Zayne woke to two realizations:
1. His wife was using his chest as a pillow (normal)
2. His mother was KNOCKING ON THE DOOR
"Breakfast in ten minutes!" His mother's voice was suspiciously cheerful. Too cheerful. The kind of cheerful that meant *we heard everything last night and I have QUESTIONS.*
"Sigh #847," he muttered.
Nana stirred, blinking up at him with those big innocent eyes. "Good morning, husband! Is sunflower awake too?"
"Nana. My parents are RIGHT OUTSIDE."
"Oh!" She sat up, hair looking like a bird's nest. "Should I say good morning to them?"
"Please don't." He rubbed his face. "And at breakfast, we need to establish some ground rules—"
"Rules?"
"No mentioning: sunflowers, riding, juice, positions, or—"
"But what if they ASK?"
"They won't ask."
Narrator: *They absolutely asked.*
The Li family dining table was a battlefield.
Players:
- Zayne's mother (knowing smile, too much coffee)
- Zayne's father (hiding behind newspaper, shoulders shaking)
- Zayne (dying internally, clinical mask activated)
- Nana (oblivious, eating pancakes)
- Classical music (STILL playing, suspiciously loud)
"So!" His mother smiled sweetly. "How was your night?"
Zayne's coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth. "Fine."
"Really? Because it sounded very... active."
He choked.
Nana nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Zayne taught me about—"
His hand SLAPPED over her mouth. "—about the history of this house. Very educational. Architectural features. Load-bearing walls."
His father's newspaper rustled. "Those walls certainly bore a load last night."
"DAD."
Nana removed his hand. "He means the antique furniture! Zayne was worried we'd break the bed because it's OLD—"
"WE'RE TALKING ABOUT BREAKFAST NOW." Zayne's ears were RED. "Mother, these pancakes are excellent. What's the recipe—"
"The recipe for a happy marriage?" His mother winked. "Communication. And apparently, enthusiasm."
Nana tilted her head. "Mother, do you know about sunfl—"
Zayne shoved a ENTIRE pancake in her mouth.
His mother laughed. "I like her. She's good for you, Shen. You've been smiling more."
"I don't smile."
"You smiled seventeen times since the wedding," his father said from behind the newspaper. "I counted."
"You—WHY WERE YOU COUNTING?!"
"Occupational habit. I'm a researcher."
Nana, having swallowed the pancake: "Zayne smiles when I climb him like a koala! And when sunflower—"
"MORE ORANGE JUICE!" Zayne practically YELLED, pouring juice into her glass. "VERY REFRESHING! VITAMIN C! GOOD FOR IMMUNE SYSTEM!"
His mother was crying with laughter.
Nana sat cross-legged under the Christmas tree, drowning in a sweater three sizes too big (Zayne's). She looked like a child playing dress-up.
"This one's from Grandma Li!" She shook the box. "Sounds like... rattling?"
Zayne's grandmother had sent a package from overseas. Nana tore it open.
Inside: A book titled "The Joy of Marital Relations: A Modern Guide"
Silence.
His father's shoulders shook.
His mother covered her mouth.
Zayne wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
Nana flipped through it, eyes WIDE. "There are PICTURES! Look, this position is called 'The Butterfly' and— Zayne, WHY is the woman's leg there? Is she a GYMNAST?!"
"I'm filing for adoption into another family."
"Oh! And this one says 'Advanced Level'!" She showed him a page. "We should try—"
He RIPPED the book from her hands. "THANK YOU, GRANDMA, VERY THOUGHTFUL, WE'LL READ IT LATER. PRIVATELY. IN ANOTHER COUNTRY."
His mother was wheezing.
Nana pouted. "But it's educational! Like medical school!"
"That is NOT— medical school does not— I need air." He stood up, still holding the book like it might explode.
"Shen, sit down," his father said calmly. "Open our gift to Nana."
Zayne handed her a small box suspiciously. His parents' gift.
Inside: A delicate silver bracelet with tiny sunflower charms.
Oh no.
OH NO.
"THEY KNOW," Zayne whispered, horrified.
His mother's smile was EVIL. "I may have overheard your wife singing yesterday. Something about... 'big and pretty pink'?"
Nana gasped with delight. "YOU MADE SUNFLOWER JEWELRY! Look, Zayne! Little sunflowers!" She shook her wrist, making them jingle. "Now everyone will know about sunfl—"
"THEY'RE JUST FLOWERS. REGULAR FLOWERS. HELIANTHUS ANNUUS. NO OTHER MEANING."
His father finally lowered the newspaper, GRINNING. "Son, denial is not a sustainable coping mechanism."
Sigh #849.
Nana was admiring the bracelet, completely missing the subtext. "Can we plant real sunflowers in our garden? Then there will be MANY sunflowers! A whole field!"
Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Fine. Agricultural sunflowers. In the garden. Outside. Where they BELONG."
"But the indoor sunflower is my favorite—"
"OPENING MORE PRESENTS!" He shoved another box at her desperately.
Zayne was "helping" his mother prepare lunch. Really, he was hiding.
"She's adorable," his mother said, chopping vegetables. "Completely shameless."
"She was raised in a mansion with no boys. She has no concept of... appropriate conversation topics."
"And you love it."
He paused. "...I don't hate it."
"Shen, I heard you laugh last night. Actually LAUGH. Do you know how long it's been since you laughed?"
He was quiet.
His mother's voice softened. "After what happened when you were twelve... you stopped letting yourself be happy. But she makes you happy."
"She makes me insane."
"Same thing, in a marriage." She smiled. "Your father drives me crazy daily. Yesterday he alphabetized the spice rack by Latin names."
"That's... actually reasonable—"
"You're SO his son." She shook her head fondly. "Just— don't push her away when you get scared, okay? Let yourself have this."
He nodded, throat tight.
From the living room: "Mother! The squirrels outside are having a MEETING! Should I bring them nuts?!"
His mother laughed. "Go save her from whatever chaos she's creating."
"That's my daily occupation now."
Zayne found his wife in the snow, surrounded by FIVE squirrels, having what appeared to be a serious discussion.
"—and that's why the sunflower is very important," she was explaining to Mr. Fluffytail. "It needs DAILY attention—"
"Nana."
She looked up, beaming. "Zayne! Come meet everyone! This is Mr. Fluffytail, Mrs. Fluffytail, and their children: Fluffy Junior, Fluffette, and Flufferino!"
"You named a squirrel Flufferino."
"He's the dramatic one. Watch." She threw a peanut. The smallest squirrel dove for it like an Olympic athlete.
Despite himself, Zayne's lips twitched.
"YOU SMILED!" Nana pointed. "THAT'S NUMBER EIGHTEEN!"
"You're counting too?!"
"Your dad told me to!" She stood up, brushing snow off. "He said your smile is 'statistically significant data' and I should 'maintain consistent observation protocols.'"
"My father is a MENACE."
She bounded over, wrapping her arms around his waist. Even on her tiptoes with him bending down, the height difference was ridiculous. She looked up at him, cheeks pink from cold.
"Thank you for not being mad about the sunflower song."
He sighed (850), but his hands came up to hold her. "How can I be mad? You're—" He stopped.
"I'm what?"
"...mine." The word came out softer than intended.
Her eyes went WIDE and sparkling. "SAY IT AGAIN."
"Absolutely not."
"ZAYNE."
"We need to go inside. You'll catch pneumonia—"
She JUMPED on him, koala-style, wrapping her legs around his waist. "NOT UNTIL YOU SAY IT!"
"This is spousal abuse—"
"SAY. IT."
He looked at her—this tiny chaotic woman who named his dick 'sunflower,' consulted squirrels about marriage, and somehow made him feel alive for the first time since he was twelve.
"You're mine," he repeated quietly. "And I'm yours. Even if you're completely insane."
She kissed him, soft and sweet, tasting like snow and pancakes.
When she pulled back, she whispered: "Can the sunflower come out to play later?"
"NANA."
"Is that a yes?"
"...Eventually."
"YOU ALWAYS SAY EVENTUALLY!"
From the house, his father yelled: "ZAYNE, 'EVENTUALLY' MEANS 'YES' IN HUSBAND LANGUAGE!"
"I'M NEVER VISITING AGAIN!" he yelled back.
But he was smiling.
.
.
.
.
.
They'd survived dinner (barely). Now they were alone.
Nana was examining his teenage bookshelf with terrifying interest. "Zayne, why do you have SO many medical textbooks? Did you READ these for FUN?"
"Some people read novels—"
"THIS ONE HAS DIAGRAMS OF HEARTS! Look, it's like a LOVE heart but realistic and muscly!" She flipped pages. "Oh! And reproductive systems! Is THIS why you're so good at—"
He plucked the book from her hands. "That's anatomy. Clinical anatomy."
"So you studied my anatomy?"
"That's not—" He paused. "Technically, yes."
Her eyes LIT UP. "Did you study sunflower anatomy too?"
"It's called male reproductive system and YES, obviously, I'm a DOCTOR—"
"Show me." She climbed onto the bed. "Teach me like medical school!"
Zayne's brain short-circuited. "You want... anatomical education... right now?"
"YES! You said we'd do it again!" She patted the bed. "Educational sex!"
Zayne sigh.
But he was already moving toward her, because he was weak. Especially for his wife.
"Fine." He sat on the bed, pulling her into his lap. "But we're using proper terminology."
"Okay, Doctor Li!" She wiggled excitedly.
His hands slid under the sweater she wore—his sweater, swimming on her small frame. "The male erectile tissue becomes engorged with blood when aroused—"
"You mean sunflower gets BIG and HARD!"
"—yes, that's the colloquial description." His clinical voice was cracking. "And the female body produces natural lubrication when stimulated—"
"The WET feeling!"
His hand slipped between her thighs, over her underwear. "Correct. And right now, you're already experiencing increased blood flow to the pelvic region."
She gasped as he pressed against her through the fabric. "D-Doctor, is that diagnosis?"
"Yes. My professional opinion is that you need immediate treatment."
"What's the treatment?"
He flipped them over smoothly, hovering over her. "I'll demonstrate."
He took his time, because she deserved slow and careful. Even though his body was screaming at him to go faster, harder, MORE.
First, he removed her clothes piece by piece, stopping to kiss every inch of revealed skin. Her neck, her collarbone, the soft swell of her breasts.
"Zayne," she breathed. "Stop being so SLOW—"
"Patient comfort is my priority." His tongue circled her nipple. "And you said you wanted education. This is lesson one: foreplay."
"I'll DIE from foreplay—"
"Your heart rate suggests otherwise." He sucked gently, feeling her arch into him. "128 beats per minute. Elevated but not dangerous."
His hand trailed down her stomach, fingers drawing patterns on her skin. When he finally reached between her legs, he found her soaked.
"Clinical assessment," he murmured against her breast, "you're highly responsive to tactile stimulation."
"TOUCH ME MORE THEN!"
He slipped one finger inside her, slow and steady. She was so tight around him, so warm. He added a second finger carefully, remembering how two had hurt her before. But now...
"No pain?" he asked, clinical mask slipping into genuine concern.
"No! Feels GOOD! More!"
Relief and arousal flooded through him. She'd adjusted. She could take him now.
He worked his fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot that made her see stars. His thumb found her clit, circling with precise pressure.
"Oh! OH! Zayne, that's—I'm—"
"You're close." He could feel her tightening around his fingers. "Let me see you come, Nana."
She shattered with a cry, clenching around his fingers as she rode out her orgasm. He worked her through it, fascinated by the way her body responded, the way her face flushed, the way she said his name like a prayer.
When she came down, panting, she looked at him with determined eyes.
"Now I want to study sunflower anatomy."
His breath caught. "You don't have to—"
"I WANT TO." She sat up, pushing him onto his back. "Lie down, Doctor. It's MY turn to examine."
This was how he died. Death by tiny chaotic wife.
She stripped him with significantly less grace than he'd shown—his shirt got stuck on his head, his pants were yanked off with force—but her enthusiasm more than made up for technique.
When he was finally naked, she sat back on her heels, STARING.
"It's bigger than last time," she observed.
"That's... normal physiological response—"
"Can I touch?"
"Yes," he gritted out.
Her small hand wrapped around him, and he nearly came right then. She stroked experimentally, watching his face for reactions.
"You like this," she said, not a question.
"Yes."
"And this?" She squeezed slightly.
"F-fuck, yes—"
She BEAMED. "You swore! That means it's REALLY good!" She leaned down, and before he could stop her, her tongue licked a stripe up his length.
His hips JERKED. "Nana, you don't—"
"It tastes like you," she said thoughtfully. Then she took the head into her mouth.
His brain MELTED.
She had no technique, no experience, just enthusiasm and curiosity. She explored him with her tongue, taking him deeper, then pulling back to lick along the sides. When she looked up at him with those innocent eyes, mouth stretched around his cock, he knew he was DONE FOR.
"Stop," he gasped, pulling her off. "I'm too close—"
"But I want to taste the juice—"
"Next time." He flipped them over again, settling between her legs. "Right now I need to be inside you."
He lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance. "Ready?"
"YES! Stop asking and just—"
He pushed in slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. She was so tight, so perfect, and THIS time there was no barrier to break through. Just smooth, slick heat taking him in inch by inch.
When he was fully seated inside her, they both groaned.
"You're SO deep," she breathed.
"You're SO tight," he countered.
He started moving, slow and steady, letting her adjust. But she wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass.
"FASTER!"
"Nana—"
"Doctor's orders!"
He couldn't help it—he LAUGHED. Actually laughed while buried inside his wife.
And then he gave her what she wanted.
He thrust harder, faster, finding a rhythm that made her cry out with each movement. The bed creaked—his childhood bed, in his parents' house, oh god they were definitely hearing this—
"Don't stop!" she gasped. "Right there! THERE!"
He angled his hips, hitting that spot deep inside that made her see stars. His hand slipped between them, finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles.
"Come for me," he commanded. "Let me feel you—"
She came with a SHRIEK, clenching around him like a vice. The sensation dragged him over the edge. He thrust deep one last time and came HARD, spilling inside her with a groan that was probably heard downstairs.
They collapsed together, panting and sweaty.
After a moment of silence:
"Zayne?"
"Mm?"
"Can we do the Butterfly position from Grandma's book tomorrow?"
He looked at the ceiling. "I'm divorcing you."
"No you're not. You love me."
"...Sigh #852."
But he was smiling.
Meanwhile, Downstairs:
Zayne's Mother: "Should we turn up the music again?"
Zayne's Father: "I already did. They're loud."
Zayne's Mother: "Young love."
Zayne's Father: "Structurally reinforced walls. Good investment."
Zayne's Mother: "Do you think they know we can hear—"
*CRASH from upstairs.
Zayne's voice, muffled: "NANA, THAT WAS AN ANTIQUE LAMP—"
Nana's voice: "SUNFLOWER KNOCKED IT OVER!"
Zayne's Father: "I'm increasing their wedding gift fund. They'll need to replace furniture."
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🌻🌻🌻
To be continued.