CHAPTER FOUR: 𝒸ooking ℴn 𝓈tream.
🥽/🍁 SUMMARY ✶ You and Jason finally collab on stream.
🥽/🍁 DISCLAIMERS & WARNINGS ✶ slow-ish burn, fluff, jason already down bad, reader totally clueless half the time.
🥽/🍁 TAGLIST ✶ @httpjoints @i8wruby @whimsical-bubble33 @hollymurdock @sofloveswbb @leahbeahhh
🥽/🍁 NOTE FROM VAL ✶ im in the makes of a jobe bellingham series ill probably upload tomorrow. or i may post an adapt series lowkey.. also i apologize in advance for this chapter, its kinda choppy and lazy 😪😪
By Saturday afternoon, the Core House was louder than usual.
Adapt had music blasting from a speaker in the backyard. Lacy and Ron were arguing over whose turn it was to take the trash out like it was a life-or-death situation. A basketball thudded upstairs before Silky yelled, “If you break the TV again, you’re paying for it!”
You sat on one of the kitchen stools, coffee in hand, watching everything unfold like controlled chaos you were slowly being absorbed into.
It had only been two days. And yet somehow, it already felt… dangerously familiar. Not home. Not yet.
But close enough that you’d stopped asking before opening cabinets—and started judging what was inside them.
Jason walked into the kitchen carrying a camera in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. “There she is.”
You looked up over your mug, “Took you long enough.”
“You texted me saying you had a plan.”
“I abandoned it in aisle three.”
You laughed, sliding off the stool to help him unpack. “You realize this is exactly why I offered to make the list.”
“I wanted to see what you’d do when I didn’t listen.”
You raised a brow. “So you wanted chaos.”
“That’s the same thing in your world.”
“Exactly.” He said it like it was a compliment.
An hour later, two cameras were set up around the kitchen. One facing the stove. One capturing the island—and, unfortunately for Jason, his entire existence.
You adjusted your mic while he leaned in beside you, way too close for someone who claimed to be “just filming.”
The stream went live. The viewer count shot up almost instantly, you both couldn’t even read chat properly.
“Oh—” You glanced at the screen. “…That’s a lot of people.”
Jason leaned over your shoulder, his voice low. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that part.”
“I expected… less judgment in the first ten seconds.”
“You have no poker face.”
“You’d lose immediately.”
He pointed at the counter. “Okay, chef. What are we making?”
He blinked. “…Where’s the vodka?”
You stared at him, “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“You don’t actually drink it.”
A pause. “…That makes so much more sense.”
she’s already done with him LMAO
You glanced at the screen and smirked. “I now understand why your roommates banned you from the kitchen.”
“…There was grilled cheese.”
You handed him an onion, “Dice this.”
“Easy.” He took the knife confidently. Too confidently.
“You’re holding it like you’re about to fight someone.”
“I am fighting the onion.”
“That’s not how this works.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “You’re just intimidated by my technique.”
“I’m terrified, actually.”
The chat immediately caught it.
why are they flirting over onions
Five minutes later, the onion looked like it had survived three different disasters. You stared at the cutting board, then at him. “…It’s kind of impressive how inconsistent these are.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Things only escalated from there.
He almost poured cream on the counter instead of the pan. Reached for paprika like it was a life decision. Nearly grabbed powdered sugar. “You keep sugar next to spices?”
“There is emotional organization.”
You bumped his shoulder lightly as you reached past him. “You’re distracting.”
“You’re standing too close.”
You looked up at him, “…Yes.”
“…Do you want me to move?”
“No.” The word came out faster than you meant it to. The chat went feral.
THIS IS NOT A COOKING STREAM ANYMORE
Jason’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Noted.”
Halfway through, one of Adapt walked in, stopped. Looked at the chaos. Looked at both of you. “…Should I come back when you’re not… whatever this is?”
Jason didn’t even look away from you. “Probably.”
“Yeah,” you added, still focused on the pan.
Adapt slowly backed out. “Cool. Love this for you both.”
The door shut. The chat lost it.
Eventually, somehow, the sauce came together perfectly.
Jason leaned over the pot. “…Wait, it actually smells insane.”
You nudged him with your elbow. “I told you.”
“I thought you were bluffing.”
“I don’t bluff about food.”
You froze for half a second. “…Excuse me?”
He looked at you like he hadn’t realized he said it out loud. “…I meant—”
The air shifted, just slightly. The kind of shift that made everything feel closer than it should.
Jason reached for a spoon and you caught his wrist immediately. “Hot.”
“You were absolutely about to burn your mouth.”
He didn’t pull away. Neither did you. The chat slowed, then exploded.
WHY ARE THEY HOLDING HANDS???
He finally tasted it, his eyes widened. “…Okay.”
“That’s actually unfairly good.”
“I take back every doubt I had.”
He looked at you longer than necessary. “…You’re kind of annoying.”
“You’re kind of incompetent.”
A pause. Neither of you moved. Too close, too aware.
Jason’s voice dropped, “…You’re also kind of—”
The kitchen door opened. “Yo, is there—”
Both of you stepped apart instantly. Ron walked in, grabbed a bowl, and left without another word. “…Never mind.”
the door closed, silence. Then laughter—soft, breathless, from both of you.
By the time the stream ended, the house smelled like comfort and chaos had finally agreed to coexist. People came and went. Compliments were thrown. Food disappeared faster than it should have.
And somehow, through all of it, you and Jason kept finding yourselves standing too close.
Later that night, the house finally quieted. A movie playing downstairs, soft music somewhere in the hallway.
You knocked lightly on Jason’s open door. “Can I come in?”
He looked up from his desk, “Of course.”
You stepped in, sitting on the edge of his bed like it was becoming a habit. The conversation started like it always did, easy.
Then—“Oh,” he said suddenly. “I forgot to tell you.”
You perked up, “Right. That thing.”
“It’s kind of a big deal here.”
“Costumes. Drama. Someone always shows up as something unhinged.”
“People take it seriously.”
“That’s not a warning, that’s a promise.” He leaned back on his hands, watching you. “You’d be good at it.”
You tilted your head. “Oh?”
“You’d definitely overthink your costume.”
“I don’t overthink things.”
“You’re overthinking this conversation right now.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it. “…Okay, maybe a little.”
He smiled. There it was again. That look. Like he already knew you better than he should. “You should do something bold,” he said.
You laughed softly. The room felt smaller than it had ten minutes ago.
Jason shifted slightly closer, “Hey.”
The door downstairs slammed. Footsteps. A voice calling for someone.
The moment shattered instantly. You both pulled back like nothing had happened. Like nothing almost had.
“…I should go,” you said quickly.
“Yeah,” he replied, a little too calm.
You stood, paused. You looked at him.
Neither of you spoke for a second too long. Then you turned and left.
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