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mjonthetrack · 16 days ago

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Chapter 97: GQ & Government Issued Simp Energy “The Joey Bada$$ GQ Interview That Broke The Internet”

The set was clean and modern, GQ-style—white walls, bright lighting, and that subtle flex energy in the details. Joey sat back in the sleek chair, decked out in Prada from head to toe. Braids neat, skin glowing (thanks to the moisturizer shemade him start using), and his chain sitting just right on his chest.

The interviewer smiled, already charmed. “Alright Joey, let’s talk about this new album—Muse, Pt. 3. There’s definitely a… shift in tone. A lot more vulnerable. More raw. What inspired the direction?”

Joey laughed, head tipping back slightly.

“You mean who?”

The interviewer grinned. “Yeah, let’s go there.”

He exhaled slow, then grinned again—dimples in full force.

“I mean, come on. If you’ve heard the album, it’s not a mystery. That whole record? That’s Chanel Tate. Front to back.”

GQ caption team (later): “Joey Bada$$ confirms Chanel Tate as his muse for latest album.”

The interviewer’s eyes widened playfully. “That’s a bold dedication. All of it?”

“All of it,” he nodded. “Look—I done made a lotta music. Talked my talk, tried to stay lyrical, deep, all that. But this was different. This wasn’t bars for bars’ sake. This was me standing in my truth, like: ‘Yo, this woman got me messed up. In the best way.’”

The host chuckled. “What was the moment you knew she was the muse?”

Joey leaned forward a bit, smiling like a fool. “Bruh… the first day she cooked for me? Apron on, nothin’ under it. Smelling like fresh lemon pepper and good perfume. Then kissed me like I didn’t just walk into a trap.” He paused, eyes glazing over a little. “I ain’t been free since.”

GQ caption team: “I haven’t been free since.” ��

The interviewer blinked. “So… she’s the one?”

“Not even a question,” Joey said without hesitation. “She the whole damn blueprint. Like, she chaotic? Absolutely. She bold, smart, walks like she built the runway herself—but she also funny, and sweet in this savage little way that catch you off guard.”

“You sound completely cooked.”

“Oh, I’m FRIED. Over-medium. Sunny side up. All of that.” Joey laughed again, brushing his hand over his jaw like he needed to ground himself. “She make me nervous and horny. That’s a powerful combo.”

GQ caption team: “Nervous AND horny.”

The interviewer cracked up. “So… is it official now? Is this your girl?”

He looked into the camera, voice steady but eyes gleaming.

“She’s my woman. Whether she wanna admit it or not. And if she’s watching this? Baby, you mine. Go ahead and change your lil Instagram bio, stop playin’ with me.”

GQ caption team: “She’s my woman. Go ahead and change your lil Instagram bio.”

The interviewer nearly dropped his cue cards. “Okay, lover boy! How do you handle the internet losing it over y’all?”

“Man, I see it all. The memes? The edits? I be in the comments,” he smirked. “Half the time I’m sending ‘em to her, like ‘Look what you done started.’”

He paused again, more thoughtful now.

“But real talk? I feel blessed. To be in a position where I could love someone like that, loud. Unapologetic. Whether she laughing at me, teasing me, or ridin’ for me—it’s all her. She’s the song, the punchline, the poem, the prayer. All in one.”

The room got quiet for a moment.

“Damn,” the interviewer muttered. “Okay Romeo. Any final words for the fans watching?”

Joey licked his lips, looked dead into the camera, and said:

“Take notes. Love your queen out loud. And if she got you crying off the second nut? Buy her a house.”

Next day?

That GQ clip went viral. Chanel reposted it to her IG story with the caption: “He’s so loud. Can’t take him nowhere 🙄❤️”

And Joey? Joey was in the comments with: “Say the word and I’ll buy your whole glam team a yacht.”

Chapter 98: "joey’s baby mama."

Joey was a man on a mission.

Fresh out the GQ interview, still in his Prada fit, his phone was buzzing non-stop. His mentions? Exploding. His texts? Wild. Celebs, stylists, random cousins from Flatbush all hitting him like:

“Ayo, you really said all that on camera??” “Joey…you DONE done.” “She posted you, bruh. HER BIO. Look at her BIO.”

Joey damn near dropped his phone when he saw it.

Instagram: @ Chanelthemodel joey’s baby mama. 💋

He blinked.

Then smiled like he just won a Grammy, the lottery, and beat Elden Ring all in the same hour.

“Yeah…yeah, she mine now,” he muttered under his breath, phone still in his hand as he walked into a high-end boutique like he owned it.

"What's the budget?" the associate asked, eyes wide.

Joey slid his card across the counter. “The limit don’t exist.”

Ten minutes later, he was walking out with:

One of those rare Birkins (the waitlist-only kind, the “you know people” kind),

A fresh bouquet of wildflowers and blush roses (her favorites),

And an iced matcha latte customized to her unnecessarily specific order—he’d memorized it.

He was still smiling, but with that smug “I’m winning at life” energy. Because Chanel? Chanel was currently at her Vogue interview, and he was pulling up like a man with a purpose.

Meanwhile, at the Vogue set…

Chanel sat cool and elegant in an oversized Balenciaga blazer over a teeny slip dress. Hair long and straight down her back. Diamond-encrusted anklet glinting under the studio lights. Her glam team hovering nearby, touching up her gloss and smoothing her edges.

The interviewer asked, “So Chanel, I have to ask… your Instagram bio—joey’s baby mama—care to explain?”

Chanel gave a slow smile, eyes glinting as she took a sip of her champagne.

“I mean… it’s facts,” she said smoothly. “That man been loud enough for the both of us. Figured I’d meet him halfway.”

“Does that mean it’s official?”

She shrugged, still smirking. “It means he showing up with my Birkin in 3… 2…”

Cue the knock on the Vogue dressing room door.

One of her team opened it, and in strolled Joey Bada$$ with the biggest damn smile, Birkin in one hand, flowers in the other, and that signature “delusional and thriving” glow.

He leaned against the doorframe like he was the main character in a rom-com and the hallway was his red carpet.

“Hey, baby mama,” he said, voice low and sweet like honey sliding off a spoon.

Chanel blinked, then cracked up hard. She set her glass down and stood up, walking over in slow motion heels clicking on marble tile. She took the flowers first, then the Birkin, eyes roaming over him with that amused, dangerous little grin.

"You really tryna buy my love with flowers and purses, huh?"

“I’m tryna buy your time, your patience, and at least one round tonight,” he whispered back with no shame, leaning close enough for her to smell that Tom Ford and chaos blend he always wore.

The Vogue crew behind the cameras? Eating it up.

Socials? Already on fire.

@ vogue: “Joey Bada$$ just crashed Chanel Tate’s Vogue interview with a Birkin and a matcha… this man is OBSESSED. #joeysbabymama”

@ theshaderoom: “Joey really said ‘closed mouths don’t get Chanel’ 💀💀💀”

Back in the dressing room, Chanel playfully poked his chest.

“You know this don’t mean you won yet, right?”

Joey leaned down, lips brushing her ear as he whispered:

“Bet. But it mean I’m on the scoreboard, and I play to win.”

Chapter 99: Baby Mama Energy, Full Volume

The Vogue studio was luxury chaos—camera flashes bouncing off mirrored walls, fashion assistants zigzagging around with racks of designer looks, and Chanel? Sitting like she was born for this. Legs crossed, glossy lips parted in a slow, knowing smile. Her bare skin kissed by gold highlighter, her blazer slipping just enough off one shoulder to be illegal in six countries.

But all anyone could look at—besides her—was the man perched behind her, freshly dragged into frame.

Joey.

Black tee hugging his biceps. Diamond chain twinkling. Birkin on the table beside them like a trophy. And that face? Completely unreadable… except for the tiny hint of smug that curled on his lips every time Chanel shifted in his lap.

She’d snatched him out of the corner where he tried to chill lowkey, but she was not having that incognito simp behavior today.

“Nah,” she said, catching his hand mid-air and tugging him over. “C’mere. Sit.”

Joey blinked. “Sit where—?”

She patted her thighs with a look.

Joey blinked again, looked around at the very much rolling cameras.

She arched a brow like: Try me.

He sat.

She immediately perched pretty on his lap, her blazer riding up scandalously as she adjusted, one arm looped around his neck. Her manicured fingers tapped against his chain, playful, nonchalant—like sitting on her favorite man in the middle of a Vogue interview was just another Tuesday.

The interviewer was flustered but composed. “Uh… well! That’s a bit of a surprise. Chanel, are we making an official statement today? Relationship status reveal, perhaps?”

Chanel tilted her head, eyes cutting toward the camera like she knew what she was doing—because she absolutely did.

“No,” she purred smoothly. “We’re not official yet.”

Joey’s brow lifted slightly, but he kept quiet, holding her waist with one hand like it was second nature.

“But,” she continued, resting her chin on his shoulder like she was whispering a secret to the world, “he’s the only man I lay down with.”

Joey’s grip tightened.

“He’s the only man who makes me laugh so hard I snort.”

He blinked, lips twitching.

“And,” she said slowly, dragging her long nails down the side of his neck, “he’s the only one who’s going home with me when this interview is over.”

Dead silence for a second.

Then camera flashes went wild.

Someone gasped. Joey? He just looked floored. Like a man baptized. Saved. Reincarnated. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out except a tiny, stunned: “Damn…”

The interviewer was trying so hard to keep their composure. “Wow. Well, that’s… definitive.”

Chanel sat a little straighter, still on Joey’s lap, her smile lazy. “I don’t like confusion.”

Joey leaned forward, low in her ear, just loud enough for her mic to pick it up.

“You tryna kill me on camera, ma?”

Chanel smirked. “Not yet. But later?”

She bit her lip, and he made the smallest groan. The camera caught it. It was over. Twitter was already halfway to hell.

Backstage, the moment they were done, Chanel stood, smoothing her blazer down like she didn’t just emotionally and spiritually snatch this man’s whole soul in front of a global audience.

Joey stood too, shook his head slowly. “Yo…”

“What?” she said, feigning innocence as she plucked a champagne flute from the tray someone offered.

“You really just broadcasted my simpness to the whole internet.”

She sipped. “Mmhmm. And?”

“…I liked that shit.”

She grinned wickedly. “I know you did.”

On socials? A total meltdown.

@ complex: Chanel Tate said “we’re not official” then spent 10 minutes describing how Joey Bada$$ got her on a spiritual level. We are not okay.

@ joeyslipgloss: HER ON HIS LAP??? THEY SO SICK I WANNA BARK.

@ tmz: Joey & Chanel—baby mama energy is the new relationship status.

@ joeybfanclub: whispers he’s so gone it’s not even funny anymore.

Chapter 100: Paparazzi Pressure, Baby Daddy Protection

It all popped off the second they stepped out of the Vogue building.

Flashbulbs. Voices yelling. A wall of photographers posted up like they were filming an action movie instead of documenting two people just trying to make it to their car. But this wasn’t just any couple anymore.

This was Chanel Amari Tate and Joey “Baby Daddy” Badass—and everybody wanted a piece.

Chanel stepped out first, looking like a walking Problem. Glossed lips, blazer still scandalously off the shoulder, legs long and golden under the studio lights. Her heels clicked like a runway soundtrack as she adjusted her glasses and smiled right at the flash. Cool. Untouched. Unbothered.

Then Joey stepped behind her—black tee, designer jeans, his chain catching the light, and the deepest scowl known to man already forming on his face the minute the cameras started screaming his name.

“Yo, back up. BACK up!” he barked out, arm immediately going around Chanel’s waist like muscle memory. That protective Brooklyn came out strong—voice low, tone sharp, eyes mean.

Chanel just… grinned.

Because it was hot. Let’s be honest.

That was her man in this moment, carrying her purse on one arm like it weighed nothing and holding her close with the other like he dared somebody to try something.

One of the paparazzi shouted, “Joey! That your girl for real now? You locking it down?”

Chanel smirked at the chaos and let her hand rest over his on her hip. Joey didn’t even flinch. Just kept walking them toward his car like he was parting the Red Sea with pure attitude.

Another yelled, “What you feel about her calling you the only man she lays down with?!”

Joey’s jaw flexed. But he stayed cool. Stayed grounded. His voice rumbled low, close to her ear. “Don’t even look at them. Keep your eyes on me.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, biting back a smile. “You being a little bossy right now. I like it.”

He didn’t smile, but that grip around her waist got a little tighter. “You wearing my hoodie later. I don’t care what the stylist picked.”

They made it to the car and Joey opened the door for her like the damn gentleman he was, guiding her in with a hand on her lower back. Before he shut the door, he leaned in, eyes scanning her face, checking for any hint of discomfort.

“You good?”

She leaned up, whispered against his lips, “I’m fantastic, Romeo.”

His lips brushed hers once—quick, just enough to tease, to mark her in front of the whole damn world—and then he closed the door.

The cameras were wilding.

And him? He walked around the car slow, deliberate, like he was reminding everyone watching who the hell they were dealing with.

Once in the driver’s seat, he exhaled and glanced over at her, his voice all warmth and gravel. “You alright?”

Chanel nodded, already pulling out her phone to post a pic of him holding her purse. Caption:

“Joey Chanel™️, bodyguard edition 💋🖤”

Joey rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You know you be makin’ me crazy on purpose, right?”

“I know, baby,” she purred, slipping her hand into his and locking their fingers up. “Drive. We got a post-vogue celebration to get to.”

And just like that, they peeled off into the night.

Chapter 101: Worship in Warm Water

It was hours after the chaos.

The Vogue interview. The viral moment. The reporters. The sidewalk flashes. Her quote. His smirk. The world eating out the palm of their hands.

But right now? It was just the two of them. Silence. Steam. Scented oils floating like lazy ghosts in the air.

The bathroom was dim, lit only by flickering candles and the amber glow of the hallway light peeking through. A soft neo-soul playlist whispered in the background—Snoh Aalegra murmuring like velvet through the speakers.

Chanel was in the tub—legs stretched, eyes half-closed, body barely submerged in jasmine and coconut milk water. Her curls were full and loose, soaking peacefully, and she looked damn near celestial. All plush brown limbs and a wine-colored satin bonnet slid down to her shoulders like a halo had just melted off her crown.

Joey was behind her, shirtless, perched on a stool like he was in temple and she was his altar.

“You comfy, baby?” he asked low, thumb stroking her jaw before he adjusted the angle of her head with infinite care.

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, her voice a honeyed slur. “I feel like a sunbaked kitten.”

He chuckled, warm and deep, fingers already working through her curls with that slow rhythm. No tugging. No rush. Just devotion.

He’d asked her earlier, “Let me wash your hair tonight?” with that soft voice, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to. Like it was sacred. And she had nodded, sleepy but smiling, tugging him closer with one hand like of course you can, baby.

Now?

Now his fingers were massaging into her scalp, firm and methodical, parting through conditioner and suds. She let out a small pleased moan that had his heart dropkick itself in his chest.

“You always takin’ care of everybody else,” he murmured, focused like she was an art piece. “Let somebody take care of you.”

“Somebody? Or you?” she teased, lips curling.

“Me,” he said immediately, chest pressed to her back now. “Always me.”

She let out a hum, head lolling slightly as he rinsed her hair with the handheld shower, water running down her shoulders.

“I saw your bio change,” he whispered into the crook of her neck.

“Yeah?” she said, voice lazy and satisfied.

“‘Joey’s baby mama,’ huh?” His lips curled against her wet skin. “That what we doin’ now?”

“You ain’t like it?”

“I loved it,” he breathed, pressing a soft kiss behind her ear. “I wanna put it on a t-shirt and pass it out in Times Square.”

She laughed, a soft purr escaping her lips. “You dramatic as hell.”

“And you fine as hell,” he replied, dragging his lips along her shoulder, careful not to mess her fresh hair. “You think I’m not gonna praise the woman who got the whole city whispering like she a myth? Like she too good to be real?”

His fingers combed another section, slower now, each stroke gentle and reverent.

“You a dream, ma. I’m just tryin’ not to wake up.”

Her breath caught, her lashes fluttering. “You tryna make me fall in love for real.”

“I ain’t tryna do nothing. You already there.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple, holding her hair with one hand and cradling her face with the other. His thumbs traced her cheekbones.

“You my peace, Chanel. You my favorite chapter. I want to learn every page. Every version of you. From glamazon in couture to sleepy in my hoodie. I love you either way.”

She turned her face slightly, lips brushing his wrist. “Romeo.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you too,” she whispered, finally letting the words slide free like they’d always belonged there.

His eyes closed. His head bowed like he just heard gospel.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Joey,” she said, clearer now. “You made me feel like a person again.”

He kissed her then—slow and full, mouth worshiping hers like a psalm, hands still wet from the water that cradled her crown.

And outside that room, the world might’ve still been watching. But in here?

This was their church.

Chapter 102: “All Yours, Baby Daddy”

The energy between them had shifted again��evolved. There was no more space for games, no hiding behind petty flirting or half-assed confessions. Chanel had told him she loved him. Twice. And Joey? He looked like he was floating ever since.

The sun was setting low outside the window of his Brooklyn brownstone, casting long amber streaks across the hardwood. She was stretched out across his plush-ass velvet couch, toes painted red, wearing one of his oversized tour tees and the tiniest pair of booty shorts known to mankind. Hair up in a high puff, gloss on her lips, and that gleam in her eye—the one she reserved for him now.

Joey stood in the doorway just staring at her like she was the eighth wonder of the world. No chains. No grills. Just sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a heart damn near beating out of his chest. He had flowers in one hand—some wild, romantic-ass bouquet he picked up himself. Not a delivery. Not a stylist suggestion. His pick, for his girl.

"You lookin' at me like you tryna memorize me or somethin'," she teased, one brow lifted.

"I am," he said honestly, voice deep and slow. "Just tryin’ to lock it all in before I lose my mind completely."

She bit her lip, then slowly sat up on the couch, patting the cushion beside her. “Come sit next to your woman, lover boy.”

He moved instantly, like gravity pulled him to her. The flowers were left on the coffee table, and his arm was around her waist before she could finish breathing him in. Her fingers danced along the inked skin of his collarbone.

“I meant what I said earlier,” she murmured, eyes locked on his. “About loving you.”

Joey’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Say it again.”

She smiled slow, lazy, intimate. “I love you.”

That was all he needed.

The kiss was deep, no hesitation, no chill. His hands were in her hair, her legs sliding over his lap. His heart beat loud as hell, and he was positive she could feel it.

“I’m yours,” she whispered against his lips. “A hundred percent. All yours, baby daddy.”

He damn near groaned, forehead dropping against hers, breathless. “Say it again.”

“All yours,” she said again, a little sass in it this time. “Don’t get used to it.”

He grinned. “Too late.”

They stayed tangled up for a minute, letting silence speak for them. Then Chanel pulled back just enough to give him a smug little smirk.

“So… I’ve been thinkin’. We said ‘I love you.’ That mean I can start pickin’ out baby names?”

Joey choked. “Yo! Girl, we just got here—”

“Oh, but you was inside me with the force of ten thousand suns the other night talkin’ about forever,” she said, grinning like a menace.

He stared at her. “You right.”

She laughed—full-bodied, unbothered, deeply in love. Her arms looped around his neck, her forehead against his.

“You gon’ make the prettiest baby daddy,” she said softly.

Joey looked at her like she personally hung the stars.

“And you already the love of my whole life.”

They didn’t need an audience. Didn’t need the internet. Just two hood-grown romantics with enough fire between them to burn the world down—and enough love to build it back up again.

Chapter 103: “Private Showings Only” 😈💋

By the time Joey had her back in his lap again—barely ten minutes after they’d finished that heart-to-heart—they were deep in their own little bubble. Her fingers were under his shirt, dragging over that perfect V-cut like she had every right to be there (because she did). He was saying shit in her ear again, too. That soft, Brooklyn drawl with his full chest behind it.

"Say less. That’s mine."

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say,” she murmured, grinning while biting her bottom lip.

“I know you ‘bout to say somethin’ reckless, and I’m tryna stay calm, Chanel.”

She leaned in closer, nose brushing his, lips feather-light against his jaw.

“I just wanted to say you should lock the door,” she whispered. “I’m not tryna give your whole neighborhood a free show… again.”

Joey jumped up with her in his arms. The girl yelped, clinging to his shoulders, laughing like she wasn’t in nothing but those little shorts and his T-shirt.

"You play too much," he grunted, carrying her bridal style through the hallway, shouldering doors shut behind them.

"I’m tryna play you,” she cooed in his ear, then giggled again when he dropped her gently onto the bed.

He stood above her, dragging the tee she wore up inch by inch.

“You ever think about what you do to me?” he asked lowly, eyes dark, voice husky.

“I know exactly what I do to you,” she said, arching her back so the shirt slid up easier.

His hands were already working at his waistband. “Then don’t play shocked when I act accordingly.”

Her nails were in his back. His name was in her throat. She told him she loved him again—over and over—until it didn’t sound like words anymore, just need in the shape of his name.

And he? Oh, he was losing his damn mind.

“You so perfect,” he rasped, forehead pressed against hers as he moved slow, deep. “I’m never lettin’ you go. You hear me?”

She nodded, eyes glossy, lips parted. “You better not.”

And when it was over, when her body was limp across his, his hands still stroking along her spine, she turned her head and kissed his jaw, then whispered, “I got a surprise for you tomorrow.”

Joey lifted his head, already suspicious. “Chanel... what kinda surprise?”

She grinned sleepily, already drifting off. “You’ll see. Just know it’s gonna be real special, baby daddy.”

His chest tightened.

Yeah. He was cooked. Done for.

And honestly?

He’d never been happier to be ruined.

Chapter 104: “Spoil You Rotten” 💅🏽💖👅

Joey had woken up to the smell first—cinnamon, maple, vanilla, maybe even a lil’ caramelized something-something he couldn’t place just yet. And then he heard it: her voice. Light, humming through the penthouse like a damn songbird as she flipped pancakes in his kitchen, still wearing his t-shirt.

He sat up like a man possessed, dragging a palm down his face.

“Nah… what the hell is this?” he mumbled to himself.

This woman was in full lover girl mode. Chanel. Chanel Tate. On her lil’ tiptoes reaching for a glass, booty poking, humming Summer Walker, lips shiny with gloss—and she didn’t even know the chokehold she had him in right now.

She turned around like she felt him watching and smiled so soft it knocked the air out his lungs.

“Morning, handsome.” Her voice was sweet. Dangerous. Lethal.

“…You made breakfast?” His voice cracked, real life cracked, like a boy seeing his crush smile for the first time.

She just nodded, sliding the plate across the counter. Pancakes stacked like artwork, eggs fluffed perfectly, turkey bacon crispy, and some berries placed aesthetically, because you already know she don’t do ugly plating.

“I felt like feeding you. That a problem, baby?” she asked, batting those lashes.

He blinked slow. “Nah. Nah, it’s just—what the fuck got into you?”

She slid over, wrapping her arms around his waist like he wasn’t still half in shock, and kissed up his throat. “I’m in my lover girl era. You better act right before I get real toxic again and block you for five hours.”

He laughed, kinda nervous, kinda turned on. “Nah, don’t do that.”

“I won’t,” she purred, lips brushing his ear. “Unless you start actin’ brand new. Then I might cry and leave in the middle of the night… after I drain you and mess your whole mental up.”

Joey stared at her like she was an ancient riddle he never wanted to solve. “You crazy as hell.”

“And you love it,” she said, smiling like a devil in lip gloss, placing a fork in his hand and sliding into his lap.

She fed him berries one by one. Wiped syrup off his lip and licked it off her thumb. Let her legs hang off his thighs as she leaned into his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She was soft. Warm. Playful. And dangerous in a way he’d never even seen coming.

“You tryna kill me?” he whispered, his voice low, real serious now.

Chanel tilted her head. “Kill you?”

“This some psychological warfare, ma. I wasn’t ready for all this tenderness.” His brows furrowed, like she’d offendedhim with the depth of her affection. “I thought I was the one in love.”

“You still are,” she murmured, smoothing her thumb across his jawline. “I’m just catching up. Gotta spoil my baby for being patient.”

Joey sat there like his soul left his body for a second, eyes locked on her lips.

“I’m not gone survive this,” he muttered.

She grinned. “I know.”

Chapter 105: “Claim Me, Romeo” 🌶️💋🥂

Joey was already tipsy, but not from liquor. It was her—only her.

Chanel had climbed into his lap sometime between the second blunt and the playlist flipping to Sade. The penthouse lights were low, golden from candles she lit for “ambiance,” and her lipgloss was smudged from round after round of open-mouth, tongue-deep kisses that left his head spinning.

She tasted like pineapple juice and danger. Moved slow and confident like she knew what the hell she was doing to him. Because she did.

“Ma… you tryna get me in trouble,” he rasped, his lips brushing hers, breath warm and shaky.

“Trouble?” she echoed, tilting her head, lashes fluttering as she nuzzled her nose against his. “You in trouble now, baby?”

“Nah, I’m in hell,” he said, gripping her waist tighter, “and you the devil wearin’ my hoodie.”

She laughed, all low and feminine, grinding down into his lap just enough to make him grunt.

She leaned forward again, kissing him like she was tryna steal the breath from his lungs. Her fingers threaded into his locs, tugging soft. His hands were everywhere—waist, thighs, hips—like he couldn’t not touch her.

Then she pulled back, that glossy mouth just inches from his, lips red and kiss-bitten.

Her voice dropped. “Joey…”

“Yeah?” His eyes were glassy, pupils blown, every bit of him tuned into her.

“I think we should go public.”

That caught him. He blinked like she’d slapped him with a diamond-encrusted glove. “Public?”

She nodded, slow and sure. “Mmhmm. Make it official. Put our names on it. I wanna be yours. I mean that, Romeo.”

Joey stared at her like the walls had just closed in. Not in panic—no, in stunned joy.

“You… you wanna be mine?” he said slowly, like he couldn’t believe it.

“I already am,” she whispered, her voice sugar-sweet, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I just want the world to know it. I’m ready to let ‘em see how bad you got me.”

His chest rose like he was about to say something, but instead, he kissed her. Like a man starved. Like a man who just got everything he ever wanted. Groaning into her mouth, his hands pressing into her like he could mold them into one person.

He finally pulled back, forehead against hers, grinning like a damn fool.

“You just made me the happiest man in Brooklyn.”

She smirked, tugging on the front of his hoodie, “Yeah? Then show me how happy, baby.”

And just like that, his ass was lifting her off the couch, already stumbling toward the bedroom like the soft launch was over—full rollout activated.

Chapter 106: “Soft Launch? Nah, Baby—This the Super Bowl.” 📸🔥🧃🗞️

It started with a post.

@ chaneltate: 📍Location: Somewhere hella toxic 💋 [photo: her hand resting on a familiar tattooed chest, his chain visible, her French tip dragging over the gold] Caption: Public enemy #1 and I said yes.

The internet? In shambles. No tags. No names. Just the caption, and that chest that everyone with a functioning memory knew belonged to one man: Joey Badass.

Twenty minutes later, he dropped his post like the final Infinity Stone.

@ joeybadass: [photo carousel:

Chanel laying on his chest asleep with her lashes brushing his skin.

Him kissing her shoulder while she holds a blunt.

A blurry mirror selfie of her wearing his hoodie and his chains, flipping the camera off with a smug lil smirk.]

Caption: They was clownin’ me. Callin’ me a simp. Said I was whipped. Cool. Hope y’all like weddings.

The timeline? DEAD. TikTok? Melting. The Shade Room? Had to post twice in the same hour.

Meanwhile, Chanel and Joey were very much not checking their phones. Not even a little bit.

They were laid up, tangled in black silk sheets in his penthouse. She was stretched out across his chest, a leg thrown over him, sipping her juice with a grin like the cat that just devoured an entire litter of canaries.

“You think they figured it out yet?” she teased, holding up her phone, the lockscreen lighting up with a million notifications.

Joey didn’t even look up. He was busy trailing kisses across her shoulder, grinning into her skin like it was his damn birthday.

“Oh, they figured it out, ma. The internet having a full-on aneurysm right now.”

“Good,” she hummed. “Bout time we gave them a little entertainment. You know the girls was tired of the sneaky links.”

He glanced up, eyes gleaming. “You mean my sneaky link?”

She scoffed, playful, “Ain’t no sneaky about me no more, baby. I’m front page now.”

“Nah, you always been front page,” he said, dead serious, his hand sliding over her waist like she was made of glass and fire all at once. “Now you just got my last name spiritually engraved.”

Her brow arched, “Spiritually engraved?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded, pulling her closer. “Next step is legally.”

She blinked. “Wait—are you proposing in bed while I’m drinking Juicy Juice?”

He kissed her temple, “Nah, just planting seeds.”

She paused… then giggled.

“Boy, you the corniest, finest, most dangerously in love man I’ve ever known.”

“And you love it.”

She kissed his chin. “I really do.”

He grinned. “So what now? We do a hard launch?”

She lifted a brow. “We already hard launched. This ain’t even a rollout. This the Super Bowl.”

Twitter (X):

@ thatgirltammy: CHANEL TATE AND JOEY BADASS ARE OFFICIAL??? IT’S A NATIONAL HOLIDAY NOW.

@ hoodshakespeare: Joey wasn’t lying when he said she was his muse…bruh dropped an album, a baby mama, AND a girlfriend all in one arc.

@ simpwatch2025: We ain’t never gonna hear the end of this. He about to write poetry on the back of her receipts.

Chapter 107: “Can’t Even Talk, I’m Too Busy Being Loved On.” 📱💋😂🎥

It started mid-laugh.

Joey hit “go live” while still grinning like a damn fool, trying to center the frame. His locs were a little messy, chain glinting under the soft lights, and the whole vibe was real “caught in the act of loving life.”

"Yo—yo what’s good, y’all?” he chuckled into the phone, already breathless. “I got somethin’ I need to say for real, hold on—”

Enter: Chaos.

Before he could even land the sentence, Chanel’s face popped into frame—glowing, cheeks high, lips glossy, rockin’ one of his oversized tees again with no pants in sight. Her grill in, lashes fluttering like she knew what she was doing (she did), and that look in her eye? Wicked and all his.

She kissed his cheek. Sloppy and wet.

"Wait, baby—let me—damn,” he laughed, pulling back but not really. “I’m tryna say somethin’ to the people—"

“Nuh uh,” she cut in, already on him again, kissing under his jaw this time, soft but possessive. “Lemme love you real quick, you be talkin’ too much, boy.”

The chat EXPLODED.

@ hoodjournalist: NOT HIM GIGGLING WHILE SHE DEVOURS HIM ON LIVE @ symphonybytaye: She got him GIGGLING like a kid in a lunch line omgggg @ joeyswifey: I want what they got rn 😭 @ baddietatefan: Chanel giving him kisses like she tryna shut him up fr and I love that for her

Joey tried again, still half-laughing, half-melted: “Yo okay for real, I just wanna say this—”

Another kiss. Right on the corner of his mouth.

“This woman—mmph—Chanel Amari Tate is—”

She climbed halfway in his lap now, casually like it was a Tuesday, grinning wide as hell. “The love of your life? Your whole heart? The only one that got you giggling like you ain’t got no street rep?”

He cackled. “Aight see—now you tryna clown me.”

“Not clownin’! Just tellin’ the truth, baby.”

He looked into the camera and shook his head like a man who knew he was cooked and didn’t care one bit. “Y’all see what I go through? This what my life is now.”

She kissed his nose. “You love it.”

“I do,” he said, eyes locking on hers.

Real soft. Real quiet. Real deep.

She softened too.

And then—

Another kiss.

This time, slow. Open-mouthed. Damn near made the live turn into a motion picture. He groaned under his breath, head tilting, hand sliding up her thigh on instinct.

He blinked after like he forgot they were being watched by 42K people.

“Oh shiiit—wait, we still live?”

@ brokeandnosy: YES KING YOU STILL LIVE KEEP GOING @ theysimpgonewild: That man is in LOVE love he ain’t even care 💀💀 @ chanelhasme: The way she look at him like he hung the moon?? Whew @ hiphoptea: Joey and Chanel might be the greatest soft launch to hard launch pipeline ever

Chanel just laughed, sliding off his lap with a wink and a stretch that should’ve been illegal. “Tell the people I said what up. I’m bout to roll up.”

Joey turned back to the screen, visibly dazed, lips a little swollen, eyes glassy with way too much love.

He smirked, running a hand over his face. “Y’all see my life? Ain’t nothin’ soft about this love, man. This that real—we cookin’, we vibin’, we kissin’, we high, we happy. Chanel got me messed up and I ain’t never been better.”

Then he winked and ended the live.

—📲🔚

Chapter 108: “Masterpiece in Motion” 🎨💋🖌️🛏️

His studio was a whole damn vibe.

Sunlight poured in soft from the wide skylight windows, warm golden spilling over wooden floors and catching on brushes, open paint jars, and a huge canvas still waiting for love. Joey had music on low—something jazzy and soft with a little edge—and he stood barefoot, shirtless, and focused, palette in one hand, brush poised in the other.

And then there was her.

Chanel.

Laid across the plush velvet chaise near the center of the room, completely bare and divine, lit like God painted her in morning light. One leg extended, the other bent at the knee, her body poised in elegant, relaxed curves. Her lash extensions fluttered dramatically when she looked up at him, and a slow grin tugged at her lips.

“I still feel like I’m scamming the art world,” she teased, biting her bottom lip. “Ain’t no way they letting a hood baddie be somebody’s muse like this.”

Joey smirked, brush still hovering mid-air. “You think this is a scam? Nah, ma. This is divine intervention. God said ‘give him the baddest bitch to ever breathe’ and boom—Chanel Tate.”

Her laugh was low and rich, the sound of a woman in love but still fully herself. “You tryna butter me up, artist man?”

“Nah,” he murmured, eyes devouring every soft slope and stretch of her body. “I’m tryna paint you like the altar you are.”

SICKENING.

He dipped the brush again, moving with intense focus, capturing her on the canvas with strokes full of obsession and reverence. But the moment was too much—too them—because two minutes later she shifted, slightly, giggling as she broke the pose.

“Baby, why you scrunchin’ your face like that?” she teased, stretching luxuriously. “You look like you tryin’ to solve world hunger, not paint some titties.”

He broke.

Laughing full chest, deep and real. The brush dropped to the floor with a clatter as he walked over to her, shaking his head. “Girl, you are the most unserious muse in the world.”

She leaned up on her elbows, grinning wildly. “And still the most beautiful.”

“Facts.” He climbed onto the chaise, hovering over her now, his hands already running along her curves like he was still painting her, only this time with worship. “Canvas can’t even handle what I’m lookin’ at.”

“You say that now,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “But what happens when I touch you like this—?”

She slid her nails gently down his back, watching the way he shivered.

“Oh I’m never finishing that painting,” he muttered, lips grazing hers. “Never. You too damn distracting.”

“You in love,” she whispered playfully.

“I am,” he said back without pause. “Real bad.”

The kiss that followed was messy, hungry, like they’d been starving all over again. Joey slid her down gently to the rug beside the easel, the canvas forgotten behind them. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, her sternum—all of her—with a love so heavy it was like gravity bent toward her.

"You're it for me, ma," he whispered against her skin. “My light, my fire, my muse. Ain’t a single version of this life I want if it don’t have you in it.”

She cupped his face, lips swollen and smiling. “Paint that.”

And then it was them—

Entwined on the rug, paint-smudged fingers dragging along bare skin, her head tossed back in pleasure, his voice hoarse as he whispered praises, as they moved like they’d been made for one another.

Love wasn’t just the canvas anymore.

It was the art they were making of each other. Over and over.

—🎨💋

#joey badass x black oc #joey bada$$ fanfic #joey badass fanfic #romance #x black oc #mature fic

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