you're such a dream to me...
not your typical love story.
inspired by Ariana Grande's r.e.m & the movie Baby Driver.
Chris Brown story ❤️
i suck at descriptions but the story speaks for itself. I PROMISE!
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🔥 TAPE II | TRACK 01 – "No Role Modelz" – J. Cole Filed under: silent prayers, and shots that never miss.
Date:December 28th Time:6:42 PM Location:Lucid Motorsports, Las Vegas
The night was clear, and a mild breeze slipped through the partially opened window, carrying the faint rhythm of a city not yet asleep. Inside the shop, the glow from the front desk monitor traced Jazelle's collarbone with soft warmth. She leaned in, elbows planted on the counter, the screen's quiet hum brushing against her skin as she finalized the last few orders of the evening. Behind her, the printer stirred once more and released a fresh slip of paper.
At her feet, Gage lay curled with the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. His tail flicked occasionally, brushing the edge of a nearby metal cabinet. A Bluetooth speaker beside her phone played low R&B, its velvet melodies softening the room's sharp edges. Her dark blue dress, structured and smooth, outlined her frame with quiet grace. It wrapped her figure like armor, intentional rather than vain. In a place shaped by grit and gasoline, her softness felt deliberate. In a world of labor and oil, softness wasn't fragility; it was defiance.
Tonight had been one of those rare days she could call slow, secure, and peaceful in a way that once felt mythic.
Jazelle hummed lightly as she turned in her chair, eyes flicking across financial figures while she closed out the shop's system for the night. Since stepping into the shop full-time, she had taken on every aspect of the business's financials from processing invoices and managing orders to keeping the day's records airtight. Though side hustles had started to bloom quietly behind the scenes, tonight her focus remained firm: end the day with clarity.
"Jaz, you almost done?" a voice called from the back.
"Yeah, give me a few more minutes," she replied, her tone casual, her eyes never lifting from the screen. She moved with practiced rhythm, fingers dancing over the keys as she initiated the final logoff.
Then the bell above the door chimed.
Her chest cinched tight. The door. She had forgotten to lock it.
It was the kind of mistake that came from comfort or normalcy, even. The sound echoed through her now like a warning. Her gaze lifted, slow and cautious, expecting the ordinary of someone returning for a jacket or forgotten receipt. It wasn't unusual for customers to return after hours, usually for something they left behind.
When she looked up, she realized it was the man from earlier.
He'd come by that morning about a restoration job. Jazelle remembered the faded hoodie, the fraying denim, and the stillness around him, quiet in a way that felt intentional, not insecure. Blaze had nearly passed on the job until he caught the car's potential. Buried deep, but breathing. The kind of machine Blaze couldn't ignore.
