Dinner at the Li family mansion was elegant—multiple courses, fine china, polite conversation.
Nana was chirping happily like a baby bird, telling Zayne's parents about everything.
"—and the squirrels are SO smart! Mr. Fluffytail especially! He gives relationship advice! And I taught myself to cook! Without burning things! Well, mostly without burning things. And Zayne is SO patient with me! And—"
She was adorable.
His parents were completely charmed.
*This is going well. She's being appropriate. Nothing embarrassing has—*
"So, Nana dear," his mother asked kindly, "what do you and Zayne usually do at home to relax? After work?"
Oh no.
Time slowed down.
Zayne could see it happening in slow motion.
Nana's face brightened.
Her mouth opened.
No. No no no no—
"Oh! We—"
*SHE'S GOING TO SAY IT. SHE'S GOING TO—*
"—I eat Zayne's sunfl—"
His hand shot out, covering her mouth completely.
*PREVENTED. CRISIS PREVENTED. BARELY.*
"—mmph! Mmmmph!"
She was trying to talk through his hand, but all that came out were muffled sounds.
His parents looked confused.
"Sunflower?" his mother asked. "You have sunflowers?"
*Think. Quick. Cover. Make something up.*
"Yes," Zayne said quickly, hand still firmly over Nana's mouth. "We—we have a sunflower garden. She's very interested in them. Talks about them constantly. Studies them. Very dedicated to horticulture."
*Horticulture. I just claimed my wife is into horticulture. Because I can't say what she's ACTUALLY into.*
"How lovely!" His mother beamed. "I didn't know you were interested in gardening, Zayne!"
"It's new," he managed. "Very new. Developed recently."
*Very recently. Like six months ago. When she named my anatomy.*
He slowly removed his hand from Nana's mouth.
She immediately pouted.
"I was TALKING! About sunflowers! Why did you—"
"Later," he said firmly. "We'll discuss sunflowers later. In private."
"But I LOVE sunflowers!" She wasn't letting it go. "They're so BIG! And PRETTY! And—"
*STOP. TALKING. ABOUT. SUNFLOWERS.*
"—and PINK!" she continued, completely oblivious. "Big, pretty, pink sunflowers! The BEST sunflowers! My FAVORITE flowers!"
*PINK. SHE SAID PINK. WHY DID SHE SAY PINK. SUNFLOWERS AREN'T—*
His parents looked more confused.
"Pink sunflowers?" his father asked. "Those are quite rare. Special hybrid?"
*YES. SPECIAL HYBRID. VERY SPECIAL. ONLY ONE EXISTS.*
"Very special," Zayne confirmed, dying inside. "Unique variety. You won't find them anywhere else."
"I should HOPE not!" Nana announced. "They're MINE! My sunflowers! Nobody else can have them!"
*Possessive. About my anatomy. In front of my parents. This is happening.*
She started humming.
Then singing.
Quietly, but definitely singing.
"Sunflower, sunflower, big and pretty pink~ My sunflower, special sunflower, best in the whole world~"
*She's. Singing. About. My. Penis.*
*At the dinner table.*
*With my parents.*
*I'm going to die. Right here. Death by sunflower song.*
His parents exchanged glances—confused but charmed.
"She's very... enthusiastic about gardening," his mother observed with a smile.
"Very," Zayne agreed weakly.
*They don't know. Thank god they don't know. They think she's talking about actual flowers. Actual plants. Not—*
Nana continued humming her sunflower song, completely content, while Zayne planned exactly what he was going to do to her once they were alone.
*She's in so much trouble. So much trouble. The moment we're in private, I'm—*
His eyes darkened just thinking about it.
*Going to show her exactly why she shouldn't talk about sunflowers in public.*
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The door closed.
Locked.
Click.
Nana turned around, opening her mouth to speak—
Zayne was on her in seconds.
Pinning her against the wall.
Hard.
*No more talking. No more sunflower songs. No more—*
His mouth crashed onto hers—not gentle, not patient.
Claiming.
Demanding.
*Mine. She's mine. And she needs to learn. Needs to understand.*
"Zayne—" she gasped when he pulled back for air, "—what are you—"
"Shh." His voice was dark. Dangerous. "No talking. You talked enough at dinner."
His hands were already moving—pulling at her dress, her underwear, removing obstacles with practiced efficiency.
*Need her. Need her now. Need to show her. Need to—*
"But I didn't say anything wrong! I just said I love sunfl—"
He kissed her again, swallowing the word before she could finish it.
*No more sunflower mentions. No more innocent questions. Just this. Just—*
He lifted her easily—she weighed nothing in his arms.
Positioned her against the wall.
Entered her in one smooth thrust.
She gasped—loud—and his hand immediately covered her mouth.
*Quiet. Need to be quiet. Parents' house. Can't—*
But he couldn't be gentle.
Not after that dinner.
Not after the sunflower song.
Not after—
He moved—hard, fast, desperate.
*She drives me insane. Completely insane. Talking about—singing about—*
She was trying to make sounds through his hand, eyes wide, looking up at him.
He smirked.
Actually smirked.
*Good. Let her feel this. Let her understand what she does to me.*
He leaned close, mouth by her ear, voice dark.
"If you keep saying that word," he growled, "if you keep talking about sunflowers in public, I'm going to do this. I'm going to put sunflower inside you until you can't remember anything. Until you can't think. Until the only thing you know is my name."
She whimpered against his hand.
*Perfect. She's—*
"Understand?" he asked, still moving, still claiming.
She nodded frantically.
"Why angry?" came her muffled voice when he moved his hand slightly. "Shouldn't you be proud? Wife likes sunflower so much!"
*PROUD. SHE THINKS I SHOULD BE PROUD OF HER PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENTS.*
He couldn't help it.
He laughed.
Actually laughed—though it came out more like a groan.
"Proud?" he managed between thrusts. "I'm losing my mind. You're killing me. You—oh god—you're perfect and terrible and—"
His pace increased, movements becoming less controlled, more desperate.
*Need her. Need this. Need—*
She suddenly bit his shoulder—hard—trying to muffle her own sounds.
*She's close. So close. I can feel—*
"What if—" she gasped against his shoulder, "—what if mother-in-law hears?! What if they—"
"Then they'll know," he growled, too far gone to care. "They'll know their son is wild for his wife. They'll know—"
She came, biting harder to muffle the scream, body shaking against his.
He followed immediately, groaning into her neck, finishing deep inside while pressed against the wall.
*Mine. All mine. Forever mine.*
Zayne's mother sat on the couch, reading, trying very hard to focus on her book.
Trying very hard not to hear the sounds from upstairs.
The rhythmic thumping.
The muffled sounds.
The—
Her ears were bright red.
Zayne's father sat across from her, newspaper in front of his face, but his ears were equally red.
"Well," he finally said, lowering the paper. "Our son is... enthusiastic."
"ENTHUSIASTIC?!" His mother looked concerned. "She's so SMALL! She's tiny! And Zayne is—" she gestured vaguely, "—he's tall! And strong! What if—what if he breaks her?!"
"I don't think she's complaining," his father observed dryly.
More sounds from upstairs.
Definitely not complaining.
"But she's so little!" His mother fretted. "Like a doll! And he's being so—so—"
"Wild?" his father supplied. "Active? Energetic?"
"I was going to say VIGOROUS!"
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment.
"Remember when we thought he was cold?" his father mused. "Emotionless? Too serious?"
"Clearly we were wrong."
"Very wrong."
"That poor girl."
"She seems happy."
"She does seem happy."
More sounds.
"VERY happy," his father added.
"Stop it!" His mother threw a pillow at him.
He caught it, grinning.
"Our son is in love," he said simply. "Completely, wildly in love. Let him be."
"But—"
"She's fine. She's more than fine. Did you see how she looks at him? How he looks at her? They're perfect."
His mother sighed, setting down her book.
"You're right. They are perfect. I've never seen him this happy. This relaxed. This—"
"Alive?" his father suggested.
"Yes. Alive." She smiled despite her red ears. "She brought him to life."
"Even if she does sing about sunflowers at dinner?"
"ESPECIALLY because she sings about sunflowers at dinner."
They smiled at each other, both studiously ignoring the continued sounds from upstairs.
"Should we—should we put on music?" his mother suggested. "To—to cover—"
"Excellent idea."
His father turned on classical music.
Loudly.
Much more loudly than necessary.
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Nana lay on Zayne's childhood bed, breathing hard, looking thoroughly disheveled.
*That was—that was—*
"Wild Zayne is SCARY!" she announced. "But also very good! Scary-good!"
Zayne collapsed beside her, equally disheveled.
"You deserved that," he said. "Sunflower song. At dinner. With my parents."
"But I LOVE sunflowers!" She giggled. "Can't help it!"
"You're going to give my mother a heart attack."
"Why? She doesn't know about—oh." Understanding dawned. "OH. You think she HEARD?!"
"Hamster, the whole neighborhood probably heard."
Her face turned bright red.
"But—but—I tried to be quiet! I bit you!"
"You did bite me. Multiple times. I have marks." He showed her his shoulder. "See?"
"Oops?" She looked sheepish. "Sorry?"
"Don't be sorry. Just—maybe less sunflower talk in public?"
"But how will people know you have the best sunflower?!"
*She wants people to know. She wants to announce it. My wife wants to advertise my penis quality.*
"They don't need to know," he said firmly.
"But—"
"No buts. Private sunflower information stays private."
She pouted, but nodded.
"Fine. Secret sunflower. Only I know how good it is."
"Only you," he confirmed, pulling her close.
"Zayne?"
"Mm?"
"Do you think your parents heard?"
*Absolutely. One hundred percent. Without question.*
"Probably not," he lied. "The walls are thick."
*They're not thick. Not even a little thick. They definitely heard.*
"Good!" She snuggled closer. "Because that would be embarrassing!"
*It's already embarrassing. You sang about sunflowers. Everything is embarrassing.*
*But also perfect.*
*Embarrassingly perfect.*
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ZAYNE'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE - 10:34 PM
Medical log - Day 187 - Christmas Eve Night:
Dinner disaster (avoided by millimeters).
Wife almost revealed sunflower truth (muffled just in time).
Parents think we grow actual flowers (thank god).
Wife sang sunflower song (mortifying).
Took her against wall after dinner (no regrets).
Parents definitely heard (mortifying x2).
Mother concerned about breaking small wife (valid concern).
Father amused by whole situation (typical).
Wife thinks walls are thick (they're not).
Current status: In childhood bed. With wife. Both satisfied. Both embarrassed. Both happy.
Today's revelations:
I am wild. Very wild. With her.
She brings out something in me that I didn't know existed.
Something primal. Possessive. Intense.
She talks about sunflowers and I lose all control.
She sings about them and I need to claim her immediately.
She's proud of sunflower and wants everyone to know.
And I—
I love it.
All of it.
Even the embarrassing parts.
Especially the embarrassing parts.
My parents heard us.
My parents heard me being wild with my wife.
In my childhood bedroom.
That's—
That's mortifying.
But also they're happy for me.
They said I look alive.
Because of her.
She brings me to life.
My sunflower-singing, innocent-questioning, no-filter wife.
I'm wild for her.
Only for her.
Always for her.
Prescription for Christmas morning:
- Face parents at breakfast (mortifying)
- Pretend nothing happened (impossible)
- Prevent more sunflower mentions (ongoing battle)
- Love her constantly (always)
- Maybe soundproof the room (too late)
She bit my shoulder.
Multiple times.
I have teeth marks.
She marked me back.
My possessive, biting, sunflower-loving wife.
Perfect.
She's perfect.
Even when embarrassing me in front of my parents.
Especially then.
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🌻🌻🌻
To be continued.