leaves your mouth is nothing but animalistic.

At the sound, Michael moans into you, pressing his face even deeper, the obscenity of his tongue working into you sending you into a haze no drug could ever induce.

"You taste insane," he mutters as he pulls away momentarily for air.

You look down on him, his eyes blown wide and glassy from you, your slick over his pink lips and chin. He looks up at you with such adoration that your stomach twists. You don't have much time to dwell on his beauty, because he goes back down on you, pulling your thighs over his shoulders as he buries his face into you.

"Fu-fuck," you groan when you feel his tongue, piercing and all enter you. He strokes upward, the way the metal slides against your walls so unlike anything you've ever experienced before. Michael is unlike anything you've had before. Your hands find his hair, interlacing your fingers into his scalp and tugging, burying his face into you even deeper when there's nowhere else to go.

He licks upward, into the top of your walls and pulling out of you, licking over your clit. You tremble when his mouth fastens to you, sucking around your bundle of nerves, the metal and his mouth and the marijuana threatening to send you over the edge.

"Michael," you breathe, exhaling his name around you. Letting it settle in the air, an effervescent cloud of want.

The call of his name doesn't stop his ministrations, he sucks and laps at you even more. You feel the tight coil in your stomach, the way your orgasm threatens to spill like smoke out of Michael's mouth.

Michael devours you, consumes you, the noises too much but not enough. Then he slips a finger into you, and your body contorts.

"Fuck, Michael," you whine. And you don't care that it sounds pitiful. You are pliant in his hands, his finger curling into you, delicate but long and brushing against your gspot with every touch. You're trembling, your legs almost vibrating with desire, your breathing ragged, the spinning in your head so dizzying. Filling your mind with nothing but Michael, Michael, Michael.

"That's it, baby girl. Just feel it," Michael speaks, and you know he's between your legs, but his voice swells around you, all encompassing. The way he talks and touches, enrapturing you. You cannot think of anything but him, couldn't if you tried.

Then there's a second finger, and he curls up when he enters you. You feel the way your cunt swallows him easily, takes him with greed. More, more, more. You want so much more. You want everything he will give.

But your body can't take more without the price of your orgasm, and it comes crashing over you when he fucks into you with those fingers, his mouth never stopping as a scream rips from your throat, rips from the deepest part of you as you come without warning. You convulse as you reach orgasm, fisting your hands into his hair, body arching off the bed, your vision filled with nothing but bright white and the moans of Michael drinking you down. He doesn't stop, even when you know you're dripping, even when you know you've lost control, he swallows it all.

You lay there trembling, your brain flushed with the warmth of your body. You cannot process anything, just the feeling of the bed beneath you, the wet between your thighs. But then there's a hand on your face and green eyes fill your vision.

"Hey, you're okay."

The soft touch on your face, a palm pressed to your sternum.

"Breathe, breathe for me."

The green eyes expand into a face, Michael's face as you come back down. You're still trembling, your breath still scattered, but Michael's touch and face pressed against the pillow beside you grounds you. You breathe like he says, watching the way the air leaves his mouth as he guides you.

Michael. Michael. Michael.

You blink slowly, and a smile comes to his lips, his eyes shining.

"There she is."

And suddenly, you're aware of everything. The weight of his body against you, his arm wrapped around you and stroking your face, the way Michael is still fully clothed though looking so fucked out. You realize where he just took you, what he's bringing you out of. You haven't even touched him. You feel guilty.

"You're still dressed," you say, and your voice is weak, wrecked.

He knows what you're saying. Knows that you're the one who takes care of things, even your partners.

"Hey," he coos, thumb brushing along your jawline. "You've done enough."

The rational part of you wants to fight him, wants to tell him that you know this is likely limited for only one night. That if you don't do this now, you'll never get the opportunity to again. But instead, you nod, looking at the beautiful man in your bed.

"Don't stay in the guest room tonight," you say.

Something in Michael's eyes shift, and you catch the glance over your face, the way something lingers there out of reach. Then, an almost imperceptible whisper from Michael.

"Is that what you really want?"

You nod again, unable to voice the words that you want to say.

"Okay, pretty girl. I'll stay," Michael answers, pulling his hand from your face, wrapping his arm around you.

The exhaustion of the day, marijuana, and orgasm floats around you as you lay there in Michael's arms. It lulls you into its tendrils, the sleep settling around you. And for once, your mind doesn't race as you drift off.

No, the only thing resonating in your brain before you fall into that darkness is Michael.

Michael.

Michael.

[alicewolfisalive]

fear not the don’t delete the kisses series hasn’t ended🙈 i still have maybe 1-2 more parts. not sure!! might be one cuz maybe i’ll turn the other drafts into it’s own oneshot🤷‍♀️ thank u for all the love on the series hehe