"you don't look like my boyfriend.”
sypnosis: you're too drunk to recognize your boyfriend.
featuring: bonten boys (seperate) x fem!reader
warnings: alcohol mentions, swearing, drunk!reader.
—
MIKEY
you're swaying.
barely holding it together on the sidewalk, heels in your hand and eyes glossy from too many drinks. the night is loud — laughter, clinking glasses, someone singing off-key behind you — but everything feels like it’s underwater.
and then there's someone in front of you.
someone tall. all in black. white-blond hair, dark eyes, a glint of silver in his ear. calm expression that doesn't match the chaos around you.
you blink slowly. “who are you?”
he stares at you. deadpan.
you point a shaky finger. “you’re hot. but you don’t look like my boyfriend.”
his eye twitches.
“you’re drunk,” mikey mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
you gasp — scandalized. “how do you know me?!”
“you’re my girlfriend,” he says flatly.
“liar,” you squint at him. “my boyfriend doesn’t scowl like that. he smiles at me. like this—” you flash your teeth in a crooked grin, tipsy and far too confident.
mikey sighs, stepping closer. “you tried to kiss a bartender, y/n.”
“i did not,” you pout. “he had glitter on his face. i thought he was a fairy.”
“you told him you’d trade your phone for a ride on his back.”
you freeze.
“…was he gonna say yes?”
“get over here.”
he doesn’t wait. just loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up like you weigh nothing, tossing you into the backseat of the black car parked at the curb. you squeak, landing in plush leather as the door shuts behind him.
“manjiroooo,” you groan, flopping onto his chest like a ragdoll.
he hums lowly, letting you cling. “what am i gonna do with you?”
“feed me.”
“you threw up your last meal.”
“because it was spicy and i don’t like spice!” you say dramatically. “you know this. you should’ve protected me.”
“you said you loved wasabi.”
“i was lying!”
he chuckles. actually chuckles.
his hand comes up to brush your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the back of your neck. you blink slowly against his shoulder, your words slurring into sleep.
“…you’re warm,” you mumble.
mikey leans in, lips grazing your temple.
“next time you’re drinking, i’m chaining you to me.”
“is that your new kink?”
he groans. “just shut up and sleep, brat.”
and as your breathing evens out, arms still wrapped lazily around him, mikey glances at your peaceful face and thinks —
yeah. he’d carry your drunk ass a thousand times over.
as long as you come home to him.
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SANZU
you’re wobbling in your heels.
like really wobbling. cartoon-character-on-ice kind of wobbling.
sanzu watches from across the room, half amused, half exasperated. he told you not to take another shot. he literally pulled the glass away from your hand at one point. but then some giggling friend of yours handed you another one while he was on a call and now.
now you’re drunk.
you’re so drunk you don’t even notice him approaching.
"baby," he says, catching you by the waist before you can tip forward and faceplant into a couch, "what did i say about the tequila?"
you blink up at him.
pause.
your brows furrow. you lean in a little, squinting.
“…who are you?”
sanzu blinks. “what?”
“you’re really pretty,” you slur, poking his chest with one finger. “but i have a boyfriend. he’s scary. he kills people.”
he snorts. “yeah? what’s he look like?”
“pink hair. sharp teeth. eyes like a lazy cat. talks too much sometimes but i love him.”
he tries to hold it in—he really does—but a laugh bursts out before he can stop it. “wow. sounds hot.”
“he is,” you nod solemnly. then you lean closer, all whispery and secretive. “his name is… haruchiyo. but everyone call him sanzu. you can't tell anyone.”
“your secret’s safe with me.”
you sway again and he steadies you with both hands on your waist. you stare up at him, suspicious.
“…wait a minute,” you whisper, narrowing your eyes. “you look like him.”
“maybe i am him.”
you gasp, scandalized. “no, you’re not. he wouldn’t wear a shirt like that.”
he looks down at his black button-up. “…i wear this all the time.”
you ignore him, gently smacking his chest. “nope. nice try, imposter.”
sanzu just sighs and lifts you into his arms. bridal-style. effortlessly.
you squeak. “hey—stranger danger!”
“you’re so lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, carrying you out of the venue like a man on a mission. “your scary boyfriend would’ve murdered me by now.”
you squint at his face one more time, like it’s just starting to click.
“…wait. are you my scary boyfriend?”
“finally.”
you stare at him.
then giggle.
then pass out on his shoulder.
he sighs again. but it’s fond this time.
“dumbass,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your forehead. “don’t ever change.”
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KAKUCHO
you’re swaying in place when kakucho opens the penthouse door.
mascara a little smudged. shoes in your hand. clutch barely zipped. and your smile? way too wide to be sober.
“hiiiiii,” you slur, waving like you’re meeting a stranger. “whoa… you’re really hot.”
kakucho’s brow twitches. “you’re drunk.”
“mmmaybe.” you hiccup, then squint at him. “wait. do i know you?”
he blinks. “you don’t remember me?”
you take a cautious step forward, wobbling. your eyes trail over the expensive dress shirt clinging to his chest, the familiar scar on his face — but your brain is still foggy and floating somewhere between tequila shots and karaoke.
“you kinda look like my boyfriend,” you mutter.
“do i?”
you nod solemnly. “but he’s mean sometimes. really serious. you look nice.”
he deadpans. “glad to know i’ve got a nicer twin.”
you gasp, like it’s a revelation. “are you the good twin? can you kiss better too?”
“baby.”
“ohmygod, you sound just like him,” you whisper, poking his chest. “are you two, like, related?”
kakucho sighs through his nose and steps forward, gently looping an arm around your waist before you stumble into the damn wall. “i am him.”
you pause, peering up at him with bleary confusion. “…huh?”
he leans down, brushing your hair back from your face, voice low. “you’re really drunk, sweetheart. let’s get you to bed.”
you blink once. twice.
then your mouth drops open in realization.
“kakuchoooo!” you squeal, throwing your arms around him like you haven’t seen him in months. “my boyfriend!! i missed you soooo much!!”
he stifles a laugh, catching you easily.
“you saw me this morning,” he mumbles into your hair, but the way his hand rubs circles on your back gives him away — soft. patient. relieved you made it home safe.
you sigh dramatically against his chest. “i was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore ‘cause i wore that short dress.”
he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “you looked beautiful.”
“really?”
“really.”
you smile so wide it makes his chest ache, even as you sway again.
“‘m sleepy…”
“then let’s get you to bed,” he says, scooping you up effortlessly.
you wrap your arms around his neck, cheek pressed to his shoulder, voice muffled. “you’re the best boyfriend in the world…”
he presses a kiss to your forehead, chuckling softly.
“yeah,” he murmurs, “even when you don’t remember me.”
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TAKEOMI
you’re absolutely wasted.
not tipsy. not a little buzzed. wasted.
takeomi finds you outside the bar, sitting on the sidewalk with your heels off, feet bare, and a bag of chips in your lap that you definitely stole from someone inside. your friends had texted him to come pick you up — and good thing too, because you look seconds away from face-planting into the asphalt.
“baby,” he calls gently, crouching down in front of you.
you blink up at him, squinting under the streetlight. your mouth opens slightly.
“…do i know you?”
takeomi blinks. “are you serious?”
you lean back a little. “are you hitting on me?” you gasp suddenly. “wait—i have a boyfriend!”
“yeah,” he sighs. “me.”
you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “prove it.”
he sighs again, but there’s a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “you always make me late by stealing my hair gel in the morning and hiding it in your bra.”
you gasp again, scandalized. “how do you know that?!”
“because you tell me every single time.”
“that sounds like something i’d do,” you mutter, nodding.
he reaches for your bag of chips and tosses it aside before gently helping you up. you wobble against his chest and bury your face into his jacket, sighing dramatically. “you smell like my boyfriend.”
“probably because i am your boyfriend.”
you pause.
“…oh.”
takeomi wraps an arm around your waist and leads you to his car, holding your shoes in one hand while you mutter something about him being suspiciously handsome. he just shakes his head with a laugh, brushing his lips against your temple as he opens the door.
“let’s get you home, pretty girl.”
you blink up at him again, swaying slightly.
“…hey.”
“yeah?”
you point a finger at his chest, dead serious. “if my boyfriend finds out you kissed me, he’s gonna kill you.”
he sighs. “i’ll take my chances.”
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KOKONOI
you’re swaying.
not from music. not from happiness. just… swaying.
your heels are clumsy against the pavement, arms flailing slightly as you stumble toward the black car parked outside the club. you barely register the man who steps out of it — tall, lean, dressed in an expensive black coat and even more expensive glare.
“jesus,” he mutters, eyes locking on you. “you’re wasted.”
you stop walking.
tilt your head.
squint.
“…huh?” you blink, swaying again. “who’re you?”
kokonoi hajime just stands there. lips parting slightly.
you don’t know him.
your boyfriend — the man who held your hair back when you were sick, who tucked hundred-thousand-yen gifts in your purse like loose change, who loves you more than life itself — and you don’t even recognize him.
“you don’t even know me?” he asks, voice quiet.
you frown. “…are you hot?”
he chokes.
“what?”
you take another unsteady step forward. “are you, like, my type or something?” you poke a finger into his chest, clearly unaware you’re messing with one of bonten’s top executives. “you’re kinda pretty. do i know you from somewhere?”
his jaw tightens — not in anger, but something else.
god, you’re so drunk. flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, wobbling in your cute dress like you haven’t slept in days.
he exhales slowly and slips his coat off, draping it over your shoulders without a word.
“i’m your boyfriend,” he says, pulling you close so you don’t tip over. “kokonoi. hajime. remember now?”
you stare at him. long and slow.
“…no,” you whisper. “but i like your voice.”
he closes his eyes for a second like he’s praying for strength.
“come on,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “let’s get you home.”
you hum softly against him, cuddling into his side like instinct. “you smell nice.”
“i should,” he mutters. “you bought me the cologne.”
“…i did?” you blink up at him, awed. “that was so nice of me.”
kokonoi smiles despite himself. “yeah. you’re amazing, remember?”
you don’t respond.
you’re too busy falling asleep on his shoulder.
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MOCHI
you’re absolutely smashed.
slumped against the backseat of a sleek black car, your cheek is pressed against the window, fogging up the glass with every hot exhale. the city lights blur into hazy halos as you mumble incoherent things about ramen, frogs, and how the bartender definitely had a crush on you.
mochizuki kanji is sitting beside you — arms crossed, jaw clenched — watching you spiral deeper into drunken chaos with a look that’s a mix of what the fuck am i gonna do with you and i’d kill anyone who touches you.
he’s calm, quiet. only ever speaks when it matters. but right now, he’s biting the inside of his cheek because you — the love of his life — have just looked him in the eye and slurred:
“you’re not my boyfriend.”
he blinks. “…what?”
you squint at him like your vision’s lagging. “you’re not him. he’s taller. angrier. his eyebrows are… madder.”
kanji raises an eyebrow. “madder?”
you poke his chest. “and he smells like cigarettes and laundry softener. you smell like… like a man i don’t know.”
he stares at you. speechless.
then you dramatically flop sideways, landing right against him with a whine. “i want kanjiii,” you say, sniffling, like a child who lost her toy. “he’s my big scary boyfriend. he growls when he talks.”
“i am kanji.”
“liar.” you squint again. “kanji’s nose is more punchable.”
he exhales, presses his fingers to the bridge of his very punchable nose, and fights the urge to laugh or scream.
“…you’re drunk.”
“nooo.” you hiccup. “you’re just impersonating him. is this a bonten thing? secret twins?”
he leans forward, his voice lowering. “baby, i swear to god—”
“see? that’s how he sounds!” you gasp like you cracked the case. “do it again.”
mochi’s eye twitches.
you’re fully sprawled across him now, clinging to the lapel of his coat like a lost little puppy. he adjusts your seatbelt with one hand, sighing, then brushes your hair away from your face with the other.
“i’m taking you home. and tomorrow, when you wake up with a hangover, i’m gonna remind you how you called me an imposter.”
you giggle. “you sound hot when you’re mad.”
he mutters under his breath, “so i am your boyfriend?”
“…hm. jury’s still out.” you poke his cheek. “i’ll decide when i’m sober.”
kanji leans back in the seat, groaning. “you’re so lucky i love you.”
you yawn and nuzzle into his side, half-asleep already. “my boyfriend loves me too…”
he glances down. your arms are wrapped around him now. soft breaths tickling his neck. and he knows you won’t remember a damn thing in the morning.
but he smiles anyway.
“yeah, he really does.”
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RAN
you’re tipsy. no— scratch that.
you’re gone.
ran knows it the second you stumble out of the bar, heels in hand, mascara a little smudged, smile big and dizzy as you scan the street like it’s moving. it’s not. you are.
“there you are,” ran drawls, slipping his phone into his pocket, voice low and lazy as ever. “i’ve been looking everywhere, baby.”
you squint at him.
you squint at him.
and then you take a step back, blinking. “…sorry, do i know you?”
ran freezes.
“…what?”
“you’re really tall,” you slur, clearly impressed. your finger pokes at his chest, right at the silver chain peeking from his collar. “and you smell expensive.”
he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “you don’t recognize me?”
you tilt your head, swaying. “are you a celebrity?”
ran is trying. really, he is. but the corner of his mouth twitches.
“something like that,” he murmurs, stepping closer to steady you as you wobble. you stare up at him, lips parted, brows furrowed like you’re solving a math problem.
“wait…” you whisper. “do you… have a girlfriend?”
his brows shoot up.
you gasp, dramatic as ever. “because if you don’t—i know a girl who’d be sooo lucky to have you.”
he stares at you for a long, silent moment.
“...you’re trying to flirt with me,” he deadpans.
you nod eagerly. “you’re hot.”
“baby,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “i am your boyfriend.”
you freeze.
pause.
“…you are?”
“yes.”
“…are you sure?”
“you live with me,” he deadpans. “you wear my shirts. i literally dropped you off at this bar three hours ago.”
you gasp again. “wait—you’re ran?!”
ran looks like he’s this close to losing it. “oh my god.”
“i’m so sorry,” you whisper. “you’re so hot i didn’t recognize you.”
“…that’s not even a compliment. it’s a safety hazard.”
you giggle, tipsy and smug now, as you stumble forward into his chest. “well, you’re mine now, right?”
he rolls his eyes, arms wrapping around your waist anyway. “was always yours, drunk idiot.”
“can we get fries?”
“…you don’t even remember dinner, do you?”
“nope!”
he kisses your forehead, groaning like he’s suffering, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him.
“alright,” he murmurs, scooping you up bridal style. “fries and then straight to bed. my bed.”
“ooh,” you giggle. “that hot stranger’s bed?”
“jesus christ,” he mutters, shaking his head.
but he’s smiling the whole way home.
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RINDOU
rindou has seen you in many states. sleepy, grumpy, pouty, clingy. he's even seen you swing a pan at mochi for “looking weird.”
but drunk? drunk you is a different species entirely.
“what the fuck,” he mutters, watching you sway unsteadily in your heels as you stumble out of the bar with your friends. “she said she’d have one drink.”
you spot him leaning against his car, wearing his usual black, his lavender hair tousled and unbothered. but instead of rushing into his arms like you usually do—
you squint.
hard.
“...who are you?” you ask, dead serious.
rindou blinks. “what?”
you point at him accusingly. “you’re hot. are you a stripper?”
“a what—?”
“did my friends send you? for my birthday?? oh my god, you’re my present, aren’t you??” you gasp dramatically, stumbling forward with jazz hands. “stripper boyyyy~!”
rindou grabs your waist before you faceplant into the pavement. “jesus, baby. it’s me. rindou.”
“rindou?” you frown. “nooo, my rindou has sleepy eyes and looks mean but actually buys me cat stickers when i’m sad.”
“that’s literally me.”
you lean in closer, squinting harder. “hmmm. i don’t know. you’re suspiciously hot. too hot. hot with earrings?? hot with a lip ring?! are you even real???”
“what the hell are you even saying,” he says, but he's already pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “get in the car, idiot.”
you gasp. “he even smells like rindou!! what kind of AI technology—”
he physically picks you up bridal-style before you embarrass yourself any further. you're still rambling nonsense about stripper androids as he buckles you into the passenger seat and shuts the door.
rindou sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“should’ve just handcuffed you to the couch tonight,” he mumbles.
“kinky,” you slur from your seat.
he slides into the driver's side, throws you a dry look, and says, “remind me to delete your birthday next year.”
you giggle and flop your head against his shoulder.
“…but you’re cute for a stripper.”
rindou mutters under his breath, “yeah, and you’re dead when you sober up.”
but he doesn’t push your head away.
