### **A Night at the Bar**

The bar was quiet tonight.

Not *dead*, but quiet—just a low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. A perfect place to just sit, drink, and *breathe*.

You weren’t sure what had brought you here. Vacation, sure—but it was more than that. You’d needed *distance*. A break from work, from the noise of daily life, from *everything*.

So here you were, nursing your whiskey, watching the ice swirl in the amber liquid, half-listening to the hum of the ocean outside.

And then *he* sat down next to you.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Strong.

He had that casual confidence, that ease in his body that made it clear he was exactly where he wanted to be. Dressed in a loose button-up, the top few buttons undone, showing just the slightest hint of firm muscle underneath.

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close he was.

*"Long day?"* he asked, his voice warm, friendly.

You nodded, clearing your throat. *"Yeah. Just needed a break."*

*"I hear that,"* he said, grinning before signaling the bartender. *"One more of whatever he’s having."*

You blinked.

*"You don’t even know what I’m drinking."*

*"Nah, but you look like you’ve got good taste."*

He chuckled, and something about the sound made your chest tighten.

Was he flirting?

No. That was ridiculous.

But still…

You glanced at him again. He was handsome—ridiculously so. And warm, *approachable*. There was something *safe* about him, something that made you want to lean closer.

What would he be like as a husband?

The thought came out of nowhere, slamming into you like a truck.

Your stomach flipped.

Why had you even *thought* that?

You weren’t some lovestruck fool daydreaming about marriage. You were—

You paused.

What *were* you?

Your brow furrowed as you took another sip of your drink, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your sleeves felt too loose on your arms.

Had your shirt always been this big?

You shifted in your seat.

Something was… different.

And then—

*"So, where you from?"* he asked, tilting his head toward you.

*"Japan,"* you said automatically, before blinking in confusion.

Wait.

No.

That wasn’t—

But the moment you said it, memories *flooded* in.

Landing in the U.S. for college, barely knowing English, feeling *so* alone, struggling to fit in.

And then—*meeting him*.

He’d been a massive anime nerd—so excited to talk to someone from Japan, even if his view of your home country was kind of… warped. But he’d been *kind*. Excited. He made you laugh, even when you barely understood half of what he was saying.

And—

God, you *loved* him.

Your heart clenched as warmth spread through your chest.

When had you *met* him?

No—*you’d always known him*.

He had been with you *forever*.

Hadn’t he?

Your hand trembled around your glass.

*"You okay?"* he asked, brow furrowing.

*"Ah—y-yes,"* you stammered, your voice suddenly higher. Softer. *"Just… thinking."*

Thinking about *him*.

Thinking about Osaka.

The proposal.

Cherry blossoms drifting down around you as he held out the ring, looking nervous as hell. Your father’s initial hesitation about you marrying a foreigner—though now, he adored him, sometimes *more than you*.

You smiled. *That’s not true.*

You took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing as something inside you *settled*.

You *belonged* with him.

And suddenly, you felt *so* safe.

Your whole body eased, pressing unconsciously closer to his warmth.

*"You’re really beautiful, you know,"* he said suddenly, his voice quieter now.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks.

*"Ah, d-do not tease,"* you mumbled, glancing down.

He chuckled. *"I mean it."*

Your breath hitched.

Warmth pooled between your thighs.

Oh god.

You pressed your legs together, heart hammering, but it only made it *worse*.

You were wet.

Your nipples were stiffening against the soft fabric of your bikini top, so sensitive it *ached*.

Memories surfaced—hot, fevered nights tangled in bed, his hands exploring you, his voice low in your ear as he whispered your name.

Your fingers trembled as they brushed absently over your stomach, and for a split second, you *felt* it—what it would be like to carry his child.

To be *his*.

Completely.

*"You’re quiet,"* he murmured, shifting closer. *"What’re you thinking about?"*

Your tongue darted out, wetting your lips.

*"You,"* you whispered.

His gaze darkened.

*"Yeah?"*

God, you wanted him.

A bikini had never felt *more* restrictive.

You wanted to be naked.

No—*for him*.

More than anything.

He shifted, turning to face you fully, and before you could even process what was happening, his arms swept under your legs and back, effortlessly lifting you off the barstool.

A startled gasp left your lips, heat rushing to your face as you clung to his shoulders.

*"A-Ah! No fair!"* you huffed, voice breathless with laughter. *"I too small! Cannot lift you back!"*

He grinned down at you, his grip firm, secure. *"Guess you’ll just have to get used to it, huh?"*

Your heart pounded, and you pouted dramatically. *"Mouu… husband too strong. Too unfair."*

*"I *love* how small you are,"* he murmured, his voice dropping as he adjusted his hold, pressing you closer against his chest. *"Makes it easier to do this."*

He *twirled* you slightly, as if to prove his point, and you let out a delighted squeal, tightening your arms around his neck.

God, you *loved* him.

*"D-Do not let me go,"* you whispered, voice softer now, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

*"Never,"* he said, eyes locked on yours.

You caught sight of your reflection in the bar’s mirrored wall and felt your breath hitch.

You were—

*Beautiful.*

Petite but curvy, with smooth, flawless skin, soft lips, and a figure that made your husband *wild*.

And your *hair*—

Long, midnight black, cascading like silk down your back, *so* soft, *so* shiny.

He *loved* your hair.

And your *ass*.

You wiggled slightly in his arms, biting your lip. *"Husband always look at my butt,"* you teased, your accent thick as you giggled.

He smirked, gripping your thigh tighter. *"Can you blame me?"*

Heat coiled low in your belly.

*"Nn…*" You pressed your forehead against his. *"I… I want you, husband."*

His breath caught.

You traced your fingers over his jaw, lips curling. *"Take me to our room. I… I make you scream my name tonight."*

His grip tightened, his pupils darkening with want.

*"Noriko,"* he breathed, voice thick with need.

Yes.

That was your name.

And tonight, you were going to make sure he *never* forgot it.