Could you write something where the reader is in love with calum but when she tells him he doesn't feel the same. It might be cliche, but I just want to read something like that 😄. You can end it happy or not. It's up to you!
Yeah sure! You like that angst huh lol this is my first requested work so pls let me know what you think! I welcome feedback :)
p.s. I definitely sneaked in lyrics from friends by Ed Sheeran and a 5sos favorite in here
Not In The Same Way
Warnings: kissing, swearing
Word count: 1.8k
You were in the middle of applying conditioner in your hair when that dreaded song came on shuffle. You groaned and immediately put your hand out of the shower to press skip. Normally, you loved “Heartbreak Girl,” to Calum’s dismay. You would even blast the song in your car when driving with him just to have him roll his eyes at you in that way that made your heart soar. But lately the song hit a little too close to home.
It was ironic, really, how you embodied the song who the man you were madly in love with hated. You might as well have written the song yourself. Your name was on speed dial in Calum’s phone. You were there for him at his beck and call. If it came to it, you would probably light yourself on fire just to keep him warm.
You were so obvious and Calum so oblivious, it was ridiculous. Everyone knew but him. Or at least, he pretended not to know. He never said anything. You were simply a friend to him. Yet, you could not wrap your head around the fact that your friends didn’t treat you like he did. There were touches and glances that made it hard for you to figure out whether he felt the same or you were just reading too much into it.
After last weekend, you didn’t even know what to think anymore. You spent most of the night at Calum’s party sitting outside with him by his fire pit—side by side, your heads lying comfortably on the couch, facing one another, so closely, you could see the richness of his eyes in the moonlight.
You talked softly to one another, even though the music inside had bled through the walls, and you could hear every song being played. You didn’t care, you might as well have been completely alone. At least that’s how it felt when he grabbed your hand and started swiping his thumb delicately over your knuckles.
You could have thrown up right there and then, if not from the amount of alcohol you had ingested earlier, then from the butterflies erupting inside you. Instead, you smiled at him and stayed with him until you went home.
He definitely threw you off when he called you “babygirl” in one of your text conversations the other day. He had many nicknames for you, but he had never called you that before. In fact, you had had many guy friends in the past, and they had never called you that either.
You were going out of your mind. You talked to your friends, asking what this all meant, and they unanimously agreed that he felt the same way as you did. You didn’t want to believe it—you had been hung up over Calum for so long, you didn’t think he’d ever like you back.
But after the recent turn of events, you had mustered up the courage to face Calum and confess your feelings for him. Except he didn’t love you back.
“What?” You asked softly. If it weren’t just you and Calum in his living room, he would have barely heard it.
“I—I’m so sorry,” Calum sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know you felt this way. You’re so sweet, Y/N, and you’re one of my closest friends.”
“I just—,” he ponders for a second. “I care for you. I love you, but—“
“I get it,” you said, sounding more pathetic than you intended. “I love you, you love me, but not in the same way.”
Calum stared at you, his brows furrowed with worry, and his Adam’s apple bobbing anxiously. If you knew better, you would think he was looking at you with pity.
You couldn’t stand it any longer. You stood up and walked out of his house. You didn’t turn back, but it’s not like he followed after you anyway.
It had been hell for you. Calum had been calling and texting nonstop. He even stopped by your house a couple of times, but you made your roommate tell him you weren’t home every time.
You couldn’t bear to face him. It hurt too much to look at him, it hurt too much to love him.
You had never understood the real pain of heartbreak until now, and you never even dated. But here you found yourself, on a Saturday, sitting on your couch, eating a pint of ice cream while watching your comfort TV series, pondering over your friendship with Calum.
And you were mad. Pissed, even. The only reason you confessed your feelings, or even thought that there was a remote chance that he’d like you back, was because he had led you on.
He had given you so many mixed signals—how could you not think he’d like you back? You didn’t want to be that person, but, c’mon!
Why would you call your friend babygirl? Why would you caress them and stare into their eyes adoringly? Why would you do all those things and more, not to mean it?
You were all for intimacy within platonic relationships, you embraced it, really, but what you and Calum had seemed to be just a little too intimate. He had led you on and had had the audacity to not even know he was doing so.
And so, you were determined to let him know. He would not get away with this, wondering how you could think that he had feelings for you, in that oblivious manner of his.
You knocked on his door with command. After half a minute, he opened the door, standing in grey sweatpants and a worn-out Ramones t-shirt. Your heart ached as soon as you saw him. He looked so good, and you had missed him so much, but then you remembered the reason why you missed him in the first place, and the fury took over again.
“You fucking cunt,” you pushed past him into his house, stopping to stand in the middle of his living room, and pacing back and forth with your hands on your hips.
You probably looked a mess. You were still in your pajamas, some shorts and a hoodie you stole from Calum, and your hair tied up in a messy bun. Baby hairs galore.
“Pardon?” He walked right behind you, his brows furrowed with confusion.
“I said,” you stopped to face him and glare, “you’re a fucking cunt.”
He looked around confusedly, as if looking for someone to explain to him what was going on, but it was just him and you in his house. “What are you talking about?”
“You led me on!” You pointed a finger at him. “You threw at me all these mixed signals that made me believe you liked me back only for me to come out looking like a fool!”
“Woah, woah,” he threw his hands up defensively, “I did not lead you on!”
“Yes, you did! You gave me glances and touches and—“
“—the hell I didn’t!” He interrupted, his volume level rising up to match yours. “I treated you like a friend. Since when can’t friends be intimate? Weren’t you the one preaching that physical touch isn’t reserved only for romantic relationships? Or were you just full of shit?”
“Excuse me?!” You shouted indignantly, the whole neighborhood could probably hear you. “Do you call all your friends babygirl?! Do you share the same bed when one of you is too drunk to go home at night? Because friends just sleep in another bed, and friends don’t treat each other the way you treat me!”
“You know what?!” Calum now was shouting as loud as you. “Yes, I call my friends babygirl.”
“Ask Ashton! I’ve definitely called him that once or twice,” he smiled sarcastically.
You groaned and put your head in your hands, stepping closer to him in defiance, “Agh, you’re so fucking annoying! You never take anything seriously. I’m here, baring my fucking soul to you, and you couldn’t give less of a damn! I don’t even know why I even like you, you fucking asshat! You spawn of the devil! You make my blood boil! I fucking hate you! I would go as far as calling you a son of a bitch but I actually really like your mothe—“
Without warning, Calum crashed his lips against yours, holding your head in place with both his hands. He moved his mouth against yours with ardor, the softness of his lips contrasting the firmness of his kiss.
You stood immobile for a second, but then you started kissing him back. You opened up your mouth and he slid his tongue in, pressing it softly against yours. You were kissing each other rapidly—his hands had slipped down from your neck to your waist and up again to your back while you grabbed at his curls and pressed yourself flush against him.
Calum turned his head and deepened the kiss. One of you moaned, you weren’t sure if it had been him or you. You just knew that liquid warmth was spreading throughout your chest and body. You could feel him inside your veins like an elixir.
It was intoxicating.
You pulled away first. Calum leaned in instinctively, his lips swollen and red. You tried your best to ignore how enticing they looked or that he was still holding on to you or that his eyes were clouded and staring at your lips.
You grabbed his hands and pulled them off of you, stepping a couple of feet away from him—you could barely breathe or think when he was standing so close to you.
“No,” you stated firmly. “You don’t get to make me feel like I stand a chance, reject me, and then kiss me. It’s not fair to me.”
“Y/N,” he sighed softly, folding his hands at the crown of his head, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?” You pushed. “You don’t know if you led me on? You don’t know if you like me?” Why the hell did you kiss me then?”
“I don’t know!” He repeated. “I just know that, at that moment, I wanted to kiss you, so I did. It was impulsive, I didn’t think about it.”
“Of course you didn’t!” You threw your hands up in disbelief, “you never stop to think how your actions affect other people. That’s why we’re in this mess in the first place!”
“Are you serious?! You kissed me back!”
“That’s because I’m in love with you!” You shouted with hot anger, tears brimming at your eyes. “I kissed you back because I actually care about you. So, here’s my question, Calum. Do you want me or not?”
He sighed desperately, his eyes looking around frantically. “I don’t know! I’m confused. I don’t know if my feelings for you come from friendship or something more. I just know that I wanted to kiss you, so I did.”
“Well, you don’t get to kiss me without certainty. I deserve a sure thing, I deserve more than ‘I don’t know.’”
With that, you stepped out of his house, not looking back, and once again, Calum didn’t follow.
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i have to tell you that the second i saw cal and ash on that mountain getaway a couple weeks ago, i thought about how desperately i would love a sequel to your turks & caicos fic set during that trip. (this is not a request, i promise, i just wanted to tell you bc that is one of my fav fics of all time)
Aw anon!! 🥺 Gosh I hadn't even thought about that when I was in my feelings about the mountain getaway pictures, which is wild because I am just remembering now that I started a fic after the honeymoon comment initially happened (like, very soon after, because @elliebirdthings was at that show and told me about it and we were freaking out haha), before we knew that they went to Turks & Caicos, and I had them taking that trip to a cabin in Maine.
Just for kicks, because this message made me smile and I love you for that, here's the beginning of that fic. It's unfinished obviously (not even any kissing!), but there's some nice stuff in there I think. This fic was going to be titled A whole fucking lifetime of this after the American Pleasure Club album which was a title I should have kept, goddammit. Also randomly in here I have them driving to the cabin while listening to My Bloody Valentine, who Ashton later called out as one of his main influences for Superbloom.
1600 words of unfinished Cashton under the cut! 😘
The day after the last meeting about the promo schedule the dressing room conversation turns, as it does, to plans for the break. It’s a month out, but they’ve to a man developed a fetish for planning their free time carefully as soon as the schedule’s set. Planning things makes Ashton feel like a grown-up. He likes renting cars. Sometimes he scrolls through AirBnB for hours just to see what’s out there.
“I’m going straight back, we got Dodgers tickets,” Michael says.
“I remember when you used to say ‘we’ and it meant you and me,” Calum says. He wiggles a little from where he’s snuggled against Michael on the couch like he wants to get away, but of course Michael doesn’t let him. Ashton thinks he probably wasn’t really trying.
“Aw, you’ll always be my first love,” Michael tells him, squeezing Calum to him more tightly. “You wanna make out just for old times sake?”
“I do not,” says Calum, but he lets Michael give him a big kiss on the forehead, his face squinching up happily.
“I just wanna get away for a bit, no work or social media or anything,” says Ashton, ignoring their tomfoolery. “A little cabin by a lake somewhere.”
“Oh yeah?” Luke says. “Where are you and Cal going this time?”
“Maine,” Calum says, at the same time as Ashton says, “Why would you assume we’re going somewhere together?”
A small silence falls over the room.
With dignity, Ashton says, “Calum and I are going to Maine.”
“Just get out in front of it this time,” Michael advises. “Let everyone know it’s another honeymoon. Take control of the narrative.”
“How many times can you go on a honeymoon before you have to acknowledge that you’re married?” Luke asks nobody in particular.
“It’s a bro trip,” Ashton says firmly. “For bros.”
“It’s very bromantic,” Luke says. “It’s okay, I’m not hurt I wasn’t invited. I love going back to LA and jerking off alone.”
“It’s nice that we’ve all got plans,” Calum says. He’s settled peacefully back against Michael, Michael absently petting his hair.
“It’s not a honeymoon,” Ashton insists.
Whatever, Ashton called it what he called it, okay? Might as well control the narrative.
Over drinks at the bar after their last show Calum asks, “Where would you want to go on your honeymoon, anyway? Somewhere new?”
Ashton pokes at the ice in his cocktail with his straw. Aren’t they supposed to not be using straws anymore because of the ocean or whatever? Ashton loves the ocean, it’s very important to him. Also this cocktail sucks. “Can I try your drink?” he asks. “I don’t love mine.” Calum has something with ginger in it, and bubbles. Calum slides his obligingly over, and Ashton passes his own over to be fair.
“I like yours better,” Calum says after a sip. “You wanna trade?”
Sometimes Ashton does believe in soulmates. “Yes, thank you.” He takes a long drink. “It would be nice to spend more time in Italy. Not one of the tourist-y parts though, somewhere quiet. Up north, maybe, one of the smaller towns.” He tries to picture what it would be like: olive groves, blue skies, stone churches. An old villa with lemon trees and a view of the hills. He’s so used to traveling with the band or just with Calum that it’s hard to picture anyone else there with him. They’re all as prone as anyone to get swept up with girls to the exclusion of most everything else, but Ashton can’t really imagine a future without seeing Calum all the time, without talking to him every day. Maybe he and Calum could just get married around the same time and they could all go on a honeymoon together.
“Yeah, that’d be pretty nice,” Calum says, looking wistful. Ashton wants to take a picture of him, capture the way a curl rests against his temple, how the blue neon lights behind the bar hit the glitter he let Ashton smear on his cheekbones before the show. They made a no social media pledge for this trip but Ashton’s bringing his camera anyway. He has to keep in practice, doesn’t he? Anyway, it’s important to capture these memories.
“Maybe we should just go,” Ashton tells him. “Why not? Who knows how long it could take for me to fool someone into living with this forever?” He sucks down the last of his drink, feeling sorry for himself now. What if he falls in love and she moves in and Calum stops coming over in the morning to walk to their favorite coffee shop together, and stops picking Ashton up so they can go hike Runyon, and stops bringing Duke over like he owns the damn place and doesn’t care about the dog hair that Ashton has to hoover off his couch pillows? That would be terrible. Worst of all, what if it was Ashton that suddenly wanted those things to stop?
“I’ll live with you forever,” Calum says, too busy flagging down the bartender to intuit Ashton’s emotional crisis. He gestures to Ashton’s empty drink. “Another one of those, right?” His own is still half full. Maybe he didn’t really like Ashton’s better after all.
“Yeah, thanks man,” Ashton sighs.
Calum bumps his knee against Ashton’s, the barstool squeaking beneath him. “Ash, you’re gonna find somebody if that’s what you want. Anyone would be the luckiest person alive to be with you. Maybe we could do Italy after the tour wraps, we’ll finish in Spain so it won’t be far.”
The thought cheers Ashton a bit; that’s a decent amount of time to get on AirBnB and see what he can find that’s available. It’ll be nice to have something to look forward to, Italian sunshine and limoncello and the quiet.
“Mike and Luke will definitely give us shit though about planning another honeymoon while we’re still on this one,” Calum says.
“Let ‘em,” says Ashton.
It’s not a long flight but it’s a bit of a drive from there to get to the cabin. But Calum said he wanted something remote and quiet, so it’s worth the wait, the drive in the dark. There’s moonlight, anyway, and Calum took the wheel, getting them the rest of the way there in their little silver Prius rental. He puts on My Bloody Valentine and sings along, low and comforting to listen to after so many days straight of playing, of promo. Halfway through the trip Ashton thinks he sees a shooting star, maybe thought he dreamed it until he felt Calum’s soft nudge of knuckles against his arm, heard his quiet, “You see that, bro?”
The way gets bumpy, thick with trees, dark and hard to navigate once they turn off the main road. At the end of it all there’s the cabin, looming in the dark, lights left on for them and the key exactly where it’s supposed to be. It’s past one a.m. but they still give the place a wander, stopping at the largest bedroom facing the lake. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows Ashton sees trees, darkness, the black glitter of water under starlight. Calum asks, “You want this one?”
Ashton looks further and just sees more darkness. “It’s kind of unnerving at night,” he says. “Anyone could be out there.” The other bedroom has smaller windows, but the point stands. “Do you wanna just watch TV or something in here and then decide?”
“If we get axe murdered here I hope our ghosts come back and leave a one star review,” Calum says, but he’s already shrugging his duffel off his shoulders and kicking off his shoes.
The host left them a bottle of pinot grigio so Ashton pours up a few glasses while Calum strips down to his boxers and gets in bed. The boxers have cartoon pugs all over them. “I can’t believe that’s the lingerie you’re wearing for our honeymoon,” Ashton says, handing him a glass. “I also can’t believe those boxers even exist.”
Calum raises it to him in a salute and takes a sip. “These boxers are fantastic, but I guess if you want me to take them off…” he trails off, eyebrow raised, thumb hooked in the waistband pushing them down past his hipbone, then further until Ashton can see the crease of his thigh.
“No, no,” Ashton says hurriedly, “I’m just saying, what’s wrong with a nice pair of footie pajamas? Keeps you warm. Keeps you modest.” Nevertheless he shucks his own clothes except for his own (very grown-up, perfectly normal, in a flattering shade of dark green) boxers and joins Calum in bed. Calum’s already stopped paying attention to him, too busy trying to figure out how to work the remote. He finally gets the screen to flash on, and Ashton stays quiet, sipping his wine while Calum flips channels, finally landing on something in black and white. Cary Grant comes on screen but Ashton still isn’t sure what movie it is; Calum seems interested enough, setting the remote down between them, so he doesn’t complain. The wine goes down easy and Ashton does too after not too long.
He rolls onto his side and sees that Calum’s eyes are already closed. It doesn’t look like he’s asleep yet; it always takes him a bit, leaving him in a dozy stage for about ten minutes during which he might respond crankily to any communication or with adorable mumbling affection. Ashton turns the sound down and says, as quietly as he can, “TV off?” Calum’s eyes don’t open, but he nods a little. “Okay. You want me to go sleep in the other room?”
Calum moves then, a sleepy shift of his body, fumbling a hand up and blindly patting the sheet until he makes contact with Ashton’s hand on the remote and squeezes it, links their fingers together like he can’t quite figure out how to make it work. It feels nice. “’S’okay,” he murmurs. “Stay here.”
Ashton didn’t feel like getting up anyway.
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