Marrying Denki Kaminari meant accepting a lifetime of stupid jokes, innuendos at the worst possible moments, and arguments that never stayed serious for long. Three years in, and you still couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse.

Case in point: pumpkin carving.

Every Halloween, the same routine. Denki carved the faces while you handled the messy part, cutting out the tops and scooping out the guts. Your arm jerked up and down as you worked the knife through the thick pumpkin flesh, sawing away at the stubborn stem.

"Hey sparky," Denki said, voice dripping with suggestion. "I really like how you're carving that pumpkin."

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. Of course he'd go there. He always went there.

"Carving the pumpkin makes my arms hurt," you grumbled under your breath, giving the knife another aggressive thrust.

Denki leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. The one that made you want to kiss him and strangle him in equal measure.

"Yeah, well if you'd carve the pumpkin more often, your arm wouldn't hurt."

The suggestive tone was impossible to miss.

You stopped mid-saw, knife still buried in orange flesh, and turned to face him fully. Two could play this game.

"Well, maybe if the pumpkin had a longer stem, I'd wanna carve it more often."

Direct hit.

Denki's smirk vanished instantly, replaced by an expression of pure offense. His mouth dropped open, eyes wide with betrayal.

"Hey now!" he protested, pushing off the counter. "It's not the pumpkin's fault that god gave him a small stem—and it's not small! It's average! Maybe even a little bigger!"

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. He looked genuinely wounded, like you'd insulted his entire bloodline instead of making a dumb joke about produce.

"Average, huh?" You pulled the knife free with a wet squelch and examined the pumpkin's pathetic little stem. "Sounds about right."

"Babe!" Denki whined, dramatic as always. "You're being mean! The pumpkin is perfectly adequate! Studies show that most pumpkins—"

"Are you seriously about to cite studies about pumpkin stem sizes?"

"Yes! Because this pumpkin—" he gestured wildly at the orange victim on your cutting board, "—is being unfairly judged! It's got great girth! Look at that circumference!"

You couldn't help it. You burst out laughing, nearly dropping the knife. Only Denki could turn Halloween decorating into a full-blown defense of imaginary pumpkin anatomy.

He grinned, electric and shameless. That look that made you fall for him in the first place, back when you were just friends who flirted too much and pretended it didn't mean anything.

"What? I'm talking about pumpkin carving. What are you thinking about?"

You threw a handful of pumpkin guts at him.

He dodged, cackling like the menace he was, orange stringy bits catching in his hair anyway. Worth it.

"You're cleaning that up," you said, pointing the knife at him threateningly.

"Only if you admit the pumpkin stem is adequate."

"It's really not."

"Slander! Pumpkin defamation!"

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. This was your life now. Married to an idiot who turned everything into an innuendo and somehow made you love him more for it.

"Fine," you conceded, turning back to your massacred pumpkin. "The stem is... serviceable."

"Serviceable?!"

His indignant squawk echoed through the kitchen, and you couldn't stop grinning as you went back to carving. Three years married, and he still made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

Even if his pumpkin stems were distinctly average.