pairing ⁀➷ bully! cameron cade x plus-size! black reader.
synopsis ⁀➷ cameron has teased you for years on end, but suddenly wants your help with schoolwork. you oblige, but soon find out his hatred for you is not as it seems.
song of chapter ⁀➷ ‘wish you well’ by brent faiyaz (unreleased)
word count + warnings ⁀➷ 3.9k || 18+, nsfw content, no minors! bully!cam, nerd reader, jealous! cam, teasing, nitpicking, mentions of masturbation, one-sided crush, soft fem domme reader, body appreciation, slapping (cameron likes it🤭), jerking off.
‘darling, i don’t wish you well. when you ain’t with me, i want you crying.’
bully! cameron, who seemed to despise your entire existence.
you couldn’t quite figure it out, but each shoulder check, mocking laugh and condescending comment, let you know he for sure hated your guts. you only shared one class with the highly esteemed quarterback, but ran into him on a constant basis in the college hallways.
it was like cameron’s unpaid job was to put you down. pointing out any little mistake you might make—from tripping on your on two feet to dropping your books on the school's floor, cameron is there to let you know how pathetic you really were.
can’t see where you’re going? you’d think with glasses that fucking thick, you’d be able to see miles away.
you ignored him each time, continuing on with homework assignments for your next class without a word. this thing between you two had gone on since your days of high school—you couldn’t understand it. you would’ve thought after years of teasing, he’d grow tired and find someone else to pick with, but cameron’s attention remained lasered on you.
it’s your bully cameron who asks for a request from you. you’re face deep in a cell biology book when he approaches you in the reserved study room. you often found yourself in the library long after school hours, catching up on school work and spending spare time here instead of parties or social functions. you only had one best friend and didn’t do well in large gatherings. school, family, and home were your main priorities.
when cameron sits across from you at the table, you immediately note the expression on his face. he looks serious. more serious than you’ve ever seen him before. he usually held this demeanor during practice or before a big game. while part of you is annoyed, the other half is intrigued. what did he want?
cameron is the one to ask if you could tutor him throughout the week. he’d heard from classmates about the essays and homework you contributed to. you were a fucking genius and able to help almost everyone get their grades up to at least a ‘c’ average. he desperately needed to get his grades together, or he would risk being kicked off the schools football team.
you’re unsure. this was the same guy who made fun of your glasses at any chance, picked on your height and joked about your smarts. he now wanted your help?
“absolutely not.” you’re firm on your stance.
“i’ll pay you good. whatever price you want.”
a day turned into weeks and your sessions with cameron continued. the two of you worked on a multitude of subjects. anything cameron needed help with, you were willing to provide. he made sure to pay on time before each session, and you made sure to help him receive the best grades possible. you couldn’t quite put your finger on cameron cade. he was interesting, but he remained quiet—a complete difference from the way he behaved when his friends were around. he worked, listened to what you asked of him and went back to home as usual.
at least that’s what you believed.
unbeknownst to you, cameron cade didn’t always go directly home after every study session.
it didn’t start like this initially.
cameron truly found you annoying.
your perfect hair, starched clothing and positive energy pissed him off. why were you so chipper at 9 in the goddamn morning? why did you know the answer to every question the professor asked? why did seeing your face make him so fucking angry?
he couldn’t understand it.
the one thing cameron was able to manage was his actions towards you. berating and calling out everything you did to was easier than sitting with his true feelings.
the feelings that hit cameron late at night when it was only him and his thoughts in the comfort of his bedroom. not a sound or soul around—just the whir of a nearby fan blowing throughout the room and the ache of his dick trapped behind boxer briefs.
those same thoughts made his vision blur as he imagined your frame underneath the stockings and pleated skirts you wore. he’d think of how you’d look on top of him. would you take your time and ride him slow—or be just as desperate as he’d been and ride him as wildly as you could?
it was the same thoughts that made cameron growl into the air as he came hotly—sticky white substance dripping over his chest and hand, before he washed up to imagine it all over again. maybe a different fantasy this time—one of you, and he crammed in the back seat of his car. he wouldn’t mind, cameron would find a way to make space for you.
cameron’s maladaptive daydream is interrupted as there’s a sound right outside his bedroom window. cameron lived at home with his parents as it was easier to attend school and save money at the same time. he remained in his childhood bedroom and often gazed out the window to look down on the neighbors and their current shenanigans, but it’s during this that he notices a familiar face and shape.
it’s you and cameron’s next door neighbor.
his neighbor lived at home with his parents, just like cameron. he also played football for the school’s rival team, so cameron has no clue as to why you’re meeting with him. he’s obviously an enemy, but you’re downstairs being best friends with him.
cameron watches as the young man hugs you goodbye and proceeds to walk to your car. you smile stupidly in his face before starting your car to drive off into the night, leaving cameron as confused as ever.
cameron lets the time pass. he writes the interaction with you and his neighbor off as a tutoring session, believing that you wouldn’t be in any kind of relationship with someone like him. it helped put his mind at ease for just a bit.
that is, until he encounters the two of you once again.
you both were exiting a local restaurant just as cameron was crossing the street. it’s late at night and cameron is supposed to be walking the family dog, but finds himself eavesdropping on the conversation you two hold. back pressed to the brick wall of a nearby building, cameron listens carefully as you bust into genuine laughter at his neighbor’s joke.
“no, but seriously, y/n, you’re fucking amazing and i really appreciate you.”
“oh, it’s nothing,” he hears you giggle and you never giggled while you were with him. the sound of your beautiful laugh makes his chest tighten. he wished he’d been the reason for your joy. “i can’t wait to see you again. have a good night, babe.”
the pet name enrages cameron. he holds enough irritation to knock down this entire brick wall, race over, snatch you up and knock that loser the fuck out.
but cameron does nothing.
you weren’t his. he had no rights to you, no rights to behave this way towards you.
days later, cameron’s phone vibrates in his pants pocket.
it’s a text message from you.
hey, i’m sorry to cancel on you, but i won’t be able to make it today. maybe we can meetup sometime next week?
cameron’s eyes lowered as he read over the message once again. he took a deep inhale and clicked on the power button to his phone.
you and he met in the city’s library for tutoring lessons every wednesday and friday without fail. for weeks, cameron spritzed cologne over his neck and wrists, applied oil to his short hair and made sure to keep a tube of mint scented chapstick in his bookbag for…educational purposes. he absolutely looked forward to sessions with you. whether they be one-sided with only your voice speaking throughout the library or silent altogether—wednesday’s and friday’s were his favorite days of the week.
cameron couldn’t understand it.
are you sure? we can probably meet sometime later tonight, i really don’t to fail this upcoming exam.
cameron paces his room as he awaits a response from you, hoping his excuse doesn’t sound too desperate.
you won’t fail. we can meet up next week.
you wouldn’t budge, and cameron can’t come up with another reason.
“fuck,” he huffs, tossing his phone onto the bed. cameron takes only a second to collect his thoughts before racing to change out of his current outfit and into looser attire.
he needed to blow off some steam.
a two-hour workout session helped to clear cameron’s mind just a little, but not nearly enough. a few bench presses, a jog on the treadmill and a boxing session with a punching bag—yet he kept thinking of you and the message you’d sent earlier. part of him wanted to let you know how he felt—to tell you the resentment he held towards you was misplaced and that he didn’t know how to regulate emotions regarding you. the other half wished you could read his mind and know exactly what he wanted.
cameron passes the school’s library as he leaves the gym. had it been any other day, cameron would’ve went home as usual, but the cancellation of today’s session was getting to him. he couldn’t fucking think straight. he stopped inside and decided to take a seat at the table you and he usually sat in. cameron sorted through his bookbag and fetched textbooks for tomorrows exam, eyes darting over the words as he tried to comprehend the reading material.
you would’ve helped him to understand it.
your calm voice reading over the text before asking what did he think about it. you would’ve cracked open a notebook and wrote down important information with your black ball point pen. you would’ve taken your time and used real-world situations to compare with the homework, helping him learn everything he can before a big test.
you’re all cameron can think about.
so much so that he swears he can hear you.
it’s the same laugh he’d heard for the first time the other day, and cameron is positive he’s completely lost his mind until he sees you and his neighbor emerge from a study room. cameron hides behind the large textbook to avoid his cover being blown. he listens closely and peers from behind the spine of the book as you hug and peck the cheek of his neighbor.
cameron can only sit for so long—waiting until his neighbor has left the library to follow behind as you slip into the basement area of the building.
you don’t hear or see him—cameron makes sure to keep quiet as he tiptoes behind you, searching for words to perfectly convey his thoughts.
“what the fuck are you doing, y/n?”
there’s aggravation in his tone, and the sound of his tenor causes you to flinch—not jump, but simply raise your shoulders in surprise. you turn on the toes of your leather loafers, eyes widened in surprise at cameron cade’s presence.
cameron ignores your question. “answer me, y/n.”
“i’m minding my business, cameron, that’s what i’m doing. now answer my question, are you following me?”
cameron pushes past you to walk further into the dusty basement, brushing towards a nearby book case before he speaks. “why are you dragging this nigga all over town? smiling in his fucking face, hugging him and shit.”
“because i can, cameron. why does any of this matter to you? why are you watching my every fucking move.”
“you and that stupid motherfucker are flaunting around town, i can’t help but to see it.”
he expects you to make a run for it—for you to angrily march up the stairs and never talk to him again, but you instead hold a conversation with pinched brows on your gorgeous face. he can’t help the way his stomach whirls when he’s able to see you fully. the basement of this dusty library is dimly lit, just a flicking light bulb that sways back and forth in the corner of the room, but it helps cameron to see you.
you looked beautiful as usual, but a bit more laid back tonight. boho braids flowing around your shoulders—free from the tight bun you often wore, a small hue of blush upon your round cheeks and no glasses on your pretty face.
you weren’t wearing your glasses.
he only takes a second. brief and steady as he glances over you. “where are your glasses?”
“huh?” you squint and it’s not because you weren’t wearing said glasses. usual black frames are not on your face because you were looking for a change in appearance, at least for tonight.
“you heard me. where are your glasses, y/n?”
you’re surprised cameron picked up on it, but cameron forgot absolutely nothing when it came to you. he’s like a wolf hunting prey. he can’t miss the curls strewn through your hair, the neat pressing of your outfit or the heady scent of the perfume you’re wearing.
“and you’re wearing fucking perfume…you-you put that on for him, didn’t you?”
“who? you tell me, y/n, who is the nigga to you?”
you’d never seen him like this. so hostile and on edge over you, but it’s at this moment that reality sets and you remember who you’re dealing with. you don’t owe him anything. not an explanation or even an excuse. you push forward and wiggle out of cameron’s intimidating stance.
“it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter what i do, or who i do it with, cameron. you aren’t my boyfriend, so it’s none of your business, and i think it’s best that you leave.”
you walk towards the entrance and hold the heavy door open, waiting for cameron cade to exit onto the other side of it, but he just stands in place. icy eyes peer back at you and they’re unforgiving. the only thing that diverts cameron’s attention is the sound of a notification of your phone as it pings from your book bag.
it’s a short race between you and cameron as you both rush over to grab the device. you should’ve knew better. a 6-foot behemoth was easily going to overpower you. the most athletic thing you conquered was a brisk walk up a flight of stairs to enter your favorite coffee shop.
“give me my phone, cameron!” he holds a hand outward to block the catty hits you give in attempt to get your phone back.
cameron forgets his place.
the idea of someone else having access to you made him go crazy. cameron could almost handle the thought of him not being with you, but someone else getting the pleasure of being near you was enough to drive him through a wall.
“i don’t recall this being any of your fucking business, cameron. why does it matter what i’m doing?!”
“because you’re fucking hugging and kissing him after canceling a tutoring lesson with me.”
“i was helping him study cameron—there! does that make you feel any fucking better?”
“fuck no! you’re getting fucking dressed up for him, but bailing out on me, i’m fucking pissed.” you can sense the genuine anger surging through cameron as he speaks. his usually light irises darken as they pierce into you.
“nah, i need to talk to that motherfucka, i need to know something.”
“you’re going to talk to him for what, cameron? i’m confused as to how this is any of your concern. you hate me, so why are you so worried?”
you and cameron begin to tussle. he’s attempting to push past you, searching all throughout your book bag for the vibrating cell phone. you’re holding him by the arm to stay in place, but cameron’s strong—tall, big—any of the words you could think of, so you have little to no fight at this moment, being easily brushed to the side as he moves about.
it’s a last-minute effort, but the heavy smack you send to his left cheek stops him in his tracks. the inside of your palm rings, while a stinging red mark forms on the side of cameron’s face. you’re about to say something—an apology of sorts when cameron forces you to pause. he releases the tiniest surprised moan—low and trapped in the back of his throat, as you watch his dick twitch behind the confines of his shorts.
cameron is silent. pleading eyes wandering over you as he tries to understand why do you turn him on like this? your book bag and the contents inside fall to the ground once cameron drops it.
“you like that? y-you like me smacking you around?” you’re taken aback by his reaction.
cameron remains quiet, but his dick answers whatever questions you have. you can practically feel the heat radiating from it, as he grows harder, continuing to flinch around underneath his clothes.
it’s like chewing glass, and cameron can’t swallow the broken pieces down fast enough to speak. he’d kept these feelings locked away for years. years of longing, aching and needing to be near you vanished into thin air from a harsh slap you’d given him. cameron can’t believe the magic you hold.
“answer me, cam,” you’re on the tips of your leather shoes, lush lips skimming across his neck as you speak. you await an answer, but only draw out another shaky moan from him. “tell me, cameron and i can help you feel better. i gotta hear you say it.”
he gulps sharply, forcing his eyelids closed as he tries to regulate. “f—fuck, fuck, yes, yes.”
you began to soften up some. smugness to your voice when you question him, finding delight in the sorrowful position you have him in.
“w-what?” he stutters. “you—you want to see me?”
cameron’s been convinced you were disgusted with his entire presence, hearing your words makes his dick stiffen more. cameron can’t think clearly, but he knows he wants this, knows he wants you to want it as well.
you’ve switched—and so quickly at that. cameron’s not sure if you’ve always been like this, but starting as a timid nerd and turning into a sweet voiced domme, shakes him to his core. cameron’s willing, though. he’s happy you were into it like he was.
untying the string to his shorts, cameron starts to fumble with the clothing items until they fall to the ends of his ankles. and the expression on your face cannot be contained—a mix of surprise and satisfaction. you expected a handsome boy like him to have a nice dick—well groomed and beautiful in color, but his length? cameron was a fairly decent size. you would rather not give him too much credit, but his umber tinted dick truly took your breath away.
“yeah?” he’s breathless as he responds.
nodding your head as you continue. “yes and you’re so pretty, you look so good, baby.”
cameron could die happily with the way you’re talking to him, his dick bobs in appreciation from the complimentary words you utter.
“show me what you can do.”
and cameron’s on it immediately, willing to do whatever he can to please you. his large hard drags over his hard dick in a fast motion, jerking along the tightened shaft without regard or concern. his eyes flick back and forth—from you and down to his piece in hand, while you watch.
you giggle a bit as you cross over the room, taking a few steps to get closer to him, as cameron continues to jerk his dick raggedly. he’s too excited—too anxious to reach his nut, that he can hardly contain himself.
“what’s the rush? we got all the time in the world.”
cameron’s looking to you for relief, awaiting whatever you can give him to get off completely. you step beside him and attempt to reach his height from the short distance you stand, clothed breasts brushing the outside of his strong arms as you linger.
the pad of your soft thumb traces over the end of his chiseled jaw, slowly finding your way to
his bottom lip as you grin softly. “open your mouth, cam.”
you only have to ask once because cameron trusts you. he doesn’t know why, but a major part of him knows you’d get him there without a hassle. cameron’s tongue wraps around your thumb without hesitation, moaning in satisfaction at the faint smell of perfume along your skin. his eyes fall closed in satisfaction of the contact.
“drool on that dick, baby, i want you to get it wet for me.”
you pull your hand away from his lips and cameron follows the instructions, opening his mouth wide enough that an elongated string of spit hits the base of his dick without pause. it’s fucking sexy when he does it, hand holding onto a nearby bookshelf as you watch intensely. you try not to moan and only enjoy the show, but it’s almost impossible with a star football player falling apart the simple commands you give.
“do you want me to touch it, cam? want me to make you feel good?”
and it’s more than anything he’s ever wanted in his life. cameron’s skull could rattle with how fast his head shakes. you only give him a little, gentle fingertips twisting at the head of his dick while he shivers in response.
“yes—yeah, please, y/n, please.”
then you think. “but, do you deserve it? have you been good, cameron?”
cameron knows the truth—he’d been acting a fucking fool as of late, but he was here now and he was willing to try, willing to try and be good just for you.
“i can—i can be better, y/n. i can be calmer, nicer—fuck, just touch me please.”
“promise me cameron. promise you’ll be good from here on out. promise you’ll listen to me.”
he nods furiously, “yes, yes, i’ll be good, i’ll be good and i’ll do whatever you want.”
with the lubrication of his spit, you’re easily able to tug on cameron’s big dick, opposite hand finding purchase around his wide neck. you choke him softly, just enough that it takes his breath way and makes him moan at the same time.
“lift your shirt up, i wanna see you, baby, i gotta see you.”
with hardly any focus, cameron scrambles to unzip his jacket and raise his plain t-shirt like you commanded him to. your soft hand grazes the rippled skin of his abs in admiration. his skin is damp from a previous workout and the anxiety of being in your hold and you can smell it on him. the scent of his natural sweaty aroma combined with a woodsy cologne makes your pussy clench around nothing.
you didn’t mind the idea of cameron bending you over this bookcase and fucking you like nobody’s business, but you knew better—knew you couldn’t give it to him that easily. cameron would have to earn it. you jerking him off was an act of kindness after canceling the tutoring session. anything from this point forward would require some serious effort.
theartofmadeline
areudirty
pixelskylines
snowghoul
origamiaround
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
