𓂃⋆.˚ ( kny ) "shut up, mom!" prank on kny men part 2 !
⤷ ゛tanjiro, inosuke, zenitsu, douma, kokushibo, gyutaro, akaza ˎˊ˗
tw yelling (as part of the prank), threatening to
harm genitals, threats of violence, actual physical violence
part one here
masterlists
────────────────── kamado tanjiro
It takes a little self-motivation to go through with it, unsure of how your husband will react to it. But, you go ahead and tell your daughter to complete one chore or another - you don’t actually need her to do anything. She completed her chores hours ago when Tanjiro was at work.
“Shut up, mom!”
There’s the sound of breath hitching from across the room, a little distance away from where you’re lounging on the couch. Your daughter glances at you after saying her line, anticipating the worst. She sees the way Tanjiro’s shoulders tense and the deceptive calmness with which he places his book down and turns away from the bookshelf, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.
“What was that?” he asks smoothly, approaching the two of you. “Am I hard of hearing or did you have a bad day?”
Your daughter swallows thickly and huffs out a breath through her nose. “I’m just t-tired of her nagging!” she manages, failing to loosen her tongue and not stutter in the face of her father. “She always wants me to do something!”
Tanjiro nods and sits on the couch, motioning with a finger for her to follow and take the empty loveseat in front of him. “Why do you think that is, the nagging and insistence?”
You’re hoping he’s not convinced that you nag - he’d have another thing coming.
Your daughter takes the seat as instructed. She only manages to maintain eye contact with Tanjiro for a few seconds before she averts her gaze and looks at you instead. Understandably, she looks awkward and unsettled by the whole prank - regardless of the fact that she was the one who saw it on her social media feed and suggested that you two do it.
“Hm?” Tanjiro prompts.
She blinks and shrugs, a half-hearted answer of someone who doesn’t feel like their words can do them justice in the present situation.
Tanjiro’s brows furrow at that. “Aside from the hours she spent pushing you out of her body, your mother is the one making sure that the money I bring in goes towards every hot meal you eat and each warm blanket you use. She is the one utilising my money to make sure that everyone in this household is happy and needs for nothing.”
She nods, still not able to articulate herself from the tension weighing her down.
“Do you think your reaction was appropriate, then? Considering your mother’s care and effort in everything she does for us - for you?”
She shakes her head. “No, dad. I’m sorry.”
Tanjiro mimics her movement and glances at her, then you pointedly.
She takes the hint and turns to you again. “I’m sorry, mom. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“It’s alright,” you say calmly, smiling. “It’s just a prank, after all.”
Tanjiro makes a choked sound. “What?”
“Yeah,” you and your daughter say simultaneously.
He sighs and pulls his glasses off, placing them on the coffee table. The sparkle in his eye returns and he huffs out a laugh at your giddy expression.
────────────────── hashibara inosuke
"Shut up, mom!"
Inosuke whips around to face the source of the voice, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. His daughter is staring straight at him, a challenging look in her eyes - a reflection of her father's.
"Hah? What did you say?"
Glancing at your husband, you feign dejection and sigh heavily. "This is what I get for trying, I guess," you mumble, inhaling through your nose to snuff out the laugh in your throat.
Inosuke shakes his head. "Nah, you listen to me," he grunts, pointing a finger at his own daughter. "That crap isn't allowed here. You get me? What, you think your mom asks you to do things just to be a pain in the ass?"
Pursing her lips, your daughter nods.
Inosuke laughs at that, incredulously. "Have you lost it, kid?"
When she doesn't respond, he grabs her shoulders and pushes her (gently, mind you) upstairs, towards her bedroom. You take care to follow after them discreetly, softening your steps even as you walk on the plush carpets. If your life was more novel, your ears would have already perked up like a bunny's at Inosuke's disciplinary tone.
"I'm talking to you here because I can't be angry at you without your mother hitting me," he says plainly, standing before his daughter who is sat on the edge of her bed.
She snorts out a laugh, failing to catch herself. Inosuke grunts and bends down so that he is eye-level with her.
"If I hear you speak that way again - especially to my wife - you're not getting food for a month."
She gapes at that. "Wha—c'mon! It's not that serious!"
"What?" he practically shouts.
"Nevermind, you're completely right," she mumbles, quick to avert her gaze and be completely conformist. "Sorry, dad. I won't do it again."
He eyes her carefully, raising a brow when she stares at him. It goes like that for about thirty seconds before he nods his head and awkwardly points towards her bedroom door. "Uh, that's all. Apologise to your mother."
The door swings open. She looks over her shoulder and yells, "it's a prank!" before darting out the room and rushing downstairs, giggling like a child.
You sigh, laughing under your breath. Inosuke stands frozen, as if slapped. He has that dumbfounded look on his face that makes your breathy laugh turn loud.
"Were you eavesdropping, woman?"
"Obviously."
"Damn you."
────────────────── agatsuma zenitsu
After asking him to clean his room, your son yells, "shut up, mom!" It is after he yells that does Zenitsu finally sit up straight on the couch, his ears twitching in sync with his right eye.
"Did he just...?" he mutters, turning to you as if to confirm whether or not you heard the same. You nod, resting your chin on your palm.
"Unfortunately. Seems he needs to be dealt with, hm?"
Zenitsu locks in. His wife just got disrespected and she's clearly upset. He must step up and defend her honour, even against his own son.
He stomps over to the teenager and crowds his space, raising a brow. When he says nothing, his son glances at you. "Did you... need something, dad?" he asks quietly, awkwardly.
Zenitsu grabs him by the ear and brings him closer, his breath hot against the side of his face. "If you ever talk to her like that again, I'm going to cut your balls off."
"W-what?"
He gets all up in his face then, grip still tight on the boy's ear. "Did I stutter, boy?"
Said boy shakes his head. "No, sir. You've made yourself very c-clear."
You move forward and nod, satisfied with Zenitsu's reaction. But just when you're about to tell him it's a prank, he grabs your son by his head and turns him to you. The younger man yelps in surprise, startled by the subtle pain in his neck at the forceful movement.
"Apologise."
"I was going to—"
"Ah!" he cuts him off. "Nothing but an apology."
Your son smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, mom."
With a devilish grin, you pull your son out of his father's tight grip and pet his hair. "How many times do you think he's going to fall for these?" you ask the teen, seeing his eyes sparkle with mischief reflecting yours.
"Fall for what?" Zenitsu looks between the two of you, now rather unsettled by your sudden companionship.
You ignore him and walk back into the kitchen with your son in tow. "Hot chocolate?" you suggest, to which he nods eagerly.
"Wha—honey! What did you mean by that? Am I missing something?"
Ignored - again. He only finds out about it all the next morning.
────────────────── douma
Douma's smile was always plastered on, sometimes toothy, other times flat and unamused. Whatever its condition, it was deceptive. To you, not so much anymore. You'd had trouble decoding him initially, wondering if the man you were in love with was to remain an enigma, but you gradually found bits and pieces of him to memorise.
That comforted you - knowing your husband a little better than anyone else did. You had a right to!
'Anyone else' was unfortunately inclusive of your son. He was your pride and joy, and while he had an amazing relationship with his father, he tended to confide in you when needing a straight answer that wasn't glossed over with subtle threats and almost menacing humour.
The best way about this was to not leave your son's side, even when he yelled, "shut up, mom!" He falls silent then and waits for something - anything - to happen.
A few silent seconds pass and you're almost encouraged to ease the tension in your body. Only when you exhale on the sixth second does Douma suddenly flicker into existence before you. That freaky teleportation of his was enough to knock your son's heart back into his throat.
"Is that a protective stance?" he asks you, laughing softly at the way you and your son stand side-by-side, arms pressed together. Douma strokes a hand down your hair. "Silly girl. Why are you protecting him? Do you know what I'm going to do to him?"
You deadpan. "Nothing, even if I weren't right here."
Your husband exhales through his nose, then his eyes dart towards his son. His sweet son, the boy who looked too much like him and too little like you; the boy who was too much like him in nature and so unlike you with your warmth and harmless sarcasm.
"If that is what you dream, my sweet," Douma coos at you, "then I shall tell you, here, what I am going to do."
You stare at him, unflinching, so ready to laugh at how seriously your husband is taking this. Your son, on the other hand, is about to wet his pants.
"Those eyes that he so graciously took from me will be popped out, but as I do not look to upset you, I shall only take one. I will allow him to have an eyeball to shed his tears, and so that you may watch as he does,” he says calmly. “That is the extent of my mercy today.”
“Douma,” you say lowly, warningly.
“Oh, do not fret,” he sighs, reaching a hand up to pat his son’s head tenderly, claws scratching against the boy’s scalp ever so slightly. The younger man has to resist the urge to flinch. “I know this is another one of your little jokes.”
“Wha—” you sputter. “How?”
He practically giggles and kisses the back of your hand almost reverently, looking up at you with unrestrained adoration. He doesn’t answer you, but he doesn’t need to. You know how he is, what he’s like. He’s aware of threats before they’re made, whether serious or lighthearted. You’re just glad he managed to pick up on this one and not be blinded by the rage simmering in his chest.
“Do not attempt such foolishness again,” he growls, lips still brushing against your skin but curled as he addresses his son. “Not at the expense of my wife.”
────────────────── kokushibo
So you were scared, to say the least. To execute this meant you had to be on edge the entire time, ready to call it off if things got overwhelming or, quite frankly, fatal. You were more terrified to do this than your son was - he was giddy on the idea that he could enrage his father. Why, you had no real understanding of. You had never suffered the consequences of angering or frustrating him that left the bedroom.
“Sweetie, can you—”
“Shut up, mom!”
You deadpan, turning to your son and lowering your voice into a whisper. “I didn’t even get to finish my line,” you mutter, smacking his arm lightly.
He grins. “He just needs to hear mine for this to work, mom,” he whispers back.
The two of you are out in the garden, tending to the flowers and taking pictures to send to friends and family, when you see a shadow cast over the flowerbed your son is observing. Before he can turn around, a familiar hand grabs the back of his neck and squeezes tightly, using the leverage to pull him up from his knees and to his feet. The teenager coughs and sputters at the sudden pressure.
“Michikatsu!” you gasp, brows furrowed. You launch to your feet and grab your husband’s arm, tugging him away from your son. “Unhand him!”
“It is a shame this boy has not truly taken to being humourous,” Kokushibo says, voice a low timbre in his throat. “This disrespect will not be tolerated.”
When you open your mouth to intervene, your son shakes his head and smiles at you - a wordless “it’s alright. I can handle this.”
“I didn’t—ow—mean it disrespectfully, dad,” he rasps, lightly slapping his father’s hands.
“So you lack sense, too,” the man growls, tightening his grip but turning the boy to face him fully. The teenager swallows thickly at the murderous glint in his father’s eyes. “You are my blood, but I have shed that of my own,” he warns. “You are not exempt from my wrath, boy.”
“I know, dad.”
“You know? I highly doubt that.”
“Michikatsu,” you repeat, now digging your nails into his thick arm. “Release him at once!”
This time, he heeds your command - albeit reluctantly. His mouth twitches when you smack his chest rather roughly. “You will not threaten our son!”
His canines flash when his lip curls up further, making your heart race. “He will not be allowed to speak to you with such insolence. I shall deal with him—”
“It’s a prank,” your son announces, holding his hands up. “Mom can attest to that.”
You huff, frustrated at his eagerness, but nod nonetheless. “We were just trying to test your reaction, dear.”
Kokushibo turns to you then, his thumb urging your chin up so that you may look up at him. “Truly?”
When you nod, he pulls you into his arms carefully, as if handling a porcelain doll. You instinctively relax in his embrace, your head resting on his chest and your arms wrapping around his torso. He doesn’t utter a word, content to hold you and ignore his son’s presence entirely. He is not a heartless man, but in this instance, he will pay no mind to the boy. He wants his wife and only her, preferably in his arms and away from the childish antics of the little devil he calls his son.
────────────────── gyutaro
It doesn’t last long, pranking Gyutaro. It never does. You don’t anticipate that this attempt will be any different.
The moment your daughter yells out the words “shut up,” directed at you, you know to focus and rapidly become aware of your husband walking into the bedroom, his eyes twitching and his nails digging into the skin on his neck.
“Haaah?” he snarls, approaching the two of you with a curious glint in his eye. “Did you finally cough out your last brain cell?”
Your daughter’s jaw drops at that, offended but not truly hurt - only startled by her father’s audacity.
He stalks closer, approaching you first. You smile weakly and grip his arm carefully, rubbing your thumb along the protruding veins. He’s not amused, but there’s a softer sparkle in his gaze as opposed to the initial vengeful glint. You fail to stop your heart from fluttering when he leans over, bony figure hunched over, and kisses your forehead.
More than that, he doesn’t indulge in.
One of his hands whip up and grabs his daughter’s jaw, a movement quicker than you can keep up with. By the time you register what he’s doing, Gyutaro has already placed his thumb on her top front teeth and began applying pressure. She tenses at the threat.
“Shall I use your own teeth to cut your tongue out?” he offers, as if proposing an alternative alongside it.
“Gyutaro!” you startle, landing a death-grip on his wrist and pulling his hand away. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Is she high?” he rasps, pointing in the general direction of your daughter.
“She’s pranking you. And even if you weren’t, you don’t threaten to cut out her tongue!”
He grunts and turns his head, averting his gaze. “Whatever.”
You sigh and kiss your daughter’s cheek apologetically, ushering her out the room before he decides to give her a stern talking-to instead. Only when the two of you are alone does he move closer and rest his chin on the top of your head, his lips pursed into something that resembles a pout.
“You’re annoying.”
“You’re too protective.”
“One is better than the other,” he mumbles.
You poke him in his ribs and he flinches like an unsettled cat.
────────────────── akaza
“Shut up, mom!” your daughter groans. There was no need to yell, Akaza was in the same room as the two of you. Even if he weren’t, he didn’t need to strain his senses to hear this particular retort.
You hear the beads of his accessories rattle before his breathing, all before you even manage to see him. He appears behind you, trailing a hand down to caress the base of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. His blood heats for a reason aside from anger when your breath hitches, even more so when your lips part as he kisses you.
Your daughter knows to avert her gaze - not because you forbid her from seeing her parents be affectionate. She does it for herself. She doesn’t want to see her parents devouring each other’s faces a few inches away from her.
Except the kiss doesn’t last long and Akaza moves on. He stands behind his daughter now, his eyes darkened but not unkind. When the tension in her shoulders alerts him that she has acknowledged his presence behind her, he rounds the couch and stands in front of her instead.
“D/n. Apologise.”
This is the reaction you expected from him. If there was one thing Akaza wouldn’t do, it was raise his voice or hand at the women in his life. That, you were grateful for, but it didn’t mean you weren’t curious to know if there was raw rage rising in his chest.
“Sorry, mom,” she mumbles.
He nods, satisfied, and that’s all it takes for him to calm down.
You grin at him, so infatuated with the tenderness reserved for those he deemed worthy.
He catches sight of your expression and raises a brow, amused by your unprompted grin. “What is it?”
"You're so protective. It's cute."
He blushes deeply and squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to control his flustered expression. "It's my job."
"You're cute while doing it."
Instead of leaving the room entirely to cool his face down and calm his racing pulse, he lays his head in your lap and twists his lips oddly to stop his smile.
You never tell him that it was a prank. You want to let him think that he successfully defended you because it fuels him to do it more.
Tags: fem!reader, more dom!gyu, college au but not super heavy, fluff and smut, he’s not like a CREEP creep but he’s definitely kinda weird, he’s just lonely :(
—
When you first got with Gyutaro, everyone said you were fucking crazy. I mean, this is the guy who skulks around campus without talking to anyone, tall as hell with a mean ass scowl, birthmarks littering his gangly body, and just generally one of those guys that avoids everyone and everyone avoids him. It’s a miracle you even got yourself close to him, let alone in an actual relationship.
But what they don’t know is that Gyutaro is a fucking catch. He doesn’t talk to anyone? Cool, he’s not cheating. Mean fucking face? It softens up when he looks at you. Birthmarks? You love them. And his body? Under those baggy hoodies and pants, he’s actually fucking jacked- although it’s mostly from his work (and the fights he denies getting in). Sure, he’s not ‘popular’, but that’s not much of an issue to you or him.
He’s a sweetheart, really. Gyutaro’s used to taking care of people, considering he’s his younger sister’s full time guardian. He “knows what girls like”, per his own analysis of himself…and most of the time, he’s actually right. He knows aaaaall about every little thing other guys his age tend to avoid- mainly things surrounding your period, but he also understands your wariness about certain things like going out at night or empty lots or just men in general. You don’t even have to say anything- he just knows.
In fact, sometimes it’s like he knows a little too much. Like when you change your lotion or perfume. He can smell the difference in an instant. Or when you change your route on the way to class, and he texts asking where you’re going even if he’s nowhere near you. Gyutaro just cares like that, y’know?
He shows he cares in lots of ways besides paying attention, too. Like when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, taking deep breaths of your scent as he buries his face in your neck. He also likes caressing your skin, muttering how you’re just “too good for someone like him” as he cradles your face in his hands. Gyutaro’s favorite thing, though, is when he holds you so tight you physically can’t get away- because he’s way stronger than people think- your body squirming against his as you giggle and beg to be let go.
That’s not to say he doesn’t have his problems, though. His temper runs as deep as his insecurities, and those are rooted in the core of his very being. Gyutaro would never hurt you, no, but it stings as much as a slap when he cries or yells that he’s “not good enough” or that you’re “gonna leave for someone better” or that he’s “not sure if he’d survive if you ever left.” It’s not his fault he had a rough time growing up, though.
In those times, it’s important to stay gentle with him. Let him yell, let him cry, let him doubt, but let him in. Gyutaro craves that reassurance, your soft voice and soft hands and soft body all accepting him in a way no one else ever has. He’d take your hands in his as you wipe his tears, his kiss hard and desperate and messy as he kisses you. Let him pin you down, let him touch you, let him remind himself that you’re all for him.
He’s rough, most of the time. He likes making you moan and cry and scream his name- only his name. He likes the way you open up and let him inside so willingly, as if he deserves such a blessing. He likes the way you let him grope and grab and pull wherever he can reach. He likes the way you take every thick inch of him like it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. But most of all, Gyutaro likes the way you hold onto him- his broad shoulders, his hands, his hair, his arms. You touch him with affection, with want, instead of the disgust he’s so used to, and it makes his heart ache.
He’s letting you know it too. With your legs over his shoulders, the headboard slamming into the wall, his arms wrapped around you like a lifeline, his cock shoving into you with every devastating thrust, his voice cracking as he pants and growls in your ear. “A-ah!- I don’t d-deserve this-.” “Feels s-so good- ngh!” “Hold me- mm!- t-tighter-.” “Don’t l-leave me- hah!- say you’ll never leave m-me-.”
After he’s pumped buckets of cum into you, he still doesn’t let go. Gyutaro could hold you for hours- days- after fucking you like that. He doesn’t pull out either, keeping you plugged up with his cum and letting it settle inside you. He’d press kisses to your face, his hands gentle now as they run over your sore hips and thighs, his voice soft and breathless as he apologizes for getting rough and asks desperately if you liked it- if you still like him.
You do, of course. Your fingertips trace delicately around his birthmarks, over the hard lines of his body, before interlocking with his own and squeezing. Gyutaro melts at the soft affection, his face falling into the crook of your neck as he absorbs the feeling of your love, groaning that it just “hurts how much he loves you…”
Yeah…no one in the whole world knows how much of a catch Gyutaro is…except you.
you were the prettiest girl in town—maybe even the world if more saw/knew of you. people were very expectant of pretty girls. They expected you to be a honor to your family and name , get a good education , and marry a great man! but they definitely didn’t expect YOU to date Gyutaro. It was very unexpected for them—and honestly, you too.
dating Gyutaro had its ups and downs. you’d get stares of goodness until they realized the thing next to you was your boyfriend. but you paid no attention to it!! All you had to do was hope he didn’t pay attention to it either…
unfortunately for both you and him, he definitely paid some mind to it. how could he not? he grew up with insults, and stares ,and backhanded ‘compliments’. it was hard NOT to ignore it. that was all he’s ever known! it all lead to him growing insecure and becoming envious of people who had what he didn’t. beauty
so imagine his reaction when someone he was so head over heels over—and envious of—accepted his confession.
but anyways, dating gyutaro contained sooo many compliments but it would only be towards you. definitely not him
“gyutaro stop staring into the mirror. youll grow obsessed with yourself.”
“that won’t happen anytime soon.” you scoffed at his reply, thats one way to ruin the mood. 2700 on kamala
you got up and stood next to him in the mirror. “you’re pointing out your flaws…why?” he stared right back at you through the mirror and shrugged “have you not seen the way they stare? what they say? it’s irritating.”
you hummed. “the last time I checked you were dating me and not them. anything they say doesnt matter. you look beautiful to me. you always do, and thats all that matters.”
his face scrunched up at your words. partially confused and partially flustered, “You’re just saying that. you know damn well im ugly and nothings gonna change that—“ you slapped his arm. hard enough to show that youre serious but soft enough to not hurt. “Gyutaro! don’t say that about yourself. it’s false and you’re letting it get to your head…”
you pushed him out of the bathroom and immediately shut the door. that was definitely enough bathroom time for today.
you sat on your side of the bed and pulled the covers up. you peered over gyutaro.
“sleeping already?” “tired.”
you scoffed and forcefully grabbed his face and kissed him right on his lips
you were sure that would reset his mind for the night
“goodnight sleeping beauty.”
“night…”
a/n: this was moving everywhere and so was my mind so pls cut me some slack if theres a misspelling or the story itself doesnt make sense
Reverence is not a word that properly describes how Gyutaro feels about you.
To revere something, to respect and admire it, is not something Gyutaro ever really learned how to do. When he thought highly of someone, he admired and hated them in equal measure; hatred bubbling and boiling under his skin, melting away admiration and turning it into jealousy. When he respected someone, he did them the favor of being out of their way; respect beaten and bruised until the thing that made someone worthy of respect, also made them completely untouchable.
Gyutaro usually tarnished the things he touched. To keep his filthy hands away, to keep his unworthy eyes off–that was the only way he knew how to respect anything.
None of that applies to you, though.
Because unlike the few things he's revered in the past, Gyutaro can't keep his eyes off you.
His eyes–unworthy, unworthy, unworthy–stay glued to your figure, outlined by the warm light of a slow-burning candle. You're reading something. It must be an interesting story, because your gaze stayed routed to the bound pages in your hands, even as the minutes turn to hours. He isn't sure if you know he's there, but to disturb you in such a state–hair undone, candle bathing you in light and shadow in equal part, focus turning your friendly eyes to steel–feels like an unforgivable sin in this moment.
"Why are you so obsessed with her anyway?"
Daki's voice echoes in his head, a memory coming back to question him a second time. The first time, he'd just shrugged. Is that what this is? Obsession? Is he obsessed with you?
Maybe. A little. That isn't it though. That can't be all.
A low mumble catches in his throat, and you tear your eyes away from the book in your hands for the first time since the sun's gone down. It only takes you a moment to recognize him in the shadowed corner he's been perching in, but when you do, the air in the room noticeably changes.
"Gyu…" You pause, glancing between the book and him. "How long have you been sitting there?"
He just stares at you, unblinking. Partly because he doesn't know, partly because he wants to see how you handle the silence.
You just reach out to him, a silent invitation to come closer. His legs move without order–wretched, filthy, betraying–until he's leering over you, close enough now that you can see his spotted face in the candlelight.
"Hello." You say, smile soft and eyes fond. "You're back."
You always say that. Like you know he's made efforts to stay away. Like you knew he'd come back anyway.
Before he knows it, you're reading again, this time in his little corner of the room. He's curled up like a lazing house cat, his head on your lap, his hand on your thigh. You move the candle to the windowsill, and make peace with holding your book with one hand so the other can rest in his mop of messy hair. The quiet comes back, warmer now.
Gyutaro can't help it. Can't help this.
The soft push of your hands threading through his hair makes him sick. His hand clenches and unclenches the flesh of your thigh, wanting to keep you just a little more than he wants to tear you apart. Your touch feels like fire to him; alighting every piece of him that makes contact, and leaving warmth when you pull away. He hungers for you when you're gone, but he's on fire when you're here, and he doesn't know which is worse.
He does know that he can't go back to how things were before, though. Not after you. Not after nights like this.
Because even though his mind is telling him to leave, something else is telling him to stay.
He doesn't know what that something else is, really. He can't put a name to it. He doesn't know where it hides.
So, instead of leaving, he stays still. Savors your touch. Stares.
Your face is illuminated now by dying candlelight as well as cool moonlight through the window. Your eyes are steel again, flicking slowly from word to word, but they're a touch softer now. It's getting late. You never pull your eyes away from the book, but your hand doesn't stop raking through his hair either. He wonders if you can feel his gaze on you.
So what is it? His mind fills with thought, amber eyes almost glaring in their intensity. Admiration? His hand squeezes your thigh. Hatred? He squeezes harder.
He wants to be free from this feeling; fire on his skin, syrupy warmth pooling in his chest. He wants away. His grip gets tighter. He feels the heat of this, cloying and unforgivably close–but he can't leave. He wants more of you; to grab and keep you, to hold you like a precious treasure. He wants you to look at him. His hold is close to hurting now–just a little more pressure will bruise you. He wants you to look away.
He wants to be worthy of you–of this. But he's not.
He lets go.
He looks away.
The candlelight is dying.
The stars stare on through the window, apathetic to his plight.
Your hand in his hair stops moving.
"Gyutaro?" Your voice is a whisper in the wind, almost too soft to hear. He just hums in response, gravelly and unpleasant to the ear. "Are you alright?"
Your voice is silk and satin, and though his ears love the sound of it, his chest aches with the knowledge of the disparity between you, and his head is an endless echo of leave leave leave-
Then, when he's seconds away from leaving, escaping through the window to the cool, lonely air, your hand reaches down to cup his face in your palm.
He looks at you again, horrible demonic eyes alight with something like awe.
You've set the book on the ground next to you, a delicate frown on your face as you look down at him with what he very desperately wants to think is pity.
He knows better than that though.
He knows you better.
He knows that despite the fact that he doesn't deserve it, you worry for him.
You're doing it now, your eyebrows dipping as your eyes stare deep into his own.
"Gyutaro?"
"I… can't…"
Admiration? Obsession? Reverence?
"I can put my book away, if you'd like."
He can hear the unspoken offer behind the spoken one.
If you'd like more attention, I can give it to you.
The thought makes him sick. Makes him feverishly warm. Some part of him wants to scream at you–don't defile yourself with me, don't let me ruin you–and another part wants to pull you closer, closer, closer, until there isn't an ounce of empty space between you.
"Gyu…?"
His mind is screaming at him, demanding in two different directions.
More more more- unworthy unworthy unworthy- filthy, defiled, scum- more less more less MORE-
Then, suddenly, there's just you, and that look on your face.
Gyutaro has been acting strange all evening.
You are no stranger to him nor his moods, but he's rarely so desperately quiet. You can't remember the last time a whole night went by without some muttered slight against himself, or a compliment gifted to you with some sort of reverence–or, something like it. When you pulled him into your lap, it was a direct response to the thoughtful look on his face. Like he was lost. Like he needed something, but didn't know what.
You would've said something about his despairing grip on your thigh too, but then he let go and looked away, and you realized suddenly that perhaps the silence has gone on too long. Perhaps, worrying though the thought may be, there was a question hidden in the silence you'd waited too long to answer.
You are a breath away from saying his name again when he sits up abruptly, taking his warmth with him as he does so. You open your mouth to ask if he's leaving. Did I do something wrong sits heavy on the tip of your tongue.
Then, with the panicked rush of a thief in fear of discovery, he turns the tables on you, pulling you into his lap and cradling you as if you might break otherwise.
A breath passes where you are too surprised to move.
Gyutaro never seeks you out like this–he doesn't lean in to kiss you, he never pulls you into an embrace, he never even reaches for your hand–and now here you are, pulled quite suddenly into his arms.
When his hand shakily bounds for your cheek, hesitant and anxious, you shake off the shock and lean into his palm.
You allow your eyes to drift closed, and he allows himself the privilege of dragging a clawed thumb across your cheekbone.
"I… need you."
He says it like the words are barbed, and he's dragging them out of his throat syllable by syllable.
You open your eyes, and there he is again. Staring.
He's looking at you like holding you is a herculean task; like he has almost no energy left to pursue this any further. That's alright with you though; you're happy to have gotten this far.
A slow grin etches itself onto your face, and you reach up to cup his hand in your palms.
"I need you too." You say, quiet words rippling through him until he seems somewhat relaxed.
Gyutaro can't look you in the eye for very long–not when your shape is flush with his, and your hands are burning warmth onto his face, and he can feel your heartbeat through the arm he has hooked around your back–so he pushes himself one more time, and tucks your head under his chin. You shift to rest one palm against his chest. You take your other hand and intertwine your fingers with his.
Your hand on his chest satiates the screaming demand for your touch. The echo of your heartbeat drowns out his thoughts, if only for a moment.
He holds you like this for a while; long enough that you begin to doze off in his lap. When your eyes slip shut, and your body fully relaxes, he leans back to look at you again.
You're asleep. In his arms. The flame of the candle on the windowsill has long since burned out by now, and you're almost more beautiful in the moonlight then you were in the warmth of the candlelight.
Is this reverence?
The thought comes unbidden, but it's quiet in the sea of semi-satisfied voices.
Gyutaro doesn't know.
Maybe it doesn't matter, though.
Maybe, all that matters is that he's here. That you're here, cradled in his lap like a precious thing.
Admiration, aching, reverence.
When you wake the next morning, you're in your bed. The morning air is cool on your face, but the memory of Gyutaro's hands leaves patches of warmth against your skin.
When you sit up, you realize that your book is still on the floor near the windowsill, where a waterfall of candle wax stretches slowly towards the floor. The window is still open.
There is a flower on your bedside table–a lily, stem broken and petals disturbed like it was left in a rush–and you smile.
You hope Gyutaro comes back tonight, so he can see that flower pinned in your hair.
summary: growing into something neither of them expected.
w.c: 1,095
gyutaro never meant for it to start like this.
he didn’t mean to notice her first in the way that mattered. he noticed her the way he noticed everything else, through irritation, kind of sharp, defensive awareness. she was too clean, upright, and easy in her own skin. the kind of person whose presence felt like a question that he didn’t want to answer.
(name) worked two stalls down from him at the market. she sold pressed flowers and hand-bound notebooks, things that didn’t scream necessity but still managed to sell. people lingered at her stall and they smiled more there. gyutaro hated that.
he hated that they smiled at her the way they never smiled at him.
his own stall was metal and bone and blades—salvaged parts, sharpened tools, things people approached only when they needed them. his hands were always nicked, always stained. he kept his hood low, his posture defensive, like the world might try to take something from him if he stood too tall.
she noticed him anyway.
not in the way others did, not with discomfort nor pity. just noticing as if he was part of the environment, like he belonged.
it pissed him off.
“you always look like you’re about to stab someone,” she said one afternoon, voice light, like she was commenting on the weather.
he stiffened. “mind your business.”
she smiled, not offended. “i am. i’m making it my business.”
that should have been the end of it. it wasn’t.
she kept talking to him. not constantly though just enough to be present. she brought him tea once when the rain came down hard and his stall started leaking. she complained about the market manager under her breath and laughed too loud at her own jokes.
gyutaro told himself he didn’t care.
but sometimes, when he caught his reflection in the dull surface of a blade, he’d notice the way his shoulders were less hunched when she was nearby or the way his jaw unclenched when she spoke.
he hated that even more.
the first time they went out, he didn’t call it a date but she did.
“it’s a date,” she said, tying her hair back with practiced fingers. “don’t overthink it.”
he scoffed. “i don’t do dates.”
“you’re doing one now.”
he almost backed out. almost convinced himself she was joking, or bored, or pitying him. he waited for the moment she’d realize she’d made a mistake.
it didn’t come.
they walked instead. streetlights buzzing overhead, the city loud and indifferent. she talked about nothing and everything at the same time—her stall, her favorite books, the way she liked late nights because the world felt quieter.
gyutaro mostly listened because when he spoke, it comes out rough. he waited for her to flinch.
she didn’t.
when they parted, she smiled at him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “see you tomorrow.”
he nodded, too stunned to respond.
he didn’t tell anyone.
he didn’t tell anyone because saying it out loud felt dangerous. like if he acknowledged it, it would fall apart. like words themselves would object—no, not him. not someone like him.
the second date happened anyway.
that one had food. cheap noodles, eaten standing up, shoulders brushing. she stole from his bowl without asking. he snapped at her and then froze, waiting for her to get offended.
she just laughed.
something inside him shifted, subtle and terrifying.
he told himself it was a coincidence. anything but what it was.
after the third date, he stopped pretending.
he didn’t tell his friends right away. he waited until it was undeniable—until there were patterns. until she started showing up at his stall before he arrived, sitting on the crate behind it like she belonged there. until she learned the cadence of his moods, when to talk and when to let silence sit.
until he learned hers.
then the evidence piled up.
lines connecting them. invisible strings he hadn’t noticed weaving tighter and tighter. her hand brushing his wrist when she laughed. the way she leaned into him without thinking. the way she said his name like it wasn’t something ugly.
that was what got him.
the way she said his name.
gyutaro was jealous in a way that surprised even him.
not loud jealousy nor possessive shouting but just a constant, simmering awareness of anyone else who made her laugh. anyone who stood too close, anyone who looked at her with that soft expression she never quite returned.
he told himself it was instinct but sometimes, watching her talk to someone else, he’d feel that awful awe bloom in his chest.
she chose me.
the thought rendered him stupid like if he tried to articulate it, it would collapse under scrutiny.
because why him?
he knew what he looked like. knew how people reacted before they learned better—or didn’t. scars, posture, voice sharpened by years of being unwanted. he knew how the world sorted people, how quickly.
and yet she stayed.
one evening, after the market closed, they sat on the curb with their backs against the shutters. the air smelled like rain and rust.
she leaned her head against his shoulder without asking.
he froze.
“you okay?” she asked softly.
he swallowed. “why me?”
she tilted her head. “what?”
“you could have anyone,” he said, words scraping out of him. “someone easier, cleaner. or someone who doesn’t look like they’re angry at the world.”
she didn’t pull away.
instead, she looked at him—really looked.
“you’re not angry all the time,” she said. “you’ve just been hurt too long.”
he laughed, bitter. “same thing.”
“no,” she said. “it’s not.”
he didn’t know how to respond to that. silence filled the space, thick but not uncomfortable.
“i didn’t tell anyone about our first date,” she added suddenly.
his heart skipped. “why not?”
“because i wanted to make sure it was real,” she said. “i didn’t want to say it and then have it disappear.”
he stared at the ground. “me too.”
she smiled, small and genuine. “see? lines connecting us.”
he didn’t understand how she said things like that so easily.
sometimes, late at night, lying beside her, gyutaro would watch her sleep and feel that same dumbfounded awe crash over him. the jealousy, the doubt—they never really went away. they just quieted, dulled by the steady presence of her warmth, her breathing.
he never stopped being aware of how unlikely it was.
but instead of protesting, the words began to settle.
Hiiiii I recently met your blog and I am amazed at your fic about Gyutaro, so I wondered if you could do a second part.
if you don't want it, you could do a fic where reader and Gyutaro are a couple because of their self-esteem problems feel very jealous and insecure, that it is anguish but in the end things are solved and everything is super nice
Obvious if you don't want o you're not confortable with this is completely fine that you ignore this ♡
Btw your fics are all amazing! I love it! ♡
OK so Cheer Up, Inkblot! was always supposed to be a one shot so I really struggled with this but hopefully its OK! It is a LOT shorter though
It had been a few weeks since you got together and being in a relationship with Gyutaro had its ups and downs. He wasn’t exactly the smoothest or most expressive person, but in his own way, he was incredibly thoughtful. He thought of you constantly and not in some performative way, but in the quiet, meaningful gestures that spoke volumes. He’d bring you little gifts when he could, things he found that reminded him of you: a hair clip shaped like a crescent moon, a sweet bun you once mentioned liking, a folded-up napkin doodled with a little scribble of the two of you holding hands. He never made a big deal of it, just handed them over gruffly, muttering something barely coherent, ears tinged pink.
In the mornings, when he cooked, he always made enough food for three: you, him, and Ume. He never said it outright, but you could tell he was trying to make you part of their little home, folding you into the life he shared with his sister.
Ume, of course, loved it. She teased you both relentlessly in that typical younger sibling way, all smirks and exaggerated fake-gagging noises, but there was a glint in her eye every time she caught you two sneaking glances or brushing hands. She gave Gyutaro grief, but truthfully? She was just happy he had someone.
But then, there was the other side of Gyutaro, the part of him that made things... harder. He was jealous.
Not just “cute jealous”, not the kind where he pulls you close when someone flirts, or grumbles a bit when you compliment a celebrity. No, it was the kind that sparked the moment another guy so much as looked at you, the kind that made his shoulders stiffen, his eyes narrow, his jaw clench, a silent, brooding intensity that told you loud and clear: he didn’t like it.
And at first? You did think it was kind of cute. The way he’d get all pouty and possessive. The way he’d glare at anyone who seemed too interested, only to soften again when you kissed his cheek and told him not to worry. But over time, it stopped feeling cute, it started to feel heavy. Because it wasn’t just the glares. If you didn’t immediately pull away from whoever had his jealousy flaring, if you didn’t play along with whatever silent expectation he had, he’d sulk. Not dramatically, he’d just… disappear. Slip away without a word and leave you wondering what you’d done wrong. You’d find him later, lurking somewhere with a stormy look on his face, arms crossed, eyes darting anywhere but at you.
And sometimes, you couldn’t just escape. You couldn’t always abandon conversations in the middle or pretend to be rude just because a guy happened to exist nearby. But Gyutaro didn’t seem to see it that way. Every time, it was like he expected you to prove something, that you weren’t interested, that you would shut it down, even when there was nothing happening in the first place. The pressure of it started to wear on you. It wasn’t just insecurity anymore; it was distrust. Like deep down, he thought the only thing keeping you loyal was him being around. Like if he wasn’t right there, you might just fall into someone else’s arms and that wasn’t going to fly.
Because you weren’t going to spend the whole relationship proving your innocence to someone who should already know your heart. You loved him. You showed it every day. But love couldn’t survive if it was always being questioned.
So the next time he slunk off, again, after yet another harmless encounter, you didn’t just brush it off. You followed him and this time, you were ready to talk about it.
You found him behind the bike sheds, pacing this time, low muttering under his breath like he was chewing on the memory of what happened, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. His back was to you, shoulders hunched, fists tight at his sides. He’d been simmering out here alone, stewing in that stormy head of his.
“Gyutaro,” you called softly.
He didn’t turn around. Didn’t say anything. But you saw the way his shoulders twitched, he heard you and was listening. Just refusing to acknowledge it, like if he didn’t speak, he wouldn’t have to deal with what came next. You walked closer, not pushing too fast, not wanting to set him off, because with Gyutaro anger came before honesty. He didn’t fold; he flared. And it took effort not to take that personally. When you stopped a few feet away, you spoke. “We need to talk.”
He let out a low, mirthless laugh, still not facing you. “What, now I’m in trouble for walking off?”
“No,” you said calmly. “But I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t bother me.” That got him to turn, not fast, not dramatic, just enough that you could see his expression, jaw tight, eyes sharp. Defensive already.
“You want me to smile while some guy’s starin’ at you like he’s undressing you with his eyes?” His voice was rough, bitter. “Should I shake his hand too? Offer him a drink?”
You crossed your arms, keeping your tone level. “I want you to trust me.”
He scoffed. “Trust you? It’s them I don’t trust.” You stepped closer, not backing down. “I know how guys can be. I’m not stupid. But I’m with you, Gyutaro. I keep choosing you. You think I don’t notice when you disappear? When you sulk off like you’re being punished? That’s not okay. It makes me feel like you don’t trust me.”
His expression twitched, flickering from anger to something else, not softer, just... less certain. He rubbed at the back of his neck like the conversation was crawling under his skin.
“It ain’t like that,” he muttered. “It’s not about trust.”
“Then what is it?”
His eyes darted away, jaw working. “I get pissed off, alright? I see some guy looking at you like you’re easy, like you’re his to take and I wanna break his nose. And then I think, maybe he’s right. Maybe you’ll realize you could have better.”
“That’s not your call to make,” you snapped, before you could stop yourself. “You don’t get to decide what I want. I’m not some prize someone’s gonna snatch up when you’re not looking. I’m a person and I’m with you because I want to be.” He looked at you finally, not avoiding, not dodging, and there was fire in his eyes now, not shame. His breathing was heavier, but the rage had started to crack, just enough to see the real fear underneath.
“You don’t get it,” he said low. “People don’t look at me and see someone worth anything. They see trash. Dirt. A freak. So yeah, maybe I lose it sometimes. Maybe I can’t stand the idea of someone else even trying to take you from me. But don’t act like it’s ‘cause I think you’re the problem.”
You took a deep breath, stepping right into his space now. “Then stop treating me like a flight risk. If you’re scared, fine. Say it, but don’t act like I’m doing something wrong for breathing near another guy. That’s not fair, Gyutaro.”
His lips pressed together hard, but he didn’t push back. Didn’t lash out. He stood there, tense, barely keeping his anger in check, but you could tell he was listening. That somewhere under all that fury, he heard you.
“…I’ll try,” he said, voice low, grudging.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t poetic. But from him, it was a promise.
You nodded, letting out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “That’s all I’m asking.”
You leaned into him, and for a second he hesitated, always slow to take comfort, but then his hands settled on your back, firm, grounding, protective.
After that, things didn’t magically fix themselves, but they shifted. When guys got too close, he still bristled. Still stared them down like he was one second from snapping. But now he stayed. He didn’t run. He’d take slow breaths, jaw clenched, fists tight, but he stayed. And that meant something. He was trying, you could see it.
You knew he didn’t have an easy time showing vulnerability. The world had taught him that softness was weakness, and weakness got punished. So he guarded himself with sharp teeth and snarled words, but you knew better. You’d seen who he was underneath all that. And you weren’t trying to fix him. You weren’t naïve. You knew one relationship couldn’t undo a lifetime of being treated like less. But you could be someone who showed up. Who told him, again and again, that he was worth something. That you weren’t looking for an upgrade. That you didn’t want better, because to you, he was better.
And it went both ways. You weren’t above jealousy either, not when girls who used to ignore him suddenly found their smiles around him. But you practiced the same mindfulness you asked of him. You didn’t lash out. And Gyutaro? He noticed. He always glanced at you, even mid-conversation, like he was silently asking are you good? It was messy, raw, imperfect.
As the student council president, you’re known for being responsible, reliable, and holding everyone to the highest standards. The students respect you, the teachers rely on you, and the school runs smoothly under your guidance. You’ve earned your position through hard work and discipline, making sure the rules are upheld by all.
Well, almost all.
There’s one exception—a certain delinquent who seems to have a knack for breaking the rules. And to make matters even more complicated, he just so happens to be your boyfriend. It’s almost ironic: while you’re focused on enforcing order, he’s the one person you struggle to keep in line.
Despite the headaches he causes, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. His rebellious streak and carefree attitude clash with your rule-abiding nature, but there’s something about the way he challenges the boundaries that keeps you captivated. Even though he defies the rules, you know he cares about you deeply, often showing a side of himself that no one else gets to see.
Balancing your role as president with being his girlfriend isn’t always easy, but somehow, it works. Even if it means dragging him into the student council office every now and then for a stern talk—only for him to smile and pull you in for a kiss, completely ignoring your lecture.
••—————••—————••
Once again, your boyfriend sits casually in front of you in the student council office, his legs kicked up on the desk as if he owns the place. You give him a long, disapproving look, arms crossed in front of you, trying to maintain your usual authoritative demeanor.
“I can’t believe you’re here again,”
you sigh, shaking your head. “Skipping class, fighting, and now disrupting the hallway during a fire drill?”
“Do you even care about the rules?”
He leans back, giving you that familiar smirk—the one that always manages to both annoy and charm you at the same time.
“You know I don’t care much for rules, babe.”
You shoot him a warning glare at the casual nickname, but he doesn’t seem fazed, lazily crossing his arms behind his head as he watches you with an amused glint in his eyes.
“You’re the student council president,”
he continues with a teasing grin. “Doesn’t that make me the rebellious bad boy in this story?”
You let out a frustrated sigh, feeling your resolve waver just a little as he flashes you that mischievous smile.
“This isn’t a joke, you know. I can’t keep covering for you every time you mess up.”
He stands up, moving closer until he’s standing right in front of you, his expression softening just slightly.
“Yeah, but you always do. And I know you love it when I’m in here,” he says, his voice low as he leans down a bit.
You roll your eyes, your disapproving facade starting to crack as he leans in closer, his usual smirk lingering. Despite everything, you can’t help but feel your heart skip a beat.
“I love when you’re not in trouble, Gyutaro, which is almost never,” you reply, exasperation clear in your voice.
Gyutaro chuckles, leaning back casually, and you watch as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket, about to light it when, with quick reflexes, you snatch both the cigarette and the lighter from his hand. His smirk fades for a second as you give him a stern look.
“See, this is what I mean. You know you can’t have these on school grounds,”
you scold, holding up the cigarette. “And they’re bad for you.”
He watches you, half-amused, half-annoyed, but doesn’t protest.
“You really love lecturing me, don’t you?” he mutters, but there’s a softness in his tone. He knows you care, even if he doesn’t always show it.
“You know, people are gonna start thinking I’m letting you get away with things just because you’re my boyfriend,”
you say, shaking your head in frustration. “I’m going to have to start giving you punishments, Gyutaro.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the idea. “Punishments, huh?” he repeats, leaning in a bit with a teasing smirk.
“What kind of punishments are we talking about?”
You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face.
“I’m serious, Gyutaro. If you keep acting like this, I won’t be able to keep covering for you. You have to start taking things more seriously.”
He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eyes. “Guess I’ll have to behave then… wouldn’t want to disappoint my strict girlfriend.”
He leans back, still smirking as if the idea of you punishing him is more of a game than a real consequence.
••—————••—————••
Not surprisingly, Gyutaro had gotten himself into trouble again, and as promised, you made him clean some classrooms. Now, after school, you sit at one of the desks, watching him sweep the room. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t look thrilled about it, his expression a mixture of irritation and boredom as he drags the broom across the floor.
“You’re lucky this is all I’m making you do,” you comment, tapping your fingers on the desk.
“Next time, I might make you clean the entire school.”
Gyutaro scoffs, glancing at you with a half-hearted glare. “Yeah, yeah. You just love watching me suffer, don’t you?”
A smirk tugs at your lips. “Consider it your punishment for constantly breaking the rules. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before causing trouble.”
Gyutaro stops sweeping and walks over to you, his expression softening a bit. “Look, I’m sorry for what I’ve done.”
You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you scoff.
“You’re not sorry. You just want me to feel guilty and let you off this punishment. Keep sweeping.”
He sighs, clearly seeing that you’re not falling for his act. “You’re tough, you know that?” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, but there’s no real malice in his tone—more like reluctant admiration.
“Most people would’ve let me off by now.”
“Good thing I’m not most people,” you reply, a small smirk on your face. “Now, get back to work.”
With another dramatic sigh, Gyutaro turns back to the broom.
You’re silent for a moment, watching Gyutaro sweep in half-hearted frustration. Then, an idea pops into your head, and a smile slowly spreads across your face.
“I’ll let you off this punishment,” you say, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in your eye, “if you let me ride your motorcycle.”
Gyutaro freezes, straightening up and turning to look at you with wide eyes. “My motorcycle?” he repeats, as if you’ve just asked him to hand over a piece of his soul.
That bike is his prized possession, and he never lets anyone so much as touch it, let alone ride it.
You nod, grinning. “Yep. Just one spin, and you’re off the hook.”
He stares at you, clearly torn. On one hand, he hates cleaning. On the other, his motorcycle is like his baby. After a long pause, he finally speaks. “You’re really asking to ride my bike, huh?”
“Unless you want to keep sweeping,” you tease, crossing your arms.
Gyutaro sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really evil, you know that?”
“Your call,” you reply with a smirk, knowing you’ve got him in a tough spot.
••—————••—————••
Gyutaro didn’t completely agree to let you ride his bike, but he compromised. Instead, he let you ride in the front seat while he took you out for ice cream as a true apology for all the trouble he caused.
As you sit in front of him on the bike, the wind rushing past, you can’t help but smile. It wasn’t exactly what you’d bargained for, but it felt like a win nonetheless. The rumble of the motorcycle beneath you, Gyutaro’s arms on either side as he steered, and the promise of ice cream—it was a pretty good deal.
When you arrive at the ice cream shop, he parks the bike and gets off first, helping you down with a teasing smirk. “There. Happy now?”
You nod, giving him a playful shove. “I’ll let it slide this time. But next time, I’m driving.”
He laughs, shaking his head as the two of you head inside. “We’ll see about that.”
