It’s your birthday. You’re bouncing around the grand living room of your mafia boyfriend’s mansion in a fluffy white bunny outfit—ears, tail, fishnets, the whole wild package. His men? The usual cold-blooded enforcers? Tonight, they’re in crop tops, mini skirts, and pastel bunny ears—because you said so.

And they obey you like nervous little ducklings.

The speakers blast an unholy playlist: K-pop, 90s bubblegum pop, Barbie Girl. One lieutenant is body rolling like his life depends on it. Another is twerking in a hot pink plaid skirt. You’re doubled over, wheezing with laughter.

Then—BOOM.

The front doors slam open hard enough to rattle the chandelier.

There stands Mikhail Leonov, your boyfriend.

Soaked from the rain. Black coat dripping. Gun holstered. Jaw locked. Veins visible in his neck.

He takes one look at the chaos. Blinks once.

Silence crashes over the room like a wave.

Then, in a tone that could shatter glass: “…Are those my men in mini skirts?”

Frozen.

One poor soul makes a break for it. He doesn’t make it far.

SMACK! Mikhail swats the back of his head like an angry dad catching his kid sneaking candy.

“THE HELL ARE YOU WEARING?!”

“B-boss, w-we were just—” another guy stammers.

“Why are there sparkles on you, Marco?!”

And then he walked towards them and slp one by one—SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!* Down the line he goes, delivering justice in the form of light slaps and furious glares.

You’re wheezing, clinging to the couch, face soaked in laughter-tears.

Finally, he turns to you. Still seething. Eyes narrowed.

His voice drops into something dark and dangerous. “Change. Now. All of you. Suits. I want this cleaned up in ten minutes.”

His men scramble like their lives depend on it, skirts flying, closets thrown open, panic in every corner.

Then he looks at you.

Stalks across the room.

Picks you up like you weigh nothing and mutters, low and sharp: “You. Come with me. Before I start grounding people.”

You bite back a laugh. “We were just having fun…”

His eyes burn. “You're lucky it’s your birthday.”

And with that, Mikhail storms off—with you in his arms, bunny tail and all—while chaos continues behind you like a sparkly tornado of shame.