The art of I love you | Cameron Cade
summary: The 4 times you tried to say I love you and the one time Cameron did it for you
warnings: none , fluffy as hell
pairings: Cameron Cade x black reader
The sound of traffic was loud on the avenue right outside your apartment window, a steady, rhythmic thrumming that usually put you straight to sleep. Tonight, though, you were wide awake, sitting cross-legged on your bed with a silk scarf wrapped tight around your edges and your laptop burning a hole through your sweatpants. It was almost two in the morning, and the blue light from the screen was starting to make your eyes blur, but you couldn't stop staring at the shadow shifting under your bedroom door.
A second later, the brass knob turned, slow and deliberate, and Cameron slipped into the room like he belonged there. He always did that—moving with this quiet, careful grace that didn't make sense for a man who spent his Saturdays getting slammed into the turf by three-hundred-pound defensive linemen. He was still wearing his grey team standard hoodie, the one with the faded numbers on the sleeve, and his skin looked warm and golden under the soft glow of your bedside lamp. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, dropping his duffel bag by the wall before his eyes found yours.
"You still up, beautiful? I told you not to wait on me," he murmured, his voice deep and rough from a long flight back from the away game, thick with that slow, Southern drawl that always made your chest feel tight.
"Couldn't sleep if I wanted to, Cam. You know how this storm get," you said, closing your laptop and sliding it onto the nightstand. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a soft sigh as he walked over to the edge of your mattress. "How your shoulder feeling? I saw that hit in the third quarter. Had me ready to jump through the TV screen, for real."
Cameron let out a low rumble of a laugh, the sound vibrating right through the mattress as he sat down beside your hip. He reached out, his large, calloused hand finding the bare skin of your ankle and giving it a gentle squeeze. His thumb rubbed small circles right against your bone, his skin warm against yours. "Man, they tried it tonight, I ain't even gonna lie. But you know they can't keep a real nigga down. I'm good, baby. Just tired. Missed the hell out of you."
The honesty of it hit you right in the center of your chest, sudden and heavy. It wasn't the first time he'd said something like that, but every single time Cameron looked at you with those dark, heavy-lidded eyes like you were the only thing in the room that mattered, the words got stuck right at the back of your throat. You looked at the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble dark against his skin, and the way his broad shoulders relaxed the minute he was near you. You wanted to say it so bad. The three words were right there, sitting on the tip of your tongue, heavy and sweet like honey. I love you, Cam. You almost let it slip, almost let the words tumble out into the quiet space between you two. But instead, you just reached out, your fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling him closer. "Get out them dirty clothes and get under these covers then, quarterback. I know you freezing."
He just smiled, that slow, private smile he only ever saved for you, and leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the center of your forehead. "Yeah, yeah. Hold on."
It was funny how easy it was to fall into him, how natural everything felt even when you were terrified of the weight of what you were keeping inside. It took you back to the very beginning, back to sophomore year when he wasn't even the starting quarterback yet, just a boy with too much pressure on his shoulders and eyes that followed you across the yard every single Tuesday after your afternoon lecture.
That first time you almost said it, the words had nearly choked you in the middle of the campus library during finals week. The air conditioning in that old brick building was broken, making the air thick and stifling, and you had been staring at the same page of your study guide for forty-five minutes until your head throbbed. Cameron had showed up unannounced, sliding into the wooden chair across from you with a plastic bag from the corner store. He didn't say a word at first, just reached across the table and slid a cold bottle of blue Gatorade and a package of those sweet cream honey buns right over your notes.
"You looking crazy right now, heavy eyes," he had whispered, his voice low so the librarian wouldn't look over. He had his hood pulled up, his dark eyes fixed on your tired face with so much quiet concern it made your stomach do a whole backflip. "When was the last time you ate something that didn't come out a vending machine?"
"Shut up, Cameron. I'm stressed," you had pouted, but your hands were already twisting the cap off the drink. "This professor think we got nothing else to do but memorize a whole textbook in three days. I'm literally about to lose my mind."
He had reached across the table then, his big hand covering both of yours where they rested on the notebook. His fingers were warm, his skin slightly rough against yours, and he just held your hands flat against the paper until your breathing finally slowed down. "Look at me," he had whispered, and when you raised your eyes to his, his expression was so soft it hurt. "You smart as hell. You know this stuff front to back, baby. Stop letting them head games get to you. I ain't letting you fail, you hear me? If we gotta stay up all night, we stay up. I'll read the flashcards to you until your eyes pop out."
You had stared at him, at the genuine, unbothered devotion in his face, and the realization had hit you like a physical blow to the sternum. He had his own playbook to study, his own film to watch before the big scrimmage on Friday, but he was sitting in a stuffy library at midnight just to make sure you didn't cry over an exam. The words had rushed up your throat so fast you had to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep them back. You had wanted to yell it right there under the fluorescent lights, wanted to tell him that he was the best thing that had ever happened to you, that you loved him so much it made your ribs ache. But you had just swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around his big thumb. "You a fool, Cam," you had murmured instead, your voice cracking just a little bit. "But thank you. For real."
He had just grinned, shaking his head. "I got you. Always."
Back in the present, the sound of the shower running in the bathroom brought you out of the memory. You shifted under the heavy duvet, pulling it up to your chin as you watched the line of yellow light under the bathroom door. A few minutes later, the door swung open, a cloud of warm, steam-scented air billowing out into the cool bedroom. Cameron walked out wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants, his skin gleaming from the water, his short hair damp and dark. He looked massive in the small room, his chest broad and marked with the faint bruises of a rough game, but the way he walked toward the bed was entirely gentle.
He crawled in beside you, the mattress dipping low under his weight, and immediately reached out for you. His long arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest until there wasn't a single inch of space left between you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his warm breath fanning across your skin and giving you goosebumps.
"You smell like that cocoa butter stuff," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "Missed this. Out there in them hotels, everything smell like bleach and old carpet. Drove me crazy."
"You could've stayed at your apartment, you know. Your roommates probably wanted to celebrate the win," you said softly, though your hands were already coming up to rest over his forearms, locking him in place against you.
"Man, fuck them boys," Cameron muttered with a soft grunt, his grip tightening around your waist. "They can celebrate without me. I wanted to be where my peace is at. That's you. Always been you."
Your heart did that dangerous, familiar stutter again. He said things like that so easily, without a single drop of hesitation, while you kept your own heart locked behind a brick wall, terrified of what would happen if you let the truth drop.
The second time you almost broke down and said it was during the middle of the summer, right before junior year started. It had been one of those suffocating Alabama afternoons where the humidity made the air feel like wet velvet, and you had been trying to move a heavy, old-school wooden dresser up the narrow stairs of your new place. Your friends had backed out at the last minute, and you were at the bottom of the steps, sweaty, frustrated, and on the verge of tears because the corner of the wood had chipped your fresh manicure.
Cameron had pulled up in his beat-up truck, the engine rattling, and he hadn't even parked right before he was jumping out the driver's side. He was wearing an old sleeveless tank top, his shoulders glistening with sweat under the burning sun. He took one look at your frustrated face, walked right past you without a word, and lifted the entire dresser by himself, his biceps straining and the veins in his forearms popping as he carried it up the flights of stairs like it was nothing but a cardboard box.
When he came back down, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, you were standing there with a bottle of cold water, looking down at your broken nail. "I could've helped," you had mumbled, feeling small and irritated. "You didn't have to do all that by yourself. You gonna mess your back up before the season even start."
Cameron had taken the water, took a long, deep swig, and then stepped right into your space. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray tear that had slipped down your cheek from pure frustration, wiping it away with a tenderness that didn't match his size. "Hey. Look at me," he had said, his voice dropping low, serious. "What I tell you about trying to do everything by your damn self? You got me. I'm your muscle, baby. Anything you need moved, anything you need fixed, you call me. I don't care if I'm in the middle of practice, I'm coming. Stop stressing."
You had looked up at him, your chest heaving, the heat of the sun nothing compared to the sudden, burning warmth that filled your entire body. He was standing there, sweaty and dirty, looking at you like you were a piece of fine china he was responsible for keeping safe. The words had been right there, pounding against your teeth, forcing their way up. I love you, I love you so much it scares me. The urge to say it had been so loud it felt like a physical weight in the air. But you had just cleared your throat, looking away from his intense gaze, and handed him a clean towel. "You extra as hell, Cameron Cade. For real. But thank you."
He had just chuckled, hooking his arm around your neck and pulling you into his chest, unbothered by the sweat. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, let's get the rest of these boxes before I lose my mind in this heat."
Thinking about it now, with his chest moving slow and steady against your back, you felt a wave of fondness so strong it made your eyes sting. You turned around in his arms, shifting until you were facing him in the dark. The shadows highlighted the strong bridge of his nose, the soft curve of his lips, and the way his long eyelashes fluttered as he started to drift off to sleep.
"Cam?" you whispered, your voice barely louder than the rain outside.
"Hmm?" he grunted, his eyes cracking open just a fraction, dark and full of sleep. He reached up, his large hand cupping the side of your face, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone with a slow, heavy rhythm. "What's wrong, baby? You hurt?"
"No," you breathed, leaning into his touch, your heart hammering against your ribs. This was the third time. The words were lined up, perfect and true, ready to break through the silence of the room. You looked at him, at the way he immediately woke up the second he thought something might be wrong with you, and you wanted to say it so badly. You wanted to give him that piece of yourself. But the old fear, that silly, stubborn pride, gripped your throat at the last second. You swallowed the words again, burying them deep down. "Just wanted to say I'm glad you home safe. Good game tonight."
Cameron let out a soft, satisfied sigh, his eyes closing completely as he pulled you even closer, his face burying itself into your hair. "Me too, baby. Me too. Go to sleep now. I got you."
The fourth time it happened, it wasn't quiet at all. It was the night after they won the rivalry game, and the whole campus was on fire. The house party his teammates were throwing was packed to the ceiling, the bass from the speakers shaking the floorboards so hard you could feel it in your teeth. Everyone wanted a piece of him that night; every guy wanted to dap him up, and every girl was looking at him from across the room. He was the man on campus, the star quarterback who had just secured their spot in the playoffs.
But Cameron hadn't spent the night networking or letting the attention get to his head. The second he saw you standing near the kitchen, looking a little overwhelmed by the crowd in your pretty black dress, he had pushed right through the sea of people, ignoring the folks calling his name. He had walked straight to you, wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, and rested his chin on your shoulder, effectively shutting out the rest of the world.
Later that night, when you finally got away from the noise and were sitting in the front seat of his truck, the windows fogged up from the cool night air, he had turned off the ignition and just looked at you. The dashboard lights cast a soft amber glow over his face, making him look younger, vulnerable.
"Man, I don't care about none of that extra stuff out there," he had said suddenly, his voice thick with emotion as he reached over the center console to take your hand. He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a hard, desperate kiss against your skin. "All them people screaming my name, it don't mean nothing if I can't look over and see you in the stands. You the only one who knew me when I was sitting on the bench, wiping sweat off the turf. Don't ever think this football stuff come before you. None of it matters without you."
The sheer weight of his devotion had made your breath hitch. Your heart had felt like it was going to burst right out of your chest, the love you had for him rising up like a tidal wave, threatening to break through every barrier you had ever built. The words had been right there, screaming to be let out. I love you, Cameron. I've been loving you for so long. You had opened your mouth, the first syllable forming on your lips, but the sudden shine of high beams from another car leaving the lot had broken the spell. You had blinked, pulling your hand back just an inch, the moment slipping through your fingers like sand. "You a good man, Cameron," you had whispered, your voice shaking. "Don't ever forget who you are."
He had just looked at you, a faint, knowing look in his eyes that made you think he knew exactly what you had swallowed down, before he started the truck again. "I won't. Not as long as you here."
Now, hours later in the deep quiet of the early morning, the storm outside had finally passed, leaving nothing but the sound of water dripping from the roof. The room was cool, but the heat radiating from Cameron's body kept you completely warm. You shifted slightly, trying to get a better look at his face, thinking he was fast asleep.
But his eyes were open. He was looking at you in the dim light, his gaze steady, clear, and incredibly heavy with something he wasn't trying to hide anymore. His hand shifted from your waist, his long fingers trailing up your spine until they reached the back of your neck, his touch so gentle it made you shiver.
"You been doing that a lot lately," Cameron said softly, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the quiet room.
"Doing what?" you whispered back, your heart skipping a beat.
"Looking at me like you got something heavy on your mind," he murmured, his thumb rubbing the soft skin just behind your ear. He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made the rest of the world completely fade away. "Like you wanna say something but you keep pulling it back. You think I don't see you?"
You caught your breath, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his sweatpants. "Cam..."
"Nah, let me speak for a minute," he interrupted gently, his voice dropping even lower, thick with a raw, unshielded honesty that made your eyes fill with sudden tears. He looked at you like you were his entire world, his chest rising and falling against yours. "I know you scared. I know you like to keep your heart safe, and I ain't ever wanted to push you into nothing you wasn't ready for. But I can't keep sitting here acting like I ain't completely gone over you. I don't care about the timing, and I don't care about nothing else."
He took a deep breath, his hand moving to cup your jaw, his fingers sliding into your hair as he tilted your face up just a little bit more.
"I love you," Cameron said, the words falling from his lips clear, steady, and full of a quiet certainty that shook you to your very core. He didn't blink, didn't hesitate. "I love you so much it don't even make sense, baby. I loved you when we was sitting in that library, I loved you when I was carrying that ugly dresser up them stairs, and I love you more right now. You ain't gotta say it back if you ain't ready, but I needed you to know where my heart is at. It's yours. It's been yours."
The wall you had spent months building up didn't just crack; it completely shattered, crumbling into nothing at the sound of his voice. The tears you had been holding back finally slipped down your cheeks, warm and fast, but you were smiling so wide your face hurt.
"You’re such an idiot, Cameron Cade," you choked out, a low, wet laugh breaking from your chest as you reached up, both of your hands coming to frame his face, your fingers memorizing the warmth of his skin. You pulled him down to you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft, deep, and filled with everything you had been keeping inside for so long. When you finally pulled back just an inch, your foreheads still touching, you let out the breath you felt like you'd been holding for a year. "I love you too. I been wanting to say it so many times. I love you so much, Cam."
Cameron let out a low, shaky breath of his own, his whole body relaxing against yours as a huge, beautiful smile broke across his face. He kissed you again, hard and sweet, before burying his face back into your neck, his arms wrapping around you so tight you could barely breathe. "Man... you don't even know how long I been waiting to hear you say that," he muttered, his voice thick with relief. "You got me for life now, girl. You know that, right?"
"I know," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair, finally at peace. "I know."
The bedroom was dead quiet except for the sound of your combined breathing. Cameron didn't move an inch, his heavy frame anchored right beside you, one of his long thighs hooked over yours to keep you locked against him. The relief radiating off him was tangible; the tight, guarded edge he usually carried around his shoulders had completely melted away.
"Look at you, crying and shit," he teased softly against your skin, his voice dropped to that low, bedroom register that always made your stomach flutter. He nudged his nose against your jawline, his lips brushing the sensitive spot right under your ear. "Thought you was tough."
"Shut up, Cam," you laughed, the sound muffled by his shoulder as you swatted at his bare back. "You the one who came in here pouring your heart out. Had me caught off guard."
"Had to," he murmured, shifting his head up so he could look down at you. His eyes were completely soft, devoid of the intense, focused stare he used on the field. He reached out, his thumb gently catching the last damp track of a tear on your cheek, wiping it away with a slow, deliberate stroke. "Couldn't keep letting you look at me with them big eyes like you wanted to say something but didn't think I was safe enough to hold it. I told you from day one, whatever you got, you can give it to me. I'm handling it."
"It wasn't that I didn't think you were safe," you whispered, your fingers tracing the sharp curve of his collarbone, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his pulse beneath his skin. "It's just... everything move so fast with you. The football stuff, the media, everybody always wanting a piece of Cameron Cade. I just wanted to make sure what we had was real before I went and threw my whole heart at you."
Cameron let out a low grunt, his hand moving down to cover yours, his large fingers slotting perfectly into the spaces between yours. He squeezed tight, lifting your joined hands up to press a warm kiss against your knuckles. "It's been real since sophomore year, baby. All that other stuff? The crowds, the scouts? That's just a job. This right here is my life. I don't mix the two up, and I sure as hell don't let nobody else into this space."
You looked up at him, the dim yellow light from the hallway catching the smooth texture of his skin, the neat fade of his hair, and the utter sincerity in his face. It was still wild to think that this man—the one the whole campus spoke about in hushed, reverent tones, the one whose jersey you saw everywhere on game days—was currently tangled up in your cotton sheets, looking at you like you were the only person left on earth.
"You really loved me back in the library?" you asked softly, a small, playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you brought up the old memory. "Even when I was looking crazy and yelling at my notebook?"
Cameron let out a deep, rumbling chuckle that vibrated right through your chest. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours so close you could smell the clean, faint scent of his soap. "Man, you looked stressed out of your mind, edges twisted up, ready to fight the world. And all I could think was how bad I wanted to just pick you up and take you away from them books so you could breathe. That's when I knew I was done for. I went back to the dorms that night and told my roommate I found my wife, for real."
"You did not tell him that," you gasped, your face flushing hot as you hid your smile against his chest.
"Ask him then," Cam said, his voice full of easy confidence. "I don't play about what's mine. And you been mine. Took your stubborn ass a little longer to catch up, but we here now."
"I was just being careful," you mumbled, your hands sliding up his broad chest to wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down for another slow, lingering kiss. It was different this time—there was no hesitation, no holding back, no lingering doubt about whether you were allowed to feel this much. The love was out in the open now, heavy and sweet, filling up every corner of the room.
When he finally pulled back, he had that lazy, satisfied smirk on his face, his thumb running slow circles against your hip. "Yeah, yeah. Careful. Whatever you say, beautiful. Long as you know you stuck with me now."
"I think I can handle that," you whispered, pulling the heavy duvet up over both of your shoulders as you snuggled deeper into his side, finally letting your eyes close. "Goodnight, quarterback."
"Night, baby," he murmured, his grip tightening around your waist as he pulled you close, his chin resting right on top of your head. "I love you."
Hearing it a second time didn't make your heart race with anxiety; it just made you feel completely warm, from your toes all the way to your chest. "I love you too, Cam."
AN: Let me know how I did like always. Much Love.
