#(anything)

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: Cameron comes home pissed off from practice, still irritated from y’all’s phone argument, and decides he’s done letting you run your mouth.

The front door shut hard enough to make you look up.

Not loud enough to be dramatic. Just enough to let you know Cameron was still in a mood.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch with your phone in your hand, pretending to scroll, pretending you hadn’t been replaying that argument in your head since the second he hung up on you.

Practice had already pissed him off.

Then the two of you got into it on the phone, and judging by the way his footsteps were hitting the floor now, none of that frustration had worn off on the drive home.

You heard the soft drop of his duffel bag near the door.

Then silence.

That kind of silence that made your stomach pull tight.

You looked up and found him already staring at you.

Cameron stood by the entryway in a black compression shirt that clung to his chest and arms, gray sweats hanging low on his waist, his shoulders broad and tense like he had carried every bad part of his day home with him. His buzzcut made everything about him look sharper somehow. His jaw. His cheekbones. The hard look in his eyes.

He had one hand braced on his hip, the other flexing at his side like he was trying to decide how much patience he had left.

Apparently, not much.

"You not gon' say nothing?" he asked.

His voice was low.

Too low.

You locked your phone and tossed it beside you. "What you want me to say?"

Cameron's tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. You saw it in the tight shift of his jaw.

"That's how you coming at me right now?"

You shrugged, even though your heartbeat had already started acting stupid. "You came in here with an attitude."

His eyes narrowed.

"An attitude?" he repeated, stepping closer. "You was the one talking slick on the phone."

You lifted your chin. "Because you were taking your bad day out on me."

That made him stop. Not because he was shocked. Because he was trying not to react.

You could see it all over him. In the way his chest rose slow and deep. In the way his shoulders squared. In the way he looked down at you like he was one smart response away from losing every last bit of restraint he walked in with.

Then he began walking, stopping right infront of the couch, in front of you.

Too close already.

Your breath caught, but you refused to look away.

Cameron looked down at you with that same hard expression, one hand coming up to drag slowly over his mouth before dropping again.

"You always do this.”He said.

"Do what?"

"Keep pushing after I'm already irritated."

His voice was rough now. Not loud. Just heavy. The kind that slid right under your skin.

You sat up straighter, trying to hold your ground.

"Maybe if you stopped acting like everything is my fault, I wouldn't have to."

Wrong answer.

The look on Cameron's face changed instantly.

His head tilted a little, and that quiet look in his eyes made heat crawl up your spine.

"You got a lot to say tonight."

You swallowed, but your mouth still moved. "And?"

Cameron stepped in so close your knees brushed his thighs.

Your breath stalled.

He planted one hand on the back of the couch beside your head, then the other against the cushion by your hip, caging you in before you even realized what he was doing.

Now he was over you.

His chest. His shoulders. The heat rolling off his body. The clean smell of soap mixed with sweat and cologne. The hard line of his arms tightening on either side of you.

And he still had not actually touched you.

That was the part making it unbearable.

You leaned back a little without meaning to, your hand pressing into the couch cushion beneath you.

Cameron noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His eyes dropped to the movement, then came back to your face.

"You real brave when you sitting over here running your mouth.” He said quietly.

Your lips parted.

He leaned down more.

Not enough to kiss you.

Just enough to make your body tense under him.

His face was so close now you could see the shadow along his jaw, his mouth.

You hated how good he looked when he was mad.

"I'm talking to you," he said, his voice firmer this time.

Your thighs pressed together before you could stop it.

"I heard you."

"Then answer me."

Your breath shook just a little. "You're crowding me."

Cameron's eyes darkened.

"Move then."

You both knew you were not going to.

You stayed exactly where you were, your body pinned by nothing but his size, his heat, his presence, and the fact that every part of you was way too aware of how easily he could take complete control of this moment if he wanted to.

His gaze dropped to your mouth for one second too long.

Then he reached for you.

His hand wrapped around your jaw, fingers warm and firm as he tilted your face up until you had no choice but to look directly at him.

A soft breath left your lips. Because he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Look at me when you talk to me," he said.

Your stomach flipped.

His thumb pressed against the side of your face while his fingers held steady under your jaw, and it was almost embarrassing how fast your body reacted to something so simple.

Cameron saw it.

You knew he did.

Because the hand on your face tightened just enough to let you know he caught every little shift in your breathing, every tiny reaction you were trying to hide.

"That attitude from earlier?" he said, voice low. "Keep that same energy now."

You tried to hold it. You really did.

But his body was between your knees now, one of his thighs nudging just enough against yours to make your thoughts blur.

Your hand came up and caught lightly at his wrist.

Not to stop him.

Just because you needed something to hold.

Cameron looked down at it, then back at you.

And the way his eyes changed at that almost took you out.

"You wanna argue with me all day," he murmured, leaning closer until his mouth hovered right beside yours, "then sit here looking like this when I get in your face."

Your breathing went shallow.

His free hand slid from the couch cushion to your waist, gripping through the fabric of your shirt, not soft, not careful, just enough to pull you a little closer to the edge of the couch.

The movement made you inhale sharply.

"There you go," he said, voice quieter now. Rougher. "Now you got nothing to say."

Your fingers tightened around his wrist.

"Cameron..."

He tilted your face higher with the hand on your jaw.

"What?"

You hated how weak your voice sounded compared to his.

"Nothing," you whispered.

His eyes stayed on yours for a long second.

Then his hand left your jaw only to slide to the side of your neck, his palm settling there heavy and warm while his thumb traced once just beneath your ear.

Possessive.

A warning and a promise all at once.

"That's what I thought," he said.

Then he leaned in, mouth brushing just barely against yours as his grip on your waist tightened.

And when he spoke again, his voice was low enough to make your whole body go still.

"Now fix the attitude."

“No."

Before you knew it you were bent over the arm of the couch, your bra still on even though your titties were basically out.

Cameron, behind you, tugged on your bra strap, pulling your body against his, the only sound filling the room was his grunts, your moan and him fucking the shit out you.

"Slo— Please! CADE!" You screamed, your tone getting whiny.

"Shut the fuck up talking to me. You was talking on that shit on the phone now you can’t take what? Nine inches?"

You whined out, tears brimming at your eyes. "I– Hm— Dick."

You and Cam both knew when you turned into a whiny little slut you couldn’t form real sentences, and of course Cameron thought it was so funny, so what does he do? He makes you talk the fucking most.

"Tell me where im at."

"… Da–.. Fuck."

"Talk to me bitch, cmon."

"I—.."

"Im finna stop, you a big girl aint you?" He muttered, leaning down, causing his strokes to somehow go deeper. "Yes— Yes!"

"Then take it. You’ve took it before." He said, referring to the time you both were crossfaded and had sex in his car.

You stuffed your face into the couch, wetting it up with your tears and slobber. You carefully put your arm behind you, trying to push his thighs.

You heard and felt a loud slap on your ass then a tug at your arm. "Move your fucking hand, you know I’ll break this shit."

You whined and moved it like so.

"I can’t take it Cam! Please! cum please cum."

"Cum? You gon have my babies?" He asked, knowing you’ll take a pill.

"Yes! All of them just please cum." You cried out, your arch falling slightly.

"You went from calling me a bitch to saying you want my babies? You so bipolar mama." He cooed.

You huffed, shaking your head. "Cum! Fuck! What the fuck are you doing." You slightly yelled.

He chuckled and slammed into you 4 more times before nutting all in his pussy. "I’ma hold you to this. If I see you taking a pill im beating your ass y/n."

The second he pulled out, you softly fell, your legs instantly shaking as his nut slid out of you.

"Ma favorite view."

IM BACKKKKKKKKK, had to take a mental break but im back and posting! Dont be shy to give me some recs.

Im genuinely convinced id still think about them/Caine while i’m in an ambulance being rushed to the emergency room

HOW ELSE AM I GONNA DISTRACT MYSELF???