grlsbstshot

[grlsbstshot]

damn okay! we will finish it.

Many of the girls are leaving and I don't know -- Why deprive myself of writing fun things inspired by the man I adore? So...perhaps Writer S is going to start writing again. No guarantees for anything this month because I'm gonna be outside this summer, chile. But...maybe soon.

Help me decide.

[grlsbstshot]

Many of the girls are leaving and I don't know -- Why deprive myself of writing fun things inspired by the man I adore? So...perhaps Writer S is going to start writing again. No guarantees for anything this month because I'm gonna be outside this summer, chile. But...maybe soon.

Help me decide.

[grlsbstshot]

if you've ever sent anons into pocketsized's dm, please do us the favor of unfollowing. your toxicity has infiltrated this fandom long enough.

if you're defending abusers like jonathan majors and chris brown but got smoke for that girl for breathing, unfollow us. you're an idiot bitch and we don't like idiot bitches.

if you're passive when your mutuals spread transphobic, anti black, and misogynistic rhetoric about black women like teyana — unfollow us and meet writer s outside. you give power to 'em when you say nothing and you should be ashamed of yourselves.

not letting you new girls run me out of a fandom i was here for when he had 50k followers, two dimes to his name, and a white girl on his arm 😂

grlsbstshot will return 🫶🏽

[grlsbstshot]

kinda don't trust how yall talk about black women or black children at this point. and then the rest of yall blindly look away in the sake of 'keeping the tag clear'. you fucking bums.

[grlsbstshot]

we've never seen aaron like this. the way the whole tl jumped. all of us really gagged and gooped? like omg he eatin

[grlsbstshot]

Welcome to Chicago

A/N: The First installment of Sinners fanfic enjoy

Sinners Masterlist

Chicago 1926

The SmokeStack twins have made their claim to the city. Fresh from war and from Clarksdale,Mississippi. Stack, the ever so charming one. Looked around the city and smiled at his brother Smoke.

Stack adjusted his hat, the brim low over his eyes, but that smile—sharp as a razor and twice as dangerous—cut through the cold Chicago wind.

"Smell that, Smoke?" he said, his voice smooth like molasses but with an edge of iron. "Opportunity. This city don't know it yet, but it belongs to us now."

Smoke, broader in the shoulders and quieter by nature, just lit a fresh cigarette, the match flaring against the dark. He took a long drag and exhaled slow, watching the smoke curl into the sky like a signal.

"Ain't nothin' here but dirt and death, Stack," Smoke muttered, his Mississippi drawl still thick despite the months up north. "Same as back home. Just colder."

Stack laughed, that easy, dangerous laugh that had gotten them out of trouble more times than Smoke could count. Or into it.

"Nah, brother. This ain't Cocksdale. This is Chicago. Where dirt turns to gold if you got the stomach for it. And we? We got stomachs full of war and sin. These city boys—they ain't ready for Smoke and Stack."

He slapped his brother’s back, eyes already scanning the streets lined with flickering lamps and the distant thump of jazz clubs. The Outfit ran things now, but Stack had plans. Plans that started with blood and ended with empire.

"Let’s make our introduction," Stack grinned. "Real polite-like. And then we'll take everything else."

Stack looked around and he saw her. She had the pinned up curls. Skin just like honey. 

Stack's smile faltered—just a flicker—but in a man like him, even a flicker meant something.

She stood across the street, framed by the golden haze of a streetlamp and the shimmer of rain slick on the pavement. Pinned curls neat as Sunday morning, but her eyes? They had Saturday night written all over them. Skin rich and warm, like honey poured slow.

She wasn’t looking at him, not yet. But Stack, he already knew. Knew the way trouble smelled sweet before it burned you.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, half to himself.

Smoke caught the shift in his brother’s stance—the stillness, the sudden quiet—and followed his gaze.

"Don't even think about it, Stack," Smoke grunted, flicking ash to the gutter. "We came for business. Not for some city girl to put a noose 'round your neck."

But Stack, he was already stepping off the curb, hat tipped back just so, that crooked grin sliding back into place like a loaded gun.

"Brother," he drawled, "sometimes business starts with a pretty face."

And the city, big and mean and cold, seemed to hold its breath as Stack crossed the street, heading toward the honey-skinned woman who just might change everything.

Stack adjusted his collar, smoothing down the lapels of his coat as he closed the distance. His boots clicked against the wet pavement, each step slow, deliberate—like a man who had all the time in the world and planned to take it.

Up close, she was even more dangerous. Eyes sharp, like she’d seen men like him a hundred times and knew exactly how they fell. But still, she let him get close enough to smell the faint perfume on her skin—jasmine and something darker underneath.

"You lost, soldier?" she asked, voice low and smooth, like a record spinning late at night when the bar’s almost empty.

Stack let that grin spread, all charm and teeth. "Depends who’s asking."

She arched a brow, cool but not cold. "Annalise." She didn’t offer a last name. Didn’t need to. The way she said it made it sound like a promise and a warning all at once.

"Stack," he said, tipping his hat just a little. "And that big fella back there, that’s my brother, Smoke."

Annalise’s eyes flicked past him to Smoke, then back. "Cute names. Like a bad omen."

Stack chuckled, deep and warm. "We’ve been called worse, darlin'."

She shifted her weight, one heel tapping softly against the ground. "Well, Stack, you might want to watch your step. In this city, pretty boys with Southern smiles tend to disappear before they can unpack their bags."

Stack leaned in just enough, voice dropping to a murmur. "Good thing I didn’t come here to unpack. I came to claim."

Annalise held his gaze a beat longer, then smiled—not sweet, but sharp as a knife’s edge. "You’re gonna need more than charm for that."

And just like that, Stack knew—Chicago wasn’t the only thing he wanted to get his hands on.

-

Stack's smile was easy, but his eyes stayed sharp as razors. He tipped his head, watching her like a man sizing up a card table before placing his bet.

"Tell me what you do, pretty lady," he drawled, voice smooth like good bourbon.

Annalise's lips curled, just enough to show she wasn’t impressed—or maybe she was, but she’d never let him know it.

"I sing," she said simply, letting the words hang there between them like cigarette smoke. "At Le Mirage down on State Street. Maybe you’ve heard of it."

Stack’s grin widened. He hadn’t, but he liked the way she said it. Like the place belonged to her, or maybe like she owned every man who stepped inside.

"A singer," he mused, tilting his head. "Figures. A voice sweet enough to get a man killed."

Annalise’s eyes flickered, something colder there now. "Sweet don’t keep me alive in this city, sugar. Knowing when to shut my mouth does."

Stack laughed low. "Well now, ain’t that a shame. I was hopin’ to hear you sometime."

She stepped in a little closer—close enough that Stack caught that jasmine scent again, but her words were cool enough to freeze the air between them.

"Maybe you will. If you last long enough in Chicago to see Friday night."

Then she turned, curls bouncing as she started to walk away, heels clicking against the wet street. But just before she disappeared into the dark, she glanced back over her shoulder.

"Le Mirage. Midnight show. Don’t be late, Stack."

And just like that, she was gone—leaving Stack standing there, grinning like a fool, already knowing he was in deeper than he planned.

Behind him, Smoke muttered, "I told you. City girl’s gonna get you killed."

Stack just chuckled, eyes still on the spot where Annalise vanished. "Maybe, brother. But what a way to go."

Le Mirage hit them like a punch of heat and brass the second they stepped inside. Smoke thick as fog curled around the red velvet curtains, and the thrum of a stand-up bass rolled through the floorboards. The place was packed wall-to-wall: city boys in sharp suits, gang men with fat rings on their fingers, and dames dressed like every night might be their last big score.

Stack’s eyes swept the room, hungry, sharp—searching for that honey-skinned woman with the pinned curls.

But she found them first.

A soft voice, right at his shoulder. "Didn’t think you’d show."

Stack stiffened, then turned slow. And there she was—Annalise, dressed in midnight blue that caught the dim light like the surface of still water. Her pinned curls were perfect, but her eyes? They glittered with something wilder now.

"Couldn’t miss your show," Stack said, that grin sliding back into place. "Smoke and I, we got front-row curiosity."

Smoke grunted behind him, already sizing up the exits and the muscle leaning by the bar.

Annalise’s smile was small but knowing. "You boys are a long way from Mississippi. And you’re already in deeper than you realize." She leaned in, voice dropping low so only they could hear. "You made waves just by walkin’ in here. The kind of waves that get men followed home."

Stack’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed, just a hair. "That a warning, darlin’?"

"It’s a fact," Annalise said, straightening up. "And facts don’t care how pretty you smile."

She stepped back, smoothing her dress, and nodded toward the stage. "Enjoy the show, Stack. But keep your head on a swivel. Le Mirage—it ain’t just for music."

Then she was gone again, slipping through the crowd with the grace of someone who knew exactly who was watching—and wanted them to.

Smoke muttered under his breath. "Told you. Trouble."

Stack just licked his lips, that fire lighting in his chest. "Yeah. But she’s my kind of trouble."

Up on the stage, the house band started to play, the lights dimmed, and somewhere in the shadows, men with cold eyes took note of the two strangers from Cocksdale.

And the night? The night was just getting started.

-

The lights dimmed until only the stage glowed soft and golden, like a secret whispered in the dark.

Then she appeared.

Annalise stepped into that light slow, deliberate, every move practiced to perfection. The room hushed—not because they wanted to, but because she commanded it.

Her dress clung to her like sin, dark blue velvet that shimmered with every sway of her hips. Her pinned curls caught the light just enough to make them gleam like a halo—an angel's crown, if angels had ever learned to smile like that.

And then she sang.

The first note slipped out like warm honey, low and smooth, wrapping around every man in the club and pulling them in closer.

"When the night falls slow… and the devil comes to dance…"

Stack felt it hit him square in the chest. That voice—it wasn’t just a song. It was a net, and he’d walked right into it with open arms.

Smoke shifted beside him, eyes scanning the corners of the club, catching the way certain men leaned in too close, the glint of steel at one table, the hard stares at another.

But Stack? He only had eyes for Annalise.

Because now he understood. This wasn’t just a performance. This was a ritual.

Every time she found a new admirer—someone bold or foolish enough to think they could touch her—she sang like this. Luring them in deeper, making sure they were well and truly tangled before the trap snapped shut.

Her gaze flickered toward him mid-verse, just a flicker, but it felt like a shot fired straight at his heart.

"You can call my name… but you’ll never stand a chance…"

Smoke leaned in close, voice tight. "We got eyes on us, Stack. Real eyes. More than one table. You feel that?"

But Stack didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because right then, Annalise hit that high note, her voice breaking just enough to make every man in that club lean in like moths to flame.

And Stack knew—deep in his bones—that she wasn’t just singing for him.

She was setting the stage.

For what, he didn’t know yet.

But it was coming.

And it had her name written all over it.

-

The final note of Annalise’s song hung in the air like a blade suspended mid-swing. The crowd erupted in applause—cheers, whistles, the clink of glasses. But beneath that noise, Stack felt it. That low, crawling tension. The kind that made a man’s shoulders go tight without knowing why.

Smoke was already shifting. "Doors just locked." His voice was gravel. "Did you hear that click?"

Stack blinked, pulling himself back from the spell Annalise had wrapped around him. He caught it now—the bouncers weren’t watching the crowd. They were watching him and Smoke. The ones at the back doors? Already standing shoulder-to-shoulder. No one was leaving unless they said so.

And Annalise—she didn’t go backstage like a regular singer would. No, she stayed right there at the edge of the stage, one hand on the mic stand, eyes scanning the room. Cool. Calm. Like she’d just lit the fuse and was waiting to see where the explosion landed.

Stack’s grin dropped. Finally.

Smoke muttered, "Told you this place wasn’t just for music. We walked into a goddamn cage match."

The band kept playing, a soft tune now, but Stack noticed half of them were watching the exits too.

Then they saw him.

A big man in a sharp pinstripe suit, shoulders like a truck, stepped out from the shadows near the VIP booth. Gold ring flashing on one hand, the other holding a cigar like it was a weapon. His face was a map of old scars and broken promises.

Dominic "Dom" Lucetti. Capo in the Outfit. The kind of man who didn’t come out unless there was business—and blood—on the line.

He clapped slow, eyes fixed on Stack and Smoke.

"Well, well," Dom rumbled, voice carrying over the thinning applause. "The famous SmokeStack twins. Fresh off the train from Mississippi, thinking they can carve a piece outta my city."

The room went still. Every patron suddenly more interested in their drinks. Even the air seemed to thin.

Stack straightened his collar, forced that old grin back on. "Didn’t realize we were so popular already."

Dom chuckled, dark and humorless. "You made ripples, boys. Big ones. And ripples turn to waves." He gestured around. "This? This is me... making sure the waves don’t get too high."

Behind Stack, Smoke’s hand hovered near his coat—where he kept steel.

And from the stage, Annalise finally spoke.

"Play nice, Dom. They just got here." Her voice was sweet, but her eyes—when they flicked to Stack—were sharp as cut glass.

Dom laughed, a low rumble. "I am playing nice. For now." He turned his attention back to Stack. "So here’s the game, Southern boy: you walk outta here tonight... maybe with a few bruises, maybe not. But you walk out only if you make me believe you’re smart enough to fall in line."

Stack's jaw clenched. He could feel Smoke tensing beside him, ready for the fight.

Annalise stepped down from the stage, slow and graceful, coming to stand between Dom and the twins. Not close enough to take sides. But just close enough to remind everyone she was the one who set this whole thing spinning.

Her eyes met Stack’s, unreadable.

The choice hung there, heavy as a loaded gun.

Play along? Or make their claim the hard way, fists and bullets?

Stack’s fingers curled into fists at his side.

Dom smiled wider. "Well? What’s it gonna be, Mississippi?"

Chicago 1926

The SmokeStack twins have made their claim to the city. Fresh from war and from Clarksdale,Mississippi. Stack, the ever so charming one. Looked around the city and smiled at his brother Smoke.

Stack adjusted his hat, the brim low over his eyes, but that smile—sharp as a razor and twice as dangerous—cut through the cold Chicago wind.

"Smell that, Smoke?" he said, his voice smooth like molasses but with an edge of iron. "Opportunity. This city don't know it yet, but it belongs to us now."

Smoke, broader in the shoulders and quieter by nature, just lit a fresh cigarette, the match flaring against the dark. He took a long drag and exhaled slow, watching the smoke curl into the sky like a signal.

"Ain't nothin' here but dirt and death, Stack," Smoke muttered, his Mississippi drawl still thick despite the months up north. "Same as back home. Just colder."

Stack laughed, that easy, dangerous laugh that had gotten them out of trouble more times than Smoke could count. Or into it.

"Nah, brother. This ain't Cocksdale. This is Chicago. Where dirt turns to gold if you got the stomach for it. And we? We got stomachs full of war and sin. These city boys—they ain't ready for Smoke and Stack."

He slapped his brother’s back, eyes already scanning the streets lined with flickering lamps and the distant thump of jazz clubs. The Outfit ran things now, but Stack had plans. Plans that started with blood and ended with empire.

"Let’s make our introduction," Stack grinned. "Real polite-like. And then we'll take everything else."

Stack looked around and he saw her. She had the pinned up curls. Skin just like honey. 

Stack's smile faltered—just a flicker—but in a man like him, even a flicker meant something.

She stood across the street, framed by the golden haze of a streetlamp and the shimmer of rain slick on the pavement. Pinned curls neat as Sunday morning, but her eyes? They had Saturday night written all over them. Skin rich and warm, like honey poured slow.

She wasn’t looking at him, not yet. But Stack, he already knew. Knew the way trouble smelled sweet before it burned you.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, half to himself.

Smoke caught the shift in his brother’s stance—the stillness, the sudden quiet—and followed his gaze.

"Don't even think about it, Stack," Smoke grunted, flicking ash to the gutter. "We came for business. Not for some city girl to put a noose 'round your neck."

But Stack, he was already stepping off the curb, hat tipped back just so, that crooked grin sliding back into place like a loaded gun.

"Brother," he drawled, "sometimes business starts with a pretty face."

And the city, big and mean and cold, seemed to hold its breath as Stack crossed the street, heading toward the honey-skinned woman who just might change everything.

Stack adjusted his collar, smoothing down the lapels of his coat as he closed the distance. His boots clicked against the wet pavement, each step slow, deliberate—like a man who had all the time in the world and planned to take it.

Up close, she was even more dangerous. Eyes sharp, like she’d seen men like him a hundred times and knew exactly how they fell. But still, she let him get close enough to smell the faint perfume on her skin—jasmine and something darker underneath.

"You lost, soldier?" she asked, voice low and smooth, like a record spinning late at night when the bar’s almost empty.

Stack let that grin spread, all charm and teeth. "Depends who’s asking."

She arched a brow, cool but not cold. "Annalise." She didn’t offer a last name. Didn’t need to. The way she said it made it sound like a promise and a warning all at once.

"Stack," he said, tipping his hat just a little. "And that big fella back there, that’s my brother, Smoke."

Annalise’s eyes flicked past him to Smoke, then back. "Cute names. Like a bad omen."

Stack chuckled, deep and warm. "We’ve been called worse, darlin'."

She shifted her weight, one heel tapping softly against the ground. "Well, Stack, you might want to watch your step. In this city, pretty boys with Southern smiles tend to disappear before they can unpack their bags."

Stack leaned in just enough, voice dropping to a murmur. "Good thing I didn’t come here to unpack. I came to claim."

Annalise held his gaze a beat longer, then smiled—not sweet, but sharp as a knife’s edge. "You’re gonna need more than charm for that."

And just like that, Stack knew—Chicago wasn’t the only thing he wanted to get his hands on.

-

Stack's smile was easy, but his eyes stayed sharp as razors. He tipped his head, watching her like a man sizing up a card table before placing his bet.

"Tell me what you do, pretty lady," he drawled, voice smooth like good bourbon.

Annalise's lips curled, just enough to show she wasn’t impressed—or maybe she was, but she’d never let him know it.

"I sing," she said simply, letting the words hang there between them like cigarette smoke. "At Le Mirage down on State Street. Maybe you’ve heard of it."

Stack’s grin widened. He hadn’t, but he liked the way she said it. Like the place belonged to her, or maybe like she owned every man who stepped inside.

"A singer," he mused, tilting his head. "Figures. A voice sweet enough to get a man killed."

Annalise’s eyes flickered, something colder there now. "Sweet don’t keep me alive in this city, sugar. Knowing when to shut my mouth does."

Stack laughed low. "Well now, ain’t that a shame. I was hopin’ to hear you sometime."

She stepped in a little closer—close enough that Stack caught that jasmine scent again, but her words were cool enough to freeze the air between them.

"Maybe you will. If you last long enough in Chicago to see Friday night."

Then she turned, curls bouncing as she started to walk away, heels clicking against the wet street. But just before she disappeared into the dark, she glanced back over her shoulder.

"Le Mirage. Midnight show. Don’t be late, Stack."

And just like that, she was gone—leaving Stack standing there, grinning like a fool, already knowing he was in deeper than he planned.

Behind him, Smoke muttered, "I told you. City girl’s gonna get you killed."

Stack just chuckled, eyes still on the spot where Annalise vanished. "Maybe, brother. But what a way to go."

Le Mirage hit them like a punch of heat and brass the second they stepped inside. Smoke thick as fog curled around the red velvet curtains, and the thrum of a stand-up bass rolled through the floorboards. The place was packed wall-to-wall: city boys in sharp suits, gang men with fat rings on their fingers, and dames dressed like every night might be their last big score.

Stack’s eyes swept the room, hungry, sharp—searching for that honey-skinned woman with the pinned curls.

But she found them first.

A soft voice, right at his shoulder. "Didn’t think you’d show."

Stack stiffened, then turned slow. And there she was—Annalise, dressed in midnight blue that caught the dim light like the surface of still water. Her pinned curls were perfect, but her eyes? They glittered with something wilder now.

"Couldn’t miss your show," Stack said, that grin sliding back into place. "Smoke and I, we got front-row curiosity."

Smoke grunted behind him, already sizing up the exits and the muscle leaning by the bar.

Annalise’s smile was small but knowing. "You boys are a long way from Mississippi. And you’re already in deeper than you realize." She leaned in, voice dropping low so only they could hear. "You made waves just by walkin’ in here. The kind of waves that get men followed home."

Stack’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed, just a hair. "That a warning, darlin’?"

"It’s a fact," Annalise said, straightening up. "And facts don’t care how pretty you smile."

She stepped back, smoothing her dress, and nodded toward the stage. "Enjoy the show, Stack. But keep your head on a swivel. Le Mirage—it ain’t just for music."

Then she was gone again, slipping through the crowd with the grace of someone who knew exactly who was watching—and wanted them to.

Smoke muttered under his breath. "Told you. Trouble."

Stack just licked his lips, that fire lighting in his chest. "Yeah. But she’s my kind of trouble."

Up on the stage, the house band started to play, the lights dimmed, and somewhere in the shadows, men with cold eyes took note of the two strangers from Cocksdale.

And the night? The night was just getting started.

-

The lights dimmed until only the stage glowed soft and golden, like a secret whispered in the dark.

Then she appeared.

Annalise stepped into that light slow, deliberate, every move practiced to perfection. The room hushed—not because they wanted to, but because she commanded it.

Her dress clung to her like sin, dark blue velvet that shimmered with every sway of her hips. Her pinned curls caught the light just enough to make them gleam like a halo—an angel's crown, if angels had ever learned to smile like that.

And then she sang.

The first note slipped out like warm honey, low and smooth, wrapping around every man in the club and pulling them in closer.

"When the night falls slow… and the devil comes to dance…"

Stack felt it hit him square in the chest. That voice—it wasn’t just a song. It was a net, and he’d walked right into it with open arms.

Smoke shifted beside him, eyes scanning the corners of the club, catching the way certain men leaned in too close, the glint of steel at one table, the hard stares at another.

But Stack? He only had eyes for Annalise.

Because now he understood. This wasn’t just a performance. This was a ritual.

Every time she found a new admirer—someone bold or foolish enough to think they could touch her—she sang like this. Luring them in deeper, making sure they were well and truly tangled before the trap snapped shut.

Her gaze flickered toward him mid-verse, just a flicker, but it felt like a shot fired straight at his heart.

"You can call my name… but you’ll never stand a chance…"

Smoke leaned in close, voice tight. "We got eyes on us, Stack. Real eyes. More than one table. You feel that?"

But Stack didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because right then, Annalise hit that high note, her voice breaking just enough to make every man in that club lean in like moths to flame.

And Stack knew—deep in his bones—that she wasn’t just singing for him.

She was setting the stage.

For what, he didn’t know yet.

But it was coming.

And it had her name written all over it.

-

The final note of Annalise’s song hung in the air like a blade suspended mid-swing. The crowd erupted in applause—cheers, whistles, the clink of glasses. But beneath that noise, Stack felt it. That low, crawling tension. The kind that made a man’s shoulders go tight without knowing why.

Smoke was already shifting. "Doors just locked." His voice was gravel. "Did you hear that click?"

Stack blinked, pulling himself back from the spell Annalise had wrapped around him. He caught it now—the bouncers weren’t watching the crowd. They were watching him and Smoke. The ones at the back doors? Already standing shoulder-to-shoulder. No one was leaving unless they said so.

And Annalise—she didn’t go backstage like a regular singer would. No, she stayed right there at the edge of the stage, one hand on the mic stand, eyes scanning the room. Cool. Calm. Like she’d just lit the fuse and was waiting to see where the explosion landed.

Stack’s grin dropped. Finally.

Smoke muttered, "Told you this place wasn’t just for music. We walked into a goddamn cage match."

The band kept playing, a soft tune now, but Stack noticed half of them were watching the exits too.

Then they saw him.

A big man in a sharp pinstripe suit, shoulders like a truck, stepped out from the shadows near the VIP booth. Gold ring flashing on one hand, the other holding a cigar like it was a weapon. His face was a map of old scars and broken promises.

Dominic "Dom" Lucetti. Capo in the Outfit. The kind of man who didn’t come out unless there was business—and blood—on the line.

He clapped slow, eyes fixed on Stack and Smoke.

"Well, well," Dom rumbled, voice carrying over the thinning applause. "The famous SmokeStack twins. Fresh off the train from Mississippi, thinking they can carve a piece outta my city."

The room went still. Every patron suddenly more interested in their drinks. Even the air seemed to thin.

Stack straightened his collar, forced that old grin back on. "Didn’t realize we were so popular already."

Dom chuckled, dark and humorless. "You made ripples, boys. Big ones. And ripples turn to waves." He gestured around. "This? This is me... making sure the waves don’t get too high."

Behind Stack, Smoke’s hand hovered near his coat—where he kept steel.

And from the stage, Annalise finally spoke.

"Play nice, Dom. They just got here." Her voice was sweet, but her eyes—when they flicked to Stack—were sharp as cut glass.

Dom laughed, a low rumble. "I am playing nice. For now." He turned his attention back to Stack. "So here’s the game, Southern boy: you walk outta here tonight... maybe with a few bruises, maybe not. But you walk out only if you make me believe you’re smart enough to fall in line."

Stack's jaw clenched. He could feel Smoke tensing beside him, ready for the fight.

Annalise stepped down from the stage, slow and graceful, coming to stand between Dom and the twins. Not close enough to take sides. But just close enough to remind everyone she was the one who set this whole thing spinning.

Her eyes met Stack’s, unreadable.

The choice hung there, heavy as a loaded gun.

Play along? Or make their claim the hard way, fists and bullets?

Stack’s fingers curled into fists at his side.

Dom smiled wider. "Well? What’s it gonna be, Mississippi?"

Tags 🏷️

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[grlsbstshot]

LOVE LANGUAGE Chapter Three: Tell Him

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapter Synopsis:

The truth comes out and everyone is left reeling. Relationships change...for good and for bad. Nothing is the same when the sun rises.

Warnings: tense parental/child relationships, mentions of parental abandonment -- if we missed anything, let us know!

!!! IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, YOU SHOULD NOT BE READING THIS !!!

Word Count: 8k

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Jameson watched as the ice melted down, blending and diluting the expensive whisky he had ordered. He hadn’t been able to taste a damn thing excep the bitterness that sat on his tongue.

Furious wasn’t the word for it. It didn’t fit. Didn’t feel right. He was so much more. He was…mourning. Angry. His mind was moving a mile a minute and all the conclusions he had come to were devastating. Almost everyone in his life had lied to him. His mother, his father, Toni, Imani. He had to confront that reality and then something much worse: He had a little brother. One he had never met. Toni hadn’t raised him or else they would have known one another — even if it was just in passing. There could only be one other explanation.

Lucian had been raised by their father.

Pain crested in his chest and it enraged him. He was almost thirty. When the fuck would he stop living in the past? He was a grown man. Who cared that his father had abandoned him? It was time to grow up. It was nearly one in the morning as these thoughts occurred to him. The bar downstairs was quiet, dim, and mostly empty — just a few stragglers nursing their nightcaps or pretending not to be alone. The bartender approached him, clearly to refresh his drink, and Jameson waved him off with a slow shake of his head. He didn’t want a new drink. Hell, he didn’t even want the drink he ordered. He just wanted to sit. To breathe. To not feel like he was drowning in the weight of his family’s shit.

He leaned forward, forearms resting on the counter, and stared at quite literally nothing. The polished surface reflected his tired face and he almost didn’t recognize himself. Mouth drawn tight. Eyes red with exhaustion. This was almost worse than the situation with Kendrick. He was content with the knowledge that his dad was a piece of shit. But what did it mean when he was a piece of shit to one kid and everything to another?

Jameson pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until stars bloomed behind his eyes. He should get up. Go somewhere. Back to Imani? He loved her deeply, but he didn’t want to go back. He was too angry for it. Should he call someone? Call who? The only two people who hadn’t known and hadn’t lied to him were together. Likely asleep and had their troubles. He was on his own for this one. Unless…he got some answers from the person who owed them the most.

He didn’t realize he was moving until he was in the elevator, his thumb hovering over the button for his mother’s floor. For a long second, he hovered there, heart hammering in his chest. Fuck it. He pressed it and watched the doors slide closed. He rode up alone, in total silence. When the doors pinged open, Jameson forced himself to step out. The hallway was quiet and made every footstep echo louder than it should. Finally, he reached his mom’s door and just stood there, staring.

She had known. Had hidden the truth. But still — she was his mother. He wanted to believe she had a good reason to.

Jameson knocked, wanting her to answer urgently but not wanting to disturb anyone else. He gave it a minute and heard rustling inside. Then, the soft sound of the door unlocking. His mother opened the door in a robe, her bare face clear but he could see that her eyes were red. She had been crying. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he heard his name. “Jamie—”

He exhaled, the anger deflating as he looked at her. He knew that she could tell — the truth was out. “Why didn’t you tell me about Lucian?” he asked, exhaustion written all over his face. His mother looked up at him with wide eyes, her hand trembling against the door frame. She opened her mouth to speak but it wasn’t hr voice that came out. He heard a man’s — behind her.

“It was my fault.”

It irritated him that he could recognize the voice. His exhaustion had evaporated and the anger came roaring back. Jameson stepped past his mother, who didn’t put up any resistance, and came face to face with his father…and Toni. Like his mother, Toni wore a robe. Her eyes weren’t red but her face was flustered. She was irritated. His father was fully dressed, thank god, but didn’t look like he had just arrived. “What the fuck going on here?”

No one answered his question. But Toni was the first to speak. Her voice stiff, cold.

“I take it Imani told you.” “I asked what the fuck is going on here?” “I heard you. Did Imani tell you or not?” “Yeah.”“Thank you.”

With that, she left the room. She didn’t spare anyone another glance and Jameson heard the door close with finality. “For real! What the fuck going on here?”

He heard his mother sniff and turned to get a good look at her. “I’m sorry, baby.” she said but it didn’t answer his question. Why the hell was his mother, her best friend, and his father together at one in the morning?

“Sit down, son,” Julian said, his voice cautious as he moved into the living room.

“Don’t call me that.” Jameson didn’t move from the hall, keeping his gaze on his mom. “You okay?” he asked her, unsure of why she’d been crying or what the hell was going on. His hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists to still them.

Anaïs nodded, seemingly struggling to pull herself together. She didn't say anything and Jameson moved over to her, drawing her into a hug. Betrayal boiled in his chest but he couldn’t help but to feel bad for his mom. “I want the truth. I want all of it. Right now. No more protecting anyone. No more lying.”

“I grew up with Toni.”

The voice that responded to his request wasn’t his mother’s. Reluctantly, Jameson turned to face his father and forced himself to listen.

“I asked my mother. Not you.”

“She left New Orleans as a teenager but I stayed. I met your mama there. We fell in love. She was already a great singer but she wanted to act. She got a great offer to sing backup for some girl…” “Julisa.” Ana muttered, hugging Jameson tightly. “Whatever her name was.” “She was a really big deal.” “She couldn’t sing and was jealous that you could. You should never have been behind her.” “I—” “Can we get to the point?” Jameson interrupted rudely, not enjoying the fact that they seemed to have some kind of camaraderie.

“She wanted to move to Los Angeles and take the offer. I asked her to marry me. I didn’t want to be without her. She said yes. We got married on the steps of the cathedral. Middle of the night. Had to bribe a pastor to do it. By the morning, we was gone. On the way to Los Angeles. It didn’t take long for her career to take off. Then we had you. And life was so good.”

Julian was looking back on their lives with a fondness that Jameson didn’t care for. He didn’t remember those fond times. He remembered what came after. “What does this have to do with Toni?”

Shame came into his father’s eyes and he watched as the man took a seat, took a deep breath, and then continued on. “Your mother’s career became out of control. She was a star. She belonged to the world. Not just me. I was…childish. I was married. A father. And I still wasn’t a grown up. Toni’s career was just getting started but she seemed bored with fame already. She ain’t care for it. Ain’t want it. She shunned it in a way your mother didn’t and I…I liked it. We met again at a party. We kept seeing each other that and it turned into an affair.”

His mother stiffened in his arms and Jameson hated his father even more in that moment. He was a child while all this was happening but sorely wished he could have protected his mother from that.

"I never told her about Ana. Or about you. Slowly though, the affair began to crumble. We were on the verge of ending it all when she got pregnant. And then it was too late. She found out everything. She told Ana. Ana left me. Filed for divorce, kicked me out. My whole life slipped from my hands. And the worst part was that I couldn’t look at you without feeling ashamed. I knew one day you’d find out. You’d hate me. It was crazy but I thought…I could avoid that look in your eyes. The same one you’re giving me right now. I thought I could avoid that pain if I never saw you again.”

This time, Jameson could feel his mother’s arms tightening around him — as if she wanted to protect him from hearing that. There was no protection for this. It had been a long time coming. “You fucked me up. You saved yourself the pain of it but it cost me. You fuckin’ ruined me.” The words came in a torrent after that — twenty years’ worth of abandonment, confusion, anger. Jameson’s voice grew louder with every sentence as he let his mother go. “You disappeared and I couldn’t believe it. It hurt so much. I looked for you in any man I ever fucking met and I’m supposed to just what? Accept this?”

Julian tried to interrupt but Jameson cut him off with a furious glare. “You made me feel like I wasn’t enough. You made me feel like I was a mistake! I learned to lean on Kendrick. I thought of him as my father. And we fucking saw what happened there. He let me down. Just like you. Now I find out there’s another son out there? Did you raise him? Did you love him? More than me?” His voice cracked hard on the last word.

Julian looked broken, the words sinking in. He shook his head quickly. “No! No. I don’t love your brother more. I swear to god, I love you both the same. With everything I got in me. I love you. You’ve always been enough. The fault and flaws are mine.” His father’s voice was thick with emotion. “Just mine. There was nothing wrong with you. I made all the mistakes. Never you. I’m so sorry, son.”

Jameson stared at him, chest heaving. He wanted to hit something. To scream. To relieve his own anxiety by hurting his father. But he didn’t. Instead, he spoke softly. “If it wasn’t my fault, why did you raise Lucian and not me?”

It was then that he felt his mother’s hand against his arm. He couldn’t bear to face her. His heart was in his hands and he felt ashamed of it. He never wanted her to know that he carried around that type of pain. That the life she had tried to give him afterward had never been enough.

“I told him to leave.” She confessed softly. “I never tried to contact him. I — I used to pray he never came back, Jamie. I let bitterness take hold of me. I couldn’t even look at Lucian. I couldn’t say his name. My heart was broken into so many pieces that I felt like I was drowning most days. So…Toni sent him to Julian. Out of LA. Away from you. Away from me. It’s my fault too.” Her eyes swollen and red. He could tell that guilt was eating her alive. “I should’ve told you,” she whispered. “I told myself that I was protecting you. That I didn’t want you to hurt more than you already had. I’m sorry, baby.”

Jameson’s heart twisted sharply. How could he blame her? Her whole life had shattered in an instant. She hadn’t handled things well and it just kept getting worse. But in that moment, he decided it was easier to forgive his mother. She had been the one who stayed. Had fought for him. Had loved him. He couldn’t stay mad at her. So he turned and pulled her into a hug. Anaïs broke, crying softly against his chest. He pressed his face into her hair and held her as tightly as he could. Julian hadn’t said another word but his presence weighed heavily on Jameson. He didn’t want him there. Didn’t want Julian to share a single moment with he and his mother. But the words ‘Get out’ didn’t come to him. He couldn’t say anything. Jameson held his mother as she cried softly, apologizing and asking for forgiveness as if it all had been her fault.

Imani sipped slowly from her glass of water, her foot tapping anxiously as the tears flowed down her cheeks. Her peace had vanished with Jameson as he walked out the door. Initially, she was fine, but after the first ten minutes, her anxiety crept in, and by the time an hour had passed without his return, she was overwhelmed. She picked up her phone to call him, but it went straight to voicemail. She tried again.

“It’s me. Leave a message at the…”

Voicemail again. Now her worry deepened. 

Pacing their suite didn’t calm her. Moving from the bed to the couch didn’t ease her mind. She had no one to reach out to. Imani was trapped in her thoughts. The uncertainty about Jameson’s whereabouts drove her insane. She didn’t know if indulging in his old habits or if he would ever come back to her. With her frustration mounting, she reached for her phone again. Imani dialed his number and just as she was about to press call, she heard a knock on the front door. 

She couldn’t remember if Jameson had taken his keycard with him, so she hurried to the door. Imani opened it without hesitation. It wasn’t Jameson–it was Toni, standing there in a robe with an irritated look. Almost instantly, Imani mirrored her expression.

“I still haven’t found my mind yet, so why are you here?” She remarked, referring to their conversation from earlier today.

“To help you find it.” Toni said, brushing past Imani and then turning around to face her, arms crossed over her chest. “Didn’t I tell you to worry about your own child and not mine?”

Imani closed the door and turned to face her aunt, her jaw tight with frustration. “Oh what happened to ‘he has to know’ and ‘it’s gone too far’?” She asked sarcastically. “You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you? For doing something his mother wanted to do?” “Doing something his mother should have been done.” “You just became a mother. What the fuck gives you the right to judge how someone else does it?” “I know I wouldn’t keep a secret brother away from my child for as long as y’all have.” “Oh yeah. Just for a year though, right? You have no idea what you would do to protect your child. That’s all Ana was doing.” “Y’all were going to tell him anyways in Paris, right? Now he knows. So what’s the problem?”

Toni scoffed, giving her a wide-eyed stare that irritated Imani. “The fact that you don’t even know what the problem is just…amazing. You took that from his mother. He has to find his way through that while being angry at the best person to help him through it. That was not your place, Imani. It’s not your place to judge me for what I did either. Your place was to be there when Jameson needed you.”

“I did what Jameson needed me to do!” Imani shouted. Before finding out her secret, Imani wouldn’t dare raise her voice at her aunt. Everything changed. Their relationship touched the danger zone, and there was no turning back. “He might be angry at me, but he’s not some lil’ kid. He deserves to know.”  

“That’s what he needed from you? Then where is he, Imani?” Toni peered around the room, cupping her hands over her mouth to call out for someone she knew wasn’t there. “Jameson? Jameson? I guess he’s not here right now.”

“That shit don’t matter. He’ll come back.” Imani said defiantly. She didn’t know if she believed her own words, but his whereabouts weren’t Toni’s business anyways. “At least he knows the truth now.”

“Did he thank you for it?” “I don’t need him to. Are you done?”

“No. I told you I came to help you find your mind and I will.” Toni folded her arms and moved closer. “This was never about you and Jameson. It was just about him. You made it about you. But here's the truth, Imani: You think what I did was disgusting. But Jameson played in your face more than once…yet you love him more than anything. I wonder what the difference is.”

“Oh, fuck you, Toni. Let’s not act like you and Jameson are the same. Jameson would never fuck Genie and have a child with her. So you can fuck all the way off.”

“Jameson would fuck a goddamn tree if it smelled good enough! The only reason he didn’t fuck Genie is because of he thinks of her as his sister. If he didn’t? Who knows if you’d even be with him.” 

Imani squinted her eyes, shocked that her aunt would speak this viciously about her relationship. Yet, she didn’t falter. She remained stoic. If Toni saw the slightest weakness, she would attack like a lioness. Imani had to keep her guard in the lion’s den. “Don’t you talk about him like that! You don’t know him. He’s not you. He knows what loyalty is unlike you.”

“I didn’t know he was married!” Toni yelled out, frustration boiling over. “But when I found out, I told Ana the truth! I tried to fix my mistakes. And all you fucking do is sit here and point your finger at me! Jameson makes you look stupid over and over again and you forgive him. Ana forgave me. But you? I’m just some disgusting slut for you to judge, right? I don’t know what loyalty is? You won’t fucking find anybody more loyal than me.”

“Y’all fuckin’ lied to Jameson for years about Lucian!” She yelled back, her heart pounding. “That shit with Kendrick had him distraught for months. And then his father came back. And now he finds out his mother and her best friend been hiding a brother from him in plain sight? Yeah, if you’re lookin’ for an apology from me, you can leave cause you’re never gonna get that shit. I promise you that.”

“It was an impossible situation to be in. One you don’t even care to know the details of so why the fuck would I want an apology from you? You not listening. It’s not about you. What you think? What you feel? It does not matter. I’m the damn fool for even caring what you thought for so long. Especially when you’re a hypocrite.” “Oh now, I’m a hypocrite?” “Since we’re being so honest with each other now…when have you not been?” “Oh, you’re one to talk. Ain’t you the same person who judged me months ago in the doctor’s office?”

She was late. Imani wanted to blame it on stress and overworking. But then came the constant headaches and mood swings. She just didn’t feel right. But even entertaining the thought of pregnancy was scary. She wanted to play pretend. Of course, She dreamed of having Jameson’s children. But the timing was all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to happen now, not when she was at another peak in her career. Her hit single “Snooze” was inescapable — blazing through the radio airways, topping the Billboard Hot 100, and going viral. She had too much work to do to even consider a child. She wanted to live in a fantasy land, but her churning stomach refused. 

Reluctantly, she forced herself to take a pregnancy test, her heart pounding as she awaited the result. It came back positive but she immediately tossed it out. It had to be a false positive. She needed the confirmation of a professional but she was afraid of facing it alone. 

Her mother was too far away to call, and she hesitated to tell Jameson – fearing he would be disappointed if the test was wrong. Genie was out of the question. She was strained with wedding planning and the situation with her dad. Imani didn’t want to add unnecessary pressure. That left Toni – and the thought sent a surge of anger coursing through her veins. Learning the truth about Lucian’s father was jarring but even worse was watching her aunt fall from the pedestal she had put her on all her life. Toni wasn’t who she thought she was and Imani couldn’t forgive her part in complicating Jameson’s life. The idea of dialing her number made her sicker than the actual pregnancy itself, but she was left with no other choice.

So she called her. And they sat awkwardly in the examination room. The walls were a dull shade of off-white and the faint antiseptic smell lingered in the air. Imani could only bear to look at her aunt for a few seconds before a surge of anger flared up inside her, forcing her to avert her gaze to the stark linoleum floor. She remained silent as the doctor performed a series of blood and urine tests on her, only offering short answers to a few routine questions. Once the doctor left the room to analyze the tests, silence settled over them.

Imani could feel the weight of Toni’s gaze, and her foot jittered anxiously as she tried to redirect her attention elsewhere. “I wonder what’s taking them so long. I ain’t got all day for this.” She muttered under her breath, the words tinged with impatience.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be fine.” Toni said softly, trying to offer comfort. 

The older woman began to slowly rotate in the chair that the doctor occupied, her hands elegantly resting in her lap. Normally, Toni’s words would comfort her, but they only tap-danced on her nerves. She wasn’t the same woman that Imani adored and idolized; she had turned into a woman with flaws. Imani wondered if she would ever be able to view her the same way again.

“I hope so.” “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine,” she muttered, irritation creeping in. “I’m just ready to see what the doctor has to say.” “I’m sure they’ll be in soon.”

Imani rolled her eyes, tempted to respond with a snide remark but she decided against it. 

Thankfully, the doctor soon reentered the room, her face lit up with an exuberant smile. “Congratulations Ms. St. Cirie! Your results came back positive. We would like to…” The room seemed to spin as a wave of nausea swept over Imani. The rest of the doctor’s words faded into an unintelligible murmur as her mind fixated on that single word: Congratulations. A baby? What the hell was she gone do now? How could she tell Jameson with all the chaos already consuming his life with his family? The timing couldn’t have been worse.

Toni stood from her spot, moving over to Imani. She felt her hand pressed against her back. Her shock cooled her anger. Imani took a deep breath, attempting to ground herself as the doctor and Toni discussed her next steps. The room was on a swivel.

Imani hadn’t even registered that the doctor had quietly slipped out of the room until Toni’s voice pierced through her racing thoughts. “Are you okay, baby?” The word “baby” sent a jolt through her, making the room spin even faster, as if the ground beneath her had suddenly betrayed her. This couldn’t be real. Her voice trembled as she replied, “I-I need some water. I think I’m about to throw up.”

“No water. It’ll just make you throw up for real. Lucian kicked my ass with the nausea when I was pregnant.” Toni scooped up the small trash can and set it beside her niece. “Just breathe and lay back,” she instructed gently.

“No. I need to leave,” Imani snapped, her words sharp and desperate. The weight of Toni’s presence and the looming mention of a baby had become unbearable. With a surge of determination, she pushed herself to her feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

“And go where? Somewhere for you to melt down over the fact that having unprotected sex every day inevitably brings a baby?” Toni’s voice dripped with sarcasm and Imani’s anger flared suddenly. How dare Toni scold her over her reckless decision when she made one of her own years ago? She couldn’t believe it.

“Can we please not do this now?” she retorted, her voice trembling with both fury and anguish.

“Oh, now we’re definitely going to do it now,” Toni replied, her tone a mix of exasperation and resolve. “I was willing to wait until we got to the car, but let’s do it now. What were you thinking? You told me everything you wanted to accomplish in the next five years. How in the world do you plan to achieve any of that with a baby?”

“I’m not doing this with you,” Imani shot back defiantly, her tone laced with raw emotion. Normally, Imani would have retreated, but with the secret she knew, she didn’t owe Toni any modesty. “You had an affair with your best friend’s man and became a holiday parent. I don’t think you have the right to give me any advice, Toni.” She twisted the doorknob, desperate to wrench it open, only to have Toni slam it shut with force.

“Are you fucking serious, Imani?” Toni demanded, her eyes flashing as she confronted her niece.

“As fuck!” Imani retorted, her defiance emboldened by the surge of anger that coursed through her veins. She was furious that Toni, of all people, dared to lecture her on her choices. “I-I know all of this was unplanned but at least I ain’t do what you did. How could you do that to Ms. Anaïs?”

“That’s none of your business. Lucian and Ana have nothing to do with what’s happening right now.” Toni snapped, dismissing her. “This is about you and the consequences of your actions. Do not give up your career for a man. Especially Jameson.”

She shook her head in disbelief as she barked, “Shut up! You can’t tell me shit about what to do with my baby when you fucked your best friend’s man and left yours with her husband!” Imani placed her hands over her mouth, startled at the venom in her own words. Toni was shocked as well, how brow furrowed, and she could see pain in her eyes.

“Move, Toni.” Imani ordered, her frustration mingling with regret. “I don’t even know why I asked you to come here.”

Her aunt didn’t say another word. She pulled back from the door and Imani fled the room.

“Telling your goofy ass that having a baby will slow down progress to your career is not judging. You were sucking and fucking on that boy without protection and then started acting hysterical because the test came back positive.” Toni tilted her head, folding her arms over her chest again. “But you sure as fuck have been throwing Lucian in my face since you found out. Acting like your own cousin is some horrible thing I should be ashamed of.”

“Nah, don’t do that. This don’t have shit to do with Lucian. For years, you judged me and my relationship with Jameson. You talked so much shit about him. Meanwhile, your trifling ass laid on a secret like this for over twenty fuckin’ years. You acted like you didn’t have skeletons in your own damn closet to worry about. So you don’t get to call me a hypocrite. I guess you can say I learned from the best.”

“It has everything to do with him. He’s the result of my affair. I tried to warn you about Jameson. I saw his father in him and judging by how many times you’ve cried on my shoulder, I was right.” Toni was furious, Imani could see it in the way she was trembling. The words were clipped and flying out a mile a minute. “And it was MY fucking secret to keep. Who are you to tell me that’s wrong? I know who I am. I’ve never pretended to be anything but Toni motherfucking St. Cirie and one thing about me? A man can never play me twice. You can be sure as shit Julian never did. You can’t fucking relate!”

They were simply lashing out now, ripping each other to pieces and it didn’t feel good but neither of them could stop.

“Oh, trust me, I don’t want to. At least I know what the fuck love feels like. You had to sleep with your best friend’s man to feel some shit. That’ll never be me.”

Imani saw it then. The battle was over. Something settled over Toni’s face and she knew that finally, it was all over.

“That’s right. I slept with someone’s husband. I told her, she left him, and she became the most important person in my life. I sent my child away because I didn’t want to hurt her anymore. I lost so much because I wanted to feel some shit. Anything else?”

“Nope. We done here?”

“Absolutely,” Toni said stonily, stepping closer. They were within inches of one another. She could see Toni’s hazel eyes so clearly. They were filled with tears but Imani knew that the next three words were uttered with total sincerity – she meant them. “Lose my number.”

After Toni left, the tears started flowing and didn’t stop. Her relationship with Toni was over, and there was no way to undo the harsh words they had exchanged. Imani had entered that argument fiercely, but losing her aunt was something she hadn’t been ready for. Lost in her sobs, she didn’t notice the soft click at the door. She was unaware of Jameson’s return until she heard his voice. Quickly, Imani wiped her eyes, using the tissue beside their bed to clear any traces of tears, though her puffy eyes and reddened face gave it all away. ”H-hey, are you okay?” She said once he entered the room. 

“What happened?” Jameson asked softly. Her eyes were red. She was the second woman he loved that he’d had to watch with red eyes. He was emotionally exhausted and wanted the night to be over but worry for Imani took center stage. Jameson shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it aside, and took a seat on the bed. Talking about himself wasn’t appealing. “I was coming back, Mani. You know I wasn’t leaving forever.”

“I-I know. I’m okay. Are you okay, Jay?” “I’m fine. I went to see my mother.” “How did it go?” “It was…a lot. Julian was there. So was Toni.”

Imani winced at her name. The tears threatened to fall, but she ignored it. “Julian’s here?” She shook her head. “Why?”

“Mama said he insisted on being here when I found out about Lucian. She said she was going to tell me after the wedding.” “I’m sorry, Jay.” “What for? It’s not your fault life is…a mess.” “That you had to find out this way. I’m sorry.”

Finally, Jameson looked up at her and saw the guilt. She did feel bad about how it all spiraled out. He was still so angry at everybody, at everything. But he’d forgiven his mother for keeping the secret for twenty years. He could forgive Imani for a year. “Look at me.” he told her softly, reaching for her hand. “I’m not mad at you. I didn’t handle it well but I understand you were in a bad spot. I’m sorry my family put you in it.”

She took his hand, rubbing her thumb over his skin. “Everything is so fucked up.” The water in her eyes started to well up and this time, she allowed her tears to flow freely. “I’ve been fightin’ with people all damn day and I’m just–I’m tired.” 

He didn’t bother to finish getting undressed. Jameson simply crawled up the bed and settled himself next to Imani, pressing a kiss to her head. “Who’s been arguing with my baby? Hmm? Toni?” He held her close, killing any ember of resentment he may have held against her for hiding the truth. 

Imani chuckled, slipping her fingers into his curls. “Toni, Ellington. At this point, who hasn’t?”

He saw the shit with Toni coming from a mile away but not with his best friend. “EJ? For what? I just talked to him about this.”

“He wants me to convince Genie to talk to her dad. I told him I wasn’t doing that and he called me selfish again.”

Jameson was quiet for a moment, his mind running a mile a minute. “Did he say Genie wants to talk to her dad again?” “He said she misses her dad,” she sighed. “Okay. I’ll talk to EJ. Don’t worry about it. Fighting is over. Let’s go back to it being just you and me until the wedding. Deal?” “Deal,” she wiped her eyes. “But I have to tell you something first, Jamie…”

Jameson’s body stiffened and he did his best not to groan out loud. He let his eyes close to steel himself for anything he was about to hear. “If it’s bad, I don’t want to know until after the wedding, baby. I gotta get through this week with enough bad shit.”

“Jamie, I’m pregnant…” She said softly. “I was going to wait to tell you, but I can’t keep any more secrets from you.”

He inhaled sharply, letting the words wash over him. Pregnant. A baby. Jameson pulled away from Imani and peered down at her suspiciously. “You lyin to make me feel better or something?”

She gently pulled away from Jameson and slipped out of bed. Walking over to her suitcase, Imani opened it and retrieved her sonogram. Returning to Jameson, she handed it to him. “No lies,” she said firmly. 

He hesitated for a moment before reaching and taking the sonogram. For a long moment, he was quiet, his fingertips pressing to the image as he traced the shape of their child. “When Camille said her baby may have been mine – I was hoping it wasn’t. But then I started to think about what I’d be like as a father and I couldn’t wait to have that with you.” He looked up at her with a tired smile. “Now I have it. Thank you for making this the best day…night…whatever of my life.”

Anaïs dialed Kendrick's number with shaking fingers. She hadn't even realized she was crying again until she heard the tremble in her own breath. For a moment, guilt clawed at her. But when his voice answered, cautious and all too aware that it was her calling. Hearing his voice dissolved her guilt into something heavier.

“Anaïs?” he said, half-surprised, half-concerned. “What’s wrong? Is it the kids?”

She had forgotten the time difference. Two am in her time was afternoon for Kendrick but he had to know she wouldn’t call if it wasn’t an emergency. She grimaced, pressing her hand to her head before answering. “I'm sorry. They’re fine. They’re both okay. I just... I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

There was a pause, the sound of cars passing in the background. Where could he be? Then again, that was none of her business anymore. His voice gentled. “Talk to me.”

At first, she could barely manage it. Tense, clipped words stumbled out about the confrontation with Jameson, about how everything she, Toni, and Julian had buried clawed its way back to the surface. But Kendrick stayed silent, patient, until finally, the tension ebbed from her like a tide. And then she was talking — really talking — telling him how scared she was for Jameson, how lost she felt. How she hated herself for still carrying anger. And jealousy. The ugly, raw truth of it cracked her open.

“I hated you,” she whispered. “For saying that about Jameson mostly but also for moving on. For having a son. For giving someone else the things you promised me.”

Silence stretched between them, deep and soft.

“I never wanted it to be that way,” Kendrick said quietly. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but...I’m sorry, Anaïs. For all of it.”

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping free. “I’m letting you go. Finally. You — and everything we might have been. Everything Julian and I would have been. I can’t hold on to any of that anymore.”

There was a sadness in Kendrick’s voice that cut her when he replied, “Thank you. For every year you gave me. For every version of you I got to love.”

She wiped at her eyes, sniffling. “Thank you for pulling me and Jamie back from the brink. I really do hope you can make it up to him. I know you love him and I know he loves you.” “I hope so too. I don’t know how I can make it up but I’m going to try until the day I die. I love that boy.” “I know you do. How…how’s your son?”

“He’s…Good,” Kendrick said after a moment. “Small. Loud.” He laughed a little, and it was a balm to her raw nerves. “Perfect. I keep looking at him and seeing Genie. Brings me to tears every single time.”

They lingered in the silence again, something fragile and tender living between them now. Anaïs picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Genie’s okay,” she added finally. “She’s sad. Won’t admit it but I see it. I’ll talk to her. See if she’ll let you come to the wedding. She’s angry, Kendrick, but maybe... maybe now is the perfect time for family to pull together.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. Just then, the door to Anaïs’ bedroom clicked open. She turned, startled, to see Toni slipping inside. She looked exhausted, haunted. Anaïs quickly whispered, “I have to go.” and hung up before Kendrick could reply.

Toni leaned against the door, looking smaller than Anaïs had ever seen her. “How did it go with Jameson?” Toni asked softly.

Ana peered over at her best friend and then slowly shuffled across the bed, making room for her to sit. “He’s upset, of course. He wants to get to know Lucian. He’s not interested in being close to his father.” That truth had hurt Julian but he accepted staying out of the way when it came to Jameson and Lucian. “I think that’s as good as we can hope for right now. How’d it go with Imani? You did go to see her, didn't you?"

She hadn’t seen Toni fall apart in years but the mention of Imani made her lower lip tremble and Toni squeezed her eyes shut. She stood in the doorway, clinging to the door as if it was a lifeline. “T?” Ana questioned.

Finally, she saw them. Tears slowly rolling down her face. It alarmed her. She jumped up from the bed and hastily made her way to Toni. She wrapped her into a hug, relieved that Toni collapsed against her and the two slowly moved toward the bed.

“Just breathe. It’s okay.” “I swear to god, I could have choked the hell out of that girl.” Toni said softly. “She was cruel and vicious. So proud of what she was saying. There was no hesitation.”

Ana didn’t need to know what was being said to know that it was about her affair with Julian. Lucian was the sore spot. The physical proof that she had helped dismantle a marriage — unknowingly but even so. Her son’s existence had completely changed four lives. She carried shame and guilt about it. Having her niece use that against her had to be intensely painful.

“Every word out of her mouth might as well have been to call me a whore! She hates me and I think I hate her too right about now.” “Don’t say that.” Ana chided her, shaking her head. “You do not. I know you don’t.”

Toni pulled back, tears streaming down her face. “You should blame me. Me and Julian. It’s what we deserve.”

Anaïs cupped her cheeks, brushing her thumbs gently under Toni’s eyes. “I don’t want to blame you. I never did. You did your part but you didn’t know. When you did, you did what was right,” she said. “Besides, we’ve all made mistakes in this situation. If anything, you should blame me. If I wasn't so...broken, you wouldn't have sent Lucian away. I'm sorry for what I cost you.”

Toni let out a sound that was almost a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” “Stop it. I forgave you a long time ago. I don’t even know who I would be without you.” Anaïs whispered. “Give Imani time.” Toni shook her head vehemently. “No. You didn’t hear what she said. You didn’t hear what I said.” Her voice cracked. “There’s no fixing this. I’m not even sure I want to.”

Anaïs didn’t know what else to say. So she leaned in instead, pressing her forehead against Toni’s. And then, without thinking — maybe out of loneliness, maybe out of heartbreak, maybe out of a thousand silent things they'd both been carrying — Anaïs kissed her. It was soft. Sad. A balm to wounds too deep to name. When they pulled apart, neither spoke. There was nothing left to say. Only the broken, complicated comfort of understanding each other best.

The trilling tone of Janet Jackson echoed through the bedroom and Genie vaguely realized her phone was ringing. Her first instinct was to ignore it. She huffed, annoyed at the intrusion, before turning over and cuddling closer to EJ. His warm hands pressed to the small of her back and pulled her in. For a moment, Genie sank deeper into sleep until she remembered she had a dress fitting.

She jolted up in bed, twisting out of EJ’s hold as she fumbled over for the phone. Her quick reflexes pulled him right out of sleep. He grunted and let her go, sleepily sitting up and watching her as she connected the call. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I overslept, didn’t I? I’m on my way!”

Beside her, EJ mumbled. “Baby, the sun ain’t even up.”

Genie peered to the right and sure enough — the sky was getting a bit lighter but it was far from looking anything past ten. am…which was the time for her fitting. The voice on the other end was rushed, panicked. French-accented English stumbled over itself and Genie got the feeling that something was really wrong. “Mademoiselle Adesanya? I— I’m so sorry to disturb you so early, but there has been...an issue.”

Genie’s stomach twisted. “What kind of issue?”

“Your gown. We did receive it and we were prepared to go through with alterations but we cannot find it now. It is not here, Mademoiselle.”

For a moment, all Genie could do was blink. She felt her brow furrow and her gut clench. “Wh-What do you mean you can’t find it now?” Her voice was stunned. “You got the dress but now it’s gone?” She could feel EJ shift in the bed but paid him no attention. This was a goddamn national emergency.

“Yes, mademoiselle,” the woman said miserably. “We have searched everywhere. It is not where it should be. We are checking with all deliveries, all storage. Maybe it was taken accidentally or is somewhere it shouldn’t be. But it is not here.”

Genie squeezed her eyes shut and immediately felt EJ’s hand against her back. She peered up at him and he was halfway dressed. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.” This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening.

“We will continue looking, of course,” the woman quickly reassured Genie — probably overhearing EJ’s voice. “Please have our deepest apologies. We will cover whatever cost to replace —”

“You can’t replace it.” Genie responded miserably, staring blankly at the wall. “I made it myself. Eight months of fabric selection, cutting perfectly, three different prototype dresses. You can’t cover that cost.” EJ squeezed her hand as the woman on the other end made apologies and reassurances but Genie was checked out. Demoralized. “Just…let me know if you find it.” She hung up before she got a response and tears filled her eyes. “My dress,” she whispered. “It’s gone.”

There was a beat of heavy silence. Then EJ pressed a kiss to her head. Already determined to fix things for her, already focused. “We’re gonna find it,” he said firmly, leaving her side only to grab a shirt to cover his bare chest. “Or we’ll figure something out, baby. I swear to you, you’re going to have everything you ever wanted. I swear.”

Even as he said it, she could see the worry creeping into his eyes. Genie took quick, deep breaths and contained her frantic worry. She had already written the dress off. It was gorgeous. If another bride had it, she wasn’t going to bring it back. She had made it herself but the material and effort cost her thousands. It was gone and she had to figure out what came next.

Sloane stood in front of the full-length mirror, the morning light cutting through the gauzy curtains of her Paris apartment. It was a beautiful day once the sun had come out. The dress covering her body like secret only made the day more beautiful. It was a surprisingly heavy, shimmering thing — intricate lace against her tanned skin, the silken skirt pooling at her bare feet. It would turn into an elegant train once shuffled correctly. It was beautiful. Breathtaking. She hadn’t known Genie was capable of such good taste.

It had cost her a fortune to get it. Money wired, favors called in, the kind of dirty work she had once sworn she was above. She paid someone — handsomely — to slip past locks and cameras, to take what wasn't theirs. What wasn't hers. And now here it was.

Sloane touched the bodice carefully, smoothing it down with trembling fingertips. In another life, maybe, she could have been at Genie’s fitting. Helping her. She would be the maid of honor and not that interloper Imani. That shallow, plastic bitch had taken so much from her. Jameson to start and then Genie. If she didn’t exist, Sloane was sure she would have gotten her friends back. They’d be the three musketeers again. In another life, she would be happy when Imani didn’t exist. But not in this one. In this life, she had become the interloper. A saboteur.

Her phone trilled on the nearby table and Sloane ignored it. There was no turning back now. Not after this. Not after putting everything in motion. The dress was only the beginning. She didn’t want to hurt Genie — but it was the only way to get the result she wanted. She wanted them to feel her absence. To regret it.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. They had moved on. They had forgotten her.

Not anymore.

Now she was going to be the center of it all, even if it was as the villain of their story. She turned, letting the dress swirl around her legs, a twisted mockery of the wedding day Genie thought she was going to get. Her mouth curled into a bitter smile. "Let's see how perfect your fairytale is without the happy ending."

The plan was already unfolding. And none of them were going to stop her now.

[grlsbstshot]

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore x Black!OC & Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In the underbelly of Prohibition Chicago, a quiet bartender begins to suspect a dangerous secret about a man who might not be just one man after all.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Violence, implied abuse, trauma, period-accurate sexism, organized crime elements

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - another one.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2,511+

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐬 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟕

To the people of Chicago, Odessa Ripley was a simple woman. All they knew about her was that she worked at Gertie’s Fine Dining, was born and raised in Clarksdale, Mississippi, and the second wife to Laurence Ripley, who they only assumed could be the on putting those bruises on her skin that she tried to hide with makeup and a beaming smile. And that was all true. She was born and raised in Clarksdale Mississippi, far out from the small city life the place did have. She lived a small plantation where her family did a little well, though they were still slaves to the money they only could dream of. The eldest girl of four kids.

But she wasn’t the ideal child, not to her father at least. She was so focused on doing her work, making as much money as she could to take care of her family, but the time she was sixteen, she had no prospects. And that didn’t sit right with him. He spent the next two years, trying to turn the field girl into a suitable wife. And she knew the basics, cooking, cleaning, sowing, all that. And though her beauty was there, men didn’t want a girl who worked her whole life doing labor. They wanted a lady. And that was something she wasn’t.

She wasn’t soft spoken, and she wasn’t stupid and naive as most men wanted her to be. She was reserved, didn’t talk much, but when she did it meant something. She was an observer, so she started a lot, and she resting face gave off an unwelcoming feeling to most. And Carl Coulter had lost hope.

That was until he caught word from some white men speaking about their daughters during work, and how they’d send their girls off to marry suitable men.

And then all hope didn’t seem to be lost, and he also saw extra money in his future.

And next thing Odessa knew was that five years ago years ago, she’d been Odessa Maree Coulter of Mississippi, a barefoot girl with callused hands and no prospects. And then her father had sold her off like a debt, packed her onto a train with a suitcase and a scrap of paper: Laurence Ripley, Chicago. And she wasn’t even sure how much she was sold for.

She just hoped it made her family happy, and now they could live a bit better.

And now, by day, Odessa Ripley served fried meats and bootlegged coffee at Gertie’s Fine Dining, a “restaurant” so polite you could bring your elderly mother after church. And by night, she ghosted through the real heart of the place — a speakeasy buried under the floorboards, lit dimly by candles, cigarette smoke and broken dreams.

She wasn’t loud, wasn’t showy. She never was but it was something she grew not to be after years in the bustling city of Chicago. She minded her business, kept her eyes low and her hands busy. In a place like Gertie’s, it was safer not to see too much, though nothing could go down in the designated safe zone.

But even a reserved woman could notice patterns.

There was him. This one man. He was tall, dark, well built and sharp at the edges. Everyone that was anyone seemed to know him. The Italians bragged about him, and the Irish laughed with him over glasses of rotten whiskey.

Same man.

Only… he wasn’t the same man. At least, that’s what Odessa gathered.

She caught it in the smallest things. When he came with the Italians, he wore polished shoes, a perfectly pressed suit, a gold pinky ring flashing under the low lights. His hair slicked hard and smooth when he took off his fedora. The gold outlining the teeth of his canines when he laughed loudly with the men and he kissed cheeks like he was born in Naples.

But when he rolled in with the Irish, he wore scuffed boots, a crooked tie, a rough grin that didn’t stretch far but signaled trouble. His hair tucked under a flat cap, and he laughed easy, slapping backs like he grew up tossing stones at windows in Dublin.

From the inattentive men of the mobs to the unassuming bystanders, it was just one man. A man like no other that gained them more power and money than some of them could ever think of.

But to Odessa, it was two. It had to be. It didn’t make any sense to her. Unless her lack of communication to people besides her children was staring to get to her.

She noticed things about them—him. Some nights, he drank bourbon neat. Other nights, he asked for gin with a twist. Some nights, he limped on his right leg. Other nights, his left shoulder hung low. Some nights, he spoke sharp and clipped, like he’d been raised in Chicago proper. Other nights, there was a soft, creeping drawl that curled the edges of his words.

Most folks would’ve chalked it up to exhaustion, to drinks, or to the weight of the life. But Odessa had lived enough of a double-life herself to recognize a crack in the mask.

But she wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud.

Lord knew she had enough troubles stitched into the seams of her life already. But she did have the ones she grew to love more than she could ever imagine.

Her husband, Laurence Ripley, was a widower. She never knew fully what happened to the woman, and she wasn’t strong enough to ask the little ones or the grieving husband. But from word of mouth, it seemed to everyone that it was simply unexpected. And now Laurence needed help, he said. Needed a wife, he meant.

Odessa learned the difference between the two quick.

She also learned to love his children — Beatrice ‘Beaty’ and Peter ‘Pete’ — who clung to her like barnacles to a sinking ship after the loss of their mother. Nothing but ten and twelve when she first met them, her nothing but eighteen.

Now, she lived with the children, who were closer to her age than she was to their father. She tried her best to keep smiles on their faces, even when they would drop when Laurence came home drunk or angry every night. The three found solace in each other after abruptly loosing the life they once knew.

Still, she couldn’t help but tell the kids her theory late at night, when the dishes were washed and Beaty was playing with her hair while Pete was pretending he wasn’t listening.

“I think there’s two of ’em.” She said, dropping her voice like the walls had ears as she sowed the hole in Laurence’s shirt closed.

“Two what?” Pete asked, looking up from his whittling knife.

“Two men, keep up Pete.” Beaty said said, looking up from the woman’s hair and over to the older boy. Pete simply threw her an annoyed look while Odessa continued. “You don’t know them, but you’ve probably seen them. The one the Italians love and those Irish men laugh with. They look alike, sure, but… they ain’t the same. I swear it.”

Beaty giggled, finishing off the one braid she did with a white ribbon. “Mama Dessa, that has to be the craziest thing I ever heard. Are you making up stories to keep us entertained?” She questioned, causing Pete to snort while Odessa playfully rolled her eyes at the girl. “Ain’t no one slick enough to pull that off.” Peter stated. “’Specially not with those fellas.” He said, before standing up from the table and grabbing his new banjo from the living room, new to him since he saw an old white man throw it out that morning when he was in town getting groceries.

“Ehh.” Beaty chimed back in as she continued with the other half of Odessa head. “It sounds crazy but don’t give those white men too much credit. They ain’t that bright.” She shrugged.

“That ain’t dumb either.” Pete said as she walked back into the small stable that sat in the corner of the kitchen, placing the instrument in his lap. “They just let their egos get in the way of making smart decisions. That’s how they always mess up.” He said, strumming a few strings and letting the soft sounds fill the kitchen. He then paused, looking over at the older woman in the other side of the table. “At least, that’s what you say, right mama?” He asked.

And Odessa smiled into her cup. She then placed it down, offering him her soft look. “Of course.” She said, a bit endeared that he remembered her words. “But don’t go ‘round saying that to other people ‘else word get back to ya and bites. And since you’re in the mood for quoting, also remember—.”

“There ain’t no white man smatter or better than you.” The younger two echoed before the woman could even speak. And hearing their words caused a smile to cross her lips.

“But based on your story, mama Dessa, we may be smarter than you. Cause ain’t no two men posing as one with the mod.” Beaty woke up, her and her brother sharing a laugh while Odessa rolled her eyes at them again as she went back to her sowing.

As they laughed, she wasn’t sure she believed it herself, not really. But deep down, in the place that still had a little fire left, she knew.

She knew.

They never interacted. The man — or men — never said anything to her. Never gave her a wink or a hint. But sometimes, when he passed by her at the bar, shoulder brushing hers, he’d tip his hat just a little lower. And she would nod back. That was it. And it didn’t eat away at her like she thought it would, because even if she was ever right, she knew some things — and some people — were safer left in the shadows.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The night came in heavy, wrapping Gertie’s in smoke and low murmurs as they prepared to close down for the night. Odessa was working her upstairs shift, and as she wiped down the polished wood of the upstairs counter, head bowed like always, but her sharp eyes caught movement near the door.

There he is, she thought.

Tonight, he was dressed crisp. Tweed suit with a dark green color, a matching flat cap, silver cufflinks, and a dark coat slung over his shoulder. Irish side, then.

He moved smooth through the room, parting it like a ship through water, a close-lipped smile that offered no one comfort.

When he reached the bar, Odessa had already poured a whiskey. Neat. No words exchanged.

He smiled wider now, still small, just a touch to show his nice teeth. Enough to make a lesser girl blush.

“Appreciate it, sweetheart.” He said, voice low and syrupy. She gave a small, polite nod, sliding the glass to him across the bar. Her fingers brushed his glove.

He smelled like tobacco and cologne, something expensive.

He drank standing up, surveying the room that was beginning to thin as families closed down to the night and some men headed to the back to enter their downstairs area.

“Busy night?” He asked, kidding his head over to the bereaved curtain that was stationed behind the bar. They both knew he was taking about the speakeasy below their feet, the room buzzing full of boisterous men drunk off illegal drinks and high off gambling.

“Steady,” Odessa said, voice even. She kept her gaze slightly averted, like a good and unsuspecting girl would.

He let out a small chortle under his breath, tossed a coin onto the bar, and tipped his hat. “Save me a spot next time. I’d love to try the food here.”

Then he was gone, vanishing into the back and disappearing into the dark like a shadow.

The next time was about a day later. She really say then in the same day. She was working her speakeasy shift that night and after the Irish had cleared out and the Italians had flooded in with louder laughs and messier boots, he returned.

But different.

Black suit with a matching wide brimmed hat, gold cufflinks, a white pocket square so sharp it could slice you. He moved as smooth as before, though a little less assertive. He flashed that smug smile that had the women swooning, opposed to the close-lipped smile that said everything and nothing at once that she saw yesterday. His accent was smoother now — words rolling looser, more careless.

“Evenin’, darlin’.” He said, dropping onto a stool with a heavy sigh, like he’d been working all day digging graves. “You got anythin’ that’ll kill a man twice?” He asked with a smirk, showing those gold teeth in the corner of his mouth.

Odessa lifted an eyebrow but kept her voice mild. “Could rustle up a gin, maybe some moonshine or a prayer. Whichever you think’ll hit harder.” She deadpanned.

He barked out a full, throaty laugh — none of that tight and taunt smile from before.

“Gin’ll do,” He said, tapping the bar with two fingers.

She poured him one, hand steady even as her mind rattled. Up close, he seemed a bit broader. His knuckles looked less scuffed, but his skin a shade darker from sun or soot. Maybe she’d imagined the roughness earlier.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

He threw back the drink and grimaced happily.

“You’re a blessing, you know that?” He said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Odessa hummed, taking the glass and pointing him another before moving to the rest of the empty glasses left by men from earlier. “Don’t rightly feel like one some days.” She murmured, surprising herself.

He tilted his head at that, studying her now. The easy humor faded from his face, replaced with something quieter.

Softer.

“You oughta.” He said finally, almost serious before picked a toothpick from the short glass on the bar and put it in his mouth. Then he slid a few coins her way — double what the drink cost — and sauntered back toward the table in the back where a few Italian men were raising hell over dice and cards.

Odessa watched him go, wiping down the already clean bar with slow, careful strokes.

Same man, she thought. Same eyes, same voice.

But…

But not the same weight behind the voice.

Not the same way he wore his own skin.

And no matter how many times Beaty and Pete laughed at her for it, Odessa just knew that those had to be different men. There were two of them. Two faces. Same damn lie stitched up in different suits.

She tucked the extra coins into her apron and said nothing. Some secrets were safer locked behind your teeth.

And she had learned a long time ago. Women like her didn’t survive by speaking the truth.

That is how she got her husband after all.

[grlsbstshot]

to all the writers who no longer write aaron/terry fics ---

thank you for what you did give us. from romantic second-chance stories to dark thriller fics. you lit up this tag and were a building block of an emerging community. it doesn't matter whether one person read your fics or three hundred read them; i consider you a writer.

if you ever decide to come back, tag your girls. we'll be here and we'll be waiting to kick our feet and gag over all the drama (in the stories). thank you!

[grlsbstshot]

Dramaaaaa! I'm glad Imani told him although I think she left out another secret. 👀 I wonder what Sloane has up her sleeve now.

👀 Stay tuned.

[grlsbstshot]

LOVE LANGUAGE Chapter Two: Secret

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapter Synopsis:

Genie and EJ each wrestle with the past, triggering reactions far wide reaching than they could imagine. Meanwhile, Jameson seeks reassurance and Imani goes to war.

Warnings: tense parental/child relationships, mentions of parental abandonment -- if we missed anything, let us know!

!!! IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, YOU SHOULD NOT BE READING THIS !!!

Word Count: 8k

@bruleecream @fakxmbj @ebbyluv @luxlovee1 @easybrezzy @ovohanna24 @queensweetpea156837 @fadingdeert @fadingdeertree

“Ignore it.” Imani’s voice was frantic, noting the fact that Jameson seemed to freeze. Imani circled her hips, pushing back against Jameson and he grasped her hips tightly – giving her a sharp thrust. A warning without speaking. She stilled immediately and the knock came again. It was sharp, impatient. Whoever it was wanted them to open the door.

“Jamie, don’t.”“Nobody knows we’re here, baby.”“I don’t give a fuck if the building is on fire. Don’t stop.”

The rapping knock came again and Imani knew it was a done deal. The intrusion had stolen his attention.  Jameson groaned. “I’ma fuckin’ kill whoever it is. Genie. EJ. It don’t matter.” Much to Imani’s dismay, he pulled out. Frustration set in her blood and she grasped the sheets tightly, glaring in the direction of their bedroom door. From there, it was a short walk to the adjoining living room but she was much more interested in what had been happening in their bed.

“I’ll get it, baby.” She reluctantly volunteered. “What? No. I got it.” Jameson argued, getting off the bed. “You can’t.”“Baby, I’m not letting you open the door in the middle of the night.”“Jameson…”“What?”

Imani turned over in bed, rolling her eyes with irritation and amusement. She peered down at the telltale rigidity between his legs before bringing her gaze back to his, making her point with a raise of her eyebrows. “Ion like sharing so we gotta keep that between us.” Jameson smirked, leaning in to give her a quick kiss as Imani made a promise. “I got it. I'ma get rid of ‘em. Just…stay right there.”

Much to her relief, Jameson fell over onto the bed with a frustrated groan. She understood exactly how he felt right then. Imani yanked her silk robe from the chair and hastily tied it around her waist as she made her way to the door. She barely glanced through the peephole before unlocking it, pulling it open just enough to glare at whoever had the audacity—

“Hey, Mani.”“...Lucian. What are you doing here?”

He was nervous. She could see it in the way he shifted on his feet, the way his hands stayed buried in the pockets of his expensive coat. But more than that, she noticed the way his gaze flickered past her shoulder—searching. Waiting.

It hit her in an instant why he was there.

“No.” Her voice was firm, her protective instincts kicking in like second nature. “Not tonight.”

She stepped further outside, tightening her robe, making it clear he wasn’t welcome past the threshold. Lucian exhaled, rocking back on his heels. “I just want to talk to him.”

“You want  to drop this shit on him, right now? In the middle of the night?” she shot back, voice low but sharp. “That’s not happening.”

“He deserves to know, Imani.”

Her fingers curled against the doorframe, holding her ground. She couldn’t let this be the way he learned the truth. “And I’ll tell him. On my terms.”

Lucian let out a soft scoff, shaking his head. “That’s not fair. He’s my brother.”

Imani narrowed her eyes. “Not fair to who? ‘Cause this ain’t just about you and what you want. This is about him — his life, his peace, his ability to process things without being ambushed at his hotel door while he’s half-asleep.” She took a breath, lowering her voice. “Do you know what he’s been through? Really been through? Y’all daddy left him. His surrogate father just abandoned him. He’s going through a lot of shit.”

Lucian’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, Imani saw that he wavered.

“I just want to know my brother,” he said finally, his voice quieter.

Imani sighed, her frustration battling against the guilt creeping in at the edges. She didn’t want to fight with Lucian. She knew he wasn’t trying to be cruel. He wanted to connect with his family. But he didn’t understand what Jameson had been through — he couldn’t.

“And you will,” she said, softening just slightly. “Just not like this. I’m sorry, Luke. I gotta protect him.”

Lucian stared at her for a moment before looking away, jaw working as he swallowed whatever protest was on his tongue. Finally, he exhaled. “Fine. But don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.” She promised, watching as he nodded. Her cousin stepped back, headed down the hallway, and only hesitated once. But in the end, he just walked away. Imani let out a slow breath before easing back into the room. She shut the door, leaning against it for a moment as she tried to collect herself. 

“Who was it?”

Jameson’s voice carried from the bedroom door as she jumped in surprise. There was curiosity laced in but she knew she couldn’t tell him. It’d just confuse him. He had slid his pajamas on, no longer as hard as he had been when she left. “Just…a person who got the wrong room. They wanted an autograph and shit so I just decided to be nice.” Imani shrugged, praying like hell that believed her lie. There would be no more after that one. She crossed the suite and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning into his warm body. “See? Told you I’d get rid of ‘em. You didn’t even have to come to the door.”

Jameson searched her face but didn’t press. She relaxed in relief, smiling as he leaned in to kiss her. “Good,” he murmured, fingers tracing the knot of her robe. “Now – where were we?” He tugged at the string, undoing it in one slow pull.

The room held a heavy silence broken only by the low drone of the city beyond the windows. Genie sat on the edge of the bed, her phone gripped tightly in her hand, as if it might somehow ground her. The red number over her voicemail icon glowed accusingly — a tiny reminder that she had yet another message after yet another missed call from her father. Her typical routine was to ignore it. Let it collect dust until he left even more messages. Too many for her to ignore. With a trembling inhale, she pressed play and immediately regretted it when she heard her father’s voice.

"Imogen. It’s daddy."

He sounded so sad. The thought immediately brought tears to her eyes.

"I saw you on the news. They’re theorizing that your wedding is in Venice but we both know you can’t stand the smell of the smell of the Naviglio Grande for long. I’m okay. I just wish I could see you. Wherever you are. I want to explain. To apologize. Your brother isn’t answering my calls either. I don’t blame either of you. I just…I miss my kids. Anyway, uh. No pressure, baby girl. I just…want to see my girl. If you want to talk, I’m here."

There was a pause and then a soft exhale reverberating with unspoken regrets.

"I love you, Genie."

The message ended, yet she remained rooted in her seat at the vanity. Her throat tightened and her chest filled with an uncomfortable mix of longing and dread. She set the phone down beside her, her hands shaking slightly. And then she fell apart.

Silent tears started to streak down her face and she dropped her gaze, unable to look at herself in the mirror. She knew she’d see pain reflected in her eyes. She missed her father. Even after everything, she missed him. Every day, she thought of him but it was nothing compared to the pain of knowing he wouldn’t be at her wedding. She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling sharply, desperately trying to smother the sound of her crying…until she felt a hand against her knee.

She jumped, hiccuping softly as EJ kneeled in front of her. His beautiful face was hazy, swimming in her tears. But still, she recognized his empathy. Without exchanging a word, he wrapped her up in a hug. She tried to wipe her face, shaking her head as she lay her head against his shoulder. “This is stupid.”

“It’s not. It’s okay to miss your dad.”“He wants to see me.”

EJ waited, hugging her and swaying side to side soothingly.

“I thought about it,” she kept talking, confessing lowly as her voice wavered, “So many times. I thought…why not just invite him? Just pretend for a day. But I can’t.” Her voice choked with raw emotion. “I keep thinking about the way Jamie looked when I told him what he said. He tried to hide it but he was sad. He looked like a lost little boy. I can’t ask him to watch me pretend.”

For a long, silent moment, EJ let his thumbs trace gentle circles over her back. “You don’t have to shut him out just for Jameson’s sake. You know he wouldn’t want you to do that.”

“I do.” Her voice was barely a whisper now as she finally pulled back to met his steady gaze. Her eyes were still filled with tears but there was determination there. “When I told him about Sloane, he didn’t hesitate. He went to her that same night and cut her off. Everybody told him to let her go but he didn’t. Not until I told him the truth. My brother stepped for me. I’m going to step for him. Even if it’s against my father.”

EJ’s eyes held hers, respect and love shining there. He understood because he was just as protective of Jameson. “So what do you want to do?”

Genie swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, her inner conflict obvious. She already knew the answer, even though it tore at her. “I’m going to ask Jameson to walk me down the aisle.”

A slow, understanding smile spread over EJ’s face. He raised his hand, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear before softly pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“He’s gonna be honored,” he murmured, his words both comforting and laced with sorrow. “And we’ll never hear the end of it. Best man and escort to the bride? His ego is going to be out of control.”

She gave a small laugh, appreciative of the fact that he didn’t try to change her mind. Genie hugged EJ tightly again, sighing with some kind of relief. At least the decision had been made. It was bittersweet but she wasn’t going to look back anymore.

The loud, relentless knocks at the door echoed through the suite, yet Toni didn't rush to open it. It was her last moment of peace before she had to pull herself together and pretend. Let them wait. She savored the last bite of her cheesecake, casually tossing the napkin over her half-eaten meal. 

She was well aware that Imani was at the door. Nobody else would be so bold as to knock that way. Ana was elegant and refined no matter what she did. Luke was energetic but she didn’t foresee him banging at her damn door like that at nine in the morning. EJ, Genie, and Jameson had no reason to visit. All that was left was Imani.

Normally, the thought of seeing her niece would have brought a smile to her face, but at this moment, she desperately wished Imani would just turn around and leave. Things had been tense between them for months – the boiling point was their massive argument about Luke. Imani was upset about something that was none of her business, and Toni was tired of arguing about it.

With a sigh, she finally rose from her chair, her movements slow and deliberate. She headed to the door, each step heavy with reluctance, before unlocking it and yanking it open. Imani stormed into the suite, her eyes flashing. “Why did you bring Lucian? Are you trying to ruin Genie’s wedding?” she questioned, her voice icy and sharp.

Toni turned to stare at Imani. Strike one. Her beloved niece only had two more before Toni took matters into her own hands. “Good morning, Imani. How are you?" She made the point of letting her know that her greeting was rude before she closed the door. "We were invited. He’s my date,” Toni replied as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you’d be happy to see your cousin.”

“Cut the bullshit, you know you shouldn’t have brought him here,” Imani retorted, her words laced with a venom. Strike two. She fixed her niece with a stare, not surprised by the audacity of her tone and language, considering their argument before. But she wasn’t in the mood to overlook things.

“Little girl, watch your mouth. Remember who you’re talking to,” Toni warned. Anyone else would have left the room in tears. Toni didn't allow disrespect from anyone, and she wasn't about to let it start with her niece. “Jameson is going to find out eventually. We wanted to do this months ago but it never seemed to be a good time. It’s gone too far now. He has to know. His mother decided that. And when he knows does not concern you.”

“Anything involving Jameson concerns me. You clearly don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. You went out and fucked your—” 

“Imani Ravyn Montault de Saint Cirie…” Strike three. Toni’s tone was deadly, cutting and absolutely dripping in fury. “You don't get to judge what I did. That's for Ana. I pay my penance to her. Now, if you want to keep all your teeth, I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.” Imani opened her mouth to retort, but Toni swiftly intervened. She had enough. “I don’t care how angry you are. I don’t care how hurt you feel. You will respect me. Watch. Your. Mouth. I won’t tell you again.”

Imani had burst into her room, her anger echoing off the walls, and now, there she stood – transformed back into the shy and hesitant child she had once been. She slowly nodded, her defiance momentarily subdued. 

A brief pause hung in the air. Toni could see it in her face – Imani was grappling for the right words to express herself. 

"Do you really think you’re being fair to Lucian? Dragging him into all this drama.”“Drama? He has a right to get to know his family. We were invited, he wanted to come. So I agreed.”“So both of y’all are selfish as—” Imani scoffed, shaking her head vigorously and throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Y’all don’t care about anybody but yourselves. This is Genie’s wedding week. Jameson don’t need this shit right now and neither does Genie.”

“Imani,” she paused, her voice firm, the use of her name yet another warning. “You have other things to worry about. Have you told him about that yet?”

Toni didn’t need to say it. Imani’s face went stiff, her gaze averting quickly. She knew exactly what Toni was hinting at and the answer was obvious. The silence that followed was deafening, more intense than the booming bass of an old-school Chevy. Toni’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Well, maybe you should go worry about your child before you make mine your biggest concern,” Toni added. “Now, get the hell out my face until you find your mind.”

Sloane stirred her coffee absentmindedly, the spoon clinking against the ceramic cup. The café around her buzzed with quiet morning conversation, the hum of Parisian life a constant backdrop. It had been almost a year since she’d come here. A fresh start, she told herself. A reinvention. But it seemed the past had a way of following her.

She glanced up at the small television mounted above the bar, barely paying attention until familiar names floated through the news anchor’s polished French.

Les chanteurs américains James Lucas et Imani ont été aperçus à leur arrivée à Paris en début de semaine, quelques heures seulement après l'arrivée de la mondaine et créatrice Genie Adesanya et de son fiancé, le producteur de musique EJ Dupree. La rumeur court que le ‘mariage de la décennie’ aura lieu ici, à Paris.

Sloane froze. The french translated easily in her mind and her stomach twisted as the images of Jameson, Imani, EJ, and Genie came onto the screen.

American singers James Lucas and Imani were spotted arriving in Paris earlier this week, just hours after socialite and designer Genie Adesanya and her fiancé, music producer EJ Dupree, arrived. Rumor has it that the "wedding of the decade" will take place here in Paris.

Her stomach twisted as she stared at the screen. There they were — blurred but unmistakable images of them all. Jameson and Imani were seen walking through the airport — caught by paparazzi lenses. Jameson with his arm slung protectively over Imani’s shoulder. Imani with a pair of headphones covering her ears and dark sunglasses over her eyes. On the opposite side of the screen, EJ and Genie were moving through the streets of Paris with bright grins on their faces. They didn’t seem to be hiding at all. They all seemed to be…so happy. Much happier than she was.

Sloane’s fingers tightened around the spoon. A wedding. Genie’s wedding. She let out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the table. Genie was getting married, Jameson was standing by her side, and once upon a time — she thought she’d be standing with them too.

She couldn’t help but think of all the days she and Genie and Jameson spent together. They grew up together and shared some of the same classes in high school. When she had nothing, she had them. But that was all over now.

Sloane stared at the screen, her heartbeat slow and deliberate. Then, a small smile curled at the edges of her lips. If they wanted to move on without her… fine. But that didn’t mean she had to let them.

EJ exhaled sharply and knocked on the suite door. No answer. He could walk away. He probably should. Yet, instead, he knocked again, more firmly this time. Moments later, the door opened to reveal Imani, her expression indicating that he was the last person she wanted to see. He took in her appearance — precise. She looked like she’d been enjoying a peaceful morning. It would stay that way, he hoped.

"Truce?" he suggested, keeping his tone light. He promised to give her an actual apology but EJ figured they could ease into that.

Imani sighed, rolling her eyes as she opened the door wider. "Why are you here?"

To his relief, she hadn’t immediately shot him down. EJ stepped inside, scanning the room. No Jameson. Good. He didn’t want them to hear their conversation. This had to stay between himself and Imani.

“Jameson's out for his final fitting, so if you're looking for him—""I'm not," EJ interjected, taking a seat across from her and leaning forward. "I wanted to talk to you." 

Imani regarded him with caution, a look of confusion and total disbelief on her face. She didn’t trust him. After he had called her selfish and chaotic, how could he even think of asking her for a favor? "About what?" 

EJ hesitated but reluctantly said, "Kendrick." Her expression immediately turned steely and he knew that he was in for a battle.

 "No.""Just hear me out—""No," she reiterated, her voice cutting. "Not today."

EJ breathed through his frustration, having anticipated resistance, though not quite so immediate and unyielding. "She misses her dad. She told me that last night."

"Well, you tell her to talk to him," Imani retorted. "I don’t want anything to do with what Kendrick has going on.""You don't," he conceded. "But you care about Genie. And this is tearing her up inside." “You deal with it. I’m staying out of it.” Imani sighed. “I got too much shit going on.”“This will help Genie and Jameson. I think that’s more important than whatever you got going on.”

Immediately, her body tightened and her jaw clenched hard enough to make her teeth ache. After the intense morning she had, Imani didn’t have the capacity for EJ’s bullshit.  She shot him a glare, eyes furious. “You don’t know what type of morning I had to say that shit, EJ.” Her voice was sharp, slicing through the tension-filled air.

“Oh my god!” he sighed, exasperation seeping into his tone. “It’s always the same argument with you. I’m telling you what your best friend and your future husband need help with, and you’re ignoring it. Tell me again you aren’t self-absorbed.”

“Nigga, fuck you,” she spat, poison dripping from each word. She should have never opened the door to EJ. She knew this was a mistake. “You’re the self-absorbed motherfucka, cause I’m pretty sure Genie and Jameson told you to leave me the fuck alone.”

“You think I’d come here if I had any other option?” he retorted, desperation coloring his voice. “For some reason, they both respect you. They listen to you! I’m trying to help the woman I love.”

“By berating her best friend?” she shot back, her anger bubbling up like a pot of water ready to overflow. “Get the fuck out, Ellington,” she commanded. She had no desire to use his nickname anymore—they clearly weren’t friends, and she refused to address him as such.

“Not everything is about you, Imani. I know Jameson made you think you were the center of the universe because he revolves around you but the rest of us don't. And let’s not fucking pretend I didn’t come here and ask for a truce." he said, his voice edged with anger.

“Yeah, and as soon as I say something you don’t like, I’m selfish. Get the fuck out of here. I’m not gonna say it again,” she warned, her voice steady and unwavering.

EJ was quiet for a moment then he spoke again, voice flat but filled with venom. “I genuinely don’t know how Jameson lives with you. Do you gaslight him too?”

“Ellington, get the fuck out of my room!” she shouted, her voice rising to a crescendo. She lightly pushed him towards the door and he didn't fight it. Didn't shove her back. Didn't even raise his voice. He gave her a final stare, a look filled with such loathing that it was a wonder the paint didn't peel from the walls. And then...he left, slamming the door behind him.

Anaïs heard her son before she even saw him. She had texted and he seemed pleased that she had arrived in Paris. He promised to stop by after his fitting and there he was. His knuckles rapped against her door, his low voice carrying throughout the hall. “Maman!” She couldn’t help but laugh as she picked up the pace to get to the door so he’d stop disturbing her neighbors. Her features softened when she saw him. Her only child, looking much better than he had in the past few months. “Hi, baby.”

Jameson gave her a charming grin, leaning against the door frame as he handed his mother a carnation bouquet. He had another cradled in his arms and she knew they were likely for Imani. Ana laughed, utterly charmed by her son’s carefree demeanor. He kissed her cheek as he moved past her, entering the space.

“Look at you—glowing in Paris. What’s your secret? It has to be good genes.” She joked. “Well, I am my mother’s son.”“My baby learned to flatter with the best of them.”“Well, yes. I also happen to be my mother’s favorite son.”“That’s easy to be when there’s only one of you.”“Even if you had more, I’d still be the favorite.”

Her smile was soft, but her eyes, full of understanding, studied him carefully as she watched him circle the couch in her suite. “You seem... happy.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he shot back, collapsing down onto the damn thing and stretching out as if he carried no burdens. “It’s a big weekend. Genie and EJ are getting married, Mani is loving Paris. No complaints.”

Anaïs settled into the chair across from him, her mood shifting between pride and apprehension. “And you?”

Jameson arched a brow. “Me?”

“How are you, Jameson?” Her voice was gentle but probing, reaching for echoes of hidden truths.

That question was so carefully measured that she watched it pierce through his easy smile, peeling back layers he wasn’t eager to reveal. He met her gaze and forced an easy smile. “I’m great. Fantastic, even. Mani and I are thinking about buying a summer house here. She’s crazy about these damn eclaires.”

Anaïs sighed, a mix of fond exasperation and sorrow coloring her tone. “Jameson.” “I’m serious, Mama. I'm good.” he insisted.

What she’d seen as easy confidence before shifted and Ana could see the truth behind his rehearsed nonchalance. Her son was fragile, struggling with so many heartbreaks. When he was a boy, he had learned to soldier on. Continue as if it didn’t matter. That had been her fault. She encouraged him to move forward with her after Julian left. She never thought he’d truly take the lesson to heart. For a long moment, his mother watched him, her eyes lingering. Then, as if deciding it was best, she let the matter drift away, folding her hands in her lap with a measured calm. “Have you spoken to Kendrick?”

Jameson shook his head, his voice dropping. “No. Have you?”“Not recently.”“I saw him a few months ago. Him and his son.”

Anaïs’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the revelation stirring a quiet disquiet.

“It’s his,” he continued, nodding. “At first, she didn’t know. But the test said he was Kendrick’s.”

There was a pregnant silence as Anaïs absorbed the information. With deliberate care, she said, “I’m so sorry, baby. That web is so twisted and I can’t believe he’s with that girl.”

Jameson let out a humorless laugh. “Why are you sorry? You’re the only person who has never done me any wrong.”

Reaching out, Ana squeezed his hand — a tender gesture carrying years of shared pain and understanding. “I know it’s painful. But family is rarely simple.”

He averted his gaze, his tone raw. “Yeah, well. That brings us to the other thing. I know why he came back, Ma.”

Her features remained composed, yet a subtle shift revealed that she was unsettled. “You…You know?” she asked quietly.

Jameson nodded slowly. “Yeah. He came for another shot with you.”

Anais relaxed, waving her hand at her son’s confident statement. “No. Absolutely not. Your father and I will happen again when they’re handing out cups of ice water in hell.” She could have sworn that she saw him relax.

“I’m not ready to talk to him, Ma.”“Okay.”“That’s it?” he asked, a tinge of disbelief in his tone. “I won’t force you, baby,” she assured him. “But he is family. Eventually, you’re going to have to accept that he’s your father. He wants to be close to you.”“He walked away from that a long time ago, Mama. He doesn’t get to turn around and ask for it back.” he murmured quietly.

After a pause heavy with unsaid words, Anaïs hesitated as she rose from her seat. He was right. Julian had given up his chance to be a father to Jameson. But Ana knew that once her son knew he had a brother, he wouldn’t turn him away. And Julian came with Luke. She took a seat next to him, her hands framing his face gently. “You are the most wonderful son that anybody could ever have. You are perfct. I don’t blame him for realizing that he was missing out. That you are a godsend and a wonderful man to know.”

Jameson softened, giving his mother a gentle smile. “You’re biased. You love me.”

“And so does he.” Anaïs said softly. “I watched the doctors put you in his hands and I swear — he looked at you like you were his whole world. He forgot that once upon a time. But I know I raised you to be a man who wouldn’t turn his back on people. Soon, you’ll have to decide if you want to turn your back on Julian…and everything that comes with him.”

She wanted to tell him. The truth was sitting on the tip of her tongue but fear chased it away. She didn’t want to see the joy fade from her baby’s eyes. He would be angry once he knew the truth. She wanted to see the sweet, funny boy for a little while longer. “We can talk about Julian more after the wedding,” she said firmly, rising. “I’ll tell you everything then.”

Jameson watched her, a flicker of curiosity mingling with apprehension in his eyes. “Alright,” he said, standing as well, his voice a mixture of resignation and dry humor. “But if it’s anything about you getting back with him, expect me to act up.”

Anaïs chuckled softly, shaking her head. “How dramatic.”

Pressing a tentative kiss to her cheek, Jameson replied, “I learned it from the best."

The pristine roses he'd bought for Imani lay on the entryway table, completely forgotten. She hadn't even found a vase for them beautiful stems. They had gone at each other like it'd been years since they last saw each other, not hours. There was need in the way they clung to each other.

Her fingers gripped his curls as he kissed her inner thighs, and for a moment, the sensations nearly overpowered the gnawing turmoil inside her. Even as waves of pleasure threatened to drown her in bliss, dark memories of a heated argument with Toni churned relentlessly in her mind. All she could think about was Lucian — and the secrets that loomed over them both. They were capable of upending everything they built. She couldn’t bear the thought of Jameson being blindsided by both his mother’s and Toni’s choices. Torn by this heavy responsibility, she knew she had to act; the secret was a skeleton rattling too loudly in the closet for her to ignore.

With a sharp exhale and trembling urgency, she pulled his head away from her most sensitive core. “Baby, I have to tell you something,” she whispered, her voice quivering with conflict.

“Right now? I'm a little busy, baby.” he mumbled, his desire mingling with confusion as he tried to draw closer, but she gently—yet firmly—put distance between them.

“Please, it’s important,” she pleaded. His teasing smile faded instantly, replaced by a serious, searching look in his eyes as he sat up and focused on her. “What is it?”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering with fear as she averted his intense stare for a moment. The next words would change his life forever, though her heart pounded with dread over his potential reaction. “It’s about Toni…”

“Ah? So are you finally going to tell me what’s been happening between you two?” he asked, easing up the bed to lay next to her.

“I…” Her voice faltered; every syllable was weighed down by inner conflict as she struggled to let the truth escape. “I found out a secret.”

Jameson didn't say a word. He gave her the space to process. Beautifully light eyes scanned her face and he began to realize that whatever she was about to say was unsettling.

"My...my aunty had an affair. With your dad. Julian." "...Really?""Mhm.""That's it? I mean it's fucked up she stabbed my mom in the back like that but that had to be years ago, right? They're still friends.""I didn't think you would. It's what happened next that's the hard part. They...had a baby."

Jameson lapsed into silence, wrestling to make sense of anything she just said. “I...A baby? Jesus...”

"It's my cousin. Lucian."

Shock had taken over. Imani saw Jameson grapple with the words. Lucian had been around, but only a few times. The two had never met but she mentioned him in passing. Little did they both know that he was Jameson's little brother.

“When Lucian first moved to Los Angeles, I went to his apartment, and you know about that shit with Sloane? She told me you were his brother, and he confirmed it." she admitted with a heavy sigh, each word a dagger to her heart.

“So Toni had an affair with my father?” His voice trembled with disbelief.

“Yes.” The single word fell between them, echoing with implications neither of them had ever wished to confront.

“And they’ve kept this secret for over twenty years. Had a baby. Does my mom know?” “Yes.”

“You told me your cousin moved to Los Angeles a year ago. So you’ve known this since then?” His tone sharpened as he tried to piece together the fragments of betrayal.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Jay,” she murmured, remorse thick in her voice. Imani’s guilt surged; she hated hiding the truth from Jameson, yet the thought of causing him pain had kept her silent until now. “I'm so sorry. I just couldn’t find the right moment to tell you.”

“The right moment would have been a year ago, when you first found out. What the fuck, Imani?” His anger was palpable but he didn't raise his voice. Instead, he rolled off the bed and yanked his shirt back over himself and snatched his sweats, hurriedly pulling them on as if the physical act could shield him from the emotional onslaught.

“Where are you going?” she managed to ask, voice laced with desperation and regret.

“I need to think. I just need a minute..” His voice was tense under the weight of his emotions, a raw testament to how unprepared he was for such revelations. Without another backward glance, he stormed toward the front door. Imani called his name into the void, but the sound was swallowed by the slam of the door behind him—an echo of her own conflicted heart as he vanished from sight.

[grlsbstshot]

So! As you may have noticed, Chapter two of Love Language isn't up yet. Please forgive us!

Sundays will be our regular update day but chapter two will be delayed until tomorrow evening. Don't hurt us! Never fear though -- we won't leave you guys hanging. We're here to give you the results of our poll from last week, give you a chance to vote again, and a teeny tiny sneak peek of chapter two.

Let's get started!

So last week, we posted a poll for our interactive short story and we have a winner! With a whopping 53.8%, romance has taken the lead.

Poll #2 is here and once again, you guys will have a week to get your votes in. This time, we're deciding what time period the interactive story will take place in.

Join us tomorrow evening to find out just who is knocking on Jameson and Imani's door, what happens when more wedding guests arrive in Paris, and see how an explosive meeting between EJ and Imani ends.

[grlsbstshot]

“I missed you” hits different when it’s being moaned in your ear

[grlsbstshot]

Love Language Chapter One: Daddy Lessons

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapter Synopsis:

Genie and EJ arrive in Paris at the start of their wedding week celebrations. Jameson and Imani are not far behind. As our lead couples reckon with the current status of their family situations -- secrets and drama are gearing up to take center stage at the end of the week.

Warnings: mentions of paternal test, childbirth description, tense parental/child relationships, mentions of parental abandonment, & SMUT (fingering, p in v, dirty talk, rough sex) -- if we missed anything, let us know!

!!! IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, YOU SHOULD NOT BE READING THIS !!!

Word Count: 6.6k

Paris had always been Genie’s favorite city. The winding streets, the light against historic stone buildings, the effortless elegance of it all – it made her feel like she was stepping into a dream every time she arrived. But this time, it was different. This time, she wasn’t just visiting; she was getting married.

She stood at the window of their hotel suite, gazing down at the city below. From here, she could see the Eiffel Tower glistening beneath the afternoon sun, the rooftops of Paris stretching out like an oil painting. Behind her, the faint rustling of EJ unpacking their things filled the space, grounding her in the moment. This was really happening. A smile blossomed on her face as she leaned against the railing.

“Alright, so,” EJ began. “You’ve got your final fitting tomorrow, the venue walk-through on Wednesday, the welcome luncheon on Thursday, then rehearsal dinner on Friday.” He glanced up at her with an impressed whistle. “My baby is gonna be busy. At some point, I’d like to convince my fiancée to take a breath before she passes out on our wedding day.”

Genie turned to face him, a laugh leaving her lips. “You might be right. I am feeling a little lightheaded.” She lifted her hand to press to her forehead dramatically.

“Well, we can’t have that.” He tossed the last of his things onto the floor and swept his suitcase from the bed, the sound of her laughter echoing to the street below, “It’s my duty to soothe that booty —”

“You’re insane.” “I’m in love. Get in here and get on this bed, girl.” “I can’t. I have too much to do.” “What was the point of us hiring our very expensive wedding planner if you’re gonna do it all?” “To help me do all the stuff.” “Kendrick said you’d be bossy about the wedding.”

She stiffened at the mention of her father. Her expression remained calm, but Genie turned back toward the view, her fingers curling around the balcony's iron. For a moment, she let herself feel it. The ache of knowing her father wouldn’t be here. That he hadn’t been here for any of it. Not the planning, not the moment she found her dress and wished, just for a second, that he’d be there to see it. 

It had been nine months since she saw her father. No word was exchanged between them. He called and left messages but Genie never listened. Never responded. She was devastated each and every time. The little girl inside her, the one who used to believe he was honorable, wanted things to be different. The woman she had become knew better.

Genie swallowed, fingertips grasping the balcony banister before loosening and turning to give EJ a smile. “I should make sure the menu is good. We finalized two weeks ago but you know how these things are.” she said, her voice smooth, deliberate.

EJ exhaled slowly. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what she was doing. The moment Kendrick’s name had left his mouth, she had shut down, redirecting the conversation like a well-practiced magician.

He could press the issue – he wanted to press the issue – but he also knew her well enough to know when not to push. Instead, he leaned back, studying her for a moment. She looked perfect, as always – her makeup subtle yet flawless, her hair beautifully dark coils, her jewelry understated but expensive. But she was unsettled. His gaze strayed to her hands. She was wearing the engagement ring he had given her and her fingers toyed with it absently, the only visible tell of the turmoil she was going through.

That was all he needed to know.

EJ moved across the room, slipping his arms around her waist as they stood on their balcony together. “You’re right,” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to her neck. “The menu is the most important thing.”

Genie sighed, tilting her head slightly as he trailed kisses along her skin. “Glad you agree.”

“We should also probably test some of the desserts again too,” he mused, lips brushing against her jaw as he allowed the subject to change. “Just to be sure.”

She let out a soft laugh, her body relaxing against him. “We’ve already tasted them twice.”

“Mm. But we need to be certain.” His fingers traced the delicate line of her jaw before cupping her face. His brown eyes were steady on hers, full of warmth, full of knowing. “You’ve been handling everything, making sure this wedding is perfect. But I want you to realize – it already is. Because it’s us. You’re working so hard and I just…I need you to know saying yes was the day you made my life. Everything else is just icing on a very delicious cake, baby.”

Genie stared at him, her throat tightening. He always did this – found a way to cut through her armor without ever forcing his way in. She nodded, inhaling deeply before leaning in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips.

“Thank you.,” she whispered. “I love you.”

EJ grinned against her mouth, his fingers skimming over her hip as he pulled her closer. “I love you more.”

Genie’s picture flashed across the screen and Camille saw it – Kendrick froze, stopped in his tracks as he crossed the living room towards the kitchen. His baby’s wedding was the talk of the town…and he had no idea when it would be. Genie hadn’t been receptive towards her father. Every text, every call, had all gone unanswered.

It was etched across his face every single time he looked at her. 

The baby stirred in her arms and Kendrick pulled himself out of his daze. In an instant, it was like nothing had bothered him at all.

She watched him, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “Has she called?” Kendrick didn’t answer right away but slowly he shook his head. He didn’t even have to say it. Camille already knew.

“And Jameson?”

He took even longer to respond but eventually, there was a slow shake of his head again. The last time they’d seen Jameson had been in that very room – and Kendrick didn’t look any less devastated than he did now.

The house was quiet. Not just because the baby was asleep upstairs, but because the three of them sat in silence, each carrying the weight of unspoken words. She had asked Jameson to come by Kendrick’s home and he agreed. No argument, no refusal. He simply said “Okay.” She had given birth a mere week ago so she knew he understood why. 

Camille could feel the tension pressing in from all sides. There was so much between the three of them but no one said anything.

She sat with her hands folded in her lap, her posture straight, composed but she felt frantic with a pounding heartbeat in her chest. Across from her, Jameson leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking at nothing in particular. He hadn’t touched the whiskey on the table. He hadn’t leaned back, hadn’t let himself settle.

Kendrick stood near the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest, but Camille knew it wasn’t defensiveness – it was caution. Restraint. He was watching Jameson carefully, waiting, though for what, she wasn’t sure.

And then Jameson finally spoke.

“So it’s his.” His voice was quiet, even toned, but Camille caught the way his shoulders eased ever so slightly before she could even answer. 

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate, not wanting the suspense to linger.

She had tested the baby as soon as he was born. Doing it before carried minimal risk but she refused to hurt her child even a tiny percent. The results had come back the day before. It was a relief if she were being honest – having an answer and knowing she wouldn’t be connected to her ex-boyfriend for life. The media were speculating about her child, a frenzy over her former relationship with Jameson had been replaced with rumors. Half the country thought her baby was his and the other half thought it was Kendrick’s. Everyone thought she was a family-wrecking slut.

All she wanted to do was protect her child.

“Okay.” Jameson exhaled, slow and measured, and in that moment, she saw it – relief. Faint, but real. She had no doubt he would have been an active father but he was glad that he didn’t have to be. At least not to her child. There was also something else beneath it. A sadness, deep and weary, lingering in the way he didn’t quite meet Kendrick’s gaze.

“That’s all you have to say?” she asked, watching him carefully.

“On the subject of your child? Yes.” He let out a small breath. For the first time in a long time, when his eyes met hers, they were soft. “As for everything else? I’m sorry for it.” His voice was steady. “For how everything happened. For hurting you. I owed you better than that. I shouldn’t have been unfaithful to you.”

The sincerity in his voice tightened something in her chest. She had immediately put Jameson in the past once she truly accepted the end of their relationship but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when it ended. His apology soothed some of that ache.

“I’m sorry, too,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t have lied. I didn’t expect to like you. But I did and I wanted to stay close to you. I went about it the wrong way. I owed you better than that.”

It wasn’t an absolution. It wasn’t a fixing of things. But it was the closest they would get to peace between them. And she knew it was important. If Kendrick was going to get his family back, there had to be peace.

Just then he shifted, drawing her attention. “Jameson—”

Jameson didn’t turn to meet Kendrick’s gaze but he tensed. His whole body was just waiting for what was going to come next.

“I—” Kendrick faltered, just for a second, something uncertain in his expression. Camille recognized it instantly – hesitation, regret, the ache of something lost. “I didn’t mean for things to happen like they did. I didn’t mean the things I said.”

Jameson’s mouth twitched like he was amused but too tired to show it. He shook his head. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Jamie…” “You’re a good man, Kendrick. You raised me for so many years with no complaints. I know you’re good. Your job is over though. That burden you carried –” “You were never a burden, Jamie.” “Either way. I’m off your back. Thank you for giving me the time you did.”

And just like that, whatever Kendrick had wanted to say died in his throat. Camille knew him well enough to know he had been building up to something more but Jameson wasn’t interested in hearing it. And Kendrick – for all his pride – wasn’t going to force it.

The moment was interrupted by soft footsteps.

The nanny appeared at the edge of the room, the baby resting against her chest. She spoke gently. “He was stirring. Thought he might want his father.”

Camille turned in time to see Kendrick reach for their son without hesitation. The moment he had him in his arms, everything about him softened. The careful way he cradled the baby’s head, the way his fingers skimmed over the fine curls in his hair.

Jameson watched. She saw the shift in his expression – the flicker of something quiet and painful. He wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t even angry. He was just…sad. 

He pushed himself to his feet. “I should go.”

Camille stood instinctively. “Jameson—”

He glanced at her and shook his head. He wasn’t leaving in anger, but he was leaving all the same. But before he did, he stopped. Camille felt her chest tighten as Jameson’s gaze dropped once more to the baby. He lifted a hand to brush against the child’s little hand but didn’t make a move to hold him. Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet Kendrick’s.

“Congratulations,” Jameson said, his voice even but heavy. “On finally having a son.”

The words landed like a blow. Even if he didn’t mean them cruelly, they hurt all the same. Camille saw it in the way Kendrick went still – his grip on their baby tightened slightly but Jameson didn’t wait for a response.

He turned and walked out, and this time, Camille knew that he wasn’t coming back.

It was a memory that haunted her. Her son brought her so much joy but when she thought about everything Kendrick had lost for these little moments…guilt hit her hard. “Give them some time.”

“How much time?” He asked her abruptly, frustration burning in his gaze. “I want my children to meet. I want to walk my daughter down the aisle. I want…I want so much and it’s all out of my grasp.” 

“I know, baby. I understand this is hard. KJ is a baby but I can’t imagine what I’d feel if he stopped talking to me. Just…this has been a lot for them. I hate this. But you have to give them time.” Camille consoled him.

He exhaled sharply, padding across the room and taking a seat on the couch next to her. He was hurt. So many emotions filtered through his face that Camille couldn’t name them all. Instead, she cuddled closer to him, offering him the one child that he did have left.

The café was tucked away on a quiet street, away from the more crowded corners of Paris. A warm breeze carried the scent of freshly baked bread and strong coffee, but the tension between Jameson and EJ dulled everything else.

This was the first time they had seen each other after the dinner from hell in Los Angeles. Jameson had holed up with Imani, ignoring the outside world, and EJ had tried to do damage control with his own life. There was no time for the friends to even begin the process of moving forward…until now.

It hadn’t been planned exactly, but EJ reached out and Jameson hadn’t said no. It was a start.

Now, they sat across from each other, silence stretching between them.

Jameson stirred his espresso, though he hadn’t taken a sip yet. His long legs crossed at the ankle. EJ, for his part, watched him and waited for a snag in the tension. Finally, Jameson exhaled and spoke. “So,” he said, tone measured. “You ready?”

EJ raised a brow. “For the wedding? Of course. I told you before I proposed. I’m ready. That’s my baby.”

Jameson nodded, seemingly approving once again of the fact that there was no hesitation when it came to Genie. She deserved the kind of person who would make her a priority. Jameson knew that EJ was that kind of man. He should’ve felt happier for him but the weight between them still sat heavy.

EJ saw it. Could feel it in the air so he leaned back in his chair and asked. “We gone talk about it?”

“We don’t have to,” Jameson said with a shrug. “Lying ass. We do. You wanted to take my head off that night.” “If I insulted your future wife, wouldn’t you want to do the same to me?” “Yes. But let’s not pretend future wifey ain’t give as good as she got.” “Here you go.” “Nah, I’m not on that for real. I’m getting married. I promised my wife that I would let it go. It’s not my place to interfere. Never was.” “On that, we can agree.” “Mhm.”

The two lapsed into silence. The ceasefire of sorts did more to break the tension between them and it gave Jameson the courage to say more. “I understand why you were doing it,” Jameson said softly. “I’m grateful you care. But…Imani is my life, EJ. No matter how close we are, when it comes to her, you’ll always on the outside looking in. You don’t know how I feel when I’m with her. You don’t know that nothing else compares. No drug, no liquor. None of it feels as good as standing next to her. So, please. If you really care about me, don’t ever disrespect her again. Because then I’ll have to choose. She’ll always win. Over everybody.”

EJ nodded, realizing from the argument with Genie that he truly was being overprotective. He didn’t trust Imani but the truth was very clear. He didn’t know her the way Genie did. The way Jameson did. The way his friend’s eyes brightened as he spoke about her right then was just another sign that he’d done wrong. He meant well but he was causing even more distress to Jamie and Genie. It had to end. “I understand, man. I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

He knew he wouldn’t hesitate to choose Genie first. So how could he be upset at Jameson wanting to do the same? It was a plea and a warning all in one…and EJ heeded it. Genie couldn’t lose anyone else. And he didn’t want to either.

There was an understanding in place.

Jameson finally took a sip of coffee, letting the taste settle before responding. “Thank you. I’m sorry too. I should have fought harder to keep you two from going head to head.”

EJ tilted his head. “You know me. I got a big mouth and ain’t nobody stopping me from saying what I want to say. I see your future wife is the same way.”

Jameson laughed softly, rubbing a hand against the stubble on his jawline. “You don’t even know the half of it. She threatened to beat my father up.”

The shift in EJ was immediate. His expression didn’t change much, but something settled in his posture, his focus sharpening entirely on Jameson. “Your father? Kendrick?”

Jameson shook his head. He looked down at his cup as if he could find the right words in the white porcelain, before exhaling sharply and looking back at EJ. “Julian. He was at my mama’s house, man. I showed up and he was sitting on her damn couch.”

EJ didn’t rush him. Didn’t prod. But he leaned forward, on the edge of his seat. From what Jameson had said about his father, he disappeared. Not a word from him since he was nine. And now? He was in his life?

Jameson let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “It was...crazy. Seeing him, hearing his voice –” He hesitated, then admitted, “It felt like looking at a ghost. I didn’t even recognize him when he turned around. For a second…I didn’t recognize my father.”

EJ’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak. He let Jameson keep going.

“He wanted to explain. I could see him gearing up for it but I ain’t want to hear that shit,” Jameson continued, “He left, he hurt my mother, he should’ve been around.” He exhaled. “But he wasn’t.”

EJ set his glass down with a quiet clink. “So how did it end?”

Jameson glanced away for a second before looking back. “Told him I wanted nothing to do with him. Didn’t care about ‘talking’ about any of it.” A beat. “Then he left.”

EJ studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Good.”

Jameson huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “He keeps insisting we need to talk. Been calling my mama to ask her to help. She thinks it’d be good to get it all out but I think about that nigga and I swear I get mad.”

“Don’t do it if you don’t want to. You don’t owe him shit, Jay.” EJ said without hesitation. “You don’t owe him no time to talk.”

Jameson hadn’t realized he needed to hear that, but something in his chest loosened at the words.

Suddenly, the air between them felt lighter. It felt like they had each gotten their best friend back. Silence settled again, but this time, it wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t loaded. It was comfortable and true.

Jameson looked out at the street, at the people passing by, at the world moving as if nothing had changed. But something had. When he turned back to EJ, he felt it – the shift, the quiet understanding that, whatever had been between them before, it wasn’t as heavy now.

EJ smirked over at him. “You gonna give a speech at my wedding?” “Hell yeah. And you better cry at the end of it or I’m gonna propose to Mani at your reception and steal all y'all thunder.” “Nigga, fuck you!” EJ laughed out loud, shaking his head.

“My baby,” Imani sang out in a melodious voice, her words stretching out like a lullaby. She approached Genie with a joyful bounce in her step, enveloping her in a warm embrace. They swayed gently, back and forth, wrapped in each other’s arms. “I missed you so much,” she whispered.

It had been months since she last saw her best friend. The whirlwind of her promo tour for her album, “Love Me 4 Me” had kept her constantly on the move. Photoshoots, interviews, rehearsals, performances, and then doing it all over again had left her with little time to herself. Paris offered her not only a chance to celebrate Genie’s upcoming wedding but also a brief respite from her hectic schedule.

“I missed you too. Even though you’ve been all over the tv looking good. I wonder who helped style you.” Genie said with a small giggle, celebrating her small part in Imani’s success.

“A future designer of the year did. She’s pretty good, I’m sure you know her.” She laughed and stepped back slightly to take in her friend’s attire. “Bitch, you look good!” She exclaimed, watching as Genie spun around gracefully. “You’re glowing.”

“Thank you, thank you. EJ won’t get off me.” Genie laughed, “You look amazing too. Come sit. I already ordered mimosas for us.” Her eyes were sparkling with excitement as she gently pulled away and returned to her seat across the elegantly set table. Imani took her place opposite her friend, the light catching the delicate glassware around them.

“Ooh, girl. That’s all you,” Imani replied with a playful wave of her hand, acknowledging Genie’s thoughtful gesture. She lifted the cool glass of water, sipping it as she settled into the moment. “So when is everyone getting here?”

“EJ’s family is coming tomorrow. They have to do last-minute fittings for gowns. Also, please don’t forget your appointment is with me tomorrow.” “I won’t, I won’t. It’ll be good to see them. I get to see my girl, Ella.” “Mhm. Oh, and Anaïs is coming with Toni. They’ll be here Wednesday. The rest of the guests will be in by Friday morning.”

Imani’s eyes involuntarily rolled upwards, their movement as automatic and precise as a smartphone adjusting itself for daylight savings time. She was unaware of this reflex until she caught sight of Genie’s perplexed expression. “And what was that about?” Genie inquired, her eyes narrowing

“Oh…nothing!” Imani responded hastily, attempting to dismiss the incident as if Genie didn’t know her better than anyone else, even Jameson. Imani hadn’t said a word to anyone about Lucian being a product of her aunt’s affair with Julian—not even to Jameson. He was the one who deserved to hear it first, given that Lucian was his brother. Telling Genie was out of the question.

“Is something going on between you and Toni? Or Ana?” Genie probed further. Imani shook her head adamantly. “Please, Mani, I need to know now. I don’t want this to be an issue at my wedding. Do I need to adjust the seating chart?”

“No, no, everything is all good. I promise. Nothing is going to ruin your wedding. I’m the maid of honor and I won’t allow it.” “You sure? It’s not a problem. I want you to be comfortable. It’s nothing to disinvite someone.” “Everything’s good, baby.”

“I don’t believe you but fine. I’ll let it drop. I’m feeling stressed eneough,” Genie sighed, causing Imani’s expression to relax. Fortunately, the waiter arrived to take their orders. He made quick work of things and once he was gone, Imani leaned in to speak quietly.

“Is it about your dad?” “No. My father is a non-factor in my life.” “Ahh, so we still off him? Bet. Why are you stressed then?” “I’m planning a wedding in a foreign country while the media speculates about my family.”

Imani exhaled, grasping the weight on her best friend’s shoulders instantly. The media were having a field with with Jameson/Camille/Kendrick's messy entanglement, her pregnancy, and Genie's notable distance from her father. It was a miracle it hadn't totally overtaken Imani's press tour. “I’m sorry, Genie baby. But fuck those people. Fuck the media. Fuck everything,” she said, her voice full of determination. “If you need help with the wedding, I got you. That’s what I’m here for.” 

“Thank you.” Genie sighed softly, reaching over to grasp Imani’s hand. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re here with me. I need all the family I can get.”

The baby’s gentle, sweet cries gradually subsided as he rocked slowly in the chair, humming Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Kendrick Joseph Adesanya Jr. slowly surrendered to sleep and the elder was relieved. He had forgotten just how hard it was to care for an infant. 

KJ was nothing short of perfection – a beautiful baby with warm brown skin and his mother’s charming dimples, who only cried when his needs were unmet and slept well into the night. Kendrick’s heart swelled with adoration for the tiny life before him, even as he mourned.

He wished KJ hadn’t been born into turmoil. Kendrick wished for a world where his arrival hadn’t signaled the end of his once-cherished relationship with Genie and Jameson. He had lost two children in the process of gaining one, and the weight of that loss pressed heavily on him.

Genie had shut the door on him completely. There was nothing he could do short of crashing her wedding and he knew he loved her too much to ruin her special day. Kendrick let out a resigned sigh. His mind drifted back to the day his son was born – the day he thought maybe Genie would soften. That she’d be there. But there was only sharp confirmation that he wasn’t welcome in his daughter’s life.

It had been a day consumed by panic. Unlike the tranquil arrival of Genie, this day didn’t have any comforting loved ones. Back then, familiar faces stood by his side, soothing his nerves while Elizabeth gave birth but in the present – he and Camille only had each other.

In the dim light of the delivery room, Camille’s trembling hand clutched his own as she cried out. Kendrick offered her whispering words of reassurance as she pushed through the pain. It felt as if forever had passed but he finally caught a glimpse of the child. Officially, he didn’t know if the baby was his or not but when the doctors pulled him free and began to clean his little body – Kendrick knew. He just knew. This was his son. He looked so much like Genie that it was shocking.

He didn’t have anyone to celebrate this momentous occasion, only Camille by his side. There was no one to excitedly share photographs with, no familiar voice to ring in celebration, no one to call over FaceTime. He was alone. As the doctors checked KJ’s vitals, he quietly stepped out of the sterile room and dialed her number, his mind spinning.

As the third ring echoed in the empty corridor, Kendrick’s smile began to falter. He knew all too well that she wasn’t going to answer. Once more, his call would go to voicemail. Instead of ending the call immediately, he gathered his resolve and left a message:

“Uh, hey, Genie, this is Daddy. I know you probably hate me right now, but I just wanted to let you know the baby is here. He looks like you did when you were born. Also, I saw that you and EJ set a date. No matter what's happened, I'm so happy for you. I'm so proud, baby girl. You’re smart, beautiful, creative, and talented. I’m blessed to have a daughter like you…and I can only hope that I can raise your brother to be just like you.”

He paused for a moment, his hand subconsciously massaging the back of his head as if trying to alleviate the heaviness of the words. “Um, please call me when you get the chance. I love you. I'm so sorry.”

Imani carefully hung her final outfit in the suite’s spacious closet. She turned on her heels, and made her way to the hotel’s lush bed, sinking into its softness with a contented sigh. After a long exhausting flight, following it up with lunch with Genie, and unpacking, all Imani wanted was to spend the night in plush Parisian sheets.

“My baby tired, huh?” Jameson asked, his head propped against a pillow as he scrolled through his phone, watching her as she climbed onto the bed. He and Imani hadn’t spent much time apart. Jameson clung to her – his need to reacclimate to the new status quo meant he was damn near clingy. She hadn’t minded it at all. She let him be needy, reassured and restored him when he needed it. There was love in his eyes when he looked at her, a faint smile on his face as Imani slipped beneath the silky covers.

She shifted closer to him, her head on his pillow. “Yeah, it was a long ass day,” she confessed. She entwined her leg over his, resting her head more firmly on his chest, reveling in the comfort of his gentle embrace. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as her fingers traced circles on his bare skin. “And tomorrow I have a fitting with Genie. I hope I can still fit into this dress.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to?” Jameson asked, setting his phone on the nightstand before turning back to her. He wrapped his arm around her, his fingers tenderly caressing her side as they watched one another.

“I’m getting a lil’ thick, baby. They call that happy weight,” she replied, casting a playful smirk in his direction. Imani had noticed a slight change in her figure, a subtle weight gain that was hardly noticeable to others but apparent to her. She hoped it was slight enough to keep her in her current dress size.

“Do they? Whatever it is, I’m thankful for it. It looks good on you, girl,” he said with a teasing tap on her ass. Imani laughed out loud, her hand smacking against his arm just as teasingly. 

“How’s Genie? She doing okay?” He asked her softly, pressing a kiss to her head. “She’s…doing the best she can. Stressed about the wedding going well but…she aight.” 

Imani weighed what to tell Jameson. She loved him but Genie was her best friend. She had to keep things between them. And Kendrick was just going to have to be one of those things. 

“I’m glad she has you. I talked to Ma earlier today. She’ll be here this week.” “Yeah, Genie told me.” “What about Toni? I didn’t think to ask Ma. Is she coming?”

Just like before with Genie, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes slightly, her annoyance clear. “I don’t know…” she muttered. “I think Genie said Wednesday.”

Jameson lifted his head, leaning back to get a good look at his girlfriend. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on between you and your aunty?” Once closer than close, he knew something was wrong when Imani actively went out of her way to avoid Toni on more than one occasion.

“I did tell you, baby. We’re not seeing eye-to-eye on business shit.” “Yeah, that’s the fake answer you gave me. What’s the real one?”

A heavy silence fell between them. Imani wanted to be truthful, but the timing felt wrong. After a day filled with memories and laughter with their friends, it didn’t seem right to reveal a family secret about a sibling he didn’t know he had. He had worked so hard to pull himself together after Camille and Kendrick’s situation. Then his father came back. Things were hard for Jameson and she didn’t want to add more. “That is the real answer, baby,” she insisted gently.

“You can’t bullshit me, woman. I know you too well.” “I’m not.”

She wasn’t budging on it and he could see frustration edging in on her face the more he pushed. He had a choice: Start an argument or wait until she was ready to talk. They were in Paris, he could see the lights of the Eiffel Tower peeking into their window. The last thing he wanted to do was fight.

“Okay, baby. I believe you,” he said, though the humorous edge in his tone suggested otherwise. Imani could sense the disbelief lingering in the air, and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep this truth from him. 

“I’m serious, Jamie!” She huffed, glaring at him and Jameson felt himself soften even more. 

“I said I believe you, baby.” He muttered lowly, leaning in to give her another kiss. “I do. C’mere.”

Imani jerked away from him, sending a bubble of laughter from Jameson’s throat. His hand rested against her thigh, pulling her close as she rolled onto her back to get away from him. 

“You lying!” “Well, you lying too so that makes us even!” “Shut up!”

Jameson laughed even harder as she smacked his hand hard, rolling away from him. He caught her wrist with gentle fingers, "Un-uh. Come back here." he whispered against her neck.

Imani rolled her eyes but a smile fought to break through the stern expression. She tsked softly, peering over him. "What you want with me?”

“Everything.” He said softly. Jameson’s hand rested against Imani’s thigh, drawing small circles on her skin. She opened her mouth to say something but Jameson lifted his head from her neck to kiss her. He drew it out – the whimper that left the back of her throat brought a groan from his. 

He moved his fingertips along her skin with ease. Imani shivered as they danced across her body, every stroke sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body. The closer they got to between her legs, the more she parted her thighs. Within seconds, he was pulling her panties aside and running his fingers across her clit.

Imani inhaled sharply, biting down on her lower lip as he made his moves. Jameson toyed with her, knowing exactly how to leave her trembling. His warm breath against her cheek sent tingles down her spine, his hushed whispers of filthy promises and praise only serving to heighten the anticipation coursing through her veins.

“Jamie –” “Hm?” “More. Please.” “Is that what you want? Ion know. You ain’t been so nice to me.”

Imani squeezed her thighs closed over his hand, stilling his fingers as she turned to meet his gaze. There was amusement in his eyes but she saw the lust there too. It was ever present as always.

“Open.”

It was one word. All he gave her but she could tell he meant it. She hesitated before slowly…too slowly…opening her legs. 

“That’s better.” He still kept the same tortuous pace, digits circling her clit as she melted against the bed. “Let me take care of you. You want me to, right?” Imani nodded, her eyes flickering closed as she rode his fingers. They shifted lower, his thumb still pressed against the most sensitive part of her.

As his fingers expertly teased her entrance, she arched her back in ecstasy – moaning softly into the air. The feel of his rough fingertips against her smooth skin was almost too much to bear; she couldn't help but wriggle and squirm next to him, desperate for more. “Please, baby.” she gasped, every syllable dripping with need as he pressed into her. “Oh my god…”

Jameson lay next to her, leaning over her body as he watched her. His mouth moved deliciously – from her cheek to her neck. From her neck to her mouth. From her mouth down to her nipples. He licked, kissed, bit, and caressed her everywhere until she was gushing over his fingers. 

His hands meticulously explored every inch of her dripping wet pussy – bringing gasps and moans of delight with every touch. His tongue flicked out to trace the shape of her nipple before nipping down – an act that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. She couldn't help but grind her hips up towards his touch, desperate for relief from the building ache between her legs. "Daddy, fuck me." she pleaded breathlessly, a mixture of hunger and frustration in her voice. 

“No.”

The single word he gave her startled her. Her eyes flew open and she looked up at him. “No?!”

Jameson laughed, shaking his head as he fucked her faster with his fingers. “Nah. Your legs ain’t started shaking yet.” He spoke casually as if he wasn’t damn near wrist deep with three fingers inside her. Imani licked her lips, confusion clear on her pretty face but he didn’t relent. She could feel him hard against her legs but he didn’t try to take it further. He just kept rubbing at her clit, bringing wetness from between her legs, and licking anywhere he could.

His digits curled and twisted inside her and Imani's entire body tensed. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, her hips bucking wildly against his hand. "Oh shit…" she panted, her voice trembling. "Please, Jameson."

“There it go.” He muttered, the telltale sign that he was looking for making itself obvious. Imani’s leg had started trembling. “That’s what Daddy was looking for. You feel it, baby?”

Imani nodded so fast that her head bobbed against the pillow.

“This what I like to see. Legs open. You gone for me, huh?” She muttered something – it sounded like a yes but he didn’t slow down to catch it. Jameson pressed a kiss to her lips, pleased when she was so out of it that she could hardly return it. “Look at that pussy. Wet just like I like it. I’ma tear you up. Go ahead and give me that nut.”

It was a promise, she could tell. And it made her legs close tightly over his fingers. He didn’t command her to open her legs that time. Jameson simply rose from the bed and moved with an ease that surprised – he pried her legs open. He pushed his face between her legs, sucking at her clit as his fingers strummed her to release.

Imani threw back her head and let out a long, euphoric moan as she came, her nails dug into his shoulder as her leg shot into the air. She pressed her foot to his shoulder, grinding against his mouth and fingers. "Daddy!," she breathed out between gasps for air. "Fuck! Oh my god!"

Jameson growled, the exquisite squirts of release covering his fingers and face – dripping down his wrist and onto the sheets. Imani rolled her head from side to side, hips rising the further he took her. Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he rose from between her legs and flipped her over. In a single breath, she was on her stomach.

No words passed between them – they both understood what came next. Imani pressed her body down to the bed and offered her hands to Jameson. He gathered them, pressing them to the small of her back before easing into her smoothly. They both moaned.

"Ooh, goddamn it." "Shit, Mani. Soak this dick, baby. Wet that shit up real good for Daddy."

He moved against her, pelvis grinding into her. He delivered an open-palmed smack to her skin, and Imani reacted immediately, climaxing around him. It all happened so quickly that neither fully processed it. He placed a foot on the bed, adjusting her into the perfect position, and just as he was about to continue, there came a knock at the door.

[grlsbstshot]

Hey, girlies! It's a party in this bitch!

Since November 2024, we've been having the time of our lives with grlsbstshot. Honestly, without you guys giving us love and inspiration, who knows if we would have even finished Neon Lights. Now, we're slowly revamping this blog -- making things easy to navigate whether you're mobile or online -- and turning our first baby into a trilogy series (Oops! Did we spoil a surprise? 😂). More on that (and the future process of one-shot posts) to come later. Right now, we focus on our celebration!

All April long, we're going to celebrate hitting this milestone and we've decided to let YOU vote for our next short fic. It will be posted after Love Language has wrapped. That little break between it and our third book won't seem so long if you've got something fantastic to read, will it?

We're really so grateful for every like, every comment, and every single feeling you guys have about our little creations. It makes us eternally happy! We hope you have fun planning this story with us.

--- Writer S & Writer B

Check under the cut for more.

Here's where yall come in. Every week, we're going to post a poll for votes. We're going to have five options for the following four categories:

- Genre - Time period - Setting/Location - Female lead

We'll gather the four highest votes, throw them in a blender and see what comes out. Time to get our first vote in! The following polls will be posted every week throughout Love Language. Once we wrap up every poll, we can start writing!

Happy voting!

[grlsbstshot]

when they don't like you but love your fics

[grlsbstshot]

DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES, THE CHAPTER IS POSTPONED. HOWEVER, WE DO HAVE A SPECIAL EDITION FOR YOU GUYS!

FOR THE LOVERS PRESENTS...IMANI & JAMES LUCAS.

Congratulations on the new album, Imani. We can’t stop listening to it. And can we talk about Snooze? That was a huge hit for you. What was the inspiration behind it? 

IMANI: “Thank you. [smiles and looks at Jameson] Just being in love, really. I thought about everything we went through as a couple and I drew inspiration from that.” 

What’s the next single for the album? 

IMANI: “I don’t know. I’m kind of letting the people decide. It seems like y’all really been rocking with Kill Bill though, so I think it might be that one.” 

Can we expect any videos from you in the future? 

IMANI: “Hmm, I can’t give y’all everything!” 

Well, can we expect to see James in any of those videos as a vixen?

IMANI: [laughs] “I don’t know. [looks at Jameson] “Can we, baby?” JAMES: “I have to be convinced. Seduced, one could say.” IMANI: “We’ll talk about it when this is done.” [laughs]

James, you experienced so much success with your double sided album, would you ever do that again? 

JAMES: “No. [laughs] It kind of happened by accident. I was going through some shit then. Mani and I had broken up and it broke my heart. I wasn’t in any position to even work so we pushed the album back but eventually, I got myself together. Me and EJ locked in and wrote so much that it felt foolish to lock it in a vault and wait. I gave people everything I was feeling at the time. It’s a portrait of my life. I don’t expect to be in that much…emotional whiplash ever again. [laughs] So no. We don’t plan on ever doing that again. But I’m glad people are enjoying the material.”

What are your plans now? 

JAMES: “Me? Well, for now…I’ve been following my baby around a little bit. Watching her take off the world this year has been so amazing. Midnight & Dawn took so much out of me, EJ, and our teams that we’re relaxing a little bit. EJ and Genie are focused on getting married so we’re just celebrating this big moment in our family. We’ll probably get back in the lab soon but for now…we’re focused on our families.”

We heard you’re in a new movie. Can you give us any details on that? 

JAMES: “I can give you just a little bit. It’s very sexy, very romantic. A little…let’s just say, it’s for adults. It’s honestly just about the beauty and the complications of love. We follow Darius and Nina throughout their relationship and it’s a transformative experience for them both. I’m excited for people to see A Blues for Nina. It’s my first movie so…I’m hoping I impress.

We all heard about the marriage of the century. Are you two excited? Can you give us any details? 

JAMES: “Still can’t believe they fell in love and now they’re about to get married. But I’m so proud of them both. All I can tell you is that it’s going to be a beautiful wedding.” IMANI: [smiles] “Yes, I’m so happy for my girl. I’m glad that she was able to find love after everything she’s been through. If anyone deserves it, it’s Genie. I can’t wait to see her fashions for the wedding. I know she's gone have me in some fly shit and her dress gone blow everybody out of the water.”

When are you two tying the knot? What’s the next step for you all? 

IMANI: “I don’t know. We might already be married.” [shrugs] “Just playin’, but we’re learning each other all over again. We just bought a home together in LA, but we’ve been so busy we haven’t had time to decorate it. So, hopefully, we’ll be able to do that soon.” JAMES: “Well…I’d marry her tomorrow if I thought she’d say yes. But we are slowly working our way to that. Just taking care of each other and being the best partners we can be. Ask us again around this time next year.”

Rumors are swirling that Camille had her baby. Is it true?

JAMES: “I wouldn’t know but I wish her the very best.”

So we’ve heard rumors that Anais is dropping a new album, can we get just a drop of tea on that? 

JAMES: “Oh, y'all trying to get me locked in the basement and disowned for real. Next question.”

Okay, rapid fire questions. Couple’s edition. What’s your idea of a perfect date? 

IMANI: “I don’t know. It’s something about a dinner at a fancy restaurant, preferably 71Above, that I just love. I like to get pretty for my man.” JAMES: “Something like our first date. We had an entire museum to ourselves. Just walking, talking, good food.”

Staying in or going out? 

IMANI: “Going out.” JAMES: “Going out.”

Alright, let’s get spicy. Name each other’s favorite body part. 

IMANI: “His ears.” JAMES: “Everywhere there’s a piercing on her.”

Sex in the morning, noon, or night?

IMANI: “Can I say all three?” JAMES: “Noon. Doing something in the middle of the day that isn’t work is always fun.”

What’s your favorite place to have sex? 

IMANI: “I don’t know if I had to pick: the bathtub.” JAMES: “Bed is still undefeated. Space, positioning, comfort. Top tier.”

What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?

IMANI: [mumbles] “Grammy awards. In the bathroom.” JAMES: “Shower.” [turns and grins at Imani]

Alright, last one. How would you describe love? 

IMANI: “Love is us—flaws, passion, understanding. That’s us.” JAMES: “Her. I think love is Imani. It’s unyielding. Heated. Beautiful. Perfectly imperfect.”