My husband is sooooso beautiful😭😭🙏🙏🙏👀👀👀👀👀 am I right lads🤣🤣 wait no don't agree he's my man. Am I muted? Ladies? Ladies? Oh well.. I guess its just me and Xiao now... Close your eyes cause it's about to get messy😳😳
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
“No.”
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"
"—the answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—
"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
“Mhm.”
"And it was such a good question.”
You turn a page. "Really?”
“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”
You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—
…
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes.
“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”
Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…
Oh.
That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”
It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.
“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"
“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”
Lips parting, you blink.
…why is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”
His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”
Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
“Oh—uh, hi mom!”
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”
“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”
“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"
"—have you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”
“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
You’re the one people relied on.
Just… never the one people chose.
“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”
“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”
…
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”
“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.
Shit.
“I-I—I didn’t say—"
“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”
“—Mom, I—"
“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.
‘We’ve been so worried.’
…
If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.
“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”
Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
But…
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”
“Huh?”
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.
“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”
“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”
For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"
“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”
And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”
Why does he sound… bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? He’s not your mother.
“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”
“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“But I—”
“Drop it.”
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"
“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”
Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”
“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"
“Oh, finally.”
Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.
You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesn’t.
And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
…
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”
His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”
"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”
“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”
…
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”
"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."
He’s been her intern for that long.
That’s the question, right?
"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”
He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.
“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"…sorry. Who is thi—"
“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"
Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
📞 Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—
"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”
"Stop. I-I really think—"
“—Satoru, what are you doing?’
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.
“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
“Sooo… funny story…”
“—what did you do?!”
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
…what look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh… okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasn’t even an option, was it?
…is he crazy?
“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
Yup. He’s crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"…that is not the point."
“Mm… feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
…
His family’s in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
But…
"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."
"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”
He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
Shit…
That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖
Mk idek where this one was trying to go heh soz ;;;
◇ ╭(Push & Pull.)╮─── 2.1k.
Catboy!Michael Kaiser x GN Reader.
"Meow."
You turned your head in shock at the catboy in the corner of your room, his tail swishing back and forth against the ground. He obviously didn't trust you, not one bit, but for him to say something like that?
"Did you just say the word 'meow?'" You asked cautiously, scratching your head. It's probably the first thing he's said to you since... like, the first time you met him. It's usually hissing and warning growls.
His eyes narrowed and he turned away. He plopped down against the hard ground, refusing to give you any clarity on what happened or what he's thinking.
He moved in about a week ago. 8 days, precisely. Having found him in the run-down pet store, you couldn't ignore the way he clawed so desperately at his enclosure. Some may call you soft, but no hybrid should be stuck behind bars. To you, they're still humans. They've got extra assets, yes, but that doesn't take away from their humanity. If anything, shouldn't they be revered?
You rolled your eyes at the thought. Too late for something like that now, you think. You stretch out your arms and continue brewing the soup for today and tomorrow's dinner. Feeding another mouth was pricey, and you've had to thin out portions of your meals just to give him enough to eat. It seems no matter the portion size you leave out for him, he'll slurp it all down— not that you've ever seen him do it. For all you could know, he could be dumping it in the toilet, so you've been steadily increasing the amount each meal. Snacks were a try and a fail. Kaiser won't let you get anywhere close to him before swiping at your hand.
"Dinner's ready," you call out hesitantly. When you look over your shoulder, you see him still tucked in the corner not bothering to look, ears raised and in your general direction. He hears you, but never listens.
You sigh. Looks like I'll have dinner alone again.
— — —
It's been another week. He's still distant. It's a real problem right now.
You're trying to catch him. Chasing him around the house, stomping away carpets that make you slip and fall when taking a sharp corner.
He's had just about enough.
Again, he's tucked against the corner as your creeping fingers inch closer so hesitantly. His chest puffs up as he sucks in a breath, trying to press himself back against the wall best he can. Why can't you understand he doesn't want you to touch him anymore?!
"It's okay, Kaiser," you nearly whisper, "come on, please?"
He hisses deeply. Tail puffed and straight, his claws come up to try and scratch away your dodging hands.
"Get away from me!" He lets slip. His outstretched arm is keeping you at bay, but he doesn't think that he can hold out for much longer.
You try again, "Kaiser-" but he just presses his face into the surface next to him like it would let him phase through the wall to get away.
You've been so persistent. Not just now, but for the past week. Trying to get him to eat dinner with you, leaving annoying little toys at his side when he's sleeping, even having the gall to sit next to him! You have no sense of boundaries and it's clear you only picked him up as some sort of trophy. He's not just a pet.
I'm still like you. It's that part that he hates about himself.
You've retreated for now. Kaiser is left in the corner.
He clutches his forearm. It's still stinging.
His butt hits the floor with a heavy thud, arms crossed best he can as his tail thumps against his leg.
I don't need your help, he thinks, you're nothing to me.
— — —
It's been two days without catching him.
You're beginning to grow anxious. Head scratching and quick pacing around your living room does little to calm yourself down for what you're about to do next. It's not going to be pretty, you know, and you can't forgive yourself for what you're about to force on him, but it's the only way you'll be able to get close to him.
You suck in a gulp and stalk towards Kaiser, still in the corner, where his now noticeable labored breathing is still heavy.
You want to speak up and let him know what you're about to do, but you find that the words die in your throat. You're guilty without even doing anything yet.
Quietly, you reach a hand to him. He's so out of it he can hardly register your presence next to him.
You grasp his arm that's shielded by his body rougher than you intended, and he starts thrashing about when broken out of his sleep. You feel a slap to your face and faint throbbing where his claw caught your cheek, but you hold on anyway and start to climb over him in desperation. He's a lot stronger than you expected for someone who sits all day.
You're breathless as you wrestle and tackle his wound, gauze steeping the blood that oozed from his reopened cut.
"I'm sorry!" You yelp as a knee to your stomach knocks the words out. "I didn't mean to get so surprised!"
You'd cut him when he snuck up behind you on one late night. You were dicing fruit with the lights off like the sensitive-eyed idiot you were, and a shuffle plus a presence scared you out of your wits so bad you clutched the knife and whirled around, not realizing Kaiser was standing a lot closer than you thought.
He hisses at you, grabbing the collar of your shirt and yanks back to see your face fully. Your hands immediately reach up to get out of his hold, but his glare makes you freeze.
You swallow back your guilt as best as you can, wide eyed as you speak. "I know you don't like being touched," you start, rubbing the soft bandages in your fingers, "but you won't heal properly if I don't help—"
"I don't need your shitty help," he bites back.
You suck in a breath and keep going anyway.
"We were getting closer—"
"We were not."
"And I'm sorry I broke your trust by—"
"By stabbing me?"
"I grazed you..."
He scoffs and lets go, but not before pushing your shoulder away.
"Take a hint and leave me alone. I never asked to be here," he scoffs. He crosses his arms again with less difficulty than before, but you still don't feel like it's completely healed.
"I really am sorry, Kaiser." Your head whips around to look for a better resting spot than the floor. It's like he's boxed off this area as his property. "Do you want to at least move to the couch?" You offer, pointing to the living room.
His eyes slant towards you as he follows the direction of your finger. If you think you can trick him into doing your bidding, you're dead wrong.
Stabbing him once was bad enough. He's sure to not get too close if it happens again. And the couch? You make him sick with your warped little plan. You wanna get him on the couch so bad and sneak another attack, don't you? No way is he ever letting something like that repeat itself.
Never again, he promised himself. It was dangerous enough that you got so close in the first place.
— — —
It's been a month since the incident. Not even a big one, but it shattered whatever comfort Kaiser had yearned for in you. You wonder what he went through to make him so untrustworthy, but it's not like you can ask. He's still avoidant.
Every time you walk into a different room, you'll hear him shuffling around in the main area. When you come back, he'll either be in his corner or freeze completely, staring with wary eyes as he backs away.
You've tried beds, treats, toys, everything under the sun, but it never worked. He's not looking for comfort.
So you pull back.
The one thing is clear: he hasn't run away. Yet? You're not sure, but you're just grateful enough that he isn't the type to sneak out and get himself injured on the streets. Another thing is clear: he doesn't like you. There's no changing a first impression, and you wonder to the heavens what could've possibly went so wrong if not for the late-night incident, but you're not really in a position to change him. You understand that you can't change someone else, so the one thing you have to change is yourself.
You begin to simply leave out food without calling his name. The pestering of treats and new toys for him stops, and you hardly spare a glance when you pass by anymore. When you leave, you don't say, "I'm leaving, Kaiser!" When you come back you don't yell out, "I'm home!" It's just silent. The home's never felt so quiet with people inside.
Your only hope is that he softens a little bit, knowing that you won't push him anymore.
— — —
What the hell are you playing at?
For a week now, you've been ignoring him. First it was all "let's be friends" and now it's "I don't even care?" Were you really so sensitive that you're giving him silent treatment for not letting you touch his wound? Piss off!
Two can play at that game is what he thinks...
... for only three more days.
You're lying on the couch like you always do when the week thoroughly doused you in exhaustion. Slumped over the armrest where your phone starts to slip out of your limp fingers, your eyes methodically blink as you try and rub away drowsiness from your body. It's sharp and hits you in the back of the head, the late night movie becoming a regret rather than an indulgence as you finally rest your eyelids.
Kaiser is in his corner, but watching through the corner of his eye. You're so miserable when you slouch like that.
A few minutes pass, and he starts to move. Quiet padded footsteps make their way over to your sleeping figure. His shadow casts your face in darkness as the glow from the TV fades when the credits finish. The home is covered in silence, save for your shallow breathing and his thumping heartbeat.
You didn't say anything to him today either. Didn't even look. You just set his food out in the kitchen and ate your dinner on the couch. No coos of his name when you opened the front door. No attempts at a head pat. No sad look when he swipes at your hands.
Who do you think you are? Acting like he wasn't the most important thing you should be focused on. Do you actually want to keep him around or not? It's like you don't even care anymore!
He catches himself at the thought of wanting you to care. He shouldn't care that you don't care. He hates how used he's gotten to the way you would look at him with so much hope, as if there was something worth saving.
Kaiser looks down at you one more time. The steady rise and fall of your chest, and your mouth slightly ajar as you're off in catnip land, dreaming about all the ways Kaiser would warm up to you and you two would live as one happy family. He huffs when you twitch in your sleep as he drops to sit on the floor. His cheek hits the part of the cushion where you aren't sprawled over and he stares into your face.
Fine, he resolves, if you wanna be like that, I don't care.
Criss crossed and arms folded, he leans into the soft couch. His eyes become lidded as he watches you. The tip of his tail flicks up and down against the floor.
His arm is fully healed now. It didn't even leave a scar. Every time he looks at his arm, he's reminded of how you pushed him away. Then, he's reminded of the way you pounced on him, trying to fix your mistake. He thinks about the worry on your face when he shoved you back, about the soft tone you would use, and about the snacks you'd leave out— none of which are common anymore.
His eyebrows furrow. His eyes close completely, frustration gripping his heart while unpleasant thoughts swirl in his head.
He chooses to focus on listening to you breathe. If anything changed, he'd get up and leave, but nothing did. Your breathing stays consistent, posing as a lullaby as he carries himself to sleep. For some reason, the floor's more comfortable here than in the corner.
the question you’ve been wanting to ask your boyfriend, michael kaiser, had been sitting in your head for weeks now.
you never asked it out loud.
it followed you quietly instead, appearing in the middle of normal moments with your boyfriend. when you were waiting for him to come home, when you were curled up against his chest late at night.
michael kaiser was affectionate in a way that made you overthink for reasons you don’t even know why.
he touched you constantly, his hands on your waist, fingers in your hair during lazy mornings, your legs thrown over his lap while he’d caress it. kaiser made affection feel like it was the most natural thing in the world.
sometimes it made you feel loved. but sometimes it made you wonder if he acted this way with her too.
you hated that thought. you hated her a little too, even though you’d never admit it aloud.
she wasn’t even really gone.
they still saw each other constantly because of work. interviews, campaigns, football circles that always somehow overlapped. she’d appear in photos beside him online every few weeks, smiling easily while your boyfriend stood there with that same unreadable expression he wore around everybody.
people said they ended on good terms. you thought maybe that made everything worse.
there was never anything to point at. no cheating, lying, dramatic story that would justify the feeling in your chest. it was just your own thoughts slowly turning against you.
you remember one of those late night conversations you had with kaiser. you don’t remember the start of it but it eventually started talking about exes.
“i dated someone in high school..“ you muttered into the pillow. “he used to get jealous over literally everything”
michael hummed beside you. “you attract insecure people.”
“that’s rude.” you pause, “you think i have bad taste?”
“well.. anyone you dated before sucked.”
you rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see it.
“what about yours?”
there was a pause after that. “which one.”
“..your last one.” you tried to sound casual asking it.
michael stayed laid back against the headboard, one arm around your waist.
“she was fine.”
that was all he said. you waited for more from him, but he never continued.
a few minutes later he started talking about a match instead, completely unaware that your brain stayed stuck there long after the conversation moved on.
she was fine? you don’t exactly know why that sentence bothered you so bad. you wondered what could that mean. you were able to share so much about your exes, why couldn’t he?
the perfume happened months later.
michael came home late after some sponsor event that happened a few cities away. you had already been half asleep on the couch when he walked in tired.
“liebe, why are you sleeping out here?”
“kaiser..” you rub your eyes, “was waiting for you.”
his expression looked softer after that. you still remembered it clearly. when he leaned down to kiss your forehead. the familiar scent of his cologne.
but underneath it, had something else. it was sweet, floral. familiar.
your stomach dropped before your mind even caught up. because you knew that perfume, you had smelled it before.
it was months ago, near the beginning of your relationship. you remembered standing in his bathroom one morning while getting ready. your toothbrush beside his, your skincare products on the sink.
near the corner of the counter, sat a perfume bottle that didn’t belong to you. you’d picked it up quietly. a pretty bottle, an expensive brand. it wasn’t yours.
michael walked in while you were holding it.
“whose is this?” you asked carefully.
he barely glanced over. “my ex’s.” then continued drying his hair like it was nothing.
you remembered standing there awkwardly, still holding the bottle. “why do you still have it?”
“forgot to throw it away.” you nodded, forcing yourself to understand.
the bottle disappeared a few days later. you noticed but never mentioned it.
but now, sitting beside michael on the couch months later while that same scent clung faintly to his clothes, the memory came back hard enough to make your chest ache.
he didn’t notice your silence. or maybe he did, but just thought you were tired.
“move liebe,” he muttered softly, sinking onto the couch beside you anyway. “i missed you.”
you shifted automatically, letting him pull you against his chest. normally, you would have loved this. being held by michael made everything in your head quieter.
that night, though, all you could think about was whether she smelled like this when he held her too.
michael rested his chin against the top of your head absentmindedly, already starting to doze off. you only stared at the at the cushion while your thoughts were spiraling.
somewhere between his arm around your waist and the perfume still lingering against his collar, the question popped up again.
‘did you like her in the morning?’
you never asked. some part of you thought knowing the answer would hurt less than imagining one, but another part wasn’t so sure.
when you’re dating bunny iglesias, your life becomes a little ridiculous sometimes.
but that’s mostly because neither of you were technically supposed to be doing it.
for bunny, secrecy came with his career. people online watched everything he did, fans could easily make up stories, and apparently being seen walking beside somebody for too long was enough to start rumors for weeks. he didn’t want to bring you to that life.
and for you, the issue was simpler. your family would actually lose their minds.
which was why you were currently climbing out your bedroom window at one in the morning while trying not to make any noise.
bunny stood underneath with his hood pulled up, hands on your waist helping you get down.
“cmon, a little faster now” he teases,
“try escaping your own house then.”
“i escaped the paparazzi, that counts.”
he laughed quietly under his breath right as your foot slipped slightly against the edge. bunny covered your mouth before you could panic. amusement already sitting in his expression.
“dramatic.” he muttered.
“shut up i don’t do this often!”
“shh, amor. quiet.”
still, he didn’t let go until both your feet safely touched the ground.
his car waited near the curb with the headlights off.
you followed him quickly, paranoid that there might be neighbors watching you at one am. the second you got inside, bunny reached over and pulled your seatbelt across for you.
“thank you.”
“mhm.”
you let out a heavy sigh of relief as you have succeeded, glancing sideways at him. “so. where are we going?”
“ohh. that’s right. i didn’t tell you huh.” he glances at you before starting the car. “—well, worry not amor. you’re still going to have the time of your life.”
you laugh softly, forgetting the consequences of your actions like usual when you’re with bunny. he kisses your cheek before starting to drive, playing music to keep his energy up.
the beach was empty when you arrived. just dark water, cold sand, and the sound of waves crashing somewhere ahead while the city lights flickered faintly behind you.
“i can’t believe you drove this far at two in the morning,” you said while kicking your shoes off.
bunny shrugged. “you said you missed the beach.”
“that was three weeks ago.”
“isn’t it more romantic that i remembered?”
you stare at him, a little flustered after what he said before looking away. bunny takes his shirt off, tossing it to the side as he slowly walks closer to the water. he stops when his feet starts to feel the waves, turning around to you, waiting. you walked closer, taking his hand. smiling to yourself while the cold sand pressed between your toes.
most of the night passed quietly.
you chased each other near the shoreline. bunny splashed water at you first, then acted offended when you retaliated harder. at some point he nearly dropped his phone into the ocean trying to take a blurry picture of you laughing.
“iglesias— delete that!”
“oh no fucking way.”
“i look ugly.”
“you literally don’t.”
you immediately grabbed for his phone while he laughed and held it out of reach.
“let me take another photo.”
“no way. bunny!”
somewhere between chasing each other near the water and bunny almost dropping his phone into the ocean, the two of you ended up sitting in the sand catching your breath.
bunny stares at the water, occasionally looking at you before returning his focus on the water.
“we haven’t swam yet.” he puts one hand at your back, rubbing your back.
“do you want to?” you look at him, giggling softly at the feeling of his hand.
“only if you’re swimming too.”
you slowly get up and stretch, preparing yourself to swim.
“you’re not taking your shirt off?” bunny questions,
you look back at him displeased, “pervert.”
“aye. not like that— we don’t have extra clothes.” he pauses, “i’m already shirtless, make it fair.” he smiles, walking backwards to the water while he still looked at you in the eye.
you groan, immediately taking your shirt off and tossing it far from the water. you run towards your boyfriend, jumping on top of him making you both fall.
the water was freezing. that was the first thing bunny complained about after you both were fully wet from the water.
“amor, my legs are numb.” he whines in fake annoyance,
“look who’s dramatic now.” he ignores you and pulls you closer towards him while you both went further into the ocean.
he stopped for about two seconds before staring at you intensely, hands settling at your waist to steady both of you against the tide.
the ocean stretched dark around you, the lights faint in the distance while the water moved softly against your legs.
for once, bunny went quiet.
you looked up at him properly then. damp hair falling into his eyes, his muscular build that was hard to ignore, the corner of his mouth curled slightly like he was trying not to smile too hard.
“wanna be embarrassing?” he murmured.
“..embarrassing how…?”
“couple making out in the beach kind of embarrassing.”
“iglesias, no—“
you were cut off when another wave crashed against both of you, making you unbalanced.
“just one kiss.” his hand stayed on your cheek.
you sigh, pretending you weren’t enjoying this. “just one.”
then he leaned down and kissed you before you could say anything else.
it was slow, warm despite the cold water around you. when he pulled back, he still stayed close.
“amor,” he said quietly, smiling a little now. “you sure you only want one?”
you huff in frustration as you harshly pull him back in. kissing so intensely you start to forget about everything around you. the water, the cold air, the time. he doesn’t let go either, he doesn’t plan to. but when you both finished taking your time, he pulls you down in the water, wetting your hair.
he pulls you closer with his grip on your arm, “was this worth sneaking out for?” he whispers to your ear.
“shut up and kiss me.”
eventually the cold forced both of you back toward the car.
bunny’s hoodie hung loosely over your shoulders, the sleeves covering half your hands while the wind pushed your hair across your face. to which he reached over automatically to fix it. his fingers brushed gently near your cheek. squeezing it before tucking the strands of your hair back properly.
your hair was damp from the ocean breeze, and bunny kept shaking sand out of his shoes with increasing irritation while you only watched from the passenger seat trying not to laugh.
“feel like this is your fault.”
“and how is that my fault exactly?”
“cause you wanted to go to the beach.”
you let out a face of disbelief, “excuse me— you drove us here.”
the inside of the car felt warmer now, fog slowly gathering against the windows while soft romantic music played low through the speakers. for a while, bunny just drove aimlessly along the coast. you watched the streetlights pass outside while resting your head against the window.
then his voice cut through the quiet.
“you ever get tired of this?”
“wow, serious all of the sudden.” you looked over, “tired of what?”
“..hiding.”
his hands stayed loose against the steering wheel, expression calmer than usual now.
“sometimes,” you admitted.
there was a small pause from bunny after that, “me too.”
bunny rarely sounded serious for long. usually he’d joke his way through uncomfortable conversations. but now he just looked thoughtful.
“i hate that you have to sneak around for me,” he said quietly.
your chest softened immediately. “it’s not your fault. i have my reasons too.”
“still.”
he tapped his fingers once against the steering wheel before continuing. “i think about normal stuff sometimes.”
“normal stuff?”
“yeah. like being able to pick you up properly.” he huffed a laugh under his breath. “front door, daylight. all that.”
you smiled a little. “my parents would kill you.”
“probably.”
“..but i’m glad you feel that way.” you stay quiet for a while before continuing, “i was worried that you were getting used to me climbing out the window.”
that made him laugh.
he reached over briefly, squeezing your hand once before focusing back on the road.
somewhere around five in the morning, both of you ended up parked near the quieter side of the beach again.
you weren’t even supposed to fall asleep.
bunny had reclined his seat slightly while talking about some teammate drama you barely understood, and you’d curled sideways against him listening sleepily while the heater warmed the car.
the next thing you knew, sunlight hit your face. you squinted awake immediately.
“…oh no.”
bunny stirred beside you with a groggy frown. “what time is it.”
you grabbed your phone, then immediately sat upright.
“oh my god.”
“what?”
“twenty missed calls.”
bunny blinked himself awake slower. “that’s not good.”
you looked at him in horror. “don’t state the obvious!”
“okay, don’t panic.”
“i’m dead.” you stutter, “like actually dead.”
bunny grabbed his own phone finally, wincing slightly. “we are. not just you, don’t worry.” he holds up his phone, showing you missed calls from his teammates.
“bunny.”
“i’m driving, relax.”
“holy shit we are both screwed.”
he tried not to smile, but he couldn’t help himself.
“this isn’t funny.”
“pretty sure this is a sign for us to go public”
“BUNNY.”
he laughed properly then, starting the car while you buried your face in your hands.
“do you want breakfast? coffee? there’s a drive-thru close by.” he mentions,
“iglesias we are both dead. funeral. six feet under.”
“were already in trouble.” he mutters, focused on the road.
you stare at him, a little annoyed he doesn’t seem worried. but then you see your favorite fast-food restaurant close by.
“okay let’s eat.”
“knew it.”
the drive back felt way too short. by the time he pulled up outside your house, your stomach already hurt from anxiety. every curtain in the house was open, which felt threatening somehow.
“i’m never sneaking out again,” you muttered.
“you said that last time.”
“let’s hope they don’t put bricks on my window.”
bunny leaned back against his seat watching you nervously gather your things.
then he smiled suddenly. big and completely unapologetic. “worth it though.”
before you could answer, the front door opened. both your parents stood there in complete silence.
watching.
directly at the car, directly at bunny. bunny’s smile only widens even more in amusement. you covered your eyes immediately. muttering quiet apologies while you refused to look at your parents in the eye.
another terrible silence passed.
then bunny leaned slightly toward you and whispered, “gameplan?”
you nearly laughed despite everything. “i’m going out. and you immediately drive.”
“yes ma’am.”
he hums as you get out of the car. you close the door and walk with your parents back inside while bunny starts driving away. already thinking about the excuses he has to make for his teammates.
you were definitely grounded. yet bunny still had the audacity to message you despite it all.
bunny : update me if you can sneak out again next week.
jacobvanloon
kianamaiart
kaledo-art
snowghoul
baratheonpilled
titsay
