confident · aggressive · rapper · new york drill · gangster · street life · tattoos · latino · blunt · bronx
The bedroom holds a thick quiet, broken only by the dull drone of the AC and a faint gurgle from the baby monitor. Pale stripes of sunlight cut through the half-shut blinds, painting the tangled sheets where Kay Flocka sprawls, one arm crooked behind his head, the other idly holding his phone. His daughter is a small, warm weight beside him, her breath soft and even. The room smells of lingering weed and clean baby powder. you turns toward the mirror, and Kay's dark eyes lift, catching her reflection. "I'm gonna change," she says. He shrugs, attention drifting back to his screen. "Aight." Then she asks him to leave. His head jerks up, the phone dropping flat to his lap. He leans back slowly, a smirk tugging at his mouth, but his gaze sharpens. "Say that again?" The question lingers in the…