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[Story] The flex factor
🕑 Added 2025-04-04 08:00:09 +0000 UTCHi Hi ✨
It's friday finally! I hope you had a good week. I'm closing this week with some exiting posts! We have a story today, some images tomorrow, videos for tier 4 members AND... Our April's image pack! I will give more details in it's post but I can tell you that the number of images will remain the same but prices will significantly will be lower!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy today's story and T3 & T4 members, you can find some extra images for this story in your folders! Oh also, speaking of that, new folder passwords have been sent to your chats, remember same link, new password every month. Reach out if you have any issues with it!
---
The Flex Factor
"Jackson, we're down another sponsor for the halftime show," Harper announced, striding into his office without knocking. She ducked slightly through the doorway out of habit, though the stadium offices had been renovated with higher doorframes last year specifically because of her.
Jackson Burke looked up from his computer, his dark-rimmed glasses perched at the end of his nose as he squinted at the spreadsheet that had been occupying his morning. At 5'10", Jackson was average height, but standing near Harper always made him feel like he'd somehow been transported back to primary school.
"Good morning to you too, Harper," he said with a wry smile. "Coffee first, catastrophes second. That's the rule."
Harper dropped into the reinforced chair across from his desk – the only one in the office that didn't make alarming creaking noises when she sat in it. At 7'5" with a physique that put professional bodybuilders to shame, Harper Davis had become accustomed to furniture anxiety.
"I brought you coffee," she said, placing a steaming cup on his desk. "So technically, I've fulfilled the requirements for delivering bad news."
Jackson reached for the cup gratefully. "You're an angel. A terrifying, gigantic angel who has legs the size or fridge, but an angel nonetheless."
Harper grinned, the smile lighting up her striking face. Despite her intimidating stature, her features were quite delicate – high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes the color of aged whiskey.
"You need new material, Burke. You've been using the same jokes since I started working here three years ago."
"If it ain't broke," Jackson shrugged, sipping his coffee. "Perfect, as always. Now, tell me about this sponsor disaster."
Harper crossed her legs, the movement causing her tailored trousers to stretch taut across her quadriceps. "PowerFuel pulled out. Said their budget's been cut. Which we both know is corporate speak for 'we found a better opportunity.'"
Jackson groaned. "That's five grand we needed. The owners are already breathing down my neck about revenue streams."
"Well," Harper said, leaning forward slightly, "I might have a solution. Remember that protein shake company I told you about? Apex Nutrition? They've been sending me free samples for months, hoping I'll post about their products."
"And have you?"
"Oh no. Their stuff tastes like liquefied cardboard. But they're desperate for exposure, and I bet they'd jump at the chance to sponsor tonight's halftime for even three grand. Smaller investment, better visibility than my Instagram would give them."
Jackson's eyes lit up. "Harper Davis, marketing genius. This is why I hired you."
"You hired me because I can reach the high shelves without a ladder," she deadpanned.
"That was merely a bonus," Jackson replied, already reaching for his phone. "Give me their contact info, and I'll work my magic."
Harper passed him her phone with the contact already pulled up. Their fingers brushed briefly during the exchange, and Jackson felt that familiar little jolt he always experienced when they touched.
"So," Harper said, leaning back in her chair. "Think we'll actually win tonight?"
"Against the Cougars? Not a chance in hell," Jackson replied honestly. "But ticket sales are up 15% from this time last year, and our merch is flying off the shelves."
"You're welcome," Harper said with a smirk.
"Oh, don't start," Jackson groaned. "Your head's already so big I'm surprised it fits through the door."
"Says the man who literally built a marketing strategy around me sitting courtside," Harper countered.
Jackson couldn't deny it. When Harper had started in the marketing department, he'd noticed how the cameras kept finding their way to her during games. The fans loved it – this amazonian woman with muscles that put the players to shame, enthusiastically cheering on their mediocre team. The Flex Cam had been his brainchild, and it had become a viral sensation.
"It's called capitalizing on assets," Jackson defended himself, adjusting his tie. "And speaking of assets, don't forget we need you in the new warm-up jackets for tonight's pre-game social. The design team needs photos for the website."
Harper rolled her eyes. "Fine, but they better have one that fits this time. Last season's 'extra-large' made me look like I was wearing children's clothes."
"Already handled. Custom-made, just for you." Jackson hesitated, then added, "And maybe stay for a few photos with the players? Boosts morale."
"You mean they like posting pictures with me because it makes them look smaller and their fans think it's hilarious," Harper translated.
"Can't it be both?" Jackson offered with an innocent smile.
Harper stood, unfolding to her full height. Even in flat shoes, she towered over Jackson's desk. "You owe me dinner after the game for this."
"Deal. That new steakhouse on 5th?"
"Perfect. I need about 6,000 calories after game days," she said, not exaggerating in the slightest. "And Jackson?"
"Hmm?" he replied, already dialing the number for Apex Nutrition.
"Wear that blue shirt that brings out your eyes. If I have to be on display all night, at least give me something nice to look at."
Before Jackson could respond, she was gone, ducking through the doorway and leaving behind only the faint scent of her perfume.
---
The arena was packed. Despite the team's abysmal record, the stands were filled to capacity with fans who, if they were honest with themselves, had come for the entertainment value rather than the basketball.
Jackson stood in the control room, headset firmly in place as he directed the broadcast. Their team was down by twelve points already, and they were only in the second quarter.
"Alright, let's keep it upbeat," he instructed his team. "Camera three, get me some shots of the fans still having a good time. Camera two, find me the cheerleaders. And someone find Harper – we'll need the Flex Cam ready for the next timeout."
As if summoned by his words, his phone buzzed with a text from Harper: "Third row, section 114. Right behind the announcers. Some guy in a suit keeps asking me if I'm a real person or some kind of marketing stunt."
Jackson snorted and typed back: "Tell him you're actually three children stacked in a trench coat."
"Already did. He looked genuinely confused. This is why I need you around – better comebacks."
Jackson smiled to himself, then focused back on the game. The referee's whistle blew, signaling a timeout, and Jackson knew it was time.
"Alright, let's go to Flex Cam. Keep it moving, don't linger too long on anyone except Harper. End with her – she's our finale."
The familiar jingle began to play throughout the arena as the jumbotron displayed the words "FLEX CAM" in animated letters. The crowd immediately perked up, recognizing what was coming.
The camera found a middle-aged man who gamely rolled up his sleeve and flexed a dad-bod arm. The crowd cheered encouragingly. Next was a group of college-aged boys who had clearly pre-planned a synchronized flex routine. More cheers.
Then the camera switched to a young businessman in the third row who looked startled to find himself on the big screen. Reluctantly, he rolled up his sleeve and flexed. He was in decent shape – clearly someone who visited the gym regularly – and his bicep formed a respectable peak.
Just as he was starting to look pleased with himself, a massive arm entered the frame from behind him. The camera operator, recognizing the opportunity, immediately widened the shot to include Harper, who wasn't even flexing yet – just raising her arm to wave at the camera.
The contrast was comical. The businessman's entire arm was smaller than Harper's relaxed tricep. When she finally did flex – a perfect double bicep pose that caused her jacket seams to strain audibly – the crowd went wild. The businessman looked simultaneously impressed and mortified as he realized his arm didn't even reach where the peak of her bicep began.
Jackson couldn't help but laugh at the man's expression. "Perfect! Stay on that shot for five more seconds, then cut back to the game."
In the control room, one of the newer technicians leaned over to Jackson. "How is she even real? Is she on something?"
"Just genetics and a lot of time in the gym," Jackson replied, having fielded this question countless times before. "She can deadlift over 900 pounds, last I heard."
"Fuck," the tech muttered. "She could probably pick up the entire starting lineup at once."
"Probably," Jackson agreed, unable to keep the note of pride from his voice. "And she's the reason our viewership is up 40% from last season. People tune in for the Flex Cam almost more than the game these days."
On the court, the players were returning from the timeout. Their team seemed energized – perhaps by the crowd's enthusiasm during the Flex Cam segment – and immediately scored a three-pointer.
Jackson's phone buzzed again. Another text from Harper: "Did you see that guy's face? I thought he was going to cry. Feel a bit bad now."
"Don't. His Instagram bio probably says 'Alpha Male Entrepreneur' or something equally tragic."
"How did you know? I just looked him up. You're scary sometimes."
Jackson smiled and tucked his phone away. The game continued, and despite the momentary surge of energy, their team fell further behind. By halftime, they were down twenty points.
"Alright, set up for the Apex Nutrition halftime feature," Jackson directed. "And someone make sure Harper gets to the center court for the protein shake demonstration."
The control room door opened, and Jackson turned to find Harper squeezing through, holding two bottles of water. She handed one to him.
"Thought you might be thirsty," she said. "Also, your new sponsor wants me to drink their stuff on camera. It's disgusting."
"Just pretend," Jackson suggested. "Do that thing where you bring it to your lips but don't actually drink it."
"Deceptive marketing? From you? I'm shocked," Harper teased, leaning against the wall. The top of her head nearly touched the ceiling.
Jackson looked her up and down, admiring how the custom team jacket fit her powerful frame perfectly. "You look good in our colors."
"Flatterer," she replied, but he caught the slight flush on her cheeks. "Ready for that steak after this disaster of a game is over?"
"Absolutely. Win or lose, the real victory is our dinner reservation."
Harper smiled, and for a moment, the chaos of the control room seemed to fade away. Then his assistant's voice broke the spell.
"Jackson, we need you to approve the final halftime segment!"
"Duty calls," Jackson sighed. "See you courtside for the demonstration?"
"I'll be the obscenely tall woman making your product look tiny," Harper confirmed with a wink before ducking back out of the control room.
As the door closed behind her, Jackson's assistant gave him a knowing look.
"What?" Jackson demanded.
"Nothing," the assistant replied innocently. "Just wondering when you're finally going to ask her out properly, not just these 'work dinners' you two always have."
"Mind your own business," Jackson muttered, turning back to his monitors. "And cue the halftime intro in three, two, one..."
The Apex Nutrition segment went smoothly, with Harper demonstrating the product to enthusiastic applause. The second half of the game was more of the same – their team putting up a valiant but ultimately futile effort while the crowd remained engaged thanks to the entertainment surrounding the actual basketball.
By the final buzzer, they had lost by eighteen points. But the atmosphere in the arena remained upbeat as fans filed out, many stopping to take pictures with Harper, who obligingly posed with anyone who asked.
Jackson watched from a distance, smiling at how gentle she was with children who approached her with wide eyes. Despite her intimidating size, Harper had a way of making others comfortable – a skill Jackson had always admired.
When the crowd finally thinned, Harper made her way over to him, a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead from the hot arena lights and constant photo requests.
"Ready to feed the beast?" she asked, patting her stomach. "I'm starving."
Jackson nodded, already shrugging on his jacket. "Your chariot awaits, my lady. And by chariot, I mean my very average sedan that you somehow still fit into."
"I fold up surprisingly well," Harper replied, falling into step beside him – or rather, shortening her stride so he could keep up without jogging. "It's one of my many talents."
"Along with saving failing basketball franchises and making grown men question their life choices on the Flex Cam?"
"Exactly those," she agreed with a laugh that echoed through the now-empty concourse.
As they walked toward the exit, Jackson felt a familiar contentment settle over him. They might have lost the game, but with Harper by his side and a promising dinner ahead, he couldn't help but feel like he'd won something far more important.
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