「 This is all based on a couple photos and mild research through tiktok videos and comment sections! My credentials: boba barista for eight months, coffee house lead for eight months, and local cafe lead for a little over a year! 」
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Calum: 16oz hot latte with whole milk or breve. Not big on iced drinks unless it’s super hot out or he’s out and about.
Ashton: 12-16oz iced latte with either a triple or quad shot depending on the size. Moves between whole and oat milk.
Luke: 16oz hot caramel vanilla latte with caramel drizzle. Also switches between whole and oat milk.
5sos playing outer space/carry on the same day as the total solar eclipse, the perseid meteor shower (shooting stars), a new moon and the alignment of 6 planet is just SO FUCKING MAJESTIC im crying
「 As requested by @wheezeywheezey, here's part two with Calum and the journalist! I actually really like this pairing and I have an idea for a third part if this does well! Also, I didn't feel comfortable writing smut, so sorry. I might add some as this goes on, though!」
warnings: swearing, tension, making out
wc: 3.4k
Calum hummed. “Professionalism be damned.” He pulled a little bit closer to you and said, “You smell good too.”
Never had you thought the day would pan out anywhere close to that moment or anything leading up to it. All you could muster in the moment was a surprised yet interestingly nervous laugh. Calum was looking down at you, all up close and personal, his actions and stance strong and tense, but visually, he was soft and sweet. You were completely and utterly thrown for a loop. And rather than swindling some sort of flirty remark, you told the truth.
“I’m actually wearing a perfume I got on a whim. It had Snoopy on the bottle.”
Calum giggled, breaking through the particularly charged air that had started to fester between you too. The fuzzier smile you had started to feel hunger for returned, putting the knot in your chest at ease. “I love that. Didn’t peg Snoopy for an aromaphile but hey, it works.”
I pointed a strict finger at him. “Yeah. Don't go judging him just because he’s a dog.”
Calum held up his palms in mock defence. “I would never, I swear!” You both laughed at the banter. In the small silence that followed, so much more was unsaid. The longer you stood before him, the longer the chemical reaction bubbled, leaving a cotton candy haze, sweet and taunting over your sense. It was more fantastical than how he smelled, luring you into a state of imagining, thinking of what it would be like if you were ever to see him again. The urge to fight for it overtook any of your apprehension.
“Let me know—”
“We should—”
The two of you spoke at the same time, a welcome surprise. A smile quirked at your lips and Calum was having trouble keeping eye contact. His fingers twitched at his sides. When he started to speak, his voice was lower.
“I was just going to say that maybe we could do something tomorrow for dinner? The other interviews are earlier in the day, so I’d be free later.”
God, your nerves were shot. The emotional… blender… you had been in was throwing you off, unsure how to perceive anything accurately. Like, all of this interaction would be normal if it had been any other guy. But Calum Hood from 5 Seconds of Summer was decidedly not any other guy.
You shook your head with enthusiasm. “Absolutely. That would be amazing.”
Pleasant surprised brightened Calum’s features and he collected himself to speak. “Great, that’s great. I, uh, already have your number, so I’ll text you tomorrow? Keep you updated on times and everything?”
“That’s perfect.”
The two of you each took a step apart, truly planning to depart this time. “Okay, cool,” Calum said. Another step away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You too.”
When you turned around to walk back to the studio, it dawned on you that, you were locked in to going to dinner tomorrow night with Calum.
“No fucking way.”
[-+-]
Around three, Calum texted. “Hi. It’s Calum. I heard about this rooftop place. Sounds good. Do you want to meet there at seven?”
After being invested in your laundry and catching up on other chores, you picked up your phone to see the text. You practically read it in his voice, the pauses, the lilt, the accent. It had been a hard day actually staying off your phone, not anxiously awaiting his text—he did say he’d keep you updated, after all. And you’d been through the ringer of guys saying that and leaving you be the one to reach out an hour before, only to cancel. A four hour grace period from Calum was nothing short of miraculous.
You replied: “I’ve heard of it! Seven is perfect!”
He replied ten minutes later: “<3”
On to the list of things you never considered him doing, “texting an emoticon heart.” Nice. You closed out of the messaging app and switched to looking up the restaurant. It had a low-lit vibe, upscale, and semi formal. Wine was definitely going to be involved. All of the photos had browns, yellows, and oranges, with the occasional pop of blue—all very curated. You shut the tab and thought for a minute, mentally rummaging through all of the clothes you just straightened out.
An outfit began to take form. You pulled it out then set it aside, and turned on a movie instead—anything to help you focus on relaxing and getting ready. In between casually figuring out makeup, you figured out what parking would be like and that it was within walking distance. The temperature wouldn’t be super hot, especially since you two would be up on a roof. So you took the walking into account with what shoes you’d wear.
6:30 approached and Calum texted that he got a reservation and we’d be good to get there whenever around 7. Holy shit. Your walk was quick and breezy. When you got there, you didn’t see Calum on the ground floor, so you slipped into a bathroom to tidy up. When you stepped out, in he walked.
Gone was the cute sweater and baggy pants you’d seen him in yesterday. Tonight’s ensemble had been just as curated for you as yours had been for him. He donned the most silver jewelry you had seen on a person at once: layered necklaces, rings, bracelets. One necklace was laced beneath the collar of his light grey button down. His slacks were straight black and so was his belt but silver accents and chains hung from the loops. His heavy boots made muted thuds as he walked across the marble floor to greet you. Up close you noticed the lite eyeliner on his water lines—a look you’d never get enough of.
“Hi,” you said, sweet and giddy, arms ready for a hug.
Calum smiled and pulled you close. At first you noticed how soft his cotton button down was. It your eyes snapped open. He was wearing the cologne. Somehow it was all the more intoxicating now that it was also just for you. It wasn’t the festival ground you were having to fight away, but a hot feeling spreading throughout your body. His fingers twitched against your spine and then you wrenched apart.
“You want to head up?” Calum asked, an innocent expression, but a knowing layer was beneath. You shake your head and he holds your hand as you walk to the elevator, marked to go up the the restaurant.
As you stepped out onto a carpet leading to the host stand, you saw that photos hadn’t done it justice. The scene was sticky with heat and pleasant on the eyes. A sense of ease and allure ran over your arms and back, setting your airs on end. The hostess in all black and sleek makeup led the two of you to a corner by the bar that had only two seats and a glistening white table cloth. The section would be waited on by the bartender himself and was quiet. It reminded you of the day before at the cafe. This was one hell of a step up, but there were parallels that comforted you and brought a quirk to your lips. It was hard to be unhappy at a time like this.
Calum sat with the restaurant behind him, so you could view the space easier. You wondered if it was also a way to prevent getting instantly recognized, but you didn’t bring it up. Empty glasses sat to your rights and when the bartender approached, he held a pitcher and filled them with ice water. Calum ordered a bottle of white wine, making sure that was alright with you first. It was good that he had because the menu had been a little daunting. You also hadn’t been planning on eating something super heavy, so the white would go well with whatever you chose.
“So,” you started, “how was today?”
He made a small laugh. “Oh you know, the big, glamorous life of a rock star.”
You raised a brow. “Yeah? Girls were pressed up against the studio widow, holding up signs. You got a bunch of numbers, wrote the next big hit.” You blew out a breath. “I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
Calum laughed again, this time his lips broke into a pleased smile. “Not even close. I did the interviews, smoked a cigarette in between, had a chain restaurant for lunch. Ignored texts. Except yours, of course,” he slightly leaned forward, cueing you into that rarity. “I even took a nap before getting ready.”
You made a surprised face. “Oh wow. Sounds rather mundane…”
“I don’t know, it’s been a while since I’ve done the whole diner date thing. This is different.”
Now that truly surprised you, it was a break from the banter and a crack of honesty you hadn’t been expecting out of this. Really, you had expected to just sleep with him yesterday and have that be the end of you. You heard about the groupies, the Bali trip, all of the reckless young, hot guy things that you figured would be hard to outgrow.
“You do diner date things?”
He shrugged. “Not in almost a year,” he said. “What about you?”
“Um, same. I tried online, blind dates, they didn’t pan out. Work is… a bad idea.”
Calum narrowed his eyes. “So what is this, then?”
You almost wanted to say, ‘a bad idea.’ The wrong intention seemed too laced through that so you just looked away, head turned in surrender. “I don’t know. A dream? Something too good to have happened to me? I’m happy to be here and I want to enjoy it…” It was almost a line cast out, hoping to see if Calum would bite, take the vulnerability. This wasn’t flirting at the cafe or the charged energy from your interview—that was mainly for the camera. Chemistry couldn’t be faked, though, so you spoke in anticipation of confirmation.
“I’m happy you’re here with me,” Calum chose. He took a sip of wine, not taking his eyes off you. “And I’m glad we broke our rules to be here.”
You drank some of your wine, to fill the moment and your head a little bit. The server came by and you gave your orders. A switch of topic seemed natural, you didn’t wat to press harder than you felt you already had. This dinner, a date, he called it a date, felt like chasing a butterfly out on those festival grounds. It was hard to catch a butterfly when you were running after it, being loud. You were a professional, you could hold your own, hold your tongue. And it probably wasn’t a good idea to think of a world famous musician who was buying your expensive meal as a butterfly to catch.
“What made you want to get into interviewing and journalism?” Calum asked.
“A few things, really,” you started. “I love writing and watching people pick creatives’ brains. It’s nice hearing what people who made it did, it’s like knowing the insider secrets, almost. Not in a recreating the formula or magic way—I don’t really think that’s possible. But figuring out what your favorite’s favorite things are helps you fell more connected, I think. It worked well for me, so I looked for how it could help others.”
It was Calum’s turn to be surprised. “That’s profound. I think you figured it out pretty well. Our interview was definitely one of the best I’ve ever had. Great questions that made it feel like a genuine conversation.”
“I think it was definitely the most genuine I’ve felt in one,” you admitted.
“I didn’t think about making anything up—like, it was all real. It felt real,” he agreed. As you two spoke, it was hard to look away, hard to ignore how hot it was becoming, regardless of the sun already having set. It was supposed to be cooling off, instead, you were broiling.
Conversation died down and became more about the meal and the city, tour, as you ate. Like you figured, Calum picked up the tab without you ever seeing the total. You did put up a fight, but it was short lived with his definitive attitude. By the end of the meal you two had already finished the bottle of wine and you could feel it in your face. Calum didn’t hold your hand when you walked to the elevator. You were actually glad for it, any contact would send you over at that point, being totally unprofessional. You were off the clock, this was off the record. But if anyone saw you two doing anything overly suggestive, it would be over.
Inside the elevator, you had resigned yourself to staring at the gold metallic doors. Calum’s cologne and a bit of your food lingered in your nose. A prickle on the back of your neck made you look over at him in the corner. He was already looking at you first, a long, loud gaze with focus in his dark eyes.
“I live maybe ten minutes from here,” you said.
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.
During the walk the two of you sobered only slightly. The heat in the elevator had diminished, especially give how you two were hit with a cold blast of your air conditioning as you unlocked your door. Calum stepped inside, close behind you, not wanting to intrude.
“You want another drink?” you asked, walking toward the kitchen, flipping on only a few small lights, nothing overhead.
“Sure. What were you thinking?”
You looked at your alcohol cabinet and though about your fridge contents. “A sidecar?”
“Sure.”
You got out the liquors and fixings. You had a shaker but didn’t bother rimming the glasses. A cocktail was a little fancy for the moment, but would definitely solidify your buzz. And you weren’t about to offer hard seltzer after the fancy ass wine.
Calum sat watching you mix the drinks from the seat he took at the bar counter. The hanging lights made his eyeliner look deeper, his observation more charged. His outfit seemed to have another meaning when no one but you could see it. The same could go for yours, but the fame balance was weighted more in Calum’s favor—a fact you couldn’t swallow down but tried anyway. You poured the strained cocktail in his cup first and slide it over to him while you finished yours. Calum waited and you tapped your glasses together before taking a sip.
Calum clicked his tongue and exhaled hard, looking between the drink then you. “Wow. Have you ever considered being a bartender too?”
You laughed, low and a little stifled. “Not in a while. I think a drink segment would be fun to figure out at some point.”
Calum made a display at drinking another sip. “Well consider me your first guest, as long as you’re mixing them.”
A small laugh left you again, while your smile never left. You put the liquors on the back counter with the shaker in case you needed to make another. The orange pieces laid, juice running across the cutting board, beside them. You turned back to the counter and faced Calum.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said, eyes earnest, scouring all across your face. “I was nervous to say it earlier, but I mean it just as much now.”
Focus sharpened in your vision on him, honed in on the butterfly flutter of his lashes. “Thank you.” It was manners and restraint from launching into directly what you think about his appearance. “You’re very handsome.”
He had trouble accepting it, once more sipping his drink through half-lidded eyes. Calum changed gears. “I think you were beautiful yesterday in the studio, doing your work. You looked so put together and serious. Then you were relaxed and still a little nervous when we started, when we went to the cafe. And tonight is something else”
Everything was coming undone. “I tried so hard to be professional. It’s not easy when the hottest guy you’ve crushed on is looking at you the way I’ve imagined so many times. There’s this barrier. Like I know you, but I don’t.”
Calum swallowed and then looked at you with a targeted face, a shadow crossed over him, removing the highlights in his eyes, saddening serious. “I feel the same way. I've actually watched all your videos.”
The confession dropped the intensity that had been simmering, something bold and sudden. You set your glass down. “Are you serious?” He had said he wanted an interview with you, that he knew of some. He had to have sat for hours watching them—you had vlogs, shopping trips, book reviews and hauls posted on your channel, not just interviews.
“Yes. I found your stuff after your interview with Niall and binged it all. I’ve been wanting to meet you for years.”
That interview had come out three years ago. No way.
Calum couldn’t look at you. “I tried so hard to play it cool.”
Now you were embarrassed, shocked, and feeling some many things that you had previously thought wrong with a newfound clarity. All of the small glances he shot your way, the honesty, the way he had know certain things that had just felt like similarity all made sense. You downed the last of your cocktail in one gulp and pushed the glass aside. “Can I kiss you?”
Calum stood up without a second of waiting and grabbed your face in his large, strong hands. The heat was a blazing rush, an explosion of nerves and excitement. His lips were all you could think about. You wanted to taste his tongue, see if there were any remnants of the wine, the cranberry garnish from his dinner. He seemed to have the same idea, one hand running to the back of your head, urging you closer.
Instead of walking around the counter, you got on top of it. On your hands in knees you leaned over him, now kissing downwards. Calum’s head tilted up to watch you move with hunger teeming off of him. His hands dropped and your mouths parted as you repositioned yourself. You moved your legs so they hung off the counter, Calum standing right between them. He stepped forward and let one hand feel its way up your back, starting at the base of your spine. Other had returned to your face, lightly holding your face to him as he observed. You did the same, placing your hands on his chest, feeling upwards, one hand moved to his bicep while the other went through his hair. This survey you two ran was almost better than kissing, a mutual agreement of wonder had been reached verbally and now it was time to feel it too.
You two leaned in again and started slower. Small kisses on the lips. He kissed your brow. You kissed the tip of his nose. Then you switched. A smile spread on your lips and you kissed it off the other. Your tongue was the first to start roaming in. Calum let you, becoming preoccupied with how your collar bones felt, your neck, the underside of your jaw. The kiss became prolonged end heated. He came in close, and you leaned back to account for his wide frame. His glass was pushed nearly to the edge of the counter, so you changed locations. Calum picked you up, hands on the underside of your thighs. You wanted their warmth and strength tattooed beneath them for the rest of your life.
He moved you to your couch, laying you down on the plush velvet. A couple of the throw pillows were knocked over and the blanket draped across the back went askew. You could care less. Fruit flies could eat at the oranges and dust could gather if it meant staying in that grip, that warmth, with him.
"Do you want to?" he asked?"
"I—" you hesitated. "I want to see you again."
Calum stared hard at you in your dim living room. Something you had ever see before, unexplainable was written across his features. And then he nodded. "I promise."
Then he kissed you long and hard and you kissed back. Striving hard to make it good for now, to seal the promise, you caressed and pushed and pulled, all like the tide under the moon. Calum never jumped away, and instead met you like the shore, rocky here and soft sand there. It was all passionate physicality you had missed and wished had been present more. It had been so long for the both of you that you made it worth while.
As his hot breath warmed your lungs, you tried not to think about the morning after. What it would be like when he was gone. As much as you wanted to sleep with him then, would it be right? Could this last? Could you stand on the festival grounds together? You weren’t sure. But as the kissing waned and sleep took over you both, you dreamed of the grass and smelled the oranges with Calum hand in and hand with a promise now made between you.
Part two in my cologne-inspired 5sos one shots. It's Cal's turn and I think you'll be able to tell my lane and cheat lane by the time all of these are uploaded lol. And shoutout again to viclftv on tiktok for inspiring this series and making all the images!
warnings: mild cursing, flirting
wc: 2k
You were stoked to be interviewing the Calum Hood. 5sos had been one of your favorite bands (if not the favorite) for forever. Getting into journalism, and eventually making a career out of it was one of the last things you expected to ever do with your life, and as a subcategory, interviewing Calum was down there too. But it was happening. That afternoon you were going to sit and talk about his favorite mediums, art, music, books, and an emphasis on movies. It got leaked that looseunit123 had a Letterboxd account and that was going to be the crux of the interview. You did more relaxed interviews, “Your Favorite Artist’s Favorite Artist,” was a way to sit down and pick creatives' brains specifically in a creative niche. The name wasn't your favorite, but it was catchy enough. And it got you to that point—the point of interviewing… your biggest celeb crush. This would be impossible.
Professionalism was laced in your every step, every breath as you got dressed, had your hair styled and makeup touched up. The studio was modest with a small, yet incredible team behind it. The place was meant to look like a bookstore, a sort of literary take on the Criterion Closet or Tiny Desk Concert. And it was especially intimate. You had no problem interviewing anyone before this. You were a professional. You weren’t going to geek about how Wrapped Around Your Finger should be officially released or that you had slept in your merch t-shirt religiously after you had gone to your first 5sos show. It would be fine. You looked great, you were great. You were a professional.
When you were finished getting ready, you skimmed over your questions and sipped on your latte, waiting for Calum to arrive. Time passed before you realized and a pit dropped off in your stomach when the stage director came in to tell you he was there. You gave her a quick nod and did what you could to steel your nerves. Between breathing exercises and waving your hands around, shaking out jitters, or fanning your face, you tried. But you had to get out there. So you took one final breath, then left your dressing room and headed out to the set.
Somewhat hidden by shadow, though it was more because of the studio lighting being focused on the set, you saw him. Calum was standing by the main camera talking to the stage director. He was much taller up close and stood straight with his fingers lightly intertwined behind his back. You stepped around the director, walking in front of the camera to get their attention without sneaking up on them. “Hi,” you said, in a singing tone, and introduced yourself.
“Oh, hi,” Calum said, snapping to give you his full attention. “Calum,” he replied and reached out a hand for you to shake. You did and made sure you didn’t grab him too tight, hold for too long. Fuck.
“Yeah,” you said lightly. “It’s so great to meet you, I’m honored to have you on.”
Calum’s hand dropped to his side and he turned his head, looking away to accept the praise. “It’s no problem, I’m excited to be here.”
The director watched for a second before interjecting. “Let’s get ready, then.” About ten minutes of prep, getting microphones on and situated, double checking camera angles passed with ease. And then you were there, sitting in your trademark cozy arm chair with Calum in his own across from you. An oriental rug was spread across the faux wood floor, and bookshelves filled with old and new stories made up the background. A fake window was on Calum’s side while a small fireplace was between the two chairs. A side table was more immediately between the two, and on top laid your notes and a couple prop books to use during the interview.
“We ready?” The director called. You and Calum nodded.
“Alright. Rolling.”
You faced the camera and delivered your intro before introducing Calum.
[-+-]
Professionalism as a philosophy, a lifestyle carried you through the recording session. It was the most organic interview so far beside Austin Butler and Nial Horran, but was no where near as mind blowing. Calum was so cool. He spoke softly and being able to hear his voice and know it was meant for you to hear was something you had only imagined. But you did it.
Once the camera finished rolling the crew began to remove microphones and mill about. Yours and Calum’s assistants came to talk for a little while and then that was it. They stepped away to finalize scheduling and the release. You turned from the place your assistant had stood and faced Calum. He had worn long, wide legged blue jeans and an oversized sweater. His Doc Martens were more dirty upclose, giving an unmistakable edge to his vibe, as if the bedhead and chunky silver jewelry hadn’t done that already.
“Thank you again for coming on,” you said in a lower volume, more casual, and not your journalist persona.
Calum made a small smile and shifted on his feet. “It’s no big deal. I loved it, and I was very excited to be here, genuinely. I had actually asked my assistant to try and get an interview with you. Your video with Nial was too good. I had to experience it myself,” he laughed. His Aussie accent had framed every vowel so sweetly.
“No way!” Your hands covered your bashful smile and you took a small step backwards. “That’s so crazy. I meant it when I had said I was a long time fan. This was like, my dream interview.”
Calum’s eyes widened and he leaned in closer. “You’re serious? I’m your dream interview?”
You shrugged, eye contact was impossible to maintain during your confession. “Maybe,” you stretched out the word. “Yes. Yes. You are. I knew I wanted to meet you when you were still wearing skinny jeans on the regular. Valentine is like, my song.”
Calum laughed, a big chuckle, sudden and loud. “Oh my god. You’re too kind.” His gazed lowered to look and take you in. “We should—” he edged— “we should stay in touch. I’ll be in the area for a couple more days.”
Your lips parted, unsure if you were hearing him correctly. As your eyes finally bore into his, unwavering and a rich brown, you found only sincerity. “Yeah,” you agreed. “That’d be great.”
The two of you exchanged phone numbers and saved the names. Calum looked back at you as he slowly slipped his phone into his back pocket. “Actually, are you busy after this?”
You shook your head. “Not at all.”
After a couple more questions, you decided to go and get lunch at a sandwich shop a block over. You were intimate with their menu, having gone there at least once a week to get lunch. It was a cute spot, new but not in an obnoxious, overly trendy way. You were sure Calum would at least enjoy it. The pressure was on to pick something good after he basically asked you out. That fact replayed in your mind as the two of you stood in line to order. Trying to control yourself, you took a deep breath once more. This time, something caught your senses.
The smell was warm and deep. It was like morning dew on a festival grounds the morning after a show. If you were to walk around those grounds the memory of the dancing, the fun, the fruity drinks, and sweaty bodies, all intermingling to have fun, would all swarm your mind. The smell was so damn specific that it tore the breath you were trying to catch far away. Your eyes focused on the fact that you were next to order. You looked around, trying to settle back into the moment, but that smell was too sweet. You had been to the cafe too many times and whatever it was hadn’t been there before.
You caught Calum’s eye and he glanced at you with his brows knotted. The sudden attention left you fumbling for an explanation.
“I don’t know what it is, but something smells crazy. I come here all the time and haven’t smelt that before.”
Calum’s facial muscles relaxed, melting into amusement. “I think that might be me.”
Your head snapped up to focus on him.
“I got this new cologne the other day and have been wearing it a bit. You think it’s nice?”
A scoff left you before you could think. You played it off as a laugh. “No, yeah, it’s really good. Sweet like a plate of candied fruit but also masculine. Like teakwood or something.”
Calum gave you a satisfied, reversed frown, accepting the description. “Some of the notes were similar,” he explained. “I’m glad you like it.”
And before you could say anything more embarrassing, the cashier called, “Next.”
The two of you ordered and found a quieter corner to sit and wait for the food to be brought out. You sipped on your iced strawberry tea and Calum looked around at the scenery. The cafe was European with its tan stucco walls and wrought iron accents. The tables and chairs were thick wood but sanded soft and round with a dark stain that highlighted the grainy texture. Sections closer to the back that weren’t touched by the front floor to ceiling windows were lit primarily by warm, orange bulbs in assorted hanging fixtures.
“This place is nice,” Calum admired. His exploration finished, his focus returned to you, across the table. He rested his crossed forearms on the table, slightly flexing. Or else they were just that firm.
“I know right? Sometimes if I have the time, I’ll sit and get some work done. They have good coffee, so I drink one while I’m here.”
Calum nodded. “I could definitely be here for hours.”
Before more words were exchanged a food runner set down your food and retreated to the back with the table marker.
“Shit, this looks amazing.” Calum stared down at his Monte Cristo sandwich with the bright pink cup of raspberry sauce to dip on the side.
You beamed over at him. “It tastes amazing, too. I promise.”
Calum pulled his plate closer, deciding how to begin eating. “I’ll hold you to that.”
You took a large sip of your tea in an effort to keep your mouth shut. After taking a few bites, you asked, “What do you think?”
“I’m coming here tomorrow, and before I leave, and every time I'm in the city.” He waved his head from side to side, emphasizing his enjoyment.
“So it’s terrible?”
“Oh, so awful,” he joked back with a mock sincerity. The way he peaked over his sandwich, cutting his eyes to look at you made your stomach roll.
You managed a laugh and kept eating your own food.
After a while, the plates were cleared and it came time to depart. Out front, you and Calum stood, not quite sure how to leave.
“You have a couple more interviews tomorrow,” you prompted. “And then a show the next day. And then it’s on the road?”
Calum nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well if you have any free time in there and need something to do…” it was a longshot but you had to try.
“I think I can make something happen,” Calum mused.
You laughed and the two of you came together for a quick hug. As your face got close to his collar bone, you were taken back to the festival grounds. In your mind’s eye you were laying in the grass, holding onto Calum’s sweater, smelling faintly of his personal musk. You found yourself at the source: the spot where he sprayed his cologne. And you couldn’t keep your surprise to yourself. “Oh fuck,” you whispered and froze.
Calum leaned back to look at you. “What was that?”
You turned your head away, cheeks tinged pink, face too hot for the middle of October. “Don’t even. That was so unprofessional of me. You just… smell really fucking good.”
Calum hummed. “Professionalism be damned.” He pulled a little bit closer to you and said, “You smell good too.”
The fic is inspired by this post by viclftv on tiktok! She's right! That's exactly what I think Luke probably smells like and I just had to write about it lol.
Warnings: fluff, cuddling, idk, this was fun
wc: 926
In the down time was when you were the most relaxed. The sun shown its sweet rays past clean windows and white curtains. A faint glow wrapped delicately over the surface of the living room of the best place you’d ever lived—it was the space you shared with Luke, after all. Shelves of your belongings mixed with his. Everything was chosen back and forth, yours, his, yours, his, until it blended together like an I-Spy of your individual tastes. When brought together like that, it was simply love. It was most easily seen, not in the master bedroom, but the living room. It was where you hung out, watched movies, entertained guests (mainly the other three seconds of summer).
It was where you currently laid, sprawled out on the couch. Now, the couch was probably the least special part—there had been more care for picking out the fuzzy rug, the throw pillows. No, the couch was a last minute decision that had caught Luke’s eye when y’all were leaving a mall. It was a mass produced, suburban couch that was plush and had machine-washable slip covers. The kind of couch that was meant to be replaced when it deflated from a couple years of use, or endured too many spills. Luckily, none of that had happened… yet. You were surprised with the quality and how seamlessly it matched the rest of the space.
The hazy sun led your eyes around the room to every surface it graced. As your eyes looked about, your thoughts mellowed out. Your eyes dulled and fluttered shut. Falling asleep was easy when you knew you were safe, comfortable. Luke was out for a recording session and you weren’t sure when he’d be back. You figured a nap would be fine, especially since you were close to the front door. When Luke was home, you’d know.
Except when the locks on the door clicked under his key, you didn’t move. You hadn’t moved at the sound of his greeting, “I’m back, babe.”
He started shuffling about, setting down his bag and taking off his boots. Luke ran his hand through his blond curls, and you on the couch caught his eye. He approached quietly with a small smile. What steadily brought you back to consciousness was how sweet he smelled. The scent was a pleasant blend that was unmistakably Luke. The fresh leather of his clothes, the natural musk of his effort. How he managed the third note, you were unsure, but there was always a sweeter layer of dark cherry. It was intoxicating as it was beautiful. Every now and then he would wear a cologne or his vanilla body wash would get thrown in the mix. Luke as he was could never be replaced or outshined.
He brought his lips to your forehead, planting a butterfly’s kiss on your forehead. Your eyes fluttered at the contact. “Hey, hon,” he said, leaning away to get a better look at you. Y’all exchanged smiles. Sliding your legs a little off the couch, you tried to make room for him. “Sit,” you whispered, still in a freshly awoken haze. Luke simply hummed and slid against the back of the couch. He slunk an arm underneath you to hold you closer and get comfortable. After a couple shifts and pressing back together, you were situated flesh against each other.
The moment settled back down into something easy and relaxed. Your breath evened out, but remained deep to be able to take him all in. It was a silly indulgence that there was no stopping. A minute passed and you couldn’t take it. Wriggling around, Luke lifted his hands to let you move freely. You turned around, facing him, and planted your face in his chest.
“Did you miss me that bad?” he purred. His hands settled down, one on your waist, the other brushing up and down your opposite arm.
“You just smell good,” you replied. Your cheek was pushed against his chest, feeling the tank top he wore, his skin, the fine coils of hair. It was too much. Never had contact with another person sent you spiraling, itching to get closer. Totally enveloped by him was where you wanted to be. Not for attention or an anxious need, but out of love. Out of admiration and comradery with the person you have built up your life with. There, in the space constructed by the two of you, with your spoils of love was a sanctuary you never wanted to leave.
“No way, I need to shower. It was so stuffy at the studio,” Luke dismissed.
“Don’t care. It’s nice,” you continued to placate. There was no restraint as you rub your face slowly, back and forth on his chest. Bits of leather, musk, and cherry dance across your senses. Waking up with your god of a partner there before you, looking like that, smelling like that, it had built up and was too good, too overwhelming.
“If you say so,” he said with a hint of laughter in his voice. He moved his hand from your arm to your head. His fingers twirled through your hair. He moved back and forth between brushing with his fingers and rubbing your scalp. Your nerves were burning up and your heart resounded in your ribcage. You both stayed there for a good long while. The sun descended in the sky as the moon peaked up. Luke moved you to your shared bed, not without another kiss on the forehead.
While I was walking through Half Priced Books picking movies to watch, my brother handed me a movie. The Shining (1980) was what he handed me, stating that he had never seen it before. Surprised and excited, I bought it for him. On the car ride home I thought about horror movies, and movies in general. I had watched Fargo (1996) for the second time a couple of days ago and all I could think about was how great the atmosphere of the entire movie was. Even though the dialogue is so good, it's the snowy environment that brings it together. I think this holds true for many movies. It is the location and oddly enough, the weather during a movie that can make such a difference for the story. So many stories are based on their locations, it directs the plot. Fargo (1996) brings the feeling of isolation and a sense of harshness and reality of the plot and it makes it worse because of the conditions of living in North Dakota.
Westerns are a genre based on their locations, it is an open and freeing harshness that the ‘cowboy’ must endure that brings them into their stern nature. It is usually the people that threaten the ‘cowboy’ and his world that breaks down his and everybody else's freedom. There is a sense of patriotism and bravery in southern movies. In movies that are usually shot someplace sunny it is to depict a nostalgic sense or relatability. In The Texas Chain saw Massacre (1974) its location is mostly in the hot and dusty Texas roads. The scenes depict vile grotesque images and produces feelings of uneasiness that could only be developed from the environment. The empty homes that people have once lived in and the roads that so many pass by, no one thinks that something like that could happen to them when everything is abandoned, but it is that fact that causes them to be stranded. It works because it is familiar, the roadtrip scenes are familiar and nostalgic, they play into our sense of comfortability. Much like in The Shining (1980) does with the hotel and the mountains of Colorado.
When movies are rainy and foggy they can also be nostalgic but it also invokes mystery and can also have a bit of a thrill to them. Batman (2022) and Seven (1995) both have multiple scenes when it is raining, and in both cases are usually when important information is given. Similarly, they both have brighter scenes at the end of both movies even though their endings are neither very fulfilling or complete. It is the noir aspect of both films that make the cloudiness and rain work so well.
Anatomy of a Fall (2023), Longlegs (2024) The Holdovers (2023), and The Thing (1982) are also really good movies that have snowy environments and are really good at using the environment to the plot's advantage. Black Phone 2 (2025) also follows this during the beginning credits, but because of the dialogue and the outcome of the story it did not build on the roots that it started with, and is therefore not the best example. It goes without saying that this is an obvious observation but is still really cool and makes movies fun.
since becoming a barista i have noticed a few very distinct typologies among my customers. such as:
the woke left: young and fashionable. visible tattoos. often enjoys matcha, lavender flavoring, oat milk, and cold foam. pretty decent customers.
sweet old man: drinks very sweet iced lattes, pays in cash, puts all of his change in the tip jar. sometimes orders hot coffee and i get scared that his shaky old man hands will spill it and he'll get burned but that has not yet happened and god willing never shall.
evil old man: only wants drip coffee and declares it ridiculous that any other form of coffee exists. some variants only want americanos and these variants are even scarier. watch out.
sweet old woman: might need her daughter's help to order but is very bubbly and open to trying new things. compliments baristas freely and frequently.
evil old woman: does not want coffee and only wants sweet tea or soda. will not tip even if she spends three hours in the shop repeatedly asking baristas to fetch things for her.
errand husband: either stiltedly recites an order to you or shows you the order in their texts/notes app. needs to step out of line and make a phone call if you ask any follow-up questions.
grindset girlie: always wearing scrubs, an apron, and/or a name tag. orders the exact same thing every day and knows the exact change she'll need to pay for it. her regular order is both extremely caffeinated and extremely sweet.
#mamabear: is actively wrangling two to four children while ordering. order changes repeatedly because the children cannot decide if they want a muffin or a cookie or apple juice or chocolate milk etc. for some reason these women are always wearing an article of clothing or carrying some personalized item that says "mama" on it.
schoolchildren: band of two to eight adolescents hanging out after school. extremely indecisive but generally quite polite and tip well.
amnesiac in love: grown adult who needs their partner to tell them what they like. gets asked a question about their own preferences and turns to their partner to answer for them. generally acts like a shy child looking to their guardian for behavioral cues if you try to interact with them and only wants to talk to mommy i mean their wife.
this of course is not an exhaustive list but those are just some of the most consistent Types i get. ok bye xoxo
Jon Bernthal willingly uses his platform to lend a voice to abusers of women, push the zionist propaganda that Palestine were equal oppressors, and be an egregious cop bootlicker that openly praised cops wearing the Punisher skull.
Triple threat of dogshittery but this app babies and protects him to death and acts like none of these are verifiable from his own fucking social media and podcast 🥴
There is really something strange about how female celebrities that show their true colors like Sydney Sweeney gets easily lambasted but their equally gross male celebrity counterparts that are unapologetic with their dogshit stances like Bernthal is given endless grace and protected. Why not keep the same energy? Wonder why.
