The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the AC and the occasional car rolling past outside. You sat on the edge of the couch, phone clutched in your lap like a lifeline, while Ony leaned forward in the armchair across from you, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on your face.
You’d come over to “talk,” which was code for ending it. Again. For good this time, you told yourself.
“So that’s it?” His voice was low, calm, but you could hear the edge in it. “You just gon’ keep doing this loop until one of us breaks for real?”
You swallowed. “Ony, we’ve been doing this for almost two years. On, off, on, off. It’s exhausting. I’m tired.”
He didn’t move, just watched you. “You tired, or you scared?”
Your stomach flipped. You hated when he did that saw straight through the script you’d rehearsed in your head on the drive over.
“I’m not scared,” you said, too quick. “I just… I want something stable. This ain’t it.”
Ony let out a slow breath through his nose, then sat back, spreading his arms along the back of the chair like he was settling in for a long conversation.
“Yn. Look at me.”
You did, reluctantly.
“I been thinking about making this real. Like, real real. Moving you in, ring, all that. I been thinking about it heavy the last six months. You know why I ain’t said it out loud yet?”
You stayed quiet, thumb brushing nervously over the edge of your phone case.
“‘Cause every time shit start feeling too good, you pull back. You start overthinking, start finding reasons we don’t work. You get distant, start picking fights over nothing, then disappear for a week or two. And I let you. Every time. I give you space ‘cause I thought that’s what you needed. I been moving at your pace, trying not to scare you off. But I’m done playing that game.”
Your throat felt tight. “That’s not”
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t lie to me right now. I got receipts too, baby.”
He reached for his own phone on the coffee table, scrolled for a second, then turned the screen toward you.
Screenshots. Your screenshots. The ones you’d sent your group chat months ago when you were spiraling.
“‘He’s too good, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.’”
Another one.
“‘I keep waiting for him to realize I’m not worth the hassle.’”
And another.
“‘If I leave first, it won’t hurt as bad when he eventually leaves.’”
He set the phone down gently. Not angry. Just… tired.
“You think I ain’t notice the pattern? You think I ain’t see how you flinch every time I say I love you too loud, or hold you too long, or talk about the future like it’s guaranteed? I noticed, Yn. I just ain’t wanna push you and make it worse.”
Tears burned behind your eyes but you refused to let them fall. You stared at your lap instead.
“So tell me,” he said, voice softer now. “You really want this to be over? Like, deadass? You want me to let you walk out that door and not chase you this time?”
Silence stretched between you. Thick. Heavy. You could feel your heartbeat in your fingertips.
He waited. Patient. Always so damn patient with you.
Finally he leaned forward again, forearms resting on his thighs, voice dropping to something raw and quiet.
“Talk to me fr, Yn. No games, no running, no bullshit excuses. Do you really want to end this… or are you just tryna leave before I get the chance to hurt you?”
Your lip trembled. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first.
He didn’t rush you. Just watched, waiting like he’d wait forever if that’s what it took.
The silence dragged on longer this time, thick enough you could feel it pressing against your chest. You hadn’t moved from the couch. Your legs were still crossed tight, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your leggings like they were the only thing keeping you grounded. Ony’s question still hung in the air between you, unanswered, unanswered, unanswered.
He watched you for another beat, then let out a quiet sigh—not angry, just… done pretending this was easy.
“Yn.” His voice cut through the quiet, steady. “You gon’ answer me. I wanna know for real. ‘Cause I’m not doing this hot-and-cold shit no more. I can’t.”
You opened your mouth, closed it. The words you’d rehearsed earlier clean, final, easy felt like glass in your throat now. Everything he’d said earlier kept replaying: the screenshots, the way he’d noticed every single time you pulled away, the fact that he’d been patient this whole time and you still couldn’t meet him halfway.
He didn’t wait for you to speak. Instead he reached over to the side table, grabbed his little wooden box, and pulled out his wrap and the small bag of weed he always kept rolled tight. He started breaking it down slow, deliberate, the soft crunch of the bud the only sound in the room besides your breathing.
He sat back down in the armchair, legs spread wide, elbows on his knees again as he started rolling. His eyes flicked up to you every few seconds checking, waiting, but not pushing. Not yet.
The blunt took shape under his fingers, neat and even like always. He licked the edge, sealed it, then set it between his lips unlit, just holding it there while he leaned back and finally looked at you full-on.
“I ain’t gon’ beg you to stay,” he said, voice low and rough around the edges. “But I’m also not gon’ keep letting you dip in and out whenever the fear gets loud. So, you sit there and think as long as you need. But when you ready, you tell me what it is you really want. No half-answers. No ‘I don’t know.’ Either you in this with me all the way or you out.”
He picked up the lighter, flicked it once, twice, watching the flame dance before he brought it to the tip. The first pull was slow, smoke curling up toward the ceiling as he exhaled through his nose.
Then he just sat there, blunt resting between his fingers, eyes on you like he had all night.
And maybe he did.
The room smelled like him now earthy, familiar, a little sweet. It made your chest ache worse.
You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper when it finally came.
“…I don’t wanna leave.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t move. Just took another slow pull, held it, then let the smoke drift out the side of his mouth.
“Then don’t,” he said simply. “But you gotta stop running from me every time you get scared I might run first. ‘Cause I ain’t going nowhere unless you tell me to.”
He tapped the ash into the tray, eyes never leaving yours.
“So tell me, baby. For real this time. You staying?”
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Reiner was gone—lost in it, in her, in the way her body wrapped around him like it was made for him. He wasn’t stopping—couldn’t. His pace was vicious, hips slamming, body rutting into hers like an animal, breath ragged, possessed.
And then—teeth.
His mouth found her shoulder, lips parted, and he sank his teeth in, not enough to break skin but enough to make her scream—high, breathless, shaking. Her back arched, her voice raw.
“Rei—Rei—baby—”
“Shut up,” he growled, breath hot on her skin, teeth still there, hand locking around her waist as he thrust harder, deeper. “Mine. You hear me? *Mine—*I don’t give a fuck about no ring, no vows—you mine right now.”
She was gone, body slammed into the mattress with every stroke, her breath hitched, shattered.
His teeth released her shoulder just enough for him to kiss, lick the mark, voice hoarse.
“Look at you… fuckin’ cryin on it. This what you wanted, huh? This what you needed? Now take it—take all of it.”
And he was rutting again, chest pressed to her back, grinding, slamming in deep with every brutal snap of his hips. Her name was chanting off his lips, every thrust a claim, every groan a promise—he wasn’t stopping till she broke, till she knew, till she was wrecked.
The penthouse is dim, city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows like spilled neon. You’re sprawled on the sectional in nothing, but his favorite Goodfellow tee soft black cotton that hits mid-thigh, riding up every time you shift and a thin pair of black lace panties that barely qualify as coverage. The fabric’s already damp between your thighs because you’ve been scrolling through his post-game highlights on your phone, thighs pressed together, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock.
Door swings open. Ony steps in, still fresh off the court. Black compression long-sleeve tee clinging to every damn inch of his 6'3" frame broad shoulders, thick chest, biceps and forearms carved like they were cut from stone. Sweat’s dried into the fabric in dark patches, making it stick even tighter. Sweatpants low on his hips, gold grillz catching the light when he licks his lips slow, eyes dropping straight to you.
“Fuck… look at you,” he drawls deep, ATL accent thick and lazy, voice rumbling from that pronounced Adam’s apple. He kicks the door shut, drops his keys on the console without looking. “Comin’ home to my favorite meal already laid out like that? You tryna get ate out tonight, huh?”
He crosses the room in long strides, towering over you before you can even sit up straight. Big hands grip the back of the couch on either side of your head, caging you in. The compression shirt stretches across his pecs as he leans down, nose brushing yours.
“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this fat pussy the whole damn ride home,” he mutters, lips grazing your ear. “Had to adjust my shit in the car ‘cause I was hard as fuck just picturin’ my face buried in it.”
He drops to one knee between your legs, hands sliding rough up your thighs, pushing the Goodfellow tee higher until it bunches at your waist. Thumbs hook into the lace panties and yank them down slow, letting the fabric drag over your skin. He doesn’t even take them all the way off just lets them dangle off one ankle like they’re in his way.
“Spread them thighs, ma. Let me see her.” Voice drops lower, almost a growl. “Yeah… look at that. Already fuckin’ soaked. You been playin’ with my pussy while I was gone?”
You shake your head, biting your lip. He chuckles dark, grillz flashing.
“Liar. I can smell how bad you want it.” He hooks your legs over his shoulders, big hands gripping the undersides of your thighs, spreading you wide. The compression sleeves strain against his biceps as he pulls you closer to the edge of the couch. “This my shit. Ain’t nobody eatin’ this better than me, you hear me?”
No more talking. He dives in like he’s starving.
Tongue flat, he drags it from your entrance to your clit in one long, filthy stroke, groaning deep in his chest when your taste hits him. “Goddamn… taste so fuckin’ good.” Lips seal around your clit, sucking hard while his tongue flicks fast relentless little circles that make your hips jerk. He’s messy with it tonight, no patience for teasing. Slurping, sucking, tongue spearing inside you, curling against that spot that makes your back bow.
“Fuck, yeah clench on my tongue like that,” he growls against you, vibrations shooting straight through your core. One hand slides up under the tee, palming your tit rough, thumb rolling your nipple while the other keeps your thigh pinned back. Nose buried in you, beard scraping your sensitive skin just right. “Ride my face, baby. Use me. Make that shit nasty.”
You grab fistfuls of his waves, pulling him closer. He loves that—hums approval, eats harder. Two thick fingers slide in deep, pumping fast, curling every time he bottoms out. Wet squelches fill the room, mixing with his low curses and your moans.
“Shit… listen to her talkin’ to me. So fuckin’ wet, so tight.” He pulls back just enough to spit on your clit messy, deliberate then dives right back in, sucking it between his lips like candy. “Cum for me, ma. Drench my fuckin’ face. I want that shit all over my grillz and beard.”
The pressure snaps fast. Your thighs lock around his head, back arching off the couch as you come hard gushing, shaking, crying his name while he drinks every drop, tongue never stopping. He groans like he’s the one getting off, lapping soft through the aftershocks until you’re whimpering, oversensitive.
Finally he pulls back, lips swollen and shining, chin dripping, grillz glinting wet. That deep laugh rumbles out as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, compression sleeve riding up to show the veins in his forearm.
“Still the best pussy I ever tasted. Ain’t shit touchin’ this.” He stands slow, towering again, bulge in his sweats obscene and throbbing. Eyes locked on you, dark and hungry. “Now turn over. Ass up, face down. I ain’t done eatin’ yet… just need a better angle to tongue-fuck you from the back.”
He palms himself through the sweats, voice dropping to that dangerous low. “And don’t think we stoppin’ at one. I got all night to make this pussy cry for me.”
Ony had you on your back now legs hooked over his shoulders, folded nearly in half so he could sink impossibly deeper. The bed creaked under every slow, punishing roll of his hips. He was wrecking you deliberate, unhurried, making sure you felt every thick inch stretching you open again and again.
He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked.
“Look how I can’t even take me a few weeks and I can’t even bottom out.”
He punctuated it with a deep grind hips circling, pressing in until your walls fluttered and resisted, still so tight after the time apart. You gasped sharp, high nails raking down his back, leaving fresh red lines over the old ones.
“Fr,” he rasped, pulling out slow so you could see how your pussy clung to him, slick and swollen, trying to keep him inside. “This pussy still tryna fight me. Still tryna act like she forgot who she belong to.”
You whimpered head thrown back, tears slipping into your hairline hips lifting on instinct to chase him even as your body trembled from the stretch.
Ony fuck too deep
“Nah,” he growled, thrusting back in harder this time, bottoming out with a wet slap that made you both groan. “You take it. Every inch. Like you always do. Like you was made for this dick.”
He stayed buried grinding slow circles, letting you feel him throb inside you then pulled back just enough to watch himself slide out again, glistening with you, veins standing out thick and proud.
“Look at that,” he murmured, voice rough with awe and possession. “Look how pretty you open up for me. Still tight as fuck after weeks. Still dripping like you missed me bad.”
Your hands flew to his shoulders trying to brace yourself, trying to push him back, trying to pull him closer all at once.
“I I can’t”
“You can,” he said, cutting you off with another deep stroke. “You will. ’Cause this pussy mine. And I ain’t stopping till she remember who own her.”
He sped up controlled, relentless each thrust bottoming out now, hips snapping forward until you were crying out, walls spasming around him, trying to milk him even as he stretched you to the limit.
“Say it,” he demanded voice breaking on a groan. “Say who this pussy belong to.”
“You,” you sobbed voice wrecked, thighs shaking. “You fuck Ony yours…..only yours”
He rewarded you with a hard grind—deep, circling making you see stars.
“Good girl,” he rasped. “That’s right. Only mine.”
He didn’t let up kept fucking you slow and deep until you shattered again—back bowing, walls clamping down so tight he had to grit his teeth to keep control. You squirted around him hot, messy coating his abs, the sheets, everything.
Only then did he finally let go thrusting deep one last time, groaning your name as he came raw, pulsing, filling you until it leaked out around his base, dripping down your ass.
He collapsed over you still inside, still connected forehead pressed to yours, both breathing like you’d run a marathon.
After a long minute when your heartbeats finally started to sync he kissed you slow, soft, nothing like the roughness from before.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “And I ain’t letting go again. Not ever.”
Your arms wrapped around his neck holding him close, tears slipping free but smiling through them.
“I love you too,” you breathed. “And I’m yours. All yours.”
He stayed like that inside you, over you, around you—until the world outside faded completely.
The arena was electric that night sold out, lights blazing, bass from the pre-game playlist rattling through the seats. Ony was in his bag from tip-off: silky handles, step-back threes that splashed clean, and that signature mid-range fadeaway nobody could contest. But every sprint back on defense, every time he called for the ball, his eyes kept drifting courtside.
Third row. You.
Black leather skirt hugging your thighs, skintight crop top showing just enough midriff when you stood to cheer, gold bangles flashing every time you clapped. Your friend beside you, louder energy was screaming his name on every bucket, but you? You watched with this calm, almost challenging smirk. Like you were rating his performance. Like you knew exactly how good he was and still wanted more.
He felt it. That pull. The kind that made him push harder, hit shots he didn’t even need to take, just to see if you’d finally crack and give him a real reaction.
Fourth quarter. Game tied. Thirty seconds left. He caught the inbound, crossed up his defender so nasty the man stumbled, then pulled up from deep. Nothing but net. Dagger. The building erupted.
Buzzer. Win.
While the rest of the team did the post-game tunnel run, shaking hands, posing for phones, Onyankopon didn’t even look at the court. He bee-lined straight to the sideline barrier, jersey soaked, sweat dripping from his braids, towel slung over his shoulder.
He stopped right in front of you, close enough that the heat rolling off him hit you like a wave.
“You always this quiet when a nigga drops thirty-five on your watch?” His voice was low, rough from yelling plays all night.
You tilted your head, lips curving slow. “Maybe I’m just hard to impress.”
He laughed deep, easy, unbothered. “Aight, bet. What’s your name, ma?”
“YN.”
He repeated it like he was claiming it. “YN.” Then he leaned in a fraction closer, eyes locked on yours. “You leavin’ with your girl tonight… or you tryna see what happens after the lights go down?”
Your friend gasped beside you, already grabbing her bag like she knew the answer before you said it.
You held his gaze for a beat. Then shrugged one shoulder. “Depends on how quick you can shower.”
He grinned like he’d just won another ring. “Five minutes. Wait here.”
He had security on speed dial. Ten minutes later you were walking through the players’ tunnel him in fresh sweats and a black hoodie, you beside him, heels clicking against the concrete. No small talk. Just tension thick enough to choke on.
His place was downtown, high up, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city lights. He didn’t bother with the grand tour.
Door barely shut before he had you against its hands on your waist, mouth crashing into yours like he’d been starving for it since the first quarter. You kissed him back just as hungry, fingers curling into his hoodie, pulling him closer.
He lifted you easy, legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you straight to the bedroom. No lights. Just the glow from the city spilling across the sheets.
Clothes hit the floor in pieces your skirt bunched at your hips, his sweats kicked somewhere near the dresser. He laid you down slow, like he wanted to savor it, but the second his mouth found your neck, your collarbone, the soft swell of your breasts, that slow turned feral.
“Fuck, you smell so good,” he groaned against your skin, lips trailing lower, tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth. Your back arched, nails scraping down his shoulders.
He didn’t tease long. When he finally slid between your thighs, thick and hard, he paused just long enough to look at you—really look. “You sure?”
You hooked your legs around him, pulling him in. “Stop playin’.”
He pushed in slow at first inch by inch, letting you feel every bit of him. Then deeper. Harder. The bed creaked under the rhythm he set long, rolling strokes that hit exactly where you needed.
“Shit… this pussy grippin’ me like this already?” His voice was wrecked, forehead pressed to yours, hips snapping forward. “Knew you was gon’ feel like heaven.”
You answered with a moan, hands in his braids, hips meeting every thrust. The headboard hittin' the wall in time with the wet sounds filling the room. He flipped you onto your stomach, pulled your hips up, sank back in from behind deeper now, one hand wrapped around your throat just enough to make your pulse jump.
“Tell me this my shit now,” he rasped against your ear.
You gasped out a laugh that turned into a whimper when he angled just right. “Keep fuckin’ me like this and it might be.”
He groaned like you’d flipped a switch pace turning relentless, skin slapping skin, both of you chasing it hard. You came first—shuddering, clenching around him so tight he cursed under his breath. He followed right after, burying deep, spilling inside you with a low, broken moan of your name.
After, he didn’t roll off. Just stayed there, chest to your back, breathing heavy, one arm slung across your waist like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
Eventually he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “You stayin’?”
You turned your head, catching his eyes in the dim light. “You want me to?”
He smirked, already half-hard again against your ass. “I want you here every night I play at home. Courtside first… then right here. Same spot.”
You smiled slow, reaching back to thread your fingers through his braids. “Then you better keep winnin’.”
He chuckled, low and dangerous, already rolling you underneath him again.
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Plug Choso: Who always cleans and pre-rolls your blunts and joints for free every time you buy from him, just to see the smile you give him when he hands them over.
Plug Choso: Always gives you his latest strains to try before anyone else, leaning in close as he says, "I saved this one just for you, ma."
Plug Choso: Who openly flirts with you during drop-offs, running his tongue over his bottom lip and smirking when you catch him staring a little too long.
Plug Choso: Always keeps your favorite munchies stocked in the passenger seat of his Hellcat, handing them over with a wink like he’s been thinking about you all day.
Plug Choso: Who insists on sparking the blunt with you every now and then, just so he can "make sure it’s hitting right," but really, it’s just an excuse to chill with you a little longer.
Plug Choso: Who texts you late at night with "You good? Need anything?" even when you haven’t hit him up, making sure you know he’s just a call away.
Plug Choso: Who swears he doesn’t do this for anyone else, and the way he looks at you? Yeah, you’re starting to believe it.
Plug Choso: Who always shows up smelling good, like some expensive cologne and a hint of weed, knowing you’ll notice when he leans in just a little too close to pass you your bag.
Plug Choso: Who always tells you to hit him up, "Even if you don’t need anything. I don’t mind pulling up just to see you, ma."
Plug Choso: Who makes sure to call you “his favorite customer” but says it with that look that tells you he doesn’t mean it like that.
Plug Choso: Who parks outside your spot blasting your favorite songs, knowing it’ll have you cheesing before you even open the door.
Plug Choso: Who doesn’t let you carry your own stuff when he drops off, walking it all the way to your living room while teasing you about how you always over-order.
Plug Choso: Who lingers at the door like he’s waiting for an invite, running his fingers through his messy hair and giving you that boyish grin that always makes you weak.
Plug Choso: Who tells you, "Let me know when you’re smoking, I’ll slide through," but really just wants a reason to chill with you again.
Plug Choso: Who always notices when you switch up your hair, complimenting it with a "Damn, that’s fire. You just tryna distract me now, huh?"
Plug Choso: Who casually brushes his fingers against yours when handing you something, watching your reaction like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Plug Choso: Who’s lowkey protective, side-eying any guy he sees you talking to and asking, "Who’s that? He treating you right?"
Plug Choso: Who keeps your favorite rolling papers on deck because he knows you’re picky and doesn’t want you going anywhere else.
Plug Choso: Who always makes it feel like you’re the only one on his list, even though you know damn well he stays busy.
Plug Choso: Who always lingers a little too long when handing over your bag, his fingers brushing yours as his dark eyes flicker to your lips. "You sure you don’t need me to stay a while, ma?"
Plug Choso: Who offers to roll up with you at your place, sitting so close on your couch that his thigh presses against yours, his voice dropping lower every time he leans in to light the blunt.
Plug Choso: Who teases you relentlessly, asking, "Why you always smelling so damn good? You trying to distract me while I work?" as he trails his gaze over you slowly, taking in every detail.
Plug Choso: Who pulls up in his Hellcat late at night, texting you, "Come outside, I got something for you," just to hand you a bag of snacks and a pre-rolled joint, his excuse being, "Thought you might need it after a long day."
Plug Choso: Who never rushes when he’s with you, leaning against your doorframe as he watches you sort through your stash, licking his lips as he says, "You really trust me to hook you up, huh?"
Plug Choso: Who shows up at the club unannounced one night, catching sight of you dancing with some random dude. His jaw tightens, and before you even notice, he’s cutting between you and the guy with a cold, "Yo, I think she’s good."
Plug Choso: Who leans in close after the guy walks away, his hand resting low on your back. "What you doing out here letting dudes like that in your space, huh? You know you could’ve just called me if you wanted attention."
Plug Choso: Who stays by your side the rest of the night, his touch lingering on your waist and hips as he “helps” guide you through the crowd, making it real clear you’re with him now.
Plug Choso: Who pulls you into his car after the club, his voice low and possessive as he says, "You don’t need them when you got me, ma. I’ve been making that obvious, haven’t I?"
Plug Choso: Who kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, his hands gripping your thighs as he whispers against your lips, "I’ve been holding back for you, but you keep testing me."
Plug Choso: Who texts you later that night, "Made it home yet? Let me know. Don’t make me come back and check on you."
Plug Choso: Who stays on your mind long after the weed is gone, making you wonder if this is more than just business for him.
Plug Choso: Who doesn’t just drop off your stash—he stays to light up with you, sitting close enough that his thigh presses against yours. His deep, raspy voice always carries a teasing edge. "You gon’ share, or you just like showing off in front of me?"
Plug Choso: Who runs his fingers along your thigh while you’re mid-hit, smirking when your breath catches. "Relax, ma, it’s just me. You trust me, don’t you?"
Plug Choso: Who, after the club incident, corners you in your kitchen later that week, his broad frame boxing you in against the counter. "You really had me twisted the other night," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Watching you move like that with him? That wasn’t it."
Plug Choso: Who doesn’t even wait for your response before his hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him. His voice is gravelly now, his tone all possession. "You know damn well you should’ve been on me like that. What were you trying to prove, huh?"
Plug Choso: Who has your back pressed against the fridge, his lips ghosting over your neck, heat radiating from his body as his tattooed fingers trace your bare skin. "I’ve been real patient with you, Y/N. But you keep making me want to break my own rules."
Plug Choso: Who finally snaps when you whisper his name, his lips crashing against yours, rough and hungry, his hands gripping your hips like he’s staking a claim.
Plug Choso: Who backs you onto the counter, his hands firm as he lifts you up with ease. "You wanna play games, ma? Let’s see how long you keep that same energy when it’s just me and you."
Plug Choso: Who takes his time, teasing you with whispered promises between heated kisses. "I’ve been thinking about this, you know. Every time I see you, you make it harder to keep my head straight."
Plug Choso: Who pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "You like making me crazy, don’t you?" he says, his voice dark and full of heat. "But now it’s my turn."
Plug Choso: Who doesn’t stop until he’s left you breathless, your body trembling from the intensity of it all. He pulls you close after, his lips pressing softly against your forehead as he murmurs, "Now you get it. No one else gets you like I do, ma."
Plug Choso: Who’s got you sitting on his lap later, still catching your breath, his hand tracing lazy circles on your thigh as he lights the blunt for you. "Don’t forget who’s really got you," he says, holding the joint to your lips.
Cause i missed writting for Ony outside of Love and Gunshots
here is a lil fic inspired by me listening to way to much DMX songs
this def gonna have a part two
The studio was alive with energy. The faint hum of a beat looped through the speakers, low enough to talk over but loud enough to keep the vibe right. Smoke curled through the air, the scent of something strong lingering as laughter bounced between the walls.
Eren sat at the mixing board, lazily twisting a knob as he leaned back in his chair, watching the session unfold. Armin stood nearby, scrolling through his phone, probably looking at projections or some business report none of them cared to hear about right now.
Connie was perched on the couch, a blunt tucked behind his ear, grinning as he scrolled through his notifications. He tapped his screen, shaking his head. "Man, they got Twitter goin' crazy right now. They swear me and Ony got a track droppin’."
Onyankopon sat in the corner, quiet but listening, one hand draped over his knee while the other nursed a bottle of water. He wasn’t much for social media, but he already knew what they were saying. His name stayed in people’s mouths—sometimes for music, sometimes for… other things.
“Let ’em talk,” Ony muttered. “Ain’t nobody confirm nothin’.”
Connie smirked. “Yeah, but you know how this industry work. Rumors turn into facts real quick.”
Eren chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth.” He nudged Armin. “Yo, business man, how we capitalizing off this?”
Armin didn’t look up from his phone. “By actually finishing the song, maybe?”
That got a laugh out of everyone except Ony, who only shook his head.
Then Mikasa spoke up, cutting through the noise like she always did. “Speaking of rumors,” she said, arms crossed, “you got an interview tomorrow, Ony.”
Ony’s face stayed unreadable, but his response was instant. “Nah, I ain’t doin’ all that.”
Mikasa barely blinked. “It’s already booked.”
“So? Cancel it.”
“Not happening.”
Ony exhaled through his nose, irritation creeping into his voice. “What for? I already know what they gon’ ask me. Same bullshit—‘What’s the album about?’ ‘What’s your process?’ ‘How many women you really got on rotation?’” He shook his head. “Tired of that shit.”
Mikasa stared him down, unmoved. “Then maybe you should be more careful about what you let people say about you.”
A sharp silence filled the room. Even Eren glanced up at that.
Ony ran a hand over his face, about to argue again, when Mikasa tilted her head and added—
“It’s with Y/N L/N.”
Everything stopped for a beat.
Ony didn’t say anything at first, but the slight hesitation—the way his fingers curled just a little tighter around his water bottle—didn’t go unnoticed.
Connie definitely noticed.
His eyes flicked to Ony, then back to Mikasa, and a slow grin stretched across his face. “Ohhh.” He dragged the word out, leaning forward with too much interest. “Now that’s interesting.”
Eren smirked. “Damn, bro. That name mean somethin’ to you?”
Ony scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah. Ain’t even like that.”
But the way he avoided looking at anybody said otherwise.
Mikasa, as usual, wasn’t here for the games. “Good,” she said flatly. “Then you won’t have a problem showing up.”
Ony didn’t respond right away. He just leaned back, tapping his fingers against his knee, thoughts running deeper than he let on.
Connie, watching him closely, only grinned wider. “Yeah… this gon’ be real interesting.”
The room settled back into a familiar rhythm, but there was a shift now—something hanging in the air that hadn’t been there before.
Ony leaned back, his jaw tight, tapping a slow rhythm against his knee while Connie watched him like he had the biggest secret in the world.
Eren, never one to let a moment slip by, chuckled as he twisted a few knobs on the soundboard. “Damn, I ain’t never seen you this quiet before, bro.”
Ony shot him a look. “Man, shut up.”
That only made Connie laugh harder. “Nah, ‘cause now I’m real curious. You of all people ain’t tryna do an interview? And with her?” He whistled low, shaking his head. “Secrets must be somethin’ serious.”
Ony exhaled sharply but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he stood up, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off. “Man, let’s just work.”
Eren smirked, already cuing up the beat. “Yeah, yeah. Time to put in work, big dog.”
The opening bassline hit, vibrating through the speakers, heavy and raw. The track was built for Ony—gritty, aggressive, something that hit you straight in the chest. And then Connie’s smooth, melodic touch came in, making the whole thing feel effortless.
Ony grabbed the headphones off the stand and adjusted the mic. He didn’t need the lyrics in front of him—he’d already been running the bars through his head all day.
Eren gave a nod from behind the glass. “Aight, run it from the top.”
The track kicked in fully, the instrumental pulsing. Connie stepped up first, his voice sliding in smooth:
🎶 "Uh… yeah." 🎶
He grinned, letting the words stretch out as he found the groove.
🎶 "What these women want from a nigga?
Everybody askin’…" 🎶
Eren bobbed his head, already feeling it. Armin leaned back, watching with his usual calculating gaze, while Mikasa stayed posted by the door, arms crossed, as if mentally balancing business with personal bullshit.
Then Ony came in.
🎶 "What these women want from a nigga?
Shit, I been tryna figure that out myself." 🎶
His voice was low, raspy—commanding. He wasn’t just rapping, he was telling a story.
🎶 "What these women want from a nigga?
They love the name, but they don’t know the life." 🎶
The way he delivered it was cold, almost detached—like a man laying out facts, no sugarcoating. Connie picked up his cue, adding another layer to the track, his voice dripping with the kind of confidence that made women weak.
🎶 "Break ‘em off somethin’…
Oh yeah, and by the way, it’s the N-Tity!" 🎶
Connie hit that perfect balance of cocky and smooth, grinning as he leaned back from the mic.
Eren let the beat ride for a second before cutting the track. The room sat in silence for a beat before Armin finally spoke.
“Yeah,” he nodded, impressed. “That’s gonna be a problem.”
Connie snickered. “You mean a hit?”
“Same thing.”
Ony pulled the headphones off, setting them back on the stand. The energy was right, the track was solid—but his mind was already somewhere else.
And Connie knew it.
He waited a moment before casually saying, “You know, I bet Y/N gon’ have a lot of questions about this one.”
Ony stilled for half a second. Then he shook his head, grabbing his water bottle. “Man, shut the hell up.”
Connie just grinned, stretching back on the couch. “Nah, I’m just sayin’… interviews get real personal sometimes.”
Eren chuckled under his breath. Armin smirked. Even Mikasa looked like she was holding back a comment.
Ony exhaled, rubbing his jaw. This interview was already getting on his nerves—and it hadn’t even happened yet.
Ony cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off. “Run it back.”
Eren didn’t even question it. He just reset the track, the bass creeping in again, that same grimy, no-nonsense energy filling the room.
Ony stepped up to the mic, gripping it like he had something to prove—not to them, but to himself.
🎶 "Come on, ma, you know I got a wife,
And even though that pussy tight, I'm not gon' jeopardize my life—AIGHT?" 🎶
His voice hit harder this time, more raw, like he was talking directly to somebody.
🎶 "So what is it you want from a nigga?" 🎶
Connie, still chilling on the couch, let out a low “What?” in the background, matching Ony’s tone.
🎶 "I gave you; you gave me—" 🎶
Then Ony snapped, voice sharper—
🎶 "BITCH!" 🎶
Eren raised an eyebrow but said nothing, nodding along.
🎶 "I blazed you, you blazed me—COME ON!" 🎶
Connie grinned, chiming in smooth, “Yeah, yeah…”
Ony’s delivery was cold, every bar landing like a warning.
🎶 "Nothin’ more, nothin’ less,
But you at my door willing to confess—" 🎶
Connie, right on cue: “Yeah, yeah…”
🎶 "That it’s the best you ever tested—" 🎶
🎶 "Aight!"—Connie crooned, voice buttery smooth.
Ony smirked a little, but his tone stayed ruthless.
🎶 "Better than all the rest, I'm like, 'Aight, girlfriend, hold up—'"
Connie jumped in again, sliding in that signature R&B swag—
🎶 "Tell me…"
And Ony closed it out, dropping the last line like a hammer—
🎶 "I gave you what you gave me, boo—a NUT!" 🎶
Eren cut the beat again, sitting back with a low whistle. “Sheesh.”
Armin smirked, clearly amused. “Well… that was direct.”
Connie laughed, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. “Nah, that shit was real.” He turned to Ony, smirking. “Yo, you think Y/N gon’ bring this up in the interview?”
Ony exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “Man, shut the hell up.”
That only made Connie laugh harder. “What? You know she gon’ ask you what these women really want.”
Eren smirked. “Hope you got a good answer ready.”
Ony didn’t respond, just grabbed his water bottle and took a slow sip, trying to act unbothered.
But everybody in the room knew better.
Mikasa, arms still crossed, gave Ony and Connie a sharp nod. “Run the chorus and the next verse for me.”
She wasn’t asking.
Eren smirked, pressing a button on the board. “Aight, y’all heard the boss lady.”
Connie rolled his shoulders, stepping back up to the mic. Ony exhaled through his nose, adjusting his stance.
The track restarted.
This time, the energy was locked in.
🎶 "What these bitches want from a nigga?" 🎶
Ony’s voice was rough, carrying that weight, that grit.
🎶 "What you want? (What you want?)
What these bitches want from a nigga?" 🎶
Connie’s voice slipped in smooth, bouncing off Ony’s rawness, giving the chorus its perfect contrast.
🎶 "Really want…
What these bitches want from a nigga?
Shawty, I keep you up on it,
Bling-blingin', all that jewelry, girl, I bought it—" 🎶
His voice dipped into a slick melody, smooth enough to make anybody believe every word.
🎶 "What these bitches want from a nigga?
Ayo, tell me what you want from me…
Baby, tell me what you want from me (so what you want?)” 🎶
The chorus hit hard, the beat knocking heavy behind their voices.
And just like that—Ony slid into his verse, zero hesitation.
🎶 "There was Brenda, Latisha (uh), Linda, Felicia (okay),
Dawn, LeShaun, Ines, and Alicia (ooh)—" 🎶
🎶 “Damn.”—Connie again, his voice dripping with amusement.
🎶 "Stacy, Tracie, Rohna, and Ronda (what?),
Donna, Yolanda (what?), Tawana, and Wanda (what?)—" 🎶
Ony’s voice was relentless, pushing each name out with weight, like a roll call of his past.
🎶 "Were all treated fairly, but yet and still,
Bitches is on some other shit now that I'm fuckin' with Dru Hill—" 🎶
🎶 "But I'ma keep it real (what?),
What the fuck you want from a nigga?
What the fuck you want from a nigga? (Yeah!)" 🎶
Silence.
Then—
Armin smirked, shaking his head. “This is definitely gonna stir up some shit.”
Connie let out a loud laugh, clapping his hands together. “Oh yeah, bro.”
Eren leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Matter fact, This shit gonna be a hit.”
Ony stayed quiet for a second, his jaw clenching just slightly.
Then, with all the calm in the world, he grabbed his water bottle, twisted the cap, and took a slow sip.
“Man,” he muttered, voice low, “y’all talk too much.”
The beat faded out.
Eren leaned back, nodding to himself. “That’s a wrap.”
Ony pulled the headphones off, tossing them onto the stand. “We done?”
Mikasa, arms crossed, nodded. “For now.” She glanced down at her phone. “I pushed back the interview until the song drops.”
Ony gave her a look. “For what?”
“So you actually have something to promote.”
Ony scoffed, shaking his head. “Man, I ain’t polishing shit. It stays as is.”
Armin, still lounging in the chair by the console, shrugged. “It’s fine.”
Mikasa rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She already knew how this went. Ony was stubborn, but so was she—so if anything needed tweaking, he’d come around eventually.
For now, the session was over.
Everybody started to relax, stretching out after being locked in the booth for hours. Connie, already making himself comfortable, sprawled out on the couch, phone in hand. “Yo, I ordered food. Should be here in like twenty.”
“Bet,” Eren muttered, lighting a blunt.
Armin was already on his laptop, typing away, probably lining up the rollout for the track. Mikasa was texting, handling business as usual.
Ony sat back in his chair, exhaling.
That should’ve been the end of it.
But then—he noticed how Connie was smirking at his phone, thumbs moving fast.
“Who you texting?” Ony asked, side-eyeing him.
Connie didn’t even look up. “Nobody.”
Ony lifted his chin. “Lyin’ ass.”
Eren chuckled, passing him the blunt. “If he grinnin’ like that, it’s either money… or a woman.”
Ony took a slow pull, watching Connie. “Yeah. So which one is it?”
Connie finally looked up, mischief all over his face. Then, with zero hesitation—
“Y/N.”
Ony exhaled, smoke curling past his lips. His grip on the blunt tightened just a little.
Connie grinned. “She asked how the session went.”
Ony didn’t say a word at first. Just took another slow drag, the blunt burning between his fingers.
But Connie? Connie was watching him real close.
Then, just like that—
He burst out laughing.
“Ayo—” Connie wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Ain’t no way you just made that face.”
Ony side-eyed him. “Man, shut the fuck up.”
“Nah, nah, nah—” Connie was still grinning, way too amused. “You was lookin’ real sick for a second there.”
Eren smirked but kept quiet. Armin glanced up from his laptop, peeping the shift in energy. Even Mikasa glanced up from her phone, side-eyeing them.
But Connie? He was still on Ony’s head.
“Ain’t my fault you let the game pull you from the chick you loved.”
Silence.
Ony exhaled through his nose, tapping the blunt against the tray, knocking the ash loose. Then, low as hell—barely above a mumble—
“Love.”
Connie’s smirk faltered for a split second.
Ony took another pull, jaw tight.
That was all he said.
But Connie caught it.
And for once, he didn’t joke.
Instead, he just went back to his phone, replying to Y/N.
Text Conversation: Connie & Y/N
📱 Y/N: Yo. How’d the session go?
📱 Connie: Shit was fire, as expected.
📱 Connie: Ya boy Ony was in his bag lmfao.
📱 Y/N: Oh? 👀
📱 Connie: Yeah, you gon’ have a LOT to ask about in that interview, trust.
📱 Y/N: Lmao don’t play w/ me.
📱 Y/N: That bad??
📱 Connie: Let’s just say… a WHOLE lotta names got mentioned tonight.
📱 Y/N: Names?
📱 Y/N: …Wait. Like, WOMEN’S names?
📱 Connie: 👀
📱 Connie: I mean, yeah. A whole roll call.
📱 Y/N: …Lemme find out Ony still on that type of time.
📱 Connie: Lmaooo. Ayo, you sound a lil mad. You good?
📱 Y/N: Boy, bye. 🙄
📱 Connie: Nah nah nah, that was hella quick. You sure you ain’t a lil heated?
📱 Y/N: AINT NOBODY WORRIED ABOUT THAT MAN.
📱 Connie: Mhm. Keep tellin’ yourself that.
📱 Y/N: I hope his player ass got media trained bc I’m asking everything.
📱 Connie: Oh, I KNOW. 😭
📱 Connie: Matter fact…
📱 Connie: I lowkey wish I could see his face when you do.
📱 Y/N: Lmao, be serious.
📱 Connie: I am serious. This man paused for a whole five seconds when Mikasa said your name.
📱 Y/N: Stop lying.
📱 Connie: I’d never lie to you, ma. 😇
📱 Y/N: Boy, you a whole menace.
📱 Connie: And yet, you still texting me. Interesting. 🤔
📱 Y/N: Bye.
📱 Connie: Lmaoooo.
YN POV
Y/N stared at her phone, Connie’s last message still sitting there.
I’d never lie to you, ma. 😇
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating if she even wanted to reply.
Five seconds? Ony paused for five whole seconds when he heard her name?
That was not normal.
And the fact that Connie clocked it immediately meant he knew it wasn’t normal either.
Y/N sucked her teeth, flopping back against her couch. She didn’t know why she was letting this get to her. She was over that whole situation. Ony was a memory, an old chapter she’d already closed.
…Right?
She sighed, running a hand down her face.
She should’ve known Connie was gonna be messy.
But then again…
Maybe this was karma.
After all, she was about to interview Ony about his player reputation.
And if anyone knew the truth behind that rep?
It was her.
Because she was there before the fame.
Before the rumors.
Before the women whose names he just rapped in the booth like they were nothing.
Flashback: Back When It Was Just “O” and Y/N
Years ago—before the money, before the music, before the world knew Ony’s name—he was just “O” to her.
And back then?
She swore she was the only girl that mattered to him.
They weren’t official—not really. They never put a title on it. But she was his, and he was hers, in the way that counted.
Or at least… that’s what she thought.
She still remembered the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing worth seeing. The way his voice softened when it was just the two of them. The way he held her like he was scared to let go.
But then…
He let go.
And she never really understood why.
One day, it was all good. The next? He was distant. Late replies. Excuses. Promises he didn’t keep.
Then the rumors started.
And when she finally asked him about it—when she looked him dead in his eyes and asked if the whispers were true—
All she got was a long pause.
And silence said everything.
That’s when she walked away.
And Ony?
He let her.
Back in the Present
Y/N blinked back into reality, jaw tight.
Yeah.
She had a lot of questions for Ony.
And come interview day?
He was gonna answer every single one.
Ony took another pull from his blunt, letting the smoke burn slow in his chest. The studio session was done, but his mind was still running. Not on the track. Not on the rollout.
On her.
Y/N.
Hearing her name after all this time? That was the last thing he expected.
And pausing for five seconds? Yeah, that was a slip-up.
Connie caught that shit fast, too.
That’s why he laughed like it was funny. Like it wasn’t real. Like Ony wasn’t still thinking about the last time he saw Y/N—the last time he let himself look at her.
Like he wasn’t the one who let her go.
He knew exactly what he lost. And if he was being honest?
He lost her on purpose.
Flashback: When Ony Walked Away
Y/N always knew how to get to him. Always knew how to make him feel like he could be more than what the world saw him as.
And for a minute, he let himself believe it.
That they could work. That he could have her and still chase this dream.
But the bigger he got, the more the streets started talking. And Ony had been in the game long enough to know one thing:
Loyalty doesn’t mean shit in this industry.
He wasn’t reckless, wasn’t running around like people said. But he knew how the whispers sounded. How they’d make Y/N look at him different, whether they were true or not.
And instead of waiting for her to see him like that—
He made the call first.
“Yo, I just think we need space,” he told her one night, his voice steady, even though his chest was tight as hell.
Y/N’s face twisted. “Space? Since when?”
He exhaled slow. “Since now.”
That should’ve been it.
But it was Y/N.
And she didn’t just let things go.
“Nah, don’t do that,” she said, stepping closer. “You think I don’t see through that bullshit? What’s really going on, O?”
He swallowed hard, jaw locking. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she repeated, eyes searching his. “So you just—what? You just woke up and decided we’re done?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
Y/N scoffed, stepping back like she finally understood.
“Wow,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re really doing this.”
He didn’t say anything.
Because what the fuck was he supposed to say?
That he was scared? That he didn’t want her caught up in the mess his life was turning into? That he cared too much to let her stick around?
She deserved better than that.
Better than him.
So he let her go.
And Y/N?
She didn’t chase him.
She just left.
And now, years later, she was about to walk back into his life.
And for the first time in a long time—
Ony didn’t know if he was ready.
Y/N
Y/N stabbed her straw through her drink, her foot bouncing under the table. Across from her, Sasha was grinning like she just won a bet.
“You nervous?” Sasha asked, sipping her lemonade.
Y/N scoffed. “Nervous? For what?”
Sasha shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe ‘cause you’re about to see the man who broke your heart?”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “He didn’t break my heart.”
Sasha lifted a brow. “So if I text Connie right now and ask what Ony’s reaction was when he heard your name, what you think he gon’ say?”
Y/N went silent.
Sasha smirked. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not even like that.”
“Then what’s it like?”
“It’s… history,” Y/N muttered. “It’s old. And it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Sasha gave her a look. “Mhm. So that’s why you over here stirring your drink like it personally offended you?”
Y/N stopped moving.
Sasha laughed. “Babe. If you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t be acting like this.”
Y/N opened her mouth, then shut it again.
Because the truth?
Sasha was right.
She did care.
And that was exactly the problem.
The booth was hot, filled with the lingering scent of smoke and whatever cologne Ony had thrown on that morning. The speakers were thumping, bass rattling the walls as Armin adjusted levels on the mix.
It was supposed to be just another studio session. Another day in the life.
But Connie?
He had other plans.
Ony was posted up on the couch, blunt in one hand, phone in the other, scrolling like he wasn’t paying attention. Mikasa was flipping through notes, probably planning shit out for the next rollout.
Eren leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face. “We tryna work or we just chillin’?”
Connie grinned, stretching his arms behind his head. “Damn, my bad, big boss. Didn’t know we was on the clock.”
Eren shot him a look. “ Bro please, we always on the clock.”
Connie waved him off, turning to Ony instead.
“So… you ever gon’ talk about it?”
Ony exhaled slow. “Talk about what?”
Connie’s grin widened. “You know what.”
Mikasa didn’t even look up. “Leave it alone, Connie.”
“Nah, I just think it’s funny.” Connie sat forward, eyes locked on Ony. “How you been out here, big dog—big Ony—but one name got you stuck?”
Ony’s grip on his phone tightened. “Ain’t nobody stuck.”
Connie chuckled. “Right. That why you got so quiet yesterday?”
Ony didn’t reply. Just took another slow drag, eyes locked on the table in front of him.
Connie leaned back with a smirk. “I mean, if it was me—”
“Good thing it ain’t,” Ony muttered.
Connie threw his hands up. “Damn, my bad! Didn’t know it was a sensitive subject.”
Eren shook his head. “You real messy, you know that?”
Connie just laughed. “Shit, somebody gotta keep it interesting.”
Mikasa sighed. “Can we work now?”
Ony didn’t say anything. Just exhaled smoke, let his head rest against the couch.
He wasn’t stuck.
He was just thinking.
And the more Connie ran his mouth?
The harder it was to stop.
Connie tapped his fingers against his knee, watching Ony with that same smug grin.
“So what you gon’ do when you see her?”
Ony exhaled, slow and steady. “Ain’t gon’ do shit.”
Connie raised a brow. “Oh, word?”
Ony didn’t even look up. “Word.”
Connie snorted. “Man, please. You ain’t even slick. The moment Mikasa said her name, you got real quiet.”
Ony finally glanced up, jaw tight. “You still talkin’?”
Connie shrugged. “I mean, it’s funny. Big Ony, unbothered Ony, the same nigga who don’t let nobody get in his head, but—”
Ony cut him off. “You bored, huh?”
Connie grinned. “A lil’ bit.”
Ony shook his head, smirking just a little. “Niggas get one R&B hit and start feelin’ real bold.”
That made Eren laugh. Even Armin cracked a smile.
But Connie?
He just leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Aite, bet,” Connie said, still smirking. “If you don’t choke up when you see Y/N after the rollout for your interview next Thursday, I’ll drop it.”
Ony’s expression stayed neutral. “And if I do?”
Connie grinned wider. “Then I get to talk my shit forever.”
Ony sucked his teeth. “Nigga, you already do that.”
“Yeah, but this time, I’d be right.”
Ony shook his head. “Whatever, man.”
“Nah, say it,” Connie pushed. “We got a deal?”
Ony sighed, flicking ash off his blunt. Then he met Connie’s eyes, voice calm.
“Bet.”
The studio air was thick—weed smoke, bass vibrations, and unspoken shit that sat heavy between Ony and Connie. The bet had been made, and Ony wasn’t the type to back out, but the way Connie was watching him, all smug and knowing, made his blood heat just a little.
Eren twisted in his chair, adjusting the levels on the console. “Aight, we running this from the top?”
Ony pulled the mic stand closer, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah.”
Connie cracked his neck and stepped up beside him. “Try not to get too distracted, big dawg.”
Ony shot him a side glance. “Try not to do too much, R&B ass nigga.”
Connie laughed, stepping back as Eren cued up the beat. The heavy bass dropped, shaking the room, and just like that—they were locked in.
Ony didn’t hesitate when his cue hit, voice sliding into the rhythm, sharp and commanding.
"Come on, ma, you know I got a wife…"
His words hit with weight, the flow raw, guttural. Connie fed off that energy, bouncing on his heels before coming in smooth, vocals slipping through the beat like silk.
The two of them went back and forth, perfect synergy. Connie’s harmonies laced through Ony’s rough delivery like a blade wrapped in velvet. It was effortless—like they had done this in another lifetime.
By the time the chorus hit, Eren was nodding along, Armin tapped his fingers on his knee, and even Mikasa—who hardly reacted to shit—was watching with sharp eyes.
The track faded, and silence took over, but no one spoke at first.
Then Armin leaned forward, pushing his glasses up. “That’s the one.”
Eren smirked. “Yeah. That’s the one.”
Mikasa crossed her arms. “We’re polishing it.”
Ony exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Nah. It stays.”
Mikasa gave him a flat look. “It’s not up for discussion.”
Ony was about to argue, but Armin waved a hand. “It’s fine as is.”
Mikasa rolled her eyes but didn’t push further. She was outnumbered, and she knew it.
The session wrapped, but the energy still crackled in the air. Connie leaned back against the couch, scrolling through his phone like he had nothing to do with the chaos he had just started.
Ony side-eyed him, still catching his breath. “You real quiet now.”
Connie didn’t look up. “Just letting you breathe before I start talkin’ my shit.”
Eren laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t stop talkin’ shit.”
Connie grinned. “And y’all love me for it.”
Ony wasn’t amused. He leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “The bet still stands?”
Connie locked his phone and met Ony’s gaze. “Yeah. Next Thursday.”
Ony took a slow drag from his blunt, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “Aight.”
Connie’s grin widened. “That means yes, you gon’ choke up.”
Ony turned his head slowly, eyes dark. “Nigga, I will slap the gel out your head.”
Connie cackled, throwing a pillow at Ony’s face. “Bet.”
Y/N’s POV: Late Night Thoughts
The glow of Y/N’s laptop screen cast shadows across her face, but she wasn’t really looking at it. The email sat open, the words blurring together, but her mind was miles away.
Across from her, Sasha was sprawled out on the couch, chewing on a bag of chips like she wasn’t causing Y/N a migraine.
Sasha side-eyed her. “You been staring at that email for way too long.”
Y/N sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “It’s just an interview.”
Sasha raised a brow. “It’s not just an interview.”
Y/N shut her laptop with a snap. “Sasha.”
“What?”
“Don’t start.”
Sasha grinned. “Start what? I didn’t say shit.”
“You’re thinking it.”
Sasha tossed a chip in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Aight, fine. Let’s say I was thinking something. What exactly do you think I was thinking?”
Y/N shot her a dry look.
Sasha snorted. “Oh my God, just say you’re nervous.”
Y/N huffed. “I’m not nervous.”
Sasha pointed at her with a chip. “Then why you actin’ like the deadline itself is Onyankopon?”
Y/N snatched the bag from her hands.
Sasha let out a dramatic gasp. “Damn. That serious?”
Y/N groaned, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t wanna do this right now.”
Sasha smirked. “Right, right. So when is a good time to unpack the fact that the love of your life—”
Y/N threw the bag back at her. “Don’t start that shit.”
Sasha laughed, catching it with ease. “Fine, fine. But you know I’m right.”
Y/N didn’t answer.
Because deep down, Sasha was right.
And that was the problem.
THE DROP DATE
Twitter/X – 10:47 AM
@REALHipHopTalk:
👀 Ony and Connie really snapped on this track. This some real music.
@bitchwholovesrnb:
Connie’s vocals??? Ethereal. Ony slid on that beat like it owed him money.
@notyourbabymama:
Y’all hear how Ony was talking on this track??? That nigga got history, LMAO. Somebody broke his soul.
@2Trill4U:
Nah, the way they used the OG formula but flipped it into something fresh? This gon’ be in rotation all summer.
@ThirstTrapQueen:
Me watching Ony growl his way through the verses like a dog in heat 😩🔥 Sir, I will bark back.
TikTok – 11:23 AM
@TrapScholar (stitching the official music video)
🎶 What these bitches want from a nigga?
"—NIGGA, WHO HURT YOU?!"
@RnB4L
Connie’s little ‘woo’ ad-lib lives in my head rent free.
@HoodPsychologist
POV: You listening to Ony’s verse and realizing this nigga is venting.
(Caption: "Somebody call his therapist.")
@MessyMimi
The way Ony said, “Bitch” 😭 That wasn’t in the script. That was personal.
Instagram – 12:02 PM
@TheIndustryPlug (Post: Cover art of the track)
🚨 Ony x Connie – What These Bitches Want (2025 Remix) is officially OUT NOW! 🚨
🔗 Stream it everywhere.
💬 Comments:
🔥 @_TheRealOny: Stay out my business.
🔥 @RNBConnie: 🤣🤣🤣🤣
🔥 @MikasaM: 🤦🏾♀️
The studio was way quieter than usual. No crazy bet, no heated back-and-forth—just a chill session with the whole crew vibing.
Ony was leaning back on the couch, blunt in hand, scrolling through his phone. He never cared what people thought of his music, but damn, the reaction had him smirking a little.
Connie, as usual, was living for the attention. He had his phone propped up, live on IG, cheesing while reading the comments. “Damn, y’all nosy as hell,” he laughed, shaking his head.
Eren snorted. “they clocked you mid-breath.”
Connie grinned. “That’s star power, baby.”
Mikasa was sitting near the console, arms crossed. “You two are trending.”
Armin, ever the businessman, was already flipping through analytics on his laptop. “Streams are crazy. We got one million in four hours.”
Ony exhaled smoke, barely reacting. “Cool.”
Connie turned toward him. “Bro, ‘cool’?” He pointed at Armin’s screen. “That’s money.”
Ony shrugged. “It’s what we do.”
Connie sucked his teeth. “You kill my vibe.”
“Not my problem.”
Before Connie could throw a pillow at his head, the studio door swung open.
Sasha walked in, hype as hell, phone in hand. “Y’all SEEING this shit?”
Mikasa sighed. “We’re aware.”
Sasha ignored her, hopping onto the couch beside Connie. “No, ‘cause the way people are picking apart Ony’s verse…” She wiggled her eyebrows, looking straight at Ony.
Ony, unfazed, took another drag. “And?”
Sasha grinned. “And they think you wrote it about somebody.”
The room went quiet.
Eren looked up. Armin shut his laptop. Mikasa sighed again. Connie? Grinning like the devil himself.
Ony rolled his jaw, but he didn’t take the bait. “They think a lot of shit.”
Sasha leaned in. “So they wrong?”
Ony didn’t answer. Just took another hit, eyes locked on his screen.
Connie clapped his hands together. “Aite, y’all know what time it is.”
Ony groaned. “Nigga, shut up.”
Connie laughed. “I would—but you just made this way too fun.”
Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, phone in one hand, scrolling through Twitter with the other. The TL was on fire.
@notyourbabymama:
Nah, Ony was talking to somebody specific on that track. WHO GOT THIS MAN IN HIS FEELINGS?
@2Trill4U:
The way this man said “Bitch” like she stole his soul??? 😭
@ThirstTrapQueen:
Y’all see how Connie hyped Ony up in the background? That’s a real R&B singer right there.
She snorted, shaking her head. Same internet, same mess.
Then, her phone buzzed.
Connie: 👀
Connie: Lemme know what you think, ma.
[🔗 Link to “What These Bitches Want” – Ony x Connie]
Y/N sighed. This nigga…
She hesitated for a second before clicking the link. The song started blasting through her headphones—hard-hitting, raw, and cocky as hell. Connie’s vocals were as smooth as ever, but Ony?
Yeah. That man was spitting venom.
Her stomach twisted. The way he rapped… the way certain lyrics hit? It felt personal.
And then, another notification popped up.
Connie is live now!
Y/N clicked in, and sure enough, there was Connie—lounging in the studio, chain glinting, scrolling through the comments while laughing his ass off.
She smirked. Bet.
@ynlovesfries: Boy, answer your phone.
Connie saw it instantly. “Nahhh, why she in here like she not supposed to be calling me first?” He grinned, shaking his head. “What’s up, trouble?”
@ynlovesfries: Who in trouble?
Connie laughed. “You.”
The comments were eating it up.
🔥 Not y’all arguing like siblings.
🔥 Connie, what you do??
🔥 Y/N, tell us the tea.
@ynlovesfries: What these bitches want, huh?
Connie hollered. “Ayo, chat, get your girl, man.”
@ynlovesfries: Why Ony sound like he was talkin’ to somebody specific?
Connie gave the camera a knowing look. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Y/N rolled her eyes.
@ynlovesfries: I hate you.
Connie smirked. “Nah, you love me.”
🔥 The chemistry is CRAZY.
🔥 Is Y/N the ex? 👀
🔥 Nah, she know something we don’t.
Y/N snorted, shaking her head. This fool gon’ be annoying all day.
And deep down? She knew he wasn’t gonna let this go.
Connie strolled over and plopped down next to Ony, draping an arm across the couch like he owned the place. The camera caught everything—the dim studio lighting, the way Ony’s diamond earrings and bright-ass chain caught every flicker, making him glow like a damn superstar.
“Aye, Ony,” Connie grinned, eyeing the comments scrolling at light speed. “The ladies say they wanna hear you do that bark you be doin’ in songs.”
Ony, mid-blunt rotation, exhaled slow, thick smoke curling in the air. He side-eyed the camera, his expression unreadable.
The chat exploded.
🔥 NOT THE SIDE EYE OMGGGG
🔥 HIS EARRINGS GLISTENING HE KILLIN ME
🔥 Ony I love you pls just one bark
🔥 WHY IS HE SO FINE FOR NO REASON
Without a word, Ony hit the blunt again, passing it off to Eren, who took it off-camera. He exhaled, voice dropping so deep it damn near rumbled through the mic.
“Why you next to me, Connie?”
CHAOS.
🔥 OH HE KNOW HE FINE LMAOOO
🔥 HIS VOICE JUST PUNCHED ME IN THE CHEST WTF
🔥 HE MAKING EYE CONTACT I CANT BREATHE
🔥 Connie move I wanna sit next to him
Connie threw his head back laughing. “Yo, he got y’all in shambles, man.”
Ony smirked—just barely—then leaned back into the couch, unbothered as hell, while the comments continued losing their minds.
The chat was still losing it over Ony’s deep-ass voice when a new comment popped up.
@ynlovesfries: Ony too cool for the bark now?
Connie’s eyes lit up the second he saw it. “Ayo, nahhh.” He grinned, pointing at the screen. “Look who finally decided to pop in.”
Ony, who had been casually slouched, took a slow sip from his cup—but his shoulders tensed. Just for a second. Blink and you’d miss it.
The comments? Oh, they noticed.
🔥 WHY HE STIFFEN LIKE THAT LMAOOO
🔥 Who is @ynlovesfries and why Ony react like that???
🔥 That was a GUT REACTION, y’all saw that?
🔥 Oh this some HISTORY HISTORY
Connie was grinning like a man who lived for mess. He turned to Ony. “Ayo, big dog, you got a response or…?”
Ony ignored him. Instead, he grabbed his phone and started scrolling mindlessly, acting like he wasn’t paying attention.
The chat went CRAZY.
🔥 NOT HIM PRETENDING TO BE BUSY
🔥 Boy, we see you!
🔥 WHO IS SHEEEE??
Connie just shook his head, laughing. “Aight, bet. We’ll leave that alone… for now.”
But the way Ony’s jaw flexed?
Yeah. Everybody knew this wasn’t over.
Connie was still going back and forth with Y/N in the comments, laughing at whatever slick response she just sent. The energy was playful, messy—exactly what the chat loved.
Then he hit them with:
“Aye, for the record, she ain’t my girl. We just go way back.” He waved a dismissive hand, eyes still glued to the chat. “I don’t want her busted ass.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Ony—who had been sitting back, real quiet, real unbothered—shifted.
“Watch your mouth.”
Silence.
Connie froze.
The chat? In absolute flames.
🔥 NAHHH WHY HE SAY IT LIKE THAT???
🔥 Ony said RESPECT HER RIGHT NOW.
🔥 Connie blink twice if you okay.
🔥 This man has not spoken in MINUTES and now he wanna regulate??
🔥 Y’ALL. HISTORY. THERE IS HISTORY.
Connie glanced over at Ony, who wasn’t even looking at him—just hitting his blunt like nothing happened.
That made it worse.
Connie laughed it off—a little too quickly. “Damn, I was joking.” He looked at the chat, then back at Ony. "you good?”
Ony didn’t answer. He just kept smoking, eyes locked on the screen.
The damage was already done.
The chat was going feral.
🔥 YEAH HE GOT A SOFT SPOT IDC IDC
🔥 Connie you fumbled the convo now spill the tea
🔥 Ony’s reaction was too natural, he BEEN like her
🔥 I KNEWWWW ITTTT
Speculation was at an all-time high. And the worst part?
Ony didn’t correct a damn thing.
The chat was still in shambles from Ony’s warning when a new comment popped up.
@ynlovesfries: Now you gotta put respect on my Constance.
The chat lost its mind.
🔥 NAHHH NOT THE FULL FIRST NAME
🔥 SHE SAID “CONSTANCE” LIKE HIS MAMA 😭😭😭
🔥 HE GOT CHECKED BY BOTH OF THEM LMAOOO
🔥 Connie you gon let that slide??
Connie squinted at the screen, dramatic as hell. “Nah. No, she didn’t.”
He pointed at the camera, looking betrayed. “Don’t be out here government-naming me like I’m in trouble.”
Ony, still leaned back, exhaled smoke slow. “You are in trouble.”
The chat? Finished.
🔥 Y/N & Ony tag team is wild
🔥 Connie getting cooked from all angles
🔥 HE AINT EVEN DEFEND HIMSELF FR
Connie sighed, rubbing his temples. “Man, let’s talk about something else. Y’all play too much.”
Connie was still going back and forth with Y/N in the comments, and the chat was eating it up. Meanwhile, Ony had been posted up, saying nothing, just scrolling his phone like he wasn’t even there.
And the chat noticed.
🔥 Ony just here for vibes?
🔥 Bro acting like he on payroll to sit and smoke
🔥 He really “if it don’t involve me, IDGAF” personified
🔥 Ony blink if they forcing you to be here
Even Connie caught on. He turned to Ony, laughing. “Damn, you gon’ say something or just keep sitting there looking pretty?”
Ony, still cool as hell, arched a brow at the camera. Then he spoke.
“Well, ask me questions then.” He exhaled smoke and tapped his blunt on the tray. “Y’all in the chat nosy fr.”
The chat? Exploding.
🔥 OH SO HE WANNA TALK NOW??
🔥 Not the callout 😭
🔥 SOMEBODY ASK ABOUT Y/N NOW
🔥 Boy you knew what you were doing with that
Connie leaned back, shaking his head. “Aight, bet. Y’all heard him. Go ahead, ask Mr. Nonchalant whatever you want.”
And just like that, the floodgates opened.
🔥 Ony, what’s your body count? → “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
🔥 What type of girls you like? → “The kind that mind their business.”
🔥 You really like ‘em crazy, huh? → Ony just smirked. “Ain’t say all that.”
🔥 Ayo, what’s up with you and Y/N? → Message deleted by Live Owner
Connie side-eyed the camera, scrolling through the comments. “Y’all moving devious in here, damn.” He shook his head, sipping his drink. “Ony, they saying you dodging too much.”
Ony exhaled smoke and tilted his head. “Well, ask me questions then.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Y’all in the chat nosy fr.”
🔥 OH HE WANNA TALK NOW??
🔥 SOMEBODY ASK ABOUT Y/N RIGHT NOW
🔥 Boy you knew what you were doing with that
🔥 You keep dodging Y/N like she Steph Curry or sum
The next wave of questions came in even faster.
🔥 Be real, you single or just single for the public? → Ony chuckled. “I don’t do labels.”
🔥 Ony, what was the last text you sent? → “‘Bet. Say less.’”
🔥 When was the last time a girl humbled you? → “Never happened.”
🔥 So when you gon’ settle down? → “When I get tired.”
Connie looked over and laughed. “Boy, stop lying.”
The chat ate it up.
🔥 WE NEED TO FIND HIS LAST EX RN
🔥 He said "when I get tired" like he don’t be fighting sleep already
🔥 Nah, we need Ony’s ex to speak UP
And then, right in the middle of the chaos—
Sasha joined the live.
Her little profile popped up on the screen, and before anybody could even say anything, she hit Ony with the kill shot.
“Hey, Ony—how you wanna bet you gon’ choke when you see Y/N on Thursday?”
BOOM.
🔥 SASHA, PLEASE—😭😭😭
🔥 SHE WASTED NO TIME
🔥 OH WE GETTING TO THE REAL QUESTIONS NOW
🔥 Ony, explain yourself IMMEDIATELY.
Connie was gone. He damn near choked on his drink, coughing while trying to hold in a laugh. “Ayo, chill—” He waved his hand, shaking his head. “Man, it’s an interview. Y’all nosy fr.”
🔥 “An interview” LMAOOO NAH IT’S FATE
🔥 INTERVIEW OR DESTINY???
🔥 Ony so quiet now, huh?
🔥 Sasha knew what she was doing
Ony? He just sat back, dragging a hand down his face like he was choosing his next words carefully. He let out a slow exhale, passing his blunt back to Eren off-camera.
Connie nudged him. “Damn, bro, you stuck?”
Ony side-eyed him but still didn’t answer.
🔥 OH HE SILENT NOWWW
🔥 HE GOT NOTHING TO SAY HUH?
🔥 Ony, blink twice if you need help
🔥 Sasha knew EXACTLY what she was doing LMFAO
Meanwhile, Sasha was just chilling, biting into a sandwich like she didn’t just drop the biggest bomb of the night.
She licked some sauce off her thumb. “What? I’m just saying.”
🔥 "NAH SASHA BEING MESSY LMAOOO"
🔥 "OH SHE KNOWS SOMETHING—"
🔥 "Y/N JOIN THE LIVE, STOP PLAYING!"
🔥 "DROP THE IG @ WE TRYNA INVESTIGATE."
The comments were moving wild fast, but one stuck out on the screen for a second longer than the rest—
@ynlovesfries: Sasha, you being messy now.
Connie immediately saw it and started laughing. “Ayo, she in here—”
Sasha, mid-chew, didn’t even blink. “And?” She shrugged. “She know I ain’t lying.”
🔥 "YOOO SHE RIGHT HERE AHAHAH"
🔥 "Y/N CONFIRM OR DENY??"
🔥 "NOT HER BESTIE EXPOSING HER ON MAIN."
Then, before Y/N could even try to ignore it, Sasha wiped her fingers off and smirked. “Nah, blame your big head-ass bestie for hosting this live.”
🔥 "BESTIE?? SO THEY CLOSE??"
🔥 "CONNIE WHY YOU AIN’T SAY THAT."
🔥 "OH YEAH, THEY BEEN LINKED, I KNEW IT."
The comments went off.
🔥 "Y/N and Ony definitely had a thing back in the day."
🔥 "WAIT, BESTIE? SO YOU TELLING ME SHE AND CONNIE BEEN CLOSE TOO?"
🔥 "OH, WE NEED Y/N ON THIS LIVE RIGHT NOW."
Connie leaned forward, still scrolling through. “Damn, they on your head, ma.” He chuckled. “Y’all got my comments in detective mode.”
🔥 "NAH, CONNIE DON’T DEFLECT, CONFIRM OR DENY??"
🔥 "Y/N, WE NEED ANSWERS, STOP HIDING!"
🔥 "ON Y/N TO FINALLY SAY SOMETHING."
Sasha sat back, sipping her drink, looking at the chat like she wasn’t the one who just stirred the entire pot.
Then someone finally asked the real question.
🔥 "So if Y/N and Connie besties… does that mean she was around Ony back then?"
🔥 "OOOOHHH WAIT A MINUTE."
🔥 "SO THEY DID KNOW EACH OTHER."
🔥 "THIS LIVE GETTING GOOD."
And now? All eyes were on Ony.
Ony, who was still sitting back, still looking unbothered—except for the fact that he hadn’t said shit.
Connie saw the silence and smirked. “Damn, why he quiet now?”
🔥 "ONYANKOPON, EXPLAIN YOURSELF NOW."
🔥 "Y/N, JUST JOIN THE LIVE AND END THIS MYSTERY."
🔥 "NAH, HE AVOIDING EYE CONTACT AHAHAH."
Sasha side-eyed the screen. “Mm.” She popped another fry in her mouth. “He shook.”
As soon as Y/N’s name popped up on the live screen, the comments went crazy.
🔥 "SHE REALLY JOINED??"
🔥 "OH IT’S ABOUT TO GET GOOD."
🔥 "CONNIE, DON’T FOLD NOW."
The split screen loaded, and there she was—Y/N, sitting back in her room, hoodie on, bonnet secured, looking unbothered.
"Y’all really begged me to get on here," she deadpanned, adjusting her camera.
Connie cracked up immediately. "Nah, don’t act like you wasn’t watching the whole time."
"And?" She raised a brow. "I could’ve stayed lurking."
🔥 "LMAO SHE A LURKER FR."
🔥 "NAH, SHE BEEN HERE, JUST WAITING."
Ony, still laid back, exhaled slow through his nose. He passed the blunt off to Eren and finally spoke.
"Y’all don’t got nothing better to do on this live, huh?" His voice was deep, a little raspy, dragging with that same slow, laid-back energy that made people hang on every word.
🔥 "ONYANKOPON HAS SPOKEN."
🔥 "WHY HE SOUND LIKE THAT THOUGH."
🔥 "NAH, MY KNEES WEAK WTF."
And then, out of nowhere—
@dreamdoll_23: "I'm not Cinderella, but I know it fits 😏."
🔥 "WAIT, WHAT??"
🔥 "OH SHE SHOOTING HER SHOT."
🔥 "NAH, GET HER ON THIS LIVE TOO."
Ony paused mid-blunt pass. His dark eyes flicked down at the screen, squinting slightly.
"Ayo, who said that?" He shifted, leaning in closer. "Tell her hit me up."
🔥 "OH HE BOLD—"
🔥 "NO WAY HE JUST SAID THAT."
🔥 "ONYANKOPONYOU GOTTA RELAX."
Y/N? Dead silent.
She side-eyed the camera, clicked the 'leave' button, and was gone before anyone could say a damn thing.
🔥 "LMAOO SHE LEFT—"
🔥 "OH SHE MAD AHAHA."
🔥 "WHY SHE DODGE LIKE THAT??"
Connie? Cackling.
Sasha? Shaking her head.
Ony? Just smirked. "Aight, aight ." Then he took another drag, like he ain’t just set the chat on fire.
As soon as Y/N dipped from the live, the chat lost its mind.
🔥 "NAH SHE REALLY LEFT—"
🔥 "SHE DIPPED SO FAST LMAOO."
🔥 "ONYANKOPON YOU IN TROUBLE."
Connie was still laughing, shaking his head while sipping from his cup. “Damn, she really ain’t wanna stick around for that.”
Ony? Unbothered.
He stretched, flexing just a little as he leaned back into the couch, scrolling through the comments. Then his gaze flicked back to @dreamdoll_23, the one who said she wasn’t Cinderella but knew it fit.
"Ayo, shorty, you still in here?" He smirked, reaching for his phone.
🔥 "OMG NOT HIM LOOKING FOR HER."
🔥 "HE REALLY BOUT TO FLIRT??"
🔥 "Y/N BOUT TO THROW HANDS LMAOO."
@dreamdoll_23 commented: "I’m here, what's up? 👀"
Ony grinned, licking his bottom lip. "Aight, bet. Drop your IG real quick."
The chat went insane.
🔥 "ONYANKOPON YOU A MENACE."
🔥 "Y/N LEFT TWO SECONDS AGO AND YOU ALREADY MOVING??"
🔥 "BRO GOT NO CHILL."
Connie, watching from the side, shook his head and muttered, "Nah, this man different."
Once @dreamdoll_23 dropped her IG, Ony clicked over to her page right there on live. The screen dimmed slightly as he scrolled through her pictures.
"Oh, you look good, ma." His voice was smooth, deep, dragging in that slow, syrupy way that made the chat explode.
🔥 "NOT HIM DOING THIS IN FRONT OF US."
🔥 "HE REALLY SCROLLING THROUGH HER PICS??"
🔥 "Y/N AIN’T GON LIKE THIS."
Ony smirked, tapping on one of her photos. “Damn, where you from?”
@dreamdoll_23: "NYC, why? You trying to fly me out? 👀"
Connie lost it, nearly spitting out his drink. "Oh hell nah," he wheezed.
Sasha popped back into the chat. "LMAOO not Ony with the bottle girl rizz on IG live."
Ony, still scrolling through her page, chuckled. "I might. You tryna get flewed out?"
🔥 "NOT FLEWED OUT—"
🔥 "OH HE IN HIS BAG NOW."
🔥 "Y/N GONNA BE HOT WHEN SHE SEES THIS."
Someone in the chat: "She look good, but she not Y/N tho."
The whole vibe shifted for a second.
🔥 "LMAOOOOOOO YALL PETTY."
🔥 "WHO SAID THAT."
🔥 "NO ONE CAN ESCAPE Y/N'S SHADOW I SWEAR."
Ony? Still scrolling, still cool. "Y’all love bringing up old shit," he muttered, but there was the tiniest flicker of something in his expression.
Connie? Watching like a hawk.
Sasha? Not letting up.
"Ayo, Ony, you can flirt all you want, but bet money you still gon' freeze up when you see Y/N next week."
🔥 "OHHHHH SHIT."
🔥 "SHE NOT WRONG THO."
🔥 "ONYNKOPON, BE HONEST—YOU SHOOK?"
Ony chuckled, shaking his head. He took another slow drag from his blunt, exhaled thick smoke, and said,
a next girl shot her shot saying they say shooters shot hey Onyankopon Carter what up with you.
The moment that comment hit the chat, the whole live went stupid.
🔥 "NAH SHE ATE THAT."
🔥 "SHE SAID WHAT SHE SAID."
🔥 "Y/N COME BACK IMMEDIATELY."
Onyankopon grinned, flashing his grillz as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Aight, who said that?” He scrolled back up, eyes flicking over the flood of reactions. @bigfine94—her profile pic was cute, lips glossy, nails done.
“Ayo, @bigfine94, I see you,” Ony said, his voice dropping a little.
🔥 "LMAO NOT HIM ACKNOWLEDGING IT."
🔥 "SHE REALLY BOLD FOR THAT ONE."
🔥 "SOMEONE GET Y/N ON THE LINE."
@bigfine94: "Yeah, yeah, you see me. But what’s up with you?"
Ony chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m chillin’, ma. You out here tryna make me risk it all on live?”
🔥 "NOT RISK IT ALL—"
🔥 "Y/N GONNA HAVE TO CLOCK IN."
🔥 "THIS MAN TOO SMOOTH WTF."
@bigfine94: "I mean… that smile would look even better when I’m looking back at you. 👀"
THE WHOLE CHAT LOST IT.
🔥 "NAH SHE WON."
🔥 "SHE REALLY SHOT FROM HALF-COURT."
🔥 "Y/N WHERE YOU AT BABY??"
Connie fell out laughing, slapping his knee. “Yo, I like her! She got bars!”
Even Eren, off-camera, let out a low whistle. “Damn.”
Ony? Grinning, licking his bottom lip. "Oh, you bold, bold."
@bigfine94: "Gotta be when it comes to you. 😘"
🔥 "SHE WANT HIM FR."
🔥 "Y/N CHECK YOUR PHONE NOW."
🔥 "ONYANKOPON SMILING TOO HARD."
Ony leaned back, rubbing his jaw. “Aight, @bigfine94, I’ma remember you.”
Connie shook his head, still laughing. “Yeah, you gon’ remember when Y/N cusses your ass out.”
🔥 "CONNIE KNOWS THE TRUTH."
🔥 "THIS GON BE A PROBLEM."
🔥 "Y/N GOTTA SEE THIS."
And just like that, the chat had a new mission—tagging Y/N everywhere.
The chat was already in shambles, but the second Y/N’s name popped up again, things escalated.
🔥 "NAH WHERE Y/N AT??"
🔥 "SHE GOTTA SEE THIS."
🔥 "THAT GIRL REALLY TOOK HER SHOT AND HE SMILING TOO HARD LMAOO."
Sasha, who had been kicking back, watching the chaos unfold, finally spoke up on the live. She adjusted her camera and squinted at the chat.
“Ayo, y’all messy as hell.” She shook her head, laughing. “Why y’all keep bringing Y/N into this? She don’t know Ony like that.”
🔥 "SASHA, BABY, WHY YOU LYIN'??"
🔥 "👀👀👀 SHE SAID WHAT NOW??"
🔥 "NAH WE GOT RECEIPTS."
And just like that, someone in the chat decided to be a full-blown detective.
@deepdiver56: "NAH NAH. You a liar. If y’all scroll all the way down Ony's IG, there’s a pic of them together looking real cozy."
🔥 "WAIT, WAIT, WAIT—"
🔥 "SAY YOU SWEAR."
🔥 "SOMEBODY PULL UP THE LINK IMMEDIATELY."
Ony, who had been laughing, smirking, and playing along this whole time—froze.
Not for long. Just a split-second hesitation. But it was long enough for the chat to notice.
🔥 "GOT HIM."
🔥 "HE FROZE UP LMAOOO."
🔥 "NAH NOW WE NEED ANSWERS."
Connie caught that too, and this man WAS LOVING IT. He leaned into the camera, grinning.
“Damn, Ony, why you stop laughing?” He tilted his head. “You ain’t got nothing to say?”
🔥 "CONNIE A MENACE."
🔥 "HE POKIN’ THE BEAR LMAO."
🔥 "ONY STIFF AS HELL RN."
Ony exhaled slowly, licking his bottom lip before sitting back and picking up his blunt. He took a deep pull, the ember glowing as the chat waited on his response.
“Niggas be bringing up ancient history,” he muttered, voice smooth, heavy. He passed the blunt to Eren off-camera, not looking at the phone.
🔥 "OH HE SICK."
🔥 "‘ANCIENT HISTORY’ MY ASS."
🔥 "Y/N NEEDS TO WAKE UP RN."
Sasha, seeing how cornered Ony looked, tried to smooth things over. “Look, all I’m saying is y’all reading too deep into shit.”
The chat wasn’t hearing it.
@pullupreceipts: "NOOOO CUZ LOOK—"
And before Ony could even shut it down, someone had dropped the link to the old post.
🔥 "YALL MOVE TOO FAST WTF."
🔥 "OH NAH, THIS PIC KINDA INTIMATE??"
🔥 "ONY, BE SO FR RIGHT NOW."
Connie grabbed his phone, clicked the link, and busted out laughing. “Oh yeah,” he said, spinning his phone to Ony’s face. “Bro, you can’t tell me this don’t look like something.”
Ony glanced at it, jaw tensing slightly. The pic wasn’t even that bad—just an old shot from way back. Him and Y/N at some house party, shoulder to shoulder, his arm resting behind her on the couch, a red cup in his other hand.
But the way he was looking at her?
🔥 "NAH. HE LOOKS WHIPPED."
🔥 "HE CAN'T EVEN DENY IT."
🔥 "Y/N BETTER TAP IN REAL QUICK."
Ony sucked his teeth and waved Connie off, voice gruff. “Man, get that out my face.”
🔥 "HE MAD."
🔥 "NAH THIS LIVE TOO GOOD."
🔥 "Y/N WE NEED A RESPONSE ASAP."
And just like that, the entire chat was blowing up her notifications.
Some raggedy tea page said they were gonna record the live
The chat exploded at that statement, and things took a sharp turn.
🔥 "NAH THEY REALLY ABOUT TO MAKE A VIDEO OUTTA THIS??"
🔥 "I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE THIS ON YOUTUBE."
🔥 "SOMEONE SCREENSHOT THIS. I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THEY GONNA SAY ABOUT THIS LIVE."
Connie, ever the instigator, couldn't help but laugh at the drama unfolding. “Yo, they really gonna make content outta this? I might as well sell my clips to ‘em at this point.”
🔥 "CONNIE A MESS."
🔥 "HE TOO COMFORTABLE WITH THE CHAOS."
🔥 "IF THIS GETS PUT ON YOUTUBE, YALL KNOW IT’S GOING VIRAL."
Sasha rolled her eyes from the side, shaking her head. “Man, y’all wild.” But even she couldn’t deny the entertainment value of the situation.
Then, the tea page made their mark:
@TeaTimeWithTash: “I’m recording this entire live. I’m dissecting every second for my YouTube, y’all better believe that. Stay tuned.”
🔥 "SHE'S DOING GOD'S WORK."
🔥 "I'M FINNA BE IN THE COMMENTS."
🔥 "THEY GONNA EXPOSE EVERYTHING."
Ony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking done. “Y’all really finna turn this into a whole show, huh?” he muttered under his breath. He looked straight into the camera, his eyes narrowing. “Fine. Keep playing. Just wait ‘til the real interview drops. Then we’ll see who really has the story.”
🔥 "OOOOOH, TALK YOUR TALK."
🔥 "HE READY TO DROP THE TRUTH."
🔥 "MAN SAID THE REAL STORY."
Connie leaned back and shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. “Shit, let ‘em have their fun. The reception is already wild.”
Sasha, realizing just how deep the mess was getting, tried to get things back on track. “Aight, aight, that’s enough for today. Y’all are really out here making mikasa's job harder.”
But the chat was relentless. Everyone had their eyes glued to the screen.
🔥 "YALL KNOW THIS ABOUT TO GO CRAZY ON THE INTERNET."
🔥 "SASHA, YOU KNOW YOU CAN’T STOP THE STORM."
🔥 "SO WHAT ABOUT THAT PIC??"
The chaos finally calmed down, but only slightly. Connie, still lounging comfortably in the chair, leaned back and checked his phone. His smile faltered when he saw his notifications blowing up—from Y/N.
He rolled his eyes, his lips curling into a grin as he swiped open his messages. Y/N’s texts were coming in fast and furious, each one more fiery than the last:
Y/N: "I swear, you really out here causing trouble? What’s this nonsense you got me involved in?"
Y/N: "Why you acting like I’m some kind of side chick?"
Connie bit back a laugh, knowing exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t about to let this slide. His fingers tapped out a quick reply:
Connie: "C’mon Ma, it ain't like that. Chill, we all know it’s just some fun."
But before he could finish typing, his phone started blowing up again—this time with voice notes from Y/N. He looked over at Ony, who was still quietly smoking, smirking at the chaos and still watching people go off on the live. The fans in the comments had noticed Connie’s sudden activity on his other phone and took it the wrong way.
🔥 "Connie out here texting some girl while on live??"
🔥 "We see you, Connie. Don’t act like we don’t know."
🔥 "I swear Connie’s always got some new girl on the side."
Meanwhile, Connie was trying to hold it together, though his attention was clearly split. He didn’t care much about the comments—he was more focused on Y/N’s voice notes.
He pressed play on the first one:
Y/N’s voice: “Don’t even try to play me right now. You really out here acting like we cool with this? I’m not one of your damn groupies.”
Connie couldn't help but chuckle. "I know she’s mad… but damn, she sound good." He quickly hit reply:
Connie: "You know I ain't like that. Stop trippin', it’s just a lil’ live to mess with the fans."
The next voice note came through, and it was longer this time.
Y/N’s voice: “Man, don’t play with me. You know what you’re doing. You can’t keep me out here looking dumb for a bunch of randoms who think they know us. I ain’t some prop you can use for content, Connie. Stop it.”
Connie looked at the screen, grinning mischievously. He knew he had to play it cool.
Connie: "C’mon, ma. You know I got love for you. It’s just for the live. Ain’t nobody here serious, and you know that. But you gonna make me pull up on you again, huh?"
He clicked send and leaned back, glancing at Ony who was now chuckling under his breath. The reactions on the live had already taken a life of their own, with people speculating left and right.
🔥 "Y’all peepin’ Connie’s texts?"
🔥 "He gotta be texting some girl. Ain’t no way he not."
🔥 "Yo, why y’all making this mess, Connie?"
Connie just smiled to himself. “Nah, don’t worry. This ain't what they think.”
But the situation was spiraling in ways no one could’ve predicted. Connie was getting his inbox blown up with messages from fans who thought it was all about him texting a new girl.
🔥 "Connie, you got a new shorty or nah?"
🔥 "Y’all gotta put some respect on Y/N's name tho, why she getting dragged into this mess?"
As the notifications kept popping up, Connie got a quick idea. He typed out another message to Y/N:
Connie: "Let me call you. I ain't finna let the fans get this twisted. Let's talk it out."
He hit send, then quickly switched back to the live screen. The fans were still commenting, but now their focus was split. Some of them were more intrigued about the mystery woman, while others were invested in whether Connie and Y/N would finally clear things up.
The live ended after a few more minutes, but Connie wasn't done just yet. He called Y/N directly, hoping she’d answer—knowing the game wasn’t over until they both had their say.
Y/N’s POV:
The second I left that damn live, I felt relief—but it was short-lived. The chaos I had just stepped away from continued to churn in the background like a storm. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, fingers hovering over the screen for a moment as I took a deep breath.
I knew I had to check.
I opened my spam account, because this was definitely the kind of mess that needed to be observed with a little distance. The comments section was on fire, and I couldn’t even blink without something new popping up. People were dissecting every word I said, every movement, and the way Ony reacted to me. Honestly? I wasn’t surprised. They’d been on our necks since day one, trying to piece together a puzzle we weren't even sure of ourselves.
I scrolled through the live recap and watched it all unfold again:
Ony still sitting there, looking like he was unbothered, but I knew deep down it was all just an act. The way he was flirting with those girls, dropping bars like it was nothing, and the way he casually slipped into his player role. It made my stomach churn in a way I couldn’t quite explain. I shouldn’t be mad—I mean, that was Ony after all—but for some reason, today hit different.
He wasn’t even trying to hide it, really. He kept calling out the girls, knowing full well the camera was on him, reading off the comments. He wasn’t even sparing me a second of attention… until they started mentioning my name.
The comments flooded in:
🔥 "I heard Y/N and Ony used to be close, anyone else see that old pic of them together?"
🔥 "Y’all think they linked up again?"
🔥 "Yo, anyone else notice Ony stiffen when they said her name?"
I saw Connie’s comment too, cracking jokes, calling me out for being messy, and every time I saw his face, I wanted to scream. He was egging everything on. He knew exactly what he was doing. And I was over here, stuck in my head, trying to figure out why the hell I ever thought we’d have a chance at being something real.
But as I kept watching, something caught my eye. Ony—he was still flirting, but there was that moment… That moment when someone had mentioned my name again. He froze, and it was almost unnoticeable. The way his body stiffened, how his eyes flickered for just a second. He’d seen me, right? He had to have.
My chest tightened, the whole situation getting way more personal than it had any right to. And then, out of nowhere, the screen filled with this one comment that I wasn’t ready for:
🔥 "Ayo, if y’all scroll down Ony's IG, there's a pic of him and Y/N looking mad cozy. Bet they used to mess with each other for real."
It felt like my breath caught in my throat as I immediately pulled up his Instagram, my thumb moving on its own. The pic was there, the one we tried to forget. Me and Ony, our arms draped around each other, looking like we were in our own little world. The comments exploded with speculation, and it didn’t help that Ony froze in the live when it was brought up.
That was the part I had been trying to avoid. The truth I had been running from.
I was just about to back out when Sasha’s voice broke through my thoughts. She was on the live too, teasing Ony and Connie about us. I was already feeling awkward enough but hearing Sasha say, “Sasha you being messy now, they don’t even know Ony like that,” just made it worse. It was clear that everyone knew something was going on, even if no one had the full story.
And then came the comment that made me sigh.
🔥 "Nah nah, u a liar. If y’all scroll all the way down, Ony’s IG got pics of him and Y/N from back in the day looking real cozy!"
That moment was the one where everything changed. The floodgates opened. The speculations were no longer rumors. They were facts now, and I couldn’t deny it. My phone was buzzing like crazy, Connie was probably texting me again, and I didn’t even know how to respond.
I needed space.
I needed time to think about it all. But all I wanted to do was shut down. So I turned my phone off for a second, letting out a long breath. What the hell was I doing? What was this really all about?
The minute I swiped my phone back on, I could feel the weight of it all. Connie had probably texted me again, and I knew damn well that Ony was probably still trying to keep up the same front in the live. The world seemed to be spinning faster than I could keep up. I could feel the drama building, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for whatever came next.
But before I could process it, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was a new message:
“You up?”
It was from Connie.
I took a deep breath, knowing this was the moment where everything could either get better… or even worse.
I stared at my phone, the screen lighting up with Connie’s name flashing across my notifications. Text after text and a voice note popping up right after. My fingers hovered over the screen as I debated whether to even listen to his damn voice notes. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was probably laughing his ass off on the other side, thinking this whole mess was some kind of game.
But I wasn’t playing.
I wasn’t sure if it was the live still replaying in my mind or the fact that the whole world seemed to be speculating about my past with Ony, but I couldn’t take it anymore.
I tapped on the first message.
Connie: “Ayo, you see what’s going on in the live? You know the fans always digging for something, but you’re making it worse by not even acknowledging it. Come on, we just having fun!”
I rolled my eyes. Fun? Really? This wasn’t fun. This was messy, and I didn’t sign up for this shit. I typed a reply, my fingers typing faster than my brain could process.
Y/N: “Messy?? You think this is funny? You’re encouraging this chaos, and I’m over here trying to move on, and now all of a sudden my entire past with Ony’s getting dragged up. You think that’s a joke?!”
I stared at the screen for a second, feeling my pulse quicken. His next voice note buzzed through.
Connie's Voice Note: "C'mon, Y/N. I get it, you're not into all this public drama, but look, they love to speculate, and that's what they do. Just let it ride, fam. Ony ain't trippin', you shouldn’t either. You already know how the game goes. No need to act like you ain't got a little fun in you. You good, I promise.”
His voice was calm, but that didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it pissed me off more. I took a moment to breathe, then replied, feeling the heat rise in my chest.
Y/N: “Nah, I don’t care if we’re best friends, this shit ain’t funny, Connie. You’re out here hyping it up like it’s a damn game. I’m over it. I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m not some side character in y’all’s reality show, and I’m done letting people drag me into this mess.”
I hit send, then threw my phone on the couch, running my hands through my hair. This whole situation had gone from annoying to straight-up frustrating. I wasn’t a part of their drama—not anymore—and if they couldn’t see that, I didn’t know what to do.
Then the phone buzzed again, almost instantly.
Connie’s Text: "Alright, alright. My bad, I feel you. But you know how these lives go. Don’t stress it. You know me better than anyone, and I got your back."
I stared at the message for a long moment, trying to process it. He wasn’t wrong about one thing: I did know him better than anyone. But that didn’t make it any easier to ignore what had happened in the live. Ony was in there, putting on his usual show, acting like everything was just business as usual.
But this wasn’t business as usual to me.
Ony and I had a past. That wasn’t something that could be erased just because people were speculating. And the way he just sat there, flirting with those fans while I was being dragged through the mud, made me question a lot of things.
I leaned back, shaking my head. He had a way of making everything seem effortless, like nothing ever mattered. But maybe that was the problem.
Maybe it never mattered to him.
I closed my eyes for a second, letting the thoughts settle. The buzz of my phone pulled me back to reality. Another text, this time from Connie.
Connie: "Y/N, seriously. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Look, Ony will handle it. The live's over, and the smoke will clear. You’ll see."
I didn’t reply right away. Instead, I felt my frustration bubble up again. If only it were that easy. But nothing with Ony was ever easy.
I grabbed my phone, hit Connie's number, and let it ring through, hoping he'd answer. He picked up on the third ring.
“Y/N, I know you're mad, but—”
I didn’t let him finish. “Connie, this isn’t about you or me. It’s about the fact that I’m not playing this game. I don’t care if you think it’s fun. I’m tired of being caught in the middle of this shit. It’s messy. I didn’t sign up for it, and I’m done being your entertainment.”
There was silence on the other end for a second. “I get it,” he finally said, voice softer. “I really do. But, Y/N, you know better than anyone, the game never stops. People love the drama, and they love the what-if stories. Hell, we all do.”
I sighed, feeling the weight of everything. “Not this time,” I muttered, before hanging up.
I wasn’t looking for drama. I wasn’t here to be part of a show. I was done with that life.
But somehow, I couldn’t stop thinking about the one person who was always in the background of it all—Ony. And I wasn’t sure I could ever really move past it.
I heard Connie chuckle on the other end of the line, and I immediately knew where this was going.
“I know what this is about,” he said, a playful tone in his voice. “It’s about Ony flirting with those IG baddies on the live, isn’t it? That’s what’s got you all stressed out like this.”
My stomach dropped. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing him say it out loud just made everything feel more real, more exposed. I rubbed my temple, letting out a frustrated sigh.
“Connie,” I said, my voice low. “Don’t act like I’m the only one who saw that. You think I don’t know how this looks? I’m over here, trying to handle everything, and he’s out there, acting like he didn’t just ruin everything. Flirting with those girls, and I’m supposed to just let it slide?”
There was a brief silence on the other end, and I could almost hear Connie processing my words. Then he finally spoke up again, his tone quieter this time.
“Look, Y/N, I’m not saying you’re wrong for feeling like this. But I’m telling you, Ony’s not like that. He’s always been this way. You know him better than anyone else, and you know how he plays the game.”
“I get that, Connie, but that doesn’t make it easier,” I snapped, my patience wearing thin. “I can’t keep pretending like it’s all just for show. When it’s me, it’s real. So what the hell am I supposed to think when he’s out there laughing it off?”
Connie let out a deep breath. “I get it. You want him to be real with you, but he’s… well, he’s Ony. You know how he is. He keeps his distance. That’s his thing. He doesn’t let people in.”
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, my frustration bubbling back to the surface, “I used to think I was someone he let in.”
“Y/N, come on,” Connie said softly, a little more serious now. “You know he’s always had a way of keeping things complicated. But you were always more than just another girl to him. If you think otherwise, you’ve got it twisted.”
I felt a lump form in my throat at his words. Connie always knew how to hit me where it hurt, even when he wasn’t trying to. It was too easy for him to say things like that, to remind me that I wasn’t just a part of the game.
But that didn’t change the fact that Ony had chosen to let me walk away. He could’ve stopped me. He didn’t.
And now, it was too late.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep myself composed. “I’m not going to be a part of his little publicity stunt just to make him look good,” I said firmly. “This isn’t some reality TV show. It’s my life.”
Connie paused before answering, his voice a little more hesitant. “I feel you. But, look, Ony’s not trying to hurt you. He’s just… doing his thing. You just gotta trust that he knows what he’s doing. When you see him Thursday, you’ll see it.”
“You think so?” I asked, the words heavy with doubt.
“Yeah. I do.” There was a moment of silence between us before Connie added, “And if you need to talk before Thursday, you know where to find me.”
I didn’t respond right away, taking a few seconds to breathe before I finally said, “Yeah. Thanks, Connie. I’ll think about it.”
After a beat, I hung up.
My mind was racing. What was I even supposed to think about all this?
I tossed my phone back down onto the couch, staring at the ceiling as the weight of everything pressed down on me. Ony was out there, doing his thing, while I was over here, trying to make sense of it all. But was I really going to let him walk all over me again? Just because he wanted to keep up the player image?
I wasn’t sure I could keep up with this anymore. And the hardest part was that I didn’t know whether I even wanted to try.
But one thing was for sure—I wasn’t just going to sit back and let him get away with it. Not this time.
The bell above the door chimes as you step into Ink & Legacy, the tattoo shop owned by Eren Yeager. The place still carries that same clean, masculine energy,dark wood floors, exposed brick walls lined with framed flash and bold, raw artwork, and low moody music playing through the speakers. The scent of antiseptic and faint sandalwood lingers in the air.
Eren looks up from behind the counter, wiping ink from his hands with a black rag. He’s exactly as intense as you remember from your previous sessions: tall, lean-muscled with that signature messy brown hair tied back in a half-bun, a few loose strands framing his sharp green eyes. His black tank top clings to his defined chest and arms, revealing the full sleeves of tattoos that crawl up both arms,a mix of fierce, abstract designs, titans, freedom motifs, and intricate linework he’s known for. A silver chain rests against his collarbone, and the way his jaw tightens when he focuses always makes your stomach flip.
“Back for more?” His voice is low, rough around the edges, with that signature smirk tugging at his lips. “Spine piece this time, right? You said you wanted some flowing vines, roses, maybe?”
You nod, describing the design you’ve been obsessing over. He listens closely, green eyes locked on you with that focused intensity that makes the room feel smaller. Then he gestures toward the private room in the back where the tattoo chair sits under bright adjustable lights.
“Alright. Shirt off or up, whatever’s comfortable. You know how I work.”
The session begins professionally. You lie face-down on the chair, chest supported, as the buzz of the machine fills the quiet shop. Eren’s gloved hands are steady and precise, wiping your skin, stenciling, then starting the needle. The pain is sharp but he’s good,checking in every so often with a low “You good?” or “Breathe through it.” His breath occasionally brushes your shoulder when he leans in close for detail work, and you swear his fingers linger just a second longer than necessary when adjusting your position.
Hours later, the shop has long been closed. The “Closed” sign is flipped, lights dimmed except for the one over the chair. Eren wipes the fresh ink one last time, admiring the finished piece tracing down your spine, elegant vines twisting with roses and petals.
“Fuck… it looks insane on you,” he mutters, voice deeper now. He peels off his gloves slowly, eyes tracing the fresh tattoo with clear pride… and unmistakable heat.
You sit up carefully on the edge of the chair, still topless, the cool air making your nipples harden. The tension that’s been simmering the entire session snaps.
Eren doesn’t hesitate. He steps between your spread thighs, one hand sliding into your hair as he pulls you into a rough, hungry kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, his other hand gripping your hip hard. “Been wanting to do this every damn time you laid on my chair,” he growls against your mouth, biting your bottom lip. “Watching you take the needle so pretty… made me wonder how you’d take my cock instead.”
Clothes disappear fast,his tank yanked off, revealing more ink across his torso and those sculpted abs, your pants and soaked panties shoved down your legs. He frees himself from his jeans, thick and hard, veins prominent as he strokes once, eyes dark with lust as he takes in how wet you already are.
Right there on the tattoo chair, he pushes your thighs wider, lines up, and thrusts in deep with one powerful stroke. The stretch burns in the best way, filling you completely as you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders.
“Shit, so fucking good,” Eren groans, hips snapping forward immediately. The chair creaks under the force as he sets a ruthless pace, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to keep you spread open. Every thrust hits deep, dragging against that perfect spot inside you, wet sounds echoing obscenely in the empty shop.
You moan his name“Eren” over and over, back arching carefully to avoid the fresh ink. He fucks you harder, leaning down to suck bruises into your neck and collarbone, whispering rough praise between thrusts: “That’s it… cream on my dick. Been thinking about this pussy wrapped around me since your first session.”
The pressure coils tight and fast. Your orgasm crashes over you violently,thighs trembling as you squirt hard, warm fluid gushing around his cock, soaking his abs, dripping down the black leather of the tattoo chair and splattering onto the floor below. You keep creaming on him, walls pulsing and fluttering wildly as the pleasure rips through you.
Eren curses sharply, green eyes blazing as he watches the mess you’re making. “Fuck yes! look at you making a mess all over my chair.” He doesn’t slow down, pounding through your release with deep, grinding thrusts until his own orgasm hits. He buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name low and raw as he fills you up, hips jerking with every pulse.
He stays inside you for a long moment afterward, both of you panting, sweat-slicked and spent. Then he pulls back just enough to glance at the soaked chair and floor, that cocky smirk returning to his lips.
The afterglow lingers heavy in the air as Eren stays buried deep inside you, his cock still twitching with the last spurts of his release. Your walls flutter around him, milking every drop while the mess you made cools on the leather chair and the floor beneath it. The fresh spine tattoo throbs faintly on your back, a reminder not to move too wildly, but the way he’s looking at you,like he’s nowhere near done makes it hard to care.
Eren pulls out slowly, a thick string of your mixed cum connecting you for a second before it breaks. He glances down at the obscene sight: your pussy still pulsing and leaking his load, the black tattoo chair glistening with your squirt, and small puddles on the dark wood floor.
“Shit…” he breathes, voice rough and satisfied. A low chuckle escapes him as he runs a hand through his messy brown hair, pushing stray strands out of his face. “You really soaked my chair. Never had a client make this kind of mess before.”
He doesn’t reach for cleaning supplies yet. Instead, he grips your hips and effortlessly flips you onto your back on the chair careful enough not to press directly on your fresh ink, but firm enough that your legs fall open wider for him. The position has your ass right at the edge, pussy on full display, still dripping.
“Stay just like that,” he orders, green eyes dark with renewed hunger. He drops to his knees between your spread thighs, broad shoulders keeping your legs apart. “I wanna taste how much you came for me.”
Before you can catch your breath, Eren’s mouth is on you hot, greedy, and relentless. His tongue drags through your folds, licking up the mix of your squirt and his own cum like it’s his favorite meal. He groans deeply against your clit, the vibration making your hips buck. Two thick fingers push back inside you, curling hard against your g-spot while he sucks your swollen clit into his mouth.
“Eren fuck” you gasp, one hand flying to his hair, gripping the messy bun as he devours you.
He eats you like a man starved, messy and loud,wet slurping sounds filling the shop along with your broken moans. His free hand grips your thigh hard enough to leave marks, holding you open while he fucks you with his fingers and tongue. Every time you try to close your legs from the overstimulation, he growls and pushes them back apart.
“You squirted so fucking hard earlier,” he mutters against your pussy, lips shiny with your juices. “Do it again. I want you to soak my face this time.”
He adds a third finger, stretching you wider, pumping faster as his tongue flicks relentlessly over your clit. The pressure builds again at lightning speed, your second orgasm ripping through you even harder than the first. You cry out, back arching off the chair as you squirt all over his face and tongue, soaking his chin, dripping down his neck and onto his tattooed chest.
Eren doesn’t stop. He keeps licking and fingering you through it, drawing out every last spasm until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity.
Only then does he pull back, lips swollen and glistening, a feral grin on his face as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His cock is rock hard again, flushed dark and leaking as it slaps against his abs.
“Turn over for me,” he says, voice low and commanding. “On your hands and knees, careful with the tattoo. I’m not done fucking you yet.”
You obey, trembling as you position yourself on the chair, ass up, face down against the leather that’s still damp from your first orgasm. Eren stands behind you, gripping your hips and sliding back in with one deep thrust. The new angle has him hitting even deeper, the wet squelch loud as he starts pounding into you again.
“Gonna fill this pussy up one more time,” he groans, one hand reaching around to rub your clit while the other keeps you steady. “Then I’ll clean you up… and the chair. Maybe.”
His pace is brutal and perfect, hips slapping against your ass with every thrust. You’re creaming around his cock again almost immediately, the overstimulation making everything feel impossibly intense. Another orgasm crashes over you, your walls clamping down on him as you squirt weakly this time, adding to the already massive mess on the chair and dripping onto the floor.
Eren curses loudly, slamming into you a few more times before he buries himself to the hilt and cums hard, flooding you with another load until it starts leaking out around his cock.
He stays inside you for a long moment, both of you catching your breath, the shop now reeking of sex and fresh ink. Finally, he pulls out and helps you sit up gently, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead.
“Fuck… you’re trouble,” he murmurs with a smirk, green eyes half-lidded. “Next time you come in for aftercare or anything for that matter, we’re locking the door the second you walk in.”
He grabs a clean towel and some antiseptic wipes, starting to clean the chair while occasionally glancing at you with that dangerous, satisfied look.
“I’ll have to re-wrap that tattoo properly before you leave. Wouldn’t want anything happening to my work… or to round three in the back room.”
You already know you’ll be back soon,way sooner than any normal aftercare appointment.
