We have been playing around with Ai to sexify recent news articles…. because why not, it does make the news more entertaining.

ABC News article on the MCG gun intrusion by 2 spectators, April 4 2025 – Original article

Security of My Heart: An MCG Romance

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Gratuitous Security Protocol Violations, Dangerous Levels of Sexual Tension in Small Spaces, Excessive Use of Security Jargon as Innuendo, Risk of Spontaneous Combustion from Unresolved Sexual Tension, Inappropriate Use of Security Cameras

Fandom: MCG Security RPF

Relationship: Sophia Chen/Marcus Reynolds

Characters: Sophia Chen Marcus Reynolds The AI System (MCG) The MCG Stadium

Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers | Security Breach but Make it Sexy | Tactical Vest Appreciation | Emergency Lighting is the New Mood Lighting | Competence Kink | Security Protocols Were Harmed in the Making of this Fic

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Chapter 1: False Positive

The artificial intelligence system purred beneath Sophia Chen’s fingertips as she ran her daily diagnostics, its sleek interface glowing with a soft blue light that highlighted her delicate features. After months of programming and testing, her baby—the MCG’s new state-of-the-art security scanning system—was finally operational. She’d poured her heart and soul into its algorithms, teaching it to differentiate between harmless metal objects and genuine threats.

“Another perfect scan rate,” she murmured, allowing herself a small smile. But her moment of pride was shattered by heavy footsteps approaching her workstation.

“Your ‘perfect’ system just let two armed men into my stadium.”

Sophia’s spine stiffened at the deep, gravelly voice. Marcus Reynolds. Head of physical security, former military, and the bane of her existence since she’d started working at the MCG. She swiveled her chair to face him, trying to ignore how his tactical uniform hugged his broad shoulders.

“That’s impossible,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “The AI flags any potential weapons. The secondary screening—”

“Failed,” Marcus cut in, looming over her desk. “Just like I warned everyone it would. Technology isn’t foolproof, Ms. Chen. Sometimes you need human intuition.”

The way he said ‘Ms. Chen’ made her blood boil—and not entirely from anger. “Show me the logs,” she demanded, turning back to her screens to hide the flush creeping up her neck.

Marcus leaned over her shoulder, his warmth radiating against her back as he pointed to the timestamp. “There. 8:30 PM. Your system flagged them, but they still got through.”

Sophia’s fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the security footage. Her heart dropped as she watched the scene unfold. The AI had done its job, highlighting the two men in red as they passed through the scanner. But the secondary screening…

“The manual security check was rushed,” she whispered, horror dawning. “They didn’t follow protocols.”

“Exactly.” Marcus’s breath tickled her ear. “Your fancy AI isn’t worth much if—”

“If the human element fails,” they said in unison, then locked eyes in surprise.

The tension in the small security office shifted, becoming something else entirely. Sophia noticed for the first time how Marcus’s eyes weren’t just brown—they were amber, with flecks of gold that caught the light from her monitors.

A notification chirped, breaking the moment. “System diagnostic required,” the AI announced in its smooth voice.

“I need to run this,” Sophia said quickly, turning back to her screens. “It’ll help us understand what happened.”

“I’m not leaving until we get to the bottom of this,” Marcus replied, pulling up a chair beside her.

The diagnostic began, and the security office doors automatically sealed—standard procedure to prevent data interference. Sophia became hyperaware of Marcus’s presence in the confined space, the subtle scent of his cologne mixing with gun oil and leather.

“How long will this take?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual.

“Twenty minutes,” Sophia replied, then added under her breath, “Unless you’d prefer to rely on human intuition?”

Marcus chuckled, the sound sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. “You know, you’re not what I expected for a tech genius.”

“Oh?” Sophia raised an eyebrow, trying to focus on the scrolling data instead of how his knee was almost touching hers. “Let me guess—you pictured someone with thick glasses and no social skills?”

“Someone who couldn’t handle themselves in a crisis,” he corrected. “But after seeing you work…” He trailed off as another alert flashed across the screen.

“That’s not right,” Sophia frowned, leaning forward. “The system’s showing multiple ghost signals from that night.”

Marcus shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against hers. “Could someone have tampered with it?”

“Impossible unless…” Sophia’s blood ran cold. “Unless they had inside access.”

The lights in the security office suddenly flickered, and her screens went black. In the darkness, she felt Marcus’s hand close around her wrist.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, and she could feel him reaching for his sidearm with his other hand. “I don’t think we’re alone.”

The emergency lights cast a red glow across the office, transforming Marcus’s face into a mask of shadows and sharp angles. Sophia’s heart thundered in her chest, but whether from fear or their proximity, she couldn’t tell.

“The system,” she breathed. “Someone’s trying to—”

The sound of footsteps in the corridor silenced her. Marcus pulled her behind him, his body a solid wall of protection. The door handle jiggled.

“Sophia,” he said softly, her name like a caress on his lips. “Whatever happens, stay close to me.”

She gripped the back of his tactical vest, feeling the heat of him through the fabric. “I thought you didn’t trust technology,” she whispered.

“Maybe,” he murmured, “I’m learning to trust the person behind it.”

The door handle turned slowly, and Sophia held her breath. In the red emergency lighting, she could see their reflection in the dark monitors—her small frame pressed against his broader one, his jaw set in determination, her fingers clutching his vest. They looked like they belonged together, like two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

The door began to open.

[To be continued…]

AFL – Crows v Suns locker room chinanigans 2025

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The Loss That Started It All

The fluorescent lights of the Adelaide Oval locker room buzzed with the same merciless intensity that had characterized the day’s crushing defeat. Matthew Nicks stood alone, his tie loosened just enough to suggest the weight of leadership that pressed against his broad shoulders. The game footage playing on the tablet in his hands cast blue shadows across his furrowed brow, highlighting the silver at his temples that seemed to have multiplied since the season began.

1 point. That’s what separated them from victory against the SUNS today. But it wasn’t the numbers that haunted him—it was the look in Jordan Dawson’s eyes when he’d torn into the team during the post-match review.

“Unacceptable,” he’d growled, his voice carrying that edge that made even veteran players flinch. “We’re better than this, and you all know it.”

But when his gaze had locked with Dawson’s, something electric had passed between them. Something that had nothing to do with football and everything to do with the way the captain’s jaw had clenched, the subtle flex of muscles beneath his sweat-dampened jersey.

Nicks ran a hand through his hair, trying to focus on the replay of Soligo’s early goal. The young player had shown promise, but all he could see was Dawson’s leadership on the field, the way he’d rallied the team even as victory slipped through their fingers like sand.

The sudden click of the locker room door made him start. At this hour, the facility should have been empty—

“Still torturing yourself with the footage, coach?”

Jordan Dawson stood in the doorway, backlit by the corridor lights like some sort of athletic apparition. He’d changed out of his game gear, but the tight compression shorts and training shirt he wore did little to hide the physical prowess that made him one of AFL’s most watched captains.

“Someone has to figure out what went wrong,” Nicks replied, fighting to keep his voice neutral. Professional. Appropriate.

Dawson moved closer, and Nicks caught the fresh scent of his post-game shower mingled with something uniquely him. “What went wrong,” Dawson said, his voice low and dangerous, “is that you’ve been pushing us—pushing me—too hard.”

“I push because I know what this team is capable of.” Nicks set the tablet down, turning to face his captain. Even in the harsh locker room lighting, Dawson’s eyes held that intensity that had first caught his attention three seasons ago.

“Is that the only reason?” Dawson stepped closer, close enough that Nicks could see the rapid pulse at his throat. “Because lately, it feels personal.”

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension. Nicks knew he should step back, maintain that crucial professional distance. But his feet seemed rooted to the spot as Dawson invaded his space.

“Everything I do is for this team,” Nicks managed, but his voice had grown hoarse.

“Everything?” Dawson’s eyes dropped to Nicks’ mouth for a fraction of a second. “Because that speech today… that wasn’t just about football, was it?”

Nicks swallowed hard. “Jordan—”

“Three years,” Dawson cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper. “Three years of this dance, Matthew. The lingering touches during training. The private strategy sessions that go late into the night. The way you look at me when you think no one else notices.”

“We can’t,” Nicks breathed, even as his body betrayed him by swaying slightly closer. “The team—”

“The team sees what they want to see,” Dawson pressed. “But I see you. Behind the tough exterior, behind the clipboard and the game plans. I see how much it costs you to maintain this distance.”

Nicks’ back hit the lockers—when had they moved?—and Dawson’s arm came up to brace against the metal beside his head. The heat radiating from the younger man’s body was intoxicating, dangerous.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Dawson challenged, his face inches from Nicks’. “Tell me you haven’t thought about this. About us.”

The words died in Nicks’ throat as Dawson’s free hand came up to trace the loosened knot of his tie. Every rational thought screamed at him to put a stop to this, to remember his position, his responsibilities. But in that moment, with Jordan Dawson looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world, rationality seemed very far away.

“Jordan,” he whispered, and this time it wasn’t a protest but a prayer.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor shattered the moment like a glass hitting concrete. They froze, bodies still close enough that Nicks could feel Dawson’s heartbeat thundering against his chest. The footsteps grew closer, deliberate, accompanied by the soft electronic whir of what could only be a phone recording.

Through the gap beneath the door, they could see shadows moving. And then, unmistakably, the flash of Gold Coast SUNS colors.

The door handle began to turn.

To be continued…