#Cameron the Security Camera

[mimicmew]

The Normalest guy ever. Don’t pay attention to it, it is not watching you, after all.

[REBLOGS > LIKES]

[rafeandonlyrafe]

good boy

words: 1.5k

warnings: established relationship, marriage, protective!rafe, (guard??) dog, fluffy

“rafe, it's literally two weeks. ill be fine!” you say, folding his clothes, having dumped out his suitcase onto the bed to reorganize it when you saw how he packed it, just chucking things in.

“two weeks where im a hours away from you by plane.” rafe sighs, watching you carefully repack his suitcase as he pouts on the bed, not wanting to leave you.

“you know, cameron, i lived a whole 20 years before meeting you.” you point out, knowing while rafes concern comes from his love for you, it will completely overwhelm what is supposed to be an enjoyable family vacation and leave him miserable the whole time.

“i don't see why you can't just come with me.” rafe groans, flopping back against the bed. you smile and round the bed to where his head is resting against the pillows. you press a smooch to his forehead, rubbing your hand over his head, petting at his soft hair.

“baby, it's just for your family. you know that.” it's not like you don't want to accompany rafe to a tropical paradise, but you would feel way too awkward intruding.

“what if something happens to you? and im not here to protect you? id be the worst fiancee ever.” rafe grabs your head from rubbing his head, holding up the ring on your finger for him to admire.

“nothing will happen. nothing ever happens here.” you laugh. you're not sure what crime is like on the other side of the island, but your neighborhood is incredibly safe.

“im still worried.” rafe sighs. “you in that big house all alone.”

“im gonna spend 99% of the time wedding planning.” you hum, thinking about the tabs pulled open on your laptop of different venues, dresses, and color palettes.

that finally gets rafe to crack a smile. “can't wait to marry you.” rafe says earnestly. he only proposed a month ago, some people would say that you were too young to get married, but rafe knew when you came into his life and turned everything around for him that he had to put a ring on your finger.

“i can't wait either.” you bend down to press a kiss to rafes lips. “but seriously we need to talk about your packing before we tie the knot, why do you only have one pair of shorts packed for an island?”

-- two years later --

“remember those two weeks you left before we were engaged? it's not really much longer. you should go, baby. it's a good opportunity.” you are sat on rafes lap, back pressed against his chest as he scrolls through his email.

“it's just work, and it's a whole lot longer than two weeks. i don't want to leave you here alone for over a month.” rafe closes out of the email, making you sigh.

“i was fine for those two weeks, ill be fine now. promise. i think you should go! it's a big conference.” you turn sideways on his lap so you can look rafe in the eye. “besides, it's still six months away. plenty of time to prepare.”

“prepare?” rafe raises his eyebrows. “so you'd be good with security cams around the whole house and personal security?”

“cameras on the outside and hell no. you don't want some random guys watching after me do you?”

you can see the gears turning in rafes head as he frowns. “yeah, you're right. no men.”

“so you'll go?” you smile. rafe closes his eyes for a brief moment before nodding.

“yay!” you squeal. you're not excited to be left alone, and you love being around your husband more than anything, but the work trip is a big deal, and you know he'll be kicking himself if he misses out on such a good opportunity.

--

“rafey?” you call, eyes sweeping across the living room as you enter your shared home, a head full of fresh highlights.

“hubby?” you call out, continuing deeper into the house until you see movement through the glass door leading towards the backyard, but it's not the typical roll of the ocean against the shore.

“rafe?” you question as you open the door. you expected to find him in his office, where he was before you left for the beauty salon.

rafe smiles, waiting for your eyes to look down, and when you finally see what is sitting at rafes feet, you let out a gasp.

“oh my gosh!” you squeal. 

“wifey, meet max. our new australian shepherd.” rafe gives a command with his hand, that has max running towards you.

you sink to your knees as the young dog excitedly greets you, licking at your hands as you pet him.

“hi maxey.” you coo at the dog, you're guessing around two years old, with max being full size but still having some young features.

“rafe, you didn't tell me you were getting us a dog!” you stand up, max following close behind as you rush to give your husband a hug.

“i have a confession.” rafe says, his hands looped around your waist. you frown, worried that max was just a foster and you'd have to give him back, or that something went wrong with the adoption. you often talked about getting pets before getting married, but wanted to wait a little bit, and then time just slipped away and before you knew it, you were over a year into your marriage. 

“what?” you whine out.

“ive been working with a trainer behind your back. i wanted to make sure max was ready before we chose him for sure. he knows commands, me, your scent, our house. everything. he knows his primary responsibility is to protect you and our property.”

“oh my gosh!” you slap rafe in the chest, surprised that he was able to keep such a secret from you. “how could you do all that without telling me?” you laugh, not angry, but surprised that he was able to orchestrate everything.

you don't wait for rafe to explain how he was able to find so much time, stepping out of his hold to kneel down and continue petting max.

“we have some more training sessions so he can learn with you as well.” rafe further explains, also leaning down to pet max behind the ears as he pants excitedly at his new owners.

--

“what is it maxy?” you ask as he lifts his head up, looking around the living room. “you miss your daddy?”

you sigh as max lets out a sad sounding huff, petting your hand over his head, scratching at his neck which you know is his favorite. rafe has been gone on his business trip for a month now, with only a week and a half left until he returns home.

max suddenly jumps off the couch, eyes on the backyard. he lets out a bark, claws clicking on the hardwood floor as he moves to the glass door. he lets out another bark, making you stand.

“what is it boy?” you ask, looking out the window.

max lets out another bark, this one the familiar territorial bark that he’s practiced in his training with you and rafe. you know the only reason that rafe feels safe enough leaving you home is that max is a great guard dog.

you get closer to the window, squinting your eyes to try and see in the darkness when you sudden jump back with a scream as a squirrel runs across your patio, causing max to bark and run along the glass door until it scatters into the yard.

“holy shit, maxy, you scared the shit out of me.” you press your hand to your chest before kneeling down, scratching behind his ears. “it was just a squirrel.” you reassure him with a pat.

your heart rate is just starting to calm down from the fright when you hear the front door open. max instantly takes off with you following after him, letting out a sigh of relief when you see rafe standing in the foyer.

“baby.” he sighs happily, setting his suitcase down as you run into his arms, pressing your lips together. “i missed you so much.”

“i missed you too, what are you doing home though?” you ask, giving him another kiss before he can answer.

“they didn’t need me for the rest of the week, decided to get home to my lady.” max barks, making rafe lean down to pet him, still holding you up. “and my good boy too, of course.”

“so happy to have you home.” you nuzzle your nose into rafes neck, inhaling the familiar scent that you missed so much. 

“happy to be back with you, wifey.” rafe says, carrying you further into the house.

“oh, and you will be very happy to know maxy did a great job protecting me while you were gone.” you tell rafe. it mostly involved max barking in warning at any delivery guy or car turning around in your driveway, but his presence did help making you feel safer and less loney.

“hopefully not too good.” rafe huffs as he looks at your pet. “can’t have him replacing me now.”

you giggle, surprised rafe can manage to be jealous of your dog. “never.” you swear, pressing another kiss to his lips.

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[rafecameronssl4t]

can u do dcc!reader x Rafe where they’re both at like an event, obvs reader w the other cheerleaders and Rafe with his other teammates and he sees when a man touches your waist even tho they aren’t allowed to bc of the no touching rule and the security guard doesn’t notice until you tell him to get his hands off of you. maybe the guy even goes up to Rafe to ask for a photo but he’s rude to him bc he was touching her girl

Hands off || nfl!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

A/n: so creative anon! thank you :)

Warnings: unwanted touching from stranger, lil bit of angst at end if you squint

Word count: 1,973

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The "no touch" policy was quite simple: fans were not allowed to touch the cheerleaders. Footballs were brought to every stand and pose event. This gave fans something to hold during photos, making the interaction less awkward and minimising any potential for psychical contact.

Not everyone knew the rule, though, and some would instinctively try to put their arms around the cheerleaders for a photo. Thankfully, security was always on hand, watching and ready to step in, instructing fans to keep their distance.

Over the three years you've been a dcc, you’ve never had a bad experience with this policy. It’s become second nature, and you trust the system. So when you and a few of the other girls arrive at the event, where fans will be meeting you and taking photos, you think little of it.

The familiar buzz of excitement fills the room, and as you scan the crowd, your eyes land on Rafe. He’s on the other side of the room, already engaged in conversation with a fan. A small smile tugs at your lips as you take in his casual outfit: a pair of well-worn jeans, a black shirt that fits him just right, and a green baseball hat.

Before you can admire him any longer, Kelcey pulls you along to start taking photos. The first few interactions go smoothly, with fans smiling as they pose beside you, football in hand. Of course, there are always a few who try to get a little too close, but security is quick to intervene, keeping everything under control.

As you smile for the camera, you’re completely unaware of Rafe’s gaze locked on you from across the room. His eyes trail over your figure, captivated by your appearance. Your radiant smile, the way you carry yourself—everything about you seems to draw him in. He watches intently, his attention fixed solely on you, as if nothing else in the room matters.

“Watcha lookin’ at?” Chris asks, nudging Rafe’s shoulder with a playful grin. He follows Rafe’s line of sight, his curiosity piqued. It doesn’t take long for Chris to figure out what—or rather, who—has captured Rafe’s attention. A knowing smirk spreads across his face as he spots you across the room. “Coach’s daughter, huh?” he chuckles, turning back to Rafe, who still hasn’t torn his eyes away from you.

Chris can’t resist teasing him a bit more. “Heard from a few fans ‘round here that she’s their favourite,” he comments, watching Rafe’s expression carefully. Rafe scoffs, but the amusement is clear in his eyes. “Too bad. It’s not like it’s my name she’s—” “Woah there, bud. Too much info. Jesus,” Chris interrupts with a laugh, shaking his head as he holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t need to hear all that.”

As Chris walks back to the others, still chuckling to himself, Rafe remains rooted to the spot, his gaze never straying from you. The smirk on his lips only deepens as he watches you, the teasing from Chris barely registering in his mind.

His thoughts are entirely occupied by you—your smile, the way you move, the effortless way you light up the room. Even from across the room, it’s clear that you have a magnetic pull on him, one that he has no desire to resist.

Rafe’s gaze narrows as he notices a man approach you and the other cheerleaders. Even from a distance, it’s clear that this guy’s attention is solely on you. The way he barely acknowledges the others, his focus only really locking on you when it’s his turn for a photo, makes it obvious to anyone paying attention—this man has a particular interest in you.

Rafe watches intently, a sense of unease creeping in as the man lingers around you. Something about him doesn’t sit right. The usual football, meant to occupy fans' hands and prevent unwanted contact, has somehow gone missing, and security is scrambling to find a replacement. In that brief moment of chaos, the man sees his opportunity.

Rafe’s muscles tense as he watches the man discreetly slide his hand around your back. His fingers hover just above your exposed skin, as if hesitating, before finally making contact with your waist and smoothly resting on your hip. It’s a subtle move, but to Rafe, it’s glaringly inappropriate.

His jaw clenches tightly, frustration bubbling up as he realises the sea of fans between you and him would make it impossible to reach you in time. He feels a surge of protectiveness and helplessness all at once.

But then, he notices your reaction. You don’t hesitate—your hand quickly grabs his, pulling it firmly away from your body. Your expression is unreadable from where Rafe stands, but he can see that you’re saying something to the man, your words lost in the noise of the crowd. Fortunately, before the situation escalates further, the security guard steps in. His large frame moves between you and the man, effectively blocking any further contact.

Rafe exhales, tension still coiled in his muscles, but relieved that you handled the situation with the confidence and poise he’s come to admire in you. Even from across the room, he can see that you’re okay, but that doesn’t stop the protective instinct from simmering just beneath the surface.

~

The moment you make eye contact with the fan, a strange vibe settles over you. There’s something off about the way he looks at you, his gaze intense and fixated. Still, you smile at him, greeting him politely even as he barely acknowledges the other girls.

His focus is entirely on you, and you can feel the discomfort creeping in. A quick glance at Kelcey and Reece confirms they feel it too, their eyes mirroring your unease. "Hi, how are you?" you ask, maintaining your practiced smile as the man approaches. You guide him to the center, between you and Kelcey, trying to keep things professional.

"I'm so great," he replies, grinning at you in a way that makes your skin crawl. You nod, forcing a smile, though the unease gnaws at you. "You're even more gorgeous up close," he comments, his voice laced with something that makes you nervously chuckle.

"Thank you..." you reply, your voice trailing off as you notice the security guards in conversation. Concern flickers in your eyes, and you glance at Kelcey for confirmation. "They lost the football," she whispers, and you nod in understanding, trying to keep your composure.

"Did the other guy maybe take it with him—" Before you can finish your sentence, you feel it—a hand sliding onto your waist, then resting on your hip bone. Your body tenses, and without hesitation, you step away, firmly pulling his hand off of you.

"Please do not touch me," you say, your voice steady and commanding. The firmness of your tone catches the attention of everyone around you. The man’s bravado crumbles in an instant, replaced by nervousness as all eyes turn on him. "I didn’t mean to—sorry," he stammers, but the lie is obvious, his excuse flimsy.

You narrow your eyes slightly, your patience wearing thin. "You didn’t mean to feel up my waist and hip?" you challenge, your voice tinged with defensiveness. Before the situation can escalate further, a security guard steps in, his imposing presence effectively cutting off the interaction.

"Okay, that’s enough," the guard says firmly, positioning himself between you and the man. "Sir, were you aware that there is a strictly no-touching rule when it comes to taking pictures with the cheerleaders?" The man gulps, his earlier confidence evaporating. "No—no, I had no idea—"

The guard raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You’re telling me you haven’t seen the signs that are everywhere informing you about this?" His tone leaves no room for argument. "Move along, please," the guard instructs, gesturing with a dismissive wave of his hand. As the man sheepishly slinks away, the guard turns to you, his voice softening. "Miss, are you okay?"

You nod, your pulse still racing but your composure intact. "I’m fine, thank you," you reply, your voice steady. Kelcey and Reece quickly move to your side, their concern evident as they guide you away from the scene.

"Let’s get to the changing rooms," Kelcey murmurs, her arm around your shoulder as the next group of cheerleaders takes over. You allow yourself to be led away, grateful for the support, but also determined not to let the incident shake you.

~

Rafe watches intently as you disappear from view with the other girls, a tightness in his chest gradually loosening as you’re led safely away. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, turning back to face the next round of fans lining up for pictures. His mind is still half on you, replaying the scene over in his head, but he forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

A few more fans pass by, offering handshakes and snapping photos, but then something catches Rafe’s eye—a familiar face in the crowd. It’s him. The same guy who had touched you earlier. Rafe’s entire body stiffens, his muscles tensing as a wave of anger surges through him.

His glare sharpens, eyes narrowing on the man who seems completely oblivious to the fury directed his way. The guy casually makes his way down the line of players, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in Rafe’s eyes.

When the man finally reaches Rafe, he extends his hand with the same nonchalant attitude, expecting another casual greeting. But Rafe has no intention of letting this slide. He grasps the man’s hand in a firm, vice-like grip, squeezing just hard enough to send a clear message.

The man’s expression shifts from easygoing to startled as he looks up at Rafe, his brows furrowing in confusion. Rafe meets his gaze head-on, his eyes cold and unyielding. There’s no need for words; the intensity of Rafe’s stare says it all. The man fidgets slightly, trying to mask his discomfort, but it’s clear he’s rattled by the unexpected show of strength and the silent warning in Rafe’s eyes.

The handshake lingers a beat too long, the tension thick in the air, before the man awkwardly pulls his hand back, mumbling something under his breath as he moves on to the next player. Rafe watches him go, his jaw still clenched. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, but the anger simmering beneath the surface remains.

When it came time for the group photo, Rafe made sure his smile was practiced, not genuine, his eyes cold as the man stood at the center of the group. The man's audacity to remain at the event after what he had done gnawed at Rafe, his mind replaying the earlier scene with a growing sense of disbelief and anger.

As soon as the photo was taken and the man left, Rafe rolled his eyes and shook his head, barely able to contain his frustration. "I need to take five. Gotta hit the bathroom," Rafe said to the event coordinator, his tone controlled but urgent. "Yeah, sure, go ahead," she replied, barely glancing up as she continued to redirect the flow of fans.

Without wasting another second, Rafe made his way to the girls' changing room, his heart pounding with concern. He knocked in a familiar rhythmic pattern, the signal you both had used before to let each other know it was safe to open up.

You opened the door, and before you could say a word, Rafe swept you off your feet, pulling you into a tight embrace. The door clicked shut behind him as he nudged it closed with his foot, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The tension you’d been holding onto melted away the moment you felt his warmth, your own arms sliding around his waist.

"I saw what happened," he murmured against your hair, his voice soft but filled with concern. "You okay?" You let out a shaky breath, your face buried in his chest as you absorbed the comfort he offered. "Not really," you admitted quietly, the vulnerability in your voice evident. "But I'll be fine."

Rafe’s arms tightened around you, his grip steady and reassuring. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, letting the silence speak for the care he felt. He knew you were strong, that you could handle yourself, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to shield you from every bad moment, every unsettling experience. He couldn’t change what had happened, but he could be there for you now, and that was enough.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just holding onto each other as the world outside faded into the background. Rafe’s presence was a balm to your frayed nerves, grounding you in a way that made the fear and unease dissipate, if only for a little while.

Finally, Rafe leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand gently cupping your face. "If you need anything, you tell me, alright? You don’t have to go through this alone." You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you, Rafe. I’m glad you’re here."

His gaze softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. "Always," he whispered, the promise clear in his voice.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

heyy! tom blyth is soo omg. anyways can you do young c.snow with 3 :)

‘’Don’t die in there. I expect a kiss when you get back.’’

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The moment he saw you on the screen at the reaping ceremony, Coriolanus knew he was fucked. 

Falling for his assigned tribute wasn't part of the plan and could complicate his role as a mentor — or jeopardize his shot at winning the Plinth prize —, but as they say, you can’t help who you fall for.

The night before the games, Coriolanus sneaked down to the Capitol zoo to talk to you. It was risky to go there without any security after what happened to Arachne Crane, but it was night-time. He assumed the tributes would all be sleeping.

And he needed this last moment before he might never see you again.

You were sleeping as soundly as one could against a big rock when you heard your name. The voice was just above a whisper, not trying to wake the other tributes. 

Stirring from your sleep, you frowned as you recognized the voice of your mentor. ‘’Coryo?’’ you whispered into the darkness, squinting to see through the shadows.

You heard your name again, this time clearer, and you stood to meet him at the gates where he was usually waiting for you with a sandwich or a cookie. But unlike the other days, his hands were empty as he waited for you.

‘’What are you doing here?’’ you asked, a small smile curling on your lips. 

Even through the dark, you could make out the blue of his eyes. He was so beautiful.

‘’I apologize for waking you during your last hours of rest, but I needed to see you. To…thank you for saving me back in the arena.’’

You shrugged. ‘’If I want you to help me in there, I was gonna need my mentor.’’

Coriolanus nodded. Although he wished you had saved him because you cared about him, he understood that your mind was focused on the game. After all, it was your life who was on the stake, not his. 

Sensing your worry and fear, his hands found yours through the gates, gently caressing the back of it with his thumb. ‘’Everything is gonna be okay,’’ Coriolanus promised. ‘’You will win. I believe in you.’’

‘’Some of the other tributes are stronger than me, Coryo. It’s not looking to be in my favor…’’ A tear fell from your eyes and he quickly wiped it with a handkerchief. 

‘’Don’t think about what you can’t do and focus on what you can do. You’re intelligent, quick and small enough to fit in any of the vents. Never forget your best ally — there are cameras everywhere watching. Get the public’s attention and heart and they will send money to help you. I will help you, I’m gonna get you out of here.’’ 

He seemed sincere, so you believed him. He was the only person from the outside who could help you.

His hand, who wiped your tears, was still on your face, resting against your cheek. It felt nice, you decided. You never wanted him to stop touching your face. 

Without realizing, you were both slowly leaning in. Your mouths were about to touch, but Coriolanus dodged your kiss. 

‘’Sorry, I shouldn’t have—’’ you quickly apologized, breaking all contact with him. ‘’I misread the situation.’’

The blond shook his head. ‘’No. You have not,’’ he assured. ‘’I want to kiss you, I really do, but I’d rather kiss you after your victory.’’

You looked down, not as optimistic as him. 

Coriolanus pressed his forehead against yours through the bars of the gates. ‘’Don’t die in there. I expect a kiss when you get back.’’ 

‘’I’ll try not to.’’

—

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[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Fake boyfriend - p5

Pairings - soft!rafe Cameron x virgin!reader

warnings - none

Part 4

You had walked past the mirror at least 6 times, checking your outfit with a strict eye each time. “Jesus y/n.. you look great!” Kelsie groans, grabbing you by the shoulders and steering you out of the bedroom. “Since when have you been so concerned off what you wore around a guy?” She questions, a smirk creeps its way to her lips and she gives you a friendly nudge.

“What will you do tonight? I feel bad leaving you, you leave tomorrow night”.

She gives you a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, shrugging her shoulders to your question. “I could see if you could come?”

“No definitely not…honestly I’ll be fine! I’ll probably just stay in” you nod your head and reach for your bag, the rumble of Rafe’s truck cuts through the silence. Kelsie is quick to push you towards the door, overly excited to watch her best friend go out with her boyfriend. “Have the best time okay! I’ll see you tonight or you know maybe in the morning” she winks.

A soft rap on the door she pulls it open, Rafe stands dressed in dark gray chinos and a loose white shirt that is rolled up at the sleeves. You can see a slither of his chest and it just about sends you into cardiac arrest.

“Hey”

“Hey”

“All right love birds, off you go!”

Kelsie pushes you out of the door, your frame smacking his chest face on. His hands are quick to grip your bicep and steady you, you give him a soft smile and let him walk you down to his car. “You look beautiful”.

Your cheeks darken at his words, shying away from him. “Thanks” you manage to whisper, letting him help you up into the truck.

You wore a black dress, it had puffy sleeves and tightened at the waist. Sitting just above your knees, paired with a pair of red pumps.

“So this work event.. should I expect personal questions about us?”

The corner of his lips turn up and he glances over to you briefly, staring at his side profile in awe. His jaw was sculpted and you could see the muscles pop when he clenched his jaw. “Well about that… my dad owns the company”

“Oh”

Your heart begins to race at the idea of meeting his dad, this could either go really well or end really bad for the both of you. He could see behind the lies and ask you to leave.. worse, he could have security escort you out in front of everyone.

“Don’t be nervous”

“Easy for you to say”

He laughs loudly, the sound sends goosebumps down your arms. You pocketed that sound into a core memory, never wanting to forget the way he sounded.

“I have a confession”

“Mhm?”

“That story I told your friend about the elevator..”

“I was meant to ask you how you knew I was stuck in an elevator”

“Well… my dad owns that building. I was in the security room when they got notified of the lift getting stuck, we could see you in the camera.”

“Oh”

You remembered your brief panic attack, pressing the palms of your hands on the mirror to steady your breathing. Reminding yourself you were only one level away from ground, you wouldn’t fall to your death.

“That was the first time I really got a good look at you.. I wanted to be there when they opened the elevator but I was late to a meeting so I couldn’t be… I wanted to be the one to comfort you”

Your eyes glazed over at his confession, your hand reaching over to grip his that sat idly on his lap. “I thought you were beautiful the moment I set eyes on you, but our paths didn’t really cross and when they did it wasn’t the right time for me to introduce myself”

You find yourself nodding, waiting for him to keep speaking, your heart beating harshly against your chest. “So when I caught you walking my way at the party I was beside myself… especially when you said play along and kissed me… it was like I was dreaming.”

Your thumb brushes up and down his palm, his eyes straight ahead. He’s pulling in front of the building before you can say anything and turning to look at you.

His mouth opens to continue but the sound of knuckles on the tinted glass cut through the small bubble the two of you had created around you. Your eyes lingered on his for a moment before dropping to his chest, he let out an annoyed breath and opened his door. “Thanks mate”

He hands the keys to the valet and walks around the front of the car, your eyes never leave his and when he opens your door and helps you out, your eyes still stay on one another. “Don’t be nervous”

All you can do is nod, you didn’t want to go into the building now. Not when he hadn’t finished his conversation, what was he doing to say next? Was he going to say he actually liked you?

You're both swept into a sea of people instantly, everyone saying hi and giving Rafe a hug or handshake. Everyone’s quick to direct their attention to you, eyes surveying the outfit you wore. Your cheeks painted in embarrassment as you gave everyone your best confident smile.

Rafes hand never left your waist, giving you soft squeezes anytime he noticed you staring at your shoes. He gushed about you, introducing you as his girlfriend and light of his life. A twang of guilt bled through your veins when you stood in front of his dad, you didn’t know if lying was a good idea but you weren’t confident enough to put an end to it.

“Dad.. this is y/n, my girlfriend”

You had heard mixed reviews about Ward Cameron, the man who owned pretty much all of the outerbanks. The tough man who pushed his son hard and only wanted the best for his children, the man who didn’t take no for an answer.

“So lovely to meet you! I hope my son is treating you well”

“He is” you give him a soft smile and accept his brief hug. Rafe’s hand is quick to tug you back against him, this time your back pressed tightly to his front.

You don’t miss the way Ward’s eyes drop to his son’s arm around your body, a quick raise of the brow before his eyes were on yours again. You stand in silence, watching him take a sip of his whiskey before he places it on the table next to him.

“Well, I must go say hello to more people. Do join us for dinner sometime soon, yes y/n?”

“Yes sir”

He’s gone before he can hear your response, quickly understanding that is how he never takes no for an answer as he doesn’t stick around to hear anyone’s response.

“He’s scary”

“Mhm, let’s get a drink”

He whisks you away to the bar, ordering you a cocktail from the list. He moves you to stand in front of him, caging you against the bar. Your back pressed against the wooden bench, his eyes are watching the bartender closely so you take this moment to study his features, the way his jaw was sharp and hard but softened when he smiled. Ocean blue eyes that you had witnessed blown out and dark when he was aroused. “I can feel you staring at me”

“Oh, sorry”

“Don’t be sorry… I like it”

A soft wrinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles down at you, your stomach clenched at the sight. His hand dropping to your waist once more to pull you closer to him, he dropped his head to look at you. “Rafe” you whispered, pressing your tiptoes into the ground and pushing up slightly. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?” You question, you’d never asked a man before. You expected to feel embarrassment but the only feeling flooding your veins was arousal.

His lips are on yours immediately, his grip on your waist tight as though he thought you might vanish mid kiss. Your arms snake around his neck and pull him closer, mouth parting for his tongue.

A cough from behind is the only thing to bring you back to reality, pulling away in a huff. Turning your attention to the drinks placed on the bar. “Thanks” you both say at the same time.

“Let’s drink this and go” Rafe says, your head frantically nodding as you bring the straw to your mouth to drink the fruity liquid. The alcohol burns your throat slightly, you're not even half way when Rafe is placing his glass down and staring at you with hunger in his eyes.

“I’m done” your rushing, placing the half empty drink down and grabbing his hand. A cheeky grin creeps up his face and he’s rushing you out of the building without any goodbyes.

Tag list - @rafemotherfuckingcameron @rafegirly @prentissesredtanktop @maybankslover @vigilanteshitposting @drewstarkeyslut @emotionsmgcbabe @ijustwanttoreadlols @uraesthete @drewstarkeyswifehoe @aysha4life @yeosxxx @ailee-celeste @aaronhotchswife @watersquirtpewpewboomm @bbadiehoe @dream-pink @unbearableblog @blhemmings @20braced22 @xyzstar @bean-is-reading

[babygorewhore]

FaceTime

Rafe Cameron x fem reader

During one of Rafe’s late hours in the office, he calls you and reveals how needy he is for you.

Requested by anonymous and @gri959 I hope you enjoy! Less than 1k! Dividers by @xxbimbobunnyxx I do take requests! As long as they follow my boundaries, I’m totally down to take a request!!

Warnings! Mutual masturbation! Daddy kink! Light degrading and praise! Phone sex!

Rafe Cameron being your boyfriend was amazing and you couldn’t be happier. But one of the downsides was how much he worked, the late nights and the business trips. You were his favorite girl in the world though and he spoiled you with his love in all the ways he knew how. One of Rafe’s primary love languages was gift giving, something you woke up to earlier that morning on your side table. It was a small velvet box and inside was a custom made collar necklace.

One side read “Princess.” And the other side read “Slut.”

As you laid in bed later that night, wearing your favorite set of pajamas and lingerie, you waited for Rafe’s call. Your new necklace secure on your neck. Your phone finally vibrated, making your eyes blink rapidly. You must have dozed off but you answered. “Hey, baby!”

“Hey, princess.” Rafe’s low rumble on the other side of the phone was clear and you smiled. “How was your day, baby girl?” You tell him everything you did, adjusting yourself against the soft pillows before you thank him.

“Thank you for the necklace, Rafe. it’s so pretty.”

“Yeah? You like it, bunny? Mmm, which side of it do you have on right now?” You recognize the turn of his voice.

“I have it on ‘Princess.” You answer him and he makes a noise of approval.

“Mmm, why don’t you flip it around for me? I’m gonna FaceTime you.” Rafe explains before you shift your call, you hear the notification and see his handsome face on your camera.

His tie was undone, his suit pressed neatly as he leaned back in his office chair and he swept his eyes over you. “You’re perfect, princess. But I love seeing Slut across your neck. I wish it was my hand.” He smirks and you return the expression.

“Needy for me over the phone, daddy?”

“I feel like I’m gonna fuckin bust out of my pants. I miss your sweet wet pussy, baby girl. Miss it milking me dry.” You move, your knees pressing together and you turn the screen down.

Separating your thighs, you show him your damp panties in the middle and you hear him suck in a breath. “Fuck..you’re so wet for me, princess. I can’t take it. I want you so bad.”

You reach over to your drawer in your bedside table, pulling out your vibrator and you click it on. You move the phone up. Rafe grunts as you hold it against your chest, causing goosebumps to rise on the exposed area of your tits as you listen to him unbuckle his belt.

“Lemme see that pretty pussy. I wanna see it twitch while you think about my dick pulsing in you, princess.” Rafe orders and you immediately listen.

You remove your underwear, tossing them off the side of the bed and you press the toy against your clit. Holding the phone down so he can see it. You whimper as Rafe lets out a sharp exhale as you see him maneuver his body, his strong forearm flexing as he takes his cock in his fist. Pants and boxers down his thigh.

His red leaking tip drips onto his hand as he strokes it, moaning as you slide the vibrator down to your entrance, your slick making it easier.

“That’s it, baby. I want you creamin all over me. I wanna smear it all over your pussy and ass. I’m gonna mark your perfect body,” He huffs as you whine and spread your legs wider.

“Yeah? I want you to cum in me, daddy. I want my pretty boy to make me cry because it feels so fucking good,” You manage as your eyes start to roll back as Rafe speeds up.

“You’re such a fucking slut, huh? About to cum just thinking about me? Thinking about me railing that tight cunt? Then sucking up your mess with my mouth?” He groans as you move the toy against your center again, your chest heaving as your back arches off the bed.

“Feels so good, Rafe.” You whisper.

“I bet it does, princess. I wanna wrap my hand around your throat while I fuck you, make sure everyone can hear you scream how good daddy makes you feel.”

That pushed you over the edge and you cried out. You gripped the vibrator, trembling as you came all over the wand. Rafe followed suit and he moaned loudly, cum gushing all over his fist and fingers. He panted and his stomach flexed underneath his shirt as he fucked himself through it.

You removed the toy, raising the phone so he could see your face as you licked off the tip. Cum coating your tongue.

“Ah, fuck. My pretty little whore being so good for me. Sucking off what I’m gonna taste as soon as I get home.” Rafe gasped and let his hand fall off, his dick slapping against his thigh.

“I miss you,” You say quietly as you relax against the bed and Rafe gives you a soft smile.

“I miss you too, princess. I’ll be home in a few hours. Better get some sleep. You’re going to need it. I’m gonna stretch that pussy of yours and take my time. My pretty bunny deserves to be worshiped.”

Tagging @marchsfreakshow @drewstarkeyslut @rafescurtainbangz @redhead1180 @oceandriveab @rafesthroatbaby @rafeinterlude @starkeysprincess @slvt4jamesmarch

[cameronspecial]

rafe x ocd!reader

she’s constantly checking if she closed the doors and windows before going to bed or outside. at night she sometimes doesn’t get sleep because her mind is telling her she didn’t close and lock them so she has to get up again and check, getting almost no sleep sometimes. rafe comforts her and sometimes they take pictures or videos so she knows she locked it without getting up

hes just so understanding and helpful

One Lock, Two Locks, Three Locks More

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x OCD!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

Masterlist

Y/N knows she locked the doors and windows. Rafe wouldn’t have gone to bed if they didn’t, but something in her mind is telling her they didn’t do it right. She accidentally locked the kitchen window before locking the front door and the front door should always be locked first. She tried moving on and telling herself it didn’t matter, not wanting to keep Rafe up for longer than necessary. However, the incorrect order of how she did things is keeping her up. Her eyes are wide as she watches the clock tick. Rafe’s hold blankets her, keeping her warm against the cold night. She has to relock all the doors or else she won’t be able to sleep. She ducks under his arm and heads downstairs. Her feet lead her to every external lock on the ground floor and she unlocks every single one of them. And then she starts the ritual of locking them up again. The doors need to be locked first because those are the biggest points of entry. She locks the front door first and then heads to the patio door at the back of the house. She secures both of those before moving on to the windows. These have to be done in a clockwise motion around the house. First, the window to the right of the front entrance and then the one in the adjoining living room to the right. 

She goes around the house getting everything locked up, ending the routine at the window to the left of the front door. Except… She can’t remember if she locked the first window in Rafe’s office first or if she locked the second one first. She better do this all over again just in case. 

Rafe attempts to pull his girlfriend in closer to his chest in his sleep, yet it doesn’t work because the space she usually occupies is empty. The clicks coming from downstairs tell him exactly what she is doing. It’s freezing in the house and he knows she is probably just wearing his t-shirt to bed. He shrugs on a hoodie and gets her one too. His feet pad down the stairs to find Y/N at the front door. “Sweetheart, did we lock the doors wrong tonight?” he croaks in his tired voice. She loves how he says we, not in a condescending way, but in a way that lifts a little bit of pressure off her about this being her fault. She gives a tiny nod as he holds the sweater up for her to put on. He kisses her on the forehead with a nod and pulls his phone out “How about I turn the locks and you record it to make sure that we do it in the right order?” he suggests, holding his phone out to her. She takes it and motions for him to start. Rafe spends about ten minutes going through the order in his head to make sure everything is locked correctly. He makes sure to relock each lock three times to assure her that they did, in fact, lock the first time. 

Once the video is filmed, he tugs her to bed and wraps his arms around her as they rest on their sides. He holds his phone up for her to watch the video. Her rigid position that tells him she is awake soon turns relaxed and he kisses the back of her head before turning his phone off. Leaving tonight’s video to join its hundreds of brothers and sisters in Rafe’s camera roll. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover

[loveandleases]

"Say you want me" For cam 👀

Hey~ It's been so long since I've done a prompt. Thought this prompt list was a good way to get back into it, Below the cut~ (Going to go with college Cam and MC here. This got kinda long...)

“Are you coming or not?" His voice is hushed, as he stares at you from the opposite side of a chain link fence.

You don't know why you followed him out tonight, you don't know why he's this drunk. You shared a beer and a half, now finding yourself running from a frat party.

He always gets, for lack of a better word, brave when he's had a drink. 

"Cameron Clarke, get the fuck back here!" 

The voice shakes you out of your thoughts as you hear the footsteps getting closer.

You panic slightly, finally climbing over the fence. When on the other side, your eyes meet that of Laron, social chair of Sigma Chi.

You feel your hand being gripped and pulled before your brain can catch up, your lungs burning as Cam leads you across the street making twists and turns around buildings, a few stray college kids having one last hurrah before the upcoming graduation.

You finally come to a halt, bending over to catch your breath. Your heart pounding hard in your chest.

Cam's laughter is just a reminder of the night, one of the last few before you start this next chapter of your lives. 

 Cam already secured an apartment for himself. Nestled in the city, not too far from your aunt's house. "Just in case she needs me." 

You can't help but smile at the sentiment, knowing that's not the only reason Cam will be living in that area.

He finally stops laughing, sitting down on the cold concrete between the two buildings you find yourselves standing near. 

"That was amazing. I've never seen you climb so fast. Not even when Auntie's dog tried to get your candy bar."

You shove him as you sit beside him, leaning your head back and closing your eyes, letting your heart calm down.

"What the hell did you do to get them so mad?" You turn to look at Cam, finding he is already looking at you.

His eyes widen, his cheeks red, must be from the running. At least that's what you tell yourself. He clears his throat, but scoots closer to you. Shoulder to shoulder, and hip to hip. His scent is one that's familiar and comforting.

You swallow hard, must be thirsty from the run. At least that's what you tell yourself. 

Cam takes his phone and holds it close so you can see. 

"What? It's just a picture of us from finals week."

"Look closer." He instructs, leaning closer into you if that is even possible. 

You scan the photo. Cam and you stand outside the library looking as if you hadn't slept for a week. Which is quite possible considering how hard you studied for your last exams. Cam's arm wrapped around your shoulder his head leaning against yours smiling ear to ear. Yet you notice he wasn't looking at the camera, instead looking at you.

"Geez, right there look." Cam's voice interrupts your thoughts as you follow his finger to the corner of the photo.

You squint slightly but sure enough, it's Laron and...who is he kissing...wait...holy.

"No way!?" You say rearing back to turn to Cam, whose eyes were staring somewhere close to your lips. You don't miss the dimple on his cheek, the way his heterochromatic eyes look along the lines of your face.

"Yeah, Professor Flynn. I pulled my phone out and he saw it earlier, and said he was going to delete the photo. So I punched him and ran."

Your eyes widen looking to the phone and back to Cam. He was always protective of the photos he took. Didn't matter what the quality was or if it was good enough. To him, they were important, memories. 

"You punched him?"

Cam smiled his eyes crinkled and nodded before leaning it on your shoulder. "I couldn't let him delete a part of us. I don't care who he's making out with. Maybe next time don't get in my photo."

A part of..us? 

When you don't say anything Cam looks up at you, your face inches away from each other. His hand reaches to your cheek, wiping under your eye gently. 

Subconsciously your eyes close, and you lean your face against his hand, against his warmth. His finger stalls, just long enough for you to notice. 

To notice you leaning in, his breath warm against your face. Long enough for you to pull away if you want. Yet, you don't.

It's the alcohol. Your lips part slightly. He hesitates. looking over your face. Hesitates, just long enough.

But you barely drank. Your breath catches in your throat.

It's the alcohol. His lips press against yours, warm, and soft. 

Lips that have told you the secrets of his life, the secrets he buries deep in his heart. Lips that have supported you every time, every step.

You grab his wrist, clinging to him. Returning the kiss tenfold. He moans a sweet sound. An alluring sound. 

You don't stop as his tongue flicks against your own. Asking for permission. Asking for acceptance. And you grant it easily, as your back presses against the building. His hand slid to your hip, holding you tight.

He pulls away, and you force yourself to hold back a whine. Opening your eyes you look at him. His are heavy with want, with desire. 

"Say you want me." It's quiet, meek in a way. You could hear his voice quiver when he said it.

You look at him, truly look at the man before you. "I.."

"Clarke!" 

You both turn frozen, seeing Laron turning the corner and staring at you. Fuck, this is not going to be good.

It was the alcohol.

[rafeshoeeee]

popstar!reader x bodyguard!rafe

Ever since you were a little girl, being in the limelight was something you'd always dreamed of. Singing on stage and entertaining the crowd as they sang every lyric to all of your songs, It was a feeling you couldn't describe. It was almost like every nerve in your body was dancing around to the music you sang, and dancing to beat.

However, being a pop-star had its pros and cons, it was extremely overwhelming at times when all the attention was on you. Simple tasks like going to the supermarket was a challenge, without swarms of paparazzi flashing their cameras in your face and constantly getting up in your personal space. They had no shame, they didn't care if they pushed you about or invaded your privacy, they only cared about updating the media on your every move.

Your bodyguard always succeeded in making them give you space and when they didn't, he got very protective very quickly. He never backed down when paparazzi were ruthless, your safety always being his number one priority.

Apart of you found it insanely attractive, a guy who you barely had any relationship with, was willing to go above and beyond to protect you.

Another part of you felt rather guilty, how he puts you over himself in any situation and all you know about him is his name. Rafe, Rafe Cameron.

You had just finished touring around a week ago and decided to invite him out for dinner, just the two of you. Not a date of any kind, just to get to know each other, and so you could thank him for all the times he's helped you in situations you knew you wouldn't of been able to escape on your own.

He accepted your invite pretty much instantly. He had always found you intriguing from the moment you first met, you introduced yourself to everyone individually, despite all of them knowing who you were anyways. You were just so polite and precious and he didn't want you to experience the big wide world alone. He had the urge to protect you like no other, to shield you from any danger that you may face and to hold your hand when things got too much. And he got to do just that, but he wanted to do more.

You were looking forward to your evening ahead with Rafe, it'd be a nice change to see him without all his bodyguard gear. Although it suited him extremely well and you almost couldn't picture him without his black belt around his waist with his security badge pinned to it. You would actually be able to view him in a different light and get to know who he really was, not just your bodyguard. Potentially a friend.

You had to keep it professional of course, news spread quickly with anything that revolves around you and your love life. There has been rumors of the two of you dating, but you both just brushed it aside and took no notice. At the end of the day, it wasn't true, and there was no point getting wound up by it.

You aimed to get there by 8:30pm, you wanted to try and arrive a bit later to avoid it being too busy. You and Rafe decided to go to The Ivy, a nice Italian restaurant that was twenty minutes away from your house.

Rafe said he would pick you up at 8pm, he was very prompt and arrived exactly on time. You heard the doorbell ring and scurried there quickly so he wasn't waiting for too long.

And there he was, stood at your front door wearing a white button down shirt, it had been perfectly ironed to a crisp and the material looked expensive. The first two buttons were undone, showing off a slight bit of his toned chest, but not too much so it was inappropriate. Dark, navy blue trousers hugged his legs and a chocolate colored belt sat comfortably around his waist. He looked good, good enough to eat, and he thought the exact same about you.

The warm smile on your lips that you had coated with red lipstick as you opened the door. You looked incredible. It made his cock twitch in his pants at the sight of you in a long black dress, a slit traveling up your right leg and stopping at your mid thigh. Rafe licked his lips at the cheeky bit of skin you had showing, he wanted to see underneath. His eyes raked down your body and stopped at your nipples, that were prominently poking through the thin material of your dress.

He would do anything to swirl his tongue around your nipple slowly whilst he groped the other with his spare hand. He wanted to feel your skin slapping against his as he pounded into you, whilst you moaned in pleasure underneath and littered wet kisses onto his neck.

He was pulled from his thoughts to hear you rambling, "sorry i'm not ready, but i shouldn't be much longer. Soo, you can come in, i'll only be like 5 minutes"

Rafe nodded, "yeah that's fine" he stepped inside her house and shut the door softly behind him.

You cleared your throat, "there's glasses in that cupboard just there and drinks in the fridge, just help yourself, i'll be down in five"

Rafe watched as you ran up the stairs to finish glamming yourself up, he needed a drink, he needed something to take his mind off of the ungodly thoughts he was imagining just a few moments ago.

You were two steps ahead him, before you began getting ready, you poured yourself a glass on white wine and pretty much downed it immediately. You were on your third glass but had slowed down a bit, not wanting to embarrass yourself. You were a little tipsy but nothing you couldn't control.

You sprayed your Prada perfume on your neck and behind your ears, checked yourself out in the mirror once more and grabbed your bag from off the floor and headed for downstairs.

To your surprise, you collided with Rafe, he was wondering around like a lost puppy but he held a huge smirk on his face.

"Rafe? What are you doing?" you asked with confusion written all over your face.

He placed his hands firmly on your shoulders, fiddling with the small strap of your dress.

"i need you. So badly" he admitted.

He couldn't hold it in anymore, he couldn't go to dinner with you and then go home and wank off to a picture of you on your instagram. He wanted to watch you ride his cock, with your tits bouncing his face, him grabbing the flesh occasionally. He wanted to watch you do all the work, make him feel good. Feast his eyes of the image he's been dreaming of.

You were stunned, taken aback by his boldness. You weren't the only one who felt this way? You knew it was wrong, but it felt so right.

You bit your lip and looked up at him through your eyelashes, slowly tracing your nails up his body, stopping at his face. You cupped his cheek and pulled your lips together.

Rafe's hands immediately traveled down your body and cupped your ass, aggressively squeezing the flesh. They didn't stay there for long, they traveled to your bra less tits and he squeezed them both, hard.

You moaned into his mouth, your lips separating, he lightly chuckled at your reaction, "you like that yeah?" his eyes full of lust and desire, waiting for your answer.

you were out of breath from the heated kiss you shared, "yeah" you breathed out before grabbing his hand and pulling him into your room.

Your hands made their way to his shirt, fiddling with the flimsy buttons and undoing them as quickly as you could. His toned upper body was on show, his abs making you clench your thighs together and wetness soaking your panties. Your hands then found the zipper of his jeans and he stepped out of them quickly, leaving him in just his boxers.

He flopped on your bed and laid there staring at you manspreading, "strip for me baby"

You raised your eyebrows but did as you were told. You slowly pulled both your straps down and stepped out of your dress, leaving you in just your panties. You could have sworn you could see love hearts in Rafe's eyes as he stared at your tits.

He jaw was agape, he was in awe, "fuck. you're so perfect" he complimented, causing the wetness in your panties to grow.

You grabbed your black lace panties and slowly pulled them down your legs, you were stood completely naked in front of Rafe.

"such a sexy little body. c'mere" he grabbed the band of his boxers and removed them in a swift motion.

His dick hard, precum leaking from the tip, it looked angry and desperate for some attention.

You crawled on top of Rafe and teased your entrance with his tip, making him become impatient, "no teasing baby c'mon, i need you" he grunted out.

You smirked to yourself, you didn't know how much control you had over him until this moment. You slowly sunk onto him, his length filling you up, you could feel him in your stomach.

It took a minute for you to adjust to his size but once you did you were bouncing on him slowly, making both his and your dreams come to life.

[mimicmew]

what a silly little thing. 100/10 would stare at cameron for 3 hours. does it have a favorite thing? anything - S.S

CAMERON IS THE SILLIEST LITTLE GUY EVER YES!!! It loves rom-com movies, harmless gossip, cats, and picture books. But it's favourite thing in the world is a warm blanket and the safety of home. Not that it gets that much, in this little house.

[lazypanartist]

Chapter 1

---

A Rose By Any Other Name

Would Feel As Frigid

-

Warnings: mentions of underage smoking and drinking, other questionable activities, theft, and the American school system

Notes: a little over half of you said to name Reader, so that's what we'll do!

-

Previous

-

Meet Casey, our little OC/reader insert. Gender neutral name, they/them pronouns, and as always, you can change these in your head as we go along.

I figured giving a name to 'em would just help me as a writer keep track of stuff. Idk. If it doesn't work I'll just change it.

---

Each of us was assigned to a different inmate by our friendly neighborhood guardsman, Bob. Probably not his real name, but he's not exactly relevant. Brown hair, angry eyes, late forties. Just like two of the other guards I saw in the Pen.

I watched Jackson, one of the football team's linebackers, visibly pale when he was assigned to Blockbuster.

Will got Icicle Senior, and seemed even less excited than Jack. We'd heard more about Senior's stunts than Blockbuster's, and they weren't exactly pretty.

Poor Will.

Lainey pulled some lady named Devastation. When Bob pulled up her profile, Laine grinned.

"She's the one that broke the Brooklyn Bridge last winter. Put a car through it when Bane held out on a Venom shipment."

I winced slightly.

"Seems excessive."

"Does it help that he was on the bridge?" Lainey's smile widened, glinting canines matching her beanie.

"Didn't know you were so violently inclined." Daniel pulled his hoodie off and handed it to security, bumping my shoulder with his own.

Laine rolled her eyes. "You've played bouncer for me. You get how deals work."

"Pay up or get tossed, I know." The other jock looked the screen over again, then nodded. "She's hot."

"She's also twenty." Jack shoved between Dan and I, dropping his belongings into the tray. "And has more muscle than the whole Varsity team put together. Don't get killed," he offered Lainey.

"It'll take the whole punishment's mood down." Dan rolled his eyes at my quip.

"Like it's not bad enough already."

Rachel got paired with some lady named Shimmer. Similar hair styles, but Bob didn't seem to notice.

Olivia ended up with someone named Psimon. Pale, with an odd, clear dome for a skull and visible brain beneath.

"If it wasn't for your little business, none of us would be here!" Olive snarled at Lainey.

She snickered. "We could see your smoke from the stairs! If those two knuckleheads hadn't asked Ray for drinks," the gestured towards Jack and Dan, "we'd have been fine."

Before the trip, us seven and Parker, the yearbook kid, had to take home permission slips for our parents to sign. The typical "if anything bad happens, whoops but it's not on us" deal. My mom wasn't going to let me go, but as soon as she heard the charges for the lock picking and camera would be dropped, she was sold.

How rude.

"Casey?"

I glanced up.

"Yeah?"

Bob's scowl deepened.

"You're assigned ta Cameron Mahkent, Icicle Junior."

His profile popped onto the screen, forcing Psimon's out of view. I could feel my eyes widen as another teenager came into focus.

White hair, blue eyes, long sideburns, and a sharp jawline like Dan's, but with less width.

That was just his mugshot, though. Next to that photo was one I recognized from the news - a pointy chinned, blue skinned kid with angled edges everywhere - his shoulders were broader, fingers longer and sharper, and even his ears seemed a bit more pointed; almost like he was chiseled from ice.

"He sued to be tried 's an adult an' be placed here with his father," Bob said. "Then he helped try 'n stage a breakout. Rap sheet longer'n some adults I've seen - tons 'f injuries, break ins, obstructions of traffic an' justice. We figured you'd be th' best fin," he grinned, "'cause yours is one'a them crimes. The res', though? Normal teenage nonsense."

I could feel my own lips curl into more of a snarl than a smile as I took my coat back from the other guard. The rest of my stuff was shoved, along with everyone else's, into a drawer behind the counter.

"Oh, joy."

---

Next

[rafecameronssl4t]

Tennis || Tennis Player!Rafe Cameron x oc!reader

Summary: the beginning of my tennis player x oc!reader au maybe??

Warnings: none

Word count: 836

A/n: as a tennis girly, this will be fun to write ;) face claim for this oc is Paige Lorenze just bc she is my absolute favourite and her vlogs bring me sm comfort 🥹

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

mood board

It came as no surprise to anyone in the Outer Banks that Rafe Cameron had made it big in the tennis world. Even though everyone expected him to follow the usual kook path and play golf, Rafe decided to give tennis a shot, and it turned out he was a natural. From the moment he picked up a racket, it was clear he had a natural talent for the sport.

In no time, he racked up five Grand Slam titles and climbed to 4th in the world rankings. Growing up in an environment where he was groomed to play golf from the time he could walk, his switch to tennis had caught everyone off guard.

His rapid rise to the top shocked the tennis community, especially those who had dedicated their entire lives to mastering the sport, only to be surpassed by someone who had recently taken it up. It was almost laughable, but here you were, watching from the VIP box as Rafe stood just one point away from securing another Grand Slam at Wimbledon.

“Quite a talented young man he is,” your dad remarked, his eyes fixed on the big screen with a small smile playing on his lips. You turned to look at him, noticing the rare glint of admiration in his gaze. The entire stadium was patiently waiting for their break to be over.

Your dad, Steve Owen, was an ex-tennis player, a legend in his prime who had dominated the courts with unmatched skill. Compliments from him were few and far between, reserved only for those who truly earned his respect. Watching him now, you could tell he was genuinely impressed by Rafe’s talent.

“You feeling alright, Dad?” you teased, feigning concern as you leaned over and playfully pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. He chuckled softly, swatting your hand away with a grin as you giggled, settling back in your seat. “No, seriously,” he replied, his tone shifting to one of genuine admiration.

“It’s quite remarkable how quickly he rose up in the world rankings.” His voice softened as the two of you watched intently, the screen zooming in on Rafe’s concentrated face, capturing the intensity of the moment as he prepared to serve.Everyone held their breath as they watched the ball fly from one end to the other before the crowd erupted in cheers.

“Rafe Cameron has done it once again! Only been in this sport for two years, he now has won 5 grand slams! Unbelievable!” The commentator’s voice seemed to drown out as applause filled the VIP box. You were among the first to stand up, joining in the almost deafening applause. You watch with a smile as Rafe drops to the ground, hands covering his face as the stadium chanted his name.

Standing up, you were captivated, hands clasped under your chin, as Rafe was interviewed. His fingers tousled through his sweat-dampened hair, adjusting his cap with a boyish charm. “Congratulations on winning your fifth Grand Slam! That’s incredible for someone who’s only been in this sport for two years. I mean, that’s insane!” The interviewer’s excitement filled the air.

Rafe chuckled warmly, his smile genuine and infectious. “Thank you. I owe it all to the incredible support I’ve received. I wouldn’t be here without them,” he replied graciously, his eyes reflecting sincerity as he spoke of his supporters.

“Speaking of supportive people, did you happen to notice two special guests up there in the stands watching you?” The interviewer gestured across, and the camera zoomed in on you and your dad. Your cheeks warmed as the spotlight unexpectedly turned to you.

Rafe glanced up at the screen, his smile widening at the sight of your shy smile. “Uh, I did hear some whispers earlier that Steve and y/n might be in the crowd today,” he admitted, his gaze lingering warmly on you and your dad as he waved with genuine warmth. You waved back, feeling a surge of amusement ripple through the crowd.

Admiring Rafe wasn’t just an understatement; he was undeniably attractive. Your dad caught your eye, sharing a knowing glance as you couldn’t help but giggle. “What? You’ve practically given him your approval,” you teased, playfully winking at your dad. He chuckled heartily, clearly enjoying the playful banter.

With your dad’s esteemed reputation in tennis came certain privileges, like standing on court beside Rafe Cameron to award him his trophy.

“Congratulations, Rafe,” you said with a warm smile as he shook your hand, his eyes locking onto yours. “Thank you, y/n,” Rafe replied, his hand lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary, until you heard your dad clear his throat beside you. Rafe quickly released your hand to shake your dad’s, and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.

“Really well done, young man. Hope you know my team will be in contact with yours very soon,” your dad said with a smile that carried weight, momentarily stunning Rafe at the idea of some sort of partnership. “Thank you, sir. Means a lot coming from you,” Rafe nodded respectfully, acknowledging the significance of your dad’s words before joining him for the group photo.

As the camera clicked, capturing the celebratory moment, you felt your dad’s gentle tug, positioning you next to Rafe. You glanced at your dad, who smiled knowingly for the camera before Rafe’s hand lightly rested on your lower back. The touch sent a wave of warmth through you, causing your cheeks to flush as you focused on smiling for the photo.

y/n_owen

Liked by rafecameronofficial, wimbledon, paulabadosa, tennistv, cartier and 6,937,255 others

hi @wimbledon 🍓

view more comments

rafecameronofficial: oh hey.

↘️ y/n_owen: hii

↘️ user01: What’s this? 🤨

↘️ user02: THE WAY HE LOOKED AT HER IN THAT INTERVIEW

user03: Rafe Cameron x Y/n Owen would be THE it couple

↘️ user04: frl frl

user05: whatever is going on with Rafe and y/n, I ship it so bad

[toyotacorrola]

The first official chapter of "Radio Static" is now out!!

Chapter Summary: "Ingo disappears. Emmet has always been a man of fact. There is a terrible truth that he can't deny, no matter how much he wants to."

Chapter Word Count: 2,076

Links: ff.net | neocities

Also available to read below the cut:

The twin Subway Bosses of Nimbasa had always been close, as far as they could remember. This was common knowledge, and natural enough, considering they were twins.

Sometimes, though, it was... strange. Something beyond simple closeness. Like something that ran deeper than logic could explain, like something beyond familiarity connected them.

Most, though, never got close enough to find this out, or simply tried not to think too hard about it. It was better to just dismiss it as a side effect of being together so often for so long than drive themselves mad trying to come up with a proper explanation.

It made itself difficult to ignore, though, when Ingo disappeared.

All around the platform, heads had turned at the sound of a clipboard clattering to the floor. Emmet had looked as though he hadn't even noticed, preoccupied by something else entirely. His eyes were wide, his brows furrowed tight, and all the blood had drained from his face. He almost looked ready to pass out.

The agent that had come to ask him about the schedule tried in vain to get back his attention as he glanced about frantically, as if searching for something; no one could have guessed what. He scrubbed a hand down his face, like he had a headache coming on.

When he finally acknowledged Cloud, it wasn't to answer any of their questions, but rather, to ask one of his own.

“...Something is wrong. I am Emmet. Where is Ingo?“

Before they could even think to answer him through their perplexion, Cameron had jogged up to the pair, looking frazzled.

”There you are, Boss! I've been looking everywhere for-“ she began, then stopped, and looked around the platform, her brown curls swaying as her head turned. ”He's not with you, either?“ she asked.

It wasn't long before they realized that Ingo was nowhere to be found. His belongings and his pokeballs all laid in the tunnels, discarded, with no sign of where their owner had gone.

Cloud later realized that, in all of the panic and confusion, they never found out just how it was that Emmet had known.

-

It had been a remarkably slow day, seemingly dragging itself on towards nothing in particular. He had very few challengers make it to his car, and those that did seemingly did so on a fluke, not giving him much, if any, challenge at all.

The only remotely interesting thing to happen that day was when he and Ingo had gone into the tunnels to check for something strange an agent had allegedly seen on one of the security cameras. Emmet had had to leave, though, to wait at the platform before they had found out what it had been. He suspected that the answer wouldn’t be very interesting, anyway; probably just a Pokemon that had gotten separated from its trainer, or somesuch.

Other than that, though, nothing seemed to be very much out of the ordinary. Emmet wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not. He was bone tired from the monotony of the day, but “interesting” seldom went with “good,” at least in their business. 

He had, for once, wanted nothing more than to just end the day and go home. He and Ingo loved their jobs, so usually, neither of them much minded the long hours. That day, though, he couldn’t think about much other than having a nice, quiet evening home with his brother. 

As he waited at the platform for the train to arrive, he thought of a loose plan for what they would do that night. They could make dinner together, and maybe sit on the couch and watch a movie before retiring for the night. 

Just thinking about that made him aware of how his back ached. Ugh. He bent backwards, hands resting where his back curved, and heard several loud pops. As he straightened back up, he didn’t really feel much better. If Ingo were there, he’d have chastised him for it; he’d always hated that habit of his.

Emmet didn’t believe in bad days, so long as he had his brother with him. Every day is what you make of it, as Ingo would say. But today was really pushing it. He was hoping the last few hours, despite how tired he would still be, would make it so the day ended on a high note, at least.

Suddenly, Emmet froze, and felt the blood drain from his face.

Something was wrong. Something was missing. 

He blinked, and tried to focus, but nothing changed. The constant, warm presence in his mind that he was used to was just… gone. It had been there, just a moment ago, and all at once, it was gone.

All of his fatigue had frozen solid into dread in a single instant.

He hardly had a single coherent thought as his ears began to ring louder, and everything seemed to stop all at once. His heart, his breathing, everything around him, and...

And...

Where was Ingo?

He couldn't hear him, he couldn't feel him, he couldn't...

He tried to reach through, or to just feel that he was there; pulled away, for some reason, but there. Something must be wrong, but they would work through it. He’d yell at Ingo for it, he’d sound angry, even though he was really just scared. He’d apologize, and Ingo would apologize, too, and then tell him what was wrong so he could help. Surely.

But he tried and tried, all to no avail. There was nothing.

Nothing at all.

Not even a wall keeping him out.

He looked around, knowing he'd see nothing, as Ingo hadn’t been anywhere near him before, but not knowing what else to do. His heart thundered painfully in his chest, and he felt his breathing come back, stuttering and quick. That chilly dread had now turned into a fiery panic, scorching his mind and burning under his skin. 

Where was Ingo? Was he alright? What had happened?

Why couldn't he hear him?

Someone was calling for him, and had been for a while. His mind had filtered it with the rest of the noise around them, as his fear had stolen all of his awareness of his surroundings and turned it all into a blurred mass of stimuli he couldn’t process. 

As their voice came back into focus, emerging from the haze everything had set itself into, so did everything else. The layers of chatter all around them, the rumbling of the trains in the distance, the blazing lights overhead, the fabric rubbing against his skin. He felt himself begin to sweat, despite how cold the station tended to be.

It had been fine only moments ago, but it all seemed to slam into him like a bullet train as he tried and failed to listen to what the agent was saying to him. He brought a hand to his face to stave off the headache as it came back with a vengeance, feeling like a shot straight through his brain.

Focus, focus, you just need to find him. You’ll find him, and he’ll be okay, and this can all go away.

Try as he might have, though, panic threatened to overtake him with every breath. Everything seemed to pass in a jumbled blur of sound and color.

He was fairly sure he had asked the agent where Ingo was, but hadn't gotten an answer. Another agent had come, also looking for his brother, seeming both exasperated and worried. His own worry had only gotten worse, with that. 

All around the station, everything came to halt. A search began, yielding no results. The only thing they had managed to find had been Ingo's belt, without any other sign of him anywhere, or where he might have gone. Emmet’s stomach had felt as though it was filled with cement, when the news made its way to him.

Everything was completely off-track, in every sense. A great number of passengers were delayed, or had to find another way to travel entirely. Normally, Emmet would be appalled at this, would focus all of his energy on solving the problem and ensuring it never happened again. But it was the least of his worries at the time. 

He sat with his head in his hands, the odd silence of the barren station around him somehow worse than all of the noise from before. He felt awful not doing anything, but there wasn’t much more that could be done, not by him at least. His agents had insisted he take a break, saying he didn’t look well. He’d never been more grateful for them and how hard they all worked than he was that day, but it still frustrated him.

He knew, though, that he couldn’t be much help in the state he was in. He did his best to calm down, but his stress and his worry kept mounting up, paralyzing him, making him feel sicker and sicker.

With every minute more that they couldn't find him, the grim reality came into sharper and sharper focus.

Ingo had vanished.

Generally, Emmet was able to keep an even head in stressful situations. It was what made him and Ingo such a great team. Ingo would identify the problem, what needed to be fixed, what they had to get done, and would make sure they didn’t get off track. Emmet would think about the facts, about what he could do, and find a way to solve the problem, step by step. 

He feared, though, that this was a problem that he couldn't solve. His eyes burned, and nausea swirled in his gut and made itself at home.

But, for the sake of routine, he would follow his usual tracks. Maybe, at the least, it would help him calm down, and think about the situation more objectively.

What were the facts?

First and foremost, Ingo was gone. Vanished into thin air.

Secondly, there wasn't the slightest hint of where he could have gone. No blood, no damage to the area, nothing helpful on the security cameras. Nothing.

Thirdly, whatever had happened, it had been instantaneous. One moment, Ingo had been there, doing his job, and lingering in the back of Emmet's mind like always. The next, he had simply been gone, as though he had never been there in the first place.

The thought made his nausea sharply worsen, and he really thought for a moment that he’d be sick all over the floor.

While they searched, Emmet felt that it was of no use. They thought that if they kept looking, they’d find something. But he already knew that wasn’t going to happen.

And he did appreciate it. He appreciated that so many people cared about his brother. He appreciated that they all wanted him to come home safe. He appreciated all of their help. He really did.

But they didn't have all of the facts. They didn't know what he knew.

While Ingo and Emmet may have looked nearly identical on the outside, they were very different on the inside.

Ingo was always idealistic. He always saw the good in people, and the light in even the darkest of situations. He believed that, even if it turns out to be wrong, hoping for the best scenario can help you get through even the darkest of times.

Emmet believed in the truth, in fact. He believed that, while every alternative was worth exploring, the most likely outcome usually wasn't the one you wanted. No matter how much he didn't want it to be true, it was better to think of the worst outcome as the one you would get.

After all, disappointment hurts less when you're expecting it.

Ingo was gone. Emmet was certain that he was not coming back.

He didn't want it to be true. He wanted so badly to hope with everyone else, to be able to search and believe that he'd find anything.

But he had felt it. Ingo had gone in less than a second. There was no shock, no pain, no nothing.

He was at least comforted by the idea that it had been quick. Whoever or whatever had taken his brother from him was at least a bit merciful.

So, while everyone else prayed for Ingo's return, while they told Emmet not to give up hope and assured him that his brother would come home eventually, he knew the truth.

Ingo was dead.

[gamerbearmira]

I have a Modern Spy AU called Code Word Chameleon that I posted over on AO3! If you’re interested, I have the first chapter below.

Present Day - New York City

It was a beautiful night for an art gallery opening. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was holding a private fundraiser and gala to celebrate the arrival of a rare painting that would be on exhibit for a limited time only. Monet’s Water Lilies, valued at over $80 million, was the main event. Those lucky/rich enough to get an invitation received a preview of the famous painting before it opened to the public. They rolled out the red carpet as the museum’s supporters and donors walked into the grand entryway. A limo pulled up to the steps. A middle-aged man and woman stepped out. The man wore a black suit and an orange and yellow tie to blend in, but the woman certainly wasn’t trying to blend in. She was wearing a brilliant orange and yellow ombre dress that sparkled when it caught the light just right. The two walked up the stairs, the woman turning heads as she walked arm-in-arm with the man. Her dress and his tie matched perfectly. At the top of the stairs, a man in a suit stopped them.

“Your names and your invitation, please,” the security guard said.

“Cameron and Miranda Montez,” the man said as he produced the invitation for himself and the woman on his arm. The security guard took their invitation and scanned a QR code on the back. His eyebrows knit together, confused.

“I’m sorry. I don’t see your name on the list.”

“That’s odd,” Cameron said. “We have to be on there.”

“Are you members of the Friends of the Met?”

“No, but we made a very generous donation,” Miranda insisted. “We gave this museum a significant amount of money because I wanted to see this painting in an intimate setting.”

“Let me scan the invitation again.” The guard scanned the invitation one more time. The screen on his tablet flickered, then confirmed that the invitation was genuine. His eyes widened when he saw the amount the couple donated to the museum. “My apologies, Mr. and Mrs. Montez. Please, go in.”

“Thank you,” Cameron said as he and Miranda walked into the foyer. After passing through a metal detector, both of them took a glass of champagne and started walking around the room.

“Comms check,” a voice said in their ears. “Camilo, Mirabel, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Dolores,” Mirabel muttered under her breath.

“This must be what it’s like to hear everything,” Camilo said quietly.

“Nope,” Mirabel and Dolores said at the same time.

“Mamá and Antonio are on standby in case something goes south,” Dolores said from an unmarked van a block away. She was monitoring security cameras, looking for their mark.

“How is Antonio on standby?” Camilo whispered.

“He found a beehive three blocks away. Go silent. I’ll let you know if I see them. Happy hunting.”

Camilo looked at Mirabel. “I love being older than 21 on missions,” he thought. “I can do this without anyone getting mad.” He took a sip of champagne and smiled.

Mirabel rolled her eyes. “As long as you don’t get drunk, I don’t care,” she silently replied before taking a sip from her own glass. “Wow, the Met knows its champagne.”

“Considering how much money people spent to get in here, it better.”

“Any sign of our guy?”

“Nothing yet, but we’re barely halfway across the room. We haven’t even given you five minutes to get the attention of every man in the building. Whoever's trying to sell this painting will come over eventually.”

“I always did like this dress. If only I could be myself in it for once.”

The two of them walked together for a minute more before a specific song started playing. Camilo smiled. “It’s our song,” he said, holding his hand out to Mirabel. “Would you like to dance?”

“It would be my pleasure.” The two set their drinks down and walked onto the dance floor, which was pretty empty considering it was still the beginning of the event. They walked right into the middle of the floor, making sure that the light hit Mirabel’s dress perfectly. Camilo and Mirabel waltzed around the floor for a few minutes, Mirabel enjoying the turns and twirls that Camilo expertly led her into. They were dazzling the room as Mirabel’s dress sparkled and shone under the lights.

“I’m so glad you learned how to dance,” she thought as she smiled at Camilo.

Camilo returned the smile sadly. “Someone needed to cheer mamí up,” he replied. “Papí always danced with her.”

“Sorry. We can’t go down that road right now.”

“It’s never a bad thing to talk about papí. But right now, we’re coming to the end of the song. I’m gonna twirl you, dip you, and kiss you on the cheek, okay?”

Mirabel’s blink meant she was ready. With only a few measures to go, Camilo perfectly executed the move he told her about. When the song ended, the entire room applauded, both for the band and for Camilo and Mirabel. As they left the floor, a man approached them, three glasses of champagne in his hands.

“You must be Mr. and Mrs. Montez,” he said kindly as he handed them two of the glasses. “I’m Philip Rossiter, the host for this evening. You both are very talented.”

“It’s a lovely party so far, Mr. Rossiter, and thank you,” Mirabel said as she flashed a look at Camilo. This was their guy. “We were just talking about how beautiful this foyer is.”

“The Met takes great pride in both its artwork and architecture, Mrs. Montez. We here at the museum were blown away by your donation, especially considering you aren’t part of the Friends of the Museum. What made you decide to give such a generous gift to the museum?”

“We love Monet.”

“Well, she loves Monet,” Camilo said with a smirk. “I love her, and she asked me for this for her birthday after I dragged her to St. Kitts and Nevis for mine.”

“Saint Kitts and Nevis?” Philip said. “What a wonderful destination. The Caribbean is so beautiful.”

“If it hadn’t been during hurricane season and we didn’t have to evacuate forty hours into the trip, it would have been lovely,” Mirabel said, flashing Philip a dazzling smile.

“Well, I’d like to thank you for your generosity by giving you a private viewing before we open it to the rest of the group. Typically, we reserve this for the top donor inside the Friends of the Met, but your donation warrants special treatment. We’re going to announce you to be Friends of the Met once everything starts.”

“An honor we did not expect, but we will accept,” Camilo said as he raised his glass for a toast. “To the Met and Monet.”

“Hear, hear.” The three took a sip of their drinks before walking into the gallery where the painting was displayed. “We’ve been trying to get this painting here for years.”

“You must be very excited,” Camilo said before he took another drink. “Having a painting worth $80 million as part of your exhibits will bring in a lot of business.”

“Absolutely. It’s just brilliant. As the curator, I get to see the painting at my pleasure, which is also nice.”

“I’m sure you have extraordinary security here to make sure the painting is safe,” Mirabel noted as she also took a drink.

“Of course. We take great pride in our security measures, especially against those who would try to disrupt the integrity of the museum.” As Philip finished the sentence, Camilo’s vision went blurry for a split second. He blinked a couple of times and grabbed Mirabel’s hand.

“He spiked the champagne,” Camilo thought.

“I’m feeling it, too,” Mirabel replied silently.

The curator led them into the room where the painting should have been hanging. It was an empty room. Camilo’s vision was completely blurry now. “You should not have been so eager to get my attention. You are both excellent dancers. It’s a shame you won’t be giving an encore performance.” Two men appeared behind Camilo and Mirabel, holding guns against their backs. “Walk.”

“What’s happening in there?” Dolores’s voice rang out in Camilo’s ears before the man reached in and yanked the earpiece out. He threw it on the ground and stomped on it, hurting Dolores’s ears terribly. Mirabel received the same treatment.

“Who do you work for?” the curator asked. “If you tell me the truth right now, I’ll make it fast.”

“We’re Friends of the Met,” Camilo mumbled, barely able to stay conscious as he struggled to maintain his shift.

“Please, don’t do this,” Mirabel said. “We have a family.”

“So do I,” the curator said. “And we’re going to have a great life once I sell this painting.”

Camilo and Mirabel fell to the ground, the sedative taking full effect. As they blacked out, both of their bodies changed from a middle-aged couple to a couple of eighteen-year-old twins. Philip Rossiter’s eyes went wide as he looked at the two of them.

“I don’t know how they did that,” he said to his henchmen as he reached into his pocket and pressed a button. “But it doesn’t matter. Get them to the back of the house. We’ll dispose of them later.”

Every screen in the surveillance van went static. Dolores threw off her headphones and put in an earpiece before she sprinted out of the van and onto the street a block away from the museum entrance.

“Antonio, I need you at the service entrance!” Dolores ordered as she ran. “Mamá, they’ve been sedated and are being taken to the back. You have to get in there.”

“Got it,” Pepa said before picking up a tray of champagne glasses. “I’m in position.”

Pepa took a deep breath as she reached into the part of her mind that kept her powers under control. She mentally locked the door that had Félix, Julieta, Bruno, her mamá, and her children behind it and put on her game face. “Heading in.”

Pepa stepped into a room meant for employees only, her server’s uniform being the only thing granting her access. No one gave her a second look as she entered the room with ten people and five security guards.

“Ah, good,” Philip said as he entered the room like he hadn’t just sedated a couple of teenagers. “We can finally have our toast. What took you so long?”

“Lo siento, señor, lo siento,” Pepa said, not meeting his gaze as she passed out the champagne.

“What is your name?”

“Cristina, señor.”

“Well, Cristina, we speak English in this country. If you can’t speak English, I’ll find another server who can.”

Pepa nodded, trying like everything to keep the anger out of her face. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, her English purposefully broken. “I try to speak English for you.”

“Thank you. Keep the champagne coming.”

As soon as the tray was empty, Pepa marched out to the kitchen again. “Dolores, if you don’t do something soon, I’m going to kill that man,” she mumbled under her breath as she poured more champagne.

“Don’t lose it, mamá!” Dolores said in her ear. “If you lose it, Camilo and Mirabel are dead.”

“I know. I’m trying.”

Outside, Dolores found Antonio standing at the service entrance. “Anything?”

Antonio shook his head, putting his hand out to stop Dolores. “Careful, I’ve got a bee’s nest surrounding me.”

“Thanks. What did you send in there?”

“A couple of bees. Sending the entire swarm would attract attention.”

“Good boy. What else?”

“They were going to use that van over there to get away.” Antonio pointed to an unmarked white van off in the distance. “A pigeon told me about it. It was really happy when I asked it to pop the tires. I guess pigeons think cars are loud.”

“You’re so good, Toñito.”

Antonio beamed at his oldest sister before his face fell. “Are Cami and Mira going to be okay?”

“They’ll be fine,” Dolores said, half trying to convince her little brother and half trying to convince herself. “They’ll be okay.”

Ok. You had me. And then you lost me, and then you had me, and the. I got lost again. Idk 💀 I KEAN ITS GOOD. DON’T GET ME WRONG, AWESOME PREMISE <333 Iiist need a little context? From what I can tell? Really cool spy AU. But like, what are they spying on 😼 Which honestly. I am loving, spys are cool.

I can also feel they’re older in this au, or at least the ages are different. ALSO??? CAN SOMEONE CHECK ON CAMILO AND MIRABEL LIKE…SUMN AIN’T RIGHT 🌚

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This day in history

Today (Oct 16) I'm in Minneapolis, keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing. Thursday (Oct 19), I'm in Charleston, WV to give the 41st annual McCreight Lecture in the Humanities. Friday (Oct 20), I'm at Charleston's Taylor Books from 12h-14h.

#20yrsago What if Photoshop was a web-service? https://web.archive.org/web/20031203031503/https://reiter.weblogger.com/2003/10/14

#10yrsago Rebutting Apple’s claim of Imessage security: Apple can too spy on users https://www.computerworld.com/article/2486155/researchers-challenge-apple-s-claim-of-unbreakable-imessage-encryption.html

#10yrsago Oakland PD plays Junior G-Man with its own NSA-style data-center https://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/14/technology/privacy-fears-as-surveillance-grows-in-cities.html

#10yrsago David Cameron vows vengeance on the Guardian for Snowden leaks https://www.techdirt.com/2013/10/17/uk-prime-minister-urges-investigation-guardian-over-snowden-leaks-there-shall-be-no-free-press/

#5yrsago Texas high-school students can’t graduate without until they watch a video on not triggering snowflake cops https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fi60a-W0Qsc

#5yrsago Why Do-Not-Track browser settings are useless and what to do about it https://gizmodo.com/do-not-track-the-privacy-tool-used-by-millions-of-peop-1828868324

#5yrsago Facebook lied: its in-home “Portal” cameras will collect your data https://www.vox.com/2018/10/16/17966102/facebook-portal-ad-targeting-data-collection

#5yrsago Sony announces nebulous “blockchain for DRM” https://memex.craphound.com/2018/10/17/incoherence-multiplied-sony-announces-nebulous-blockchain-for-drm/

#5yrsago NYT: Saudi Arabia’s Prince Charming was Mister Bone Saw all along https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/14/business/media/reality-saudi-prince-media-narrative.html

#5yrsago Unpacking the US’s “low unemployment”: stagnant wages, bad jobs, high incarceration, discouraged workers back in school https://therealnews.com/us-unemployment-rate-hits-50-year-low-what-does-the-number-reveal-and-conceal

#5yrsago New York Attorney General expands law-enforcement investigation into the bots that killed Network Neutrality https://www.vice.com/en/article/wj9y3w/new-york-attorney-general-expands-investigation-into-bogus-net-neutrality-comments

#5yrsago Stet, a gorgeous, intricate, tiny story of sociopathic automotive vehicles https://firesidefiction.com/stet

#1yrago A giant grocery merger will send "inflation" through the roof https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/17/united-states-vs-vons/#pricing-power

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[averagejoesolomon]

Thanks for your patience! Here is the penultimate chapter to Full Circle: 1984. These ones have been taking longer, but they are hit, after hit, after hit, so thank you for sticking by me throughout the sixteen months it has taken me to write this section. I'll see you soon for the next chapter!

Chapter Twelve

It’s no accident that the Circle of Cavan has survived this long.

At either end of the sweeping spectrum of espionage, there are two diametrically opposed approaches. The first is a rush toward resolution, usually reserved for gunmen or bombers who don’t see any other way out. For fighters backed into a corner. For panicked agents with bruised knuckles. The second and far more complex is a slow, fizzling waiting game that unfolds across years, decades, and even centuries. While most organizations compromise between the two strategies, the Circle of Cavan is one of the rare few that deals exclusively in the latter approach. They never get their hands dirty. They do not risk exposure. When the Circle makes a move, they do it with outside money, external resources, and agents that are too disjointed to see the bigger picture.

It’s an insidious practice, hiding in the cracks of established organizations and siphoning their intel, their security, their relationships. Unfortunately, it’s also damn good tradecraft, and it makes the Circle nearly impossible to trace down on any broad scale. Matt reckons that’s on purpose. Most of the intelligence community still sees the Circle as a ghost story, which is exactly how the Circle prefers to be seen. That kinda cover takes effort. That kinda cover takes strategy. A deception on that level, getting past the world’s foremost minds in espionage—it’s just not the kind of thing that happens on accident.

The Circle is careful. The Circle is calculating. The key to their survival is their secrecy and if there’s anything Matt’s learned after a year of prying those secrets from anxious assets, it’s that the Circle does not sacrifice any aspect of their cover without cause. 

And they certainly wouldn’t sacrifice anything for the likes of Henry Cameron.

This realization has left Matt and Joe with a fair few questions and they intend to get answers before their next flight out. Their paired silhouettes stand outside of Henry Cameron’s impenetrable office, the only remaining shadows in a hallway lit by midnight. It’s a full moon over the estate and the light strains through frosted windows to cast wide, crooked slants across the black and white floor. 

Matt should have seen it sooner—he did see it sooner, but the thought got buried beneath the urgency, and the exhaustion, and the confusion. Regardless of his power within the NSA, Henry possesses no single piece of knowledge worth this level of exposure. The Circle would never give up a century of secrecy to break into the private office of a high-profile NSA agent. They would sooner blackmail him. They would sooner threaten his work, his legacy, his honor.

They would sooner recruit him, because a man like Henry Cameron would be a mighty valuable asset.

So Matt and Joe will wait. They’ll wait all night if they have to, and then they’ll wait some more. He has no doubt they’ve been spotted, because he’s studied every camera, sensor, and alarm on this property and has seen firsthand that there ain’t a way to break into this mansion unnoticed. That’s fine. He wants Henry to know they’re here. As the night goes on, bright, brilliant squares of moonlight inch across alternating marble, tile after tile, minute after minute, pawns coming straight for Matt’s queen. 

They’re stationed on either side of the doorway, Joe standing with his shoulder against the wall and Matt crouched low against the mahogany wainscotting. The lateness of the hour crawls into their spines and drags their absentminded military postures into soft, uneven slouches. Joe flicks at his lighter. Matt’s head falls into his lap. An unproven certainty gnaws at his gut and all he can do is watch the moon pass him by.

Then, finally, “Gentlemen.” Matt’s head snaps upright, awake and alert once more. “You boys have a lot of nerve, showing up here.”

Henry Cameron, much like his daughters, is the sort of person who can fill a room just by standing in it. His presence is naturally commanding, built upon square shoulders and a tall, straight stance. Everything he says sounds as though it was prepared ahead of time, written into a speech that he carries around in his back pocket for every possible occasion. There’s nothing soft, easy, or casual about him, and he seems to leave everyone with the subtle, certain impression that he knows a secret they don’t.

Matt is trained to jump to his feet in the presence of prominent men and this moment is no exception. He rises up the wall inch by inch until he’s nearly at attention. Some absentminded part of him waits to be put at ease. “I’d like to have a word with you, sir.”

Henry takes note of Matt’s stance with a single glance from head to toe. He shows no intention of easing up. “Maybe,” he says, “you should have thought about that before you spilled all of my good Scotch.”

It was Micheal, not Matt, who shattered the Scotch. Matt glances toward Joe to confirm, but Joe just gives the slightest shake of his head. Not worth it, he seems to say. Henry’s got a worm at the end of his hook, looking to make quick work out of baiting Matt.

Still. “You should know that Michael is the one who—”

“Mr. Morgan,” says Henry, before Matt can even make his case. “Michael McCoy is a fine young man from a well-respected family, who’s made a name for himself by doing honest work in a typically dishonest profession.” Henry shoulders past both boys, reaching into his pocket for the first of three keys needed to unlock the office door. As he turns the first lock, he asks, “Can you say the same?”

Matt is a fine young man, but not in the way Henry wants him to be, and resectability ain’t the same in Baltimore as it is in Hay Springs. As for honesty, Matt can’t claim that title either, which leaves him oh-for-three when it comes to earning Henry’s favor. With nothing left to lose, Matt gets straight to the heart of it. “Can you?” he tries, just as Henry twists the second key. “Or have you traded all your honestly to the Circle of Cavan?”

Henry Cameron keeps secrets for a living, but even with his decades of experience, the name is enough to strike hesitation into his movement. A key juts from the final lock, waiting to be turned, as Henry’s expression betrays him. Without a glance spared in Matt’s direction, he says, “Inside.”

The third lock clicks open and Henry pushes through, but when the two of them follow, he turns on Joe. “Not you.”

Joe seems to expect this, and that’s probably because Joe expects everything. He’s already got his arms crossed defiantly over his chest, face stoic as he says, “Like hell—”

“Young man,” Henry interrupts. “If my daughters do not trust you, I do not trust you.”

“Right back at you, pal,” says Joe. “There’s no way he’s going in there without backup—”

“Joe.” Matt doesn’t register the word until it’s already past his own lips, but he doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t waver. Instead, he holds his hand low, comforting, and waves Joe off. They didn’t come this far to lose the only lead they have. If Joe can’t trust Henry, he at least needs to trust Matt. “I’ve got this one.”

And Joe does trust Matt, deeply and without exception. It ain’t a quick decision, but eventually, Joe decides to retreat. Mostly. “I’ll be here,” he reminds them both. “Right here.”

“Never more than a hoot and a holler away,” Matt confirms. “I know.”

Even with the reassurance, it still don’t feel quite right to walk away from Joe. That’s just the truth of it. Matt and Joe have been Matt and Joe for so long that they’ve started to occupy the same single space in the world. Their radiuses have combined and now stem from a single point balanced somewhere between both of them. They’re one team. One unit. Without Joe at his side, Matt feels an empty space where most people feel nothing at all, stumbling upon a long and lunging absence he’s never experienced until now. It’s enough to knock him off kilter, unable to find his grounding center.

The door shuts behind them, leaving Joe’s moonlit silhouette behind. Matt still feels his pull, right through the middle of his chest.

Henry enters today’s code on the inner keypad and Matt deciphers each of the numbers by the sound of their tone. Not that it matters. There are mere minutes left before today turns into tomorrow, when the code will change all over again. “Can I get you a drink?” Henry offers, approaching the small, gold-framed bar along the back wall. “I believe I have a bottle of cognac around here somewhere—that is, if you haven’t yet shattered it into the ground.”

Matt doesn’t have the patience to repeat his point about Michael, so he doesn’t. “No thank you,” he says instead. “I’ve made it a habit not to accept drinks from international terrorists. Sir.”

Henry reaches into a pile of crystal and pulls a decanter from its grips, along with a lone glass. The cognac sloshes when he pours, rising in pitch as it rises toward a golden rim. “A sound practice.” Henry takes an experimental sip from the drink and, apparently satisfied, saunters toward his desk. “But if I could point out a flaw in your logic?”

It must be hereditary, the way these Camerons look down their nose. “A flaw, sir?”

Henry raises his glass, as though to acknowledge an effort well made. “I am not a terrorist.”

Matt can’t help the slightest huff of a laugh, even though nothing about this is funny. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he starts, “but in my experience, that’s usually what the terrorists say.”

“And in my experience,” Henry replies, settling into his chair, “most people who know about the Circle of Cavan are among their ranks.”

This particular statement is made more dramatic with the sip of his drink as he lean, lean, leans back in his seat. It’s outlandish enough that Matt takes a moment to truly understand the implications. When the idea does finally spark in his brain, the whole thing catches fire, sending flames through his ears, cheeks, and neck. “Hold on, now—I’m not a terrorist.”

“Ah,” says Henry. “But that is what the terrorists always say, isn’t it?”

The weight of the accusation lands against his own shadow, pulling him downward and into the floorboards. He can’t hold himself upright with this kind of burden, so he sinks breathlessly into the seat across from Henry, wishing he had taken that drink after all.

“So now we’re in a bit of a predicament, aren’t we?” Henry goes on. “Because you’ve gone and said the magic words, and now we’re both wondering if we can trust one another.”

Matt has spent the entire weekend lying. Actually, Matt has spent the last few years lying. It don’t seem to be working in his favor, so he tries something new—he tries the truth. “I don’t think we’ve trusted one another since I arrived, sir.”

This, at last, earns a wispy smile from him. “No, I suspect you’re right about that much,” Henry says. There’s a measured consideration to every sip, and Matt senses all the unsaid words that rest behind each one. “But when two young agents show up at my door a mere week following a visit from the Circle of Cavan… well, you’ve said it yourself—there is no such thing as coincidence in our business.”

As far as offered information goes, this is the most Henry has volunteered throughout their entire visit. Maybe it’s something about the evening hour, or the full moon, or the drink. Whatever the reason behind it, Matt does his best to leverage Henry’s sudden willingness to share. “So you did sell out,” he pries, aiming for an admission. “Gave them—what? Case files? Tech?”

Another sip. Henry is going to make him work for it. “You’re thinking too small, young man,” he says. “You know better. The Circle wants total control over every intelligence agency there is and, in this day and age, there is only one way to get that.”

God, almighty.

The empty space at Matt’s side engulfs him, his soul now swinging above a vast and lightless void as he hopes and prays that this doesn’t mean what he thinks it does. His stomach drops. His breath catches. Matt eases upright in his seat, inching toward a question he doesn’t even want to ask. “You gave the Circle launch codes?”

Henry does not seem alarmed. “I did not give the Circle anything.”

Matt’s having a hard time keeping down his hors d'oeuvres. “Sir.”

“I told you once that there was nothing I wouldn’t do for my girls,” he says. “I meant that sincerely.”

“Sir,” he starts again, mind wandering toward WarGames, and WOPR, and the thousands of different ways he could lose this particular game. His next words are precise and annunciated, with no room for misunderstanding. “Is the Circle of Cavan currently in possession of US nuclear launch codes—?”

“This is the problem with you young men.” Henry’s counterargument is sharp and sudden, without any patience. He sits upright in his chair, wagging his finger in Matt’s face the same way his pops used to when he was small.  “You think you’re invincible—and maybe you are, to some extent. No money, no permanence. Nothing to lose. But you’ve also got no idea what it feels like to be fragile. You’ve never vowed your life to another person, knowing it could all go wrong. You’ve never held a beautiful baby girl in your arms and known, without a shred of doubt, that you were both stronger than you’ve ever been and more vulnerable than you’ve ever imagined.”

Clarity is a rare thing in espionage. The longer Matt works in the field, the more he finds that answers come with twice as many questions. Agents far better than him have dedicated lifetimes to the endless pursuit of finite facts, following lead, after lead, after lead until they reach one dead end or another. It’s not often Matt can look on with absolute certainty and point to any one root cause. Most of these situations have nuance to them. Subtleties.

Not this one, though. This one is pretty straightforward, even for a kid from Hay Springs. “They didn't recruit you,” he realizes, and once he has that piece, the rest fall into place. “They threatened your girls, so you gave them the codes and staged a break-in, so you didn’t take any heat for it.”

Another sip. Henry regards him over the rim of his glass, swallows, and sighs. “I did not give them the codes,” he says, but there is a caveat in his tone. “I gave them a fragment of a fragment to the code that unlocks the codes—a small price to pay considering the lengths they were willing to go to.”

“These are dangerous people,” Matt cuts in. “It doesn’t matter how small a piece you give them. It still puts them one piece closer to where they want to be—and I promise we do not want the Circle to be anywhere near where they want to be.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” asks Henry.

“We’ve been chasing the Circle for an awfully long time, sir,” answers Matt.

“Is that what you think?” With this, Henry leans back once more and spares the first genuine smile since Matt’s initial arrival. “Because I promise you, son, I’ve been chasing them longer. I’ve been chasing the Circle of Cavan longer than you’ve been alive, in fact, which is how I knew that they would follow through on their threats if I didn’t give them what they wanted. And it’s also how I knew to call my agency a day later, and have them change the codes.”

The Circle of Cavan has been around for more than a century, so it should come as no surprise that it serves as one of espionage’s lifelong pursuits. Even so, the idea catches in Matt’s chest and sends him into a newfound solemnity. Until now, he had always thought of the Circle as a single mission, with clear and isolated objectives. He had always thought he would end things sooner rather than later. The naïveté of this thought leaves him speechless as Henry’s words paint a clearer picture—Matt is never getting out of this. The Circle isn’t a mission anymore. It’s his life.

Henry, to his credit, gives Matt a beat to comprehend this. Then, with a careful cadence, he continues on. “We’re not any closer to nuclear holocaust than we were at the start of the week. And my girls are safe. At least for now.” He takes another sip. “But you can understand why, when the two of you showed up days later, I might have thought you were here to finish the job.”

It’s the first time Matt realizes there are other people in this hunt. The first time he realizes that he doesn’t have to explain the dangers or emphasize the reality of the Circle’s reach. For the first time in years, Matt is not the expert in the room and the first thing he feels is relief. The second thing he feels is terror, followed by disbelief. “You’re compromised, sir,” he says. “You do know that, do you? If the Circle can twist you up that easy, there’s not a secret we can trust you with anymore. I’m supposed to report you.”

“And I’m supposed to report you,” Henry retorts, cool and easy. “My girls say you’ve been running around the world on unsanctioned missions. Bouncing around Europe like a pinball, your travel unapproved by your case officer. It doesn’t look good, as you well know—secret ops, off-books research, and now you’re asking questions about the Circle of Cavan?”

Far and away, this is the most honest conversation Matt has had all weekend. It might even be the most honest conversation he’s had since Camp Perry. They’re both right and they both know it, but this business isn’t about right or wrong. It’s about finding a way forward, with people who have useful information.

Rather than talk his way into a corner, Matt takes a crack at one of those infamous Cameron silences.

Henry takes note, and nods. “So there we have it. Your secrets, right next to mine,” he says, finishing the last of his drink. The empty glass lands on his desk with a sturdy ring. “And among all of our lying, and sneaking, and globetrotting, something brought you to my desk. Something important, I suspect. Best I can guess, it has something to do with your friend out there.”

Matt gives as little as he can. “I came for Abby.”

Henry doesn’t buy it. “A fragment of a fragment of the truth,” he says. “You’ll have a hard time fooling me. I’ve spent years reading far more experienced agents. Plus, I like to think I know a thing or two about soulmates.”

“Soulmates, sir?” says Matt.

“When your very best friend is hurting,” he says, “and when you’re faced with the possibility of losing them at any moment… I watched my best friend die for three years, and I know enough to recognize that fear in someone else.”

“Joe ain’t dying.”

“He’s certainly not living.” Henry studies him now, with the sort of regard one might use to appraise a prized riding horse. “But you intend to help him with that, don’t you?”

Joe doesn’t need Matt’s help, so much as he needs to break his ties with the Circle. So much as he needs to settle down, and find peace, and stop running every time he hears footfalls at his back. Joe doesn’t need Matt’s help—Joe needs a way out.

Only a handful of people know about Joe’s past affiliation with the Circle, and even fewer know about his current arrangement. To ask for help is to confirm Joe’s double-agent status. To expose him to scrutiny on both sides. Matt and Joe are in too deep to talk about help, especially with someone who doesn’t even trust Joe enough to keep him in the room.

Henry must read the hesitation on Matt’s face, because he holds up a single hand. “Nevermind,” he says. “I suppose you’re entitled to some secrets.”

Matt opens his mouth to explain, but thinks better of it, and tries another angle instead. “Only that this one isn’t mine, sir.”

“Funny how that works, isn’t it? The way someone else's secret can become ours?” Henry stands, signaling an oncoming end to the conversation. He carries his glass back to his bar and tidies up the crystal. Above the ping and clatter of glass, he says, “My only hope is that you don’t intend to bring my girls into any of it.”

Matt stands with him, deadly serious when he responds, “I don’t make a habit of introducing the Circle to people I prefer to keep alive.”

“You learn quickly, at least. I will grant you that much,” says Henry. “But you will need alliances. People who know what you’re dealing with. People who understand that the Circle’s influence is very much alive and well.”

“Ain’t had much luck with alliances so far,” Matt admits. “Most of them disappear without warning. The few that we find wash up on the banks of some river somewhere, bullet straight through their head.”

Matt surprises himself with his own casual tone, catching the severity of this statement at the bitter end of its sentence. Dead assets have become so commonplace in his day-to-day, he nearly forgets to add the proper weight to it. 

Henry hears it too, which might be why he turns to face Matt. Looks him straight in the eye. “Mark my words, Matthew,” he says. “The moment you decide to take on the Circle of Cavan alone is the moment you’ll join those unlucky few.”

This is said with exactly the right amount of severity, adding a heaviness to the room that settles along all of the surfaces dust should be. Matt thinks back on all he’s seen in the past year, and then he finds himself wondering what Henry has seen in all his time chasing the Circle.

Before Matt gets a chance to ask, Henry reaches across his desk for a small piece of card stock. “Should you ever need a friend,” he says, holding out a card, “or at the very least an ally, give me a call. God knows you’re calling the house often enough anyway—may as well speak to someone who understands what you’re up against.”

“That’s mighty generous of you,” Matt says, taking the name and number. “But if you don’t mind me looking a gift horse in the mouth, why now? Why offer an alliance, when a few days ago, you didn’t even know if you could trust me.”

“I still don’t know if I can trust you,” says Henry. He starts matter-of-fact, but soon softens. “But you should know that when Rachel came to me this evening, tears streaming down her face and mud splashed against her skirt, she still spoke more highly of you than I’ve ever heard her speak about anyone—furious, scathing tone, yes. But very high regard. She has trusted your character since the first day she met you, and part of being a father is learning to trust your girls more than you trust yourself.”

At the mention of Rachel, Matt gets all twisted up in his guilt again. Apologies run rampant in his head, searching for a place to land and he’s met, briefly, with the urge to run through the mansion, door, by door, by door, until he stumbles upon hers just the same way he did last time. He's tempted to barge in and say everything he needs to say to her.

I’m sorry.

Thank you.

I care about you.

I don’t know what I’m doing without you.

It’s you.

It’s you.

It’s you.

These are all of the hard things he always wants to say to her, but can never turn into words, especially not now. Not with the way he’s left things. The shoes she picked out for him are still caked in mud and he couldn’t possibly track that memory through this pristine house.  “I reckon that says more about her than it does about me, sir.”

“Maybe you’re right about that.” He spares a thoughtful nod before he carries on. “In that case, maybe it’s because I know that when my girls ask, you won’t tell them it was me. That I gave in so easily. That they’ve made me a weak, vulnerable father and that I would sooner let the world burn than see a moment of pain come to them.”

This seems like an awfully bold assumption, but Matt knows he's right. This, like so many other things, has become a secondhand secret that he'll keep in good faith. “You gathered that from Rachel’s word?”

“No,” Henry admits. “I’ll admit, I gathered that particular detail from my own observation. It’s not everyday I meet a man who will fly across the country for my girls at the slightest sign of a threat.” Henry starts toward the door, one meandering step at a time, and Matt follows his lead. “Sounds to me like you’re no stranger to letting the world burn yourself.”

And it's true that there's very little Matt wouldn't do for the Cameron Sisters. So maybe he has earned a little trust after all.

Even so, there are still apologies owed. "I'm sorry we caused a scene. With Michael, I mean." Henry stops just short of the door. Joe awaits them both on the other side, but Henry isn't quite ready to let him in. "Once I saw him open the office door, I was convinced he was our guy."

"No need to explain," says Henry, holding up his hand. "It might have helped you to know that I sent him upstairs to retrieve my Scotch. Gave him the keys, the code, everything."

Ah. Yeah. That would have helped. "I'm sorry about your Scotch."

"As well you should be," says Henry. When he reaches toward the knob and swings the door open, Matt knows to take his cue. Joe stands guard on the other side, looking as intimidating as ever.

But even he can't match the intimidation in Henry's voice. “And Mr. Morgan?”

Matt turns to look over his shoulder. “Yes, sir?”

“If you break my daughter’s heart again,” he says, “I will see to it that the Circle of Cavan is the least of your concerns.”

As well he should. “Yes sir.”