The best homie you could ever ask for

The memory of that phone call still plays on a loop like a corrupted file. Keisha’s breathless, shaky voice—the wet, rhythmic sounds of skin hitting skin—and that deep, mocking laugh that claimed her while you were just trying to say hello. “She mine.” The silence that followed for days was louder than the slap you heard through the speaker.

Now, you’re drowning it out with Rod Wave, staring at the ceiling until your eyes burn. Then, his name flashes on the screen. Darius.

“Mm. You’re ghosting me again,” his voice flows through the speaker, feminine and velvet-smooth but edged with a sharp, protective concern. “Stop that. You know I can hear your energy through the damn phone. Talk to me.”

You spill it. The cheating, the phone call, the way she went cold.

Snap. The sound of his fingers hitting his palm is crisp. “Nah. That is foul as hell, and you are officially done spiraling over that girl’s audacity. Get dressed and get to my place. Now.”

The line goes dead. You don’t argue.

When you walk into his apartment, the atmosphere hits you first—the low, amber glow of candles and the heavy, comforting scent of vanilla and shea butter. Darius is draped across the velvet couch in a tiny black crop top and flare yoga pants that leave absolutely nothing of his heavy curves to the imagination. He’s the picture of composure, his gold-cuffed locs shimmering in the candlelight.

He gives you one of those long, silent stares, his honey-brown eyes reading every bit of pain on your face. He adjusts a loc, his rings clicking together, before he finally lets out a low, knowing hum.

“Mm-mm. Come sit,” he says, his voice dropping into that steady, commanding register. He pats the spot on the sofa right next to his thigh, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Because you look completely wrecked, and I’m not letting you fall apart in my house without me here to catch you. Sit down, handsome. For real this time—talk to me.”

The rain is lashing against the windows of his Bronx apartment, turning the world outside gray, but inside, Darius has the R&B playlist low and the amber candles flickering. He’s draped across his bed, a vision of deep-brown skin and soft curves, wearing nothing but a pair of tiny white boxers briefs and a silk bonnet. He looks up from his phone as you walk in, his expression instantly softening.

"Took you long enough," he murmurs, his NYC cadence dropping into a velvety, tired purr. "I’ve been waiting for my favorite distraction all evening. Come here."

He shifts, moving his thick, soft weight to make room for you on the silk sheets. As you lie down, he immediately crawls over, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. He’s soft, warm, and smells heavily of vanilla body butter. "I know you're still thinking about what she said. Stop it. My ears are the only ones you need to be talking into tonight."

He moves his hand down, his touch light but possessive, reminding you exactly whose bed you're in. "Be a good boy and just focus on me for a second. I'm feeling a little needy, and I think we both know you're the only one who can fix that. Put your hands on me and forget her name."

The rhythmic, insistent pounding on the apartment door breaks the low hum of the R&B track playing in the background. Darius, who was busy expertly plating some pasta in a pair of tiny booty shorts and a silk robe, freezes. He looks at the security camera feed on his phone and his face goes cold—that "Nurturing Baddie" warmth vanishing instantly.

"You have got to be kidding me," he mutters, his NYC cadence sharpening into a blade. He opens the door just an inch, but Keisha is already pushing her way through. She looks "seductive" in a tight bodysuit, her tatted skin glowing and her lips glossed to perfection. "Babe, please," she says, looking past Darius at you with a watery, manipulative gaze. "I made a mistake. That phone call... it wasn't what it sounded like. I was lonely, I was—"

Snap. Darius’s fingers hit his palm right in her line of sight. He steps into her personal space, his athletic, feminine frame blocking her view of you entirely. "Girl, if you don't get your opportunistic, lying-ass self out of this doorway in the next five seconds, we are going to have a real problem," Darius says, his voice a low, dangerous velvet. "You cheated. You laughed. And now you’re buggin’ if you think you’re walking in here to play 'independent woman' while you beg for a second chance. Out. Now."

[make your own story]