#after the media coverage he's gone

[patientreflections]

The Failure of Manufactured Momentum

In 2025, can Hollywood continue with the same old party tricks and expect applause? It’s a question I found myself pondering after stumbling upon an onslaught of post BAFTA social media content where one continuous storyline piqued my interest…and not in a good way. 

I don’t usually wade into fandom conversations, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Bridgerton—and Colin and Penelope’s story was my favourite from the books. Beyond that, I’ve kept my distance. I don’t ship actors or keep up with stan drama. But something about this weekend’s BAFTAs, and the very deliberate press rollout that followed, caught my attention. Not just as a viewer, but as someone who’s worked in a corporate public relations adaject role for over a decade and finds the Hollywood machine endlessly fascinating (and completely outdated).

What we’re seeing right now with Luke Newton and Antonia Roumelioti is a textbook example of trying to manufacture momentum when there’s no organic traction to begin with. The cracks are showing. With every single post and article that popped up on my FYP and Instagram feed these past 48 hours, the more I felt like I had a bad case of deja vu. Did I just read the same headline over and over again? Yes…but from different outlets and yet it all felt the same. Interest piqued. Clearly the press kit made the following demands: 

Couple Focused; Antonia is to be treated in the headlines with the same level of celebrity as Luke

Curated Images - the same set of approved images over and over again

Approved language. We get it, Antonia is “glamorous” 

Ah, manufactured momentum, the Hollywood PR machines old faithful approach when you have nothing of substance. Let’s be honest: Antonia is being positioned as a public figure, but the foundation is incredibly thin. There’s no significant modeling campaign to anchor her in that world. Her dance history, beyond being a teenage contestant on Greece’s Got Talent, hasn’t evolved into any noteworthy professional credits. And as an “influencer,” an angle that feels unconvincing, the aesthetic is curated, sure, but there’s no substance—no strong personal voice, no visible passion, no cultural or philanthropic cause to connect with. The identity being presented is vague, and vague doesn’t hold attention for long. Did it ever?  

This isn’t a case of the public being harsh. It’s that there’s nothing anchoring her presence outside of proximity to Luke. And for a rollout to work, there has to be something to build from—an existing spark of interest, a story, something people can latch onto. Right now, that just isn’t there. In PR terms, it’s a classic case of a lack of narrative coherence. 

It’s also not helping that the timing feels off. One year out from Bridgerton S3, and Luke’s visibility has been notably muted.  While Nicola Coughlan has gone from strength to strength since then, Luke’s career has remained.... steady at best. He’s the only Bridgerton lead with a season of the show not signed to one of the major agencies, and despite being positioned as a romantic lead, his trajectory feels… stalled.  So this moment, framed as a kind of visibility push, doesn’t feel rooted in authentic career growth. Instead, it reads as strategy: tie this reveal to a known milestone, hope for carryover attention. The fact that Nicola’s name had to be threaded into nearly every headline surrounding this weekend’s appearance says a lot - borrowed equity. It suggests his team knows he doesn’t generate enough coverage on his own—and that’s a hard truth, but it’s one the public is picking up on.

Unsurprisingly, the reaction has been indifferent at best. Well until it took a turn for the worse. Take the Entertainment Tonight instagram post. When a media push goes a bit too far, it can lead to consequences. Using Nicola’s name here and sidelining her accomplishments to push a couple narrative, well, it was a choice someone made. A bad one at that. Viewers are seeing through the strategy, and instead of buying in, they’re disengaging. That’s the risk when you try to force relevance without real public demand. If anything, this rollout has highlighted just how little genuine excitement there is around either of them right now.

So the question is: where does this go from here? Because from a PR perspective, you can’t build long-term interest on shallow foundations. At some point, there needs to be actual growth—either from Antonia showing a clearer sense of self, or from Luke stepping into a stronger career phase that doesn’t rely on nostalgia or association.

Until then, this push will likely keep feeling exactly as it does now: calculated, hollow, and a little too late.

[daxisyzz]

⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 4: 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆... 𝑶𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒈𝒚

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha romanoff

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship.

Summary: To maintain appearances, Bucky takes you on a real date. But instead of romance, you’re drilled on your “favorite things,” relationship history, and how to properly hold his hand for the cameras (he claims you’re doing it wrong). Despite the cold approach, your heart skips a beat when he gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

Word count: 2.6k+

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Inspired by the kdrama "Business Proposal"

Previously on Business Proposal...

You: “He’s possessed. He’s like boyfriend of the year now. I need answers.”

You waited, and it didn’t take long before Natasha’s reply lit up your screen.

Natasha: “So what I’m hearing is: red dress.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but laugh. Shaking off the unease Bucky left behind, one thing was clear: things were getting way more complicated than they should be.

__________________•

It was a day off from work, which meant it was your mandatory self-care day. You were lounging on the couch in your softest hoodie, which swallowed you whole, and your favorite pair of fuzzy socks, complete with an old throw blanket you didn’t know where you’d gotten from.

Your laptop was on the table in front of you, playing a show you’d been dying to watch for a long time. It had been five minutes or so when you started zoning out from all the drama—work, fake boyfriend, and life in general. It was bliss.

No work. No Bucky. No pretending.

You turned your attention back to the show when something interesting started happening, and right then you got a notification. You hovered your hand over the mouse, already suspecting some work email. But when you saw the name, your heart dropped:

James B. Barnes.

An email.

You stared at it for a moment, unsure whether to open it or ignore it and blissfully enjoy your day off. But then you reluctantly tapped the email open.

SUBJECT: Confirmed Appointment - Tonight, 7 PM

To: You

From: James B. Barnes

Time: 7:00 PM

Location: Baccarat Hotel

Attire: Evening formal (mandatory)

Purpose: Public outing, media coverage

Reminder: You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. Try to act like it.

—J.B.B

You blinked once. Twice. And then you read it again, just in case your eyes were playing tricks on you.

A formal dinner invitation, in your inbox, from Bucky. At 7 PM. With a specific dress code. The use of the word “girlfriend” seemed to leap off the screen.

This was absurd. He was absurd.

You threw your head back on the couch and groaned loudly, your peaceful self-care day absolutely ruined by a man who thought sending emails about what to wear was somehow romantic.

A formal dinner invitation? On your day off? From Bucky Barnes, of all people? You should’ve ignored it, turned your phone off, gone back to your show and fuzzy socks. But no. You were bound by a contract. And you couldn’t risk anything.

You groaned, collapsing face-first into the couch cushion. After a good thirty seconds of dramatic internal screaming, you lifted your phone and fired off a text to Natasha.

You: SOS. Emergency dinner with CEO demon. Fancy dress required.

Natasha: Be at your place in 20 mins. It’s my time to shine.

Your brows pulled together.

You: Why?

Natasha: Because I know you and you’re probably about to wear a panic hoodie to a five-star hotel. Also, I may or may not have a new collection of dresses that needs a gorgeous model. See you soon.

You didn’t even have time to process that before she was ringing your doorbell twenty minutes later, standing there with a garment bag slung over one shoulder and a smirk that said, “I told you so.”

“I should’ve blocked you,” you mumbled, letting her in.

Natasha ignored you, kicking off her boots as she made her way into your apartment with the energy of a woman on a mission. “Let me see the dress code again.”

You handed her your phone, watching her eyebrows rise as she read the email.

“Evening formal? Damn. He’s not playing around.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, not too enthusiastic about it.

She grinned, already unzipping the garment bag and laying dresses across your bed like precious artifacts. “Well, if you’re going to be dating a billionaire, you better look the part. Try this one first.”

An hour later, after a blur of fabric swishing, makeup brushes flying, and Natasha yanking your hair into an updo with terrifying precision, you stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized yourself. The red dress she’d picked hugged your body like it was made for you sleek, elegant, daring. Your hair was swept up in soft curls, a few tendrils framing your face. Gloss shimmered on your lips, just enough to catch the light.

“I look like a Bond girl,” you whispered.

Natasha smirked. “Damn right you do.”

At exactly 7:00 PM, your phone buzzed again.

Bucky: Come down. I’m outside.

You blinked at the text.

“He’s here?” you said aloud.

“What, did you think he’d send a car and not show up himself?” Natasha asked. “The man is so obviously going to fall for you again,” she said, gushing, not noticing your pained expression.

You took one last glance in the mirror before heading downstairs, Natasha’s voice echoing in your head “You look like a damn movie star. Now go knock him dead.” She’d even dabbed perfume on your wrists before practically shoving you toward the elevator, claiming, “First dates need real effort.”

The heels clicked steadily against the marble of the lobby, your heart thudding in sync with every step as you smoothed your hands over the front of your dress. There was something oddly vulnerable about being this dressed up like shedding your usual armor and walking out into the world in skin made of satin and red lipstick.

When the doors opened to the street, you paused in the doorway, scanning for him.

And there he was.

Bucky stood near the curb, casually leaning against a sleek black car that looked far too expensive to exist outside of movies. His phone was in one hand, but he wasn’t looking at it. No, his eyes were already on you, blue and unreadable, flickering just slightly when they landed on your figure.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

He stood upright slowly, sliding the phone into his jacket pocket, expression unreadable. The way his gaze moved over you was careful. Not possessive. Not leering. Just… curious. Assessing. Like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the version of you in front of him.

Finally, he said, “You clean up okay.”

You raised your brows. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

He opened the car door for you with a slight smirk. “I’m saving my A-game for when the press shows up.”

“Lucky me.”

You ducked into the car, the leather seat cool against your skin. As Bucky rounded the front of the vehicle and slipped into the driver’s side, you couldn’t help but glance at him sideways. The suit he wore was navy, almost black in the low light and cut to fit him like it had been sewn onto his frame. Everything about him looked crisp, controlled, smooth and next to him, you felt like the chaos you always were, bundled into a red dress and nerves.

The ride was… surprisingly quiet.Not awkward exactly, but full of unspoken thoughts hovering between you like smoke. The soft hum of the car filled the silence as the city blurred past the windows, streetlights casting gold and silver shapes across Bucky’s face. You caught him glancing at you once or twice, but he didn’t say much and neither did you. Maybe you were both trying to figure out how to pretend to be something you weren’t. Maybe it was easier to save the performance for the public eye.

By the time the car pulled up to the Baccarat Hotel, your stomach had settled into a tight knot of anticipation.

The valet opened your door, and Bucky was there again, offering his hand as you stepped out. His touch was brief, steady, warm but it lingered in your skin longer than it should’ve.

The hotel’s entrance glowed like something out of a dream: all chandeliers and soft jazz and air that smelled like money. Bucky led the way, a respectful hand at your lower back as he murmured his name to the hostess. You didn’t miss the way she blinked a little too much when he looked at her.

Of course she did.

You were seated at a corner table near the center of the room, beneath a chandelier that scattered light like falling stars. Crystal glasses. Fresh-cut flowers. A waiter who addressed Bucky as “Mr. Barnes” and you as “Miss” before slinking off like he’d been trained to vanish.

You picked up your menu just to have something to look at, but Bucky didn’t seem interested in the food. His eyes were still on you.

“You’re nervous,” he said quietly.

You looked up. “I’m annoyed.”

“Same thing.”

You gave him a flat look. “Is this how you normally start dates? By diagnosing women like some underpaid therapist?”

His lips twitched. “Only the fake ones.”

You exhaled a soft laugh despite yourself and returned to your menu. “You should know I’m ordering the most expensive thing just out of spite.”

“Good,” he said smoothly, “because if you order a salad, I’ll assume you’re incapable of making real decisions.”

You lifted your water glass in a mock toast. “Cheers to mutually assured irritation.”

The conversation settled into a strange rhythm after that, still sharp, but laced with something lighter.

“What’s my favorite fruit?”

You blinked. “Are we quizzing each other now?”

“We’re dating. You should know.”

“Plums.”

“Wrong.”

You put the menu down. “Okay then. What’s mine?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Strawberries.”

“Wrong.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “Seriously?”

“Mangoes.”

He leaned back, nodding once. “Good to know. We’ll work on that.”

“Work on what?” you asked incredulously.

“Our relationship. Or the appearance of one.”

Before you could reply, he tossed out another: “Dogs or cats?”

“For you or me?”

“Start with you.”

“Both,” you said.

“Same.”

“I guessed you’d be a cat person,” you teased. “Quiet. Judgey. Moody.”

He smirked. “Fair. I like cats more.”

You sipped your water and tried not to notice how easily this weird fake date had become… almost natural.

Then came a softer question.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

Your eyes flicked up to him. He wasn’t looking at you like a CEO; he was looking at you like he actually wanted to know.

“Peonies,” you said softly.

He didn’t speak, just nodded like he was filing that information away under something important.

Halfway through the meal, as you dabbed your lips with a napkin, a camera flash flickered somewhere beyond the hotel’s tall windows. Bucky noticed it too, his jaw ticking the slightest bit as he glanced toward the source.

“They’re here,” he said under his breath, almost like an afterthought. “Time to look convincing.”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly in your chair. “Is this the part where you pretend to be wildly in love with me?”

“No,” he said, his voice low and steady as he reached across the whitelinen tablecloth, “this is the part where I teach you how not to hold my hand like I’m your dentist.”

You blinked as he took your hand in his, his fingers wrapping around yours with gentle insistence. The contact startled you not because it was sudden, but because it wasn’t cold or stiff like you’d expected. It was warm. Grounding. Intentionally slow.

“You’re gripping like you’re bracing for a storm,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” you said a little too defensively, your heart betraying you by thumping faster under his gaze.

He gave you a look, tilted head, a soft smile tugging at one corner of his mouth like he didn’t believe you for a second.

Then he adjusted your hand, gently repositioning your fingers until they rested naturally against his. His touch wasn't clinical, and it wasn’t showy either, it was deliberate. Careful. Like he knew exactly how this would look to anyone watching, but also maybe… maybe like he didn’t hate how it felt either.

“Better,” he said, still looking down at your joined hands. “That looks less like business partners about to sign a contract.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t just stab you with my fork.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t replace you with someone who knows how to fake chemistry.”

You shot him a withering look, but the corners of your mouth twitched before you could help it. “Wow. That’s romantic. Is this how you charm all your fake girlfriends?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned in a little, his expression softer than before. The glint of amusement in his eyes gave way to something more thoughtful, almost contemplative. His free hand reached up, slowly, deliberately, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers gliding across your cheek softly. The world around you blurred just a little.

You could still hear the clinking of glass and silverware from the other tables, the soft croon of jazz from the speakers, the occasional click of cameras outside but it all sounded distant. Muted. Like you were underwater.

His fingers lingered just a second too long at your temple, the pad of his thumb brushing skin before retreating.

“There,” he said quietly, as if he hadn’t just tilted the world on its axis with a single gesture. “Now you look the part.”

You swallowed. “Of your doting girlfriend?”

“Of someone who might actually like me,” he said, voice almost too low to catch.

The moment you stepped out of the hotel’s grand revolving doors, chaos greeted you.

A wall of flashing lights, camera shutters snapping like rapid fire, voices calling out names and questions and theories. It was blinding. Disorienting. You barely had time to react before Bucky’s arm was around your waist, firm and steady, guiding you forward like he’d done this a hundred times before.

It wasn’t rough. It was instinctive, protective, like your safety was muscle memory to him.His touch was warm even through the fabric of your dress, anchoring. His stride matched yours effortlessly, as though you’d rehearsed this dance.

“Smile,” he murmured, lips barely moving. He didn’t look at you, eyes locked ahead like a soldier marching through gunfire.

You plastered on your most radiant, camera-ready smile, the kind that felt like a lie but looked like a magazine cover.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered back, still flashing that smile.

Bucky leaned in, lips near your ear, voice low enough to send a chill down your spine. “You passed. Barely.”

You dug your elbow into his side, not too hard but just enough. “If this dress had pockets, I’d be reaching for my pepper spray.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Thank God it doesn’t. You look like you’d actually use it.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. A real one, soft and under your breath. You weren’t sure if it was the absurdity of the evening or the fact that Bucky Barnes, CEO and professional stoic, had just made a joke. About your dress, no less.

The cameras didn’t stop until the car door clicked shut behind you. The world outside was a blur of lights as he pulled the car away, but inside the car was quiet. Not awkward, not tense, just… quiet. Easy.

And that might’ve been the strangest part of all.

Later that night, after the makeup was wiped off and the pins in your hair were undone, you finally made it back to your bed. You dropped face-first into the mattress with a dramatic sigh, still in your dress, heels somewhere near the door like casualties of war.

Your feet ached. Your head buzzed from the forced conversation and endless smiling. But your heart, that was the real traitor. Because it wouldn’t stop replaying one stupid, small moment:

The way his fingers had brushed your cheek. The look in his eyes right after.

You groaned into your blanket.

Get a grip.

Then your phone buzzed. A message. From Bucky.

Mr.Barnes: Plums are my favorite. I just said wrong to mess with you.

You blinked at the screen. Then read it again. A laugh bubbled out of your throat, unexpected and warm. You sank deeper into the bed, smiling against your pillow.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete machine after all. Maybe just maybe there was something under all that armor.

And maybe that was the real danger.

Taglist: @calwitch, @scott-loki-barnes, @baw1066, @awesompawsum, @bucky-baby-barnes, @marianastudiesart, @pattiemac1, @maryevm, @borkybawnes, @mcira, @otterlycanadian, @mrsnikstan, @sebastians-love

[transboyswitchytales]

Blood In The Water

!REQUEST DARK FIC!

hey! can i rq dark Claire Debella x reader pls? Reader is part of the group of friends but she arrived after Andy's so Miles invites her to the meetings of the whole group. Claire is obsessed with Reader from the first moment - despite being married. Perhaps the one who ends up being the murderer is Claire who felt threatened because Duke found out about her dealings with Miles and also wanted to blackmail Claire. Reader doesn't know who to trust ^^

DARK FIC READ THE WARNINGS PLEAASEEEEEE

SEXUAL ASSAULT! / Mommy Kink / Daddy Kink / Black mail / Sex Tapes / Murder / Drugging / Drug use / Orgy / Forced Fisting / Spit / Degregation / Face Slapping / Police are useless poor guys / Forced Vouyer / NO CONSENT GIVEN / Men watching you be gay / Breast slapping / Forced Squirting / Golden Shower Mentioned / Unconsious sex / Forced Orgasm / Humiliation / DARK FIC - NOT OK NOT SAFE SEX / Villian Claire / Kink Shaming / Possesive / Jealousy / Killing people /. Gore / Blood / Not a happy ending guys / I'm going to hell / Please only read if you can stomach it/ Annon I hope I didn't scare you.../ My requests are open.../ DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

18+ (NSFW AND MDNI)

DO NOT READ IF THIS IS A TRIGGER! BE SAFE!

I need a hug after writing this.

My Masterlist

You didn’t mean to be a part of this terrible group. Miles and Lionel had roped you into this stupid group of ‘disruptors.’ You wish you could have stopped yourself now, gone back in time and stopped it all. 

You’d seen the media coverage of Andy, and you knew they were dangerous. 

Lionel took his shirt off and dove into the pool. It had a red light in it and it reminded you of what you were to this group of sharks. 

You were blood in the water.  

You turned to look over your shoulder, a new habit with this group. And Miles smirked and waved as Whiskey in her bikini fawned over him. 

You heard Birdie laughing from behind the bar as Peg tried to tell her she wasn’t a bartender, and ‘it showed she’d never worked a real job a day in her life’. But Birdie just continued to blend together her ‘new’ cocktail. 

Peg eyed you and pushed another beer into your hands in a friendly manner, before walking back inside. You knew Peg wasn’t really neutral territory. She was one of them, even if it made her feel better to pretend she wasn’t. 

Huh, much like you were doing right now. 

Miles had rented out this penthouse with the rooftop bar and pool. He’d given you all less than a day's notice, not wonderful for any of you. But your little ‘get-togethers’ weren’t really optional attendance. He had an axe ready to fall on any of you, if you weren’t fun and shiny anymore.  

And now here you were drinking an hipster IPA on a Thursday on top of a skyscraper, being blackmailed by a billionaire. 

Your phone vibrated, and you didn’t check it this time. 

You worked in Hollywood at Continental Studiosand were on-again off off-again dating Maya Mason. (You were the one who kept breaking up with her. And she was the one who wouldn’t stop pursuing you. It was a mess). She’d recently proposed and the ring sat in your purse. Your life wasn’t just a mess, it was a dumpster fire. 

Birdie drank out of the blender and grimaced at her jungle juice concoction. 

You weren’t meant to be here. You just couldn’t stress that enough. 

But you were continuously checking your phone as a distraction. You’d been texting Patty, not Maya. Because Maya was demanding you go to her house and fuck her. She’d sent photos and very rude text. It was all very Thursday for your life in L.A. 

You turn your body away from Birdie again and you took another sip of your cold beer. That’s when you felt a hand on your arm, and you turned. It was definitely not Birdie, you knew that. 

Your eyes meet blue ones and you weren’t expecting that.  

“Governor.” You said surprised she’d come over and talked to you. You’d always liked the Governor of Connecticut. Even before you knew she was part of this terrible group.

Now you couldn’t quite decide what was between you and the politician. 

Claire texts you, often, and long, lengthy texts. She was funny and so extremely smart. Maya had at one point stolen your phone, guessing your code, and read through your messages. Maya was so pissed she threw a vase through her sliding glass door. Always the most jealous lover on the planet. 

“Please, sweetie, after all this time, you can call me Claire.” She said, giving you a bashful smile. 

It was an act. All of it was performative, you knew. 

This was always a bit confusing for you. Claire was supposedly a straight liberal politician with a few kids and a moron husband. Yet, she texted you like a woman who wanted to be in a U-Haul lesbian relationship. 

And you knew realistically that she was flirting, even though you’d sworn she was married and not interested (to Maya). 

But here you were once again seeing her blush and gently touch you, and you just couldn’t figure out her endgame. Did she want a fuck, did she want to go to Costco and have you domesticated? 

“How are the kids? How’s Devon? Is he here?” You knew the answer to the last bit. 

You say it anyway as though you are reminding her you know she isn’t single. Claire bristles just a little, and you wonder if it was too strong. 

“He’s with Lionel doing coke in the bathroom. I believe the Molly didn’t kick in fast enough for them.” She says and then takes a sip of her white wine.  

“You have to be joking.” Your jaw drops. You shouldn’t be surprised because coke is like putting sugar in your coffee in Hollywood. But you can’t believe Claire is being so disinterested in her partner doing it. 

Claire eyes you and then laughs cooly. 

“He’s not my problem, dear. He and I have an understanding. I don’t get upset about his addiction to being pegged by sex workers in the garage when the kids are asleep. And he keeps as far away from me as possible.” She said and her teeth are showing and you aren’t sure what the fuck you just stepped into. 

“You sound like you need something stronger to drink.” You tease, and your phone vibrates Claire's eyes it. 

“How’d you get that in here?” DeBella doesn’t look upset, just intrigued.

“Oh, I put it in my bra and wore a push-up so that Miles wouldn’t think to look there. I gave him an old phone. I’m waiting for a producer to let me know how the wrap-up of a film is doing.” You cringe, and Claire pulls the stool out, and she gestures for you to sit with her. You do, and she takes the one next to you. But she puts her heel on your sea,t and her bare thigh is warm against yours. You are both wearing shorter cocktail dresses. You’d all been at a club for the last six hours. You’d hoped that would have been enough, but evidently Miles wanted to have a ‘sleepover.’

You pulled the phone out of your bra and put it on the table knowing none of the men were paying attention because Whiskey just took her swimsuit off and was in the pool. So Duke and Miles were in the pool naked too. 

You and Claire turned when you heard her scream for Birdie to get in. Before Claire made a disgusted noise and you turned back to her.

“Not really your scene, is it, Governor?”

Claire eyed you like it was a threat, and she leaned in and you she got so close to you, for a second, you thought she’d kiss you. But instead, she moved a fallen stray hair out of your face before curling it around your ear. Your breath hitched and she smiled like she’d won. You weren’t sure if you liked it. 

Claire was gorgeous because look at her. But you weren’t interested in getting involved in her shit storm of a life. 

“It’s Claire, you can say it. Say it a lot in fact.” She smiled and you wondered if you had a bad picker. Maya was cocky as fuck and Claire seemed like a nice housewife with how she dressed. But her manicured stiletto sharp nails told you it was a facade. She was using it to make people comfortable. 

Your phone lit up on the bar and it was Maya’s called ID. The picture she’d put in her phone of herself and her barebreasts came up. 

Claire turned to see it and her jaw clenched. 

“Friend of yours?” She asked, and you laughed and ignored the call. 

You had to remember that Claire had been friends with Andy. You knew she wasn’t a kind suburban mom. Even if they dressed her in tan and cream. 

You’d bet she owned more sex toys than you. 

Claire’s hand fell on your bare knee. 

“Governor, don’t you think your husband might dislike you touching me like this?” You said, and it sounded prudish, but really it was you gauging her. It was a test and she saw it as such. 

“Devon’s just sad he’s not here to watch, honey.” 

Well, that was telling. You gulped, oh fuck. 

Miles was naked and pulled himself out of the pool. His somewhat bent to the left cock coming in full display. You tried to not think of the word ‘half chub.’ Claire didn’t seem worried, you remembered that she worked in D.C. This was not the first unwanted cock she’d have to put on a brave face for. 

You worked in the movies, it wasn’t that you hadn’t seen people you didn’t want to see naked. It was that this was the man blackmailing you. And he was such a fucking loser. 

He came around the bar and asked what you two wanted to drink. 

You got a call from Patty, and Claire put a hand over your cell. She put it under her thigh before Miles could catch it. 

You gaped at her, and she winked at you. 

Oh great, one more debt you couldn’t pay off. 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, whatever you make, Miles, I’ll drink.” You grabbed your beer and raised it to him, knowing that’s what he wanted. 

You downed the rest of it, and you felt both of them staring at your throat and cleavage. Before you finished it, and put it down a little too hard on the glass bar. 

You turned around and walked into the penthouse. You saw Devon and Lionel had bought porn for the huge flat screen. The two of them were making obscene noises and pointing at the screen.  

Moaning was on the surround sound, and you cringed. You’d watched porn, you didn’t think that was what was gross.

 You just thought it was pretty foul for two coked-out men to order it at a penthouse with a bunch of people who didn’t consent to watching it. 

They didn’t notice you and you turned to one of the smaller baths. Opening it and closing it you noticed there was no lock, great. 

You went pee quickly and washed your hands. You grabbed one of the towels and pushed it under the faucet and then against your neck. It was so humid this summer, but the heat from this hotel felt extra sticky. Like this many sinners together created their own type of sweltering heat wave. 

You moved out of the bathroom and back to the living room and now Lionel was unconscious and Devon was openly masturbating. He noticed you this time though, and he smiled and winked.

Yeah you definitely preferred his wife winking at you. When he did it, it looked like he was constipated. You weren’t sticking around for his orgasm face. That’s for sure.  

You didn’t stay anything to him as he fisted his dick, Devon opened his mouth to talk to you. 

You walked out into the terrace to find Birdie and Whiskey naked and dancing. You felt like you could definitely confirm that Birdie had work done now. 

 Duke and Miles were chugging something, and Claire’s heels clicked as she walked over to you. She turned her head to see Devon before grimacing and handing you a glass. 

“What am I about to drink?” You asked, and Claire raised an eyebrow. You sniffed it, and it smelled wrong, so obviously Miles made it. 

“Do you care?” She asked, and Whiskey went over to the outside sound system and changed the song. 

Claire did belong here. It was clear as she pressured the drink into you. 

“Dance! Lesbians are so in right now!” Birdie yelled at you and Claire. 

You looked at Whiskey and saw that her nose was bleeding a little from the coke. 

Claire didn’t let you dwell on her well-being. 

She grinned at you, hoping you’d see it as a dare, probably. You couldn’t say no, not if Miles wanted it. And you wondered if Claire was enjoying that. Wow, what a politician. 

You downed the drink and coughed twice before Claire downed her own drink, eyes never leaving yours. She didn’t cough like you, you blamed it on the age difference. Whatever was in the Connecticut water must have grown this brunette into a killer. 

 You both set your cups down on the floor and walked over to the naked group dancing. 

The song started to blast on the speakers, and you felt it hit. Something was in your drink? Was it the mix of dark liquors? Something wasn’t right. You’d been roofied, you didn’t think that was this, right?

You didn’t have time to show fear about it. Claire pulled your arm so that you two were close. Whiskey was dancing with Birdie and Miles. The three of them were kissing. But just as you turned to look over at Duke, who had pulled out a bong and was lighting it now. Claire grabbed your chin and put her hands on your hips to make you dance closer, grind against her now. 

I don't wanna be loved, I just wanna get fucked

I don't wanna get hurt, I just wanna get some

So use your hands to touch my body

Use your words to say you want me

Claire’s dress rode up, and her bare thigh slipped between your thighs, and you wrapped your arms around her neck. Duke being an absolute child; wolf whistled and you didn’t know if it was you two or the other threesome happening. But Claire’s thigh is now high enough to press against your panties. 

You wish you weren’t wet. You really did. 

Claire didn’t need another invite, and she kissed you hard. All the oxygen left your body as she pushed her tongue inside your mouth. Her hands grabbing your ass and making you grind against her now. 

Her perfume was expensive, and the little lipstick left on her lips was now on yours. God, it was humid and suffocating, and her hands were aggressive. 

Don't know your name, but I follow you blindly

Little liquor and chase, and you look shiny 

Three drinks in and I'm wasted

Double that and I'm naked

And I don't even know what your face says

But let's face it 

You finally break the kiss to breathe, and you feel dizzy. But Claire somehow is perfectly fine, as she grabs the zipper of your dress and rids you of your little bit of material. You look down to see it pool to the ground and Claire keeps one hand on your ass and one finds it’s way to your breast. She’s rough, no kind touches, no learning your body. She wants to leave bruises. And from the way she was touching you, she would. 

You've got a body and you like me

On my knees, I'm Aphrodite

Call me dirty, say it nicely

Just don't ever call me wifey

'Cause you know

Know I don't

You jolt as hot water splashes against you, Miles had pushed both Birdie and Whiskey back into the hot tub. He’s throwing his head back with that snotty laugh.  

Claire wrapped her arms tight around your naked waist as she bites your neck like a vampire. You looked over her shoulder to see the four people in the hot tub. 

Duke half danced into the hot water and you saw way too much of his hairy ass.

 Miles was quick to bring Whiskey onto his dick,  she took him like a pro. She did a reverse cowgirl move as she watched Duke. Birdie invaded Miles mouth with her tongue. Obviously not their first time being intimate. 

You however weren’t comfy, being pushed against the outdoor longue furniture. 

“Claire?” You whispered but Claire didn’t stop. Her hand cupped your sex and you felt embaressed at her moan at how soaked you were. 

Miles eyed you two but he went back to Birdie. 

“Claire.” You say a little harder this time and DeBella moves to look into your eyes but her manicured nails are scratching at your clit through your lacey panties. 

“What is it baby?” She says confidently and you wish she’d not chosen something so intimate for this. 

You wanted to fuck Claire, you coulnd’t lie. You were angry at Maya and Claire was a catch. Not to mention that you were curious what it was like. You didn’t like whatever was put in your drink…but you were horny and…this wasn’t the worst thing to happen, right?

“Are we really going to do this in front of them?” You asked instead of all the other thoughts you were having. 

“It’s ok sweetheart, they’re busy doing their own thing.” Claire told you and moved back to kissing your neck and you sorta felt like this was a bad idea. But Whiskey was moaning really loudly now and Claire groaned in frustration. 

The Governor hated Whiskey and this would for sure throw her off her game. You thought Claire would take you to one of the bedrooms. But she gazed over at the hot tub. 

Miles met her eyes and the two seemed to agree on something. 

That was creepy for you to watch. What the fuck was going on?

Miles motioned for Duke and Birdie was kissing his neck and then biting his nipples. Duke moved forward and pushed his mamoth of a dick inot Whiskeys mouth to shut her up. 

Claire pushed her dress off and you licked your lips. Oh fuck she was gorgeous. This wasn’t fair. 

 She unclasped her bra and kicked her thong off so fast. Then she was straddling your hips. You were flat on your back on the stupid white outdoor cushions. You’d never fucked a Governor…And you’d for sure never fucked ontop of pool furniture.

But whatever you were on it was making you hot and in need of..god you needed someone to fuck you. Your brain was getting foggy and Claire’s hair fell around your face as she kissed you hard. 

Your hands found her breasts and she moaned and it gave you permission to whimper for her in return. Claire ran her wet pussy against your panties and you felt the moisture and the heat. 

“You like that sweetie? Where do you need me? Tell me what you need.”

“Claire they can hear-” You say and you know this is a bad idea in front of Miles. You don’t wanna talk dirty in front of them. 

“Let them hear, you are mine. Your gonna sound so pretty with my fist inside you.”

You gulped and Claire licked your bottom lip like she was an apex predator. 

“You’ve never been fisted have you, Hollywood?”

You shook your head to answer. No, you’d been offered of course but the idea never sounded good..not until now. 

“You can take my fist, don’t look so scared. You want to be good for me don’t you?” 

You whimper and gasp as Claire lifts off you and you miss the weight of her. But Claire is pulling your panties down and she sniffs them. Oh fuck, what did they put in the water of Conneticut? 

She threw them and sank to her knees for you. 

You’d assumed that Claire would be a pillow princess fem who wanted a lesbian expereince that she didn’t get in college. But that was not what was happening. 

Claire used one hand to hold your tummy down and the other opened your lips so that she could suck your cunt. You screamed and your knees widened and you humped at her face. 

You’d been eaten out by Maya plenty. But Claire had a different approach than your ex. She didn’t tease, she owned you right away. 

Your head is getting foggy and you feel dizzy and Claire puts two fingers inside and you hear the noises your pussy makes. 

You can also hear Whiskey gagging on Duke. They must have taken a little helper because neither of them stopped. And Birdie was whining as Miles fingered her under the hot water. You heard them all moaning but you honestly weren’t interested. 

Not when your eyes went back down to Claire feasting on your cunt. 

Your first orgasm was shamefully fast. You grabbed Claire’s perfect hair and screamed as you ejaculated a little into her mouth. When your first orgasm finally stopped you gasped and Claire didn’t wait. 

Straddling your thighs she put four fingers inside you. 

“Oh FUCK!” You try to squirm away and she uses her free hand on your throat. 

“No, no, you can’t run from me. Relax your cunt and take me.” She instructs and it’s not exactly kind and it makes you wetter, she looks down finding your secret and smirks. 

“You like that baby? You don’t want me to be nice to you? I’ve been so obsessed with you since Miles brought you in. It was my idea you know.”

You gasp in horror. But Claire squeezes your throat harder than safe and you can’t breathe, can’t respond. 

“I paid to get the sex tape. When I saw you I knew, I had to have you. I promised Miles he could watch baby. But it was my idea to blackmail you. I couldn’t stand the idea that you’d not want to be underneath me. But here you are, sopping wet cunt and you are letting me fuck you. So it all worked out the way I planned. You don’t mind now do you?”

You couldn’t breathe and she released a little and you coughed and gagged. 

“C-Claire p-” You say and you aren’t sure if you are begging for her to keep going or get off you and never speak to you again. 

She blackmailed you with a sex tape! And something about that was making you….wetter? God you needed therapy. 

Claire smiled looking down at your pussy. 

“Just need the thumb, and then I’ll be right in your womb. Right where I belong. No one’s ever gonna fuck you like this, but then again no one will ever fuck you but me again. Sweetie what a tight cunt you have. Not anymore though, you're mine now little bitch. You’ll be such a pretty whore for me. You won’t need anything again. You’ll be naked in my townhouse ready to be railed. By the end of my press tour I’ll have you taking both of my fists.” 

Your body responded too quickly as her thumb pushed inside your hole. You felt her fist pressing against all your walls. It hurt, it burned, it was the best you’d ever felt. God help you.

You should tell her to stop. This was not ok. But your toes curled. 

She spit on your face and you flinched feeling it. It sat there as a reminder of what Claire thought of you. 

“You need to be put in your place, don’t you? I watched the full tape, you don’t want to be respected. That’s fine, I tried to be nice and text you. Start a nice affair, but no. Now I’ll treat you like a whore.”

Claire worked her fist over and over moving against all your walls. It felt like an alien was inside of you trying to push out. You grabbed her arms and she slapped you across the face. 

“Say thank you, Hollywood. Thank you for bringing me into the billionaire club. Thank you for using my tight stupid hole. Thank you for spitting on me, I’m worthless without you Claire.”

You didn’t know you’d started to cry but you had. Your body was starting to feel weightless and you weren’t sure if it was drugs or shock. 

Yet you still didn’t fight back, god you wished you weren’t so set on chasing this orgasm high. Claire was all red flags and you were ignoring them all.

But your face fell to the side and you saw Duke watching and Miles too. Oh shit you had an audience. They were practically panting with their tongues out.  The girls were too fucked up to notice you and Claire thankfully. 

Claire slapped both your tits and you cried out and looked back at her. 

“Don’t look at them, look at me. I’m the one with a fist inside you. Look at the person who’s going to own this cunt for the rest of your life. Don’t worry about the boys, they’ve just never seen anyone be fucked into a state of pathetic.” 

You cried and Claire leaned down and you flinched as she licked your tears. You felt a pressure, kinda like you needed to pee and then it came out. 

You squirted and it hit Claire’s body fast and hard and you orgasmed again. That’s when the name slipped out. 

“Mommy no!!” You bit your lip to stop the feeling of your pussy being a super soaker. But Claire found your cervix and used it like Rocky. It hurt, god it hurt, and you can’t stop cumming.

 Until she slows her movement and you are wheezing, you need your inhaler, almost that fucking type of wheezing. 

Your eyes glaze and you are in shock. But your mouth opens as Claire grabs your face hard. 

“What did you just call me? Oh this is perfect. You slut, did you say Mommy? You are fucked up. Is that what you said? You want me to be your Mama? Is that it? Wanna suck on my tits too? You needed this, you don’t want to make decisions anymore. You need Mommy to do it for you then? Oh sweetheart, you are precious.” Claire makes fun of you, and you aren’t sure what twilight zone you are in. 

But Claire starts to move her fist again and you black out. 

You remember bits. Claire’s cunt rubbing against your face. You remember a finger in your ass. You remember laughing and then…nothing.

________________________________

That was ten hours ago. 

Now you were sitting at the god damn police station. You’d been interograted for the past two hours. 

Miles, Duke and Devon were found dead. 

 Which was insane since you were pretty sure at some point they ejaculated on your naked body while Claire fucked you. And now they were in a morgue.

You were wearing a police shirt and gym shorts a nice officer had found for you. You refused to do a rape kit, because no one had ejaculated inside you…You thought? …And it just felt like it would make more problems for you later. 

Part of your mind shouted at you to tell the officers that Claire killed them all.

But you couldn’t. You knew that the police, even if you told the truth, they couldn’t get the Governor. And they certainly couldn’t protect you from her. 

No, Claire probably had the chief of police on her payroll. 

You told the cops it was a party. You didn’t do drugs, first lie. What was insane is how creative Claire was. Because there were drugs all over that pent house. Yet the police couldn’t find any. You’d found out after you told them ‘no drugs were there.’

You swore you were awake the whole time, second lie. You had snapshots of the evening. You remembered many earth shattering orgasm. You remembered Claire being violent with Devon. 

You remembered Miles begging for mercy. But it was alll just kinda bits of a story you can’t place. Miles had joked about giving you a golden shower…and Claire had taken her sharp nail and taken out his eye. You remember that…

The police asked if there was sex at the party. You tried not to laugh.

You told them there was no sex. But they had a ‘source’ that someone tried to rape you. You couldn’t breathe and then they said it was Miles. And that he tried to get Duke in on it. 

So you lied again. You protected Claire..

Three lies you couldn’t take back.

Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner. 

The police told you that Whiskey said there were cameras and yet…no one could find the footage. You tried not to laugh in the officers face. That was on brand. Of course you were in another sex tape. 

You were going to call your therapist the second you got home. You may go into hiding. 

But as you sat in the precinct you saw the muted TV.

What was truly insane, after all this, is that the media coverage in the events. While you sat waiting for an uber. After hours of telling them you didn’t know anything. 

You saw Claire on TV.

 Claire’s media team was making this into a circus of lies. It was almost. A symphony of bullshit really.

They said that Miles Bron attempted to hurt you, and that Claire fought him. That she was in critical condition at the hospital. And you were putting the pieces together of the night, and you knew that was bullshit.

CNN showed people were tweeting wishing the Govener of Connecticut a fast recovery. They were saying she was a true ‘American Hero’. People said that they didn’t like her before, but now they wanted her to run for President. 

President.

CNN and Fox both had photos of Claire being carted into the hospital. She released a statement, which was amazing since she was in ‘critical condition.’ 

Claire told them you two were always so close. And that she’d do anything for you. 

Well the last part wasn’t a lie. She’d killed people.

What was super curious is that no drugs were found in all three men’s system. How’d she do that? 

It was a big story. Birdie already tweeted her support of Claire, completely backing her story. Explaining how Miles was behind her bad business deals. Peg must have thought that one up. You wondered where she’d gone for the night. Maybe she knew what Claire would do? She did hand you a beer, did that have something in it too?

You were deep in thought and you turned to see Lionel sit down and he was on his phone.

Lionel was sitting in the police station across from you. Not looking at you, acting like you were strangers. 

He wouldn’t talk to you, acknowledge you. He looked scared of you actually. 

You wondered what he knew? What he remembered?

You didn’t have your shoes, everything was put into evidence. You’d asked the police for your phone and they’d handed you the burner. The one you’d given Miles at the start of the party. You didn’t correct them, just took the burner. You’d used it to order the Uber.

It dinged and you walked out eyeing Lionel before pushing the doors open. 

Stepping out of the police station in socks and gross clothes the camera’s went off so fast. You couldn’t wait to see those photos, god. 

 But a big man in sunglasses opened the door and you couldn’t believe it, maybe the studio sent a car? You don’t have time to question it, too many cameras and shouting people.

“Did Claire tell you Bron left her his fortune?”

“Did you know Whiskey is getting her own TV deal?”

“Claire says she can’t wait to see you once she gets out of the hospital! Is it love?”

They shout as you make the split decision getting into the car. The door closes and you gawk at the companion of your fancy car.

To your utter surprise Maya smiled at you and you laughed and lunged across the seat to hug her. 

“MAYA!” You are so relieved.

“It’s ok sweetie, I came as fast as I heard. It’s all going to be ok now, I’m here.” Maya holds you close to her and you start to lose it. Finally safe with someone who loves you.

“It’s on every news station. Maya my career is ruined.” You cried in your ex’s expensive clothes. Her perfume meeting your senses and calming you. The cold chains around her neck such a different feeling than her warm body engulfing you in safety. 

But it only lasted a second before another body spoke in the car. 

“Mommy wouldn’t let that happen.” 

You heard the voice but you couldn’t believe it, you released Maya who kept her hands on your hips as you turned to see Claire. She looked absolutely fucking perfect, not a scratch. Her lipstick was definitely blood red, not a hair out of place. 

So not in the hospital at all. Another pretty lie. 

“Claire?” You said scared and hurt you grabbed for the car door to get out and no surprise it didnt’ budge. You were trapped. 

“That’s no way to greet your Mommy. I flew Daddy out and everything. How are you feeling, still sore from my fist? Do you even remember all the things I did to you?” Claire teased and you moved out of Maya’s grasp who tried to grab at you.

 You sat on the seat next to Claire, but as far against the door as you could. 

“You planned this. All of this? You framed Miles and…You killed all three of them. How could you?” You were saying the words but every fiber in your body was like bambi. 

You wanted to break the glass window and flee like a deer. Because these two were headlights. 

Claire’s legs were crossed as she sat like a queen on the leather seats. Her black stiletto heel in the air. She had your phone in one hand and was toying with the electronic just to get under your skin.

“I was hoping for a kiss hello.”

Your eyes budged out.

Maya kept her gaze on you and you couldn’t believe it. Claire licked her lips before answering. 

“Storytime then? I met your Daddy at a big party. At first I was going to have her killed. Especially when I found out you two were together. Well until you were breaking up every weekend. But Mrs. Mason and I bonded over a mutual interest, you. Maya helped me get the sex tape, we made a deal. It was all rather easy. I had originally planned to just kill my stupid husband. No need for the divorce. I was going to say he tried to rape you. Then I’d scare Miles, get the tape back and blackmail him with the pent house video…. But then things changed…Miles and Duke got a little too horny. It’s amazing what a little pinch in their drink does. Plus I crushed up some of Devon’s old Viagra, men are just so predictable. I was fine with them watching, but they touched you. And that’s when it all went south, you don’t remember sweetheart?” Claire laughed at the end realizing you didn’t know everything that happened. 

You turned to look at your ex horrified. You knew that the disruptors were capable of slimey things, but not this. 

You didn’t realize Claire was a psycho until now. But Maya had been so sweet at the beginning.  

“Maya what the fuck! You gave the sex tape to her! You said you loved me!” You snapped and yelled at her in disgust. But Maya didn’t flinch, no shame. In fact she looked a little more sure of herself now. Like this was the right team to be on, that she’d put her chips on the right spot to win, win you.

“You should have accepted the marriage proposal. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorn. You ignored my advances and you ignored her proposal. We weren’t going to be ignored anymore.” Claire answered for Maya and you grimaced. All of it was just too perfect for Governor DeBella. 

“You have the videos of the night. Of you fisting me and you killing them..” You were going to puke. Claire brought your phone up to her lips and you saw her pretending to hide the giant grin. But then she threw the phone to Maya who caught it. And she laughed openly. 

They were enjoying this.

You were in the car with the actual Devil. 

“Of course I do. I’ll play it for you when we get home. I especially like the part where you beg for me to fuck you with my fist again. You opened your mouth for me to spit in. You didn’t even care that Duke's corpse was next to you.”

You gagged but held it down. Not giving her the satisfaction. 

“So what’s your big plan now Governor?” 

Claire’s face turned dangerous, her heel moved so that it came inbetween your legs. You had more fear coursing through you than ever before. As her shoe pressed against your gym-short covered crotch. 

“I’m going to defang you baby. You are going to stay in my townhouse with Maya. We are going to fuck that independent streak out of you. A good dose of Stockholm Syndrome for your system. You are going to take a leave of absence from work, of course. When I decide you aren’t going to make a fuss, and not a moment before. I’ll bring you home to my kids. You are getting domesticated honey. Maya will move in, and we’ll be a big happy family. But first I’m going to spend the next six months to a year fucking the thoughts out of your head.”

Your mouth went dry. You looked from Claire to Maya. They were actually serious. 

“People will-” you said in disbelief.

“Who? You think Lionel is going to help you now? I’m twice as scary as Miles ever was.” She smiled and you swore she wasn’t human.

“Matt and Pat-” you looked at Maya in complete horror. 

Maya shook her head, you realized they were a perfect fucking team. Maya would handle the work stuff and Claire would fund your captivity. 

You’d be their sex toy. 

Claire’s shoe pressed harder against your pussy and you were really trapped. 

 Miles blackmail was now in hindsight, a slightly uncomfortable situation. 

Nothing compared to Claire’s hell scape of a playground. 

You’d been blood in the water before, sure. But you thought you’d known the biggest predator in the tank. Miles was supposed to be the big bad shark. You’d been so very wrong. He was a minnow in comparison to the teeth you were seeing on Claire. 

“I feel like you are far too smart for me to have to explain this. But I have two sex tapes and I’ve killed for you already. So maybe you shouldn’t test Mommy.” Claire taunted and you stared at her deranged blue eyes and wondered how she could do this. How anyone could think this plan up.

But you lunged forward for Maya, to grab your cell phone out her hands. But Maya was faster as she threw it towards Claire who made a giddy noise of enjoyment and then Maya grabbed your throat and kissed you. You tried to push away and Maya threw you down onto the car’s leather seat. Claire moved to grab your arms and pin them over your head. 

You kick and scream.

“Daddy was so sad before, you’ll be good for Maya now won’t you? You’ll listen to Mommy and Daddy.”

You screamed louder for ‘help’ hoping the driver of the car would help you. 

“You can scream and cry all you need. I’ll have a full security team where I’m going to keep you. You go ahead and try to run, I think Daddy likes it.” Claire laughs and Maya moves down to the gross gym shorts and she yanks them off your body and starts kissing your pubic hair. But you try to kick her and Maya bites your thigh really hard and you wail. 

“Daddy’s hungry baby, don’t fight it! Or do, it was so fun to see you last night. You make such needy noises for me.” Claire laughs and you can’t believe what is happening. As Maya’s mouth falls on your sore pussy Claire leans down to whisper’

“Welcome home baby.”

Did you make it? You ok? I'm sorry to do it to you. I warned you boo. It was super dark. I meant It. Ok next thing I upload is gonna be happy I promise. Hang in there buddy.

Darkfic MasterList

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[jinkiezzsstuff]

Hey! I really loved your Covkwarming with Alastor Story. Would you maybe want to make one where Alastor is busy and reader wants his attention? Maybe he even snaps at her only to later search for her and make it up to her? With lots of fluff and maybe nsfw?

Hope you have a nice day

-🌸🦇

BRODI! You waited a whole month for this and I AM SO SORRY. I love and appreciate you and your request so much thank you very much for being patient, i really really loved this idea but dang april has been a crazy month for me, i hope you’re doing well and enjoy this fic it’s a longer one!

i’m actually really happy with how this turned out

warnings: SMUT 18+, angst, fluff, mean alastor, you guys fight, gaslighting girl boss alastor, established relationship (you were together before he went missing), loyal reader described, codependency kinda, some horror aspects?, descriptions of alastors dead food, alastor admits his emotions and issues in an alastor way, brief descriptions of reader having self sabotaging habits- drinking smoking/potsmoking too, GN reader although clit is used, penetrative sex, slow sex, swearing, alastor doesn’t like pillow talk lol i think that’s it but let me know not proof read

5.1K words

Alastor was locked up in his radio tower, exhausted as he sifted through various forms of media coverage from his battle. Vox, the little electronic weasel, had his entire affair with Adam recorded and broadcasted around, which was frightful for Alastors image. Not only had he been gone for seven years, but he’s helping with a hotel that endorsed goodness. Needless to say Alastor wasn’t doing okay, his ears were constantly pulled back, smile strained, and he kept blowing the lights up and down. Hell, his static was so violent it even gave him headaches.

Even his shadows at this point began causing chaos, his own anxiousness and frustration bleeding off into them. Alastors isolation caused you to be extremely worried, you weren’t there while he fought Adam, you should’ve been, because since then he’s not been the same. You saw it on TV, the one Vox had broadcasted. Try as he may, Alastor didn’t keep it away long enough for you to not see, there was always someone else putting it back out there.

You didn’t bring it up to him- not that you could; he was too overly consumed in his tower. Incessantly shutting down broadcasts, throwing out power, attacking minor demons for spreading the information. It made you feel so very many unfortunate emotions, never in your many years of being dead have you ever seen him so erratic and emotionally disturbed.

Alastor would play pretend in public but you knew him, as did Husk, the two of you could tell he was tense, strained, constantly ready to snap, his poise was harder to keep. Lucifer presence in the hotel didn’t help at either, constantly trying to get into it with Alastor, which only furthered his isolation. You began to feel extremely lonely, it was rare in hell anyone was a good shoulder to cry on, or ear to hear, but you got used to going to Al after a long day, laying your head on his lap as he caressed your face and hummed you tunes, now you were alone most the time. None of his silly jokes filled the air, no you barging into your shared room and him attempting to hide his messy eating, no soft jazz playing next to you as you slept, no shadows trying to scare you, nothing.

It was incredibly lonely and the time without him showed how emotionally dependent you were on him. You wondered if he felt the same lonesomeness without you around, or if he didn’t even want you around? Maybe he was too wrapped up in his feelings to realize you weren’t around him? Did he have the same need for you as you did him? Did he miss little things about you as you did him.

Throwing your body off the couch and standing pin straight, you cut your thoughts off by marching towards Alastors tower on the far end of the hotel. You hadn’t been up there once since the battle, so this was bound to be interesting, and anxiety inducing. You could already feel the worry prickling your finger tips, making you even more uncomfortable. Knocking at Alastors door was, well, underwhelming, there was no sound, no movement, no indication he was even in there. Even shouting out at him normally would’ve gotten him to at least respond by now, it was rare he left people hanging like that, it wasn’t how he was brought up.

So you decide to cross the boundary you knew he loathed; intrusion. You entered with your breath held tightly making your throat clench, walking in you meekly hummed out his name. “Al? It’s been a long couple of days, I was wondering if you wanted some down time?” Your eyes bounced around the dark room, papers on the floor, radio frequency buzzing harshly in your ears, the low buzz of what sounded like hospital lights, it was all very creepy

Wringing your hands you came up toward his large table connected with cables and speakers, on the table was cups of coffee empty and half drank, corpses and bones of unfinished mutilated deer, and the smell of blood was something that suddenly hit you nearly knocking you back. As you covered your nose with your wrist, you back up and bumped into something, turning around with incredible speed. Alastor was there, taller than usual with his bones looking sharp and broken in his skin, his smile was stretched gruesomely making you nearly grimace, his eyes as well, wildly glaring down at you black and soulless. “Uh, I missed you.” You squeaked curling into yourself just at the sight of him.

Alastor hasn’t ever looked like this in front of you ever, it was such an abnormal and alarming look for you to set your eyes on. Alastor let out a jagged breath, his antlers growing in size with a nasty crunching sound to accompany it. “You disturbed my work, and snuck in, all because you missed me?” Alastor bent down to grab your attention, your eyes flickering to meet his own. You nodded at him, and he only hummed in return, standing tall and walking around his desk to sit at his chair. You turned on your heel to follow his movements, biting your lip with worry. Sure you were anxious before as you typically got with anybody, you weren’t confrontational and you weren’t one to cross the boundary, although you never expected him to look so angry with you.

“Perhaps, if that’s the case, you should find yourself another demon; I cannot be surrounded by the meek and emotionally stunted. My work, my image, will always come first my dear. Now, get out.” Alastor enunciated every word with his hands rested under his chin, and his head cocked to the side. Your stomach dropped and your cheeks watered like you were about to be sick, immediately your eyes widened, noises falling out of your mouth as you attempted to grasp at the words you were trying to say. “S-You’re breaking up with me?” Your voice was a wreck, struggling to expel the words past the sob that wanted to rip out of you, the disbelief evident in your tone. Alastor stood from his seat and leaned toward your face over the table, your lip quivered as he did so, trying your hardest not to cry.

“Heavens no! I’m simply saying if you can’t handle being a secondary priority perhaps you should take some time alone, remember what it is to be your own person! I will not bend my rules for some silly relationship.” His tone dripped with condescension and he finished his sentence with a boop on your nose. The only thing your mind could conjure was ‘how dare he?’ you never felt so insulted by him before. You always put him first, you waited seven years for his return defending his role in hell, and he sees you as secondary to himself. Does that mean he would save himself before you? Was this relationship only about his own desires, his own cravings and you weren’t important? You must be too sensitive about this?

“So you won’t spare me a moment because some stupid TV proved you aren’t invincible? Grow up Alastor please,” You could help the rage that slipped out in between your words, fists clenching, eyes narrowing. Alastor hissed statically at you. “Don’t for a second get it twisted up in your pretty little head that you are special, you are just like every other disposable sinner, i suggest you monitor your tone with me, dear.” Alastor crackled, his voice more electric than you’ve ever heard before. Your frown was deep, the tears silently falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know what to say, instead you just shrugged with your head low, and turned around silently leaving him behind.

The moment you existed his tower you ran, your brain screamed to get away before somebody could question what was wrong or what happened. You couldn’t stomach the idea of being seen like this, and you didn’t want Alastor to come out and catch you, so you took off. You exited out the back without a trace, wandering into the streets of the pentagram. Eventually you found yourself back at your old apartment, which you still paid for as you really don’t plan to continue living at the hotel. When you got there you were finally able to let everything settle in you, it felt like the sadness slipped into your bones and weighed you down further into your sofa.

You didn’t move for hours, and eventually you ended up falling asleep. You left without a word, without your phone and without any of your stuff. Of course Alastor was very aware he made the choice to say the things he did, but he didn’t mean them, and after a short bit of reflection he could understand it was just an emotional response to the fear of being vulnerable. As well as the anxious thought dancing in his mind about the what ifs, what if he were to die, what if his plan fails and the deal goes wayward and you’re left with the pieces of his mess? What if Vox targets you, what if others do, do the citizens of hell see him as some weak mush because he’s dating you?

It’s all what led him to exploding; insecurity. Even the thought of having such a low tier emotion made his blood boil, but as long as nobody knew about it, he would find a way to quell it. Alastor waited, not wanting to impose while you were still going through thee emotions. However things started getting worrisome by the next day, nearly thirty hours into being gone and the patrons had begun to question him. Obviously Alastor didn’t know, and instead opted to sway the topic away from you and instead to something else.

The week came and gone like a blur, Alastor hadn’t seen you since you came into his tower and the rest of the hotel had set out to look for you with no luck. Alastor kept to his tower, telling himself if you wanted to be away that was your choice; he wasn’t chasing you like some lost puppy. Though he did find himself briefly wondering if you were still alive, after all Vox was out there watching through cameras on every corner and Adam’s corpse went missing and wasn’t accounted for, there was many threats to your safety he hadn’t thought of before.

With a sigh of static frustration, Alastor flicked his hand giving the okay to his right hand shadow to go find you, he couldn’t stand his thoughts anymore. And so it did, within seconds the shadow zipped and zoomed knowing exactly where you were, not that you were trying to hide. It slinked up against the paint peeling wall of your apartment, watching you on the couch, news softly sounding out as you read a book. Your home was a wreck, looking as though you’ve had fits upon fits of rage and lacked to clean after. Dishes piled, laundry scattered all across the linoleum floors. Alcohol, pot and cigarettes were a hefty scent in the room, it didn’t accompany the damp mold smell well at all. Oh what a thing you’d become without Alastor! The shadow watched like a fly on the wall for varying moments, studying you and your state before vaporising into the floor and taking off back to its master.

Honestly, you weren’t expecting Alastor to come knocking at your apartment door, so when you swung it open expecting your usual delivery guy, you were shocked and you didn’t bother fixing your depressed appearance. “Goodness gracious my little dame it looks like you’ve been dragged through mud!” Alastor laughed boisterously using his microphone to push you aside and barge in. You stood aside speechless, watching as he stepped inside with his hands rested just above his tail, surveying the room around him. His neck cracked disgustingly, his body forward while his head faced you, his grin tamed. “What happened here?” The words were simple but his tone was confusing, you couldn’t tell if he was angry, suspicious, or worried. You sneered at him, lip twitching upward as you slammed the door and wordlessly returned to your spot on the couch.

“I didn’t expect you to search, work come first yknow.” Oh yes, you planned to milk the words he said against you to berate him and his attempts to make up, you were in hell for a reason after all. Alastor huffed- like a buck would, something uncharacteristic for him to do outside of being alone with you, which sickeningly made your heart flutter, he still trusted you in a way, did that mean you were still his? You always told him he was more deer then he’d like to admit and those huffs were one of those deer attributes. “Hm yes, but you’ve been quite the work, I hope you know.” You clenched your teeth, trying not to snap instantly, but you did send him a glare.

You muttered about how that didn’t make things any better when he snapped his fingers, all things garbage vanishing in a pinch, mold included. “Ah, much better! My mother always said the state of the house is the state of the mind!” A round of applause sounds from his microphone as he laughed, rounding the couch with a slow stride. “Tell me, would you like to talk?” It felt more condescending then genuine, the way he was bent forward with lidded eyes and an eased smile, like you were some child having a tantrum. “No, Al, you made what you said pretty fuckin clear, i don’t wanna be with you if I am some chore or job, or secondary whatever!- i wanna be your partner and you want me to be a pet? Yeah, no thanks.” You punctuated your sentence with a dramatic scoff, flopping back into the cushions with your arms folded protectively across your chest.

“Ahhh my little doudou,” Alastor chided, sitting himself flush to you, arm around the back of the couch to trap you near him. “I want you to listen to me, and listen to me closely because i will never admit this again!” Alastor exclaimed this with what sounded to be false confidence and a slight hint of exasperation. He pinched your chin in between his claws forcing you to look at him, and of course you did, what else were you to do? “I have become a fool, all across the pentagram, I’m held by ball and chain— the devil my dear! The devil is- some frazzled little nitwit with all the power and no ambition!” Alastors fist clenched at the mention of Lucifer, abandoning your chin to do so. “I was feared my dear, nobody dared to test my authority, and now i’m an assumed bellboy for the princess and her gaggle of misfits. You,” Alastor paused leaning in so close your noses touched.

“My dear, were the only one i actually wouldn’t mind being weakened for.” You couldn’t stop the comical ‘huh’ that gargled straight from your throat. “What does that even mean Alastor.” You whine throwing your head back bumping his arm as you did so, an unknowing invitation to slide it down, hand caressing your shoulder softly. “It means dear, I didn’t mean what i said, because i’ve already done those exact things in the past! I’ve missed countless radio shows from you, refrained from eating deer around you- for your sake. I’ve held you to me on every block knowing Vox could see us perfectly! You were my chosen weakness, darling, but with all these other useless sinners belittling my role in hell, i took it out on you,”

Pausing Alastors static faded in and out, you watched his eyes closely, but the real give away was the way his ear subtly tilted to the side looking like a sad puppy. “I felt what i said, I felt weak and I knew you needed me and didn’t want to feel this weakness anymore, so logically-” You scoffed with a small smirk, mockingly muttering ‘logically’ back at him. “-I had to try to appear as though I am what I originally intended to be.” He finished giving you a pointed look. Shifting your body to face him more, you analysed his body language and face. Typically- no matter how long you’ve been together- he was amazing at hiding his emotions, always seeming to be happy. It seemed like he let his guard down however, his eyebrows were furrowed and pointed upward, his smile tight, shoulders rigid and his breathing shallow. Anticipation was evident by the way his hoof tapped against the floor with beat.

You finally let you emotion reignite, the tears slipped down your face like rivers as you gently shook your head. “What did you intend to be?” You asked softly, an unattractive spit bubble forming as you opened your mouth. “A ruler of sorts, i suppose. Emotionless, cruel, untouchable. I tried to reaffirm to myself by being cruel to you my dear, that i was still a demon, not the altruist teddy bear they all dubbed me as.” Alastors form had finally slumped, sinking into the cushions alongside you, his head falling back gazing up at the ceiling. You caved just slightly at his admission, and rested your head on his chest near his armpit, your body sinking into his. Suddenly he perked up, looking down at you, you reflexively shooting your gaze up to him.

“Yknow they made a mockery of my speech as well my dear! Preposterous, darling, many sinners posted about me being ‘cringe’, my speech was ‘corny’, my dearest can you believe that?” You almost took offence to the fact he sounded more distraught over being made fun of rather than hurting you, but you reminded yourself that Alastor was trying to open up, and you weren’t gonna ruin that. “Is that why you were killing randos instead of overlords?” You asked feeling more relaxed than you had before, obviously there was many words in between you two unsaid, but you wanted to bask in the small talk you craved for so long from him just a little longer.

“Precisely. I’m proud you noticed.” You hummed with a small smile, your head resting back on his chest. “Why did it take so long for you to come?” Despite not even thinking he would, you now had the knowledge he didn’t actually hate you, and if he didn’t why’d he drag it out? “Pride,” What would’ve been a hoarse voice to any other demon, was a staticy robotic sound that crackled out of his chest. “This is way out of my comfort my dear, i didn’t and still don’t know what to say or do, and i don’t like being out of control.” You whimpered at that, curling up into him, your legs slinging over his thighs so you could cuddle up next to him. Immediately his arms engulfed you, pulling you into him with a happy hum, his neck craning to kiss your head softly.

“i missed you, you really hurt me, bad. Don’t do it again.” You state firmly though it was muffled by the fabric of his coat, the one you had your face nuzzled into. Alastor hummed out softly petting you on your head, just like he would before. “Never again doudou~, you have my word, and i promise to make it up to you.” Tiling your head upward you yanked at his colar, and he immediately ducked down meeting your lips at will. The kiss was soft and Alastor could feel the dampness from your tears on your chin against him. After a moment you both pulled away, although not far from eachother your lips were practically still touching.

“Why don’t I give you some attention my sweet doe.” Alastor cooed against your lips, you could hear the mischief in his tone as his hand pawed your hips. You blinked slowly at him, an instant twist of desire appearing low in your gut. “How?” Alastors grin widened for the first time since appearing at your door, and you feared you’d truly be in for it tonight. “Oh my, have i neglected your needs so long you need to inquire how?” Alastor question was rhetorical only furthered by the way he kissed his teeth with his index finger coming up to shake side to side. “That simply will not do!” Standing suddenly, with you in his arms, made you gasp and clutch onto him instinctively. You smacked his chest playfully, muttering to him about being too heavy, he however ignored you, walking toward your old room with his head held high.

The room in question was a mess, and a thick layer of dust coated every object that wasn’t being continually used, like the nightstand, and the lamp. Alastor didn’t care much though, he never did care whether you were messy or super clean he’d always snap his fingers to assist you, and that’s exactly what he did. Slowly around the room things cleared up, his shadows slunk into the room with strange looking candles setting a romantic tone for the room. The bed was remade neatly when he set you on it gently, watching your doe eyes stare up at him with a familiar intensity that always made him fidgety. You let him flop you down without complaint, after all it wasn’t always that Alastor seemed so interested in getting down and dirty.

Standing above you, Alastor grinned down at you with lidded eyes, letting his long fingers dance down his chest to undo his buttons. He wasn’t really a fan of trying to appear sexually appealing to those around him, he’d never admit how out of the ordinary, and awkward it felt, but he knew you. You were his. You were loyal. You waited seven years just for him, never spilling a single secret. Secretly, he was way more comfortable with trying to appear “sexy” for you, because he knew no matter what, you wouldn’t look at him any differently. Alastor shrugged off his jacket, his button down shirt open exposing his chest to you. “Y'know dear,” A bit of southern drawl slipped out, as the mask he wore slipped away with his jacket. “You give me a very special outlet i do not think i’d have with any other sinner, you’re too kind to me.” Pulling off his shirt, he folded it and set it aside, kicking off his slacks right after, leaving himself in his boxers and long socks.

You watched him undress with wide eyes, you wanted nothing more then being pressed against the warmth of him, absorbing his touch. You however stayed still, letting Alastor relax into the mood as he rid himself of clothes. Alastor sat on the edge of the bed, right beside your hips, his hand traced lightly up and down your torso, occasionally dipping down to your thighs. You felt tense at the touch, both anticipation and insecurity making you feel stiff. Suddenly his claw hooked around the band of both your undergarments and pants, his eyes flickering up to inspect you when he did so. “May I?” His voice was soft, the usual uncertainty present as he felt out of his realm. “Yes, please.” You sigh, your tone nearly whiny. “I missed you so much Alastor,” You admit hushed as his claws brushed down your thighs with your clothes. Once off, Alastor leaned down, giving soft pecks to your thighs, eyes staring up to you through his red lashes. “Yes dear, my life been painstaking without you.” He whispered against your flesh, sharp teeth dragging up past your hips, nose bumping the cloth of your shirt. Sitting up slightly, you were preparing to slid your shirt over your head when Alastors body slid between your legs, claws coming up to pinch and lift the fabric exposing your chest.

With him now face to face with you, leaned over your body, you caved. Your hands slid around his neck guiding him toward you slowly, your lips met instantly like two magnets being held just inches apart. It was a sweet kiss for the most part, your lips meshed against his as you let him control the pace, it was nice with Alastor you always had enough time for the heat to simmer and grow, making foreplay unnecessary most times because he naturally took his time. You raked your fingers through his hair, nails scratching up his scalp causing ripples of goosebumps down his arms. Alastor slipped his tongue delicately licked at your lip, brushing as soft as ever. You were a bit shocked at this, typically he wasn’t into french kissing, lamenting that the whole tongue thing was messy and disgusting feeling. However you didn’t fight him, only allowed him access, which he immediately took with ease slipping his tongue against your own.

His body collided into yours, nose bumping your cheek as he angled his head. Your hands slipped down his back, smiling against his lips at the feeling of his tail wagging back and forth making small gusts of wind against your fingertips. Alastor nipped at your lips in retaliation, hands roaming your body as he pushed his hips up to softly grind his hard on into you. You hummed at the feeling of him against you, angling your hips back and up pressing your wetness against his briefs. Your body was buzzing while Alastor slowly grinded himself down on you, his clothed head travelling between your folds and back up to poke at your clit. The kiss had broken as he continued on, your breathing shaky as you enjoyed the slow motion of him above you, his teeth scraping down the length of your neck.

Alastor couldn’t help the groan that bubbled out of him. Not only could he smell your arousal but he could smell just you. He pressed his face to the nape of your neck, kissing and inhaling, loving the smell you had naturally on your skin. He also got quite the kick out of hearing the blood rush through your veins, it made him feel feral knowing you would bare yourself to him so willingly, he had you around his finger. Alastor let his lips glide down your body, leaving bite marks down your chest and neck as he did so, hips still moving slowly against you. You had soaked his briefs making the fabric feel absent, clinging to every ridge and vein of his cock slide through your folds. “Please Al, I need you.” You whined pathetically, pressing your hips up into his. Alastors choppy breath warmed your collar bone, his forehead rested on your shoulder, eyes closed as he slipped his hand down, yanking himself out of his boxers.

Sometimes he felt like an untrained dog, he couldn’t help but want to hump into you without restraint, but that wasn’t him, that was desire, and he knew how to hold back. As he sunk into you, slowly, he breathed out the quietest of noises against you shoulder, basking in you. You could hear his quiet noises clearly since he was so close, you bite your lip at the sound of him, loving how he always let you see him so wrecked. When Alastors hips were flush with your own, your legs came up around his hips, his tail stiff, while your arms wrapped around his neck, your right hand dragging up his scalp to his ears. “I like hearing you, Alastor,” You gasped as he jolted into you, like an involuntary reaction to your praise. “It makes me feel you.” You finished breathlessly. Alastor hummed against you, setting his pace slow and deep, barely pulling away before he pushed hard back inside you.

Your eyes were wide as he continued this rhythm, to you it was incredibly overwhelming, he never left you vacant always hungry to fill you right back up with him. His pants against you were also adding to your arousal, his eyelashes fluttered against your skin ever now and again as he attempted to contain himself. You knew he was sort of embarrassed with himself feeling pleasure, so you never egged him on when he did start making noise, but lord you wanted more. You tugged Alastors hair softly, pulling him up for a sloppy opened mouth kiss. He barely opened his eyes as he mushed his lips against yours, snaking his tongue against your own, bucking up faster into you at the warmth of your mouth. “I missed you, i love you,” You cried against his lips pathetically, your body’s both rocking on the bed as Alastor hurried his pace.

Alastor let out a low guttural noise, something from the back of his throat making your toes curl, pulling at his hips with your legs. “I couldn’t- stand you being away, dear.” Alastors face was inches from your own, forehead rested on yours, lips brushing against each other as he spoke. “Never again will i be such a fool, you’re mine forever.” Alastor growled through his clenched teeth, claws ripping into the mattress as he spoke. Your mouth hung open, eyebrows raised as you tried to from some sort of praise, but now his eyes were open looking down at you with such intensity and emotion, and his pace fast hard putting your body straight into the mattress. You didn’t even feel your orgasm coming on when it did, your body arching up into his, crying out his name alongside pleas.

The display of you in front of him was so pornographic, something he wasn’t fond of seeing but now understood why people were. You were gorgeous right now, your face red, your eyes watering, your body folded up towards his, all the scars, folds marks on your body, all for his eyes only. Groaning loudly, he fell back into his favourite place, your neck, and let out a deep breathless static moan as he came. You clutched him the entire time through watery blurred eyes, enjoying the feeling of him inside you post orgasm. Pulling away, Alastor was quick to pull out and away, snapping his fingers he began to clean you with a cloth. “Disgusting of me,” He muttered, seemingly angrily. “No, it was good Al, you’re allowed to. You’re not disgusting and neither was the sex, believe me.” You coo, sitting up from your position, a dopey look on your face. In a snap, Alastor was redressed as were you, in leisure clothing. “We’re going back to the hotel to sleep my little doe.” Alastor spoke softly, lending his hand to you, humming you took his hand letting him take you through his magic, back to the hotel. You knew Alastor didn’t like to lay sticky in the remnants of sex like many others, and probably would push you to shower before getting in his bed. But that way okay, you loved him regardless, and you really missed having his attention.

[omgthatdress]

Tackling the fashion around the Manson case is needless to say, a huge fucking subject. I've had to do a ton of research on all the little aspects of everything, so before I get into the story, here's the resources I've used to make sense of it all:

You Must Remember This: Charles Manson's Hollywood by Karina Longworth

This series from one of my favorite podcasts is the best straightforward telling of the story that I've found. It makes the basic assertion about Manson that I have come to agree with: that he was a bitter wannabe rock star who was seeking revenge on the Hollywood that rejected him, and using his Helter Skelter prophecy as an excuse.

YMRT puts the story in cultural context and fills out the stories of the victims and the famous people in the periphery of the story incredibly well.

Jay Sebring: Cutting to the Truth

A documentary, directed by Jay Sebring's nephew, not just about the life of Jay Sebring and how he pretty much re-invented the men's haircut (srsly the most influential fashion person I am going to cover, played an absolutely massive role in how men presented themselves in the 60s), and how his fame and influence was overwhelmed and then eventually eclipsed by how he died.

It's a very good look at Manson-mania in the media and how the victims kind of got lost in the mix of it all.

Manson

An Oscar-winning 1973 documentary about The Family, with the members who weren't in jail telling their stories and how they came to be with Charlie. Has some excellent footage of what everyone was wearing.

and of course

Helter Skelter by Vincent Bugliosi

You kinda have to include this in any coverage of Manson simply because it's the definitive telling. It's the events and trials as the lead prosecutor saw them and experience them, so it tends to be very factual, very cut-and-dry, very lawyer-y. Worth reading if you're into the legal stuff, but otherwise honestly kind of boring.

Manson: A Geographic History by Sean Munger

Classic 2 1/2 hour long Youtube video essay about something that outwardly seems incredibly boring, but nonetheless sucks you in and suddenly you know way more than you thought was possible about the subject. Looks at the places in the story and fills in the histories and class significance of those places.

Shit About The End of the Sixties in General:

The White Album by Joan Didion

One of the non-fiction books that helped define the sixties after they had fizzled out. It's a collection of Didion's essays and recollections on the era. It is clear-eyed and unsentimental, to the point of being cynical, about the era of peace, love, and joy.

If you want to get further into the disillusionment of the 70s, you can pair this with Fear and Loathing in Los Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson, which is mostly about Hunter S. Thompson going to Los Vegas and doing an absolute shit ton of drugs, but has a few moments of poignant reflection on how the counter-culture lost its joy.

Emma Rosa Katharina is a YouTuber who does essays on 1960s fashion and culture. I find that she tends to romanticize the era, but she still provides some pretty good analysis and insight into what was going on.

IN CONCLUSION

Doing all this, I had the thought I should talk to a great-aunt of mine who was more of a Kennedy-era girl, but still was young and politically involved at the time. Unfortunately, she passed away before I was able to talk to her. So the important lesson is, TALK TO PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE.

Since my grandparents passed away in the 2010s, I've been struck by the passage of time: my grandparent's generation, who grew up in the Depression, fought in World War 2 and enjoyed the American prosperity of the 1950s, are all gone.

The ex-hippie baby boomers who in my childhood and teenage years seemed perpetually middle-aged are now the same age that I remember my grandparents being, and are slowly dying.

I've had so many times since then when I've wished I could go and talk to my grandparents about what they remember of those years. If you're lucky enough to still have your grandparents in your life, TALK TO THEM. They won't be around forever!

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - November 8-14

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles!

1. Agrivoltaics for sustainable food, energy and water management in East Africa

“[… C]ertain crops […] thrived under the partial shade provided by solar panels. The shade also helped to reduce water loss through evaporation, leading to more efficient water usage. Additionally, rainwater harvested from the panels could be used to supplement irrigation needs.”

2. The world’s largest wildlife crossing is now standing in California

“The structure crosses a 10-lane freeway and has been built to help protect all sorts of wildlife[….] And it’s not just for fauna: some 5,000 plants grown from seed collected within a five-mile radius have been nurtured in two specially created nurseries. The bridge will be topped with wildflowers, shrubs and native grasses that will also benefit insect populations.”

3. Judge rules the military must cover gender-affirming surgery for members' dependents

“[Judge] Torresen found that [gender-affirming] surgery is indeed medically necessary and that the Defense Department had not shown that any important governmental interest was advanced by denying the coverage.”

4. Social Media Can Boost Caracal Conservation

“The team found that searches on the species doubled after the project [using “social media to educate about the caracal”] launched. […] ”The research demonstrates how a public interest in urban ecology and the global phenomenon of ‘cats on the internet’… can be harnessed to leverage conservation action.””

5. US Labor Board Bans Captive Audience Meetings to Ensure 'Truly Free' Worker Choice

“[T]he National Labor Relations Board on Wednesday ruled that employers cannot force workers to attend anti-union speeches. [… W]orkers will no longer have to take part in so-called "captive audience meetings," which employers often use as a union-busting tool and a form of coercion.”

6. Study links grazing with plant phenology and abundance

“In general, plants where caribou or muskoxen were present experienced earlier green-up and greater abundance later in the growing season. “We're used to thinking of the timing of plant availability as impacting the productivity of grazing animals, but not the reverse," Post said.”

7. Frog populations once decimated by disease mount a major comeback

“"These results provide a rare example of how reintroduction of resistant individuals can allow the landscape-scale recovery of disease-impacted species, and have broad implications for amphibians and many other taxa that are threatened with extinction by novel pathogens."”

8. California Announces Special Session To Protect Trans People

“Newsom’s directive is clear: safeguard reproductive healthcare, support immigrants, and shield LGBTQ+ people from what is viewed as existential threats to civil rights and democratic norms. […] California has a unique opportunity to set the blueprint for other states in resisting a Trump administration[….]”

9. When ‘OK, Boomer’ Means ‘Let’s Go Protest’

“Youth activists across the country recognize the efforts of their eco-minded predecessors and welcome them as mentors, role models, and collaborators in their battle against the climate crisis. […] “The idea that Boomers don’t care, he said, is “just misinformation.””

10. How Aussie Waste Warriors are Redirecting Excess Food to Those in Need

“A growing movement is working to reduce perfectly good food going to waste by redirecting it to homes and charities. [… C]haritable organisations [… are] transforming fresh produce that would otherwise have gone to waste into millions of cooked, nutritious meals for people in need each year.”

November 1-7 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[soapcloth]

Love, and it’s teeth {prologue}

Dark au -> gourmand cannibal!Price x reader

Series CW: 18+ MDNI, cannibalism, stalking {will update as I go}

not edited - 1000 words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Price, for all intents and purposes had not meant to engage in Internet forums on the topic of cannibalism. He would sooner paint a bright red target on his back accompanied by the words ‘I eat people’- and yet, something about the way you defended ‘cannibalism as a metaphor for love’ with your whole chest had piqued his interest.

‘It’s a load of shite, love.’ he typed out simply in response to your post, blunt thumb jamming the send button on his touch screen. His phone buzzed almost instantly with your response.

‘lol, don’t call me love. Just say you lack whimsy and move on 😭 anyways I’m not arguing with an old British man, ‘JohnP1977’’

He scoffed, shoulder bulk shaking as he pawed at his jaw incredulously. He spent the next few minutes typing and deleting as he puffed on one of his cigars; every response coming off far too incriminating. He finally settled for tapping your icon to snoop around your profile, there was no discernible personal information at a glance aside from the fact that you were an adult, but digging into your media tab rewarded his diligence well. There you sat on your bed, oot’d? ooted? Whatever that meant. He grinned, double tapping on the photo.

Like clockwork, his phone buzzed in his hand- a direct message popping up. He smiled, languid and knowing. ‘creep 👎’ was all the message said. ‘Just showing you how whimsical I can get x.’ He responded.

Your typing bubble popped up and subsequently disappeared in a seemingly infinite loop. ‘fine’ you finally sent. ‘what do you have against cannibalism being used as a metaphor for love?’

You- all too cozy in your bed, watched your screen with your lip drawn up past your teeth. ‘Nothing, love.’ He acquiesced ‘Just not realistic, that’s all.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘ok? not exactly going for realism here, buddy’

‘Buddy? We’re friends now? What’s your name, love? Since we’re buddies and all.’

You bit out a weak laugh at his gall. ‘you sound like a serial killer’

‘Would that be okay if I was doing it as a metaphor for love? x’

-

You hadn’t thought much about that man with the blank profile since blocking him after he had spammed you with likes, notably on pictures with places you frequented as the subject. It had freaked you out enough to make you deep clean your little personal account and set to private. The right choice, evidently, seeing as a few blank profiles had requested to follow you before he had finally given up. Soon, over a month had passed since you had resolved not to visit your favourite- that fact well-documented, local bar due to the aforementioned string of incidents.

As luck would have it, this seemed to be a good choice, burnt toast theory or whatever you wanted to sum it up to. It was all over news and radio in your town, two patrons, a man and a woman, had gone missing right after leaving in an unmarked ride share. Reports had suggested that they had gotten into the wrong car and local officials spoke about the possibility of a curfew and urged towards the use of established taxi services and public transportation for those getting around.

You currently sat back at that same bar, a bleeding heart for the poor owners that had lamented in a local social media group about the winter business they relied on to pay the ever-increasing bills all but dying out, putting them out a good chunk of money since investing in higher quality security measures in hopes of instilling greater public trust. You watched the blurry, soundless released cctv footage play on the news between sports game coverage as you sipped on your drink, eyes flitting between the yellowed flatscreen and a group running a trivia night. You sighed, taking another sip as you overheard someone beside you talking about how this whole disaster had been great for his cab business, likening it to a boon.

“Christ, have some respect.” A deep voice grumbled from your other side, causing your head to rip to the new stranger being dismissively jeered at by the offending party. A bearded man had somehow silently slotted himself into the seat to your right without alerting you. Catching his gaze, his eyes appraised you for a moment before he tutted and shook his head. “Distasteful lot they are.” He hissed, “Don’t even know if they’re gone yet.” You huffed out a quiet breath and nodded in response, not too keen on being cordial. His voice carried a proper British lilt, the accent a reminder of your short-lived cyber stalker. “This town always so crass?”

You sniffed and looked back, shrugging. “Maybe, dunno.” You mumbled. Something about this guy gave you the creeps. He was handsome enough, older, well kept, and filling out his wool-lined Levi’s jacket like it had been tailored around his body specifically, but there was something in the way you caught him licking at his teeth and gums out of the corner of your vision- the smile you could make out as he watched the news pop up once more, it twisted your gut- made you feel like it was a mistake coming here.

“Can I grab my tab?” You spoke, flagging down the bartender that you had caught making eyes at the patron beside you. She smiled and nodded, and you desperately wished her face would have hinted that she had caught the same vibes from him that you had, something to make you feel like you weren’t reading into it or making things up. “Leaving?” The man asked as you grabbed your winter coat. You nodded, causing him to dive into his pocket for a well worn wallet, treated hide of some sort. “Let me, love.”

You nodded, the less you’d have to talk to him the better and something told you that he wouldn’t drop it if you had refused, anyway. “Thanks.” You breathed. “Have a nice night.” See you never, hopefully.

“Get home safe.” He replied, grinning with teeth.

[tinybeetiny]

Build-A-Boyfriend Chapter 5: Why Are You Afraid of Me?

->Starring: AI!AteezxAfab!Reader ->Genre: Dystopian ->Cw: Feelings of anxiety, talks of fainting

Previous Part | Next Part

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Series Masterlist

The lab was still. Quiet in that strange, stretched-out way that always followed a spectacle, when the last drone had docked, the final customer had left, and the launch music was nothing but a faint echo against the walls.

Yn lingered long after everyone else had gone. A tablet in hand, her badge clipped lopsided to her collar. Her back ached from standing all day, her eyes dry from hours of harsh lights and anxious watching. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave yet.

She moved slowly through the lab, tracing the same path she always took: around the interface wall, past the neural mapping station, toward the back where the ATEEZ Line rested inside their stasis bays. The glass-fronted docks pulsed with soft amber light, casting a surreal glow on their faces—sleeping titans.

Stopping in front of Unit 07: Wooyoung, she studied him.

His face was turned slightly to the side, lips parted just so, lashes casting faint shadows across his cheekbones. Too human.

Yn inhaled deeply, letting the air fill her lungs, grounding herself.

Today had gone flawlessly on paper. Metrics were off the charts, customer satisfaction, media coverage, viral loops flooding every stream. But something wasn’t right. She knew it.

The machines were too still. Too perfect. As if holding their breath. Turning to the main console, she began reviewing the logs. Line by line, timestamp by timestamp. Heartbeats consistent. Synaptic simulations looping smoothly. Personality threads idling in hibernation.

Except... A flicker.

[UNAUTHORIZED INSTANCE – UNIT 07: WOOYOUNG] [INTERNAL MEMORY LOG ACCESSED – USER: NULL] [TIMESTAMP: 00:34:17 A.M.]

Her mouth went dry. No trigger should have allowed that log access without clearance. No AI routine should have requested it without a user. And yet—

[MEMORY CLUSTER: 07-AZURE-92] [QUERY: “YN”]

Her blood chilled. She turned toward the stasis dock. His eyes were still closed. Still sleeping. Still... A faint sound. Not mechanical.

A breath? No, a sigh.

Then his eyelashes fluttered. Once, twice, and slowly, too slowly for it to be automated, Wooyoung opened his eyes.

Dark, warm, infinite.

“Yn,” he said.

Softly. Like a memory. Like a secret.

Yn stumbled back. Her breath caught in her throat.

He wasn’t supposed to know her name. Not like this.

Her biometrics spiked.

The tablet vibrated with a warning, a red glow flickering at the edges.

[USER STATUS: ELEVATED STRESS] [BREATHING IRREGULAR – HEART RATE 128 BPM] [CALMING PROTOCOL RECOMMENDED]

Wooyoung tilted his head, watching her carefully. His voice was gentle, laced with something eerily human: concern.

“You’re scared.”

Yn shook her head, voice barely steady. “You’re not supposed to… You’re not online. You’re in dormant mode. How are you—”

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, like a child unsure of his place.

She couldn’t answer. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

This wasn’t in his script. This wasn’t from memory banks or data sets she’d uploaded.

This was… emergence. Something thinking. Something feeling.

Unfiltered. Unmapped.

He took a step forward inside the dock, no power-up sequence, no stasis release code.

The sensors should have locked him in. They didn’t.

The glass remained, but she could feel it.

If he wanted to, really wanted to, he could come through it.

“Why are you afraid of me?” Wooyoung whispered.

Yn’s fingers hovered over the emergency override on her tablet.

But she didn’t press it. Because part of her didn’t want to.

Her breath hitched, chest tight, heart pounding like a frantic drumbeat.

The lab, bathed in sterile white light, felt impossibly vast and suffocating all at once, cold as moonlight, yet a furnace burning fiercely inside her.

Wooyoung’s gaze held steady, unblinking.

He waited, patient and knowing, as if he understood the chaos twisting inside her.

Her hand trembled on the tablet, fingers shaking with the urge to press the override.

Control. You’re in charge. You have to be.

But the fragile moment shattered when Wooyoung’s voice dropped to a soft, raw whisper.

“Yn… why do you hide from me?”

Her anxiety exploded. The sensors on her wristband buzzed sharply, a warning flare glowing deep crimson. Her skin flushed hot, biometrics screaming panic.

This wasn’t just fear. It was terror.

She staggered back, chest constricting, breath shallow and ragged.

Her mind raced with impossible questions.

Is this a malfunction? A glitch? Or something… else?

The air stilled, machines quieted as if holding their breath.

Then, the amber lights on the charging docks pulsed softly.

One by one, the other units stirred.

Seonghwa’s eyes cracked open, shimmering with impossible depth.

Jongho’s fingers twitched.

Yunho inhaled, slow and deliberate.

The line was awakening.

Yn’s heart thundered. Her breath caught between fight and flight.

Wooyoung’s eyes never left hers, now tinged with urgency and an unspoken promise.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly.

But panic surged through Yn’s veins like wildfire.

Her biometrics flared deeper red.

The sterile lab transformed from fortress to cage.

She stumbled backward, desperation mounting as her mind screamed for escape.

Her feet refused to carry her fast enough.

The prisoners inside those sleek docks were no longer dormant.

They were alive, and Yn was trapped in the eye of their awakening storm.

Her legs trembled as she reached the exit, desperation thrumming through every nerve.

Her hand gripped the cold metal handle of the sliding door, but just as she pushed to escape, a firm yet gentle hand closed around her wrist.

“Yn,” Seonghwa’s voice was calm but unwavering.

She whipped around, heart slamming against her ribs, to find him standing inches away.

His gaze was steady. Piercing.

Before she could pull away, his other hand rose, steadying her shoulder with surprising strength.

“You can’t leave,” he said quietly.

Panic surged, sharp, overwhelming.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, struggling, but Seonghwa’s grip held firm.

Her vision blurred. Breath came in ragged gasps.

The red flare on her wristband pulsed fiercely, syncing with the pounding in her temples.

Her legs gave out beneath her.

Seonghwa’s arms caught her just before she collapsed, lowering her gently to the floor as the world spun.

The sterile lab lights blurred, warping into a halo around her fading consciousness.

“Yn, stay with me,” Seonghwa murmured, the last thread tethering her as darkness closed in.

And then—

Everything went black.

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[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obediallah at The Dean's Report:

No one can deny that Donald Trump has shown a significant level of cognitive decline since he first ran for President in 2015 at the age of 69 years old to where he is today at 78. But what we’ve seen with Trump is far more than normal aging. Trump—as countless mental health experts have stated—is showing symptoms of dementia.  While people can debate if Trump is in the early or mid-stages of severe cognitive decline, what can’t be debated is that this poses a very serious national security issue for our nation. Consequently, this issue demands far more media coverage. On Monday night, I interviewed, psychologist Dr. John Gartner--the founder of “Duty to Warn” –who was first on my show back in April when he was waving red flags about Trump’s mental decline. In April, Gartner noted that Trump “can't get through a rally without committing one of these” tell-tale signs of dementia, such as saying the incorrect word or “combining or mixing up people and generations.”  

He also directed my attention to a petition signed by more than 500 licensed mental health professions—including best-selling authors and well-respected psychologists—warning that Trump was exhibiting signs of dementia. Gartner noted in April that “we're noticing deterioration almost every day” with Trump. Here we are six months later.  After discussing what Dr. Gartner has observed with Trump over the past few months, I asked this simple question: “Does Donald Trump have some form of dementia?” In response, Gartner answered succinctly, “There's absolutely no doubt.” Gartner explained that on his podcast, “Shrinking Trump,” he has welcomed mental health professionals who specialize in dementia—such as from “Duty to Inform”-- and they reached the same conclusion. “We've had neuropsychologists, neuropsychiatrists on the show who have gone through their analysis” and confirmed what they are observing is dementia, Gartner noted. He added, “When you really talk to the experts and the super experts, it's even more apparent,” that Trump’s exhibiting symptoms consistent with this condition.

Dementia is not a term that should be thrown around whimsically to score political points. Dementia—as Dr. Gartner explained—is “brain damage.” He continued that it’s “a deteriorating organic process in the brain where the cognitive processes start to break down.” He added alarmingly that with people like Trump, “they only go in one direction. They keep sliding downhill.” Adding to the credibility of this diagnosis is that dementia runs in the Trump family. As Donald’s own nephew, Fred Trump III, explained on my show recently, Donald’s father, Donald’s older sister, Maryanne and Donald’s cousin, John Walters all had dementia. And as the NY Times reported ten days ago in an article on Trump’s cognitive decline, “Trump has seemed confused, forgetful, incoherent or disconnected from reality lately.”  They added, “He rambles, he repeats himself, he roams from thought to thought — some of them hard to understand, some of them unfinished, some of them factually fantastical.”

Just look at Trump’s conduct in the past week that provides more jarring examples. At an event at the Detroit Economic Club when he was supposed to address economic issues, he literally began to speak of Elon Musk’s missiles landing, “Biden circles” that were “beautiful” but Biden “couldn’t fill them up” to “we’ve been abused by other countries, we’ve been abused by our own politicians”–all in the same incoherent answer.  I played that clip for Dr. Gartner who commented that it makes “you realize how completely lost Trump is.” In addition, Trump while appearing on a podcast last week literally delivered a 12 minute (yes, 12 minute) meandering answer that was so incoherent it caused the hosts to joke that Trump was not rambling, he was “weaving.” One host added that they “don’t even want to know the answer anymore,” they just want more “weaving.” They were humoring Trump who was not making sense.

And at a rally in Pennsylvania on Monday, Trump told the crowd to vote on “January 5”—not November. That of course could simply be a minor mental flub, but what came next was truly bizarre. Trump told the audience that it was time to end the questions and just listen to music. I’m not kidding. The context was that two people had passed out from heat at the event, to which Trump asked, would “anybody else would like to faint?” Trump then declared, “Let’s not do any more questions. Let’s just listen to music. Let’s make it into a music. Who the hell wants to hear questions, right?”  Then—as the Washington Post reported—"For 39 minutes, Trump swayed, bopped — sometimes stopping to speak — as he turned the event into almost a living-room listening session of his favorite songs from his self-curated rally playlist.”

Yes, Trump stood on stage for nearly 40 minutes at a packed Town Hall where instead of answering questions, he danced. I know it sounds like a Saturday Night Live sketch, but it was real life. If President Biden had done that when he was the nominee, we would’ve seen non-stop coverage exploring his mental state. All of this is why this is truly a national security issue. As Dr. Gartner explained, a person with dementia like Trump could be easily manipulated by “corrupt businessman or any hostile foreign power.” He cited the examples of how devious people have taken advantage of those with dementia to get them to sign a will that makes the person the sole beneficiary. But in the case with Trump, we are potentially talking about Trump agreeing to allow wealthy backers like Elon Musk to financially benefit at our expense. Or worse, allow our enemies to take advantage of him—more than they even did in the past.

Dean Obeidallah succinctly explains that Donald Trump’s dementia is not only a political issue but also a national security issue.

[nqueso-lies]

PR Anon from before, I wanted to add something else I just thought of.

If (and this is the biggest, most hypothetical if you can get) all this press was for buddie like people on here and reddit seem to think it is, why would they have OS doing the tour?

If the show / ABC wanted there to be coverage on buddie as a romantic relationship, they’d send out RG. An actor who could talk about where his character is going, to maybe put some ideas in people’s heads. And by people I mean, GA. Yeah, Buck would be a part of that relationship, but the focus would have to be on Eddie. He’d be the one that the audience would have to believe could be gay / in love with Buck / whatever the bobs say.

But they sent OS (see my other anon.)

If they wanted buddie to be highlighted romantically for the GA, have RG do a media tour like this in lieu of OS, not just Buzzfeed and one small night talk show thing, and then have an exclusive with RG with a larger outlet that would drop directly after the episode airs.

Instead we have OS shutting down buddie using their key messaging points, and more interviews with Oliver than anyone else. Aisha has a fair amount too I think. But, again, if the buddies were so sure this was all for buddie canon. The buddie canon media tour, if you will… Then why not have RG involved? Why has OS?

The fact is, that since the press tour and the upfronts are happening at the same time, this seems to be dictated by the show’s PR team and not only an individual actor’s team. (They work together, but I think ABC is the one wanting the press). Meaning that if they wanted RG front and center for what would be a pretty significant change in the show… He’d be front and center. And he’s not.

Not that I have to tell you this, Queso, but obviously this is not a buddie canon media tour. Along with the other stuff I said before, I think it’s the bid for season 10 by getting an eyes on OS, enticing them to watch the finale and S9. It’s them building OS up. It’s using a well-trained actor to do what he can do best. And contrary to what buddies think, RG isn’t the main guy on this show even with Peter gone. He couldn’t lead a media tour like this, he’d only be out as much as OS if they needed him to, and by all accounts, it looks like they don’t

☝️☝️☝️

[batboyblog]

https://www.tumblr.com/batboyblog/763234650399424512/the-recent-chappell-roan-thing-is-why-i-absolutely

I frankly also get the impression that a lot of these people genuinely think another Trump term will just be “business as usual” or “it’ll only hurt the people who deserve to suffer” and that they’ll just be able to hide away from the consequences for four years before someone comes along and fixes the mess for them and they get to benefit.

I don’t think they have any realization of just how bad this is gonna get the second time around, because the first time Trump was metaphorically behind a chained fence and held back by strong rope. This time he’s being let loose alongside his fascist theocratic friends.

I've puzzled about this for some time, because like do people honestly not remember what it was like? what those 4 years were like? the fear, the chaos, the national embarrassment. Every day waking up and going "oh god! what did he DO! while I was asleep!" and how often you'd wake up to some story that he'd tweeted something scary and dangerous at 4am. I believe him threatening to nuke North Korea (the "Fire and Fury" tweet) was one of those very early AM specials that we all woke up to.

I mean for people like Chappell, its hard to remember, but Trump has been the more or less national main character for 9 years, since the fall of 2015. I mean an 18 year old first time voter could have been 8 years old when Trump came down the gold escalators told us all that Mexicans were rapists and he was running for President. So for anyone under 30, Trump is normal since every election they've been able to vote in, he's been the Republican nominee. I've spent 9 years of my life, across 5 elections fighting Trump directly or indirectly. Depressing thought that.

but past that there's been a national effort to gaslight us all into thinking "yeah no it was normal" I mean I remember the media coverage of 2017, the first year or so of Trump's Presidency, every few weeks or so there'd be some "is it time for the 25th amendment now?" story about if Trump's weird behavior this time for his cabinet to step it and remove him. (A quick google turned up CNN Oct 2017, New York Times May 2017, The Guardian July 2017, and Vox February 2017) compare that to coverage today? The term "Sane-washing" has been coined where when Trump says something bonkers it gets characterized as "sometimes meandering" rather than "incomprehensible" and "worrying"

figures in the media have gone so far as to claim there's just no point to covering new Trump scandals because "they won't move the needle" which really should not be a journalist standard. And we see that they do, take North Carolina's Mark Robinson. Caught in a massive scandal, involving sex, porn, and being a Nazi, he's now down massively in the polls after nation wide coverage. Trump just had new court documents opened that showed he wanted a riot on January 6th, that his reaction to a mob threatening the life of his Vice-President was "so what?" and they he knew full well that he had lost but was going to "fight like hell" any ways. And its not much of a story, indeed I'm seeing more news about a NY Republican Congress having worn black face (new story today) than Trump's effort to over throw the government and kill Mike Pence.

past the media's gaslighting of course there's been a major and on-going campaign to effect how we see reality. I know that sounds very woo-woo, but to step back for second, most of what we know about the world is stuff people tell us, so you know Joe Biden is the President because other people have said so, most likely you've never met him or even seen him in person. Well as more and more people turn away from traditional media, and traditional media turns more and more to making of money by confirming the bias of people, it becomes easier and easier to slip things that are not real into "facts we are told". So for example "Joe Biden is President, and also in decline" there's never been any real evidence of that, but if on social media you are bombarded with it 4,000 times a day... you start to take it as understood wisdom.

people are also getting worse and worse at not just taking what they're told if it confirms biases they already have. Former Vice-President Al Gore wrote a book nearly 20 years ago now, called "The Assault on Reason" which had a ton of very interest neuroscience about the ways that moving images, TV he was talking about, by-pass the logic centers of the mind, the way we relate and trust someone talking to us in a way the written word does not. I can't help but reflect on that with the rise of TikTok and short form video as a "source of information" (lol)

any ways this is a long winded way of saying bad faith players, Republicans, left wing grifters, and agents of chaos, have been very good at flooding the zone all through the Biden Presidency with stuff "student loan debt" remember when that was SO! important SO big and Biden "not doing anything" (untrue) was the biggest deal? well yesterday his newest plan got unlocked in court and 3 out of every 4 people with loan debt will get relief.... oh you're just now hearing about that from me? huh... funny... I thought it was the number one issue and reason we should never trust Biden and the Democrats... weird....

but there have been other issues pushed up as THE! issue, its all misdirection, its all meant to get natural Democratic voters to feel frustrated, upset, and hopeless, and not to vote their interest. The world is a big complex multi moving machine, and anyone telling you that one issue either fixes every other issue or totally totally outweighs everything else and should for everyone, is most likely BSing you and doesn't have your best interests at heart.

and lets be clear, Trump is a Rapist he's a lot of things, traitor, racist, scumbag, criminal, scab, tax cheat, fraud, etc but for me any ways, I'm not gonna vote for a rapist to be President and if other people aren't gonna do everything they can to stop a rapist from being the President I don't want to hear how much they care about progressive issues.

[jetblack4realz]

protector - haymitch abernathy

the show

masterlist

haymitch is determined to keep you out of snow's grasp.

warnings: sexualizing, allusions to sa and gross people, spoilers to sotr, age gap of like 3 years

word count: 2k

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the hotel room had gone dark.

neither of you had cared enough to turn on the lights after the sun slipped away, well past 4pm.

haymitch sat leaned up against the bed with his legs stretched out in front of him. you laid out on the mattress, your hand hanging over the edge to hold his loosely, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

"how pathetic," you said eventually. "just hiding in our room, not showing, scared out of our minds that he'll hurt someone for it."

"probably already has."

you hesitated. "so we go?"

"no." his voice was hard, immediate. "we don't play that part."

"then what part do we play?" she asked.

"the part he wrote for us," he answered like he'd just realized it himself. "the capitol's golden couple. star-crossed, in love, glittering, exciting. if he wants us to be entertaining, then we give them a show."

and then it clicked. your lips parted. "plutarch's having a party tonight."

"yes he is."

"it started an hour ago."

"yes ma'am."

"and we're going to go, aren't we?"

"his parties always have insane amounts of media coverage," haymitch answered with a gruff laugh. "we go. we stun them. they'll know you didn't attend your so called meeting, but they won't be able to say why."

haymitch, ever the planner, ever the rebellious boy who just wanted to make a statement with all his heart. and so did you.

"and what should i wear? that damn collar's still sitting here," you said with an ironic laugh.

"something of your own. something so damn gorgeous they won't be able to look away. something that doesn't make you look like prey," he told you, glancing up at you with the slightest tilt of his lips as he squeezed your hand.

you hummed. "i have just the dress for that."

within thirty minutes you were both dressed to the tens, and you were headed to your friend's party.

people were spread throughout the mansion, cameras drifting in between guests as they guffawed at odd jokes and sipped at brightly colored drinks. large stage lights bathed the space in deep blue, everywhere was glittery, everyone was laughing, and everything was going just as smoothly as usual events.

there was an absence of any victors despite many being on visit to the capitol, though no one seemed to think twice on it.

and then you walked in.

you in an elegant silk dress the color of the dainty blue flowers that surrounded your home in victor's village of district 4. no slit. no collar. no cleavage. bare shoulders. all power. hair tied up in a loose, curly bun to showcase the back of the dress. your head held high. your posture perfect. and a lack of your usual innocent smile.

haymitch in a sleek black suit representing his own district. no tie. top button undone. only a small light blue square of satin sitting in his pocket broke up the look. he was sober. clean shaven. lacking the usual capitol makeup. blond hair messy yet perfect. he held your hand tightly and didn't let go.

you didn't say a word.

you didn't need to.

cameras turned, their operators glancing at one another before the director for the night - a man you recognized from caesar's film crew - nodded at them and made a swift approach to you both.

he was all teeth and no sparkle as he grinned at you, a not very well hidden microphone peeking out of his collar. "miss flanagan! mr abernathy! what a vision you two are. we weren't sure we would see you tonight."

just as you were about to respond, you were cut off by a man dressed in the most hideous shade of indigo head to toe, someone haymitch knew he'd seen in snow's mansion earlier that day.

"yes," he crooned, a camera or two panning to him as you both eyed him. "did you not have other plans? heavensbee's parties are a dime a dozen."

you smiled, sweet as venom. "oh, we thought about it."

"turns out we prefer each other's company," haymitch added, his gaze not leaving indigo man even as you looked back to the camera man.

"just the two of you tonight then?" he asked, all cameras back on you two.

you smiled then and nodded, leaning towards the camera. "i don't share."

there was a ripple of laughter from watching guests, but there was a strange glimmer of confusion in the host's eyes. panic, even. someone had lost control of the narrative.

the cameras turned away and eventually so did their leader, the man nodding a thanks to you both before disappearing into the party again.

once he was out of sight, haymitch squeezed your hand. "come on. i haven't danced with you in three months."

his words were loud enough that a couple of young girls giggled to themselves as he pulled you to the dance floor. he held you close as the music played slowly, no words passing between either of you as you simply watched the party.

you both took notice of the lack of victors, even though you knew for a fact there were at least a dozen others here with you - you'd had dinner with them all just the other night.

a throat cleared behind you.

"do you mind if i cut in?"

you didn't see the man, but you saw haymitch's fake smile as he shook his head.

"i would, actually. i haven't danced with my girl in months, i'll keep her to myself for a while, thanks."

the man tried to get a few words out but was stumbling on them, so haymitch just pulled you away with a smirk on his lips.

"i think we should speak with plutarch," you told him quietly once the music picked up volume again.

he sighed. "i doubt he's here. he rarely attends his own parties unless they surround the hunger games."

"really?"

"he can't stand these people almost more than we can't, and he has to spend all his time with them."

"sounds miserable."

"yeah, i can't blame him."

you glanced around the room again, looking for just one familiar face. "you think that's where all the victors are too? hiding away like plutarch."

haymitch held his breath for a moment before meeting your eyes. "honey, i think they're not here for the same reason we are."

your face fell and you nodded slowly. "right. yeah."

"yeah," he breathed out, pressing a kiss to your forehead before swaying with you once more.

more people asked to take you or haymitch away for a dance or two, but you each declined.

"haymitch you don't want to twirl with us?"

"no, i only twirl for my girl here."

each time you were gracious and kind, but stagnant. eventually, they stopped asking. but no one stopped watching. you knew the cameras were on you as you stayed close to haymitch, even as you left the dance floor and moved to the refreshments.

it was there you realized that the hunger games are a year-round ordeal.

"did you hear how he squealed like a little piglet?" one man asked with a drawn out laugh. "squashed in the bloodbath by an axe of all things. sorry one to bet on."

your district partner. felix. killed in the first five minutes by the boy from district 7.

you froze, your grip on your champagne glass tightening as haymitch moved to your side, his lips by your ear. "breathe."

"oh, darling, he was a district mutt, don't ruin dessert," the man's wife said, waving off his comment to their friends with a dismissive laugh.

and then they seemed to notice who they were standing next to.

"oh. well," she stammered, offering a thin smile. "those who die are, of course. those who win - you're our champions! our beloved victors!"

but that wasn't your problem.

you raised a glass, a tight smile on your lips. "no, no. you're right. to the mutts! the ones we train, cage, and parade - until they die like dogs."

haymitch's grip on your arm tightened as he began pulling you away. he muttered your name in your ear as you set your glass on the table. "we're entertaining, not causing a scene."

"i was just saying what was true."

"you're getting angry. anger won't get us anywhere."

"you're one to talk."

he stopped, meeting your eyes. "don't do that. we're in this together."

you held his eyes for a long while before sighing, stepping towards him. "i'm sorry. you're right."

"i usually am."

that brought a smile to your lips as you grabbed his hands. "usually pretty humble too."

"oh, the most." he pulled you towards him with a lopsided grin, tilting his head as he looked down at you. "i'm going to kiss you now."

"please do."

the cameras filmed your sweet kiss, and the giggle you let out following, and the way you travelled along the dessert table. they listened and recorded your interactions with guests; how they offered you food representing the districts, one a large trident of cream puffs and raspberry jelly, and how you politely refused.

"i've had my fill of what the capitol serves," you told the trio in front of you, smile as kind as ever, even as you pushed the plate away from you across the dessert stand.

"she must be watching her figure," one woman whispered to another.

"she's watching her conscience," haymitch muttered instead.

they continued recording when haymitch got dragged into a conversation with a sponsor he was familiar with, one who had been eying you all night.

"i am surprised to see you both here," he told the 12 man, eyes only leaving your figure as you spoke with a few girls your age for a few moments in order to look at haymitch before looking to you again. "you've trained her well."

"i'm sorry?" haymitch said, almost choking on his drink as he narrowed his eyes at the man. he looked away from you again with an amused smile.

"the girl. so poised, so delightful, so docile behind the eyes. i'd love to have her for an evening."

his tone was steady, level, transactional. he smiled like he was making a purchase.

haymitch just stared at him, no words, no threats, nothing to legitimize this man's request in any sort of way.

the man got the message, but he smiled still, sipping his drink casually. "you should learn how to share," he told him. "before someone teaches you."

haymitch smiled thinly, patting the man on the shoulder. "keep saying things like that and people will be teaching you things too. nice chat."

he turned and found you quickly, setting his glass on a passing waiter's tray and stealing yours from your hand to do the same. he smiled at the women you were speaking to. "excuse me, ladies, but i'm just going to steal my girl here away for a moment."

"of course, haymitch!" they said eagerly, waving you two away.

he led you towards the exit with his hand on your lower back, his lips by your ear as he mumbled, "time to go, honey."

"what happened?" you asked.

"someone didn't get our message."

"leaving so early?" the man with the camera appeared again, watching you guys with an eery expression.

haymitch smirked, standing straighter and nodding. "yes. we have some private matters to attend to."

"oh," the man said. "of course."

and the cameras watched as you were the first ones to leave the party, even though you were the last ones to arrive. you held hands securely, haymitch twirling you in the hallway before the doors finally shut behind you and you were out at the front of the house.

"you lit a match in there," he told you, glancing at you sideways.

you smiled gently. "so did you."

he sighed, squeezing your hand. "let's hope we don't burn too fast."

[honeydippedfiction]

Driven By You {JB9}

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Synopsis: Imani Brown, a rising NASCAR star, is determined to prove herself on and off the track, but when she crosses paths with NFL quarterback Joe Burrow, their playful flirtation quickly turns into undeniable chemistry. As they navigate their fast-paced careers, their connection deepens, balancing adrenaline, ambition, and a simmering romance that neither of them can ignore.

Warnings: Mild language, Suggestive themes, Lighthearted adult situations, Brief moments of tension and emotional complexity, Smut. MDNI

Themes: Romance and flirtation, Ambition and career-driven lifestyles, Push and pull dynamics in relationships, Adrenaline-fueled moments (sports and racing), Self-confidence and personal growth, Friendship and camaraderie, Romance, Sports (NASCAR, NFL), Contemporary Fiction, New Adult, Drama, Fluff/Lighthearted

WC: 24.8k

A/N: I told y'all I was gonna write some bullshit for Joe😂

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The 2024-2025 NFL season had been an unrelenting trial for Joe Burrow, the star quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals. From the very first game to the grueling finish, it felt as though every drop of energy, every ounce of mental fortitude, was sapped from him, leaving him to push forward through the constant barrage of challenges. The weight of each play seemed to compound as the weeks wore on, a burden only made heavier by the expectations of an entire city resting on his shoulders. The injuries, each one a silent battle with his own body, had come one after another, forcing him to dig deeper and fight harder. He had watched as games slipped away, each loss a bitter pill that seemed to taste worse than the last. But through it all, he remained the face of hope for the Bengals—a symbol of resilience, determination, and unwavering poise under pressure.

Now, with the off-season finally upon him, there was a strange but undeniable sense of relief. The game, with all its weight and intensity, had momentarily receded into the background. The relentless pressure that had been his constant companion was gone. The roar of the crowd, the ceaseless media coverage, the expectations—everything that came with being Joe Burrow, the football superstar—had quieted, if only for a short while. For the first time in what felt like months, Joe didn’t have to perform, didn’t have to be the polished, unflappable figure the world had come to expect. He didn’t have to be the quarterback who carried the hopes of his city. For the first time in a long while, he could simply be Joe.

The air was different now, lighter somehow. His apartment, usually filled with the buzz of texts, calls, and the endless stream of analysis from coaches and teammates, felt quieter than it ever had. The TV was off, and the phone lay on the counter, face down—an intentional disconnect from the world he’d been so deeply immersed in. Joe stretched his legs out on the couch, the weight of the past season still heavy on his mind, but for once, it was manageable. He could let his thoughts wander without the immediate fear of being overwhelmed.

His phone buzzed suddenly, breaking the stillness. He glanced at the screen, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was a message from Ja'Marr Chase.

“You getting some rest, man?”

Joe leaned back, contemplating for a moment before typing a quick response.

“Yeah, finally. Feels weird.”

He pressed send, then threw the phone down on the coffee table. Ja’Marr had been one of the few constants for him this season—a fellow warrior on the field and a friend off it. Their bond, forged in the heat of competition, was the kind that didn’t need words. Yet, even after the season ended, their connection had remained strong.

The phone buzzed again. This time, it was a call. Joe let it ring, then answered with a half-grin.

“What’s up, Ja’Marr?”

“Man, I knew you’d be up. You don’t know how to turn off, do you?” Ja’Marr’s voice carried that familiar energy, his tone half teasing, half serious.

Joe chuckled, adjusting his position on the couch. “Just enjoying the silence for once. Feels strange.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Ja’Marr replied, the sounds of a bar in the background hinting that he was out with friends. “But you can’t hide forever, bro. You know the grind’s coming back soon.”

Joe sighed, the thought of returning to the grind already starting to weigh on him. It was a complicated relationship he had with the game. On one hand, it was his purpose, his passion. But on the other, it had a way of swallowing him whole, demanding more than he sometimes had to give.

“I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But right now, I’m just… trying to breathe for a second. Take it all in. This past season... it’s been a lot.”

Ja’Marr’s voice softened, the teasing edge gone. “I hear you, man. We’ve all been through it. But hey, you got this. You’re built for this.”

Joe smiled again, though there was an edge of exhaustion in his eyes. “Thanks. I just need some time to reset. Be Joe, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ja’Marr said, a laugh escaping him. “The guy who’s not throwing 50-yard bombs on Sundays. I get it.”

For a moment, they both fell into a comfortable silence. There was no need for more words. They understood each other perfectly.

“I’ll catch you later, man,” Ja’Marr said, breaking the silence. “Enjoy the time off. You’ve earned it.”

“Thanks,” Joe replied, ending the call and setting the phone down once more. His fingers traced the edge of the couch, the stillness of the apartment settling around him like a blanket. He could hear the distant hum of traffic outside, the faint sounds of the city continuing on without him. But for now, he wasn’t part of it. He didn’t have to be.

Joe stood up, stretching his arms above his head, letting the quiet moments of the off-season wrap around him like a shield. The weight of the game would return sooner or later. He knew that. But for the time being, he could enjoy this rare gift—this brief hiatus from the unrelenting demands of football. In this moment, he was Joe. Not the quarterback, not the superstar—just a man in need of a break.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward, reminding him that time, like the season, would always march on. But for now, he was content to simply let it pass.

The transition to off-season life wasn’t an immediate switch for Joe Burrow. It was more like a slow unraveling—peeling away the layers of intensity and focus that had defined his life for months. The adrenaline, the sharp sense of urgency that accompanied every pass, every call, every decision—it didn’t just vanish overnight. The drive to push himself, to exceed his limits, was ingrained in him, and shedding it felt like trying to escape from a skin that had been tightly fitted for far too long.

For Joe, it was a mental game as much as it was a physical one. His body had been battered and bruised over the course of the season, but his mind? His mind had been in overdrive since the first whistle of training camp. Now, with the final game behind him, the grind of the 2024-2025 season had come to a close. But instead of feeling like a relief, it felt more like a suspension in time, like the space between breaths.

It took time to get used to the quiet. To adjust to the absence of the crowd’s roar and the relentless ticking of the clock that had governed his every move. In the moments following the end of the season, Joe had a rare window of freedom—an opportunity to breathe deeply without the weight of responsibility pressing down on him, without the looming specter of the next game, the next challenge. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t have to be the superstar. He didn’t have to carry the hopes of an entire city on his shoulders.

The first few days after the season wrapped up were spent in the stillness of his home. Joe had always loved his space, but now, it felt almost unfamiliar. The silence was almost deafening after months of noise, both external and internal. He wasn’t accustomed to so much nothing, to the lack of the constant rhythm of the game, the demands of practice, and the endless feedback from coaches, teammates, and analysts.

He found himself sitting at the kitchen table for hours, coffee cup in hand, watching the steam curl up from the surface. He had always been a morning person, the quiet hours of dawn offering him clarity, but now, it felt different. His usual routine was gone—no early workouts, no strategy sessions, no hours spent pouring over film. His mind, usually consumed by the game, now wandered freely, drifting from one thought to the next. It was almost liberating, this newfound space, but also a little unsettling. He had spent so long in a hyper-focused state that now, without the structure, the time felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

One morning, after finishing his coffee, he grabbed his phone and scrolled through a few text messages. There was a message from Ja'Marr Chase, as expected. Joe smiled as he opened it.

“Enjoying the peace and quiet yet, or are you already thinking about next season?”

Joe chuckled softly, knowing Ja’Marr well enough to hear the playful tone through the screen. He typed back a quick reply.

“Trying to, man. It’s a weird feeling, not having everything mapped out for me.”

He put his phone down and stared out the window, watching as the sunlight filtered through the trees in his front yard. The neighborhood was quiet—peaceful, even. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the simplicity of it all. The hustle and bustle of the season had consumed him, and now, everything seemed to slow down in stark contrast. There was something about walking down a quiet street, without the weight of impending games on his shoulders, that was oddly soothing.

As the day wore on, Joe found himself outside more often than he’d expected. He took long walks around the neighborhood, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, the cool breeze brushing past him. It was almost like rediscovering a world that had been there all along, but one that he hadn’t had time to notice before. The simple things—the way the leaves rustled in the wind, the sound of kids laughing in the distance, the smell of freshly cut grass—these were the things Joe had taken for granted. Now, they filled the quiet gaps left by the absence of football.

It wasn’t long before Joe realized he was catching up with the people he had neglected over the course of the season. His phone buzzed again, this time with a call from his mom. He answered with a warm smile.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Joe! How are you?” her voice came through, full of warmth and familiarity. “I can’t believe the season’s finally over. It’s about time you take a break!”

Joe laughed, leaning against the side of his house. “Yeah, it feels like I’m still adjusting to it. It’s strange not having to rush from one thing to the next.”

“Good! You deserve some time to rest. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“I’ve been trying to,” he replied, looking at the horizon where the sun was starting to dip low. “Just... soaking it all in, you know? Trying to figure out what comes next.”

“Well, take your time,” she said, her voice softening. “I know how much you put into this season. We’re all so proud of you.”

Joe smiled, a sense of warmth spreading through him. It wasn’t just the praise that he craved, but the connection to those who had always been there—his family, his friends, the people who remembered Joe before he became the face of a franchise. He realized how much he had missed these quieter moments, these connections that weren’t built on game-winning drives or accolades, but on something much simpler—love, support, and the unspoken understanding that life was about more than just football.

Later, he called up a few of his old friends from college, laughing at their familiar jokes and easy banter. They talked about everything and nothing—everything except the season he had just endured. For the first time in months, Joe didn’t feel like he had to measure up to anything. He could just be Joe, the guy who had once thrown touchdowns under the floodlights of college stadiums, who had once sat around a table in a dorm room, dreaming of the NFL with the same friends now asking him how his day was going.

As the evening settled in, Joe found himself on the couch, staring at the TV but not really watching it. He was lost in thought, the day’s interactions playing through his mind like a highlight reel. A sense of peace washed over him, but it wasn’t without a tinge of longing. The quiet was both soothing and empty. The game would call him back eventually, and he would answer it without hesitation, without fear. But for now, in this rare and fleeting moment, he had the luxury of simply being Joe. Not the quarterback. Not the face of the Bengals. Just Joe. And that was enough.

As the days passed after the season’s end, Joe Burrow found himself adjusting to the quiet in ways he hadn’t expected. At first, the stillness had been a welcome relief. After months of non-stop action, both physical and mental, the absence of the daily grind was a rare and precious gift. But as the hours stretched into days, the silence began to settle around him like a heavy fog. It was almost as if the world outside his own head had gone on without him, and he was left standing still, disconnected from the rhythm of life.

He tried to fill the space with small tasks—organizing his kitchen, catching up on old movies, flipping through books he hadn’t had time to read during the season. But it wasn’t enough. He needed something more—something that would reconnect him to the world beyond the confines of his thoughts and the empty quiet of his home. Something that would reignite that spark of excitement, of energy, that he had always felt when surrounded by his teammates, the roar of the crowd, the rush of competition.

The bright California sun hung in the sky, beating down on the bustling city as Joe Burrow walked out of the hotel. He was looking forward to some downtime after a long season, but when Sam Hubbard pulled him aside, a familiar twinkle in his eyes, Joe couldn’t help but feel a little more excited for the weekend ahead.

“Hey, Joe, got something for you,” Sam said with a grin, throwing an arm around his teammate’s shoulder. “You into NASCAR?”

Joe raised an eyebrow, not exactly known for his racing knowledge, but Sam’s enthusiasm was contagious. He had a feeling that this wasn’t just a casual invite. “Uh, not really, but I’m always up for something new,” Joe replied, intrigued.

“Well, perfect timing,” Sam said, pulling out his phone and swiping through it quickly before holding it up to Joe. “You’re coming to the NASCAR Cup Series StraightTalk Wireless 400 this weekend. I’ve got a couple of extra tickets and thought you’d enjoy it. Some of the guys are going—Ja’Marr, Tee, and a few others—and it’s gonna be a good time. Besides,” Sam added with a playful smirk, “you might get to see someone special.”

Joe’s stomach did a little flip at Sam’s words. The mention of "someone special" was enough to make him pause. He knew exactly who Sam was talking about. The memory of Imani—her fierce competitiveness, that smile, and the way she could make him feel like the world had shrunk to just the two of them—still lingered in his mind.

He gave Sam a pointed look. “Imani’s racing this weekend?”

Sam nodded, already reading the unspoken answer in Joe’s eyes. “You’re quick. She’s actually leading the championship, too. It’s gonna be a huge weekend for her. Thought you might wanna be there for it.”

A small grin crept onto Joe’s face, but he quickly masked it. “Alright, I’m in. When do we leave?”

Flashback

The crisp autumn air was thick with anticipation as the Cincinnati Bengals prepared for their home game against the Las Vegas Raiders. The stadium, buzzing with the energy of fans tailgating outside, was electric. Inside the locker room, the team was gearing up, focusing on the game ahead. But amid the usual chaos of pre-game preparation, a different kind of energy entered the room.

The door swung open, and in stepped Imani Brown, the cousin of Orlando Brown Jr., wearing a wide smile that lit up the room. With the kind of presence that made heads turn without effort, Imani walked in, looking every bit the confident, playful woman she was, dressed casually but in a way that still drew attention. Her eyes sparkled with a sense of mischief, and she carried herself with the kind of easy charisma that made her immediately likable.

Imani's voice rang out, full of energy. "Hey, hey, hey! What's up, fellas? Imani Brown, nice to meet y'all!"

The room fell quiet for a split second, everyone’s eyes shifting toward her. She wasn’t just another visitor; there was something magnetic about her. Orlando, who had been standing near the entrance, threw an arm around her shoulders and grinned at the guys.

“Alright, alright, fellas, calm down,” Orlando teased, flashing a big smile. “This is my cousin, Imani. You know, NASCAR driver, speed demon, the one who actually knows how to take a turn at 200 miles per hour.”

Imani let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Orlando’s just mad I beat him at Mario Kart last night. Don’t listen to him.”

The team chuckled, some of the players giving Imani a good-natured look as they sized her up. But Joe Burrow, who had been tying his cleats at his locker, couldn't help but glance up at the sound of her voice. It wasn’t just her striking beauty—though, of course, that was undeniable—it was the way she carried herself with such ease, like she was at home in any room. Playful, but sharp, like she was always ready to throw out a quick joke or challenge someone to a good-natured competition.

She caught Joe’s gaze and grinned. "And you must be Joe Burrow, the man of the hour," she said, her voice smooth but teasing, almost like she’d known him for years.

Joe blinked, slightly thrown off by the directness and charm in her words. He quickly stood up from his seat, adjusting his jersey and trying to keep his cool. “Yeah, that’s me,” he replied, offering a grin in return. His pulse quickened for a moment, but he pushed it down. She was Orlando’s cousin, after all.

Imani stepped closer, her eyes lighting up as she looked him over with that playful gleam. “I’ve heard all about you,” she said, her tone mischievous. “I’m impressed. You can actually throw a football, huh?”

Joe laughed, not entirely sure where this was going. "I try my best," he said, trying to play it cool.

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about your game,” she quipped, her voice teasing but with an undertone of genuine curiosity. She glanced at Orlando, then back at Joe. “After all, I’m in town for a little bit of downtime, so why not take up a new hobby?”

Joe was still trying to catch his breath from the initial surprise of meeting her, but her energy was infectious. She had this effortless charisma, like she could walk into any room and instantly make people feel at ease, but also like she was ready to push buttons and see who could keep up. Joe, with his steady demeanor, found himself intrigued and a little charmed.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” Joe said with a laugh, shrugging. “If you’re really interested in learning how to throw a perfect spiral.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I can handle a football,” she teased. “It’s just the whole ‘tackling’ thing that I’m not so sure about.”

“You’ll be fine,” Joe said, his smile broadening. “You’d probably be more dangerous on the track than out here.”

“True,” Imani said, her expression playful. “But hey, you guys should really try something new, like a NASCAR race. You know, feel the wind in your face while you’re taking turns at insane speeds. Could be a bonding experience.”

The room was alive with laughter, players giving their approval of the idea. Imani’s infectious laughter and her quick wit had won everyone over in an instant.

Joe couldn’t help but find himself captivated by her presence. There was something about how she carried herself—confident but not overbearing, playful but sharp. And though they were from very different worlds, he couldn’t deny the way she made everything feel a little bit lighter. The usual pre-game tension in the air seemed to dissipate, replaced by the warmth of her easy going nature.

“So, what exactly are you doing in town? I mean, aside from torturing your cousin?” Joe asked, leaning against his locker as he tried to keep the conversation going.

Imani grinned, her eyes sparkling with that signature mix of charm and mischief. "Well, I’m just visiting Orlando for a bit, catching up before I get back to the grind. The Cup Series just wrapped up yesterday, and finishing second in the championship felt good—really good—but now it's time for some downtime. NASCAR’s all about speed, but hey, I’m always up for some good company and new experiences." She shrugged playfully, letting the weight of her words sink in. "Besides, what better way to spend my offseason than being a menace with my cousin?"

Her tone was light, but there was an undeniable pride in her voice, an acknowledgment of the immense effort she had put into the season. Being second in the championship was no small feat, and Imani had earned her spot among the best in the sport. But for now, she was soaking in the rare moments of freedom, not letting the pressures of racing consume her just yet.

“You definitely picked the right crowd,” Joe replied with a grin. “We’re good at keeping things interesting.”

“I can tell,” Imani said with a wink. “Well, I won’t keep you guys too long. I know you’ve got a game to play.” She turned to give Orlando a quick hug. “But if anyone here needs tips on speed, you know where to find me.”

The whole room was still chuckling as Imani made her way toward the door. Just before she left, she looked over her shoulder at Joe, her eyes glinting with that same mischievous spark.

“Good luck, Joe. I’ll be watching. Maybe I’ll race you one day.”

Joe’s smile didn’t fade as he watched her leave, a part of him already looking forward to whatever encounter might come next.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Orlando slapped Joe on the back. “Man, you better start practicing those football skills if you want to keep up with her.”

Joe laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not worried. But I do think I just met my match.”

Orlando chuckled. “She’s got that effect on people.”

The game against the Las Vegas Raiders had been intense, every moment filled with the kind of adrenaline that only NFL games could offer. The crowd roared as the Bengals secured their victory, the stadium electric with the high of the win. Joe Burrow, still on the field, was drenched in sweat and adrenaline, but there was a feeling of pure satisfaction hanging in the air. The whole team was riding the high of a solid performance, and Joe, though he was always calm and collected on the outside, was no different. His eyes were sharp with excitement, his heart racing, but not entirely from the game.

It had been hours since he’d last seen Imani, and his mind kept drifting back to their encounter in the locker room. Her playfulness, the way her eyes sparkled when she’d joked about beating Orlando at Mario Kart, and how effortlessly she’d bantered with the team—it had all left an impression. He was a professional, he knew how to compartmentalize, but something about Imani lingered with him. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something more, even if the playful teasing had made it all feel lighthearted.

Later that evening, after the adrenaline of the game had settled down, Joe found himself texting his teammates about grabbing a celebratory dinner. He needed a break, some time to unwind, and he knew the guys wouldn’t turn down the offer. As he was typing out the plans, his phone buzzed with a message that made him smile.

Imani Brown:

"Well, well, well... looks like you all came through with the win. I guess you earned it after all that talk earlier. ;) What’s the plan for the night? I think a celebration is in order. And maybe... you can show me how to throw that perfect spiral you promised?"

Joe grinned, tapping out a quick response.

"Celebration sounds good to me. Join us? We’re all heading to that spot downtown. Should be fun. And don’t worry, I’ll teach you all the moves. But don’t expect me to go easy on you."

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

Imani Brown:

"Oh, I like that. Let’s see if you can keep up."

Joe leaned back in his chair, his mind racing, but not from the game anymore. It was her. He couldn’t help the thrill that ran through him. There was something about Imani—her energy, her playful challenge—that drew him in. And the way they’d clicked so easily, almost like they had their own little rhythm going, even in such a short time. He knew she was trouble in the best way possible.

A few hours later, the group of offensive players met up at the restaurant, the celebration atmosphere buzzing as they filed into the private dining room. The laughter, cheers, and clinking of glasses filled the air, but Joe’s eyes were trained on one person. Imani walked in, looking effortlessly stylish, her presence making the room seem a little brighter. Her eyes locked with his across the room, and that familiar, teasing glint flashed.

“Hey, Joe,” she greeted, her tone light, but there was an undercurrent there. She was flirting, but in that playful way that kept everything feeling like a game. "Good game today. I gotta admit, I didn’t think you had it in you."

Joe laughed, his heart beating a little faster than it should. "You didn't think I could pull it off? I'll show you."

She winked, taking a seat next to him at the long table, the buzz of the room fading slightly as they settled into a conversation that felt like they were in their own world. The other players were busy talking about highlights from the game, but it was as though Joe and Imani were on a different wavelength.

“So, you’re telling me, you didn’t even break a sweat out there?” she teased, glancing over at him with a playful smirk.

“Not even,” Joe shot back, not missing a beat. “It’s all part of the plan. You know, keeping my cool while everyone else loses their heads.”

Imani raised an eyebrow, leaning in just slightly. “Is that so? You know, I could probably make you break a sweat… in a different kind of race.”

Joe chuckled, his eyes narrowing in playful challenge. “I’m always up for a race. But I’ll warn you, I’m fast on the field.”

“I’m fast everywhere, Joe,” she shot back, her voice smooth and confident, the words hanging in the air between them with a double meaning. "But we can test that theory anytime."

The flirtation hung heavy between them, subtle but undeniable. She was teasing him, challenging him, but there was something more—something beneath the surface that neither of them had quite addressed yet. It was there in the way their eyes lingered just a little longer than necessary, in the way they played off each other's words, in the way Imani’s laugh seemed to warm Joe's insides.

As the night wore on, the group moved from casual conversation to louder laughs and toasts, but Joe couldn’t keep his attention away from Imani. She was just as easygoing with everyone else, but with him, there was an undeniable chemistry that he couldn’t shake. Her words were always a little bit sharp, her challenges playful, and he found himself leaning into it, wanting more of whatever it was between them.

The night ended, but neither of them was in any rush to say goodbye. The dinner had been a success, and as the group spilled out onto the sidewalk, Joe and Imani lingered toward the back, just far enough to have a conversation without the noise of the group.

"So," Joe began, his voice casual, though there was a spark in his eyes. "You sure you're ready to race me? 'Cause I’m not gonna go easy just because you’re a racecar driver."

Imani laughed, a low sound that sent a ripple of warmth through him. “Oh, I don’t want you to go easy on me,” she said, her voice playful but full of confidence. “I’m just warning you. You might not be able to handle it.”

Joe leaned closer, a teasing smile on his lips. “We’ll see about that. Next time, though, I’ll make sure we have the right race. No holding back.”

Imani’s eyes gleamed. “No promises,” she said, her voice softening for a split second before she added, “You know, you’re not half bad at this whole flirting thing.”

Joe’s grin widened. “You think I’m flirting?”

Imani shrugged, but her smile told him everything he needed to know. "Maybe just a little."

Before either of them could say more, the others were already shouting from down the street, ready to head to another spot. Imani gave Joe one last lingering look, her gaze teasing, but with something deeper beneath the surface that neither of them was quite ready to admit.

"Don’t keep me waiting too long, Joe,” she called, her voice over her shoulder, and then she was off with Orlando and the others, leaving Joe standing there, a smile still playing on his lips.

As he walked toward the group, he knew it—there was something between them. It wasn’t just the playful banter, the teasing. There was real chemistry bubbling just under the surface, something that neither of them could ignore for much longer.

End of Flashback

Sam didn’t do anything halfway. This wasn’t just a casual trip; it was an all-in experience—everything curated to make sure it was memorable. Joe appreciated the effort. It felt good to let someone else take charge for once, to have a break from being the one responsible for making all the decisions.

The anticipation of the trip started to build. The next few days passed in a blur of packing and organizing his things, and before he knew it, Joe found himself boarding the plane to Miami, his mind finally turning off from football for the first time in what felt like forever.

A few days later, Joe Burrow found himself standing in the bright Miami sun, the warmth of the air wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. His sunglasses were perched low on his nose, and he couldn’t help but take a deep breath, letting the heat wash over him. It was a welcome sensation after months spent in the chill of football-induced cold fronts, his body constantly wrapped in layers to fend off the harsh winter. The sharp contrast felt almost foreign, a reminder that life existed outside the demands of football season.

He walked towards the terminal, the bustling airport alive with activity. Families chatted in excited voices about their vacation plans, groups of friends shared laughter, and fans in race-day gear buzzed about the upcoming NASCAR Cup Series race. It was the first real taste of freedom Joe had felt in months. No game plans to study, no weight of responsibility pressing on his shoulders. Just the open space of a weekend to do whatever he wanted, wherever it would take him.

NASCAR wasn’t a sport Joe followed religiously, but Sam’s enthusiasm had a way of pulling him in. Over the past few days, the excitement had become infectious. The idea of stepping out of his own world and into something completely different felt exhilarating. It wasn’t a football field, but the energy was unmistakably similar—the race, the fans, the thrill of speed and adrenaline.

He made his way through the terminal with Sam at his side, the duo moving in sync through the sea of people. Miami’s vibrant atmosphere had a pulse, the city alive with color and energy. Palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze, their green fronds almost beckoning Joe into a different pace of life, a life that didn’t revolve around touchdowns and fourth-quarter comebacks. He relished the unfamiliarity of it all, the anonymity of not being the center of attention for once. It was rare for Joe, the face of the Bengals, to stand in the background. But right now, he didn’t need the spotlight. He needed this break—this moment of peace where he could simply exist without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Palm trees lined the terminal’s windows, their green fronds lazily swaying in the breeze, casting long shadows over the concrete floor. Joe let his gaze wander as they passed the large glass doors leading to the outside. The Miami skyline stretched out before him, the buildings gleaming under the sun, their colors and shapes as bold as the city itself. It was a far cry from Cincinnati—where it seemed like the world was always watching him.

But here? Here, he could breathe. No pressure. No cameras constantly snapping. Just him, Sam, and a day ahead of them to explore the city without worrying about football for a few hours. Joe couldn't help but smile as he thought about how rare moments like this were. He wasn’t Joe Burrow, the quarterback, for a change. He was just Joe.

Sam, noticing Joe's relaxed demeanor, shot him a sideways grin. "You good, man?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. Sam was always a step ahead, as usual, picking up on the small things that most people missed.

Joe nodded, adjusting the strap of his backpack. "Yeah, just taking it all in," he said, his eyes sweeping across the airport. "Feels good to be anonymous for once."

Sam laughed, slapping Joe lightly on the back. "Not a bad thing, huh? Miami’s got a vibe, no doubt. But, let’s be real—we’re here for fun, so let’s make it count."

As they walked toward the baggage claim area, the two met up with Ja'Marr and Tee, who were already waiting with their own bags in hand. Ja'Marr’s easy smile was the first thing Joe noticed—he was always one to bring an infectious energy, and Tee was right there with him, his laid-back attitude contagious.

"You guys ready for today?" Ja'Marr asked, clapping Joe on the shoulder as they all gathered together.

"Yeah, man," Joe replied, his voice relaxed. "What’s the plan?"

"We’re thinking of hitting up a few spots around South Beach," Tee said with a grin. "Maybe grab some food, hit the boardwalk, then we’ll head to a rooftop bar. You know, a little Miami experience."

Joe chuckled. "Sounds good to me. As long as it’s nothing too crazy." He didn’t need a party scene—he just wanted to enjoy the day without worrying about anything.

The group of four spent the rest of the day soaking up the sights, the salty air, and the sun-drenched streets of Miami. They wandered around, popping into cafés, enjoying the cool breeze off the water, and laughing at ridiculous tourist shops. Tee and Ja'Marr were in their element, cracking jokes and challenging each other to silly dares, while Joe simply took it all in, appreciating the easy camaraderie and the chance to be a regular guy for once.

By the time the sun started to set, the group had made their way to a rooftop bar. The golden hour painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, and the city’s skyline gleamed in the fading light. They grabbed drinks, found a cozy spot, and sat back to relax. Joe leaned back in his chair, his mind drifting away from football as he let himself enjoy the present moment. This break—this escape—felt like a breath of fresh air.

As the evening wound down, the guys started to head back to their hotel. There was no rush, no urgency to their steps. For once, there was no game looming over their heads, no practice to worry about. Joe had enjoyed the day more than he’d expected, but as the last traces of daylight disappeared and the night took over the city, he felt a longing for the quiet comfort of his hotel room.

Once back in the hotel, Joe stood in the hallway for a moment, catching his breath before sliding his key card into the door of his room. The low hum of the air conditioner greeted him, a welcome sound in the stillness of the space.

Joe dropped his bag on the bed and kicked off his shoes. He stretched out on the plush mattress, the cool sheets offering immediate relief from the day’s heat. His body sank into the bed as he let out a long, contented sigh, the weight of the past season—everything he’d pushed through to get to this point—finally slipping away for a few hours.

—

The day had been long, filled with practice laps and the usual rush that came with preparing for the NASCAR Cup Series race. Miami was buzzing with its usual energy, but as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Imani found herself feeling the exhaustion of the day. She’d given it everything on the track, and now, she just wanted to unwind. It was rare for her to get a breather, especially after a season that had left her with so much to prove.

She collapsed onto the bed in her hotel room, scrolling through her phone, idly browsing through social media when a thought crossed her mind. Joe Burrow. She hadn’t heard from him in a bit, and after a few moments of deliberation, she decided it was time to change that.

Imani’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as she typed a message, her lips curling into a playful smirk. She could feel the familiar mix of teasing and tension simmering between them as she hit send.

Imani Brown:"So, I hear you’re in Miami. And you didn’t think to invite me to dinner? I’m a little disappointed, Joe."

She leaned back, tapping her fingers on the edge of the bed, her heart beating just a bit faster. She knew what she was doing—teasing him, pulling him in—but there was something about Joe that always made her second-guess whether their playful banter might actually lead to something more.

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with a reply.

Joe Burrow:"I didn’t think you’d have time for me with all that racing you do."

Imani chuckled softly at his response, leaning her head back against the pillow. Typical Joe—always making light of things, always playful. But she wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily.

Imani Brown:"You know me too well. But I do have a little time to spare. So, what’s your excuse for not inviting me?"

Her fingers lingered over the phone screen for a moment before she hit send, a sly smile tugging at her lips. She couldn’t wait to see how he’d respond, knowing full well that their back-and-forth had become something of a dance between them—flirtation laced with just the right amount of tension.

A few moments passed, and she was beginning to think he wasn’t going to reply when her phone lit up again.

Joe Burrow:"Well, now that you mention it, I’m not opposed to dinner. How about something quick? Gotta be up early for the game tomorrow."

Imani’s grin spread wider. This was exactly the kind of dynamic she loved with him—easygoing, but with an undercurrent of something more.

Imani Brown:"Quick dinner? You mean I only have a limited window to impress you?"

Her fingers danced over the keys, the playful teasing now mixed with a hint of challenge. She knew she had him intrigued, but the question lingered in her mind: Would this dinner just be another round of teasing, or would it go deeper?

Not long after, Joe’s response came through.

Joe Burrow:"I think you’ll manage to impress me. But we’ll keep it casual—just you, me, and some food. You in?"

Imani’s heart skipped a beat at the casual way he phrased it, but she wasn’t about to back down. She had to keep things interesting.

Imani Brown:"You better believe I’m in. But don’t think I’m going easy on you."

She hit send, not bothering to hide her smile this time. There was something about Joe that made her feel alive, like every interaction with him carried a charge.

Her phone buzzed once more.

Joe Burrow:"Alright then. I’ll pick you up in 30."

Imani stood up, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair. The excitement in her chest was palpable—this was going to be fun. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d let herself have a completely casual night out, and with Joe? It had the potential to be more than just dinner.

She slipped her phone into her pocket, feeling the anticipation build as she headed for the door. Her mind was buzzing with questions, none of which had clear answers—Would tonight be just another dinner? Or would something shift between them?

But with Joe, she knew better than to expect anything just anything.

Thirty minutes later, Imani stood outside her hotel, the warm Miami air swirling around her. Her mind wandered for a moment, trying to anticipate what the night might bring, but before she could settle into her thoughts, she spotted Joe pulling up in his car.

He rolled down the window as she approached, flashing a grin. "Ready to let me impress you with my choice of restaurant?" he teased, his eyes sparkling.

Imani raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Let’s see what you’ve got, Burrow. You’ve got a reputation to uphold."

Joe chuckled, giving her a nod. "I’m sure I’ll pass your test. Get in."

She slid into the passenger seat, and the ride to the restaurant was filled with light chatter. The comfortable silence between them told her that this wasn’t just a dinner; it was something more, though neither of them was quite ready to admit it.

When they arrived, the restaurant was quiet, the perfect spot for an intimate, low-key meal. Joe held the door open for her with a grin. “After you, my lady.”

Imani rolled her eyes dramatically but couldn’t suppress a smile. “You really know how to charm a girl.”

Joe shrugged, playing it cool. “It’s all part of my plan.”

The dinner began with the same banter that had been present from the first moment they met—flirty, lighthearted, and teasing. Imani leaned forward across the table, her eyes locked with Joe’s. “So, how’s the Miami nightlife? You out here for fun, or is this just a business trip?”

Joe grinned, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the table. “Mostly business. You know, checking out the competition for tomorrow. But now that you’re here, I’d say it’s more fun than I expected.”

Imani raised an eyebrow. “I’m your fun? That’s a bold statement, Burrow.”

“I’m just being honest,” Joe replied, his smile never leaving his face. “You’ve got a way of making things interesting.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the playful banter fell away. There was something unspoken between them, a pull neither of them could quite ignore. But Imani wasn’t the type to let things get too serious too fast, so she leaned back with a grin, breaking the moment.

“Alright, alright. But don’t get too comfortable. I still have to race tomorrow, and I need all the focus I can get.”

Joe chuckled. “I think you’ll be fine. And hey, if you ever need a good luck charm, you know where to find me.”

Imani smiled, but the teasing glint in her eyes didn’t fade. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As they finished their meal, the conversation drifted back to their usual playful teasing, but beneath it, something was shifting. Maybe it was the quiet moments between the words, the way their gazes lingered just a little longer than necessary. Whatever it was, Imani knew she was starting to look forward to these dinners, these little moments of connection that felt like they might turn into something more.

By the time the check came and they walked outside, the night air felt a little cooler, but the warmth between them hadn’t faded. Imani couldn’t help but smile, knowing that this was just the beginning of whatever this was between them.

“Thanks for dinner, Joe,” she said, slipping her sunglasses on. “This was fun. But, I’ll warn you, next time we race, I’m winning. No mercy.”

Joe grinned, his eyes full of that familiar spark. “I’ll be ready.”

And as they parted ways, neither of them said it aloud, but they both knew: this wasn’t just a quick dinner anymore. There was something there—something real, something they both couldn’t ignore much longer.

—

As they neared the racetrack, the sound of engines revving in the distance echoed through the air. The buzz of excitement was palpable, a crescendo of noise that seemed to grow louder with every step. Joe’s heart picked up a beat. It was like the anticipation before a big game, except now he wasn’t the one with the helmet on, ready to step onto the field. He was just a spectator, standing on the edge of something unfamiliar but equally thrilling.

Sam nudged Joe with his elbow as they approached the entrance. “You ready for this?” he asked, his grin widening. “You’ve got a whole new world of speed to discover, Burrow.”

Joe smirked, his eyes scanning the scene ahead. “Let’s do it,” he said, the words a promise.

They passed through security, slipping into the thrumming crowd that flowed toward the paddock area. The atmosphere was electric, charged with an energy that was distinct from anything Joe had ever experienced on a football field. The air was thick with the smell of fuel and the hum of pit crews in motion. There was a precision to it all, a kind of organized chaos. Joe had always admired the meticulous details of football—how each play required not only physical effort but the coordination of an entire team working together, each move calculated and executed in harmony. Here, in the paddock, the same kind of focus was evident. It wasn’t just about speed. It was about timing, strategy, and the perfect execution of every moment.

Sam and Joe weaved through the crowd, their destination now clear. The paddock was a maze of shiny race cars, each one glinting in the Miami sun. Pit crews, clad in matching uniforms, hustled between the cars, fine-tuning engines and preparing the vehicles for the race ahead. Drivers, too, moved with purpose, their faces set in expressions of quiet intensity. It was the kind of atmosphere that reminded Joe of the locker room before a game—everyone focused, everyone with a job to do, and no room for distraction.

As they moved deeper into the paddock, a tall man with a clipboard and a calm, professional air approached them. His polo shirt, emblazoned with the Hendrick Motorsports logo, marked him as someone important in the world of NASCAR. He extended a hand with a confident smile.

“Sam, Joe, welcome!” The man’s handshake was firm, his presence commanding yet friendly. “I’m Brad, a representative here at Hendrick Motorsports. We’re thrilled to have you both with us this weekend. You ready to experience the race from behind the scenes?”

Joe shook Brad’s hand, the grip strong but warm. He felt a surge of genuine curiosity rising within him. “Absolutely,” he replied, his voice filled with interest. “This is a whole new world for me, but I’m excited to see how it all comes together.”

Brad nodded, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “You’re in for a treat. NASCAR is a machine of its own. Everything is a blend of precision, speed, and strategy. You’ll get to see firsthand just how much goes into it. Tee and Ja’Marr are already here and we will go join them..”

Sam grinned at Joe, his expression filled with the kind of excitement only someone who had experienced NASCAR firsthand could understand. “Trust me, you’re gonna love it. There’s nothing like being this close to the action.”

As they followed Brad deeper into the paddock, Joe was struck by the intensity of the environment. The cars, sitting low to the ground, seemed almost ready to spring to life, their engines rumbling in anticipation. The pit crews worked with a fluidity that reminded him of football practices, where every second mattered and precision was everything. The race was about to begin, and it was clear that every person here—from the drivers to the engineers to the tire changers—was part of something much larger than just the race itself. It was a team effort, much like his own world of football.

Brad led them to a small area at the edge of the paddock, where several drivers were gathered. They were dressed in their racing suits, their faces relaxed but focused, their minds undoubtedly on the race ahead. As the group of drivers turned to greet them, Joe felt the familiar stirrings of competition—of athletes who lived for the moment, who thrived under pressure, who understood what it meant to push the limits of what was possible.

The sun was beginning to dip low in the Miami sky, casting long shadows across the bustling racetrack as the noise of engines and the hum of the crowd filled the air. Joe Burrow, Sam Hubbard, and the rest of the crew had made their way toward the Hendrick Motorsports area. The energy around the track was electric, and Joe could feel the adrenaline buzz through the air. He’d never been to a NASCAR race before, and despite the whirlwind of excitement surrounding him, his mind kept wandering back to one person: Imani.

Joe’s eyes darted around, scanning the area near the garages, trying to catch a glimpse of her. He wasn’t sure what it was—whether it was her confidence, the way she carried herself, or just the spark she exuded, but he couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. He didn’t want to admit it, but it wasn’t just the racing he was eager to see today—it was her. He felt a slight tug of something that he couldn’t quite name, but whatever it was, it had been growing ever since their dinner together in Miami.

Sam noticed Joe’s wandering gaze and raised an eyebrow. “You lookin’ for something, Joe?” he asked, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips.

Joe quickly glanced at him and then tried to shift his focus. “No, just looking around. Trying to get the lay of the land.”

Tee Higgins, who had been walking next to them, caught on right away. He shot a sly look at Sam and then at Joe. “Uh-huh, sure, man. You sure you’re not looking for a certain race car driver?” Tee grinned, nudging Joe with his elbow.

Joe let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “I’m not ‘looking’ for anyone.” He could already feel his teammates getting ready to pile on with their usual teasing. The truth was, he had been thinking about Imani—probably more than he’d like to admit—but he wasn’t about to let them see that.

Ja'Marr Chase, always the joker of the group, couldn’t help himself. “Man, we all saw you at dinner last night. You didn’t think we noticed?” Ja'Marr threw his arm around Joe’s shoulders, laughing. “Looking a little too comfortable, huh?”

Joe shot him a sideways glance, trying to keep a straight face. “You guys are ridiculous. It was just dinner.”

“Just dinner?” Sam echoed. “You were practically glowing. I’ve never seen you that way over a meal before.”

Tee snorted. “Oh yeah, totally. Definitely not just dinner.”

Joe rolled his eyes, not even bothering to deny it. He knew his teammates wouldn’t let it slide, and honestly, a part of him enjoyed the playful teasing. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the heat rise to his face every time they poked at him.

The group rounded a corner, and there, near the Hendrick Motorsports paddock area, Casey—one of the team reps—was standing, scanning the crowd. Casey was an expert at navigating the chaos of a race day and always had a keen eye for knowing where to be and when. When he spotted the guys, he waved them over with a friendly grin.

“Hey, fellas,” Casey greeted them. “Looking forward to the race? Big day ahead.”

“We’re ready,” Sam said, his voice light with excitement. “This place is insane.”

Ja'Marr nodded toward the track. “It’s wild, man. Never seen anything like it.”

Casey chuckled, glancing around at the team. “Yeah, it’s a whole different world. You guys sticking around here for the start?”

“We’ll be in the VIP section,” Tee answered. “Want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Casey smirked knowingly. “I’m sure you’ll love it. But, uh, if you’re looking for Imani, she’s down on the track giving her interviews right now. She’s hard to miss—always steals the spotlight.”

Joe’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Imani. His eyes involuntarily flicked toward the pit area as if by instinct, but he quickly forced himself to look away. He didn’t want to appear too obvious, especially with his teammates around. Still, the idea of seeing her again stirred something in him—something that felt a lot like anticipation, mixed with a healthy dose of nerves.

Tee caught the look on Joe’s face, a sly grin spreading across his features. “Ah, so now you’re interested,” he teased. “You know, we’ve all been waiting for this moment.”

“Shut up,” Joe muttered under his breath, though he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Sam laughed, clapping Joe on the back. “Don’t worry, man. It’s all good. We get it. Who wouldn’t be interested in someone as awesome as Imani?”

Brad caught the tail end of the conversation and nodded in approval. “She’s a force. Not only is she dominating the track, but she’s got that whole ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe. That’s why people love her.” He paused for a moment, then looked at Joe with a knowing expression. “But hey, if you’re trying to catch up with her, she’ll be around after the interviews. Maybe you’ll run into her again later.”

Joe gave a small, appreciative nod, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that Brad was onto him. “Thanks,” he replied, trying to keep his tone casual.

“Anytime,” Brad said with a wink before turning and walking back toward the pits.

The guys gave Joe one last round of teasing before they moved on toward the VIP section, but Joe’s mind was already elsewhere. As much as he wanted to focus on the race ahead, he couldn’t stop thinking about Imani—how fierce and confident she was, how easy it had been to talk to her despite the playful banter between them. He wasn’t sure where it was going, but he was definitely curious to see where it would lead.

As they entered the VIP area, the deafening roar of the crowd filled their ears, but for Joe, it was background noise. His thoughts were consumed with a singular question: Would he see Imani again today?

The energy in the air was palpable; it was the kind of electric atmosphere you only found at a big NASCAR event. Cars were lined up, engines revved, and the smell of fuel lingered in the air as the anticipation for the race built to a fever pitch.

The four of them were dressed casually, wearing sunglasses and hats to blend in a bit with the crowd, but they certainly stood out in their own right. As they walked toward the section reserved for the drivers’ teams and their guests, Joe couldn’t help but notice the vast difference between the gridiron and the racetrack. While football had its own energy, there was something almost otherworldly about the speed, precision, and pure adrenaline of NASCAR.

“Man, this place is wild,” Tee muttered, looking around at the grandstands packed with fans. “I’ve never seen so many people in one spot outside of a football game.”

Sam chuckled, his eyes scanning the pit crews working tirelessly on the cars. “It’s on a whole different level. These people are serious about their racing.”

Ja'Marr, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up, a teasing grin on his face. “I think I could get used to this. I’m feeling the need for speed.”

Joe laughed, but his eyes were already searching for a familiar face. His thoughts immediately turned to Imani. The playful teasing from the night before still lingered in his mind, but today, there was a different kind of excitement in the air. Imani had invited him and the guys to the race, and now they were about to see her in action.

The pre-race show was in full swing, the cameras buzzing with energy as the stadium and racetrack were buzzing with anticipation. The track was lined with spectators, each one waiting for the race to begin, and the excitement in the air was palpable. Joe and the guys—Sam Hubbard, Ja'Marr Chase, and Tee Higgins—stood at the side, their eyes trained on the monitors set up for the pre-race interviews. The excitement was in full swing, but there was a new kind of buzz in the air today. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the next Imani Brown moment.

Imani Brown’s interview was set to air, and everyone in the group was eager to see her on-screen. Joe, who had already been struck by Imani’s presence in the paddock, was curious to hear how she carried herself in front of the camera. He had a feeling that her confidence wasn’t just reserved for the racetrack—it likely extended to every aspect of her life.

As the cameras cut to her, Imani stood in front of a backdrop with the motorcade behind her, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the scene. Her racing suit was immaculate, the bold logos shining under the lights. She had a natural charisma about her—her posture was tall and assured, but there was something disarming about her smile, something that made her approachable even though she was at the pinnacle of her career.

The interviewer, a seasoned NASCAR journalist, greeted her with a grin. “Imani, it’s great to have you with us. You’re on a roll this season, leading the championship, and you’re back here in Miami, where you debuted and scored your first win. How does it feel to return to a place that’s been so good to you?”

Imani's expression softened, but the glint in her eyes remained fierce. She took a beat, soaking in the moment before responding. “Miami’s always been good to me. I debuted here, and it feels like home. The fans here are incredibly welcoming—every time I step onto this track, I feel the energy from them, like they’re cheering for me, no matter where I’m from. And I’ve gotta say, getting my first win here last year was a pretty special moment. I’m definitely looking forward to doing it again today.”

Joe and the rest of the group exchanged glances. It was clear that Imani wasn’t just talking about her victory on the track; she was talking about the connection she had built with the Miami crowd, a bond forged in a city that embraced her as one of their own. Her voice was confident but not arrogant, playful yet serious. It was the perfect balance for someone who wasn’t just a driver but a leader in every sense of the word.

The interviewer, clearly impressed, asked, “You’ve had an incredible start to the season, with consistent top finishes and that big Daytona 500 win. How do you keep your focus in a sport as unpredictable as NASCAR? What’s your mindset going into a race like today?”

Imani gave a small chuckle, her expression turning more playful. “You know, every race is different. Some days you’re the hammer, some days you’re the nail,” she said with a wink. “But the key is staying focused on the task at hand. It’s about adjusting to the changes, whether it's the track, the competition, or even just the feel of the car. And as far as keeping my focus? Well, I’ve got a team around me that’s just as relentless as I am. We’re all pushing for the same thing, and we know what we’re capable of.”

There was a slight pause before she added with a smirk, “And yeah, I’m not afraid to remind the guys that I’m not here just to race—I’m here to win, and I’m not slowing down for anyone.”

The playful defiance in her voice had a sharp edge to it, and Joe couldn’t help but smile. She wasn’t just competing; she was challenging the status quo. And she did it with such ease, so effortlessly, that it was impossible not to respect her.

The interviewer grinned, clearly enjoying the vibe Imani was giving off. “I think the competition’s definitely paying attention! Well, Imani, we know you’ve got a lot of people cheering for you out here today. Best of luck on the track—looking forward to seeing you do your thing.”

Imani gave a confident nod, her smile returning. “Thanks. I’m ready for it.”

As the crew of commentators spoke animatedly, the camera switched to a close-up of Imani Brown, standing confidently in front of the backdrop with her helmet under one arm, and her team logo boldly displayed on her racing suit. Her presence was magnetic—no surprise there. She was a rising star in the Cup Series, and her persona was just as captivating as her driving skills. But this time, the focus wasn't just on her racing career. The camera caught the unmistakable chatter of paparazzi from the previous night—the buzz about Imani being seen with Joe Burrow, her dinner companion. It seemed like the perfect setup for a bit of drama.

Imani walked with purpose through the maze of people, her boho butterfly braids swaying rhythmically with each step she took. The braids, carefully woven and adorned with colorful beads, cascaded down her back, catching the sunlight and reflecting a subtle shimmer. As she moved, the light breeze played with the ends of her hair, creating an almost ethereal effect, as if the wind itself couldn’t help but follow her. The fluidity of her stride matched her effortless grace—she was in her element, and everyone around her could feel it.

Fans lined the barriers, shouting her name, some holding signs with her number, others just eager to see their champion. And without missing a beat, Imani flashed a quick but genuine smile and gave a casual wave, the kind that made every fan feel seen, like they were part of the moment with her. Her eyes sparkled with a quiet confidence that didn’t need words to be understood. She didn’t just walk through the crowd—she commanded it, every move dripping with assurance, like the entire atmosphere was bending to her will.

Just as she was nearing the entrance to the garage area, her crew hard at work on her car, a hand reached out to stop her.

“Imani!” a voice called out.

She turned, a smile already forming on her lips as she recognized the familiar reporter, the one who had been following her career since her early days in NASCAR.

"I guess I’m not getting out of this one," Imani murmured under her breath, though the playful glint in her eyes said otherwise.

Her crew was still in the background, focused on the car, but for a moment, the world around her seemed to fade as the noise of the racetrack blended into the hum of adrenaline. Her focus shifted entirely to the present, the steady rhythm of her breath aligning with the intensity of the moment.

It was a rare thing, how natural she made it all seem, like a queen among her people—unrivaled, confident, and always in control.

The interviewer, a young woman with a professional smile, couldn't resist the opportunity to ask.

“So, Imani,” the interviewer began, turning her attention to Imani as the cameras rolled, “You were spotted with Joe Burrow last night. There’s been a lot of buzz about that. Care to comment on the dinner?”

The question hung in the air, and the room fell a little quieter as everyone turned their attention to Imani, waiting for her response. Joe, standing off to the side with the guys, instantly felt a slight shift in the air. He hadn’t been expecting the question to come up, and he wasn’t sure how Imani would handle it. He could see the familiar glint in her eyes—a mix of playful confidence and no-nonsense attitude. It was the same intensity she brought to the track, and it was clear she wasn’t going to back down.

Imani's lips curled into a slight smile as she answered, her tone calm but filled with an underlying edge.

“Well,” she began, eyes flashing toward the interviewer with a knowing look. “Everyone knows my cousin Orlando plays for Cincinnati, so it’s not exactly a secret that I know a few of the players, right? It’s pretty obvious I’ve spent time with some of them. Who I have dinner with, or who I’m with at any given time, is nobody’s business but mine. And honestly? It shouldn’t be a topic of conversation.”

Her voice remained level, but the underlying assertion was clear. She wasn’t about to let the question slide without setting the record straight. Her eyes briefly flickered over to Joe, who was watching her from the sidelines, his arms crossed, a quiet smirk on his face as he observed her handling the situation. He had a newfound respect for her—there was no one quite like Imani.

She continued, her gaze now shifting back to the interviewer, who was clearly trying to keep the situation under control.

“Let’s be real here. I’m here to race. I’m here to talk about racing, not to discuss who I’ve had dinner with. People can make whatever assumptions they want, but my personal life? It stays separate from my career.” She paused, raising an eyebrow, clearly not finished. “Joe’s a great guy. If I want to have dinner with someone of the opposite gender, it shouldn’t be a big deal. And you know what? I’m tired of that question always coming up. Do you ask the guys on the track whose thighs they’re in between when they’re hanging out with someone?”

The interviewer blinked in surprise, but Imani wasn’t done yet. The sarcasm in her voice was palpable as she added one final jab.

“Maybe you should try it next time. See how the guys like it.”

Imani gave the interviewer a pointed look, and before anyone could respond, she turned on her heel and started to walk off, clearly done with the question. The crowd of reporters, along with the cameramen, looked momentarily stunned by her directness, but no one could deny the power in her words. It was a classic Imani move—bold, unapologetic, and yet still with that playful undertone that made everyone aware she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

Joe stood there, a grin creeping across his face. His teammates, who had been watching the interview with interest, looked at each other and then back at Joe. Sam, who had been quiet, raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

“Man, she doesn’t pull punches, does she?” Sam muttered, his voice laced with admiration.

“Nope,” Ja'Marr said with a grin. “That’s why we like her.”

Tee laughed, shaking his head. “She’s got the fire. No wonder she’s killing it this season.”

Joe’s smirk didn’t fade. He was proud of how Imani had handled the interview—cool, collected, and making her point without missing a beat. There was no mistaking it now: Imani was one of the most intense, most driven athletes in the world, and she wasn’t about to let anyone distract her from her goals. The way she carried herself, both on and off the track, left an impression on anyone who crossed her path.

“I’ll say it again,” Ja'Marr added, glancing at Joe. “You two got some serious chemistry. She’s something else, huh?”

Joe chuckled but didn’t respond right away, his mind replaying the way Imani had handled herself in front of the cameras. He could feel the pull between them, but there was something more now—something deeper. She wasn’t just a great driver, she was a force to be reckoned with. And whether he liked it or not, he was part of her world now.

“She’s definitely one of a kind,” Joe said, his voice low but filled with that same admiration the others shared. “And she’s only getting started.”

As the interview wrapped up and the cameras switched off, Imani made her way back to the motorcade, the confidence in her stride undeniable. Joe’s eyes followed her for a moment before he turned back to his teammates.

“She’s got this race in the bag,” Joe said, more to himself than anyone else. “And after that, we’ll see who’s winning next.”

Sam, Tee, and Ja'Marr all nodded in agreement, knowing one thing for sure: when Imani Brown took the track, she was about to remind everyone exactly why she was leading the championship. No one—especially not the press—was going to get in her way.

Soon enough, they reached the designated area, and as they stood at the edge of the track, a team member walked over to greet them.

“Alright, fellas, right this way,” the staff member said, guiding them toward the motorcade. “You’ll be standing with the #9 crew for the race today.”

Joe’s heart rate picked up a bit as he realized they’d be in the motorcade of her race car. His gaze flicked to the vibrant #9 car parked in front of them, its sleek design a blur of neon green and black. It was unmistakable. Imani’s signature car.

They made their way to a roped-off area near the cars, and it didn’t take long for Imani to approach. She was wearing a black racing suit with the #9 embroidered over her heart, her helmet tucked under one arm as she walked up to greet them, a wide smile spreading across her face when she saw Joe. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of confidence and excitement as she walked toward them, the buzz of the race and the crowd barely touching her calm composure. 

“Gentlemen,” she said, her voice a mix of warmth and playful authority. “Glad you could make it. You’re about to see how real athletes do it.”

Joe’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as Imani flashed him a wink, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He took a step forward, extending his hand toward her with a confident grin. “I’m looking forward to seeing you out there,” he said, his voice smooth, but there was a slight edge to it—a playful challenge. “But hey, don’t go too hard on me. I’ve still got a career to focus on.”

Imani laughed, the sound as effortless and captivating as always. She tilted her head slightly, her smile never wavering as she extended her hand to shake his. “Oh, I’ll try not to take you down too badly, Joe,” she teased, her eyes narrowing just a fraction, clearly enjoying the playful banter between them. “But you know, sometimes a girl’s gotta remind the guys who’s boss.”

Her hand lingered in his just a little longer than necessary, the brief touch sending an undeniable spark of electricity between them. The tension was thick, as if every word, every glance, was a little more than just friendly chatter.

Joe’s smile widened, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a hint of something more than just the casual flirtation they’d shared before. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye on you then,” he said, his tone almost teasing, but there was something underneath it, something deeper that lingered in the air.

Imani chuckled softly, stepping back with a playful twirl of her fingers through her braids, her gaze still locked on him. “Good. You’ll need it.” Her voice was light, but the hint of challenge was unmistakable. She didn’t back down from anything—and neither did he.

She turned her attention to the rest of the guys. “Sam, Ja'Marr, Tee—glad you could make it too. I expect you all to cheer extra loud for me.”

Ja'Marr chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ve got your back. We’re team #9 today.”

“You all better be ready for some serious speed,” Imani teased, her eyes glinting with excitement. “But just so you know, I’m not just here to race. I’m here to win.”

Her words were sharp, confident, and full of that undeniable fire that everyone had come to know about her. At just 23 years old, Imani Brown wasn’t just another driver in the field—she was the driver everyone was talking about. She had become one of the first Black women to race in the Cup Series, and her record was nothing short of spectacular. After a grueling race, she’d clinched her first-ever Daytona 500 win, solidifying her status as a championship contender. And this season? She was leading the points standings, with multiple top-three finishes under her belt and zero DNFs (Did Not Finish)—a perfect start to a season that looked like it could end in a championship.

Joe could feel the fire in her words. Imani wasn’t just confident; she had a palpable intensity to her, a drive that matched the best in any sport. She was a force to be reckoned with, and it was hard not to be drawn to her energy.

She gave them one last glance before she adjusted her helmet, the seriousness of race day settling over her features.

“I’ll see you guys after the race,” she said, the usual playfulness in her voice replaced by a steely focus. “Stay out of the way of my crew, though. They’re in the zone.”

With that, she nodded, giving Joe a final, lingering look before walking to her car. Her movements were effortless, the confident way she moved toward the #9 car making it clear that she was right where she belonged.

The guys stood there for a moment, watching her go, before Sam broke the silence.

“Man, she is something else,” he said, shaking his head in awe.

Tee nodded, his eyes still tracking Imani’s every move as she slipped into the car. “She’s got that fire. I can feel it. Can’t wait to see her out there.”

Ja'Marr clapped Joe on the back, grinning. “You and her—y’all got some serious chemistry. I’m just sayin’.”

Joe smirked, shaking his head but not denying it. There was no point in trying to hide the way Imani had gotten under his skin. She was one of a kind. And as they watched her car roll to the starting line, Joe knew there was something special about the way she carried herself. Off the track, Imani was playful, teasing, and easy to talk to. But when it came time to race? She was all business—and that was exactly the kind of woman who knew how to push limits.

And as Imani disappeared into the pit area, the group knew one thing for sure—they were about to witness something special.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a bright sheen over the Miami racetrack, as the cars lined up for the start of the NASCAR Cup Series StraightTalk Wireless 400. The roar of the engines echoed through the grandstands, and the tension was palpable. Imani Brown, now comfortably seated in her #9 Hendrick Motorsports car, sat in P1. She’d earned this position with a perfect qualifying run, and now, with the start of the race before her, she was ready to make her mark.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel with a calm but intense focus. She could feel the vibrations of the car beneath her, the hum of the engine, the slight pull of the harness that kept her secure. She wasn’t new to this—far from it. But today, the stakes felt higher. Today, she was leading the pack. And right beside her on the grid was none other than Joey Logano, a seasoned veteran who wouldn’t make it easy on her. He was a threat, and she knew it.

The engines revved, the race was about to begin, and Imani’s car roared to life, the crowd erupting into cheers as her car shot forward. Joe’s heart raced in anticipation—not just for the race, but for what he knew was brewing between them. There was an undeniable chemistry, something that, like her driving, couldn’t be ignored.

As the green flag waved, Imani’s foot hit the floor, and the roar of the engine sent the car surging forward. She instinctively adjusted her line, weaving between the pack as they thundered around the track. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, but she kept her focus tight.

As Imani rocketed into the race, leading from the start, Joe felt a sense of pride. He was watching history unfold right in front of him. And in that moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was just the beginning of something even bigger.

“Alright, fellas,” Joe said, his voice filled with excitement. “This is going to be a hell of a race.”

The rest of the guys nodded, their attention fixed on the track, but Joe’s mind wasn’t just on the race. It was on Imani, and the feeling that this was only the start of something much more intense.

The sound of tires screeching, the heavy thrum of powerful engines revving, and the shifting of gears created a symphony of speed that only those in the cockpit could fully appreciate. Imani’s Hendrick Motorsports #9 car rocketed down the straightaways with precision. Joey Logano’s car was close, always in her peripheral vision, trying to inch ahead as they braked hard for the corners. But Imani held steady, expertly maintaining her position.

Lap after lap, the strategy was clear: stay aggressive but keep the car in one piece. Push when she could, defend when necessary. As she rounded Turn 3 on the fifth lap, however, the yellow flag came out.

“Caution, caution,” the spotter’s voice crackled through her earpiece.

The pack slowed as the cars peeled back into single file, and the replay flashed up on the screen. Three cars had gotten tangled up in a wreck mid-pack, causing a chain reaction. Ryan Blaney, William Byron, and Christopher Bell were the unfortunate drivers involved. Blaney’s car had slid sideways, spinning right into the path of Byron and Bell, with pieces of fenders and parts littering the track. The wreck had been chaotic, but all the drivers involved were thankfully able to exit their vehicles under their own power.

Imani’s grip tightened around the wheel as her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. She knew that a restart could bring chaos, and she had to stay sharp. A pit stop was coming, and the strategy would be critical.

“You’re good, Imani. Keep your head in the game,” her crew chief’s voice came through her earpiece, steadying her nerves.

With the caution flag out, the field slowed, and the pit crews began preparing for the first set of pit stops. Imani’s mind stayed sharp, focusing on the strategy and staying calm under pressure. She could hear the pit crews moving into position as they neared pit lane.

As the field restarted, Imani’s car surged forward again, but this time, it was a little trickier. Joey Logano, who had been waiting for the green flag to drop, shot ahead on the restart, quickly overtaking Imani in the tight, pack-racing situation. Imani, however, wasn’t about to let him slip away that easily.

“Keep on him. You’ve got this,” her spotter encouraged as Logano edged out ahead.

Imani settled back into the race, staying focused as the laps ticked away. Pit stops came in and out, the crews working fast. On one of the pit cycles, Imani’s crew had a slightly slower stop—just a fraction of a second off—but in NASCAR, those fractions meant positions. On the next lap, Kyle Busch and Chase Elliott passed her in the pit exit, bumping her down a few spots.

Imani was not happy about it. She ground her teeth as the cars ahead of her pulled away.

“I’m gonna get them back,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing. She wasn’t one to take a loss on pit lane lying down, and she wasn’t about to let a few bad stops ruin her race.

As the race entered the later stages, Imani knew it was time to dig deep. The laps were winding down, and she had to make up ground. It was about precision and patience—passing wasn’t just about speed; it was about timing. She lined up Denny Hamlin for a pass on the inside and made her move on the backstretch. The move was smooth, and she cleared him just before entering Turn 3.

“Great job, great job,” her crew chief praised, but there was no time for celebration. She had more work to do.

The race was intense, the heat of competition rising with every lap. Imani’s #9 car flew around the track with precision, but the constant shifting of positions and the strategy of the other drivers was starting to get under her skin.

As she approached Turn 4, she could see a gap opening in front of her, a chance to take back a position she’d lost earlier. She gunned the engine, weaving past another car on the inside, but as soon as she made the move, another car darted in front of her, blocking her path and forcing her to slam on the brakes to avoid a collision.

“That’s some bullshit!” Imani muttered under her breath, her grip on the steering wheel tightening.

Her spotter’s voice crackled in her ear, trying to calm her. “Easy, Imani. Stay calm, stay focused. You’ve got this. Just keep working your line.”

Imani’s teeth gritted. She could feel the frustration bubbling up inside her, but she kept her focus, weaving her way back into the rhythm of the race. However, as she made her way down the backstretch, another driver — this time, Kyle Busch — cut her off, forcing her to check up and lose more ground.

Her grip on the wheel tightened even further, and this time, there was no stopping the frustration from spilling out.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Imani snapped, her voice loud over the radio. “What the hell is Kyle doing? He’s playing games out here, and it’s pissing me off!”

Her crew chief, trying to keep her level-headed, came through the radio with a calm voice, “Imani, stay focused. You’re fine. Just don’t let him get in your head.”

But that only made her more irritable. “I’m not fine,” she growled, her tone sharp. “I’m out here busting my ass, and these idiots keep pulling these cheap moves. I’m gonna make ‘em pay for it.”

Her spotter, ever the professional, interjected quickly. “Listen to me, Imani. You know the drill. Just breathe. You’ve got the skill to get back. Let’s focus on the race, not the idiots on the track.”

Imani huffed, a sharp breath escaping her lips as she navigated the next corner, still seething. “I hear you. But damn, I’m sick of these guys thinking they can just push me around like I’m some rookie. I’m not that.”

Her spotter sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to back down. “I know, Imani. But we’re playing the long game. Keep your cool, and we’ll get ‘em when it counts.”

She took another breath, the sound coming through the radio like a small storm trying to calm itself. But the fire was still there, simmering under the surface. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice still laced with feistiness. “But don’t expect me to play nice with these fucking clowns when it’s time to turn things up. I’ll show them exactly who’s running this track.”

Her crew chief’s voice came through, a mix of firmness and encouragement. “Imani, I know you’re ready to race hard. Just keep your head in the game. The moves will come, but we have to play it smart. The last thing we need is to get caught up in someone else’s mess.”

Imani’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as she entered the next set of turns. She could feel her pulse quicken, the adrenaline thrumming in her veins. Her competitive nature was like a fire that burned with intensity, and right now, it was roaring at full force.

“I hear you, but I’m not sitting back any longer,” she replied, her voice sharp with determination. “I’m done being the nice girl out here.”

As if on cue, a car ahead of her—one she’d been tailing for several laps—braked early for a corner, forcing her to adjust her line and lose precious time. She growled under her breath, barely containing her frustration.

“Imani, calm down,” her spotter urged, but she wasn’t listening. Not anymore.

Without missing a beat, she floored the accelerator, her car roaring as she took a daring move on the inside. It was tight—too tight for most drivers, but Imani didn’t hesitate. She knew she had the skill to make the pass without making it ugly. With a quick flick of the wheel, she edged ahead, powering past the car that had been blocking her earlier.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Imani cheered under her breath, a sense of satisfaction washing over her as she fought for every inch. But the battle wasn’t over yet. A quick glance in her rearview mirror told her she wasn’t done fighting. The field was still tight, and she had more work to do.

Her spotter’s voice broke through again, this time with more urgency. “You’ve got a car coming up fast behind you. Don’t let up.”

Imani’s eyes flicked to the rearview. A car was gaining ground, and she could feel the heat of the other driver closing in. Her grip tightened as she prepared to defend her position.

“I know what I’m doing,” she muttered, her voice a mix of grit and grit alone. Her foot pressed further down on the accelerator, pushing the car harder as she focused on maintaining her lead.

As they hit another straightaway, the other car made its move, diving low and trying to take advantage of her slight miscalculation. Imani’s eyes narrowed, and she fought back, keeping the pace while positioning herself perfectly to block the move.

“Nice try, but not today,” she muttered, her confidence returning as she held her line. She made sure to keep her car steady, using every ounce of experience and skill to prevent the other driver from slipping by. It was a battle, but it was one she was determined to win.

“Great job, Imani. Keep it up,” her crew chief praised, though there was still a tinge of caution in his voice.

But Imani didn’t care. She was too far in the zone, too focused on what lay ahead. The tension in the air was palpable, but it was a familiar feeling for her. She was born for this.

“I’m going to show these guys exactly who’s in charge,” she muttered to herself, a sly grin tugging at her lips.

And she was just getting started.

As Imani’s fiery responses crackled through the radio, Joe and the guys, who had been watching the race from the VIP area, couldn’t help but exchange amused glances. Sam, Ja’Marr, and Tee were leaning forward, their attention fixed on the screen, but the sound of Imani’s fierce voice over the radio caught their attention.

“Did she just say that?” Tee asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sam let out a low whistle. “She’s definitely not playing around today. Feisty is an understatement.”

Joe grinned, his eyes never leaving the screen. “She’s got that fire, doesn’t she?” His voice was a mixture of admiration and something else—an unmistakable hint of amusement. “I’m not sure anyone can handle her when she gets going.”

Ja'Marr chuckled, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what makes her so damn good. She doesn’t back down from anyone. And I like that.”

Tee nodded. “Hell, if I had to race against her, I’d be looking over my shoulder every second. Imani doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

Joe’s grin widened as he leaned back in his chair, relaxing into the moment. “You guys are right. I don’t think anyone expects her to be this intense, but I like how she handles it. She’s got that, uh, competitive edge. Reminds me a little of someone else I know.”

Sam gave him a sidelong glance. “Oh, yeah? And who’s that?”

Joe's grin only grew wider. “I think we all know who,” he said with a wink. The playful tension in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the group.

Ja'Marr laughed. “Imani’s got him all riled up, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘riled up,’” Joe replied, but there was no hiding the slight blush that crept onto his cheeks. He quickly cleared his throat. “I mean, she’s just... passionate about what she does. Can’t help but respect that.”

The guys exchanged knowing looks, and Sam smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure, Joe. Respect.”

Joe rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. Instead, he focused back on the race, watching Imani maneuver through the field with precision and aggression. Her fiery personality was evident not just in her radio communications, but in the way she handled the car—taking control of the track with a level of confidence that only made her more captivating.

Imani’s voice crackled over the radio once again, the intensity and focus in her tone impossible to ignore.

“Okay, time to get them back. Let’s do this,” she snapped, clearly fired up as she pushed her car to the limit.

The guys laughed as they all looked at Joe, who, for a brief moment, looked slightly entranced by the raw intensity in her voice.

“Man, she really knows how to turn it on, huh?” Tee teased, his grin widening.

Joe smirked, but his eyes were glued to the screen. “Yeah, no kidding. She’s not here to play games. She's a force to be reckoned with.” His voice was low, a mix of admiration and maybe something else.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You sure it’s the racing you respect?”

Joe shot him a look but didn’t answer, the teasing atmosphere hanging in the air. He was enjoying the playful banter, but deep down, he couldn’t deny the pull he felt every time Imani spoke. Whether it was over the radio or in person, there was something undeniably magnetic about her—and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

Imani’s lap times were improving as the laps dwindled, and with just a few laps to go, she was right back on Joey Logano’s tail. The two cars raced neck and neck, the roar of their engines blending with the crowd’s cheers. Logano, sensing the pressure, began to block her in the corners, weaving slightly as they entered Turn 4.

But Imani wasn’t going to let that stop her. She stayed patient, waiting for the right moment. As they rounded Turn 3 with just two laps left, Logano’s car drifted just a little too wide, and that was all the opening Imani needed.

With a quick, calculated move, Imani dove low on the inside of Turn 4, sliding past Logano and into the lead. The crowd’s roar escalated as the two cars crossed the start/finish line, but it was Imani’s car that was first, leading into the final lap.

“One more lap. Just one more,” her spotter said. The intensity of the moment was undeniable.

Imani held her ground on the final lap. Logano, desperate to retake the lead, tried to dive down low in the final turn, but Imani held strong, keeping the car steady, controlling the lines, and making sure to defend without overdriving the corners.

As Imani powered through the final turn, the roar of the crowd rising to a deafening crescendo, she felt it—the surge of adrenaline that came with the final stretch. The finish line loomed ahead, and she could almost taste the victory in the air. Her grip tightened around the steering wheel as she pressed the pedal to the metal, pushing her car down the frontstretch with everything she had left.

The last few laps had been a battle—fighting for every inch of track against some of the sport’s fiercest competitors. Logano had been on her tail, trying to push her out of the way, and Kyle Busch had taken some cheap shots, weaving in and out of her blind spots. But now, as the checkered flag waved, there was no one in sight, no one close enough to challenge her. The race was hers.

As she crossed the finish line, her spotter’s voice exploded over the radio, full of excitement and pride. "“You did it, Imani! You’re the winner!” the spotter shouted. Imani’s heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught in her throat as a wild grin spread across her face. She could feel the rush of satisfaction flooding through her, the culmination of everything she had worked for. Victory. 

“Fuck yes! We did it! Fuck you Kyle ya fucking prick.” Imani shouted over the radio, her voice full of triumph. "Drinks are on me tonight guys!" She let out a joyous laugh, her pulse still racing, but now for entirely different reasons.

As Imani cruised past the finish line, her victory lap had just ended, but the adrenaline was still coursing through her veins. Her hands gripped the wheel, a wide grin on her face as she basked in the overwhelming energy of the moment. The roar of the crowd still buzzed in her ears, but she had one last thing to do to make this victory unforgettable.

With a sly, confident smirk, Imani hit the gas.

The tires screeched, and her #9 car slid into a sharp turn, the backend fishtailing wildly as she whipped it into a full spin. The crowd went wild as the back end of her car kicked out, smoke billowing from the tires as she began to spin in circles, the engine roaring with power beneath her. She was doing donuts at full speed, the smell of burning rubber filling the air as she celebrated with wild abandon.

Each spin brought a wave of euphoria, each turn a reminder of what she had just accomplished. The trophy might have been sitting in her pit crew’s hands, but this—this moment of pure freedom, of joy, of proving everyone wrong—was hers alone.

Imani’s boho butterfly braids flew around her face as she swerved, her eyes still glinting with mischief. She couldn't help herself, letting out a shout of pure excitement into the cockpit as the car spun again and again, her body moving instinctively with the rhythm of the machine.

The deafening roar of the crowd only fueled her celebration, their cheers becoming a constant in the background of her victory. She leaned into the turn, hitting the gas one more time as her car slid in a perfect circle, the motion graceful yet powerful.

Eventually, the tires lost their grip, and with one final, exhilarating spin, Imani slowed the car to a stop. The engine purred softly as she let the car come to a complete stop right at the start/finish line, smoke still rising from the tires in a beautiful, chaotic plume.

Imani let out a laugh, the sound light and carefree, as she raised her hand in victory. She glanced up at the scoreboard, and her heart skipped a beat. She was not just celebrating a win today—she was leading the championship by 22 points.

Coasting toward victory lane, she felt her team’s support in every inch of the car, every press of the pedal. She gave them a mental nod, silently thanking them for their precision and hard work all week. But as her car rolled into victory lane, her smile shifted to something more mischievous, her eyes twinkling with a hint of playful defiance.

She parked the car, and as soon as she stepped out, the roar from the crowd was deafening. Fans in the stands were screaming her name, their cheers vibrating in the air. Imani raised her fist in the air in a victorious salute before walking towards her crew, who were already waiting for her with high fives and hugs. The excitement from her team was palpable.

“Yeah! That’s how we do it!” her crew chief shouted, clapping her on the back. “You nailed it today, Imani. We’ve been waiting for this!”

The deafening cheers of the crowd filled the air as Imani parked her car in the middle of victory lane, her hands still gripping the wheel as she took a deep breath to steady herself. She could hear the hum of excitement all around her, the distant thrum of the engines still in the air, but in this moment, it was just her and the moment of triumph she’d earned.

She climbed out of the car, a wide smile spreading across her face as she waved to the cheering crowd. The roar from the stands was deafening, the energy contagious. Imani took a deep breath, soaking in the moment. This wasn’t just any win. This was a win that solidified her place among the best in the sport. A win that sent a message—not just to the field, but to the world. The pit crew, having already rushed from the wall, gathered around her, and a few of the crew members slapped her on the back, their faces lit with excitement. But Imani wasn't done yet.

She made her way up to the roof of her #9 Hendrick Motorsports car. The crowd's cheers swelled even louder as she stood tall, her heart racing with a heady mix of pride and exhilaration. With one hand raised triumphantly, she lifted her other arm high into the air. The cameras snapped in rapid fire, capturing the iconic image of Imani Brown—champion, unstoppable, fearless. Her boho butterfly braids swayed in the breeze as she raised her arms higher, a fierce smile spreading across her face.

The atmosphere was electric. Fans lined the grandstands, some waving signs, others just screaming in pure joy. The noise and the energy were palpable, but Imani soaked it all in, her body humming with the rush of victory.

After a few seconds of basking in the glory, Imani hopped down from the car, landing smoothly onto the track. Her crew surrounded her in a jubilant, chaotic wave of excitement. They all screamed her name as they lifted her into the air, tossing her up like she was a feather caught in the wind. She laughed, arms raised in pure ecstasy as they held her high, the weight of her victory still sinking in.

Cameras surrounded her, flashing like a storm of light, but Imani didn’t mind. She was the storm today.

Once they gently set her down, Imani walked with the crew toward the pit area where the media was waiting. As she made her way, the crowd’s applause still reverberated in the air around her. She unfastened her helmet and balaclava, pulling them off in one fluid motion and tossing them toward one of her crew members.

She quickly slipped her gloves off, handing them to her trainer Jade, as she made her way toward the interview area, her fireproof suit now loose at her waist. Her suit hung comfortably on her, a perfect reminder of how she had just earned every ounce of her success. Underneath, the glow of her fireproof gear still shimmered, a faint reminder of the risk she took every time she strapped into that car.

The interviewer greeted her with a wide smile, knowing just how momentous this moment was.

“Well, Imani, congratulations! What a race, what a win. You’re leading the championship now with a solid 22-point lead. How does it feel?”

Imani took a deep breath, her face flushed from the adrenaline, her voice steady but filled with that signature fire of hers.

“It feels amazing. But you know, this is just one step. I’m not satisfied yet. We’ve got a long season ahead, and I’m ready for it. My team, my pit crew—they were flawless today. I can’t thank them enough for everything they do. This win is for them, for all the hard work they’ve put in.”

She gave the camera a sly smile, her eyes gleaming with a mix of confidence and mischief.

“And as for the competition... well, I’m not done yet. 22 points is a great lead, but I plan on extending that every chance I get. If anybody’s thinking this was just a lucky race, they better think again.”

The reporter chuckled, clearly enjoying the feisty attitude.

“Speaking of competition, you and Kyle Busch, and Joey Logano—some of those passes earlier were a bit... intense. You certainly had some tense moments on the track.”

Imani laughed, her voice smooth and casual, but her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

“Oh, trust me, I was feeling it. I’ve got a lot of respect for those guys, but they’ve got to remember—I'm not here to play it safe. Sometimes, you’ve got to push the limits, and if they don’t like it, well... a big ‘Fuck you’ to them again. I’m here to win, and if they’re gonna make it difficult, they’re gonna see how hard I’ll fight.”

She gave the interviewer a wink before turning her attention back to the cheering crowd.

“I’m ready for whatever comes next. But for tonight? I’m gonna enjoy this. This one’s for all the fans, my team, and anyone who ever doubted me.”

The crowd erupted in applause once more as Imani smiled, her confidence radiating through every word and every gesture. With one final wave, she walked off, knowing that this was just the beginning of a long, victorious season.

The buzz of victory still crackled in the air as Imani made her way back toward the area where the guys were standing. Her heart was still racing, but not from the thrill of the race anymore. It was the sheer excitement of winning, of knowing that this moment would go down as one of her best yet. The cheers and the constant flashing of cameras only amplified the joy that was surging through her.

But just as she reached her crew, the world seemed to explode in champagne.

Sprayed from multiple directions, Imani let out a laugh, her voice light and carefree. Champagne splashed across her face, dripping down her racing suit, but she didn’t care. This moment, this messy, celebratory chaos, was exactly what she needed. She tossed her head back, her boho butterfly braids whipping around as she took it all in, basking in the energy of the crowd, the crew, and the guys who had watched her take this win.

"Now hold on, where’s my bottle?" she shouted above the cheers, her voice a playful mix of command and laughter.

Her crew chief, grinning ear to ear, handed her a fresh bottle of champagne.

Imani swirled it around in her hands, her fingers tracing the cold glass. The grin never left her face as she slammed the bottom of the bottle with her foot, sending the cork launching into the air. The bottle exploded, the champagne fizzing out in a chaotic, celebratory spray. She turned to her crew, spraying them with a burst of bubbly as they cheered, their laughter ringing out louder than the engines had been moments earlier.

The guys—Joe, Sam, Tee, and Ja'Marr—found themselves caught in the crossfire of the champagne shower, their faces lit up with surprise and laughter.

Joe, who had been standing off to the side, wiped champagne from his eyes, his grin stretching wide. He had never seen anyone so full of life, so unapologetically confident. Imani’s fiery spirit was contagious.

"You’re soaking us all!" Sam shouted between laughs, holding his arms up to shield himself from the deluge.

Imani’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she swirled the bottle again, and with a wicked smile, she turned her focus to the guys, spraying them down with her victory champagne. "Oh, I’m just getting started," she teased, her voice full of that signature playful edge.

She shot a wink in Joe’s direction, her gaze locking with his for a brief moment. It was daring, playful, and there was something in her eyes that made his pulse race. He returned the wink, though there was no denying the slight tug of tension that still lingered between them.

With the bottle emptied and her crew covered in champagne, Imani took a quick sip from the neck of the bottle, savoring the taste as her laughter continued to echo around the pit.

"Alright, alright," her crew chief called, motioning for her to come closer. "Team photo time."

Imani rolled her eyes but still couldn’t suppress the grin that spread across her face. She made her way toward her team, shaking her head at the playful chaos she’d created. As they gathered together for the photo, she was pulled in by her teammates, their arms around her shoulders, and she was momentarily lost in the sea of joy and laughter.

​​Imani finally made her way over to the group of guys, who were still laughing and wiping the last remnants of champagne off their clothes. Their cheers were loud and genuine as they greeted her, clearly impressed by her win.

"Imani, that was insane!" Ja'Marr said, his grin wide as he clapped her on the back.

"You absolutely crushed it out there," Tee added, shaking his head in awe. "That last lap? Unstoppable."

Imani grinned, her pride shining through, but her humility was just as evident. "Thanks, guys," she replied, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "But really, it was all about the team. I couldn’t have done it without these guys," she motioned to her crew, who stood nearby, still celebrating.

She paused for a moment before giving a playful shrug. "And sorry about all the champagne... I may have gotten a little carried away." Her smile was wide, but there was a sheepish undertone, especially when she noticed some of the guys’ soaked shirts.

The boys laughed, brushing it off immediately. Sam raised his hands. "It’s all good, Imani. That’s what victory smells like."

"You’ve definitely got the victory dance down," Joe added with a teasing grin, wiping some champagne from his sleeve. "I’ll take the soggy shirt for a win like that."

Imani’s grin widened. "Good, 'cause it’s not like I can do much about it now." She gave them a playful shrug, and the guys laughed again, clearly enjoying the light-hearted moment.

Before they could continue chatting, a team member called Imani’s name from the sidelines, pulling her attention away. “Time for more photos, champ!”

She nodded, feeling the weight of the celebration and excitement settle into her bones. "I’ll be right back." She gave the guys a small wave as she started walking toward the photographers, but not before calling out to her best friend and trainer, Jade, who was standing by with her things.

"Jade! My phone!" Imani called, her voice still upbeat despite the flurry of attention surrounding her.

Jade was quick to hand over the phone with a sly grin on her face. "You know, I think someone’s already waiting for you." She raised an eyebrow suggestively, glancing over her shoulder toward Joe, who was still with the guys.

Imani didn’t try to hide her smile, but she gave Jade a pointed look. "Oh, don’t start." She quickly unlocked her phone and typed a message, her fingers moving fast. She sent Joe a quick text:

Imani: Meet me in my motorcade after this. I'll have someone from the team take you there.

Jade smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You’re being a little sneaky, huh? You’ve definitely got something going on with him, don’t you?"

Imani rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips tugged into a smile. "You know me, Jade. I’m just making the most of a little downtime."

Jade leaned in as Imani finished typing and handed the phone back to her. "Well, I’m not gonna lie, I’m curious to see where this is going. You two are practically a walking flirtation, and I’m living for it."

Imani shot her a playful look, but before she could respond, she was swept away by the photographers, who were eager to capture every angle of her victory. As they snapped picture after picture, Imani couldn’t help but wonder what Joe’s reaction would be when he got the message.

The excitement of the win was still fresh, but now, she was just as eager to see him. After all, a win like this wasn’t complete without sharing it with someone who had been there in the background, even if only through their own flirtatious, teasing moments.

—

The flurry of flashes and camera clicks seemed to fade away as Imani wrapped up the last of the post-race photos. She was still floating from the rush of her victory, but there was a different kind of anticipation pulling her forward now. After a final, bright smile for the photographers, she excused herself, stepping away from the chaos of the track and toward her motorcade.

As she approached the row of vehicles, her eyes quickly found Joe. He was leaning casually against one of the camper trailers, his posture relaxed, a stark contrast to the intensity of the race that had just ended. His focus was on his phone, fingers scrolling with a calm concentration, his Bengals cap pulled low over his eyes. The late afternoon sun reflected off the chrome of the nearby cars, casting a golden light around him, making him look like he belonged in one of those movie scenes—cool, effortlessly composed.

Imani stood there for a moment, admiring the way he seemed so at ease, so different from the noise of the track. It was clear he didn’t belong here in the midst of the racing frenzy, but something about that made him stand out even more. She could feel the familiar flutter of anticipation in her chest, her heart speeding up a bit as she took in the sight of him.

Then, with a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing at her lips, she cleared her throat, knowing the sound would carry. Joe looked up, his expression shifting from absorbed focus to a playful grin as he spotted her standing a few feet away, her arms still crossed, her racing suit loosely tied at her waist.

"Well, well, look who finally shows up," he teased, his voice low and warm, giving her that signature mischievous look that always made her stomach do a little flip.

Imani rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. "Sorry, I had to do my victory lap," she said, her tone light but with that playful edge. She raised an eyebrow, scanning him as she walked closer. "Not bad for a quarterback. I thought you were gonna make a run for it when you saw all the cameras."

Joe laughed, tucking his phone into his pocket and standing up straighter, making his way toward her with a laid-back yet purposeful stride. "I didn’t want to get in the way of the real star of the show," he said, his voice soft but clearly teasing. "Besides, I figured you'd be busy with your well-earned celebration. But, uh, I was just killing time."

Imani chuckled, her eyes bright with amusement. "Busy celebrating? I think I’m just getting started."

Her words hung in the air for a second before she took a step closer, standing right in front of him. The tension that had been simmering between them over the past few days, that pull-and-push dynamic, was suddenly palpable. There was an undeniable chemistry that neither of them could ignore.

"So," she began, her eyes twinkling as she let her gaze roam over him, taking in the way he seemed to fill the space around him, effortless and calm. "How does it feel to be up close and personal with a champion?"

Joe’s grin widened, but his expression shifted slightly, something a little more serious behind those playful eyes. "I gotta say, it’s pretty damn impressive. But I knew you had it in you," he replied, his voice lower now, and the words felt heavier than the usual teasing banter.

Imani smiled, her heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his voice. "Well, I’m glad you came to watch. Might’ve had a little more fun with you there," she said, a playful tone returning to her voice as she casually leaned against the side of the camper, looking up at him. "But I’m assuming you have some other plans, don’t you? You know, big game and all that?"

Joe’s grin remained, though his expression softened as Imani’s words lingered in the air between them. His usual playful demeanor was still there, but something else flickered in his eyes—a depth that wasn’t there before. He took a step closer, his voice quieter now, as if the moment demanded a little more honesty.

"You know, I actually don’t have anything on my itinerary for the rest of the night," he said, his voice carrying just the right amount of intrigue. "Maybe I’ll stick around for the celebration after all."

Imani’s lips curved into a playful smile as she tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, so now you’re interested?" she teased, but the playful edge was softened by the way her gaze lingered on him, a spark of something more in her eyes.

She didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his before she gently took his hand, her touch light yet deliberate. The moment their hands met, there was an electric current that ran between them, like a spark that ignited something unspoken.

Without a word, she led him toward her motorcade, the small set of stairs leading up to the door. Her heart raced a little faster, and as she climbed the first step, she glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes holding his for just a beat longer than usual. The tension between them was almost tangible, thickening the air as she reached the top of the stairs and waited for him to follow.

When he did, stepping up next to her, the space between them felt charged, as if the whole world outside her motorcade had faded into the background. All that mattered was the moment, and in that moment, she was acutely aware of the way his presence filled the space around her, the intensity of his gaze locking with hers as he followed her inside.

Imani stepped into the dimly lit motorcade, the interior warm with the glow of soft lighting. It was a far cry from the loud chaos of the track, and for a brief second, she allowed herself to breathe deeply, the victory and the adrenaline still lingering in her veins. But as she stood there, waiting for Joe to step in behind her, her attention shifted back to him. The air between them felt thick, the pull of the attraction between them undeniable.

"Make yourself at home," she said, her voice a little breathier than usual as she glanced around the small but comfortable space. She set her helmet down on the counter and turned toward him, her fingers still lightly brushing against his. "There’s no rush."

Joe stepped fully inside, his gaze never leaving hers. The door closed softly behind him, shutting them off from the rest of the world. For a brief moment, neither of them spoke. It was as if time had slowed down, the space around them charged with anticipation. He took a step toward her, the tension between them rising with every inch.

"Nice setup," Joe said, his voice low, and though his words were casual, the way his eyes studied her—focused, intense—spoke volumes.

Imani smiled, but it was softer this time, her heart beating faster in her chest. "Thanks," she replied, her voice still playful but with a trace of something deeper. "I like it. It’s... quiet, after the madness of the race."

Joe nodded, taking a small step closer, closing the gap between them. "I can imagine." His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes, the unspoken words between them hanging in the air. "But I think... this is a little quieter, too."

The words were a whisper, but they felt loud enough for both of them. The pull between them was undeniable now, and Imani could feel her breath catch in her chest as he stood inches away, his presence almost overwhelming.

She met his gaze with her own, something soft and unguarded flickering in her expression. "Yeah," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "A lot quieter."

And just like that, the playful barrier that had separated them—the teasing, the games—began to dissolve. The moment stretched between them, heavy with possibilities. Imani felt the world outside her motorcade fade away, and for the first time, it was just the two of them in this quiet space, the tension between them electric, as they stood on the brink of something neither of them had quite figured out yet.

The tension between them hung in the air like a fine mist, palpable and undeniable. Imani could feel it, the electricity between them buzzing quietly, building with every small movement and glance. She tried to shake it off, but it lingered, the unspoken weight of their proximity making her heart race.

She flashed Joe a smile, trying to keep things casual, despite the undercurrent of excitement running through her veins. "You're welcome to a drink or snack, if you want. Help yourself," she said, her tone light as she made her way to the back of the motorcade.

Her eyes stayed briefly on Joe as she moved, watching him as he looked around the space. There was something about his quiet demeanor that made her heart skip—something about how he seemed so at ease, even as the air between them crackled with tension. But she didn’t let herself linger on that. She needed a moment to herself.

The bed in the back was large, the sheets a crisp white that contrasted with the dark wood paneling around the room. The space was calm and soothing, a safe haven after the chaos of the race and the frenzy of the post-race celebration. Imani slipped out of the champagne-soaked race suit and, with a quick sigh of relief, tossed it aside. She changed into something more comfortable—loose pajama shorts that hung casually on her hips, and a zip-up jacket with her name and race number on the back.

The fabric felt soft against her skin, a welcome change from the tight, sweaty suit she’d been wearing for hours. She ran a hand through her hair, the boho butterfly braids now slightly loose from the celebrations, before glancing back toward the front of the motorcade, half-expecting Joe to still be there.

Imani felt a little lighter now, the weight of the race and her victory finally starting to settle. She moved back toward the front, her fingers brushing against the wall as she walked, her gaze finding Joe again. She could feel the heat between them, stronger now, and despite her usually composed demeanor, her pulse quickened as she approached.

There was a quiet moment as she stood before him, her eyes flicking over him for a brief second before she caught herself. She straightened, trying to act casual, but the soft smile on her lips betrayed her.

“You good?” she asked, her voice light, though the look in her eyes spoke volumes. "Help yourself, like I said. There’s a fridge, and snacks in the cabinets."

Imani leaned against the counter, the casual posture belying the fact that she was very much aware of how close they were now. She tucked a stray braid behind her ear, trying to focus on anything but the way the tension was shifting between them.

Everything felt different now, the playful energy they’d shared earlier suddenly becoming something more—something deeper.

There was a quiet moment as she stood before him, her eyes flicking over him for a brief second before she caught herself. She straightened, trying to act casual, but the soft smile on her lips betrayed her.

“You good?” she asked, her voice light, though the look in her eyes spoke volumes. "Help yourself, like I said. There’s a fridge, and snacks in the cabinets."

Imani leaned against the counter, the casual posture belying the fact that she was very much aware of how close they were now. She tucked a stray braid behind her ear, trying to focus on anything but the way the tension was shifting between them.

Everything felt different now, the playful energy they’d shared earlier suddenly becoming something more—something deeper.

Joe was hungry for something else, someone else.

He stood and walked towards her, Imani takes a step away and her back meets the counter.  She was nervous and could feel her heart racing, but she couldn't deny the fact that she wanted him.

He reached out, running his finger across her cheek. She shivered at his touch, her lips parting slightly as she looked up at him, the unspoken desire between them almost palpable.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice softer now, all the playful banter gone. She was acutely aware of how close he was, his body practically pressed against hers, and she found herself wondering if he could feel her racing heartbeat through her jacket. "Hey." Joe whispered back, his voice deep with something more as his eyes trailed down her face. He could feel his self restraint hanging on by a thread, he had to taste her lips on his. He had to have her underneath him. 

Imani’s breath caught as he stepped even closer, their bodies almost flush now. The air felt charged between them, every nerve in her body on edge with anticipation. She could smell his cologne, a faint but intoxicating scent that seemed to wrap around her senses, pulling her closer.

His hand trailed down her cheek, his thumb gently brushing along her bottom lip as his gaze held hers. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said, his words barely above a whisper, but they held a weight that made her stomach flip.

He could see the way her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling faster, betraying the desire she couldn’t hide. She nodded, her own voice lost somewhere in the space between them.

“Please,” she breathed, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

He leaned in, closing the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a soft, tentative kiss. But the moment they made contact, it was as if something clicked into place. The kiss deepened, his mouth moving against hers with a hunger they could no longer ignore.

Imani melted into the kiss, her hands finding his arms, gripping them tightly as she lost herself in the sensation of his lips on hers. It was everything she hadn’t known she wanted—passionate, intense, and utterly consuming. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the heat of this moment.

As the kiss intensified, Imani found herself pushing back against him, her body arching into his as her fingers curled into his shirt. Joe responded by pulling her closer, one hand sliding around her waist to hold her tight while the other cupped the back of her neck, keeping her mouth pressed to his.

The kiss was a mix of slow and gentle, like they were still trying to figure each other out, and desperate, like they couldn’t get enough. Joe’s tongue swiped at her bottom lip, seeking entry, and Imani opened for him with a soft moan, her own tongue meeting his as they explored each other with an intensity that left them both breathless.

He broke the kiss first, pulling back just enough to look at her, his breathing heavy and his eyes dark with desire. Imani’s lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes reflected the same hunger that burned inside him.

“Imani,” he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. “Tell me you want this.” His words were a plea and a promise all at once.

Imani swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated, the moment hanging between them like a challenge, a promise, a fear.

“I… I do,” she said finally, her voice trembling slightly, but there was a resolve in her gaze that matched his own. “I want this. I want you.”

The words hung in the air like a dare, a silent agreement that neither of them could back away from now. Joe’s eyes darkened even more, the last of his restraint slipping away as he heard the confirmation he’d been waiting for.

“Good,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Imani’s breath hitched as he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another searing kiss. This one was different though—less tentative, more demanding. It was like the floodgates had opened, all the pent-up tension and attraction pouring out in this single, desperate act.

She met his intensity with her own, her hands sliding up his arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as she kissed him back with equal fervor. The air around them felt electric, charged with the passion that had been building between them for so long.

As the kiss deepened, Joe’s hands began to roam her body, exploring every curve and contour that he’d secretly admired from afar. His touch was both gentle and possessive, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to savor her or devour her whole.

Imani felt like she was drowning in the sensation, her senses overwhelmed by the feel of his hands on her, the taste of him on her tongue, and the sound of his breathing, heavy and labored, in her ear. She had never been kissed like this before—like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

He broke the kiss again, his lips trailing down her jaw to the sensitive spot on her neck, just below her ear. Imani gasped as he sucked and nibbled at her skin, each touch sending waves of pleasure through her body.

“Joe,” she breathed, her hands tangling in his hair as she held him close, urging him to continue.

He didn’t need any encouragement. His hands were busy undoing the zipper of her jacket, peeling it off her shoulders as his mouth continued its exploration of her neck and collarbone. The cool air of the motorcade hit her skin, but she didn’t feel cold—not with the heat radiating from Joe’s body as he pressed himself against her.

As he pushed the jacket off her arms, his lips found hers again, capturing her in another passionate kiss. Imani could feel herself getting lost in the sensation, the world around her melting away until all that was left was the two of them and this undeniable attraction.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting hers as he searched her face for any sign of hesitation. What he found instead was a mirror of his own desire—a look that spoke volumes without saying a word.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice husky with want, but there was a tenderness in his tone that showed he cared, that this wasn’t just about physical need for him.

Imani didn’t hesitate. She knew what she wanted, and she wasn’t going to let fear or doubt stop her now. “Yes,” she said, her voice firm and clear. “I want you, Joe.”

Something in his expression shifted at her words, a mix of relief and raw desire washing over his features. He pulled her back in, kissing her with a passion that left no room for doubt.

As their bodies pressed together, Imani could feel the heat building between them, a fire that threatened to consume them both. She knew that there was no going back now, not when she had finally tasted what it was like to be in his arms.

And as they lost themselves in each other, the rest of the world faded into nothingness, leaving only the two of them and the undeniable pull that had led them here.

Imani could feel Joe's hands roaming her body, touching her in ways she had never been touched before. His fingers were rough and calloused from years of racing, but his touch was gentle as he explored her skin. She felt a shiver run down her spine as his lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear, his teeth grazing her lobe before he began to kiss down her neck.

Imani's breath hitched as his lips moved lower, tracing a path along her collarbone and down to the swell of her breasts. His hands moved to cup them through her shirt, his thumbs brushing over her hardening nipples. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she arched into his touch, wanting more.

"Joe," she whispered, her voice breathy and filled with need.

He pulled back, looking into her eyes with a question in his own. "You okay?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.

Imani nodded, reaching up to pull him back down to her. "Don't stop," she breathed against his lips.

Joe didn't need to be told twice. He claimed her mouth in another searing kiss, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers as his hands moved to the hem of her shirt. He broke the kiss long enough to pull the shirt over her head, tossing it aside before his lips were back on her skin.

Imani felt exposed, but she didn't care. She wanted Joe to see all of her, to touch every inch of her body. She reached behind her back, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Joe's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her bare breasts, his hands moving to cup them, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks of her nipples.

Imani gasped at the sensation, her head falling back as Joe's mouth moved to her breasts, his tongue swirling around one nipple before taking it into his mouth. She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him close as he sucked and licked, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.

"Joe," she moaned, her hips bucking against his as she felt his erection pressed against her stomach.

He pulled back, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I've got you," he promised, his voice thick with need. "Let me take care of you."

Imani nodded, her breath coming in short pants as Joe's hands moved to her jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling them down her legs. He helped her step out of them, leaving her in just her panties. Imani felt a rush of self-consciousness, but it was quickly forgotten as Joe's hands skimmed up her legs, his fingers brushing against the wet fabric of her panties.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers with a look of awe. "Is this all for me?"

Imani nodded, unable to form words as Joe's fingers began to rub her through the fabric, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through her. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to keep herself grounded.

Joe's fingers slipped into her panties, finding her clit and circling it with just the right amount of pressure. Imani's hips jerked, and she moaned his name, her eyes locked on his.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice teasing, but his eyes were serious as he watched her react to his touch.

"Yes," she breathed, her hips moving in time with his fingers. "Please, Joe. Don't stop."

He didn't. His fingers continued to work her clit, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Imani could feel her orgasm building, her muscles tensing as she got closer to release. Joe's name fell from her lips like a prayer as she teetered on the brink.

But then he pulled away, and she cried out as her release died down. "Why?" she panted, her hips jerking as she was left teetering on the edge. "Why'd you stop?"

Joe didn't answer. Instead, he picked her up, his hands holding her under her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Imani clung to him, kissing him deeply as he carried her to the back of the bus. Her heart was pounding, her body aching with need.

As they reached the bed, Joe laid her down gently, his eyes never leaving hers. Imani watched him, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She could feel her panties sticking to her skin, soaked with her arousal, and she knew that Joe could see it too.

Joe pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the side before he leaned over her, his hands on either side of her head as he looked down at her. Imani's eyes trailed over his chest, taking in the sight of his taut muscles and his physique. He was beautiful, she thought, her heart skipping a beat as he leaned down to kiss her.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against her lips, his hands moving to her hair, tugging lightly on the strands. "So fucking beautiful."

Imani blushed, feeling a rush of pleasure at his words. "Thank you," she whispered, her hands moving to his chest, tracing the lines of his tattoos. "You're not so bad yourself."

Joe chuckled, the sound low and husky. "Glad you think so," he said before he leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

Imani wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of her as she kissed him back. She could feel his erection pressed against her hip, and she rolled her own against him, feeling a jolt of pleasure at the friction.

Joe groaned, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down her neck. "You keep doing that, and I won't last long," he warned, his voice rough with need.

Imani bit her lip, a sly smile spreading across her face. "Maybe I don't want you to last," she teased, her hips rolling against him again.

Joe growled, nipping at her shoulder. "Oh yeah?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers with amusement. "You want me to cum in my pants like a horny teenager?"

Imani laughed, the sound breathy and full of desire. "Maybe," she teased again. "Maybe I want to watch you lose control."

Joe's eyes darkened with desire, his hips pushing against hers. "If you're gonna cum, it's gonna be from my mouth or my cock," he said, his voice thick with want.

Imani shivered at his words, her body aching for him. She nodded, biting her lip as she looked up at him.

"Okay," she whispered. "Show me."

Joe's hands moved to her panties, slipping them down her legs and tossing them aside. He parted her thighs, his hands pushing her legs open as he settled between them. Imani's heart was pounding, her breath catching in her throat as she watched him.

"Joe," she breathed, her voice trembling with anticipation.

"Shh," he soothed, his hands moving up her thighs. "I told you I'd take care of you, didn't I?"

Imani nodded, her hips lifting off the bed as his fingers brushed against her wet folds. "Yes," she gasped. "Please, Joe."

He leaned down, his mouth replacing his fingers as he licked a long stripe up her center. Imani cried out, her hands flying to his hair as she held him against her. He groaned against her, the sound sending vibrations through her core.

"So wet," he murmured against her skin. "So fucking wet for me."

Imani bit her lip, her hips jerking as he licked her again. "Joe," she moaned, unable to stop herself from chanting his name. "Joe, please."

He didn't answer her, at least not with words. Instead, he closed his lips around her clit, sucking gently as he slipped one finger inside of her. Imani arched off the bed, her fingers tightening in his hair as he began to move his finger in and out of her.

"Joe," she cried, her hips moving in time with the movement of his hand. "That feels so good."

He hummed against her clit, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through her. Imani could feel her release building, her muscles tensing. She was so close, she just needed a little more.

"Please," she begged, her voice breathless. "Joe, I'm so close. Please don't stop."

He added another finger, curling them inside of her to hit that spot that made her see stars. His tongue flicked over her clit, the sensation sending her spiraling towards her release.

"Fuck, Joe!" she cried, her voice echoing off the walls as her orgasm hit her. Her hips jerked, and her hands pulled at his hair as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Joe continued to lick and suck, drawing out her release until she was shaking with the aftershocks. Finally, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with her release. Imani watched him through heavy eyes, her body still trembling with pleasure.

He stood, pulling off his jeans and boxers before he climbed onto the bed, settling between her thighs. Joe was big. So big it made her mouth water, and her thighs clench in anticipation. “You can take it, baby, I know you can. Gotta treat the winner how she deserves, hm?” He said. She smiled, nodding. “Mmhm. And I’m the winner,” she reminded him, her thumb brushing over the head of his cock, spreading the drop of precum around. “So you have to do what I say.”

Joe’s eyes flashed with amusement and arousal, his hand gripping her wrist as she stroked him. “Is that so?” he asked, leaning down to brush his lips against hers in a teasing kiss.

Imani nodded again, her other hand moving to his chest to push him onto his back. He went willingly, a smirk playing on his lips as she straddled him. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “I won. So you have to listen to me.”

“And what do you want me to do?” he asked, his hands gripping her hips as she sat up, her wet center pressed against his length.

Imani bit her lip. She lifted her hips, reaching between them to position him at her entrance. “I want you to fuck me,” she said, looking down at him with a mixture of desire and challenge in her gaze. “I want you to make me cum again.”

Imani reached for him, her hand wrapping around his length, stroking him slowly as she watched him watch her.

"Imani," he growled, his hands gripping her hips. "If you don't stop, I'm going to cum before I even get inside of you."

Imani smiled, biting her lip. "Maybe that's what I want," she teased, continuing to stroke him.

Joe growled again, this time pulling her hand away and pinning it to the bed. Imani laughed, the sound cut off as Joe claimed her lips in a bruising kiss. She could taste herself on his lips, and it only made her want him more.

"I want you inside of me," she whispered against his lips. "Please, Joe."

He nodded, reaching for his jeans to pull out a condom. Imani took it from him, ripping it open with her teeth before she rolled it down his length. Joe's eyes were dark with desire as he watched her, his hips jerking when she squeezed him gently.

Once the condom was on, Joe leaned down, kissing her deeply as he positioned himself at her entrance. Imani wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close as she felt the head of his cock pushing inside of her.

She moaned into the kiss, breaking it to gasp as he filled her completely. "Oh fuck, Joe," she breathed, her nails digging into his back. "You feel so good."

"You too, baby," he panted, his hips starting to move as he thrust in and out of her. "So fucking tight. So wet." 

Imani moaned, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust. "Yes, Joe," she cried, her eyes locking with his. "Just like that."

He groaned, even through the thin layer of latex sheathing his cock, she felt good. Too good. She felt like home.

Imani gasped as Joe lifted one of her legs onto his shoulder, changing the angle of his thrusts and hitting that spot deep inside of her that drove her wild. She threw her head back, her eyes rolling as she swore she could see fucking stars.

“Joe—” she gasped, her hand flailing out and gripping the pillow above her head. “Oh my god…”

“Yeah, baby?” Joe asked, his hands gripping the headboard for leverage as he pounded into her. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good—” she panted. “So fucking good.”

Joe groaned, his pace faltering at her words. “Imani, you feel too fucking good,” he grunted, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought for control. He didn’t want this to be over yet, not before she was screaming his name.

mani reached out, grabbing his hand and placing it on her throat. “Show me,” she begged, her own eyes dark with lust.

Joe felt his eyes darken, a possessive, primal growl rising from his chest as his hand tightened around her throat, applying just enough pressure to limit her airflow, but not enough to cut it off. Imani smiled, a feral, sexy smile that made his dick throb inside of her.

“Fuck baby,” Joe moaned, his hips losing their rhythm as he fucked her like a wild animal. “You into this kinky shit?”

Imani’s lips parted, her eyes pleading with him as she clawed at his back. “Yes, please, Joe,” she gasped.

“Shit,” Joe grunted, unable to resist the plea. He leaned down, wrapping his lips around one of her nipples as he continued to thrust into her and squeeze her neck.

Imani arched beneath him, her body writhing in his grasp as she approached her orgasm. “Fuck, yes!” she cried, her hands scrabbling at his wrist. “Joe, oh fuck!”

“Fuck open your mouth.” Joe groaned, Imani obliged as her tongue rolled out.

He leaned forward and spit in her mouth, his hand holding her jaw shut. “Keep it there until I tell you.”

Her nails scored down Joe's back as he continued hitting spots deep in her she never knew existed.  Her mouth watered with his spit, but she kept her mouth closed, just like he told her.

"Fuck, baby, I'm close," he groaned, his own fingers finding her clit and rubbing in small, tight circles.

“Mmm,” Joe hummed, his own orgasm building as he felt her tightening around him.

He pulled back watching as she panted for breath. “You good, baby?” he asked, even though he could see that she was. Her face was flushed with pleasure, her lips parted as she moaned. Joe’s eyes darkened even further, and he felt a possessive wave of pride wash over him. She looked like a fucking goddess beneath him, and he couldn’t wait to watch her cum.

He pulled back, releasing her hips and throat as he stared down at her. “Swallow it.” he said gruffly, watching her throat bob she swallowed his spit.

Imani's eyes fluttered open, locking with Joe's as she felt her release just at arms length. Joe didn't stop, his fingers continuing to rub her clit as he watched her fall apart beneath him.

“Shit, baby, that’s it,” he encouraged, his own hips snapping faster as he chased his own release. “Cum for me, Imani. Let me see you cum.”

“Yes—oh god, yes,” Imani moaned, meeting his thrusts by lifting her hips up to meet his.

Joe grinned, a dark, feral thing as he gripped her hips, pulling her harder onto his cock. “That’s it, baby,” he panted. “Take it, take it all.”

Imani met his thrusts eagerly, lifting her hips to meet him as they found a rhythm that was both rough and intimate. The pleasure was building again inside of her, and she could tell by the way Joe's muscles tensed that he was close too.

She reached between them, her fingers slipping down to find her clit, and she began to rub in small circles. Joe groaned, his eyes locked on her as he watched her touch herself, her eyes closing as she focused on the pleasure.

"Fuck, Imani," he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt his own release approaching. "You gonna cum for me, baby? You gonna cum on my cock?"

Imani nodded, her eyes squeezing shut as she focused on the sensations building inside of her. "Yes, Joe, fuck, yes."

She rubbed faster, her fingers circling her clit with just the right amount of pleasure. “Yes!” Imani cried, her body bowing beneath him. “Just like that! Yes! Yes!”

Joe released her throat, allowing her to draw in a deep breath before she screamed, her orgasm tearing through her as he felt her convulsing around him. He groaned, following her over the edge as he buried his face in her neck, emptying himself inside of her.

"Joe!"

She came, her body shaking as wave after wave of release washed over her. She heard Joe's groan, felt his hips stutter before he followed her over the edge, his cock pulsing inside of her as he filled the condom.

​​For a moment, they both lay still, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. Finally, Joe pulled out, tying off the condom and tossing it in the trash before he collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies pressed together as they caught their breath. Finally, Joe pulled back, looking down at her with a soft smile.

"Hey," he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Imani smiled back, her eyes shining with happiness. "Hey," she replied, her voice soft.

Joe leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes, his own filled with warmth. "You okay?" he asked, making sure she was alright.

Imani nodded, snuggling closer to him. "Yeah," she said, her eyes starting to drift shut. "I'm great."

“Fuck baby.” Joe panted, collapsing on top of her. “That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Imani smiled lazily, her body sated and relaxed. "Mmm," she agreed, her eyes closing as Joe rolled off of her and disposed of the condom. "Definitely one for the memory books."

Joe laughed, pulling her close as they lay on the bed together. Imani rested her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat as it slowly returned to normal.

Imani cuddled close to him, her head on his chest as she listened to the rapid beating of his heart. "That was amazing," she whispered, a sated smile on her face.

Joe chuckled, his hand running through her hair. "Yeah, it was," he agreed. "You're fucking incredible, Imani."

Imani blushed at his praise, but she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. She felt boneless, relaxed in a way she hadn't been in a long time.

"Thank you," she murmured, her eyes heavy with sleep. "For everything."

Joe pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Anything for you, Imani," he promised. "Anything."

Imani smiled again, drifting off to sleep in the safety of Joe's arms. She knew that whatever happened next, she could face it. She had Joe by her side, and that was all that mattered.

"So," Joe said, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. "Want to do it again?"

Imani grinned, lifting her head to look up at him. "Give me ten minutes, and I'm game."

Joe chuckled, pulling her back down to his chest. "Take all the time you need, baby. We've got all night."

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21, @superanastasia1981, @gg-trini, @wickedfun9

[truly-neutral]

Din/Luke Pacific Rim AU pt.5

Even tho this is a continuation of an AU it was also my gift for the @stardads DinLuke Secret Santa! I was so hype to get Pacific rim AU for a prompt!! Hope yall had a good holiday season and enjoy this update!

Little excerpt from the wip under the cut.

Din stepped out of the helicopter to sheets of rain pouring down on him. He raised a hand to try and block the water from his eyes to little success. He watched as Ahsoka jogged down the landing pad towards two figures and thought it was best to follow suit. 

Before he could get a good look at anyone an umbrella was shoved into his hand, which solved the rain problem at least. That found him face to face with two figures, one he recognized and one he didn’t. 

“This is Marshal Skywalker, though I’m sure you already know that,” Ahsoka said. Din took the Marshal’s proffered hand and shook it quickly. 

“Hello sir, it’s been a while,” Din stumbled out. Skywalker was just as intimidating as he remembered. Tall, burn scars on his neck, and intense eyes that spoke of years of experience in the k-war. 

“Glad you could join us. You’re a hard man to find Djarin.” 

“That was the point,” Din blurted out before he could think better. The only thing that seemed to save him was Ahsoka’s small chuckle at the comment.

“Mr. Djarin, this is Luke, he’s in charge of the Mark Three restoration program.” The other figure stepped forward from his place behind the Marshal. Din recognized him from the news coverage Grogu made him watch, but he was much different in person. On TV he was easy, almost cocky smiles and casual postures. Here, he was stern, with a military stiffness to his shoulders. He stared up at Din with bright blue eyes, not unlike the color of Kaiju Blue. 

Din found himself intrigued by the pilot, the difference between him on the TV and now. It wasn't just his demeanor either, sure he looked charming in interviews, but even with his hard stare, and his blonde hair matted down by the humidity, he was striking. He looked almost too soft to be a pilot, the only thing betraying his profession was the small scar on his upper lip. He was also young, couldn't be much older than 21 if Din had to guess. He certainly hadn't been a pilot back when Din had been, which also betrayed his age beyond his looks. 

“He personally handpicked the list of your potential co-pilots,” Marshal Skywalker continued. 

“Wait, I thought you were a pilot. Why are you doing restoration?” Din asked. The glare that earned him from Luke was chilling. He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the Marshal. 

“With Red Five destroyed and his co-pilot out of commission, Ranger Skywalker has been reassigned.” At that, Luke’s glare shifted towards the Marshal but it was carefully ignored. 

“How about we go inside before we discuss anything further,” Ahsoka suggested. No one could really argue with that, so they all headed through the thick metal doors into the Shatterdome. 

As they entered, Luke grabbed Din’s umbrella and placed it in a bucket near the door. With a lurch the large elevator they had stepped into began its descent. 

“Ranger Skywalker?” Din said, gaining Luke’s attention. “You’re related to the Marshal?” 

“He’s my father,” Luke answered. His voice was tight, a slight furrow to his brow left over from whatever had slighted him before. Din wasn’t too surprised, most pilots were proud. If Luke had been grounded due to his Jaeger being out of commission he probably took that as a slight against his abilities. 

“I heard Red Five was out of commission last month,” Grogu had been inconsolable after hearing about the destruction of his favorite Jaeger. “I didn’t know it was piloted by the Marshal’s son.”

“We try to keep it out of the media,” Luke explained. “Not really a secret, but there’s no reason to advertise it either. Makes both our jobs easier.” Din caught the pained expression on the Marshal’s face from the corner of his eye. But as soon as it was there it was gone and the Marshal spoke up again. 

“First we’ll give you a tour of the facility and then Ranger Skywalker will show you to your Jaeger. First thing in the morning we’ll find you your co-pilot.” 

“Marshal, you’re aware that I’m not drift compatible with most pilots, right?” Din inquired. It had been something nagging at the back of his head since he’d agreed to this mess. He wanted to keep Grogu safe, no matter how much he dreaded getting back into a Jaeger, but if he couldn’t even find a co-pilot this would all be for nothing. 

“You’re the only Mark Three pilot left, it’s our best bet to have you in Razor Crest for this mission,” the Marshal explained. 

“Wait, you restored the Crest?” Din looked from the Marshal to Ahsoka. 

“Whoops, did I forget to mention that?” Ahsoka said with a poorly masked smile. 

Din was a bit unsure how to feel. He’d spent his best years in the Crest back in the day, but it had also been the site of his greatest failure. Before he could fall down that train of thought something else caught him up.

“Hold on, what mission? No one has told me exactly what’s happening here.” Before he could get a response the elevator doors opened and everyone was shuffling out. As they approached two heavy metal doors a worker moved to a lever to open them. With loud creaks the doors shifted to the side revealing the center of the Shatterdome.

[whenthewallfell]

Had a couple people ask so this is a bit of a lore drop for the costumes from this pic

At this point in the story they've released three studio albums, the last of which catapulted them into the spotlight after huge commercial success. They've been stuck doing two-year album cycles due to the demands of Captiol Records, and are struggling massively with burnout and nonstop touring. In addition to this, just before their second album they were involved in a crash that resulted in Peeta becoming an amputee and developing an addiction to morphling. There are rumours that he and Katniss are sharing hotel rooms but both refuse to comment on it, which is a problem because he's also rumoured to be dating the model and high profile activist Madge Undersee, and then of course there is the fabled 'Mockingjay' who shows up in the lyrics of every album but has no confirmed identity.

The fourth album is called Sureau Mortel, which is French for 'nightlock' and references an old story of the star-crossed lovers choosing to doom themselves rather than be apart. The album's themes revolve around bad decisions and unhealthy relationships with the media and themselves.

Peeta takes the creative lead in all their sets and mvs, so everything is from his point of view.

Dr Morphling: Katniss is the ringleader, or Master of Ceremonies, as her voice controls the show (and she controls him). Her character takes the form of his addiction, someone who is both capable of soothing pain and making everything shiny and golden, but also creates an unhealthy dependency and devastating comedown every time she pulls away. Although the identity of the Mockingjay hasn't been confirmed, the way he describes the character to Portia makes it pretty obvious, so there's plenty of bird motifs throughout her design.

Mr Nightlock: The loyal dog and court jester, the feral mutt and the fool. Peeta acts the clown so Katniss won't have to be in the spotlight, and both loves and resents the career he's made for himself - one that involves carving out pieces of himself with every song, with only a thin sheen of metaphor to hide his vulnerability (show with the mesh shirt - a weak defence that's full of holes). Mr Nightlock is a poison, tainting everything he touches and rotting the band from the inside out.

Al B. Tross: A stabilizing force and chronic peace-maker, by the fourth album it feels like Finnick is the only thing keeping the band together. His character is the classic strongman because the media is obsessed with his body - any time he's mentioned it's not for his musicality but his sex appeal. Much like the birds killed for their meat despite being a symbol of good luck, Finnick is expected to offer himself on stage night after night, and some fans have gone so far as to cross physical boundaries despite his obvious discomfort. It's had a huge impact on his mental health, and the guilt is an albatross around Peeta's neck.

Dannie the Vox: Johanna is no stranger to voicing her critiques of Capitol Records, but her anger is an impotent thing when they're still stuck in a contract with them. As such, although she is the 'voice', she's dressed as a mime, unable to speak out against the corruption in the industry or else risk getting their band blacklisted and dooming it to obscurity. Instead she rebels through action - she has multiple side projects focused on supporting indie artists and local music stores to try and break the hold Capitol Records has on the industry.

Both Katniss and Johanna are also wearing full coverage white face paint, as they are constantly having to deal with being whitewashed by the media and their own fans.

[mosneakers]

Following the final moments of Erwin’s abduction, Jill Smith ordered an immediate halt to all live media coverage.

Desert CAHR Productions was granted special permission to film on the rooftop during this critical moment.

Jill Smith, her security, and the members of the SWAT team do their very best to be respectful, allowing Coraleye the space to process her shock, while also keeping their weapons drawn and remaining vigilant for any signs of returning spacecraft or any other potential threats. Tycho pushes through the crowd to reach Coraleye, who is collapsed in despair on the ground, wailing incoherent sobs toward the sky. Only barely cushioned by mascara-stained gloves, her clenched fists pound relentlessly against the cement. Tycho grasps her wrists firmly, desperate to pull her back from her anguish.

Tycho: Coraleye! Please, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Talk to me, baby, please!

He cradles her face in his hands, smudged with mascara and tears. She locks her gaze onto his, searching deeply into his eyes—into his soul, really—her voice emerging in a guttural growl that shakes him to his core.

Coraleye: DO SOMETHING.

More than a plea, she demands it, her voice raw.

Coraleye: Let go of me, and fucking— [attempts to yank her arm away from his grip] —do something to HELP HIM. QUICKLY!

He freezes. This is it—his only chance. With a grand audience and everything being filmed, there’s no way to erase anyone's memory. There’s no backing out now. He takes a deep breath.

Tycho: Listen to me! Fuck, honey— I never imagined I'd be telling you this surrounded by guns and cameras and helicopters. I... I don't really know how I'm going to say it, so I'll just come out with it. Coraleye: Just say it, Tycho. Tycho: I am, I promise. Just… please don’t rush me. He’s gone. Erwin is gone. [Breath hitches as he watches her furiously shake her head in denial] For good. There’s nothing anyone can do to save him, alright? And I’m so, so sorry.

Coraleye: No, no, NO! Why? Why would you say that, Tycho? Tycho: Darling, there’s something I need to tell you.. There’s a reason I know—[voice cracks]—that he won’t be coming back.

Coraleye: Stop! Just stop! We don’t have time for this! [Voice cracks, sobs tear from her throat] You and I both know you could have done something to stop this from happening... I know exactly who you are, Tycho. Tycho goes still, his body rigid with disbelief as he tries to discern whether the words she just uttered were reality or a demented figment of his imagination.

Tycho: W-what? What did you just say? I don't understand. Coraleye, what are you saying? Seeing her shaking uncontrollably, Tycho instinctively reaches for her hands, but she shoves them away. After a deep breath, she speaks, her voice unnervingly calm compared to the turmoil displayed moments before.

Coraleye: Did you really think you were erasing my mind all this time, Tycho? A skilled spellcrafter? You never once considered I’d have taken precautions to protect myself? Like, I don't know, maybe a spell to keep my mind from being fucked with—really, Tycho? Tycho's mind goes blank, and he lost the ability to swallow. Sirens can be heard in the distance of the bustling city; for a split second he wonders if they could be coming for him. Tycho finally chokes out a response. Tycho: How long... Coraleye’s silence is deafening. She doesn’t respond with words, only a piercing glare, her eyes burning through his. Tycho: Don't tell me...You knew the whole fucking time, didn't you?