Small Business Saturday is here with major discounted prices - and EAR CUFFS! A big selection of one of a kind ear cuffs has been added to WireWrapture.com!
author's note: this is for the always lovely @miss-taura! i hope you're starting to feel better, or that you start getting better quickly!! rest and hydrate 🩷
pairing: vegeta x fem!reader
warnings: saiyan!reader, illness, mentions of death, mentions of frieza doing frieza things
Anxiety clings to Vegeta's stomach as he marches to your room on the Frieza station— you weren't at dinner tonight. It's unlike you, unlike any Saiyan warrior, and worry nags the Prince to his bones.
Of the Saiyans left, you're certainly his favorite. The bar is low, with your competition being Nappa and the Radish-boy, but you're still quite the cut above them. And your lack of presence is irritating, rude, and above all worth a princely tantrum.
Pounding on your door, his patience is too worn thin to properly wait for an answer. You haven't responded with the half second between his harsh knocks, so obviously he's got every single right to invite himself in. It's dark but his scouter clearly marks your exact position in your bed, and he hears your soft groan as the light from the hall floods in.
"What the hell, 'Geets?" Congestion plagues your sinuses, and a fever leaves you with harsh shivers as you glare at Vegeta with blurry eyes.
Vegeta scoffs and narrows his eyes as he steps further in, kicking the door shut behind him. "More like what the hell is up with you. You skipped dinner."
You cough into your shirt, flopping down pathetically onto your pillow. "I'm not hungry."
"A Saiyan is always hungry." Vegeta's arms cross over his broad chest as he tilts his head— he's not sure if he's ever seen you sick, or anybody else on this ship, for that matter.
A cold trickle of fear suddenly drips down his spine; Frieza certainly would find no use in nursing any of his army back to health, and absolutely wouldn't tolerate a particular bug spreading amongst the force.
He can't lose you like this.
Too tired to argue with him, you wave a hand in Vegeta's general direction. "Leave me be, 'Geets."
Vegeta nearly growls— you're far too uncaring. Do you have a death wish? He storms out of the room and you're far too ill to wonder what's gotten into him before another terrible coughing fit assaults you again.
Your consciousness fades in and out, though the next time you come to for longer than mere seconds, it's at Vegeta's shaking of your shoulder. His touch isn't particularly gentle, the rare occurrence never really is, but you can feel his effort of holding back. "Mmm…?"
"Sit up and eat, and take this too." A platter from the dining hall sits on the nightstand beside your bed, and a small caplet is flicked your way.
"Where did you find medicine?" Throat scratchy and burning at even breathing, a soft cough follows your question.
"It matters not. Just use it."
So he broke an international law somewhere, got it.
Your legs rub together unconsciously, begging the resulting friction for warmth. A Saiyan rarely feels so chilled, but it's as if you're iced to your very bones. Vegeta jaw ticks and he doesn't put much thought into the why before he's stripped off a glove and pressed the back of his rarely-revealed hand against your forehead. His memories of his mother are frighteningly fading, but that is one of the few that holds strong and he can clearly remember of his late mother. He was young and felt awful for perhaps the first time in his life, and her gentle hand measuring his fever did wonders as a cure compared to all the bedrest and tonics.
Your watery eyes meet with Vegeta's as he moves to touch each cheek, his knuckles dragging along your skin and bumping over your nose. Eyes guarded, he turns his head and pulls back his palm. "You're running a fever. Eat now, and take the medicine. You're to be cured by tomorrow, understand?"
This motherfucker is giving my illness orders!
Opting for a dumb nod, your attention focuses on what he's brought you. Nothing too capable of potentially upsetting your stomach, it's easy to devour even with your fatigue crawling back by the second and the shivering from your fever slowly icing you more and more. You can hardly even notice Vegeta's too-quiet demeanor as he stares a hole into the carpeted floor, though to not see such a stoic side of the rather bratty, barbarous man that typically wears a smile of evil would be impossible.
"Done." Voice hardly capable of more than a whisper now, you set the plate aside and, large pill laid out on your tongue, finish off the first of the gallons of water he's thoughtfully provided you.
"Rest." His order is swift and gruff as he turns to leave, but your voice, quiet and unsure, calls for him to linger just a bit longer.
"T-Thank you, V-Vegeta." The tremors of your body are harsh enough to make your teeth audibly clash together, and the thin blanket wrapped around you couldn't possibly be enough to dispel this fever.
Breaking the fever will allow the medicine to work, and a little sigh pulls from his lips. You certainly always manage to break down a barrier he places, and usually it's fully unintentional and unknowing. But he cannot lose the last woman in his life, the last of the Saiyan race, and that's what has him stripping to his underwear and climbing into bed with you.
"'Geets…"
"Speak not a word further. Rest." He grumbles and unravels your wrapped form, inserting himself under the blanket with you. The heat radiating from him nearly makes your head spin as you grab the Prince's body despite how unbecoming this all is. The touch of his body isn't exactly foreign, though it certainly is in the manner of comfort rather than the training you've always known.
Vegeta's hold is tight. It's his duty as your Prince to keep you alive, though the warming of his cheeks when he gets a glimpse of your sleeping face suggests to himself it may not be as noble as he wishes.
It's all around as you journey home from the grocery store, the air filled with perfumes and colognes as the couples do their best to impress. Your eyes glance over at just the right time as a man falls to his knee before his partner, and the emphatic wails of unity ring out as you continue stepping by the café.
Wishing out a call of congratulations, you resume the steady pace of your walk home. It's a good thing your paper bag isn't particularly heavy— you only needed a few things to complete tonight's dinner, and thankfully your rumbly tummy didn't convince your hands to pick up the extra snacks you passed on by.
There's a wait at the crosswalk and you're anything but able to resist people watching while the cars speed freely down the road. One pair in particular stands out as the light turns, the hotrod red car's top down exposing all of their horrible singing to the world. And yet they have zero cares for the minds of strangers like you as they belt out a Jonas Brothers tune. Smiling, your signal to cross lights up and you and your gaggle of strangers that piled up at the stop quickly cross the hot pavement.
Your mind wanders to the comments you've heard several times over the years. Your partner isn't much of a romantic, is he? No, absolutely not... But the idea that a man who brings you flowers has any more merit than the man that's waiting for you at home is nonsense.
Could the typical man bringing you flowers die for you and live to tell the tale?
The gentle curvature of your lips upon seeing your lovely little home matches the light in your eye when you see movement by the open window. Vegeta certainly sat there the entire fifteen minutes you were gone, surely cursing himself for not going with you. But someone had to stay at home while the oven is on, and your husband has become much too picky on produce— he still can't live down your teasing from the last time he took your little list to the local shop and returned over an hour later with absolutely pristine offerings.
The dichotomies of his royal upbringing and his feral biology make for a good little laugh sometimes.
Vegeta's halfway down the stone path from the door by the time you are, and though the bag is about as light as air he takes it anyway, tucking it into the crook of his elbow and giving you the chance to step before him and trek into the house. The smells of dinner greet you and Vegeta's already prepped the island with utensils to chop a fresh salad— which he's gearing up to prepare as he fishes the fresh head of lettuce from the grocery bag.
The sounds of his knife hitting the cutting board serve as light ambience in conjunction with the sauce's simmer from the opened oven door as you check on the homemade flatbread pizza you made together. Vegeta isn't much in the kitchen, but those muscles are just as made for kneading dough as they are for punching out his enemies, you think as you fondly recall the way his biceps flexed and his eyebrows furrowed, so deep in concentration his lips pulled into a pout.
"Just about done." You hum softly and close the door back up, turning around to witness your husband wiping his hands free of little bits of lettuce.
"Smells good." He murmurs deeply, muted as ever as he adds the tomatoes and other salad components into the bowl. Tossing it expertly, Vegeta plates your portions while you handle the pizza side of things, the barbecue sauce and chicken sizzling deliciously loud and your watering mouth craves a satisfying bite at the crunchy sound as you slice the pizza.
The homemade pizza sits between your plates, the even rectangular slices a particularly satisfying sight in the midst of your dinner table. The man sitting and calmly allowing you to snap a photo for social media is even more beautiful an image, and the tinge of red dusting his cheekbones when you kiss his temple fails to hide as he munches the first bite of his salad.
He's no bleeding heart romantic, though you'd prefer nothing else than this.
hi! i’m not sure if you’ve done this before but.. could i please request a vegeta x human!reader who’s heavily tattooed (legs, arms)? i have no real idea for a plot line for it but gather it’s not something he’s seen a whole lot of since coming to earth - if at all! happy for either SFW or NSFW, completely up to you if you don’t mind the idea? have a lovely day!
For Fun | Vegeta x Reader |
author's note: this idea has absolutely made my day. it just begs for a sweet little vegeta learning moment, since normally it's him explaining saiyan culture. i have chosen the sfw path here! it's also funny bc i've been contemplating tattoos lol and a vegeta tattoo has been on the brain for some time now. thank you for your request!!!! 🩷🩷🩷
pairing: vegeta x fem!reader
warnings: sfw, reader has tattoos, some nudity but no smut or anything remotely nsfw, post-namek but pre-androids and cell
You can feel Vegeta's eyes on you as you work on his suit, Bulma's lab being the only place you feel comfortable sharing space with him in— the racket of the tools at the very least would alert somebody of something nefarious happening. Your dear sister just had to have a soft heart (or rather, quite the boner) for the Saiyan, and now it's you that suffers the consequences while you patch up the blue suit with a precise needle and thread.
"I'm not going to ruin it." You snark at him, not exactly happy to be in his presence. He's a murderer! "I've fixed it for you before without an issue." Bulma's doing her best to copy whatever material this suit is made of, but she's having trouble competing with alien technology— though she'll certainly have it figured out soon. She's a petty thing on the regular, but test her intelligence with a challenge like this and she's more stubborn than acne on an asscheek.
"Mm." He never talks much, at least. But as you stretch your arm out to pull the thread taught, Vegeta moves to take your wrist in his hand. While strong and easily capable of smashing your poor bones to smithereens, his touch is on the softer side.
"What in the world are you doing?" Are aliens unaware of personal space??
Ignoring you initially, Vegeta's gloved fingers curiously glide along your forearm, eyes focused on the artwork adorning your skin. "Your tattoos make little sense. What sort of culture is this?"
"Culture?" You repeat the word dumbly, fighting the urge that lingers just under your skin, heart rate picking up as you will yourself not to shiver at his touch.
"These flowers and symbols, what do they represent? I've been on Earth long enough to know the culture here is nothing like these— furthermore, the lab rat has none at all."
The laugh that bubbles from your chest is easy. Perhaps Earth is the only planet, or one of few, with inhabitants that indulge in tattoos for pleasure rather than cultural representation. "They aren't part of any culture, Vegeta."
"Then what are they?" His brow furrows rather adorably, his lips pulling into a pout as you laugh at his ignorance.
"For fun."
"You marked yourself permanently for fun?"
"Sure did. I got tons of 'em. Some of 'em mean somethin', but for the most part they just bring me joy."
Vegeta releases you finally, shaking his head in a way that reminds you of your father when you first started inking up. "Silly Earth woman…"
"Oh come on. Tell me they aren't pretty." You smirk softly, eyes glittering with the twinkles of mischief. This is a new light on Vegeta, one that perhaps drew Bulma's generosity his way in the first place.
"Tch." A blush rises to his cheeks and he looks away, staring a hole into the wall. "They're not ugly."
A not-so-pretty snort escapes you as you resume patching the suit up, tying and clipping off the end of the thread after the hole is closed up. "I got my first tattoo when I was seventeen. I was young and dumb and in love with a guy I thought I would be with forever." You murmur softly, pulling up the leg of your sweatpants to show off the heart by your ankle. It's old and faded by now, but your lips still pull into a smile at it.
Vegeta takes the moment to examine it, brushing a curious knuckle over the tattoo. His curiosity is sweet, and this must've been on his mind for ages now— it's not like him to get handsy or remotely talkative at all. "Saiyans never took part in these."
It makes all the sense in the world; from what you've pieced together by Vegeta's quiet, rarely spoken about tales of home and with the love for fighting that gushes from both his and Goku's hearts, Saiyans aren't exactly sentimental. "Well… You're on Earth now. You could get a tattoo just for the hell of it."
"I have no need." Vegeta looks away again, and you shrug to yourself.
"They're not for everyone, I guess." You hold the repaired suit out, feeling a tad bummed out that the sight of him in a tank top and sweatpants will be gone soon, but a lilt of surprise thrums in your heart when he sets it on the table and looks at you instead.
"Do you… have more of them?"
You laugh and tug at your t-shirt, pulling it off in the face of the blushing prince and revealing several more tattoos, most of which he's never seen before. "You got time?"
"You could certainly warn a man before you start stripping." He grumbles out, forever the prude even in the face of a gorgeous woman and her body.
"So sorry." Your tease bounces off of him as his curious fingers run along the lines on your tummy, sides and just below your breast. You're bare to him almost entirely, as you've never worn a bra at home and certainly didn't intend to start just because a man moved in, though his eyes and touch are calmly curious and genuinely interested in the artwork you're laced with, rather than the perky breasts and soft skin that would have most men acting a fool by now.
It almost has you feeling ugly, though that near-permanent tint of red that dusts his cheekbones reminds you otherwise.
"Don't forget the one on my back." Your murmur is gentle, only there to invite him further into the journey without jostling his concentration too much. And he takes your advice, stepping behind you while tracing the intricate linework of the massive tattoo, pausing at the sight of the gorgeous mural on your back. You've spent quite a bit of money on this, suffered the pain of the needle piercing and permanently scarring your skin to the patterns that'll forever mark you, and the admiration Vegeta has for your commitment alone is monumental.
Even gloved, his touch warms your skin in the lab's cool conditions and that little spot on your back, the one that had you shaking and embarrassed as your tattoo artist that, bless his resilience, dealt with with more care than a fucking surgeon to properly tattoo, flutters against the accidental tickle. You shift, muffling a laugh into your palm and there's a pause before Vegeta drags his fingertips over the spot again, and then once more.
"Your laugh isn't ugly either." He mutters and steps away, the warmth of his proximity erased and goosebumps covering your body now.
Standing ten toes down and looking over your shoulder, your lips twist in gentle glee upon catching his dark eyes with your own. It's taken some time, but you've finally found what Bulma saw in Vegeta that allowed him into your shared home.
He's flustered by such intimacy and he quickly snatches his Saiyan suit up before rushing towards the door. "Put a shirt on, you vile woman, or you'll catch a cold." Vegeta grumbles out, hightailing it towards the comfort of his gravity room and far away from whatever the hell just happened.
"Must be the first time he touched a woman." You snicker, tugging your shirt on and cleaning up the mess, lest your sister properly bitch you out for it later on.
The ghost of his touch remains, and even under the duress of several times Earth's gravity, Vegeta's palms fondly remember the feeling of your skin.
I'd love a piece about the reader being incredibly self conscious, low self esteem, unhappy with her appearance as well as who she is and Vegeta reassures her with his words and his body - thank you so so so much!!
36 NSFW “don’t cover you’re face, i want to see you”
28&29 SFW "because I love you"
"I've been in love with you since we were kids"- (can we make this say since we were in college together?)
Thanks again and I can't wait to see the magic you create!! ❤️❤️❤️
Don't Understand | Vegeta x Reader |
author's note: posty's new album released recently and the first song on the record is called "don't understand" and it helped me find a mindset for this fic! give it a listen, y'all 🩷 and reminder that requests are currently open!
Sitting in the middle of your bathroom floor and gazing at the wreckage left behind after an attempt to fix yourself up nicely for a dinner with friends wasn't exactly what you had in mind for the night. Texting Eighteen and telling her you've come down with something and won't be attending hurts your heart as the promised night of fun slips from your fingers, and you feel the shame of lying piled onto every other amplified, stressed out emotion you feel on a regular basis.
Mirrors don't lie, and your mirror tonight portrayed an image of you that you could only look back on with pure disgust and hatred in your eyes and mind. Five wardrobe changes, six attempts to fix your winged eyeliner and a mental breakdown at even the idea of doing something with your hair has left your bathroom floor covered in makeup wipes, a destroyed eyeshadow palette that tipped off the edge of the sink, and the remains of the last outfit you tried on with all of your remaining hopes for a good evening.
"Why is it so hard to be beautiful?" You whisper to yourself, head tilted back against the tiled wall as you sniffle through your onslaught of tears.
All of your friends are gorgeous. Not only in their physical features, but in their lives as a whole! Families, careers, their mental health, money, and, of course, the beauty. Such beautiful people surround you in all areas of your life, and you stand out so fucking badly that you're unnoticeable to these remarkable folks. Life has been so cruel and it seems to have no intention of giving you any sort of break.
Staring at the wall for an indeterminate amount of time, you groan after the inevitable blink and come back to yourself. The bathroom is still a mess and the crumbled remains of your Morphe palette aren't going to clean themselves up, so with a slow sigh and a quick brush of a wet rag over your tear-stained face, you get to work folding the discarded clothes and sweeping the eyeshadow up. Wishing a goodbye to your favorite color in the forsaken palette, you toss the remains and wipe your hands clean from the mistakes.
You finally get around to checking your phone again, and Eighteen has responded with a much nicer response than Bulma would've had. You silently thank her for her mercy (she's certainly seen through the lie) as you tuck your phone away.
'Maybe next time then. Feel better soon.'
You don't make it so far as to your bedroom before there's a few solid knocks on your apartment door, and you can only think of one man whose knock is exactly like his personality.
What the hell is Vegeta doing here?
Checking yourself in the mirror against your better judgment, you ensure your tears are faded enough that Vegeta won't question you about them before answering the door. You're immediately caught with the scent of his handsome, expensive cologne and the reminder that you were supposed to be out to eat with him and the rest of your friends sends a pang to your gut.
He's a doctor and you skipped out on dinner because you said you were sick— telling Eighteen the truth would've been better over this karma. Here you stand, still feeling the mental aftershocks of the evening's disaster, before your very best friend that you've been in love with for about as long as you've known him.
"You're not sick." He says upon catching sight of you, and there's little hope in trying to fake sickness now. "Did you really think you could lie and I wouldn't catch on?"
Avoiding his gaze, you murmur out a response. "Please don't give me a hard time."
"As if I'm capable of the opposite." Your friend crosses his beefy arms over that dark blue polo that's stretching tightly over his muscled body. "Let me in, please."
A defeated sigh is your only argument as you step aside and allow him in. Vegeta's dressed nicely, as expected of a successful doctor who found the time to attend a social gathering with his friends, and you're in a pair of sweatpants and a spaghetti strap top that's on its last leg. He should be out having fun, or as much 'fun' as he would allow himself to have, but he's here and it's because of you.
Why must every tiny action you do call for the most severe karma? Why can't you just slip under the radar like you do socially? Or simply, why can't you do anything right?
"What's really going on?" He finds himself a spot against the wall and he closes his eyes as he crosses his arms over again, and you find the oddest joy in that bit of mercy. At least he's not looking at you when you're looking this terrible.
The sinking feeling in your tummy as the thought that he doesn't want to look at you either sucks that joy away in an instant. The logic that he wouldn't be here if he didn't care about you doesn't stick, and the reasoning that Vegeta poses like this often doesn't matter against the attacks your brain launches at you either. But at least he can't see you as you try not to cry at this latest bout of mental self-harming.
"Noth-"
"What did we just establish? You can't lie to me. I learned all your tricks and tells in college, woman, and they don't work on me. So just tell me the truth. Why did you cancel on dinner tonight?"
Attempting to keep your voice level as the tears rise and the panic blooms along the curve of your spine, your leg bounces and you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. "I just… I didn't want to anymore."
"I gathered as much. The reason, however?"
"... I got upset." The whisper reaches Vegeta's sharply-tuned ears and that's when he opens his eyes to see your eyes brimming over with fresh tears and your teeth sunk into your lip so tightly he's afraid you'll bust it open.
Internally, he sighs softly. A mental battle isn't as easily defeated as a physical ailment, and he's certainly not that kind of doctor. He can't even bring himself to go to that sort of doctor. The tension in his body relaxes and his voice is softer than his usual gruff tone.
"About?"
"I was getting ready and nothing was working right! My clothes looked bad and my makeup wasn't right and I can't go out with all of you pretty people when I'm so fucking ugly!"
Vegeta frowns, brows coming together. "Pretty people? Ugly? What in the hell are you talking about?"
"I don't even know why I'm trying to explain, 'cause you're never gonna understand." You turn away from him, hiding into your hands as you will yourself to just disappear.
"I'm asking, aren't I?" Vegeta shoots back angrily. "I can't try to understand if you don't tell me! What do you mean, you're ugly? Because you certainly aren't, and even if you were, it wouldn't mean a thing to any one of us. We let that damn fool Yamcha around, don't we?"
Normally Vegeta's rivalry with Bulma's boyfriend is enough to make you laugh at how nonsensical it is— they've hated each other since college, and Yamcha wasn't even a student! He would just hang around Bulma, and that was enough for Vegeta to hate him based on pure annoyance alone when they were studying. And to be fair, Yamcha could be irritating when he was interrupting those study sessions!
"It's not the same. You're all successful and thriving… And I'm just me."
"Again, Yamcha!"
"Stop, Vegeta! It's not the same!"
"Why the hell do you think we care about these things?? We've all been friends since our college days and you think our bonds are selective on such petty things? Back then I never would've believed I'd regularly go drinking with Krillin, but here we are now thirteen years later, going bowling and having beers every other Friday. And I look forward to it." Vegeta's cheeks tinge the lightest shade of pink, and he's glad your back is to him and missing such an embarrassing thing at his humiliating admittance.
"Because I care about them! So why wouldn't you guys, right? You can't act like you don't see my failures every time you see me! Graduated years ago and still can't get a good job, so I'm absolutely wrecked by my debt. I don't drive a nice car like you or Bulma and I feel so shitty when I roll up in my stupid Corolla!"
"Kakarot doesn't even drive and he still has a place with us! Why wouldn't you? A car is a car, no?"
Anger boils under your skin, flushing your cheeks with white-hot rage. He's not understanding because he can't and his words certainly don't help. Turning on your heel, Vegeta blinks in surprise at just how pissed off you look.
"You don't get it because you don't know what it's like to grow up hating yourself! You've always been attractive, always had girls fawning over you and even more so these days, with your big muscles and your great job and fancy car! I've come from nothing and still am nothing, Vegeta. How could you ever understand?"
Vegeta pauses for a moment, his eyes hard as he stares you down. "... I have been this tall since I was thirteen!" He shouts right back, fists curled tightly enough for his nails to dig into his palms.
You stop your tirade, blinking as you realize what he's just said. In the decade you've known Vegeta, he's never once mentioned his size negatively. Sure, the short guy temper jokes were easy to make about him, but you know he'd be that way even if he was taller than Goku. Hearing him speak about it as if it's been bothersome to him is new.
"What, you think I haven't had bad thoughts just as you have? Do you think I view myself as a paragon of perfection and never have a lick of self-doubt?"
"... Well, yeah. Have you ever heard yourself speak?"
Vegeta rubs his temples. "I suppose I deserve that. I have confidence, but it never came to me overnight. There were times I had to fake it. There are times I still do."
"... Really?" Vegeta's a handsome and successful doctor, and he's still second-guessing himself too?
Vegeta drops his hands to his sides plainly, and it's as short-lived as it is rare to see him with a vulnerable look in his eye, but the twinkle of loneliness is there. "You call me a 'beautiful' doctor with a nice car and house, and yet I have been alone. No wife or children. I am happy and fulfilled as is… But the bed does get cold sometimes."
"I'm sorry for assuming." You mutter with a wash of shame on your features. "I just… See you differently than that, I guess."
Vegeta steps forward to cup your cheek in that big hand, and you close your eyes as he swipes away a fresh tear. "Did you ever stop to think that I see you differently than you see yourself?"
"Never."
"Silly woman." Vegeta murmurs, and a swift tug of your wrist pulls you into his muscled body that's as solid as a brick wall for a hug that's stronger than any of Goku's. "Daring to find even an ounce of ugliness in yourself." He scoffs, personally offended at the notion.
You waste no time burying your face in his neck, smiling softly as he holds you warmly. You'd never tell him, but his hugs are better than even Goku's. "Thank you, Vegeta… I don't know how you see what you see in me…"
"What's not to see?" He mutters, sliding his hand from your hip to your face once more. "There are a million reasons to see what I do."
"Vegeta… You're just saying that." You mumble against his hot skin, and he pulls back enough to see you clearly.
"I never lie. Even if the truth hurts, I tell it. You know that."
"Yeah, yeah… Part of your doctor's code." You mutter, lips twisting into a pout.
"And my code as a man." He says firmly, squeezing you tightly. "So don't call me any type of liar, woman."
"Yes sir."
Vegeta smirks at your obedience, wetting his bottom lip with a quick swipe of his tongue as he takes a good, long look at you. The shape of your eyes, the color of your lips, even the cut of your jaw captivates him and he finds himself wanting to commit each detail to memory, just as he does each time he gets to see you. And his gaze is sharp and you can't help but feel… bashful under that watchful eye, feeling like prey to a predator and your instinct to hide away sends your face back into his shirt.
"Don't cover your face, I want to see you." He admits with a soft blush, and you peek out at him.
"Why?" You ask softly, and the way he raises his brow says it all.
He wants to admire just how beautiful you are.
Shaking his head, he leans in and brushes a soft kiss to your lips that slowly becomes needy and damn if you aren't sure if this is real. Such a hellish mood you were in an hour ago when you sent that message to Eighteen, and now you're making out with Vegeta of all people in your living room. He's smelling fine, looking finer, and those hands are starting to wander around your curves and the swell of your ass in those sweats…
Finally you loosen up, squeaking when he claims two fistfuls of your ass and pulls your hips closer. Delicate hands roam his broad chest and when tongues start to collide, your hips roll into his. Where this has come from doesn't matter in this moment— getting into bed with him sure does, though.
"Are you alright?" Vegeta's breathless against you, Adam's apple bobbing while a string of saliva still connects your kiss swollen lips.
"Don't stop." You plead, tears threatening to pop back up should he back away now. "Please… Please don't stop."
"You don't have to beg." Vegeta murmurs before catching your hand as you attempt to thread your fingers in his hair, pressing a kiss to the heel of your palm and gazing right into your soul for the briefest touch of a precious moment.
A tug down the hall later, Vegeta's opening the door to your bedroom and laying you down gently on your mattress, not minding the mess you made in your frenzy to dress for the dinner. His lips are too busy peppering along your neck and jawline while his arms cage you in and force you to take his affection with hot cheeks and hands that ache to cover your face.
"'Geets…" The sharp gasp that follows is brought by a sharp nip of his perfect teeth to your sensitive skin, his lips latching on and sucking hard. You'd never thought about it too much, but it makes entirely too much sense that he'd be the type to mark a lover with hickeys.
"I hate being out when you're not with us." He mutters, eyes blissfully closed as he lavishes your neck in more kisses. "It isn't complete."
"I'm sorry. I'll do better."
"Prove it."
"I will." You coo sweetly, eyes shimmering as one of Vegeta's hands move beyond the hem of your shirt to feel the expanse of your belly.
"I will hold you to that." He promises, squeezing your belly and sides as both of his hands get to feeling your body. You're so soft and pliable and, more importantly, allowing him to touch you. It's not something he ever realistically dreamed of.
Vegeta's strong hands spread a magical feeling along your skin, his fingers slowly daring to go further up your tank top until he's cupping your breasts and massaging them with a strong grip. A chill tears through your body, goosebumps littering every inch of space you occupy as the man above you warms you for the occasion.
"Are you fond of this shirt?"
You suspect that no matter your answer, the outcome will be unchanged. "Not particular-"
Vegeta's strong hands waste no time tearing it at the seams and leaving you exposed before him, your breasts and belly entirely naked now. The chill on your skin doesn't last long once he's removed his polo (nicely, you think to yourself, as he certainly doesn't tear it like your poor old shirt!) and his hot, broad and muscled chest meets you as his lips cap yours.
Your own hands wander now, shamelessly feeling up your old college crush. His blood runs hotter than hell, that lightly tanned skin nearly burning your palms, though not at all deterring you in your quest to map his body. One of his hands starts to travel south, the journey torturously slow for you as you begin to tremble.
He really wants to go this far with you?
"Why me?" You hiccup as that large hand stops just above the hem of your sweatpants, your quivering cunt inches away from the first touch of a man it's felt in quite a while.
"Because I love you." Vegeta's cheeks tinge pink and he closes his black eyes to avoid your stare; now you know how much of a coward he's been. A better man would've pursued you a long, long time ago.
"Really?" Your question is breathless, head spinning at the revelation. He wants you, truly? To believe a statement such as that one…
"You know I don't lie." He reminds you quietly and pushes his hand into your pants, slipping past your underwear and pulling a harsh gasp and crumbling shudder from you when his fingers meet your slick, sensitive pussy lips. He hasn't pushed in at all nor found any sensitive areas and you're already putty in his palm with a single swipe.
One of his thick fingers presses between your folds lightly, finding the inner parts of you to be even wetter and more sensitive to his touch. The way your thighs tense has him pressing his body further into yours, keeping your legs spread open so he can explore you uninterrupted. And such exposure and embarrassment causes a whine from you that he absolutely adores, his mouth drinking it in with a sloppy kiss.
"Relax, princess." Vegeta groans and pushes that same finger inside your hot core, your hole tight enough he feels the chance of losing circulation is oddly high. "So tight…"
You squirm against his hand, hips rolling as his shallow thrusts of his finger start going in deeper. His single finger alone is so big! "Vegeta… Please…"
His chest rumbles, vibrating yours at his satisfied groan. His name on your delicious lips spurs him on more, fueling his ego as he aims to please you further. "Tell me what you want."
"I-I…" Your face and neck are absolutely blazing at this point. "I w-want you to…"
"To…?" His finger stops moving, the heel of his palm pressing down on your clit but providing no other friction.
Whining pathetically, you stutter out your desires. You want him to touch you more, to make you cum. As if that isn't obvious! And he smirks, that bastard, taking great pleasure in the way you squeak and squirm and stew in embarrassment while simultaneously being hornier than you've ever been. What an unfair man.
"That can be arranged." He murmurs, voice deep as lust consumes him. "But first…" Vegeta leans down, his lips to your ear while the very tip of his finger drags along your gummy walls. "Tell me you love me."
"I've been in love with you since we were in college." The pitch of your voice is easily an octave higher at your admittance, the over-shared information certainly more than he demanded of you. But he's obviously satisfied, his hand back to work on your cunt while his mouth latches on your nipple and his hardened cock, still hidden behind the fabric of his pants, rubs against the surface of the mattress.
Vegeta adds another digit inside of you, crowding your hole and leaving you to grind your clit on his palm while he pumps inside of you. You're much too tight to take his cock right now— if he's got even the slightest chance of getting inside of you tonight, you'll have to cum a few times to be loose enough, lest he bust within a few short strokes. He's already aching, his thick cockhead swelling and making a mess of his boxers with a plethora of precum. He can feel it and as he closes his eyes and rubs himself against the bed further, he can almost imagine the feeling of it slipping inside of your tight, hot little pussy.
"You're so beautiful." He grunts and pushes his fingers in farther, quickly fucking into you. "How can you not understand this?" He asks himself the question rather than to you, as he's not even sure you're hearing him over yourself.
The burn of your clit spreads slowly through your lower tummy. It's been so long since you've had a sexual partner at all, and your first being Vegeta of all people leaves your stamina low. Your lungs feel punched out of air, forcing short gasps of you with the impending orgasm looming over your nerve endings.
"That's right." Vegeta removes his two fingers from your hole and focuses them on the swollen bud that he certainly knows how to find, swirling them in quick little circles. "Come on, princess. Scream for me— show me how much you've wanted me."
It's not very gradual, your orgasm. "Ah, ah ah— Ah! Vegeta!" Warmth blooms across your thighs as wetness gushes out of you and makes a mess of your panties and Vegeta's hand alike, though he's wholly unbothered by it.
The sick grin on his face is only wiped away by your kiss, his cock pulsing in his pants and he's got to will himself to calm down before he cums in his pants like he's a college freshman and not a grown goddamn man. But it's so damn difficult like this, after finally getting something he's desired a long while.
He doesn't understand why you don't like yourself, but he's got more than enough in him to do all the loving for you, he notes as he kisses you again and again until you do, finally, start to see what he does.
vegeta giving me a stern look when i give him an outfit to wear for the day and the shirt is pink and he's all "you know i hate pink" and i'm all "then don't wear a shirt today??"
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