𓂃⋆.˚ ( kny ) "shut up, mom!" prank on kny men ! ⤷ ゛tengen, giyu, gyomei, rengoku, muichiro, obanai, sanemi, muzan ˎˊ˗ tw yelling (as part of the prank), pregnancy, child is at least a young teen in each scenario, minimal violence part two here
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────────────────── tengen uzui
"Shut up, Mom!" your son yells. You're reclined on the couch, fighting against the instinct to laugh. before you can deliver your line, "excuse me?", you feel a weight lift from beside you and hear the footsteps of your husband.
You almost break your neck when you turn around, eyes darting from Tengen to your now trembling son - he agreed, quite eagerly, to prank his father, but that eagerness didn't make tengen any less intimidating. Standing tall at 6'6, it's hard to look at him and not think twice about everything you say around him.
"You'd've had it easier if you said that crap to me," Tengen hisses, grabbing his son by the front of his shirt. He leans down to place his face mere centimeters from his son's, and you're perched on the edge of the couch now, ready to interfere should the situation escalate.
"You can disrespect me all you want, but your mother? You're sick in the head, boy," he says lowly, before wrapping one strong arm around your son's shoulders and resting his forearm around his neck, putting him in a chokehold without the force. "Imma teach your disrespectful ass some manners."
From your position, you can see the veins enunciated and pulsing in his neck and arms, prompting you to shoot up from the couch and rush over to them. "He didn't mean any arm by it—it's just teenage hormones," you tell Tengen, trying to pry his arm off your son.
He gives you an evidently softer look than the one he was directing at his son, but doesn't let up. You see the devious smile on your son's lips and have to shake your head in warning, hoping he doesn't open his mouth to worsen the situation.
"Nah, she's just been annoying the hell out of me," he says.
Tengen sees red and you see a murder charge.
"It's a prank! it's all a prank, a joke, you know? just... messing with you," you finally reveal, placing your hands on Tengen’s arms placatingly. When your son nods in agreement, confirming your declaration, Tengen lets up and lands a gentle smack on the back of your son's head.
You let out a relieved sigh and pull a still-tense Tengen into your embrace, stifling a laugh. You’re overjoyed that he was so quick to defend your honour, but you can't help but want to frustrate him even further. When he spots the glance you give him, your son pales and shakes his head.
You say, "though, ahem, that last bit wasn't in the script," and it's all the warning your son needs to take off sprinting upstairs.
You feel your husband disentangle himself from your embrace and chase after the poor boy. "You hurt him and i'll make you eat glass for dinner!" you call out after the hunk of muscle, seeing him hesitate at that before resuming his chase.
────────────────── giyu tomioka
As agreed, you finally hear your daughter scream "shut up, Mom!" after you tell her to wash the dishes. Perfect line execution, in your opinion; very convincing.
"What?" Giyu snaps, his voice low and brows furrowed as he turns to face your daughter. your husband has never been one for extravagant and loud displays of anger, but even in quieter displays like this can you feel the heat radiate from him.
"She's always on my case about the dishes, dad! i don't wanna—"
"Shut it."
You press your lips together to contain your laugh and steel your expression into one of disappointment. "I’m sorry, sweetie, it'd just be nice to have some help around the house," you say, sighing dejectedly.
Your (feigned) sadness doesn't escape Giyu’s detection, and he begins approaching your daughter with measured steps. You see the flicker of fear in her expression before she, too, steels her features. He reaches a hand out to place on her shoulder and lowers his head to stare directly into her eyes, face-to-face.
"Your wants are not expressed through childish tantrums," he warns, tightening his grip on her. "Especially not when addressing your mother. She doesn't work herself to the bone so that you can fuss about what you want."
"But—"
"No. Apologise immediately."
You stare at your daughter expectantly, pleased that your husband is so adamant about protecting you, both physically and emotionally. She purses her lips, glances at you, then looks back up at Giyu.
"It’s just a prank, Dad."
Giyu remains silent, waiting for her to do as he asked. He clearly isn't convinced that this is all a joke and you're tempted to let this keep going. But you feel bad, having put your daughter at your husband's mercy, so you snicker quietly and wave a dismissive hand at him.
"She's not lying, honey," you say. Giyu looks at you then and raises a brow, piecing together the situation until it finally dawns on him. He sighs like he's dealing with two children instead of just the one that is his daughter.
"When i say that you'll be the death of me," he starts, patting his daughter on the head apologetically, then walking over to you and kissing your forehead, "it's not always hyperbolic. My blood pressure can attest to that."
And even then, he can't help but smile and shake his head indulgently.
────────────────── gyomei himejima
Admittedly, you were scared to even think about putting your daughter in the line of fire, but you know about Gyomei's soft spot for her, so you think it balances out. Even so, your body trembled from the difficulty of containing your laughter and the anticipation.
Gyomei notices this and calls out, "are you alright, my love? You’re shaking."
You wave your hand, making a small 'mm' sound in response. That gives him pause, but he turns back to the bookshelf in front of him with you on the forefront of his mind.
As you wash the dishes, you look over at your daughter on the couch, clutching the tv remote. "Have you hung the laundry yet, sweetheart? The sun will be setting soon—"
"Gosh, Mom, just shut up!"
You hear the slam of a book being shut and the thud of it being placed on the coffee table, before Gyomei passes by—not without kissing your temple—and heads straight towards your daughter. Your daughter, who is now trying to busy herself with the remote and avoid her father's eyes at all costs.
Gyomei stands in front of her, effectively blocking her view of the tv. His huge arms flex as he crosses them, his pale eyes piercing. "The laundry. Now."
Your daughter knows better than to respond with anything but a nod of her head. She gets up to comply, but he stops her with the clearing of his throat. She turns to face him again and he nods his head in your direction pointedly.
She swallows anxiously and mumbles a small, "sorry, Mom."
You smile and walk over to embrace her, just as Gyomei says, "I forbid such insolent attitude in this house, especially towards your mother."
Placing a gentle hand on his chest, you whisper, "it's a prank."
Gyomei relaxes a little at that—completely when your daughter nods her head to confirm. The two of you are then pulled into his strong arms and held against his chest. His hands smooth over your and your daughter's hair. "You girls are more trouble than I anticipate sometimes."
────────────────── kyojuro rengoku
"Shut up, Mom!" your son shouts from his room in response to you asking him to hoover the house. You caress the swell of your pregnant belly and waddle to the stairs, placing a hand on the railing to look up at your son's bedroom door.
He makes it sound so convincing that your first instinct is to yell right back, but you remember that this is all just a prank and reign your emotions in. "It'll only take a bit, an hour tops!" you call out, knowing full well that the house Kyojuro bought for you is not one that can be cleaned in 3 hours, let alone 1.
You feel a gentle hand on the small of your back and a tender kiss on your cheek. "I'll deal with him, sweetheart. Go relax," Kyojuro says quietly, his gaze soft but burdened with a steely resolve demanding discipline.
He heads upstairs with a very weak smile in comparison to what he usually adorns, and you can see his right eye twitch and the way his breaths are inhaled deeper.
You hear him enter your son's bedroom, who argues his case for a maximum of five seconds before it turns concerningly quiet. Your brows furrow and your mouth opens to ask if everything's okay, only to shut when you see your son trudge down the stairs, the back of his shirt held up by his father's tense grip.
Your breath catches in your throat.
"Honey, don't hurt the boy," you say with a sigh.
"He's lucky i'm not," Kyojuro says, more so growls.
"Dad, listen—"
Kyojuro tightens his grip so that the neckline of the boy's shirt is practically choking him. Your eyes widen imperceptibly and you follow them as your husband leads, well drags, your son to the storage closet. He shoves the hoover into his hands before taking him into the living room.
"Clean, boy. You'd do well to preserve your energy for something useful." The way Kyojuro's eyes flash dangerously has you giddy.
Yes, he's disciplining your son, but that's... well that's kinda it. His protectiveness is so attractive.
"It's a prank," your son mumbles. You run your hand up and down your belly, pursing your lips.
"That it is, but I'm not complaining about the result," you say, grinning at the sight of your son hoovering obediently. "Not that you wouldn't have done as I told you, right?"
Kyojuro has relaxed his tense posture somewhat, but at your question, stares at the young man expectantly.
Your son nods, mirroring your grin.
────────────────── tokito muichiro
As your son heads upstairs to shower and undoubtedly game for the next five hours, you shout, "make sure to do your homework!"
He groans—nice added touch to the performance—and stomps up the last few stairs. "I know, mom! Shut up about my damn homework!" you hear the bathroom door shut behind him shortly after.
It takes a minute for you to hear any movement from Tokito, who's washing the dishes, and even then you're unsure as to how he'd react. All you can do is watch as he turns off the tap and dries his hands, then casually walks over to the small door under the stairs. He pulls it open and flicks off the electricity supply to the bathroom, effectively cutting off all the hot water. He shuts the door and walks back to the sink without a word, turning the tap on again.
You wait with deviously bright eyes and pursed lips. Then, after about 30 seconds, you hear a yelp and dejected laugh from the bathroom. Your son scurries out with a towel around his waist and a pleading expression directed at you.
You're snickering now, impressed by Tokito's prompt response. When you make no move to tell your husband, your son glares and rushes downstairs to poke his head into the kitchen.
"Dad, it was a prank, I swear. I feel so gross right now and I just want a hot shower, pleeeeease."
"That was hilarious," you finally say, having to cover your mouth at your son's desperation. He glares at you again. "shut up," he laughs out, before realising his mistake. "N-no, I didn't mean it like that—Dad, wait!"
You watch Tokito turn the tap off again, dry his hands again, and walk after your son, who runs back upstairs. "He really didn't mean it like that—it was a prank anyway!" you call out after your silently seething husband, who gives you no response in return.
────────────────── iguro obanai
You and your son share a knowing glance before you commence your roles. "Did you get the groceries I told you to?"
"Uh... no."
You feign annoyance. "We need them for lunch. can't you go out and get them now?"
"Um, no, Mom. I'm tired. I'll probably just order some food anyway."
"Alright, well your father and I still need to eat—"
"Gosh, Mom, shut up! Just uber it or something."
The two of you fall silent then, waiting for something to happen. You glance over at your husband, who's reading on the couch and in the process of taking his reading glasses off to place them on the coffee table. Kaburamaru hisses, slithering around Obanai's neck until the majority of its body is leaning over his shoulder, facing your son.
"You ill-mannered brat," Obanai snarls, shooting up onto his feet and stalking towards the young man beside you. "I'll cut your disrespectful tongue out and shove it down your throat—"
"Woah, woah, c'mon Dad. It's just late now, y'know? I can have them delivered, from my own pocket too if—eek!" your son manages to rush out before scrambling away from the snake on his dad's shoulder. "Why does mom let you keep that thing—no, please! I'm sorry, dad! I'm sorry!"
Obanai's hand shoots out and grabs the neckline of the teenager's shirt, using the leverage to drag him out the living room and to the front door.
You're confused as to what Obanai intends to do until you see him pull the door open and fully try to drag the boy out under the rainy sky. He would have already succeeded in doing so if said boy wasn't clinging to the door for his life, laughing and pleading breathlessly to be let go.
"Look! Look behind you!" he screams, pointing at the shopping bags by the shoe rack. "I already bought everything Mom asked me to, t-this was just a prank! I swear—Mom, tell him!"
"So now you seek out your mother's kindness?" your husband hisses, mirroring the sound the reptile makes.
"No really, Iguro! It's a prank—bring the poor boy back in," you laugh, rushing over to help your son up, who dusts himself off once on his feet and points an accusatory finger at you.
Obanai growls at that, and he drops the finger immediately.
"I'm never agreeing to prank this man again, you hear me?" he says, placing his hands on your shoulders. "You sentenced me to death."
────────────────── shinazugawa sanemi
Pranking Sanemi promptly activates your fight or flight, which is why you're slightly tense as you lay your feet in his lap and scroll on your phone. His scarred hands rub your ankles and heels subconsciously and you try not to let the soothing ministrations distract you from the task at hand.
Your daughter has more to worry about, though. Sanemi has never raised and will never raise a hand to his daughter, but he doesn't need violence to intimidate or make a point.
"Hey, sweetie?" you coo, looking over at your daughter, "could you make me some tea?"
"Later, Mom," she sighs, scribbling something in her homework book.
"I'm sorry to ask, it won't take long—"
"Shut uuuup, Mom! I said later!" she yells, flinching when Sanemi carelessly throws his phone to the floor and turns his full, searing attention to the disrespectful young lady.
"Get your ass up and apologise. Homework or no, you do as your mother asks," he snaps, tense and coiled like a snake prepared to strike.
When she hesitates for a split second, he shouts, "now!"
You shake your head to stop her from obeying, curious to see where this will go when she doesn't. Anxious and somewhat reluctant (but equally curious), she keeps her mouth shut and turns back to her homework, essentially ignoring Sanemi's order.
A beat passes before Sanemi lets out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, so you think you're too good for this family, huh?" he mutters, taking care to not hurt you when he removes your feet from his lap to place them on the couch, before launching to his feet.
He doesn't even take a step before you're grabbing his arm and your daughter is laughing from sheer panic. "It's a prank," the two of you say simultaneously, making Sanemi second-guess himself for one of the very few moments in his life.
His top lip curls up. "Hah?"
"She didn't actually mean it, we just wanted to see how you'd react," you explain, running your thumb along the veins on his forearm. "I swear."
"What?" he snarls in an equally confused tone, face flushing red at the fact that he just fell for your masterfully devised plan.
When you simply grin and tug him back down onto the couch, your feet quick to settle in his lap again, he leans his head in one hand while the other resumes its ministrations on your ankles. Your daughter takes the opportunity to gather her books and hurry out the living room, stopping to kiss her dad's temple apologetically, earning a grunt from him.
"I love you," you say, grin widening when he hesitates.
"Damn you, woman," he grumbles, leaning down to rest his head on your stomach. He huffs out a quiet laugh when you smack his shoulder in protest. "I love you too."
────────────────── kibutsuji muzan
Are you dumb? Why in the world would you think to prank this man? He's crushed skulls with a few flicks of his finger and slaughtered his own kind for the slightest display of insubordination—are you looking to sign your death warrant?
No, because Muzan (as much as he won't admit it) has a soft spot for you. Rightly so, considering he married you and has left you wanting for nothing ever since. That and the fact that there's a 16 year old kid of his living under his roof.
You had to execute this smartly and, more importantly, safely. He's never hit you or your daughter, but he's certainly not against locking them somewhere to discipline them—the last time he did that was when she was 3 and wouldn't take no for an answer regarding the pet she wanted. Because... a rat? really? Muzan would incinerate the creature at the slightest squeak.
Luckily, your daughter was strong-willed and wasn't sensitive in the slightest. That meant she developed zero trauma from the experience and did not grow up to hate her dad in the slightest.
Good. This should go well, then.
“Could you get the fire going in the living room?" you ask your daughter, who adopts her role immediately and rolls her eyes.
"We have servants for that, Mom."
"Need I remind you that the remaining two are busy cleaning the house?" Two instead of the initial twenty, because Muzan can't find the patience to tolerate anything from anyone. "Please?" you ask again.
"No."
"D/n-"
"No! Please just- shut up! Gosh," she huffs out, eyes already bright and curious to witness her father's reaction.
You turn back to the book you're reading and almost scream when you see Muzan standing to your left, your daughter still on your right.
"What was that?" he asks, voice smooth and low. You shiver at his tone, not from fear, but for a reason you'd explore later. "Insolence in such youth?"
He places a clawed hand on your head, not quite gently because his body is not accustomed to such, but soothingly. Enough to remind you who his anger was directed at.
"My spawn dare lash at her mother with such invective?" He sounds deceivingly calm, his hand leaving your head to stalk towards your daughter. "Well? Answer me, girl."
You see his claws extend and his veins protrude, almost disgustingly so. He's trembling from the self-control he's exerting to not do as he usually does and rip the offender's throat out. It's taking a toll on him psychologically, because you see the manic glint in his eye and the cruel curl of his lips.
Even at the sight of her father's enraged state, your daughter manages to stay standing and not plead for mercy at her father's feet.
"You forget your place. You are afforded no right to such speech. Cleanse the filth from your tongue and apologise at once.”
It is then that your daughter sees the emotion in her father's eyes—he was undoubtedly willing to murder her if she persisted. She wishes she could photograph the sight to show you the next time you doubt his love for obsession with you.
"Sorry, Mom."
"It's alright, sweetie."
Muzan calms then, claws still extended and veins still pulsing. His body remains much too tense, even as he turns to pat your head again and pull you to his chest, looking over his shoulder to glare at his daughter.
