𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄. | 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄
My comeback little fluff. I hope yall missed me!
[ chubbyreader x Cameron Cade, fluff, small nerdy cam? And reassurance ]
You didn’t come to the stadium to be noticed.
You came because Cameron asked.
It was a simple thing, really — a text sent late the night before.
Cade: You comin’ tomorrow?
So there you were now, standing near the tunnel, wrapped in his jacket because he’d shrugged it off and placed it over your shoulders like it was instinct. Like he didn’t even think twice about you wearing it.
The crowd roared as the team ran out.
Cameron didn’t look back.
You watched him move — controlled, focused, every step deliberate. He wasn’t flashy. He wasn’t loud. He played like someone who trusted his body, trusted his preparation.
And still… your stomach twisted.
You always felt out of place in rooms like this.
Too aware of the way people looked — or didn’t.
Cameron never looked away.
You met him months ago in the most boring way possible.
Library. Late night. Finals week.
You were bent over a table surrounded by notebooks when a shadow fell across the page.
You glanced up — buzzcut, broad shoulders, calm eyes that didn’t rush you.
He sat. Quiet. Focused. You thought he’d ignore you.
“You’re smart,” he said after twenty minutes, like it was a fact.
You blinked. “You don’t know me.”
He shrugged. “You rewrite your notes instead of typing. Means you’re serious.”
He didn’t flirt right away. Didn’t push. He just… stayed.
Walked you to your car. Asked about your classes. Remembered things you didn’t think mattered.
And when he finally asked you out, he said it like this:
“I like you. I wanna take you to dinner. If you say no, I’ll still walk you home.”
Cameron found you after the game, sweat-soaked and smiling — a real one, just for you.
He pulled you into him without hesitation, arms wrapping around your waist, chin resting briefly on your shoulder.
“You stayed,” he murmured.
His thumb brushed absentminded circles into your side.
You felt it — the way his grip lingered, grounding. Like he was reminding himself you were real.
Later, back at his place, the quiet felt heavier.
You sat on the edge of his bed while he changed in the bathroom. Your hands folded in your lap, thoughts loud.
“I don’t think this is fair,” you said suddenly.
Cameron stepped out, towel around his neck. “What’s not?”
You didn’t look at him. “You’re… you. And I’m—”
He crossed the room in two steps.
He knelt in front of you.
That alone made your breath catch.
“You’re you,” he said firmly. “And I like that.”
You swallowed. “You don’t ever wish I was… smaller?”
His brows pulled together — confused, then something darker.
You finally met his eyes.
He shook his head, hands settling on your thighs, warm and solid.
“I wish you’d stop thinkin' like that." he said quietly.
He leaned in, forehead touching yours.
“I don’t handle you,” he murmured.
The kiss was slow. Deep. Intentional.
Just Cameron being exactly who he was — steady hands, quiet intensity, a presence that made you feel held instead of overwhelmed.
And later, when you laid against his chest, on his bed, his arm heavy over your waist, he pressed a kiss into your hair and said: — “Stay.”
And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were too much.
