Rating: PG 13

Warnings: None

Word Count: 619

Author’s Note: Okay so, this is a little thing I wrote up really quick. It sort of is about the feelings I’m dealing with right now. I figured I might as well write out my feelings. I hope you guys like it, and remember that a new Calum series will be coming soon.

You used to say that loving Calum was the best decision you ever made. You never thought you’d take it back.

Hi lovely!! I’m okay thanks, how are you? I made this post last week with some blurb recs on it (they’re all dadsos) and there are lots of fics/recs on my ‘recs’ tag on my blog, but here are my favourite blogs for writing;

@calpops @sadistmichael @sexgodashton @calumrose @cal-puddies @talkfastromance4 @irwinkitten @cakesunflower @cashtonasfuck @malumsmermaid @lashtonswildflower @calteahood @littledrummeraussie @spicycal @karajaynetoday @notinthesameguey @rebelwith0utacause

THOMAS

HOOD

The idea for this came from this post, which I thought was so sweet and beautiful — so I just had to write about it! Features soft boyfriend and dad Luke, like pretty much all of my writing does lmao. As always thank you to @calumrose for talking about this with me all day and reading along the way! I’m really happy with how this turned out so please let me know what you think if you enjoyed it too.♥️

Word count: 2,480

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy.

“I think it’s time for a coffee.”

Luke thinks out loud, talking to Petunia as he opens the front door to your shared home, unclipping her lead so she could get a drink from her bowl. Since lockdown had begun, Luke had gone to the effort of going for a run most mornings — wanting to get out of the house (and his head) before a day of Zoom meetings and phone calls.

Running usually left him feeling energised, yet today is one of those days — he knows he needs at least one more coffee before he gets anything done. He left around an hour ago, leaving you in bed to wake up at your own pace. The house is quiet as he steps in, but he knows you’re up — he can hear the rumbling of the TV from the lounge, needing something to fill the silence of the house whilst he’s gone. He knows you have your own work to do today too.

“Good morning, babe.” He calls out into the lounge, looking into where you’re curled up on the couch — mug of tea in your hand, laptop on your lap. It’s still relatively early morning — he hasn’t checked the time, but he knows you have to be logged on by 9:00am.

“Hey, good run?” You ask, looking up at him and taking in his post run state — something he hates, yet you couldn’t get enough of it. There was something about it — long, bleached blonde curls tied back into a little bun, a tank top that perfectly shows off his arms. He leans down, lips brushing against your forehead in a silent hello. “You’re all sweaty.”

Warnings: just a bunch of good old fluff, swearing, alcohol

Author’s Note: yes this takes place in the outer banks no u are not allowed to mention the show—they are nothing alike. anyway i’m back :) hi

Summary: Y/N and Luke are neighbors in a beachside town where tourists are annoying and tropical storms aren’t rare. And they just can’t stop flirting. 

Word Count: 5.6k 

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Pelican Perch was a dead-end street.

It was well-wooded, wax myrtles and river birch kissing sandy chunks of pavement while homes too small for the average nuclear family were nestled behind thick, invasive vines. Quaint homes designed to keep the rain and the bugs out. Local homes. Each had their own shimmering windsock hung out front that was already tattered from storms, gifted to them by the neighborhood community last spring. Personalized homes. Beach homes that shared every aspect without even trying. Almost every shingle had been defaced by weather damage throughout the years. And the air always smelled of hot gravel and honeysuckle on breezy days. Homes on this road were loved.

You loved yours most of all.

With a front porch stuffed full of plants—ferns, strawberries, tomatoes, the lot—and knick-knacks you had collected throughout the past year, it was easy to love and call home to something that had once been temporary. The baby blue bike perched against a yaupon bush was proudly your preferred mode of transportation. Snuck far up the driveway sat a rusting 2005 Toyota Corolla with sand painted across its rear, and it was not well-loved, though it had been well-lived. The windsock hung off of your porch matched the color of your bike.

The last house on the street never put their windsock up. That house was right beside yours.