Part I | Part II | Part III ❤️🔥 | Part IV | Bonus I | Bonus II | Bonus III ❤️🔥 | Bonus IV
SFW Alphabet | NSFW Alphabet ❤️🔥
ship: Cameron Winter x fem!oc/reader
warnings: Max jumpscare, mild dirty talk
summary: What happens in the morning after?
word count: 3029
a/n: Surprise motherfuckers, I wrote a direct sequel to part 3!! Get pranked!!!! Next up we're gonna release the Q&A and a list of patch notes as I go through and clean up any inconsistencies and typos. This will be your last chance to ask me questions for the Q&A.
Finally, I’d love it if you guys would ask me some questions for a future part! Whether it be about Allison and Cam’s relationship, about myself, about writing, or anything else really, I am keen for anything! You can ask me in the comments here, send me an ask, or on my Strawpage! (Pls specify it’s for the Q&A when you ask lololol)
I must have been raised from the grave. There’s a shovel digging into my forehead and the sheets are all wrapped around me like a noose. I peel open my sleep-sticky eyes, burning where I left in my contacts overnight. For a second, I wonder why there’s a kitchen in my bedroom before I remember I moved house. I feel around on my dresser for my phone. It’s 11am. Clutching my head so it doesn’t fall apart, I wriggle out from under the blankets, my neck and shoulders aching and stiff. A chilly draft hits me, so I spare a glance at the window, expecting to see that I’d left it open overnight, but no, it’s only open a crack and Cameron is on my fire escape. Everything floods back to me in vibrant technicolor. So that’s why I feel like I’ve been fucked sideways.
He’s wearing Vince’s Knicks sweatshirt – the same one I threw on when he did his prom-posal stunt – and a pair of my fleecy pyjama pants, too short to cover most of his shins. His hair is all wet, and a pair of dark sunglasses shield him from the mid-morning light. He’s hunched over and focused, with his phone and the notepad from my fridge on his lap. He plucks the tiny end of a cigarette from his lips, balancing it next to the pen between his fingers, and taps something out on his phone. It plays some synthesizer chords that he softly sings along to. I strain my ears to hear the lyrics, though my head pounds with the effort.
“Love will come
When you got too much under your arms
Oh, mama
Love will come on
Love will make you fit it all in the trunk of your car
Oh, mama
Dance in the rain, watching the lights
Ma-my love is far away
Huntin’ the moon, chasin’ her down
Love takes miles, love takes years
I better start a-walkin’, baby
Love takes miles, love takes years.”
Muffled by the glass, the words are clunky and unrefined in his gravelly morning voice. It’s beautiful. Of course it is. Everything that pours out of him is silver moonlight. My phone slides off the bed and clatters on the floor. He looks up and offers me an embarrassed smile that quickly cracks into a grin of unabashed delight.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” He lowers his sunglasses to look at me properly, and in that moment I realise I am nude as the day I was born.
I hiss through my teeth and gather the sheet up to my chest, but he just laughs and ashes out his cigarette.
“Did I wake you up?”
“Mmmph.” I mumble noncommittally. “I didn’t think I drank that much.”
“What?” He gathers his stuff and makes to open the window.
I wave him off, grasping around for something like a jacket to wrap around myself. The winter chill blasts me as he crawls back inside. He must notice me shivering as he hurries over and wraps his arms around me. It’s too hot under his weight, confusing and suffocating. I try to shimmy away from him, but he doesn’t understand.
“What is it, sweetheart?” In the painful reality of the morning after, the new pet-name feels like a joke at my expense.
“Head hurts.” I turn as far away from him as I can and cover my eyes.
“You’re hungover? You didn’t drink that much.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Fuckin’ lightweight.”
I let out an irritable squeak and wrench his arm off my shoulder, losing the sheet in the process.
“Shh, shh, honey.” He pulls it back up around me and kisses my throbbing temple, but leaves me free of his embrace. I’m grateful. “I’m sorry. Oh, shit.”
He pulls back the sheet just a little and pokes two fingers gently at my neck.
“Ah.” I hiss, but it’s not a bad pain. Whatever he’s touching feels kind of good. “What is it?”
“Zombie bites.” He snaps his teeth together.
“Oh.” I feel around for them, gasping as my fingers find a particularly sensitive spot on my collarbone.
“I really did a number on you, huh?” His face folds sympathetically, but he sounds kind of proud. “You got me too, though.”
“Woah.” I wince as he pulls down the neck of the sweatshirt to show off his spattering of maroon bruises. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“I want like fifty more of these as soon as you feel better.” He’s making me blush, and the rush of blood to my head makes it spin. In spite of myself, I lean over on his shoulder. “Oh, baby. You got Tylenol?”
“M-mm.”
“Okay. Okay, I’ll go to the bodega and get some.”
“Gatorade in the fridge.” I mutter. “Need… an everything bagel.”
“Okay.” He chuckles. “Gatorade, Tylenol, everything bagel. Anything else you require, your highness?”
“Just… just the Gatorade. I’ll go with you. Get some breakfast.”
“You sure you’ll be okay?”
“Yeah.” I mumble, then once again with more conviction. “Yeah. Just need to shower first.”
“You want help?” He looks hopeful.
“What?” None of this makes any sense to me.
“Okay, okay.” He smiles fondly and smooths my hair back. “Not a morning person, are we, little princess? I’ll get your drink and then you have a nice hot shower.”
I reach up and take up a handful of his damp hair.
“You’ve already had one?”
“Hope you don’t mind.” He nuzzles my hand. “I got out a dry towel for you.”
It’s not like it’s the first time he’s showered at my place. It wouldn’t even be the first time he’s helped himself to a towel. But it disturbs me for some reason I can’t place. It’s like he lives here already. What would that even mean? Who is he to me now? Is he my boyfriend? My best friend with benefits? What fresh fucked up dynamic have we gotten ourselves into. I think I’m going to be sick but I swallow it and let his hair go as if it’s burning me.
“Thanks.”
I’m two Tylenol deep with my sunglasses on and Cameron’s too-big Stetson shading me from the weak sunlight that filters through the clouds. My eyes are shut. I’m relying on Cam’s protective arm around me to guide me blind along the sidewalk. I can feel the city thrumming up through my feet, hear it roaring and wailing around me, pulsing through my brain. I love this place, but god, does it hurt sometimes.
“Careful, there’s a step.” Cam takes a curve in his path, leading me into what I guess is an alleyway, and then inside somewhere. “Good girl.”
It’s blissfully quiet in here. From the bread and coffee smell and the Joni Mitchell drifting from the PA, I can tell we’re in Bissel. Cam claims it’s the best kosher cafe in all of New York City, and I really can’t argue with him. It’s haunted frequently by him and the other Geese members, and used as the default meeting spot for anything band related. He guides me down into a booth. It’s dark enough in here that I can take the hat off and peak my eyes open.
“Still hurts?” He asks as I clutch my pounding forehead.
“Unh.” I utter.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses my hair even though it’s wet. “You want coffee? White mocha, extra hot, extra shot, extra chocolate, extra everything?”
“Mmhm.” I reach for his arm to let him know I’m grateful. “Lox and schmear, please, Cameron.”
“Oy yoy yoy...” He puts on the thick Yiddish accent he does when he’s imitating his grandfather. “Lox ‘n’ schmear? You been hangin’ ‘round the shul, hah, shefele?”
He’d make me laugh, any other day. I manage to lift my face and give him the saddest look I can muster over my sunglasses.
“Aw, baby, I’m sorry.” He pets my head, laughing, but there’s concern in his doe eyes. “I’ll get it for you.”
“My wallet’s in my bag.” I gesture vaguely.
“Don’t worry about it.” He’s gone before I can argue.
I slide my glasses onto my head and drag my hands down my face. I have to talk to him. We have to have it out. What is this? What’s happening? What am I to you? Who the hell are you to say you love me after all this time? If I have you, and it’s all I’ve wanted since I was sixteen years old, why do I feel so terrified? Under what circumstances did this happen? Was the whole prom-posal date situation a conscious set-up so you could sleep with me? Or was it more of an accident? Do you want to do it again? Are you my boyfriend? You said you love me, and you said you’ll never leave me. Is that something you know you’re capable of? Can we get married? Now? Tomorrow? When? Can I put my fingers in your mouth?
He’s only gone a minute or two, and soon enough he’s back at my side. I try not to look too crazy when I look up at him. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, and he looks like Dylan when he went electric. I want to just grab him and kiss him until the pain in my head makes me pass out.
“They’ll bring it over.” He puts down a table number and slides in beside me. Why can’t he just sit across from me? My heart is hammering against my chest and I’m too warm and too scared. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Cameron, I-”
“What’s up, fuckers?” It’s Max. He flops down across from us, grinning. I wince at his volume and he bares his bottom teeth in apology.
“Hey, man.” Cameron’s voice is a little tense for the casual greeting. I swallow a scream. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a guy get a little hot breakfast action?” A frown curdles his smile. “What the fuck happened to you guys?”
“Her majesty had a little too much to drink last night.” Cam drawls, rubbing a soothing circle on my back as I sit forward and rest my head in my hands. Do I really look that shitty?
“I didn’t drink half as much as you. It’s not fair.”
“I know, baby.” He coos. I wish he wouldn’t call me that in front of Max. “If I could have the hangover for you, I would.”
“You don’t want this.” It’s so hot in here. “Trust me.”
I strip off my jacket, desperate to combat the stifling atmosphere. I don’t know what it is about winter that makes people think it’s appropriate to have the heater up to like eighty degrees. I’m stuck between feeling relieved for the delay and wishing Max would just leave us alone. He’s a nice guy, but damn it, we have things to discuss. This is a matter of life and death. But maybe delaying the inevitable will grant me a few more minutes alive… I gather up my hair in my hand and hold it at the base of my neck, pressing the back of my hand on my cheek in a pale attempt to cool it. Cameron has started talking rapidly about nothing in particular, his scorching hand cupping the side of my neck.
“…I dunno, man. Anyway, there’s this new DIY venue downtown called like ‘Don’t Fuck with Mr Zero’ or something…”
“Cam, get off me.” I claw at his hand, but he’s stuck too me like a leech.
“…some girl runs it out of her basement, I don’t know if it’s strictly legal…”
“Get off! It’s too…” I grab hold of his wrist and wrench him off me. “…hot.”
My eyes meet with Max’s. They’re very wide and he’s gone very quiet, grinning in barely contained glee. Cameron has finally shut up about ‘Mr Zero.’
“What- wh-what is it?” I demand. “I’ve got something on me, don’t I?”
“You could say that.”
“Max.” Cameron warns.
“Cam, what is it?” The panicky creep of embarrassment is working its way into my voice.
He sighs, frowning in sympathy.
“Zombie bites.”
My hand flies to my neck. The bruises are hot and tender under my touch.
“Max!” I whip around to look at him, sending a crushing jolt of pain through my skull. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, it’s not? ‘Cause it looks like you guys fucked nasty.”
“We did not fuck nasty!” I wince at the sound of my own voice. “We… we didn’t. We just… Cameron, tell him!”
“We made love.”
“Mazel tov!”
“Cameron!” I’m horror struck. Why the hell would he say that?
“Baby, he knows.”
“What?” I gape. “What does he know?”
“Very little, generally.” Max stretches, casual despite my distress. “But I know he’s been avoiding fucking you for like three? Four years, maybe? Diabolical, in my opinion.”
I’m completely fucking mortified.
“Nobody tells me anything.”
“Hey, man, I don’t meddle.” He looks over at the counter where they just read out an order for one ‘Darcy O’Queef.’ “That’s me. Okay, I’ll see you guys later. Allison, don’t run him ragged, alright? We gotta rehearse tomorrow.”
“Shut up.” I bury my face in my hands.
“See ya, man.” Cam shifts beside me as he daps him up. As I hear Max walk away, Cam turns back to me and nuzzles his nose into my temple. “What is it, hm?”
“That was so humiliating.”
“Hey, it’s okay. He wasn’t making fun of you, he was making fun of me ‘cause I’ve been such a little bitch about the whole scenario.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, uh…” He chuckles awkwardly. “It means I should have been loving you this whole time, but… I dunno, I guess I was too self absorbed to do anything about it.”
Love. The word still sounds foreign coming from his voice.
“Cameron.” I rub my eyes. “How… how much of last night do you remember?”
He smiles, amused, and pushes his sunglasses onto his head, pinning his hair back underneath them.
“All of it, as far as I’m aware. I wasn’t that drunk.”
“Oh.” I swallow. Shit. Is that a good thing? “So you- you remember what you asked me? When you were…”
“When I was balls deep inside you begging you to please, please, please let me be your boyfriend?”
“Cam, shut up!” I whisper-yell, even though he only murmured it to me.
“What are you embarrassed for?” He cracks a grin. “I’m the one acting like a dog in heat.”
I don’t know if my face has ever been this red before.
“Okay. So you remember then?” He nods. “Well, does that mean we’re, y’know, together? Or-or were you just, y’know…”
His grin falters and fades.
“You’re having second thoughts.” He sits back, giving me space, and starts fiddling with the table number, twirling it around and around. “I, uh… yeah, I thought maybe you were this morning, but… I dunno, I thought you might come around. I… I shouldn’t have asked you like that. I put you on the spot. You deserve better than that. I, um… yeah, we, um- we could just, y’know, take it slow?”
“Cameron Winter, what the hell are you talking about?” I snap. “We’ve been taking it slow this entire time! If you’re looking for a way out, just tell me. I think I deserve a little honesty.”
“Wha- no. No! Baby, I- Allison.” He sighs, squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again. He looks a little steadier. “I love you, and I really, desperately want to be with you. I don’t want a way out, honey, trust me. I just… if it’s too much for you, and- and if you need your time, and your space, and whatever you need, I’ll give it to you. Okay? I’ll wait for you.”
He looks at me with those wounded animal eyes. Stray dog with a broke leg on the side of the road. Disarming. I feel like I’m going to cry in front of him again, so I bap him on the chest with the flat of my hand.
“Fuck off!” I grab his collar. “You’re an idiot. Of course I want to be with you. Stupid.”
He shows me his dimples.
“Fine! Fine. I’m your boyfriend, you’re my girlfriend. End of story.”
“End of story.” I glare up at him, fighting the smile that’s aching on my cheeks.
“Good. Fine.” He tries to look nonchalant and fails, tripping us both into a fit of giggles. “Come here! Come here, grumpy. Gimme a kiss? Seal the deal?”
“Fine, fine.” I roll my eyes and it feels like my optic nerves just pulled something loose in my brain. I clutch my forehead. “Oh, god.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He cradles my cheeks in his big, gentle hands. “C’mere. Kiss it better.”
He leaves a few soft kisses on my forehead, like a balm for the poison in my skull. Two more on each of my eyelids, another on my cheek, and then, at last, one on my lips. Like liquid morphine on my tongue, my pain is quickly forgotten as he works his nectar-sweet mouth against me.
“I love you.” I mumble around a mouthful of his tongue. “Baby, I love you.”
He’s relentless, palming my cheeks, stroking my hair, blotting out the world with his love,
“Two lox on everything?” A nasal, drawling voice pipes up.
I have to be the one to pull away and look, mortified, up at one of the waitresses we’ve come to know fairly well.
“Cam, is that us?”
“Uh-huh.” Cam turns, blissed out and almost cross-eyed.
“You guys must be pretty hungry if you’re eating each other, huh?” She lifts her bushy eyebrows, tongue touching the corner of her lip.
“Thank you, Adrienne.” I bite my finger in embarrassment. She cackles.
“Waiting on anything else?”
“Just coffees.” Cam says serenely.
“Alright, alright, that won’t be long.” She’s still laughing as she dips away, and I see one of her coworkers start up too as she nears the counter.
