I need to be manhandled by Sylus this shit isn’t funny no more I need him fuckin throwing me around like a rag doll. Slapping my ass, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at him while he pounds me. I need him to lovingly slap my face and spit in my mouth while telling me how much he loves me this is a sick joke Infold make him REAL.
Summary: You're sick of being ignored by Crocodile, so you take matters into your own hands and schedule yourself for a quick afternoon meeting.
WC: 4489
A/N: This has been in my ideas folder forever so I finally decided after seeing him in the live action to actually sit down and write it.
Also, can we just pretend for this that his hook is like anime size and can actually hook around someone's waist? Because I kinda' forgot that it's not insanely massive in the live action...
Check out my master list here
It took every ounce of self control you had not to allow the coy smirk to curl the corners of your lips. You were trying desperately to appear as normal as possible for when he walked through the door opposite you. With your legs stretched out in front of you, book in hand, you were just waiting for him.
Any second he would be back, giving himself a few precious minutes between meetings to get organized. His schedule was sacred, and because of this, very early on in your relationship you committed it to memory as often as you could.
You weren’t startled when the door to his office opened, his gaze swiping over you but not lingering the way you wished it would. His presence immediately engulfed the large office, his tailored scent wrapping around you. He walked past the chaise you were nestled on, a piece he had bought specifically for you, before putting his leather folder on his desk and slipping his fur coat off his shoulders and over his chair.
“I figured with all the meetings you have today that you might not have had time for coffee yet.” You tried as casually as you could to slowly close your book, leaving it on the crushed velvet fabric and pushing yourself up. You slipped each shoe back on, a simple black pump with a golden SC on the back of each heel. “I could make you some.” He didn’t acknowledge your offer, but sat heavily in his chair before taking a long sip from the mug. “Long day?” He leaned his head back, his eyes following you as you approached.
“And it’s not even noon.” You felt him melt into your touch as you pressed your fingers into his shoulders. You felt his body rumble under your fingers, encouraging you to keep doing exactly that. “I have another meeting.” It wasn’t said in a tone that implied for you to stop, more so a reminder.
“I know.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, letting your lips linger on his warm skin. “It feels like we never get to spend time together without worrying about your next meeting.” He hummed in acknowledgement, his hand coming up and covering one of yours that still sat on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze before letting go.
“I know, Baby Girl.” You both let the silence fill the air between you, as you kept doing your best to knead the tension from his shoulders. “I have to get going.” He reached up behind you, easily finding the back of your neck and bringing you to meet his lips in an upside down kiss.
Parting from the kiss was difficult for both of you, lips lingering for longer than normal. “I have to tell you something.” You muttered, stepping back so he could stand from his chair and begin to gather his folder and pen.
“Can it wait until after this meeting?” He said, glancing at the clock that sat on the edge of his desk.
“It’s sorta’ about your meeting…” his movements passed, and you felt his eyes on you before you were able to meet them, his eyebrow cocked. “But you can’t be mad, okay?” You looked down at your feet, toes curling in your heels.
“Spit it out.” His irritation was palpable, making the air in the room feel stifling.
“Your meeting…is with me.” The sound of his hand slamming against his desk startled you enough to look up at him hesitantly.
His jaw was tightly set, his eyebrows furrowed as his hand moved from where it was on the desk up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m so-“ his hook came up, silencing you mid thought.
“I understand you’re feeling lonely.” His words were sharp, carefully selected before ever leaving his lips. “But you do know what I do in these meetings, right?” You anxiously rung your hands, shaking your head. “I make business deals, I make money. Money that I can use to buy you pretty things.” You chew the inside of your cheek, anticipating his anger. “You like it when I buy you pretty things, don’t you?” You jumped when you felt the cool smooth metal of his hook slide up your neck until he could tug your chin up, his grey eyes sharp, but not angry.
“I would give up the gifts if it meant I got to spend more time with you.” His brows raised and his lips parted in genuine surprise. “I barely see you for more than 5 minutes at a time between meetings. When I wake up in the mornings, you’ve already left. And I’m asleep by the time you come back to bed. I’m sorry I took up a meeting slot, but I don’t regret it.” It takes him a breath to find his words, carefully constructing the sentence between speaking.
“How long have you felt this way?” The question surprised you, taking you back as you tried to figure out how long it had actually been.
“Maybe two months?” You eventually said.
“Baby girl…” he sighed, his hook falling from your chin, the curved side following the lines of your body until he could grab your waist with it and tug you closer. “I wish you had said something sooner.” His hand cupped your cheek, quieting your mind as you pressed into his palm.
“I didn’t want to get in the way of your work, but I just couldn’t take it anymore.” He leaned down, his lips grazing yours, but not yet initiating a kiss.
“We’ll just have to make this meeting count, hm?” He didn’t give you a chance to respond before his tongue was pushing past your lips.
Your hands were already clawing at the silk vest perfectly tailored for his broad chest. You pulled back enough to get a few words out, “c-can I?” You tugged at the fabric, watching as a smirk spread across his lips.
“It’s your meeting my little minx, you call the shots. But don’t make me regret it.” Your mouth opened with the intention of questioning him, but you thought better of it, nodding instead.
Your fingers quickly worked his vest open, pushing it off his shoulders, rolling up onto your toes briefly before folding the piece of clothing over the back of his chair with his fur coat.
He’s watching you with the pure amusement of someone who had relinquished control for possibly the first time. Unable to resist, you tug him down by his cravat so you could press your lips to his as you tugged the knot loose. You toss the silk behind you in the vague direction of his chair, littered with his clothes. Your hands return to his chest, pushing him back into the desk behind him. “Sit” you can feel the rumble of his laugh under your flat palm as he steps back and slides back onto his desk.
His legs naturally parted, allowing you to stand between them, fingers working each golden button from its hole until you could push his shirt open. “What are you going to do next, hm?”
You hiked the sides of your fitted skirt up, giving you the freedom to climb on top of him, straddling his lap. You could already feel the bulge pressing against his slakes, taking a moment to grind against it under the gauze of getting comfortable. His lips found yours again, your fingers tangling through the soft hair at the base of his neck, trying your best to avoid disturbing the rest of his perfectly slicked back mane. “Tick tock little minx.” His words slip out as he trails kisses down the side of your face to your neck. With every nip of his teeth on your pulse point, your plans for him get farther away. “I think your meeting planning needs some work.” You could feel him smile against your buzzing skin.
His hook wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer to his chest “tell me what you want.”
“Your cock” you ground down against his trapped bulge, earning a deep groan from the larger man.
“You’re not ready for that yet, it’s been too long.”
“Then get me ready, please.” Your voice broke at the end of your plea, your neediness mounting.
“That’s my good girl. Take all this off for me” his hook slid down your back, catching on the waist of your hitched up skirt.
With support from him, you slipped off the desk, wasting no time, unzipping your skirt and letting it fall to the floor as you wrestle your deep purple blouse over your head. Very quickly you were standing in front of him in just a black and gold matching set, your bra pushing your breasts up to high heavens while the thin panties left little to the imagination. “How long have you been planning this?”
“I never thought I’d get this far.” he reached forward with his hook, tugging you between his legs again.
He leaned forward, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before speaking in a low growl “Take off whatever you don’t want to get ripped off, baby girl.” Without stepping back from his chest, you reached behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to your feet. “That’s my girl. Are you gonna’ let me tear those ruined panties out of the way?” You nodded, meeting his gaze through your lashes.
His hook slid between your legs, the curved side following your covered core up to the apex of your mound before slipping under the fabric that stretched across your hips. Turning his hook in one swift motion, the thin lace never stood a chance. Still held on by the other side, Sir Crocodile rubbed his hand over your now bare hip, ensuring he hadn’t knicked you before repeating the movement with what little fabric was still hanging on.
When you were standing bare in front of him you watched him leave back on his hand, his eyes scanning over you “what now?” His tone was almost mocking.
You glance at the clock next to him on the desk, huffing as the realization of your time constraint washes over you like a bucket of ice water. He noticed the way your expression dropped and grabbed the small clock, turning it so you could no longer read the face “don’t think about that, what do you want?”
“What about the ti-“
“They can fuckin’ wait! Now,” he leaned forward, encircling your waist with his hook and dragged you into him so you could feel his need press against you. “Where did the little minx that slotted herself into my schedule to get her needy little cunt fucked go?”
Your hands ran up his thighs, slowly inching closer to where his bulge was fighting against his slacks, his button was a challenge to separate, but when you finally pulled it apart the low, satisfied groan rumbled in your ear. “That’s my good girl” you pulled him free from the opening, his musk overpowering his cologne.
You leaned down, strands of hair falling around your face as you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock. As you slowly toyed with him, he carefully began gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail to make things easier. Normally, he would use his grip on your tresses to force you down, but not this time, giving you the chance to set your own pace.
Instead of swallowing him all at once, you ran your tongue along his slit, your hand struggling to fully wrap around it. When you could taste the saltiness of his precum you opted to drag your tongue along his underside again, drawing teasing patterns with the tip of your tongue. When you felt his grip on your hair tighten, a quick tug up, a silent warning.
Understanding what he was saying without the need for words you took one long, deep breath through your nose before stretching your mouth wide enough to take him. Each thick inch you had to consciously relax your throat, your hands bracing yourself on either thigh. But the deep groan he made, made it all worth it. “Missed how well your little throat takes me” you moaned in response, the vibration catching him off guard and forcing a breathier sigh slip out before he could stop it.
Another tug on your hair had you slowly moving up, until the only thing connecting you was a thin line of saliva which was quickly broken when he pulled you back to look at him. “Let’s see how you take my fingers, hm?” You nodded, his grip on your hair vanished, your tresses framing your face as his hand moved down to your waist, helping you onto his lap.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, he spread his thighs wider which forced your legs further apart. “Relax into me, let daddy make up for neglecting you.” His hook held you up, while his hand dragged down your body. He started first with your bottom lip, dragging down your neck, between your breasts, until you finally feel the wide pad of his thumb press against your clit. Your head falling forward onto his shoulder, your hips canting forward in a silent plea for more. He gave you what you wanted for a little bit, your hips grinding against his hand until he slipped his fingers down between your folds. “All this for me?”
“Yes” it sounded more like a breath than an actual word, his middle finger sinking into you until you could feel his knuckle against your folds.
“How’s that feel, baby girl?” You grind your hips down against him, a whine slipping out “C’mon, use your words, you know better.”
“It’s not enough.”You whimper, huffing a frustrated breath out, getting an amused chuckle from the larger man.
“We can’t go too fast and risk hurting your needy little cunt, now can we?”
“Please.” Your voice strains as your hips hump against whatever he’ll give you.
“Do you want another finger?” He pulled out, running his finger through your folds until he could toy with your clit again.
“I want your cock, please.” Tears of frustration were welling along your water line, your face pressing harder into his shoulder.
“Well, I’m not offering you my cock yet, am I?” He pulled the hand from between your legs away, a desperate sob ripped from your throat. “It’s either another finger or nothing.” You tried to lower yourself enough that you’d be able to grind against his cock, still left out of his pants. But as soon as he noticed your goal, you felt his palm grab your cunt, creating a barrier between your heat and anything else. “You may have made this meeting, but that doesn’t mean you get to act like a brat and take more than you’re ready for.” He nudged his shoulder, silently demanding you sit up so he could see you.
You could tell just by the way he smirked that your face must have been an absolute mess. Mascara smudged around your eyes and streaking down your cheeks from your frustrated tears. He always told you you were your most beautiful when you had fallen apart completely, that’s why he would always push you to your breaking point any chance he got. “Now, do you want another finger, or nothing at all?”
“I want another finger, pl-lease.”
“Good” The feeling of his two thick fingers pressing up into you was better than you had anticipated. Two of his fingers were closer to the width of three of yours, and they reached so much deeper than yours ever seemed to be able to. You felt fuller than you had in weeks, that feeling only becoming more intense as he scissored them apart, prepping you for something much bigger.
It didn’t take much for your walls to loosen and open for him, the sound of your slick slapping as he pounded his fingers into you felt deafening. You easily welcomed a third finger not long after the second. “You look so good like this, falling apart on my fingers before you’ve even had my cock.” He crooked his fingers, rubbing against the spongy bundle of nerves on your inner walls, making your whole body tense, your hands balling his expensive dress shirt, surely leaving wrinkles. “Does that feel good, baby girl?” His tone mocked your needy whimpers as your hips bucked against him, begging him for more. “Are you going to cum like this?” You fell forward, face turning into his neck so he could overwhelm all your senses. “Go ahead, you’ve earned it.”
You were cumming before he had even finished his sentence. It was as though every inch of you turned white hot, your walls squeezing his fingers as wave after wave crashed over you until you were limply humping his hand with each surge of pleasure.
He let you stay like that, trying to recover from the first whole body orgasm you’d had in what felt like months. It wasn’t until he felt you move your hips that he turned his head so he could speak right into your ear. “Want more?” You could say no, and you knew if you did he would never press, he’d give you the time to recover. But you needed more. More of him. You had never felt so desperate for him, in every sense of the word you craved him.
You knew nodding wouldn’t be enough of an answer for him, too easy to misinterpete. So you found it within yourself to force out a “please, please I need more.” He took his time, slowly pulling his fingers from your hole, your body unconsciously clenching around the newfound emptiness he left.
“Sit up so I can watch you take me.” He held you up, his hook still on your back while his hand held your hip, his eyes glued between your legs while you reached down and guided his cock to your slick cunt. “Slowly baby girl, don’t force it.” Your hand came to his, holding onto his wrist as you felt the first stretch of his bulbous head. “Deep breath, sweetheart. You’ve done it before, just take it slow.” When you finally sunk all the way to his lap you took a long shaky breath. “There you go,” his hand moved from your hip to swipe over your cheek, drawing you in for another kiss. “You feel so good on my cock.” He said into the kiss, distracting you from the stretch you were still feeling while your body was getting used to him again.
There was a knock at the door, “sir, your 12:30 is here, should I bring him i-“
“No!” Crocodile barked at his assistant, “he can fuckin wait in the boardroom” you could hear frenzied apologizes from the other side of the door before a meek “Of course Sir, I’ll let him know. Sorry for the disturbance.” He groaned, leaning his head against your chest.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“God no” his warm breath puffed over your bare chest.
You reached behind you with both hands, finding purchase on his knees so you could start to fuck yourself on him. “I missed you” the words came out before you had even realized it. He pulled back, looking at you with an expression reserved only for you. The look didn’t last long, opting instead to pepper kisses along your chest, nipping at each nipple in a way he knew you liked, your hips increasing until the sound of flesh on flesh filled the room.
A strangled whimper slipped from your lips, bringing his gaze up to you, your breast falling from his lips so he could speak “what do you need?”
“I’m so close”
“What do you want me to do about it?” His words to anyone else would sound harsh, but to you it was his way of offering, telling you that whatever you needed, he’d do it, no matter what.
“I want you to fuck me.” He laughed, the rumble vibrating against you as both arms wrapped around you, securing you against him as he stood from the desk, your additional weight not phasing him in the least. With your ankles locked around his hips, his cock never left you even as he laid you down on his desk.
His hand slid up your torso until he could grab your face, ensuring that you would watch him through whatever he was going to give you. His hips slowly pulled back, making sure you felt every inch of him leave you until just his head remained nestled inside of you. His eyes were glued to your expression as he slowly forced himself back into you, watching your eyes tear before closing at the sheer fullness you felt. “Ready?” You nodded, and for once, that was enough for him.
He didn’t waste anymore time before pounding into you, quickly filling the room with your moans and the sound of his skin against yours. With his hook he pulled one of your legs up over his shoulder, giving him a good view of his cock disappearing into you. “Touch yourself for me” finding your clit was almost a struggle at the pace he was slamming into you, your hand getting knocked off course with every thrust of his hips. Shakily, you were able to set a steady-ish pace, your clit held between your index and middle finger, quickly coaxing you to your peak for the second time that day.
The leg he held over his shoulder tensed first, the first sign of your rapidly approaching orgasm. The movements on your clit quickly became sloppy and desperate, a stark comparison to his thrusts which for the time being remained even, bruising. “Show me how good you feel.” With your free hand you reached out for him, drawing his face down to you so his forehead was pressed to yours, eyes glued to one another. His voice was low, gravelly as he looked down between you, watching your hips raise off the desk, your movements desperate as you teetered on the edge. “Cum on my cock and tell me how good it feels.” Your mouth opened with the intention of responding but all that came out was a long, drawn out moan. Your back arching, pressing your chest even closer to his as your fingers slowed, letting the wave of your orgasm consume you.
You could tell by the way his head dropped down to your neck that he was right there with you, his thrusts losing their cadence as he allowed himself to chase his peak. “Cum for me, my love.” This pet name was his undoing, always was, and always will be.
The only warning you had before feeling his warmth flooding your insides was a broken moan and a few more short uncoordinated thrusts. His hips continued to press into you through his orgasm, getting weaker and weaker until he was still, his cock remaining inside of you as he fought the urge to put his full weight on you. Slowly you carded your fingers though his hair, working the gel loose before you remembered the situation you were in.
“Shit” You cursed under your breath, trying to smooth down the hair you had been playing with, hoping you could at least fix it enough that he wouldn’t notice. “C-croc” You pressed a kiss to his crown, hoping to draw him from his clouded state but only really getting a grumble in response. “Your meeting” You gently reminded him, getting a more aggravated grumble this time.
“You're far crueler than I ever gave you credit for,” he said slowly, voice hoarse as he peppered lazy kisses along your bare chest, showing little signs of getting off you.
“Cruel?” You questioned, squirming a little so you could slide the leg that was sandwiched between your bodies to the side, a gasp slipping out as you felt his hips shift, pressing his cock further inside of you. He nuzzled his face further into your neck, breathing you in like you’d been apart for days.
“I’m going to have to spend the rest of my day in meetings, thinking of how good your needy little cunt felt. How am I supposed to get any work done, hm?” He moved, coaxing you into a slow, passionate kiss.
“Haven’t had your fill yet?” Your sentence was punctuated by him chasing your lips every time you pulled away enough to speak.
“Never.”
The loud knock on the office door made both of you tense. “Crocodile” The familiar voice uttered, “I understand you’re a busy man, but I’m not deaf.” The larger man slowly stood up, placing his hand on your lower belly as he slowly pulled out “If you’re not going to meet with me today, at least have the decency to tell me.” You were barely quick enough to stifle your moan as he finally slipped out of you, his seed quickly beginning to drip out.
“Hawkeye” As he spoke loud enough to be heard through the door, his fingers idly pushed his seed back into you, the coolness of his rings against your sticky folds catching you off guard. “I apologize for keeping you, I had an unscheduled meeting that required my urgent attention. Let me wrap this up, and I’ll be right out.” He pressed two fingers into you one final time, bringing them out and to your lips, your mouth falling open to suck the combination of him and you off greedily.
“I’ll move around some meetings tomorrow.” He said completely unprompted as you buttoned his vest back up, his softened gaze watching you closely. “He’s my last meeting today, what do you say to a late dinner?” The curved edge of his hook drew your chin up so you were looking up at him from where you were still sitting on his desk, the only thing covering you was his large fur coat he had draped over your shoulders as you started helping him redress.
“I would love that.” He smiled softly, reaching past you to grab a cigar from the desk, your hand beating his to the golden desk lighter.
“I could take you shopping tomorrow, buy you a new pair of pretty panties.” You shook your head, hearing the cigar sizzle as he inhaled deeply. “No?” You slipped off the desk, pulling your arms through the oversized sleeves of his coat before you knelt down to pick up his leather folder that had been shoved aside earlier. You put it in his open hand, watching as he pulled the cigar from between his teeth, leaning down with the intention of kissing you. But just before you pressed your lips to his, you smiled “or we could just spend tomorrow in bed?”.
tw. dirty talk, VEGETAAA!!!!, Oral sex (receiving), Anatomical dirty talk directed at genitalia, Possessiveness and degradation, Potential implications of body ownership/control.
Vegeta’s breath fans hot across your soaked heat, and the second he spreads you open with those rough fingers, he’s talking to her like she’s a separate being entirely—like your pussy’s got a mind of her own and he’s about to break it.
“Look at you,” he mutters, thumb lazily circling your clit, not giving you nearly enough pressure. “Dripping already and I haven’t even spit on you yet. What a needy little thing.”
He stares between your legs like he’s mesmerized, voice dark and low, dragging his mouth just close enough to make you twitch.
“She fuckin’ missed me, didn’t she?” he croons, nudging her with the ridge of his nose. “Bet she cried when I didn’t fill her up last night. Bet she fluttered open and begged for it.”
You whimper, thighs starting to tremble, and he just smirks harder.
“Don’t act shy now,” he chuckles. “You know I can see her. Can feel her greedy little pulsing every time I speak.”
Then, slowly, so slowly, he lays a hot, open-mouthed kiss right on your clit, making your whole body jolt.
“She’s got no patience,” he growls, tonguing you now, messily, possessively. “Can’t even wait her damn turn. Doesn’t she know her cunt belongs to me?”
His tongue drags lower, dipping into your entrance just to feel the way she flutters against him. He pulls back only to say, “You hear me down there?” he mutters directly at your pussy. “You belong to me. This mouth, these fingers, this cock. you take nothing else. You don’t even think about being satisfied unless I say so.”
His teeth gently graze your mound and you gasp, “Good girl,” he praises your pussy directly.
“She knows who feeds her. She knows who ruins her.” Then, just before he dives back in, he breathes one last filthy promise between your legs, “Hope you’re ready to cry, sweetheart. ‘Cause I’m not stopping till you’re fuckin’ leaking for days.”
2025 all rights belong to jesi555 on tumblr. thank u so so much for reading!! reblogs are always appreciated !!
When their gf has big tits, thick thighs and a dump truck 😩
content warning: suggestive lol, fem reader has big titties, big butt, and yummy thighs, so if ur uncomfy with these, viewers discretion is advised. [im not super proud of this but its fine ig.] REPOST.
he's angry, irritated and fucking horny now.
the ride home was silent, not a word was spoken between you two. he's too annoyed at the moment. he was disappointed nonetheless. you said nothing, afraid you'd add more fuel to the fire.
he sped up the vehicle, casually breaking the law. karma hit him right in his face that very second. well, not him, you.
your upper body jerked harshly and your breasts jiggled because of the unexpected speed bump, the car mimicking the bouncing motion.
and he hates it so much.
your thighs are no exception, they make a scary man like him vulnerable and soft. your flesh spilled from his grip, his calloused fingers squeezing the plush fat at any given moment.
out of the three, your ass takes the cake for being his favourite pillow, whenever you flop face first onto the bed, your ass cheeks jiggle and he's sent into overdrive. they fit into his hands so perfectly, like the last 2 puzzle pieces connecting.
satisfaction courses through his mind as he imagines his big three covered in purple marks that'll erupt tomorrow morning, but now his anger is disappearing, his scowl is fading into a smirk and your plush figure occupies his mind.
for now, he'll just try to find more speed breakers to see those tits jiggle like that again.
Hi guys just a disclaimer this was initially written on @jesi-pinkman but since that is nsfw I’ve made it private and you’ll find more stuff like this on @jesi555
This fic is based on a headcanon I have involving the prince and his constant need to wear gloves. I'm putting this here as a side note, but the first chapter is a bit violent. I hope you all enjoy it.
Nappa was smiling, as proud as a warrior-nanny could be given the circumstances. Vegeta had aced his first mission under Frieza’s rule without a single hitch, having wiped out an entire planet on his own in just a couple hours. They had hit three more after that, completing twice the work of an adult saiyan could have mustered up. And what, he was only 6? Never before had such latent power been shown in such a young saiyan; his power already rivaled Nappa’s own. On late night’s when the bar was full and Raditz and Vegeta were in bed, Nappa would sit and brag to the other soldiers of Frieza’s army how talented the kid was.
The bar was dim, the tables around having been emptied as all the patrons gathered around Nappa and listened to his tales. Among them were Ginyu, Burter, and Jeice, all three of whom were rolling their eyes at the display.
“You should have seen the way he shot through that thing! It was almost three times my size, maybe bigger!” Nappa hiccuped, taking a swig from his mug before slamming his fist on the bar’s counter-top. “It was incredible!”
From around the corner, a young saiyan who should have been in bed smirked. His smile quickly faltered however, as someone else spoke up.
“Psh, right,” Ginyu laughed, giving Nappa a shove. “Like a kid could take down one of those on his own. Even Guildo struggles with them!”
“No, Nappa’s being serious, I saw it myself!” Another soldier yelled, slamming his drink down on the bar. “The kid is a beast! A monster!”
Vegeta nodded, crossing his arms and leaning through the doorframe a bit to watch as the older men debated his feats.
At that Ginyu and Burter laughed, “please! He’s an ape!” Ginyu snorted. “You think that monkey could actually do that on his own? He’s weak, just like his old man. Maybe he got lucky, but nothing more than that.”
Vegeta clutched his cape and held it at his sides, his anger overtaking him as he fought not to run in there and sucker punch Ginyu in the face; he had already learned once that it wasn’t a good idea, and wouldn’t make an idiot of himself again. Ginyu didn’t believe he could do that? Didn’t think that Vegeta could fight his own battles or overtake a stronger opponent? Fine. He would prove he could; he would show everyone exactly what he could do. And he wouldn’t stop until they believed him.
—
Months had passed, but for Vegeta, time moved strangely. It felt fleeting and yet too long at the worst of times. Then again, he was still only a child. He had already gotten stronger, not that anyone but Raditz or Nappa noticed and he didn’t give a damn what they thought. Each day and night was the same, he was degraded by the Ginyus to his face and behind his back. His family was gone, his home was gone, and his race was all but eradicated. He was the last remaining saiyan royal and ruled over two; he wasn’t the strongest on the ship nor was he even close to beating Frieza… yet. That day would come, he reassured himself. Until then he was destined to be miserable, to spend everyday fighting to be better only to get no recognition from anyone. That much responsibility and pain weighing down on a child surely wasn’t healthy, especially not when they were forcing themselves to do even more than everyone else.
Vegeta couldn’t keep track anymore of how many planets he had slaughtered. Their cries of mercy fell on deaf ears. At night, he had nightmares about the faces of those that had met their end in his hands. He wondered who they were, what lives they lived. He was doing to them what had happened to his own home. He tossed and turned each night, enough for Raditz to complain to Nappa that it was keeping him awake.
Soon he turned 7, still a child in the eyes of a saiyan. After each fight he felt dirtier and dirtier, and visited the showers once, twice, three times a day. The soldiers on the ship joked that the prince was a germaphobe. He was too royal for their peasant germs. He was killing without purpose, without a fight and the guilt was eating away at him slowly, crumbling his sanity with each life he took. He was 8 when it happened.
Nappa was heading to the bar before he stopped. Something in him, some primal, strange instinct, told him to go to the boys room. He rushed down the halls and to their room, where Raditz was snoring loudly with his arm draped across his face. Vegeta, however, was gone. He couldn’t ask anyone else if they had seen him, as he’d surely be punished for roaming parts of the ship he shouldn’t without Nappa present.
Vegeta had gotten back late from a mission and decided to go take a shower. His body was covered in blood, none of which was his own. He watched as the red water swirled down the shower drain and slowly became pink, scrubbing his body with a bar of soap as he grunted to himself. Arms, chest, legs, feet, tail, and finally his hands. He lathered the soap between them, watching the bubbles form up and over his hands before rinsing them off in the water. To his surprise, the water revealed the blood was still there.
“Damn shit must have stained them,” he huffed, turning off the water and drying himself with a towel. He quickly wrapped it around his waist and made his way to the sinks, grabbing his toothbrush and lining it with toothpaste. Until he saw his hands again. No longer tinted red, they were coated in blood. The fur on the end of his tail began to spike as he stared at it, quickly flipping them around to see if he had any open wounds. He ran the water and shoved his hands under it, scrubbing at the blood to get it off.
“What the hell!” He snapped, watching as nothing changed. He began to scratch at it, trying to peel it off to know avail. He hissed as he turned the water up, the heat becoming blistering hot as he started to claw at his own hands in a desperate attempt to get the blood off of himself.
“Why isn’t it coming off!” He yelled, starting to get louder and louder as he grew more desperate. He felt filthy as his consciousness weighed down on him, his sleep deprived body and nightmarish life finally getting the better of him. “Get it off me!”
Nappa knew he had to be in the showers, as it was the only place the kid ever went to when he wasn’t in the dining halls or his room. With how late it was, the dining halls would have closed ages ago. As he made his way down the corridors of the ship he could hear something. It was quiet at first, but slowly became louder and louder as he got closer to the men's showers. He could hear Vegeta, screaming out in pain. Nappa shot off and slammed through the door to the bathroom, following the sounds of the hysterical screaming until he found the prince by the sinks. Vegeta was sobbing, hands burnt red from the water.
“The hell has gotten into you!” Nappa yelled, ripping him away from the sink. He was going to scold the prince when he saw the claw marks all over his hands. Vegeta tried to shove him away, crying out for Nappa to let go of him but it all sounded like gibberish to the older saiyan.
“What are you doing!” Nappa yelled at him as Vegeta slammed a hand against his face, trying to make his way back to the sink. “You’re hurting yourself, what are you doing!”
“I CAN’T GET IT OFF!” Vegeta screamed between sobs. “MY HANDS! THEY’RE COVERED IN BLOOD I CAN’T GET IT OFF!”
“Vegeta there is no blood!” Nappa yelled, grabbing his wrists and holding him still. “But there’s going to be if you keep tearing at your skin!”
“DON’T TOY WITH ME NAPPA JUST GET IT OFF ME! PLEASE I CAN’T- I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS PLEASE JUST GET IT OFF!”
Nappa grabbed the prince and his clothes, clamping a hand over his mouth as he ran out of the bathroom and back towards his room. Vegeta dug his nails into the flesh of Nappa’s hand, sinking his fang’s into Nappa’s palm as the older saiyan grunted in pain. Vegeta was still trying to scream but Nappa’s hand remained firm, refusing to let anyone see the prince like this. The door to Nappa’s bedroom slammed shut as he locked it and tossed the prince on the bed, who immediately tried to book it back out the door. Before he could grab the doorknob, Nappa was in front of him, blocking his escape in the dark room. Vegeta beat his fists against Nappa’s chest, trying and failing to shove him out of the way. Nappa knelt down, taking Vegeta’s hands in his before sliding a pair of white gloves over them.
“Look! There’s no blood! Now please Vegeta quit it!” He turned the prince’s hands over slowly, showing that nothing had seeped through. “See? You’re fine!”
Vegeta glanced down, a sniveling mess as he turned his hands over on his own and studied the gloves. They were white, pristine, new, and soft. They cooled his burning hands and the silken fabric felt nice against the cuts he had created. “Th-there’s no more b-blood?”
“None, Vegeta. There isn’t any blood. Okay?”
Vegeta nodded as Nappa stood up slowly, making his way to his cabinet and pulling out gauze and ointment. He applied it to his palm first after cleaning it with a towel, Vegeta’s fangs having taken quite the chunk out of his skin. Then he bandaged it, sliding his gauntlets on over after so the prince wouldn’t see the reddish hue that would seep out soon enough. After tossing the towel, he made his way back over to Vegeta, who had calmed down remarkably and yet was still standing in the same spot Nappa had left him. He was staring at his hands, eyes lidded as sleep finally began to overpower him. Nappa grabbed him under his armpits and lifted him over to the bed, setting him down and getting the ointment ready. As he began to pull off Vegeta's gloves, the prince started screaming again, kicking Nappa away and tugging them back down.
“NO!” He cried out. “NO YOU CAN’T TAKE THEM OFF!”
“DAMN IT VEGETA I NEED TO MAKE SURE THOSE SCRATCHES DON’T GET INFECTED!”
“NO! I’M YOUR PRINCE, I DEMAND YOU WILL NOT TAKE THESE OFF! EVER!”
“Vegeta,” Nappa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t keep them on forever you’ll have to-”
“I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!”
“Vegeta I swear to-”
“THAT’S AN ORDER NOW DROP IT!” Nappa didn’t say anything after that, handing the prince his pajamas and turning away. Vegeta changed quickly, grunting when he was done. Nappa frowned at the sight of the prince wearing gloves with his pajamas, but chose not to push it further. They’d deal with it in the morning and go to see the doctor then as well.
“Do you want me to walk you back to your-”
Vegeta was quick to cut him off, voice trembling as he ran his hands together in his lap. “Can I stay here tonight?” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper as he refused to meet Nappa’s eyes. Nappa looked down at the prince, an ache in his chest as he stared at the child that was forced to carry so much; but he was just that, a child. He shouldn’t have had to do any of this, not until he was much, much older. He should have been in the palace right now, spending each day training under his father to be the next king, not turned into a killing machine by a freak that regarded them as nothing.
“Of course, your highness. You can stay here for the night.” Nappa quickly went and changed into his sleep shorts, scooting Vegeta over enough so he could fit along with him on his bed. The prince held his arm tight, body trembling as Nappa laid awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together whatever the hell had just happened. Even after Vegeta had finally dozed off, Nappa remained awake, unsure with what to do with the prince.
As time went on, Vegeta learned to live with it the best he could. The cuts he had caused on himself that night healed over, leaving small scars to forever remind him of his own shame and guilt. The blood he saw on his hands never truly went away after that but he learned to pretend he couldn’t see it. With time he was able to remove his gloves, but only for short periods before he’d quickly slip them back on. Just long enough to shower, trim his nails, or give the gloves a quick wash.
After everything that happened on Earth, after what he did to Nappa, it was as if he were a kid again. The gloves would not come off. Ever. He had killed the man who gave them to him, who had tried to shield him from himself. For what? A power move? Now the gloves themselves were another reminder of his sins, but he found himself unable to swap them with a new pair. Now he was living in some Earth woman’s home after embarrassing himself in front of Frieza and a low level saiyan piece of scum. He slaughtered the Ginyu force, which was a bit of a two edged sword for him. Kakarot was gone at who knows where and he was stuck here, failing to do anything substantial. He had truly lost all meaning to his life.
The gravity chamber the blue haired woman had helped build was where he spent most of his time. It gave him a break from dealing with everyone, including you. You were the most confusing out of everyone that was on this idiotic planet. He could never get a proper read on you. You were too… upbeat. He didn’t like to dwell on what he thought of you, and unfortunately found himself thinking of you during training at the worst of times.
He had put his hand up to guard his face at the last moment as the battle bot shot at him, successfully blocking it but not without slight damage to his glove. There, on his right hand, was a clean tear.
“Shit!” He yelled. “Damn it damn it damn it!” He blew the robot to bits before it could do anymore damage, throwing on his shirt and making his way back towards Bulma’s house. He felt sick as he glanced down at it, the deep red shade staring back at him through the slit.
He made his way in through the back door, speed walking through the living room and down the hallway to where his bedroom was located. He didn’t have spares, he had never needed a spare. He searched around for anything that could be used as a makeshift glove. He ripped apart shirts and tried to cover it to no avail, too stressed to tie the knots properly with one hand. He shoved the fabric under the glove, only to rip it further. “Shit!”
He didn’t know how to sew, he was a prince for the Gods’ sakes. He felt sick at the idea of what he was going to have to do but quickly realized there was no other option. He was going to have to ask for help.
—-
You were sitting at Bulma’s kitchen table, waiting for your friend to get back from her date with Yamcha so the two of you could go shopping. You were sipping a glass of apple juice, the only thing in her fridge at the moment in terms of drinks. The coffee maker was on the fritz ever since Vegeta tried to beat the shit out of it to get it working. Apparently the glowing blue button wasn’t obvious enough for saiyans. You paused mid sip, wondering if perhaps he was partially colorblind. Your thoughts trailed off as he was suddenly standing in front of you, arms crossed and glaring in your general direction.
“Juice? Seriously? What are you, five?” he frowned, opening the fridge and looking around for something.
“Good morning to you too, your highness,” you grunted, raising the cup to your lips. “I was going to have coffee but for some reason the machine is broken.”
He huffed in annoyance but said nothing else. You could tell he had just finished training as he was a dirty, sweaty mess. The singe marks across his suit only proved your point further. “There’s nothing in here,” he frowned, slamming the fridge door shut.
“Yeah, I heard someone has been staying over and eating everything,” you replied, taking out your phone and scrolling through it. “I have no idea who it could be though.”
Either he didn’t notice your sarcastic tone or he didn’t care. “Tell the other woman to go get more food then,” he snapped. “It’s not my problem.”
“You could go get it yourself.”
“With what money?”
You rolled your eyes, “You’re a prince, aren’t you?”
He slammed a hand down flat on the table, leaning beside you to try and meet your eyes. “The hell do you mean by that?”
Without looking at him you opened your text messages, Bulma’s name quickly popping up. “What do you think?” He tried to glance over at your screen to see what you were going to text her before you shifted the phone away; it was like he was a child. “Do you mind?”
“Are you texting her? Tell her to get the vanilla protein powder as well, I won’t eat the chocolate one. It’s disgusting.”
“Yeah yeah sure,” you sighed, instead typing “his royal majesty is awake and grumpy. Please get here soon.” She replied by laughing at your message before sending a picture of her and Yamcha laughing in whatever breakfast restaurant they were in. For now, you were stuck with him.
“She’s with the beta-male, isn’t she?” He frowned. You nodded.
“They’re on a date I think? I don’t know, sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
You were surprised to hear him chuckle at that. “True. However I’d say they’re made for eachother. They’re both annoying and a pain in my ass.”
“I’ll agree with that first part,” you giggled, setting your phone down and glancing over at him. You took another sip of your juice glass while he looked out the window. “Want me to make you a PBJ or something?”
“Sure. While you’re at it can you pour me some juice as well and put it in a sippy cup?” He grunted, turning to face you and making an effort to roll his eyes. You don’t know why you even bothered.
“Just trying to be polite.”
He seemed like he wanted to say something else before he looked down at his hand. He began to fidget with his gloves a bit, the white things worn to death. When Bulma had offered him new ones he refused, rather rudely you might add, so you chose not to mention them. When designing new training outfits with her for him, gloves were always discussed but never elaborated on. “When is the blue-haired woman coming back?”
You shrugged, “not sure.”
He sighed, and for a moment, he sounded relieved. You went to ask him what was up before he started talking.
“You’re a woman,” he grunted, pulling out a chair and sitting beside you. “You sew, right?”
Ever charming, this one. “Fuck you but yes, I sew.”
“I need you to fix my gloves,” he grumbled, continuing to mess with the one on his right hand.
“I can just make you new-”
“No,” he snapped, cutting you off quickly. “I need them repaired.”
“Fine,” you said curtly. “Just leave them by my door and-”
“No, you'll fix them now.”
You crossed your arms, “Vegeta I don’t just carry a sewing kit on me.”
He stared at you blankly before his eyes moved to your purse, which was resting on the back of your chair. “Then what the hell is that for?”
You pinched the bridge of your nose and inhaled sharply as you chose to ignore his question. “Why should I help you in the first place? You’re not exactly-”
“Please.” The word was uttered so quietly, so pathetically, you were almost positive you had dreamed it. There was no way on Earth that Vegeta had said ‘please’ to you of all people. You skimmed over his face to find he was looking at the table. After a few moments and your lack of response, his eyes snapped up, his face flushing a bright red. “Stop staring at me like that! I’m not going to repeat myself damn it! It’s embarrassing enough!”
You blinked a few times, trying to hide the shock as you spoke, “come on, I have a kit in my room.” You placed your empty juice glass in the sink, beginning to walk towards the spare room Bulma had designated as your own.
The sound of his boots clicked across the wooden floor as he followed you. He was embarrassed to admit he found himself admiring your outfit. It was rare he ever saw you in anything besides casual or training clothes. Today, however, you seemed to be stepping it up. He felt his ears begin to heat up as he stared at your ass and hips before quickly looking at your hair. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Like what?” You frowned, glancing back at him.
His eyes briefly shot to yours before he glanced away. “You’re… dressed nice.”
You almost tripped when he complimented you, “oh, uh, thanks.” You said, clearing your throat. “Me and Bulma are going out later.”
“Why not wear your training gear? What if something were to happen?”
“Then I fight in this,” you shrugged. “My clothes aren’t what makes me a fighter, Vegeta. Plus with you guys around I’d only get in the way.”
“Sure, but you’re already weak enough as is. Extra protection wouldn’t hurt.”
You didn’t know if he was trying to make sure you were safe or simply making fun of you. “With how burned your suit is from the training bots, I don’t think armor makes much of a difference in the grand scheme of things.”
He simply grunted, watching as you grabbed the handle to your room. You opened the door and made your way to your desk, pulling out a drawer and rummaging around for your sewing kit. Vegeta stood in the walkway, staring at the floor before you pulled the kit out and set it on top of your desk. You tilted your head at him as you sat in your office chair, motioning for him to take a seat on your bed.
“I’ll stand,” he frowned, stepping in apprehensively and making his way over to you. He had never been in your room before; he never had a reason to be in it. It was very… you. He wasn’t sure how else to describe it. It had your scent and although he’d never admit it, he liked it. It made a shiver run down his spine.
“No, you’ll sit,” you countered. “I sew better sitting, and I don’t want you looming over me while I do it.” You flicked on your small lamp and smiled at him softly.
He grumbled under his breath, something about how he doesn’t ‘loom’ over people, before sitting on your bed carefully. He was trying to sit as close to the edge as possible to be somewhat polite. It creaked a bit as he did so, one of your plushies tumbling over and onto the floor. He sneered at it before you picked it up and set it back in its place.
“Alright, let me see it.”
He shoved his hand in your direction and you stared at him as if he were an idiot. “Vegeta you’re really starting to piss me off, give me the glove.”
“You can fix it as it is,” he snapped. “I’m not taking it off.”
You crossed your arms again and leaned back in your chair. “Are you trying to fuck with me? Is this a prank or something?”
“Why the hell would I do that!” He yelled, clenching your quilt in his fists. He heard the snapping of threads and quickly relaxed his hand. Whether from the glove or the blanket he wasn’t sure, but neither seemed like good options to damage. “This is serious! Do you think I’d ask you for help for fun?”
You wheeled your chair closer to him, motioning for him to place his hand in yours. He held it out hesitantly, palm facing the ceiling as you took it carefully in your own. A shiver ran up his spine once as he watched you trace the tear with your finger tips before he quickly looked away.
“I should be able to stitch it up, but I’m worried I’ll poke you with the needle by accident.” Vegeta didn’t say anything after that, face slightly pale and body tense. You squeezed his hand softly, “I need you to tell me what the deal with the gloves is. I won’t judge, and I won’t tell anyone else.”
“Like I’d trust you,” he snapped back as he ripped his hand away. “This was a mistake.”
You shook your head, setting his hand back in his lap as you began to thread the needle. “You don’t have to tell me I guess, but it would make everything easier. Maybe I can go get a spare glove from some-“
He was quick to cut you off, growing more and more agitated the longer he stared at the open slit in the fabric. “I should've just done this myself. God forbid you be good for someth-”
“Vegeta, I am trying to help you!” You yelled, finally having had enough. The prince seemed taken aback by your sudden outburst as you slammed the needle on the desk. “The first thing you do in the morning is belittle me, complain, and act like you own the place! Well you don’t! You treat me like shit, my friends like shit, and I still wanted to help you! Don’t get mad at me for trying to do something you asked me to do! If you want to do it yourself, fine, take my fucking kit and leave.” When you saw the look he was giving you, you immediately felt bad. His eyes were wide with shock, mouth slightly agape. It was the first time you had seen him make an expression that was anything like this.
You went to start apologizing before he ripped the damn thing off and tossed it at you. It thumped against your cheek before landing in your lap. You grabbed it and waved it at his face haphazardly.
“You didn’t have to throw it at me!”
“Just hurry and fix it!” He yelled back, crossing his arms and refusing to meet your eyes. His hand was shoved under his armpit as he tapped his foot rapidly against the wooden floor.
You quickly got to work, the prince growing more and more impatient as you fixed the tear. “Would you hurry up?”
“I’m trying! I want to make sure it’s done properly so I don’t have to redo it!”
He leaned forward slightly to watch you work. It was impressive how quick you were with it, precise as the needle wove in and out of the fabric with ease. He watched as you bit your lip and began to tap your foot just as he had. He watched as your hair slipped down from behind your ear before you quickly pushed it back into place. Your eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim lap light, and his heart began to race. For a moment and a moment only, he finally relaxed. Then you were pulling the seam closed, tying the knot and smirking at your work.
“Here, it’s done now you can-” He snatched it from you in an instant, struggling to put it on. You rolled your eyes, “a thanks would be nice.” He slid it on quickly, finally breathing a sigh of relief as he stared at the now closed seam. He could barely tell there had been a hole at all. He opened and closed his hand slowly to watch the fabric shift and ensure your work was good. Then he fell back on your bed and stared at the ceiling.
You wheeled over to him again, watching as he shut his eyes tight and laid limp against your mattress. “Thank you,” was all he mustered up.
“You’re welcome.” You replied, surprised he had even said anything. Your tone was soft when you spoke again, and he hated how it made him feel. “You can lay here as long as you need to.”
Your phone went off in your pocket and you pulled it out quickly, finding a text from Bulma letting you know that she was home and going to take a quick shower. You stood up to leave before Vegeta sat up quickly, grabbing your wrist.
“Can you stay?” He asked quietly, the glove soft against your wrist. You nodded, and quickly sat back down in your chair. He made his way once again to the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows against his legs as he clasped his hands together. He looked down at them, hunched over as he thought of what to say.
“Ever since I was a kid,” he started, voice so low and deep it sent a shiver up your spine. “I have been a killing machine. It’s what I was made for and it’s all I’ve ever known.”
You got up slowly and he paused before you nodded for him to continue. You shut and locked your door before walking back over to him and sitting in your chair. He nodded in thanks before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“I don’t have many memories of my father, and the ones that I do have are… complicated. Nappa raised me, if you could even call it that. Raditz was more of a nuisance than anything. Our goal was to survive, and one day I wanted to become powerful enough to beat Frieza. What a joke” He scoffed, shaking his head and looking back to the floor.
“At first, taking lives was easy for me. I was doing nothing more than what I was assigned; I started to do more, go beyond what was required of me. The only one to praise me was Nappa, and even then it was never to my face. I was ridiculed and mocked, but it only pushed me farther, to do better. It was never what I wanted, but more so what needed to be done.”
He didn’t know why the hell he was telling you this; he had never told anyone this. And yet now it was as if he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t shut his mouth long enough to think about what he was doing. “What was once hundreds went to thousands, then millions. I was eradicating races in the blink of an eye. Soon they weren’t just obstacles to me, but people with faces and lives I had ripped away from them. I had so much blood on my hands; I still have blood on my hands. So much blood that I will never, ever be able to get off.”
He opened and closed his hands once more, the sounds of the fabric shifting in his grip. “I’m not a good man. Hell, I've never claimed to be one. But now Frieza is gone and it feels like everything I’ve done, everything I worked towards for years, was for nothing. The things I see in my sleep, what I feel when I’m awake, what I’ve gone through was for nothing.” He stopped for a moment, voice and tone becoming so quiet and serious you couldn’t believe it was the same person who had spoken to you just minutes ago. “I haven’t been able to look at my hands the same way since I was a child.”
He finally looked up at you, eyes lidded as he smirked. You realized he was on the verge of tears. “Do you know how sad that is? A beast scared of his own damned hands. I’m a damn disgrace to my people.” He laughed after that, wiping his eyes and setting his hands back down. “Look at me, a prince crying in front of a damn lower life form.”
You reached out hesitantly, tapping his hand with your fingers apprehensively. When he didn’t pull away you continued, scooting closer to him and pulling his hand up to lay between you both.
You carefully ran your hand over his, sliding your fingers up and under the glove before pulling away slowly. You looked at him again, waiting for him to react or move away, to tell you to stop. Vegeta shut his eyes tight but didn’t pull away, his face pale as you set his glove carefully in your lap. To your surprise, his skin was soft, with yours perhaps being even rougher than his. Then again, you suppose that made sense if the saiyan never fought without them.
You traced your nails gently over his palm, studying the grooves in his skin and how neatly trimmed his nails were. “Well,” you started slowly, his breathing coming to a pause. “I don’t see any blood now.”
Vegeta opened his eyes slowly, looking at your face carefully as you studied his hand. You were so delicate with him it made his breath hitch in his throat.
“Sure, maybe there was a lot there in the past, but not anymore. You can’t change what happened, but you can acknowledge it and move on, try to do better this time around.”
When Vegeta looked at his own hand, he almost gasped in shock. It was his hand, as normal as any other. He looked back to you as you ran your thumb over top of his, gently moving your hand back and forth from his wrist to his knuckles.
“You haven’t done good things, Vegeta. But I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you need time and care to heal, and the first step towards that was acknowledging what we talked about today.” You paused, thinking carefully over your next choice of words before smiling softly. “I think there’s good in you. No, I know there is.”
He watched the way your hair tumbled down and around your face, and how gentle your stare seemed to be. You weren’t repulsed or disgusted, but caring and considerate. He felt a blush rise first to the tips of his ears and then his cheeks before he pulled his hand away and slid his glove back on. He stood up after that, walking briskly across the room without turning back. He unlocked the door and opened it, pausing to think for a moment. Then, he made his way down the hall, wondering what the hell had just come over him as his heart raced out of control.
A few days later he came home to find a second pair of gloves folded neatly on his bed along with a note, “just in case <3.” His face flushed as he went to crumple it up, but upon reading it just one more time, he found he couldn’t. He shoved it in the drawer of his bedside table, grumbling under his breath as he left to go train.
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five
author's note: we're getting very close to the end, y'all! thank you so much for your support and patience 🩷
pairing: vegeta x fem!reader
warnings: canon typical violence, does not follow canon timeline of events
"Don't expect to see this ship again soon, if ever." You murmur while carefully holding baby Trunks as Bulma unhooks various computers from the ship.
She falters in her movements for a brief moment. "What are you planning on doing?"
"Finding my son."
"That much I figured." Bulma rolls her eyes and glances over her shoulder. "You're not coming back?"
"I will for the Androids; I've already promised as much to Goku."
"You don't…" The tired mother resumes her work, doing her best to stay on task before Vegeta shows up. "I wasn't asking you to leave."
"I know that. But it's best for everyone involved if I do, don't you think?"
"No, I don't."
"Why's that? Without me, you have your perfect little family." You look down at little Trunks, who is nearly fast asleep as he rests his little head on your chest. No doubt he finds your arms to be like a warm blanket, all thanks to your Saiyan trait of running like a furnace in August, and you can't help but think to yourself just how cute he is. "Vegeta can't find V without my help, so he won't be able to kill him. I've trained and powered up in ways I never imagined, much less my son's wildest dreams. I can conquer him myself, I know it."
"And what about Goku and his family, and all they've done for you?"
"I will never be able to repay what they've done for me. And they do deserve better, but time is of the essence and all I can promise is to ensure that Gohan will not be doomed to that future your son warned you of. In four years, I will return and make sure of it."
Bulma's quiet for a moment, and it isn't until the ship is about ready that she speaks again. "Thank you. And… I'm sorry for all you've lost."
"The only thing I have still is my hope that my son isn't on that list. I love my husband and I want nothing more than to have him and be the family we dreamed of being so long ago. But my time with Vegeta… It's passed." Tears sting in your eyes, and you turn away from the woman that's being handed the fruit of your dreams on a silver platter, though you still hold her son carefully. "He's not been very good to you, I know. But Vegeta can and will be a good father and husband for your family. He was for mine, in our short time as one."
"You don't have to do this." Bulma says softly.
"I do. Perhaps the karma of my race's sins is falling on me and my family." You sigh to yourself and hand away the sleepy baby to his mother's loving arms, noting to yourself that your husband has quite the habit of making the most adorable babies. "Saiyans… We are proud, and perhaps we shouldn't be. The things Vegeta and I did…" You shake your head. "We are truly hellbound, Bulma. And maybe with you… Vegeta can avoid that fate. You're a good woman, and the people here are good. Vegeta needs that, and my son needs me."
"Just bring him here." Bulma's eyes are sad, much to your surprise. She's truly a wonderful woman. "That way everyone can win."
"To do that would be to doom him to death and seal Vegeta's fate in hell. V's my baby, and he's waiting for me at our old training grounds, I'm sure. I need to go now; Vegeta won't be down much longer."
"... Alright." Bulma sighs and after a quick summary of how to fly the ship, she steps aside and slips a pair of headphones over Trunks' gentle little ears to protect them from the loud noises of the ship. "So… Why do you think he's at the old training grounds?"
"It's where he always wanted to be. He's a true, full-blooded Saiyan, after all. We couldn't train on the planet we made our new life on, and he was always so happy when we made the journey to one of the planets King Vegeta decided to keep for the royal family's benefit. That same planet was my husband's favorite as well."
If only my boys could meet… They'd be so close.
You adjust your white gloves, pulling them tightly onto your hands and flexing your fingers a bit. Your son will never see the power that resides beneath these palms coming, and the thought does put a bit of a smirk on your face. He may think he's powerful, but his mother surely isn't one to fool with. Turning to Bulma, you give a quick two-fingered salute before closing the hatch to the ship and settling into the captain's chair for takeoff.
With an oddly calm and quiet mind, you start up the ship and aim for the stars, the image of Vegeta's smile dancing behind your lids as you relax back into your chair. He used to smile all the time, and since finding him again, you're not sure if you've seen him smile once. Will he ever smile again? you wonder as you widen the gap between your hearts.
I hope you're ready, V. Mama's coming home with a helluva chip on her shoulder.
Panic and fear flood Vegeta's mind as his eyes open up. His skull burns with a particular throb at his temple, and his back isn't faring much better as it aches with a scorching pain that climbs his spine during the dizzy scramble to his feet. What in the hell did you do?! Why?
"That woman…" He seethes and falls to his knees as his head swims. You got him good, that's for sure. He's certainly concussed and he curses lowly as he buries his face in his hands to will the nausea away.
He damn sure meant it when he said he wasn't going to let go, and despite your best effort to sway him, you will. Not. Win.
A special scent catches his nose, and it's only now that he realizes you've left your replenished lady's favor in his palm. A smirk raises his lips as your natural smell eases away his nausea and pain, which you surely must not have intended. His victory is short-lived, however, and a snarl forms as he grits his teeth with a low growl. How dare you do this to him? To yourself??
Careful not to burn your favor, Vegeta bursts through the roof of the cabin in his powerful Super Saiyan form and rushes back to Capsule Corps with a scream so raw it destroys his throat and so loud it could likely break the barrier of space and time. You've gone and fucking done it now, and the next time he sees you (and he will see you again) he may not even hesitate to get his lick back and deliver a concussion of your own.
"I will find you, woman, and you better be fucking ready to dodge!"
His landing is rough, and his stomach turns as he touches down. If Bulma let you go, so help him he'll burst into a frenzy and her poor lab won't make it out alright—
Bulma.
There's no doubt in his mind— she's the one that revealed the Androids to you. You'd been living with Kakarot and his family for months and miraculously had no knowledge at all, and after the heiress of the Brief family fortune felt slighted she had to have told you everything! What a petty, vindictive, sore loser of a—
You did threaten to kill her.
His taste in women could not possibly be worse.
Pushing through his concussed fog, Vegeta stumbles into the house loudly and isn't exactly surprised to be met with his second son's mother holding a gun at him. A small part of his heart finds the humor in it, remembering her story of shooting at Kakarot fondly. In another lifetime and universe entirely, she'd be perfect for him.
But any world you exist in destroys the possibility.
"If you shoot me, all it's gonna do is wake the baby." Vegeta slurs, vision hazy as his body fails to fully recover from your assault. The number you did on his back is just as powerful as the crack you knocked against his skull, rendering him unable to even stand to his full height as he crashes against a wall.
"You bullshitting around will wake him too." Bulma hisses and drops the gun to her side, hurrying to kneel beside Vegeta as he slides to the floor.
"Being heavily concussed is not bullshitting." Vegeta slaps his palm to his face, your old handkerchief willing the sick-to-his-stomach feeling away once again— it does not, however, dissuade his rage. "Where's my wife?"
Bulma can't help the sting and the sinking feeling in her stomach; Vegeta had obviously made his choice, and though she knew the chances of really being chosen and wanted were incredibly slim… it's still painful to hear after all she's gone through with him.
"She's gone." Bulma mumbles as she examines the forming bruise on his temple.
Vegeta's eye twitches as his blood boils, the vein at his forehead bulging at her words. She let you go and he's lost you again.
I cannot accept this.
"Get me a ship." The prince seethes, trembling as he does his best to detain his wrath and desire for vengeance. Bulma's intentions were surely selfish, but reasonable all the same. He's a bad, horrible man that's only brought havoc among those around him, and so he might as well just keep on with the destruction until he's satisfied. "Now."
"You can't even stand, much less travel through space." Bulma hisses and pushes her knuckle harshly to his bruise, her point proven as his eyes cross and the room spins. "And she did this for a reason. The mother in me can't just let you fuck that up for her."
"What, like you're friends now?" Vegeta buries his nose into the handkerchief yet again, closing his eyes to still the world around him. "I find that incredibly hard to believe."
"She knocked you out cold to get the hell outta dodge, and you think I'm lying?" Bulma picks up her pistol from the carpet and tucks it into her waistband, the cool metal chilling her heated skin. "I'd never call us friends in this lifetime. But I do respect her, that's for sure. Maybe you should try that out?"
"How dare you." Vegeta huffs into your handkerchief. "You told her about the Androids, didn't you?"
"Damn right I did! Trunks came back to us for a reason, Vegeta! Do you wanna die to those bastards?" Bulma's eyes are fierce, her conviction planting her feet firmly to the floor and her fists curl tightly at her sides as she remembers the pain in her son's voice when he gave his terrible warning. "And don't try and feed me any bullshit that we'll win and it's nothing to worry about— YOU ALL FUCKING DIED!"
Even in his slurry, wrathful state he can see the worry behind the rage: the tears in her eyes are more than a dead giveaway. Ever since his son traveled back to deliver his warning, she's been fretful and more than a little clingy. She truly has such little faith in Vegeta and the others? Do they train for nothing in her eyes?
"I have survived more dangerous things than a couple of robots. We've been warned sufficiently, and by the time they're a threat to us we'll have three Super Saiyans."
"You had three Super Saiyans then too. Take this seriously, Vegeta! I can't beg you enough, I can't make you understand!" Bulma's thin frame trembles in the midst of her duress and her cheeks are flushed a bright red. It's now that Vegeta realizes the weight she's lost as she rubs at her temples, her cropped tank top pulling up slightly— her ribs are more visible than they once were.
Vegeta's jaw sets tightly. "I understand the situation, Bulma. But understand this: the boy will have very little if he doesn't have his mother."
Bulma falters for a moment, cutting her eyes to him with slightly parted lips; Vegeta never calls her by her name. He's still crumpled to the floor and the old lady's favor is pressed closely to his cheek— she can only assume it's some odd Saiyan thing. And for the first time out of several nights together, she truly gets the sense that they are parents and having adult discussions as them.
How terribly cruel is her fate of loving a man that's never been hers and never will be.
"That would only happen if I died, Vegeta."
"Dying on a battlefield isn't the only way to do so. You'll worry and stress yourself to the grave like this— I trust you to be a good mother. Trust me to be a father. I've already promised to amend my mistakes, haven't I?"
"Forgive me for not knowing if I can trust that." Bulma snaps at him, face reddened again at his lecture. Is he telling her how to be a parent?? The audacity of a man! "The thing about trust is that it has to be earned, y'know."
Vegeta gnashes his teeth together and looks away, the guilt of his past actions hitting like a shotgun blast to the chest as it bites his ass in this dreary long run. "What do you want me to do then??"
"Try being a dad, like you were before all of this happened? If you don't want to be with me-" Her breath hitches just a bit in her throat, but she still perseveres, proving to be braver than almost anybody Vegeta's ever known. "Then don't. I-I love you, but… It's not what I need the most. It's not what Trunks needs for a healthy childhood. To even have a childhood at all, he needs you around. Please, Vegeta… Please don't abandon him." She closes her eyes and turns her head in a failed attempt to hide the tears that fall, a shudder taking her entire body in very lightly chaotic loosening of her emotional lid. An heiress to the most fruitful fortune on Earth has never been more in need of a break.
With a deep inhale, Vegeta pushes himself up from the floor and, with the grace of mercy winning against his throbbing concussion, he pulls his son's mother into a close embrace. His hand at the back of her head, Vegeta tucks her face into the crook of his neck and closes his eyes at the feeling of her tears on his skin.
"To say I hold no love for you is a lie." His deep voice buzzes against the shell of her ear. "You cared for me when no one else has, and even at my most selfish I didn't take it for granted. You are special, Bulma. I will return to raise my son— Nothing in this galaxy will stop me."
She may end up the fool again, but the conviction in Vegeta's words is far too believable for her to deny. He'll come back and protect Trunks' future, and young Gohan's too. He's not the cruel man he was when he first came to Earth— and he hasn't been that man for a long time now.
"Now…" Vegeta murmurs into her ear. "Get me a ship."
The planet's as quiet as it's ever been, and it's unsettling. Only in his wildest dreams could he imagine the way his people trained here, getting stronger and preparing themselves for any battle or hostile takeover they launched. The Saiyans would surely have ruled the galaxy, had they been given the time to build a true dynasty. It would have been magnificent.
But instead, he lives his life in this desolate place, with no purpose or even another person that understands him in sight. His father's been long gone and his mother…
Is a complicated problem of his.
V's jaw ticks as his anger swells him into Super Saiyan yet again. His whole life has been a lie— it only took you well over ten years to admit it. And he gets the strange feeling that it was all due to an accident, and that you'd have never willingly let the truth come to light.
V's just come home from a training binge, and from the moment he touched down in his ship, the energy was… off. He sprints home, a tickle of fear and adrenaline rushing his heart as he nears the house he grew up in. Bursting through the door, the sound of your cries hits his sharply-tuned ears and his arms feel light and cold now as he fears the worst.
"Mom!" Your dutiful son follows the noise to your bedroom, dropping beside you hastily as he realizes your position on the floor. Clutching your heart, you're curled into yourself with tears streaming along your cheeks. He's never seen you cry before. "What's wrong?! Are you hurt?!"
"He's dead." Your voice is hoarse, a barely-there whisper as you tremble like a leaf.
"Who?" V gathers you carefully in his arms, holding you gently as you did him when he was a young boy. He's grown up quite a lot, gotten stronger and taller and he'll kill anyone that's hurt his mother like this. You're all he has to cherish.
"Vegeta." Your eyes are near-glassy, and surely you're delusional now. V himself isn't dead, and the only other person you could possibly be this sick over is…
His father, Vegeta the Fourth, that's been dead for almost twenty years now.
"What do you mean?" V mumbles. "My father died a long time ago."
"No…" Your nails dig into the flesh of your breast, your poor heart cracking and pulling apart as your blood sears your veins and pumps a horrible migraine that throbs at your temples worse than any concussion you've ever had.
There's no other possible answer: your soul itself is dying, and it's not entirely unfeasible that Vegeta didn't die. He was always a rebel type, so who was to say that he hadn't ignored the regrouping order sent out? Hell, you certainly ignored it yourself when you were informed by your father-in-law, the King himself, to come back home with his grandson to meet with King Cold.
"Mom, be serious now!" V frowns; you're out of your mind. "We need to get you to a doctor."
"He's dead, he's dead, he's dead…" Your broken voice chants and stars flood your vision as the image of your husband, particularly from the last day you saw him, settles at the forefront of your mind. This pain is a far cry from anything you've ever felt— the broken bones, bruises and even giving birth could never compare.
V lays you on your bed, covering you with your favorite blanket that's got a strange, orange and black striped animal printed on it. "I'm gonna get some help, okay? Stay here, Momma." His icy veins throb with panic as he scrambles to someone that can help— you've never been sick before, and until now he didn't even think mothers could be sick.
Your homey little planet is small, and you've never socialized all that much with your neighbors. Enough to be friendly and have an occasional dinner together, but never enough for you to let V have a sleepover or even some sort of field trip without you being close by. He doesn't know if this is typical of Saiyan mothers or if you're just different, but either way it's biting him in the ass now as he struggles to think of anyone who—
Your energy fades further and he's got no choice but to go knocking at every door he can until someone cares enough to hear him out. And it's the odd old lady a few houses down that answers his call, and he must have quite the look on his face for her to look so shocked.
"Vegeta, dear, what's wrong?"
"My mom- I-I don't- I think she's dying!" Tears fill V's dark eyes and without much preamble, he's scooping the old woman into his arms and flying back home as fast as he possibly can, his force unintentionally though uncaringly shattering the windows of all the neighbors that didn't open up to help him.
Dizzy, the elderly neighbor holds her head once V sets her down by your bedside. You clutch your heart still, crying and repeating yourself as if you've gone mad; and maybe you have, at this point.
"My father died when I was young, but she keeps saying he's just died." V explains as he takes your hand and prays to any deity that will listen to his plea.
"Hmm." She examines the mating scar on your neck, but it's more than enough to tell her what she needs to know. "You're Saiyans, yes?"
"We are." V mumbles. "How did you know?"
"I knew since the day your Momma brought you here." She murmurs to him. "You're a unique set of people."
"Well, do you know what's wrong with her??"
Her face is too grim for V's comfort. "She's telling the truth: her mate has died."
"Vegeta…" You whimper, a fresh slew of tears cascading your cheeks.
"That doesn't make any sense! He died years ago, when I was little!"
"She's dying of a broken heart. This behavior is like most species that can bond. You see how she holds her heart, hear how delirious she is? This is the risk of bonding, boy, and why many cultures outlawed the practice."
"So I have to let her die?! There's no way to save her?!"
"There isn't."
And then you recovered a few hours later, and just kept on lying and denying it all. Dad's alive. Mom's a liar. Or is Dad alive? He must be after all, if you're still breathing. And he knows you are; he reckons he would've felt something inside of him snap if he'd killed you all those months ago. A mother and son duo so close could never not feel such a tragic separation.
"I don't want to kill you, Mother." V mutters darkly as he stares a hole into the ground. "I just want the truth."
The hairs on the back of your neck stand as you approach your son's stomping grounds. It's been years since you last set foot here and all you hope for now is that you'll be able to leave it after this fight, with your son in tow and thoroughly reminded of his place.
Once you're out of the ship's hatch and your boots crunch on the hardened, reddish-brown clay surface, you're automatically searching for V's energy. Even with your zenkai boosts and the mastered Super Saiyan form in your back pocket, the sheer power he carries is still intimidating. You're not sure if you ever truly believed your son would be so naturally strong, even though you certainly hoped he could be. Your boy is likely what Frieza was so afraid of when he ruined your home planet to mere bits.
But despite his power, yours is nothing to scoff at. Rage motivates a Saiyan like crazy and lord only knows how pissed off you are now. You haven't struggled this much and come this far even with everything that stacked against you to die at the hands of your own son. He will not win as long as you have a say in things.
It takes but a moment to locate his energy, which is pinpointed right at the center of the field you two used to run miles and miles on during training. You always beat him in tests of speed, whereas his strength overtook yours gradually as he grew up into the incredibly strong young man he is now.
As you approach, the feeling of his energy increases. He's certainly been training on his own time, as always, and he's managed to make good progress all on his own. Watching your son take your techniques and guidance and morph it into his own power and tools made you a proud Saiyan as much as a proud mother; he's inherited Vegeta's battle prowess and your creativity and blended it into a Saiyan that would've been a legend among the rest.
They took everything from us, but instead he chooses to harm me.
"Have you come to tell the truth?"
V lands before you, tall and intimidating with eyes that are cold and guarded, when they once looked at you with love and trust that was endless. You've lost your only baby and this is what remains— your heart feels the weight of your desperation to beg him to just stop this madness.
But your rage swiftly nips that in the bud.
"It's all I've ever told you, V. I don't know what kind of fantasy you'd rather me spin, but I never told you stories as a child and I don't intend to pick up the habit now."
V shakes his head slowly, taking a slow, deep inhale through his nose before looking at you once more. "Maybe if you'd told me stories, I'd trust you right now."
Okay, ow.
"I found your father."
It's not a sentence V was prepared for you to say, obviously judged by the way his eyes widen and his fists lose their tight curl. "Really?"
And there's that boy I raised.
"I sure did. And he's none too happy to hear what you've done."
And then the incredulous look is lost, hardened up into something terrible and violent once again. "And I notice you came here alone. So either you're lying again, or Father isn't the guy you said he was."
"Vegeta certainly wanted to join me, make zero mistakes about that, child." You cross your arms and stare unflinchingly at V: you refuse to be afraid of something you made with all your love and hope. "But he wanted to kill you and I said not a chance in hell to that."
"He'd kill his only son, just like that?"
"V, baby…" You sigh to yourself. Do you break the news to him? Do you anger his uneasy heart more, ruin the visage of Vegeta you've painted for him throughout his life?
"I would've welcomed him to try." V sneers, taking a step closer to you and forcing you to tilt your head back even more to still see his face.
"It's in our blood to fight, but family is off the table for us, Prince." You remind him firmly of your positions, as the Royal Family that still lives beyond the bounds of the lost planet your husband's name originated from. "We aren't low-class Saiyans with no tact or notion of civility. I taught you this many years ago."
"Hard to tell what's true and what's not when it comes from you."
"And what reason would I have had to lie to you? You've never given me much of an answer on this."
"You'd have to tell me! I know you hid things but you won't just come out and say why! You almost died because my Father did!"
"Oh, not this again!" You turn away, perhaps foolishly taking your eyes off of your well-presumed opponent. "I don't know what happened that day, V. I truly believed in my heart that your father died when our planet was lost. It wasn't until I saw him with my own eyes that I realized that wasn't the case. What do you want me to say? I'm sorry? Because I definitely am. I'm sorry you grew up the way you did. I'm sorry your father wasn't in your life. If I knew there was even the slightest chance he was alive, I would've found him for your sake before even my own. But I didn't know he was alive. I can't change that, and I can't tell you anything other than this and call it the truth because this is the truth."
"No! You knew that day he was dead for real, and then brushed it off like what happened was normal! You felt it in your soul and almost died too. You can't tell me half of a truth and think it's acceptable! I'm not an idiot, and I'm done letting you treat me like one!"
A snarl curls at your lips. Here he goes again with this song and dance, insistent you knew something you didn't and taking the word of a delirious woman before taking the one of a very sane and present one. "And I'm tired of having this same conversation with you. Mind your mother, boy."
"My mother died four years ago, the day my father did." V's fist reels back and you're quick at the ready, meeting his force with your own and a shockwave ripping through the air and disturbing the ground beneath you.
V's quick for another punch, this time aimed at your stomach and it's almost too easy for you to block it and dive your elbow down on his arm, forcing him towards his knees long enough to take a solid jab of your knee to his face. He's unphased by the pain of the bloody nose, however, as a result of your training being so thorough. Pain alone can't stop him.
His superior strength proves itself as he grabs your ankle and flings you away as if you're a gnat buzzing around his face, your back making a crackling contact with the post of one of the training ground's obstacle courses, the solid tree trunk knocking the wind out of you upon impact. And just as you taught him, V capitalizes on his advantage and presses forward with a gut punch that lands this time.
Base form isn't enough to beat him, something you already knew. Powering up into Super Saiyan isn't new to your clashes with V, but now with its optimization he has far less opportunity to take you out, now that you've negged the energy drain. Your son can use Super Saiyan himself, but without a room of space and time, there's no possible way he could've mastered it entirely like you have.
Your golden glow that reflects off of his face reminds you briefly of the very first time you ascended to the legend. Your broken heart caused such a response, and you still feel it break further as you're forced to use such a power on the boy you birthed. He cannot see reason on his own or by words alone, and if being beaten into submission is the only way, then so be it.
He will know his place.
The stars are familiar as Vegeta presses the ship as fast as it can go, Bulma's words ringing out in the quietness of his mind.
"She said something about the old training grounds. The one you liked the most. Apparently the kid likes it too."
His heart jumps when the reddened clay of the planet comes into view. There's no mistaking it— this is where you are, and just as importantly, where his long lost son is. Despite his infractions and how he's lost his damn mind, Vegeta can hardly contain the bubbling feeling inside of him at the prospect of reuniting with the boy he lost the chance to raise. His heir is so close, for the first time in twenty years.
Hopefully you've got the situation handled— Vegeta's trip started a few hours after yours, thanks to the lack of senzu beans at Bulma's and Korin being a stingy thing. But he knows these stars well, knows the way to a home that doesn't exist anymore and his gift of navigation doesn't fail in an abyss so vast.
From the moment he breaks into the planet's atmosphere, he feels it. Your familiar energy amped up by Super Saiyan and another, incredibly strong energy keeping up a good pace. That's his boy, so strong and powerful? You've trained him so well, made him exactly what he was destined to be had Planet Vegeta lived on. And perhaps that's the root of V's downfall— he has all the training and yet none of the experience.
But he's aiming to kill, and you're not. And such is your downfall.
The hackles of your tail rise, and so does your son's. It's enough to warrant a pause in your battle, one that's gone on for so long you've lost track of time. Stamina was never a question though, never something meant to be an obstacle for Saiyan elites and it certainly isn't proving to be one now.
"Who the hell is that?" V mutters to himself as your heart battles between soaring and shrouding.
"Vegeta." You swallow thickly and feel a trickle of ice in your veins. How is he here, and—
Bulma. That pain in the ass!
Vegeta's out of the ship as soon as he can be, flying out and locating you both with ease.
"Father?" V's face briefly loses its rage and in what's left, you see the boy you raised. The one who could only dream of knowing his father, the one that would ask for stories of Prince Vegeta IV.
"That's right, son." Vegeta's eyes water. His boy, his son has grown into exactly how he'd envisioned; a spitting image of himself, and bitterly he realizes how much taller V is. How unfair for his son to take on his grandfather's genes, whereas Vegeta himself took after his own mother…
V's brief glimmer of starstruck doesn't last. His hands glow, gathering energy once more. "This doesn't concern you; my whole life never has." His growl loses a bit of punch as an unavoidable tear glides down his cheek. To finally meet his father…
"On the contrary," Vegeta quickly powers into Super Saiyan, quietly hoping it'll give him enough power to subdue his firstborn. "V, I think it's way past time I be a parent. Starting right now. Stand down and mind yourself, boy."
"Who are you to threaten me?!" V's temper flares again, this time sending a beam of deadly light at Vegeta. Vegeta's eyes narrow, brow creasing angrily at the attack, and with a flash he's dodged it and has V by the collar of his uniform.
"Your father. Me and your mother, mostly her, brought you into this world, and where your mother has her maternal instincts not to kill you…" Vegeta leans in closer to his son's face. "I will take you out of this world without another thought if you threaten my wife. One. More. Time."
"You don't have enough hatred." V spits out and knocks Vegeta's hand aside.
Anger flares up in your husband's eyes and his blood boils. Oh, the nerve of this child! He's as cocky as… Vegeta himself. He was always going to be this way. And Vegeta likely would've been proud, had your lives gone in the direction he planned.
"I've got a spare son to raise, so try me all you want, boy!" Vegeta releases V's shirt, backing up and crossing his arms over.
And that, right there, is the moment V's heart truly broke.
"You've got another kid??"
"He does." You mutter darkly, eyeing Vegeta with the eyes of a mother bear, daring him to lay a finger on your precious cub. "And he should've stayed on Earth with that child."
"I'll be back for Trunks, make no mistake. But if you think you'll cast me aside again, woman, you're wrong." Vegeta turns to you and is in your face now, angry and attractive and it burns you hotter than any sun to see him here and destroying the sacrifice you made.
"I left you behind for good reason." You hiss at him, mirroring his Super Saiyan glow. "You will not lay a hand on him."
Vegeta tips his fingers up beneath your chin, his lips a hair's breadth away. "If he minds himself, then you've got a deal, Princess."
"You should be training for the Androids."
"How about I will when you do?"
"Vegeta-"
"This running away thing is done. You will return to Earth with me, as my wife, and if the boy can carry himself as the man he should be, he'll be right there with us." Vegeta's fingers carefully grasp yours, holding your hand tightly as he turns to look at his son, satisfied as your hand curls with his.
"What will it be, boy?"
V's chest heaves and your aching heart cries to comfort him. His first experience that he'll remember of his father, and the asshole has shoved in his face he's got another son! You'd forgotten how cruel Vegeta's temper could be.
"Vegeta." You hiss sharply. "Do you really think this is how you should approach-"
A monstrous, angry roar deafens you and your husband. V's power swells and the glow of Super Saiyan bathes him, your entire little family now officially ascended to the legend. Hatred burns in V's eyes now, more prevalent and angry than ever as his increased speed gives him the chance to blindside you and Vegeta with a heavy tackle that makes your head rush.
Blinding light from his palms force you to cross your wrists over your face to shield your eyes, but its sudden disappearance sends your heart into freefall.
Opening your eyes reveals your husband and son in a brawl, their near-identical faces portraying a common ideal.
part one | part two | part three | part four | part six
author's note: i keep ending up in a bit of a slump after i release a chapter of this where i hardly get anything done for a month or so and then inspiration strikes and i write almost the entire thing within a couple of days 🫠 i am very tired. the story should be wrapping up soon, i'm estimating maybe two more chapters total!
pairing: vegeta x fem!reader
warnings: canon typical violence, does not follow the canon timeline of events
Chi-Chi watches you carefully as you help her prepare dinner. You and Goku came home just a few hours ago, yet you've hardly said a word at all. A year spent with Vegeta, your husband that's spent the last year of his life with another woman and their child, and you've got nothing to say? Nothing happened?? Not even a single thing worth mentioning???
Bull. Shit.
"So." She hums to herself, sliding over more vegetables for you to chop. "You're awfully quiet tonight."
"Just ask the question instead of beating around the bush." You mutter, quickly dicing the veggies in the way Gohan likes best.
Chi-Chi huffs to herself, considering her words more carefully than her initial approach to the conversation. You are not in a good mood and no doubt being hangry on top of it isn't going to help anything. But she's gotta know!
Chi-Chi takes a careful breath, losing her false sense of aloofness. "You seem upset. Did something happen during your training?"
"My husband is a bastard." You mutter bitterly. "Gives me the training of a lifetime and then caps it off with a plan to kill our son."
"Wow." She murmurs softly, and her heart cries to go hug her son tightly and never let go. "I can't say it surprises me that he'd think to do it. He came to this planet and killed his own partner he arrived with."
"Nappa? God how I would've loved to see that." Despite the gravity of your situation, learning that Nappa's death was at the hand of Vegeta fills you with such a sick, satisfactory feeling. "He was always a pain to deal with."
"He killed several of our friends." Chi-Chi mutters, and you do have at least a little grace to feel shame. It's disgusting how in the short time you've been here, these humans have made you think twice about your kind's culture… You always knew it to be despicable yet you've never been this close to feeling ashamed of it.
You sigh to yourself. "It was nice to be so connected to Vegeta again. I've missed him more than you could ever know. I love my husband, but the man I mated wouldn't dream of killing his own son."
"Twenty years apart is unimaginable." Chi-Chi says gently. "And maybe… After growing up with him and then being married young to him, you two never got much of a chance to grow separately. And just maybe that gap allowed you both to be who you truly are… Which might not be compatible, despite your history and what you want to feel."
The tears that well up in your eyes surprise you; you've never been a crier. But she's not wrong— you're not the spoiled, battle-hungry princess you once were, and raising a child alone changed you in ways you never imagined.
Ways that Bulma will change in too, should Vegeta leave her and Trunks to come back to your side.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore." You murmur, and bless Chi-Chi as she turns away and allows you to wipe at your teary eyes. You stare at your hands, feeling the new power you trained for in the chamber run through right alongside your racing blood.
The young Saiyan woman from your past would certainly be in awe of your power, and wouldn't have a care in the world for your family's plight. She only sought to be the strongest warrior possible— and you shake your head at the idea that a younger you would agree with Vegeta's solution to the problem.
It's offensive, the idea of murdering your only son. But Chi-Chi is certainly right— it's no shock Vegeta thought of it. He's clearly not grown all that much, spending much of his life still under Frieza's thumb, doing his pillaging and continuing to live similarly to how he had even on Planet Vegeta. He trained, he fought and killed, and mourned his wife and son with every expedition.
He's a stubborn Saiyan male, one full of pride and an ego forever unmatched. And goodness do you love every bit of him. But letting go of your pride to raise your son in the precarious environment you were left to scramble for, an environment you were in because Vegeta didn't listen, has you still so angry at him. Could you really forgive him? Do you even want to?
I love you so much, Vegeta, but I hate you too. Why didn't you listen to your wife?!
"Alright…" Chi-Chi's voice is practically straining as she attempts to hold herself back, and you can't help the ugly snort that leaves you when that thin barrier breaks. "Just… Did you… Y'know…" She grins conspiratorially, reminding you of your favorite attending from back in the day.
Rolling your eyes, you slide the chopped veggies to her and head for the kitchen's exit to hide your celebratory smirk. "Yes, we did. And it was amazing."
Gohan's not sure what his mother's laughing so loudly about, but he smiles to himself as he resumes his studies. He's glad she's made a friend.
Bulma tosses her wrench aside, burying her pretty face into her hands as the frustration takes its toll on her. She's readying the ship you and Vegeta will take to go find your son, but the nagging worry that Vegeta won't come back lays a thick pressure down on her bones. Sleep is already hard to come by with a baby, especially one that's getting increasingly mobile with each passing day, but she's gotten less and less ever since you came into the picture to ruin her life.
Maybe she's being a little dramatic. This all happened by chance— it was pure coincidence you ended up on Earth, and as an amnesiac you were friendly to her. But what was yours is now hers, and there's no doubt in Bulma's mind that you want to retake it. It's what she would do, after all, if the roles were reversed. You're not wrong for how you feel, she supposes.
But there is entirely too much on the line for her to be relaxed.
She looks up at the sound of boots approaching, and the relief in her body is so harsh and sudden that she feels light. Vegeta's back from wherever he went, and he's got Trunks in his arms. "I didn't know he woke up."
"He's been up only a few minutes." Vegeta hands off the boy to Bulma, Trunks grinning happily at the sight of his mother.
"When did you get back?"
"Not long ago."
Bulma bites her tongue. "So…"
"So?" Vegeta crosses his arms, taking in the frazzled sight of his child's mother. She hasn't been sleeping well, probably hasn't eaten much either— how can she take care of Trunks like this?
Bulma glares at Vegeta, forcing down the bulk of her rage to keep Trunks in a happy mood. It's difficult, though, to deal with the stubbornness and aloofness of her whatever he is to her. Boyfriend? Baby daddy? Disappearing isn't entirely new for Vegeta, though it's been some time since he's done it. But with you in the picture, anything is possible and he's slowly seeming to retreat back into the shell he started out in.
"Where have you been?" Her tone isn't accusatory, and Vegeta's stance relaxes slightly.
"Training in the chamber." He's honest, but his short reply concerns Bulma anyway.
"With—"
"Yes."
Bulma sighs, ignoring the way Trunks tugs at her shirt. "So when are you leaving?"
"I'm not sure." Vegeta murmurs, looking off to the side at nothing in particular. He can't find V without you, and he's currently your number one enemy again. Giving you space is a minimum requirement before he can attempt to talk plans for leaving, discovering V and then—
Well, you'll have to come to an agreement on that front as well.
"Will you come back?"
His brows come together then, but he can't fairly be mad at the question. He's left before, made no indication or vow to Bulma to be present from now on, and while it hasn't crossed his mind, it would be quite the opportunity to reunite with his first family in space and fuck off to who knows where. But for many reasons outside of just Bulma and Trunks, he would never leave Earth.
It's his home, plain and simple, and he must defend it as such.
"Of course I will."
Doubt fills her tummy as Vegeta walks out of her lab, leaving her alone with the baby.
Chi-Chi's dragged her boys out of the house for clothes and grocery shopping around noon the following day, and you're left alone to your own devices for a few brief hours. Daring to check the contents of the slow cooker Chi-Chi set up this morning, you hear the front door opening up just as you start to open the lid.
Dammit!
"Whatever you think I'm doing, Chi-Chi, I'm—" The hairs at the back of your neck prickle, and defense mode rises as you don't recognize the energy to belong to any one of the Son family.
But luckily for Bulma, she's got a fairly recognizable hair color.
You narrow your eyes as she finishes inviting herself in, watching as she closes the door behind her and looks you right in the eye, adjusting the baby on her hip. "Bulma. What do you want?"
"Vegeta."
Oh, for Kami's sake!
"You have him, don't you?" Your jealousy confusingly runs parallel with your anger at your mate— he's a bastard, but yours.
"I hoped he was." Bulma murmurs, and you don't miss the sadness in her eyes. Truly, she does love your husband. "He's been… A challenge."
"That's the biggest understatement I've ever heard." You cross your arms and look away from her.
"But I love him. He's not romantic or particularly soft or anything, but I love him anyway. And he's my son's father, and I just… I want Trunks to grow up knowing his father."
"My son didn't."
"So you should know exactly the pain Trunks would go through. The pain I would go through when he asks me about a man he doesn't remember meeting. I…" Bulma sighs and rubs her tired face, and boy you don't envy her position as a new mother in this sticky situation. At least when V was out of the incubator, you had a solid marriage to back you when dealing with the baby got to be too much at once.
But she steels herself quickly, the fiery look in her eye you remember from that night in the forest coming back to the present. "I met a version of my son where he grew up without Vegeta."
"I'm sorry— Huh?!" She met a version of Trunks??
"He came here from the future, and he's the one that actually killed Frieza."
"A halfling killed Frieza…" You say slowly, gazing at the child in her arms. This child will one day have that sort of power?!
"He's a child of Vegeta, of course he did!" Bulma scoffs, and damn she'd be quite the catch on Planet Vegeta. And bitterly, she reminds you of yourself. Vegeta certainly has a type.
"This place gets stranger the longer I stay here." Your tail tightens around your waist, frustration and confusion swamping your brain. "What in the hell did he get himself into?" You ask yourself the question more than Bulma, and once again you're met with a reminder of Chi-Chi's words.
Twenty years apart is unimaginable…
Bulma sighs. "Trunks traveled from the future because of a threat that completely ruined the world, and everyone except me and Trunks died. He came back to warn us, and then left again. We haven't seen him since."
"And I don't suppose he mentioned me in any capacity."
"No, he didn't."
"So either I never showed up, or I left Earth."
Or V killed me.
"I don't really know." Bulma adjusts the squirming baby in her arms. "But I'm not willing to take Trunks' sacrifice and doom this Trunks to the same fate. The Androids are set to arrive in a few years, and we need Vegeta to even have a chance."
"So what exactly are you asking me to do? Fuck off and give you your happy ending, and leave me and my son in the dust?"
"I'm asking you, mother to mother, to give my son the gift your son couldn't have. A family, and a chance at a happy life."
"And why should I care about the quality of your son's life?" Your fists clench at your sides; you're not a monster to an innocent baby's plight, not at all. If anything, the last twenty years have softened you and as a mother, you more than understand Bulma's situation and what she's asking. But to assume a savage of you without knowing you—
You did threaten her life, you suppose. Perhaps her anger is a tad deserved.
"If you won't do it for Trunks, then do it for Gohan." Bulma spits out, heading for the door. "Because if you don't, he'll grow up without his dad and spend his life protecting Trunks until the day they finally kill him too."
She slams the door shut behind her, and the cold realization trickles through your veins. Should you be selfish and take what you want, those you've come to cherish will die, and that innocent boy that didn't choose his parents will suffer directly. You're more than aware what it's like to lose everything, and at the very least you could attribute some of it to karma for your Saiyan heritage and the things you've done out of pride for it.
Could you really damn a baby like that?
"Why didn't you tell me about the Androids?"
Goku freezes, not even entirely in the house when you question him. His arms are loaded with shopping bags that he subsequently drops when Gohan runs into him with the rest of the bags, the two of them tumbling into quite the mess. Chi-Chi's luckily getting a manicure, though Goku doesn't know which is the lesser of two evils— angry Chi-Chi, or angry you.
"Uh, wh-whaddya mean?" Goku pointedly averts your gaze in favor of picking up the dropped bags of clothes and groceries.
"Don't play dumb, Goku." You growl. "Androids. Why didn't you tell me?"
Goku sighs and stands. "We didn't know if you should know, since…"
"You're not staying." Gohan mumbles.
"That, and those guys are four years away. Your situation is more urgent." Goku hands off the groceries to Gohan to put away, leaving you alone in the living room. "We've been training for it pretty hard though."
"You should've told me."
"Would you be willing to help us with them?"
"Of course I would!" You snap. "Like I'd ever miss a fight, especially one of this gravity."
"Really?!" Goku scoops you into a crushing hug, and your tail steps in for your trapped arms to bat the back of his head.
"I will be here for these Androids, whatever the hell they are. You can count on that."
"Does that mean you'll stay?" Goku carefully puts you down, his hands on your shoulders.
"Certainly not." You look away from those honest eyes. "But I will return to help you fight."
"Why won't you stay?"
"I have a life elsewhere, with my son. Earth is not as bad as it first seems, but I don't see a long-term future here."
"But… What about us, your family?"
"I…" You falter for just a moment, remembering the way you lived with the Son family during your amnesia and how right it felt at the time.
As an amnesiac, it was of course easy to feel such a way— you craved a sense of belonging and a home, and naturally gravitated towards what you had found, and wanted to keep it even in the event your memories were restored. Building something new was a possibility lost at the exact moment Vegeta entered your life again, but only as a result of your unyielding rage.
Could it really be possible to stay on such a planet? There's more here for you than where you spent the past two decades, surely… But it's the presence of your husband's bastard family that sends a shot of resistance straight to your heart. That woman and her child serve as the cherry on top to all that's happened to you; why in the hell would you ever subject yourself to such torture?
"I can't stay, Goku. My son needs me."
He's all I have left, and I'm all he has ever known.
Goku doesn't argue, but the sadness that rolls off of him slinks onto you as you walk out of the house.
"Mother?" V asks softly as you head for your training grounds. He was oddly quiet on the ride over to this planet from your home, and evidently something's been plaguing his young mind.
"Yes?"
"What was Father like?"
You knew this day would come, but no amount of pondering the answers or possible questions could prepare you for how broken your son's voice is— how long has he asked himself these questions? He's six years old now, surely it's been on his mind for at least a little while. And though you've never made it a point not to bring up your husband or your home planet to your son, the memory of what you had and the grief over what could have been breaks your heart daily, even with your pent-up rage at your late husband's refusal to listen to your concerns.
"Your father was… Amazing." Damn the tears in your eyes and just how wistful you sound. You need to be strong for the boy! "A master tactician, stubborn as all hell, witty, prideful man. He was everything. Strong and handsome and fierce."
"What happened to him?"
"He died when our home planet was destroyed."
"He was that strong and still died?!" V's dark eyes widen in fright, and you cup his face gently.
"Your father's downfall was also his greatest strength— his pride. Had he listened to me, he'd be alive today. So always listen to your mother, my son. I only want what's best for my family."
"My family means everything to me." You mutter to yourself, gazing up at the sky and finding the sole twinkle of the brightest star as dusk settles in and finding it to be a lot like the sparkle in Gohan's eyes when he finds an interesting bug.
A bead of sweat trickles down into Vegeta's eye, stinging as he pushes through the pain of the gravity room. Train for his son, train for his other son, train for himself and his goals… Never has he ever felt so tired, where he yearns more for sleep than a battle.
Well, he may not be willing to go quite that far. But there was a time where he was beyond dead tired and all he longed for was one single thing.
Vegeta slams shut the door to his dorm on the Frieza station, huffing at his near loss of balance from expelling the last bit of his energy on the child's tantrum tactic. The food on this ship isn't good enough for how tightly he's under Frieza's thumb now— it's surely intentional and to keep Vegeta from rising above and killing the dictator that stole everything from him. Frieza is cruel, and sees Vegeta as a mere tool or even a toy.
Vegeta can only hope his life remains fun for Frieza to play with until he gets his chance to strike and take revenge for his glorious race's extinction.
Taking revenge for the murder of his dear wife and son is the only thing to keep him going these days. And those idiots Raditz and Nappa don't understand a thing about it— they're living it up on this ship, doing Frieza's bidding just as loyal dogs and not having a care in the world for what was lost. Perhaps that's why they get fed properly; Frieza knows they'd never give up this lifestyle.
And bitterly, Vegeta knows he'd be just like them if he never got married. His pride is insurmountable, but his love for his family outweighs even that. He'd never bow down to the one that cost him everything, even if he was given an 'ideal' life of battling and feasting.
Someday, he will rise above in his Super Saiyan form and avenge you. But for now he must bide his time until he can master and make true use of it.
Falling to his knees at the foot of the bed, so exhausted his tail lays limp rather than around his waist, Vegeta pulls his lady's favor from his armor. Your scent faded so, so long ago, yet he can swear he remembers it anyway. Your preferred body scrub was infused with mint, and it mixed well with your natural scent and Vegeta could never get enough of it. Fruitlessly, he buries his nose into the silk cloth.
Tears fill his eyes as he wills the favor to smell like you again. It's getting harder and harder to pretend he's with you, laying in bed and nosing along the curve of your neck while you rest in bed. He'd rub your swollen belly as you near the end of your pregnancy, the strong little Saiyan inside of you nearly ready to be born and incubated and you were in quite the discomfort during that time.
All you wanted was your husband's presence, and he should've appreciated it more. Hindsight is 20/20, but he remembers feeling aggravated at times, being trapped in bed and feeling restless and anxious for the incoming parenthood. To go back and live in the moment, to see you, hold you, kiss you… He'd do anything.
"Please." He begs softly to a God that may not even exist, let alone be listening to his plea. Tears wet his face and he collapses to the floor. "Please give them back."
Vegeta closes his eyes as his vision clouds, and with a huff he forces himself up and out of the gravity room. He got his wish, and damn if he'll just let you go like this. You are alive, and the year in the chamber wasn't nearly enough. Saiyan mates are connected until the end of time, and he will not waste another damn minute without you.
You're at Vegeta's little hidden cabin when the hairs at the back of your neck raise. Vegeta's here, but why? You meet him at the door, and the determined look in his eye sends a shiver down your spine.
"Vegeta."
"You are a difficult woman to find." He seethes. "For anyone else, anyway."
"For what purpose are you looking for me?" Your eyes narrow suspiciously— the aura around him is different. He's hellbent on something.
"Because you're my goddamn wife!"
You stumble backwards as Vegeta wraps you up in his arms, his hold crushing you against that solid, strong body. Trembling as he holds you, he brushes the tip of his nose along the curve of your neck. "I can't lose you again." He murmurs before kissing you deeply, and it's just like in the chamber— temporarily, you feel whole again.
I don't want to be lost again.
"For everything, I'm sorry. I should've been better, I should've listened, I—"
"I love you." You whisper against him, eyes shut tightly as you bask in his embrace. "Forgive me-"
"There's nothing to forgive you for." Vegeta mutters, smoothing a hand down the curve of your back. "You've done nothing-"
"For what I'm about to do."
Vegeta frowns, and you mash your lips to his for a quick distraction against the power generating in your palms and his cry of pain and confusion breaks your heart as you slam one palm against his lower back, in the exact spot his tail once was. Even with the appendage lost, it's still a deeply-rooted sensitive area and he's weakened immediately by your thrust of power to it.
Your husband falls to his knees, angry but unable to move. "W… What the hell was that?!" He coughs, wheezing as if you punched all the air from his lungs.
"I have to do what's best for my family. And my family needs you safe here, love."
"I need you." Vegeta pleads, reaching out to you with a shaky hand. "Don't… Don't!"
"I'll see you again for the Androids."
If I survive that long.
Before Vegeta can ponder how you even know about them, your powered up fist meets the side of his skull and he's out cold, sprawled out on the floor of his secret cabin. Without wasting too much time, you fish his beloved lady's favor from your breasts and leave a wistful kiss on it before tucking it into your mate's open palm.
Leaving him behind, you quickly fly to Capsule Corps as you recall the direction Vegeta came from. Bulma's up with the baby, and your eyes lock onto hers as she opens up the door to her home.
"You have maybe ten minutes to get me into orbit before Vegeta wakes up."
Baby Trunks is swiftly thrust into your arms as she leads the way to the ship, and you and the child lock eyes for just a moment.
For all these things I've done, I had better see heaven one day.
part one | part two | part three | part five | part six
author's note: i actually got the majority of this done within the last two days. i had such a strong burst of inspiration and this is where we've landed! i apologize for the wait, and hope next time won't take as long!
pairing: vegeta x fem!reader
warnings: canon typical violence, does not follow canon timeline of events, implied nsfw but nothing explicit
"I taught him everything I know." Vegeta's not surprised you've given him zero room to talk— but he's got an entire year to find you vulnerable, to get you talking and more importantly listening, so he'll quietly bide his time and allow you to steamroll his plans.
"Any new techniques?" Vegeta's arms cross, mind itching with the curiosity of a cat, wondering how you've spent the last twenty years. You're a Super Saiyan now, his pride in that achievement alone tops any pride and happiness he's ever felt, and the excitement for the impending year of training sends a tingle down his spine— of all the bad things, shitty choices and cruel twists of fate he's suffered in the last several years, this is perhaps the only time he's felt right, like he is exactly where he should be.
"Some, of course." Your feet are planted onto the ground, back still pointedly facing him. Despite the reprieve in your anger before, as you cuddled with him and kissed him fondly on the cheek just a few days ago, the burning fire dwelling within has reignited in full-force and Vegeta's struck with the nagging reminder that you possibly hate him more than you love him.
Possibly. He can work with that.
"Show me."
Idly, Vegeta thinks in the back of his mind that perhaps asking for you to attack him may not have been his brightest idea.
You turn on a dime and the yellow, jagged energy in your palm takes the shape of what resembles a bow, your other hand quickly firing off an arrow directed right between his eyes. And knowing your aim to always be true, the prince is swift, easily bypassing your little weapon of doom.
A mere swoop of his head is enough, and try as he might, Vegeta can't school his face; you're capable of way more than whatever that silly attempt was. "Points for style, I-" The smirk on your lips, so tiny and fleeting, is too out of place. "What's your- Shit!" You raise your palms and fire off quick little beams, spacing them out in an irregular pattern that's difficult to counter. You knew he'd underestimate the technique; it's what kept it in your arsenal, at the end of the day. If Vegeta, the master tactician and one of the most gifted fighters in this world, not to mention your husband that has spent more hours training with you than anyone else and knows your capabilities, could look down at the attack, then so would just about any foe.
He feels the sizzle of the arrow coming back, having to twist his body in a shape he didn't know was possible— and the twinge in his knee tells him it's, at the very least, not recommended.
Should've gotten that damn immortality when I had the chance.
"I believe I told you to mind your ego; if you still had a tail, you'd have felt it coming sooner."
Vegeta doesn't miss a beat, you find, as a hefty blast bursts from his palms and then it's you having to dodge, bending over backwards to avoid what would become a broken rib or two. Fast as ever, Vegeta's right above you and sends his fist to your gut, fully knocking you flat to the floor.
"And you…" He huffs out. "Clearly still underestimate me after knowing me for over forty years."
"Bite me." You growl; the absolute nerve of this man! To be so confident, as if no time passed since your last real brawl— he'd done the impossible and inflated his ego even more. Bastard.
"I hate to take a page out of Kakarot's book, but don't mind if I do."
Within a blink of an eye he's dropped to his knees, fangs sunk into that same spot as always, the mark so clear and distinctly his. The contact burns, Vegeta's lips hot and fangs molten lava as they break the barrier of skin— the taste of your blood kisses his tongue, a warning sign to stop biting deeper that he just barely heeds. But the sheer euphoria in his body, in yours, keeps him in place. Your bodies were never made for such distance between one another, yet withstood a twenty year gap— lesser Saiyans would have perished far sooner, perhaps even after a mere month apart if they faced the circumstances you and Vegeta had.
Your strength has always drawn Vegeta to you, ever since that day you punched him in the face. You survived not only a devastating separation, but an attack by his heir that, by all means was meant for, groomed to be an all-elite Saiyan like the rest of his royal lineage. You are stronger than Vegeta, and even his traditionally massive ego is able to step aside to only find nothing but the purest pride in you. He could have no other woman for his wife or his mate— you are simply the strongest, and the prince could never expect or have any less than that.
"Vegeta…" Your breathless whimper of his name urges his jaw in a tighter hold, clamping down on your mating scar. His brain searches for his tail, urging a signal to the lost appendage to tangle with yours as yours flicks at the very end, your hot body trembling beneath his.
And then there's a snap sounding in your brain as your tail fails to find your mate's, that stiff reminder of what's happened since the mating ceremony like a punch to the gut, eyes flying open with a growl as your nails dig into his muscled flesh. "Get the hell off of me."
Vegeta's cry of pain releases his bite, and he growls while forcing your hands off of him, using his weight and superior physical strength to pin your wrists to your sides. "Must you be so damn difficult, woman?!"
"I refuse to be your mistress, you vile-"
"If anyone's the mistress here, it would be Bulma and you know it." Vegeta says dryly. "And I'm not here with you for that. If V is as strong as you say-"
"He is." You scowl, the chip on your shoulder still very much present.
"Then I need to train too, and with a clear head. What good is training if our primal instincts have a score to settle?"
You huff and muster the strength to tear your hands free of his hold, pushing him off of your body and kicking him squarely in the gut before rolling backwards onto your feet, standing tall before his crouched form. "That's for earlier, Prince."
"Oh, you're gonna get it, Princess." Vegeta seethes, clutching his stomach.
"You refused to fight before; don't tell me the earth woman's made you soft."
Your husband grunts and forgets his pain to retaliate, his fist solid to your jaw with an uppercut. And thus the real brawl begins, fists and swears and smoldering looks passed between you. Each strike is calculated, your experience as seasoned fighters on display— you hold no audience, but perhaps your aim is for one another, rather than your Saiyan pride. Together as long as you were, you never did stop aiming to impress one another. It's in your Prince's blood to have an ego, of course, and as you throw your forearm up to block one of his mighty kicks, the possibility that you still want to be desirable to him crosses your mind, rather than training for the sake of strength.
What a shallow Saiyan you are.
But the fact that he spent any amount of time with her, pleasing her and potentially even courting her, has you set in a jealous rage that won't settle. They've got a child, a filthy halfling that's what, a year old? Maybe? And he's been living with her this whole time. Do they share a bed? What a nonsensical question, they must-
"You're getting distracted!" Vegeta growls after landing a fierce strike to your chest, knocking the wind out of you as you land right on your back. You stay down, Vegeta giving you reprieve as he stands tall above you, a stern frown on his lips. "Surely you don't find this a game, princess."
Your teeth clamp down on your tongue, the searing rage inside built up further by his taunts. "How dare you even suggest such a thing."
Vegeta offers his gloved hand to you, and you slip your hand in his after a moment's hesitation. Your prince has always had mercy on you, no matter how slight. His palm burns you through that white glove, and as he pulls you up to your feet his scent, a mixture of sweat and his natural musk beyond that, sets your insides alight. The mating scar you left eons ago is particularly sightly against his pale skin, the impression of your fangs clear to anybody with a set of eyes.
Your jaw quivers with need, aching to bite his most sensitive spot and take in his pheromones— he's always smelled so sweet despite his rough exterior; ever since your teenage years, when the genuine romance in your betrothal began, you've noticed that special scent of your prince.
You catch a whiff of that saccharine fragrance again, this time as you're walking through the palace for tea time with your betrothed and his father. You've been slated to marry the prince for many years now, though only recently have you taken a true liking to him— the idea of marriage is favorable in your mind now, with Vegeta having matured into a gentleman rather than the rude boy you decked solidly in the jaw just a few years ago.
He's also gotten quite handsome, regrettably.
It's breezy out, so tea is on a balcony with a view of the lower class's work division— Vegeta and his father are waiting patiently, though Nappa informs the king of an urgent matter he must attend to before you can even take your seat. King Vegeta grimaces, nodding apologetically before taking his leave. Leaving you and the prince alone, Nappa closes the doors to the balcony. The sweetness is stronger now, with Vegeta pulling your chair out for you. He's so close— clearly Vegeta must be the source of that intoxicating scent. You swallow thickly, hesitating to take your seat for the briefest of moments.
The urge to take a bite of him is new and strong and the sense of want is so disgustingly present, though the back of your mind coils in repugnance. Betrothed or not, attractive or not, he's still Vegeta. An arrogant, rude—
Vegeta tucks your chair in, his strength easily moving you to the table with grace. He's solidly behind you, hands lingering on your chair for just a second longer than necessary before he breaks away, taking his place beside you as the wind only forces more of his sweet pheromones your direction.
— perhaps you judge him too harshly.
You maintain your composure and refrain from biting him like a savage (though it's Vegeta that loses it at your very next encounter) but you do end the afternoon with a kiss that's passionate enough for your father to pass you a sideways glance when you return home absolutely covered in Vegeta's scent.
Vegeta nearly trembles under that hungry, near lustful gaze in your eye. He feels like meat, the mere prey to your raging ferality that's run so rampant, it's doubtful you've even noticed the way your tail sharply flicks around. You still hold his hand, bodies as close as possible without touching. Wetting your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue and nearly cracking under Vegeta's handsome stare, you step back with a scowl.
This is no time for my biology to intervene.
"This has been a wash." You mutter, turning on your heel and powering into Super Saiyan.
"Glad we're in agreement." Vegeta follows up, the glow from your ascensions meeting in the middle for a brighter light, forcing both of you to squint. Vegeta holds a hand out, fingers curled as he seeks out your form beyond the blinding glow of Super Saiyan.
You hold two fingers out, generating a fraction of your power into the very tips of them, and Vegeta follows your lead.
"May the strongest Saiyan win." You say in unison, and with a charge and a call out, your fists meet in the middle, creating a shockwave that bellows out through the endless chamber, your brawl not missing even a single beat.
Your hair loses the luster of Super Saiyan as you collapse to the ground, entirely spent and bruised head-to-toe. Vegeta's sporting a messy cut above his brow, left eye closed as the wound bleeds a steady stream. With a huff he falls to his knee, holding his injured right arm carefully at the crook of his elbow— he watches your chest rise and fall with every breath, soon comforted with the movements.
Vegeta swipes away some blood rather fruitlessly, wiping it on his ruined armor. With a grunt he falls on his rear, holding his palm to the wound as he gathers his bearings. You push yourself up despite the cries of your ribs, grimacing at all of the blood on your husband's face. His open eye flicks your direction and he waves his hand nonchalantly— "No worse than a scratch."
"Scratches don't bleed profusely." You snap, itching closer to him as you shrug off the remaining scrap of the poor t-shirt you'd walked in the chamber with. Your leggings aren't in much better shape, but to be stripped down to the bare necessities certainly wasn't an option. "Move your hand."
Vegeta complies at the snippy tone of your voice, his head throbbing as you examine the wound. Your heated skin is close, so infectiously hot as you cup his face and tut at the mark you've left on him, pressing the ruined t-shirt tightly against the wound to soak up the blood. "I've got to bandage this." You murmur, clutching your side as you attempt to push yourself to your feet to reach the medical supplies in the rest area, which is a regrettable distance away.
"Stay down, princess. Your ribs aren't in any better shape than me." Vegeta tugs you back to the ground roughly, wincing at your groan of pain as you hit the floor. His hand is quick to your side, searching for the worst of the injury on the side you favored. His palm skims over a spot that's already bruising and your body shifts involuntarily, a whimper hidden behind your gritted teeth.
"You haven't got much experience fighting in Super Saiyan." He murmurs, pushing himself up and tossing the bloodied remains of your shirt aside before kneeling and carefully picking you up. He shushes softly your cries of pain, taking care not to jostle you as he flies back to where the door to the chamber is.
"It feels like home in here." You murmur as Vegeta lays you gently on a bed.
"It does." Vegeta says softly, removing his stained gloves. "The gravity in here is the same as Planet Vegeta's."
"I miss home." You stare blankly at the purple curtains that divide the sleeping quarters. "V and I spent our years on a Frieza colony, laying low. I worked on a farm to earn our keep, and V grew up like a normal child. I think our neighbors knew of our race, but they didn't ever speak a word to it— I don't know if it was loyalty to us, or just so Frieza wouldn't come back and destroy that planet too. We lived peacefully for a long time."
Vegeta quietly wraps a bandage around your ribcage, tying a cold compress tightly to the worst of your wound. His nimble fingers pause as you look back at him, searching his dark eyes for a moment before zeroing in on the slice above his brow. The bleeding has stopped, but he's still left with a large gash. "How did you train him?"
You push yourself up, not falling to his demanding hand that presses against your chest, urging you to rest. "We practiced basic hand to hand for a long time, and when he was older we began going off planet for more serious training. By the time he was 16, I had him trained like our parents had trained us. He would've been of great service to Planet Vegeta… You can't imagine how proud I was of him. How proud I am, even after what's happened."
"He's our boy. Of course he would be great." Vegeta's chest puffs out in pride, though his face bears the sorrow in his heart. He takes a place at the edge of the bed at your gentle insistence, his hands finding the curve of your hips— your exposed skin is hot under his touch and he brushes his thumbs up and down carefully while you wipe away blood from the wound.
"This cut you deeper than I thought." You toss away the bloody wipes once it's clean so you can inspect the wound. "I'll need to suture it."
Vegeta watches as you collect supplies from one of the many medical kits he's already laid out on the bed. Battered as you are, angry as you are, even, you don't bat away his hold. He watches you intently as you thread up the fresh needle, and your hand comes to softly touch his face after. "This is going to hurt."
"Try not to enjoy it too much."
The quirk on your lips tells him there won't be much trying.
Once you're gloved up, you begin work on suturing the wound. Vegeta's strong hands clutch your hips as the needle pierces his skin, but he remains strong throughout. He took your beating like a champ, and he'll take your healing with grace.
"Do you remember the last time I had to stitch you up?" You murmur, attempting a distraction as you work your careful stitches.
"I'd prefer not to." He mutters dryly, and you laugh a little.
"I kept my word, you know. I never did tell your father why you had stitches."
"Tch, give our planet a few more years and I'm sure that cat would've been out of the bag."
Vegeta watches your face as you laugh, squeezing your hips with the memory clear as day in his mind.
Vegeta storms to your bedchamber sporting his trademark scowl as he quickly moves through the castle. Why you've sent for him during an important war room meeting with his father and the men he commands, he doesn't know. His eyes burn like fire when he sees you, lounging in bed like it's a breezy afternoon where your husband isn't planning perhaps the riskiest invasion the planet has ever attempted.
"Have you lost your mind, woman?!" He stops short of the bed, biting down on his tongue, lest his angry tongue get him into trouble that the late-night prince would regret.
You roll your eyes and sit up, setting your book aside. "You didn't have to come now if it was that important."
"As my wife and my mate, I will always answer your call. It is up to you if you abuse that level of care I have." Vegeta's beefy arms cross over his chest, his anger simmering down into something less explosive once he's caught a whiff of your pheromones. There's something different— the gears in his mind turn.
"I didn't call you for nothing. It's actually quite important, and I think you'll find it worth the interruption."
"Well? What is it?!" Vegeta huffs, your scent getting stronger as you slink off the bed and into his personal bubble.
"I've just met with our physician." You smile widely, excitement palpable in the air.
"And…?" Vegeta's heart threatens to burst through his solid chest. Could it be…?
"I'm pregnant." You whisper, and your concerned face as his vision fades is the last thing he sees before total darkness.
"It's not my most honorable scar, but I wear it with pride all the same." Vegeta's fingers brush over the faint, thin scar lining his temple to his hairline. The smile that graces your lips at the memory makes the embarrassment worth it.
"Almost done." You assure him softly, and soon enough you're snipping the last of the thread and peeling off the blue gloves.
Vegeta heads to the bathroom, inspecting the patch job in the mirror. "You've always been exceptional with a needle and thread." Your stitches are neat, and the scar will be clean.
"Thank you." You brush by him, washing your hands as Vegeta turns his head.
"I'll draw a bath."
Slowly toweling off your hands, you look at the tub and then into the mirror. "No, I don't have much experience fighting in Super Saiyan. I tried it against V a few times, but couldn't keep it up for too long."
"First you must master the form, so the energy drain will be negligible." Vegeta powers up easily while testing the temperature of the water. "You're exhausted easier because of the transformation, but with diligence you'll master it as I have."
Your side aches as you take in a breath, gritting your teeth to power up into the legendary form. You've got to plant your feet to not topple over and lose it, but your sheer willpower alone saves you from failure. It's so draining and you're already exhausted of just about all you can give, but there's never been such a thing as a Saiyan who wasn't headstrong.
"Kakarot and I used this chamber once before to master Super Saiyan. It comes to us as easily as breathing now— there's no strain at all on our bodies. I dare say the form is beneath us now."
"Saiyans always get stronger." You grit out, nearly blinded by your own reflection. "I've had a few zenkai boosts through the last two years. I never really thought I could actually reach this power level. It's unheard of."
"I always knew you would continue to climb, though I wish it wasn't in part to zenkai." Vegeta murmurs, stripping away his armor to dip into the relaxing bath. "You were made for greatness. We would have been the strongest to lead our glorious race, had we been given the chance."
"That was only natural." You mutter bitterly, fingers gripping the sink tightly enough to crack the stone. "Perhaps we could've gotten out from under Frieza's thumb…"
"It's a wonderful thought." Vegeta murmurs thoughtfully, sinking further into the tub. And it calls for you, the scent of soap and the heat radiating from his way has you absolutely yearning to be in that tub. "Ruling over Vegeta together, raising children to be even stronger than us."
Your ribs ache with each breath you take, the icy compress burning against your skin. Though it's the sting in your eyes that hurts the most as the infinite what-ifs assault your imagination— More children? A strong, large royal family? The greatest warriors the world would have ever known? A life where your son didn't try to murder his own mother?
"Life is cruel." You whisper, two tears slipping past your lids as you close them.
Vegeta turns his head, closing his eyes— only to open them again when the glow of your transformation approaches the tub and you slip in with him, bandages and compress abandoned at the sink. He opens his hand to you and his heart soars at your willing contact in return, fingers wrapped tightly around the other's. Your husband leans forward for a gentle kiss to your knuckles, and you softly poke the tip of his nose.
"How long did it take you to master Super Saiyan?"
"A full year in this chamber to start, and on top of that I spent weeks in constant Super Saiyan after the fact." Vegeta explains, and damn if he isn't attractive when he's talking battle techniques to you in the tub.
"I see." You murmur, staring pointedly at the center of his broad, scarred chest. Several of the scars there are new to you; they're healed and have aged like the rest of him, and it's now that it truly hits you— your time with Vegeta was another lifetime ago. Could he really be the same man you mated? Are you the same woman he mated with?
"It will be hard." He warns. "But I know you'll persevere, as the stubborn brat you are."
You scoff indignantly, fingers still laced with his as the flutter in your chest contradicts yours words of objection. Vegeta just chuckles lowly during your tirade, massaging your hand and occasionally reigniting your fire with a small quip whenever it strikes him. It's a moment all too wonderful and comforting after all he's lost— your friendship hopefully isn't a casualty among the wreckage after all. His romantic love wasn't always there, as it rarely is with betrothal (especially as you were children when you met) but your connection very early on was in the form of a tight-knit kinship.
Your husband eventually begins wiping away the dried blood and sweat from himself, and your aching arms follow suit before sifting through the chests of clothes with a surprising amount of Frieza Force armors. Leaving behind the white chest piece, you smooth your hands down the perfectly fitted blue suit.
"Bulma created a variety of them for me, and I placed several here in the chamber." Vegeta murmurs as he pulls on a new pair of gloves. "Because eventually it will be Gohan's time to achieve and master Super Saiyan."
"He's a bright kid." You whisper to yourself.
"He may only be half of a Saiyan, but I believe he could be stronger than any full-blood."
Trunks could be stronger, is what you truly mean to say, Prince. Stronger than my son… Is that something you wish to see?
"Perhaps."
As beneficial as the use of the chamber is for your training, it's just as much a torture device as you spend every waking moment with your husband. The routine settles almost instantly, with breakfast and relentless training, bickering, and those brief moments, where the world slows for you for just a few seconds and all is right and you're almost living life how you were meant to— by Vegeta's side, through anything.
The hour on the clock above the door indicates you've got one final day as you lay in your bed, you and Vegeta separated only by a purple curtain, the way it has been since night one. The silence of the chamber is particularly deafening, jarring even—
"Bulma is not my wife." Vegeta breaks the silence, though barely. "She has cared for me, given me a son… But I've never thought of making her my wife."
You shift, turning on your side to face the sound of his voice. "And why is that? You begged me not to hurt her. You underestimate the level of your own care."
Vegeta's quiet for a moment. "She deserves a man greater than I am."
"But she loves you. Do you love her?"
His uncertain silence doesn't break. More than you, absolutely not. On the same level, doubtful. But his heart harbors that feeling, even if he won't admit it, be it to you or himself.
Vegeta slips past the thin purple barrier, climbing into the small bed and tugging you into his arms for a kiss as true as your first. Hesitation is at a full stop now, your lips passionate in the heated kiss. Four hands wander, though not necessarily out of lust, as you map one another's bodies again. The trail is more worn than it used to be, but the journey remains as pleasurable and familiar as ever as your lips begin to wander as well. It's all a messy tangle, teeth nipping and limbs fighting for dominance underneath the mutual glow of the after and even your mastered Super Saiyan past a certain point.
Your fangs itch and finally, The Rock has come back and you bite his mating scar, hackles of your tail raising with the sinking of your teeth into that delicious smelling flesh, heightened senses sending you in a euphoric spiral that leaves you dizzy in Vegeta's hot, scarred arms. He's damn near out himself, eyes rolled back so far he just might be able to see his brain as he releases all he's got, burning gold beneath you and damn if either of you have ever felt so fulfilled and at home.
A heaping mess of pants and lethargic limbs, sleep overtakes the remaining hours of the chamber's power, and it's your husband's hands and insistent lips that wakes you up in time to leave before another day on the outside begins.
Goku and Piccolo await you on the outside, the former buzzing with so much energy that adrenaline fills your veins with his crushing hug.
"You mastered Super Saiyan, didn't you?!"
"I did." Your grin is impossible to hold back against that innocent enthusiasm— Vegeta smirks proudly behind you, arms crossed tightly.
"She is far stronger now than she would've been with training you, Kakarot. She is a Saiyan elite!" Pride oozes out of every little pore, and it'd be a lie to say your heart isn't swelling with his joy focused so entirely on you.
"Well then, Ms. Saiyan Elite," Goku teases. "Show me what you're made of!"
"Darling, we would need an entire planet for a battle between us." You tease, which only seems to excite Goku further.
"Man, I gotta find the time to look for some! Maybe Bulma could help…?" He taps his chin thoughtfully, and Vegeta freezes briefly at the mention of her name.
The shift is palpable and Piccolo quietly ponders the situation further as you take note of Vegeta's pause, and he looks away from you and towards the sky. "We'll have to start searching for V soon."
"I have an idea of where he'll be." You eye your husband carefully.
"Good. We'll use one of Bulma's ships and go there within a few day's time. A little more training wouldn't hurt, though. For him to put a hurt on you as badly as he has, he's going to be hard to kill and-"
"What did you just say?!"
Vegeta's head turns and is met with your open palm to his face, your fangs bared and eyes razor sharp. He growls right back and steps forward, just as angry at your sudden change of pace. "It has been a constant two steps back with you. What the hell is the problem now?!"
"You are not killing my son!"
"You think I'd let him live?! He nearly killed you, his own mother! No damn son of mine will still breathe after such a betrayal towards my wife! What the hell did you think all this was for?"
"You won't lay a single hand on my baby."
"V is-"
"He has your name and your looks, but I raised that boy! I trained him, and I'm the one that cared enough about his life to trust Bardock and leave that doomed planet while you sooner preferred to leave him and I there like sitting ducks!"
"That's not fair to say." Vegeta sneers coolly.
"The truth doesn't care about what you think is fair. You will not kill my son. We fought hard to give him life in the first place, and I'd sooner kill you than V."
Vegeta doesn't back down, and you're locked in a standstill as you stare each other down.
Unstoppable force, meet immovable object, Piccolo thinks to himself.
part one | part two | part four | part five | part six
author's note: sorry for the wait! i had a hard time getting a good flow with this chapter, and am not very satisfied with what i have here, unfortunately. i hope that for part 4 i will feel better about my writing, and that you all will as well
pairing: vegeta x fem!reader
warnings: canon-typical violence, ignore the canon timeline of events
Vegeta's ears ring, sounding as if he'd gone underwater when he hears Bulma yelling for his attention. He doesn't look for her, still locked onto that deadly serious look in your eye that's piercing his soul. He sees your sadness deep inside, how crushed you are to have to tell him of his son's betrayal. He feels like his stomach has dropped out of his body and his skin pales, knees giving out underneath him and sending him to the ground. He blinks slowly and looks in the fire, swearing he can see the image of his young son in the flames; the picture flickers back and forth from the strong young man he'd idealized, and then a more grimy, hateful man that barely resembles his oldest child.
"No… It… Can't be." Vegeta closes his eyes, determined not to cry in front of Kakarot and Bulma. This isn't their business, and he's getting angry with the way Bulma's pushing and prodding at him for answers. Her voice, shrieking and irritating, demanding things left and right without a care for what he's gone through since you came back into his life, strikes a particular nerve and his head throbs with every syllable she screeches.
"Vegeta!" She yells from the helicopter, luckily unable to land in the forest, else she'd be even closer to his migraine. "You scumbag, you haven't told me a damn thing! First you're married and now you have a-"
"Shut UP!"
Vegeta's eyes widen when he hears your voice. Your tails whips angrily and you've clenched your fists tightly, flying right up into Bulma's face. His hands grip into his sides, his stomach threatening to empty out the moment he tries following you to place himself in front of her. "No… Don't… Don't hurt her!"
You ignore Vegeta's weak plea, looking the woman that's stolen your husband directly in her eyes. "If you shriek one more time, I'll kill you." You growl.
A small hand slips into yours, and you nearly snap your neck when you feel it, seeing Gohan's concerned face looking up at you. Immediately you're subdued, having a soft spot for that young boy, your face falling; you've stepped out of line now. You allow him to lead you away from Bulma, from the scene entirely, despite your rage and desire to be close to Vegeta.
Bulma's eyes are wide, her heart racing and veins ice-cold from your threat. You'd seemed so kind before your memories returned; and now, you've become a savage. She eyes Vegeta, noticing the haunted look in his eye as he stares down the fire. He hadn't budged a bit, not even after you threatened her life.
"I… Think you should take Chi-Chi and Trunks home." Goku says carefully.
"Are you kidding me?! How do you expect me to-!"
"Bulma!" Chi-Chi snaps. "Let's go. Goku, don't let her run off again. Bring her home."
Goku nods at his wife's order, following the direction you and Gohan left in. Bulma glares at her friend, but Chi-Chi doesn't back down to her. "It's not all about you, Bulma. Let's go."
Bulma huffs and turns the copter to go back to Capsule Corp, leaving Vegeta alone by that stream. The prince gazes into the fire again, seeing the image of the bastard that nearly killed you (His son!! How in the hell did it come to this?!) and he feels a fresh sheen of sweat on his face right before he loses the control on his stomach and vomits, coughing and spluttering once there's nothing left. The ground is cool and damp when he falls back onto it; all he can hear is the flow of water and the crackle of the fire before it all goes dark.
Gohan's led you to a cliff, sitting beside you in comfortable silence. "My acceptance letter came in the mail."
You turn to look at him, the only light you've got in your life. "Yeah? Good; I'm proud of you, hon."
His smile lights your own eyes up. "You'll keep helping me study, right?"
"You'll keep your training up?" You smile gently at the boy. He's got the sweetness your son used to harbor, but you know his human side makes him pure, unlike your full-blooded Saiyan son.
"Deal!" Gohan throws his arms around you, and you hug him tightly. You feel tears building and you pull Gohan just a tad closer to you, thankful he's allowing the bruising hug.
"It's gonna be okay." Gohan whispers before Goku lands nearby. He kneels on your other side and gently puts his large, warm hand on your shoulder.
"Hey there." He smiles so, so softly at you. "Been a few days. Let's go home."
You blink. "I…?"
"Always."
You look back in the direction you and Gohan had come from. You feel your husband's power level, though it's muted. He's likely unconscious, never being able to take shock very well. Where you would grow angry or remain calm, he'd faint. The wind chills the tips of your ears and a shiver tears through you, making a mockery of your thin jeans and tank top, hot-blooded Saiyan be damned against the cold air.
"Alright, Kakarot."
Goku scrunches his nose. "Aww, now that you remember stuff, are you gonna call me that now?" His lips push out into a pout, and you can't help but laugh at the pitiful look on his face.
"It is your name." You hum, buzzing your lips thoughtfully. "But… if you prefer Goku-"
"I do! Very much!"
You nod, carefully gripping his gi. "Let's go home."
"I thought you'd never ask!" Goku picks up Gohan, tossing him atop his shoulder and grinning at the boy's laugh, pressing his calloused fingers to his forehead.
Warmth is the first thing you feel, and the first thing you hear is Chi-Chi. Your chest rumbles with your laughter, which only serves to make her angrier, but simply hugging her calms the energy. "I know." You murmur into her dark hair. Her arms around you are tighter than you expected, and her strength impresses you.
"Go shower; you smell like Vegeta." She mumbles, delicate hands settling on your waist for a brief moment as she pulls back.
Fighting back the urge to smirk (he's your mate, dammit) you simply do as she says. Your thoughts travel to your son, remembering his rage and intent to kill. Ever since you found out Vegeta had been alive the entire time… V had changed. Your son had warped into a resentful, vengeful Saiyan. You'd lost count the amount of times he'd accused you of lying to him, or hiding him from his father. It was all nonsensical dribble, but V believed every word- and having no idea where it had come from, you still gave him the truthful answers you'd given him since he was young; but it wasn't enough for him.
You'd fought your son several times in the last two years, but this was the closest he'd gotten to killing you. It was as if his control was slipping each time; even with the power boost after your near-death experience, you'd have to train hard to be strong enough to only subdue.
Only subdue.
I can't kill him… He's all I've got left.
"Is this all you've got, Mother?!" V screams at you, a spitting image of Vegeta's rage.
You swipe your thumb over your lip, finding blood on it that you're not entirely sure came from your lip. Each strike of V's is true, the bruises and cuts on your face all the proof needed. You've trained him well; too well.
"I suppose time-out isn't going to work anymore."
"I'm not a child!" He roars, flying at you with the intensity of an explosion behind the fist you suddenly find against your stomach. The air leaves your lungs, the feeling of something rupturing inside. You cough, a splatter of blood from your bitten cheek staining his shirt. V backs away, leaving you to drop to your knees, cradling your stomach as your empty lungs beg for air, burning harshly with the first breath you can take.
"V… " Your eyes land on the pod you'd stolen, crushed and sporting a massive hole from the charged attack your son launched at you. You don't know what planet you're on or where you're close to, but if you don't find a way to get out soon… You're as good as dead.
"It didn't have to be this way, Mother." His footsteps crunch on the solid ground, approaching you with his hand glowing yellow.
"It still doesn't have to." You growl, eyes flicking from V's boots to the pod he arrived in. "We can find your father together, V."
"We could've done that a long time ago, Mother! But you lied to me!"
Summoning the little strength that remains, you move your body right as his blast singes the ground, kicking his feet from under him and unleashing a flurry of punches to his face. Your heart's in a vice, beating in your only child's face like this. You just need to keep him down long enough to get away…
A final punch across his skull results in your son's loss of consciousness. Without preamble, you scramble to the pod to get the hell off this planet. You have no destination; as far away as you can get from V is the only specific you've got in mind.
I've got to find Vegeta…
There's an explosion after a handful of hours, and the next thing you know, you're staring at a face you've never seen before.
It's well past midnight when Vegeta makes it back to Capsule Corps. Carefully trudging through to not wake anyone, Vegeta strips the second he's in the bathroom for a scorching shower. His body is covered in dirt and sweat, not to mention he smells like fish from the stream… Though no matter how intensely he scrubs his skin, despite how red and raw he's made it, he cannot make the feeling of dirt vanish.
He feels like a two-timing son of a bitch. To both you and Bulma. He was content with his involvement with her, whatever it was, living together and raising their child… Something he missed out on with his firstborn. And that was another matter entirely; he hadn't even thought to tell her about his previous life. How could he? His heart, forever wounded by the loss and tortured by each and every what-if couldn't possibly take retelling the tragedy. He held no shame for you, had no intentions on keeping secrets from Bulma…
Vegeta's head spins and he has to brace himself on the wall, lest he slip and wake up Bulma. She no doubt has room to be angry and feel betrayed, but good lord he can't take any yelling right now. Vegeta's mating scar burns, ripping a hiss from his tongue as he clutches onto it. His primal body yearns, begs for reunification with his mate. With you, his first love, wife, mate…
Mother of his child.
Vegeta presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, seeing stars in the blackness. What in the hell had happened for his son to nearly kill you? Though supposing he can't be a character witness for the boy, having last seen him as a baby who'd been out of his incubator for only a short time… It's possible his son was just…
No. A son of mine would never be like that on his own.
And speaking of a son, he can hear the cries of his baby boy even with the noises of the water surrounding him. Vegeta suppresses a sigh and is quick out of the shower, hair dripping onto his shoulders while he shoves on a pair of sweatpants and carefully goes to tend to Trunks. Naturally, though, Bulma's already beat him there and has the baby in her arms, calmly shushing him through his wails.
Her eyes cross with Vegeta's for a split second, and a groan forms at the back of Vegeta's throat. She's hurt, no doubt by the secrets; and your threat on her life wasn't exactly helpful. "Bulma…" He begins carefully.
"Not right now." She murmurs sadly, bouncing Trunks into softer cries.
He steps closer to her, impossibly close but not touching. "Give me the boy, and get yourself some more rest."
Her cerulean eyes widen and she meets his, finding sincerity in them. She was surprised to even see him back here at all, knowing his affinity for running away all the time. And the possibility that he was just here for amenities she provides, which could still be the case, is lessened. "You…"
"He's my son." Vegeta mumbles finally, breaking eye contact with her to look at his little boy. His fingers twitch, too eager to hold him and cherish the moments he has available to him. "I want to hold my son."
Bulma pauses for a beat, gazing down at the young baby. Trunks has stopped his tears, staring openly at Vegeta with wonder and smiles at him, one of those chunky hands reaching out. Vegeta slips his hands around the baby and pulls him away from Bulma, holding him close to himself and sitting in the rocking chair, already working on lulling the boy to sleep.
"Get some rest, Bulma. I won't tell you a third time."
Her exhaustion outweighs her stubbornness and with light feet, she's out the door and comfortably back into her bed. Despite the odds of waking up alone, she fluffs the pillow on the left side and saves half of the blankets.
Vegeta stares outside for a while, rocking the chair and holding Trunks to his warm chest. "Trunks. I know you are young and won't remember this. You won't remember the way I treated your mother, or how I left you as a bastard for a time. You will never know how sorry I am… Or how grateful I feel to get the chance to be a father to you. Truth be told, I didn't plan for you to exist. I have a son from years past that I do not know. I don't even know what he looks like; the last time I saw him, he was around your age."
Trunks coos, blinking slowly and nuzzling Vegeta's bared chest. Vegeta finally looks down at him, swiping a hand over the purple bits of peach fuzz he's growing atop his head. "I have made a vow to myself to be present for you. I now make that same vow to you, my second son. I will be here for you; I will raise you as a strong warrior, and a good man. You will be better than me, I'll make sure of it. That's what children do; they surpass their parents. You will be no different. And so help me, if you try to kill your mother someday…" Vegeta pauses. His eyes are watery, he finds, as he blinks and feels the tears on his cheeks. "I will have failed yet another child, and you do not want to see what happens then. Be good, and be strong. That is all I ask of you, Trunks."
V, I will find you. And you will not be ready.
When you wake, it's dark out. Your scar burns, but you ignore it in favor of getting up and dressing for a day of training; the best you can do is a t-shirt and leggings, unfortunately, as your Frieza Force armor was entirely destroyed beyond use and even recognition by V's assault.
"And where are you going?" Chi-Chi's in the kitchen checking the ribs in the slow-cooker when you pass through, and you sigh to yourself.
It's like my mother's alive.
"Just to train."
"For?" She narrows her eyes suspiciously.
"To fight my son again."
"You nearly died, but you want to fight again?" Chi-Chi shakes her head; you damn Saiyans give her headaches.
"My pride as a Saiyan won't allow me to run and hide. And as his mother, it's on me to put him in his place. I have to become stronger to do that without killing him. He, for some damn reason, thinks I've lied to him his entire life. Like if I didn't know my husband was alive, I wouldn't have scoured every planet, every star and rock until I found him again. It's nonsense, but I haven't been able to convince him otherwise."
Chi-Chi sighs. "You'll need a good training partner then."
"Would you mind allowing Goku to train with me?"
"Can you wear him out enough so he'll be too tired to eat as much for a change?"
Laughing, your shoulders shrug while you rub the back of your neck. "I can try, but that's kinda asking a lot, don't you think?"
"A woman can dream." Chi-Chi sighs wistfully, setting the top back onto the slow cooker and washing her hands. "He won't be up for a while longer, so you'll have to settle for me instead."
"Oh?" You perk a brow, a smile forming on your lips. "You're a fighter?"
"How do you think I handle Goku?" She teases back and leads you outside, tying her hair up in a quick, messy bun. The air out is crisp and the grass is wet with dew, a few stars still twinkling in the sky as the Earth makes its way to the sun.
Your stretches are done in mostly silence, various bones snapping and popping from each of your bodies. You sigh to yourself; twenty years old was farther away than you wanted to admit. Chi-Chi seems to be on a similar train of thought, as her brow twitches in a manner you've never quite seen before. But she looks pissed now, and if that gives you a good warmup, so be it.
A quick bow and a pause later, Chi-Chi's testing your speed with her rush down maneuvers, her hands flying and advancing on you in impressive fashion. "I… Actually have to focus." You growl, your hands meeting every strike of hers and deflecting them from your body.
"You didn't think I'd go easy on you, did you?"
"I was hoping not." You grin and go on the offensive, pushing Chi-Chi back and switching into swift kicks she can barely keep her eyes on. She stumbles back, soon pinned under your knee.
"I'm more rusty than I thought…" She accepts your offered hand, brushing the grass from her pants while you ready into a new stance.
Chi-Chi spars with you for the better part of an hour, to her credit. You're relentless, your Saiyan appetite something she's surely used to with Goku. You bounce from side to side, rolling your neck and shoulders out, a big, satisfied grin on your face. "Man, this is fun! Think you can go faster?"
Chi-Chi huffs, clutching her side. If she were ever worried about her weight, a few mornings with you would set things straight. "Absolutely not. I'm… Going to make breakfast."
"Aww… Okay. Eggs?"
"Sure, sure…" Chi-Chi slowly moves into the house, leaving you by your lonely. With a little sigh you sit on the grass to meditate as the sun rises. A calm breath soothes the eagerness for Goku to wake up and start the real training, your mind oddly quiet despite the things you've been through lately.
Training always has been the best way to clear a Saiyans mind.
You wipe the sweat from your brow, the dust from your surroundings clearing. You and Vegeta have both been tense; the mating season has just come to pass and you were yet to be with child. It's disappointing to the King to hear, but not any more than Vegeta's anger at the situation. He stands from his position, blue fabric of his standard issue armor torn in various places. "Are you done?"
"Am I dead?" You snark, pulling yourself off your knees and launching a hefty energy beam at him. Your husband dodges, though not without more of his suit burning up.
"Point taken." He snarls and flies at you with a fierce kick, your arm coming to block as your poor bones ache at the contact. His other leg kicks out at you and sends you off your balance and into the ground. You've come to the less developed portion of Planet Vegeta, the area more commonly used for training the military recruits. It's largely rock and clay, the reddened dust everywhere. You and your husband are cloaked in it, the dust practically becoming a second skin after the several hours you've trained.
Vegeta falls on top of you, his arms only barely catching the full force of his weight. He coughs at the dust in his lungs, his exposed shoulder and one of his legs covered in it. "This is unbecoming of royalty." He groans.
You sigh and spread your limbs out, resigned. But the training was effective; the failures of your bodies are far from your mind. "Why did we come out here… Filthy training grounds…"
"I have no idea." Vegeta mutters into the breast of your armor.
"Let's go home."
Vegeta's up at your soft command, picking you up in a gentle bridal carry to fly you back home. He's not affectionate out in public; his love is no doubt strong and unbreakable, as your bonded mate. But he doesn't enjoy others seeing him so soft for you, lest they get the wrong idea and assume weakness of him. But he holds you close to his body as he flies home, even once you've reached the castle courtyard, he continues carrying you. Servants, guards and even high-ranking officers are around to see Vegeta carrying you.
"'Geta-"
"Hush, princess."
You close your eyes and just let it happen, your feet hitting the floor once he's reached your bedchambers. A servant quickly draws a bath and Vegeta holds your hand when you step into the large tub, ensuring you're down safely before climbing in himself.
Your husband waves off the servants, leaving the two of you alone in your bath. His rippling, filthy muscles flex while he pours a small basin of water over himself. His dark hair falls to his shoulders, the look rather striking despite the oddity of seeing it. He gazes at you through his lashes. "You like what you see?"
"If I do?" Soapy water falls from your body with each pass of the cloth. "What'll you do about it?"
"Not a damn thing. Continue eye-fucking me at your leisure." He smirks and washes himself, his legs opening up as you wade through the suds and into his personal bubble. He follows your lips after an attempt to steal one from him, kissing you with the passion he always keeps close to his chest.
"Did you enjoy training today?"
"I always enjoy training with you. I regret we haven't kept up the old routine we used to have." Vegeta murmurs. Once your marriage was settled and you began trying to conceive, you were practically banned from any meaningful training. And it being all for naught so far was an added kick to the ribs.
"I do feel rejuvenated. Perhaps… We go back to it."
Vegeta's dark eyes meet with yours, contemplating the suggestion. The water around you is cooling, your fingers and toes pruned as you step out of the bath. Vegeta silently follows your lead to then drape one of your many robes over your shoulders. His hands linger in the close space between you, roaming over your arms. They've lost quite a bit of muscle, regrettably.
"I expect you to gain your form back." He murmurs. "You've gotten too thin for a warrior."
"Oh, I'll show you form." You grin mischievously, pushing him to the bed and pouncing.
You laugh softly at the memory. Sure enough you'd gotten your warrior body back proper, and the stresses of getting pregnant were less present on your mind as a result of the training; and as fate would have it, you'd fallen pregnant the very next mating season. Vegeta theorized your body knew how strong a child between the two of you would be, and refused a pregnancy until you'd returned to peak strength.
"Don't tell me you're tired!" Goku's voice is cheerful and you fly to your feet, hands glowing yellow.
"Why don't you come test that theory?"
Goku's eyes shine, a slow smirk spreading on those lips as he takes his stance, bent over with one hand curled before him and the other raised above his head. "I hope you know what you're in for!"
Vegeta comes to in the rocking chair, Trunks long gone from his arms as the sun pierces the sky. He only panics a brief moment before his logical side catches up; Bulma's no doubt awake and with the baby.
He finds Bulma in the kitchen with Trunks, feeding him a spoonful of mashed carrots and failing to keep the boy's face clean, despite her best efforts. Trunks cheers at the sight of his father and subsequently knocks the baby food from his mother's hand; the glass shatters into a trillion little pieces, orange mush splattering any nearby surfaces.
"Eh?" Trunks follows the sound, looking over the side of his high chair. Bulma braces her head on the tray of the chair, her hair a wild mess and her pajamas wrinkled and covered in baby food Trunks had spat out.
Vegeta's chest fills, a terrible feeling lingering. What does he do about this? He's mated, connected to you through an invisible thread that cannot be severed. And how he's missed you, dreamt of you for years on end… Loves you still, with everything in his heart. You are his wife. His everything. His past, his lover, his best friend.
What does he do?? A lesser man would cast Bulma aside, and had this situation happened even just a year ago, he'd be that lesser man in an instant. She was only ever intended to be a one-time thing; he'd hit a moment of weakness, and her strong, abrasive personality caught him at just the right time.
She's perfect for any Saiyan male; it's not difficult to see how any of this happened. Bulma cared for Vegeta when everyone else wanted him dead. Food, a home, clothes on his back, her first child and her heart. She's given so much to him.
He is not worthy of either your love or Bulma's.
"I'll clean up." He murmurs, casting his gaze away from his second family and retrieving a new jar of baby food before the broom and dustpan.
Bulma's eyes shine with tears as she takes the jar from him; Vegeta opts to clean the glass up, rather than try to find any words for her. She sniffles and resumes feeding the baby, but finally finds her voice.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"They were dead." He murmurs.
"Well they're not. She threatened to kill me, Vegeta!"
Vegeta's eye twitches at her quickly souring tone, his temples already hurting. "And she didn't."
Bulma's jaw clenches. "I notice you didn't do anything about it; you left an eleven-year old to keep a savage bitch from-"
"Do not talk about her that way!" Vegeta seethes with pure rage in his eyes, throwing down the broom. His hair flicks gold once despite being able to control his Super Saiyan transformation. "That is my wife and she's been through a lot; a lot I wasn't there for! My son beat her so badly she lost her memories for months. You'll be just fine with a mere threat and not even a scratch to show for it."
"So you are going to leave! As if me and Trunks aren't your family too!"
"Leave Trunks out of this. Now is not the time for you to worry about relationships, if that is what you even call this. Not when V is out there, completely getting away with what he's done to his own mother. If you don't care about what I have on my plate then don't, but you will not sit there and spout nonsense. Do you understand me, Bulma?"
Bulma scowls, her eyes just as angry as Vegeta's. "Fine."
Vegeta hastily cleans the rest of the baby food mess and storms to get dressed; he can't afford to waste anymore time. He needs to find you and discuss a plan; he'll be damned if he lets V get away with this. You're capable of Super Saiyan, yet V still bested you; you'll need to train harder to kill him. You've bested Vegeta in the past, so he's not foolish enough to think his son will be easily beaten. He himself will train with you and become stronger together to face something more challenging than Frieza.
He's going to have to kill his own child.
pop
"Where are we?" You look around to find only blue skies and the platform you stand on.
"The Lookout!" Goku grins. "Chi-Chi can't find us here…" He looks around regardless, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. The last thing you saw before being brought here was a hole in the side of the house, courtesy of Goku himself.
"Hmm…" The hairs at the back of your neck prickle, and in an instant you've turned on your heel and fired off an attack you created with your husband; your hand is held out, thumb tucked in with a quick yet large burst of yellow energy.
"Woah!" Goku steps back. You're incredibly trigger-happy; Piccolo just barely dodged your great attack.
"Another Saiyan?" The Namekian grumbles, picking his weighted turban up from the ground and placing it back on.
"A very prideful one, Namekian, that doesn't appreciate your tone." You growl, eyes trained hard on the stranger, settling only with Goku's gentle touch to your shoulder.
Goku laughs nervously, hand coming to the back of his head as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Sorry, Piccolo! She's, ah, a little on edge. We're here to train in the chamber!"
"Hm." Piccolo's eyes harden. A strange Saiyan from nowhere, here with Goku's trust? Reluctantly, he crosses his arms and drops his suspicion. "What's the occasion?"
"I need to get stronger, so I can knock my son down a few pegs." You cross your arms. The thought of facing V, of going to him with the intention to harm him makes your stomach churn. But staying on Earth isn't an option; V must face his comeuppance.
"S-So I was hoping you'd help?" Goku grins at his friend. "Gohan got into college, by the way!"
The Namekian's barely-there smile surprises you. "Good. The one he wanted?"
"Yes." You confirm with a nod. "He's also promised me he'll keep up his training."
Piccolo stares for a beat, presumably finalizing his opinion of you with a nod. Goku sighs in relief and steps to the direction of the chamber, Piccolo following along. "I assume Goku has told you about the chamber."
"One day outside is an entire year inside." You confirm. The door looms over you with every step, your heart determined to come out of this chamber with the strength to surpass your son. The anxiety of the inevitable pushes through your veins similar to the feeling of being dropped into ice water, your heart pumping erratically with every step.
The hairs at the back of your neck prickle, Goku and Piccolo clearly having a similar indication. Your focus remains on the door, your hand even touching the handle, as you hear a pair of boots touch the ground.
"If anyone's going into that chamber with her, it'll be me, Kakarot."
Piccolo eyes Vegeta carefully; something about him has changed. This isn't an argument of his strength versus Goku's, for once. His eyes are locked solely on you, a Saiyan that as far as Piccolo knows, came from thin air. And if anyone would know another Saiyan, it'd be none other than the Prince.
"Go home to your wife and son, Vegeta." You hiss out, and open the door. Vegeta flies in between you and Goku, ensuring the door is slammed shut before Goku could even think about stepping inside.
You take in the surroundings of the room, an endless sea of white around the small rest area near the door. One year in this room.
part one | part three | part four | part five | part six
author's note: ok this has to be more than two parts bc i can't stop writing. i apologize if you find this to have too much 'filler'. i just want to flesh out relationships. also reminder that the canon timeline is not relevant in this story
pairing: vegeta x fem!reader
warnings: light nsfw mentions but nothing explicit or graphic
You brush your son's bangs from his eyes. He's got the same hairstyle as his father, except for one loose section of hair that curls down right between his eyes. He's small for his age, like his father was, but you're sure he'll hit the growth spurt Vegeta never did and resemble his grandfather King Vegeta.
You sigh and wait for your husband to return from his mission briefing, gazing out at the lower-class Saiyans from your balcony on the castle. You'd heard some troubling concerns from Bardock, the planet's perhaps most reputable scientist. Though his reputation had taken a hit several years ago after sending his son Kakarot off-planet and being unable to locate him again, you couldn't ignore the genuine concern in his voice when he'd spoken to you last.
"I believe Frieza means to eradicate the Saiyan race."
You look down at your sleeping son, Vegeta the Fifth, and sigh. You'd expressed your concern to your husband before, but he dismissed you, having little trust in Bardock's conspiracy.
"Do not concern yourself with such foolishness! Frieza will not do a thing to us, I promise you that!"
"I don't think we can ignore this." You whisper to the boy in your arms.
The door to the bedroom busts open, and you turn to go back inside. Vegeta's back, gathering his few items for his latest mission. He glances at you while you lay your son in your bed before carefully picking up your lady's favor and approaching you.
"My lady." He murmurs, offering the handkerchief. You sigh and take it from him, placing a kiss to it and tucking it in between your breasts.
"Vegeta…"
"This mission won't be longer than a week." Vegeta shakes his head, knowing you'll just bring up that stupid conspiracy theory again. "I will be back before you and the boy have a chance to miss me."
Your fists clench, but you don't press the issue further, due to the sleeping toddler and the fact that if Vegeta were to die on his mission, you wouldn't want an argument to be the last conversation you have with him. Vegeta cups your cheek with his gloved hand and softens his eyes.
"Do not worry, my Princess. I will return."
You place your hand atop his, looking into his eyes. "Say goodbye to V."
Vegeta turns to the bed, picking up his boy. His eyes shine with his outstanding pride. "My son." He whispers, brushing that loose bang from his face. The toddler stirs at the movement, opening his dark eyes and blinking at his father.
Vegeta's smile is small, though genuine. "You will be a great warrior when you are grown. Father will be gone for a short while. Be good to your mother, understand?"
"Pa…" The boy yawns, stretching and snuggling closer to his father. Vegeta chuckles softly and squeezes gently.
"Yes, it's me. Get your rest, my son. I will see you again in a week's time." Vegeta lays the boy back in the bed, tucking him in snugly on his own side of the bed, to keep it warm until his return.
"Nigh'-nigh'..." V waves at his father, opening and closing his chunky hand adorably.
Vegeta brushes the backs of his fingers along his baby's chunky cheek, standing straight again and looking at you. "I need to hurry now and go."
You take his hand and remove the lady's favor from your breast, tucking it into his fist now that it's sure to have your scent for a while. "I love you, my Prince. Please keep yourself safe, and mind that ego of yours."
"Tch, you still underestimate me after knowing me for over twenty years." Vegeta shakes his head and leans down for a brief kiss, only for you to grasp the back of his head and pull him close again for a longer, passionate kiss.
The bad feeling in your gut hasn't disappeared a bit.
Vegeta kisses you back with equal passion, his hands clutching your waist. He inhales what he can of you. His wife. His mate. His child's mother. Your smell intoxicates him, and if he doesn't let go soon he'll certainly be late. With only great strength and willpower is he able to remove himself from you entirely. He tucks your favor into his skin-tight suit, placing it right over his heart.
You sit at the end of the bed, rubbing V's belly soothingly while Vegeta finishes dressing himself in his armor. He's settled into his normal, battle-ready demeanor, his eyes hardened and ready for his mission. He spares you one last glance and salutes before he walks out of the bedroom and to the war room.
You lay beside V, watching his chest rise and fall. He's so young, has a whole life ahead of him… Heir to the throne… Your baby boy…
Your jaw clenches tightly as you make up your mind. As soon as Vegeta's out of orbit, you and V are leaving Planet Vegeta until the end of your husband's mission.
And on the day you were set to return, the day Vegeta was supposed to have been home, you hear the news that Frieza did exactly as Bardock said he would, wiping out your entire glorious Saiyan race and taking not only Planet Vegeta with them, but your chances of reuniting with your husband.
You may never forgive him.
You burn gold right before young V's eyes.
"Let me go." You growl, Vegeta behind you with a hand on your tail and his other arm around your shoulders. He's pressed tightly against you still, his grip not slacking even a bit. He's certainly gotten stronger in the twenty years you've been apart.
"No." He says against your shoulder.
"I need to fight." You strain against him, fists clenched. "Now."
"You can fight me!" Goku grins.
"No, I want to fight him." You seethe. You wrench yourself away from Vegeta, but he's also faster than he used to be. He's in front of you and grasping your wrists before you know it.
"You mean to maim me." Vegeta growls, looking at your face once again. Your eyes lock with his and you swallow thickly. He's… Everything you remember. Strong. Striking. Handsome.
"As you deserve." You whisper, pure heat behind the words.
"You have a wife?!" Bulma shouts. Vegeta ignores her, but your head snaps in her direction as you remember where you are.
At Goku's home. Surrounded by his friends. With Vegeta's apparent new wife and son.
Your teeth clench so hard you may break them when you lay your eyes on Trunks. Your mate has laid with another, leaving your son a bastard. You gaze at Bulma with hatred for her existence, at the woman that slept with the man you've loved your entire life. That carried the Prince's new child. Your replacement.
You cry out the scream of a broken heart, your throat raw and lungs empty. How dare he. Your body burns with anger, hair uncontrollably going in and out of the glowing gold of Super Saiyan, bile threatening to come up at the idea of what your mate had to do to produce that halfling. You rip yourself free of Vegeta's hold at the idea of it, blasting off into the sky. Vegeta sneers and clenches his fists, flying off right behind you.
"Oh no you don't!" He yells. "You are done running away from arguments, woman!"
Bulma sits down, lightheaded and only barely holding onto the baby. Chi-Chi swiftly takes Trunks before he can be dropped and sits beside her friend, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Bulma…"
"I… I just can't believe it. He's never said anything about his life, except that he's tHe PrInCe oF aLl SaIyaNs. I…" She puts her face in her hands. "We were really getting somewhere. He started being more present for Trunks; he even held him last night. He's been sleeping in the same bed as me for almost a week now. And now he suddenly has a wife?! What the hell do I do about that?! He's mine!"
Chi-Chi sighs. She doesn't know what to make of it. Bulma obviously gets a claim on him, as the mother of his son… But you are the man's wife. He's the one you were missing, even when you didn't know yourself. And Vegeta did say he believed you were dead, and was evidently ready to move on… But the way he held you was unlike anything she's ever seen of him. He was soft. Intimate. You aimed to kill him, and he never laid a harmful hand to you. No doubt about it that he holds love for you. Even in the way he yelled at you, indicating your habit of running away, held familiarity and softness, easily seeming to pick up where your relationship left off.
She looks around at the rest of the guests, who are awkwardly standing around and trying not to talk about what they just witnessed. "The food is going to get cold, everyone. Eat!"
Chi-Chi looks to the baby and sighs again. Her only true hope is that Vegeta won't abandon him again, and that you won't do something drastic and try to destroy the Earth.
But all she can do is hope.
Vegeta glares at Nappa as he speaks into his scouter several feet away. He's ready to go the hell home and see you and V once again, hoping you'll be over that damn Bardock's conspiracy theory. He sighs in annoyance, a growl emanating at the base of his throat. He holds your lady's favor to his nose, closing his eyes and biding his time to go home, while the scent of you intoxicates him just always. He's been hooked since way before you were officially mated, been keen on your pheromones longer than he can remember, been yours since the day you met.
He never expected to actually fall in love when his father introduced him to his betrothed, an upper-class Saiyan girl that was the daughter of one of the king's most trusted advisors. But when he offended you with the first sentence he spoke, you'd punched him squarely in the jaw and dared him to do it again.
Vegeta smiles blissfully into your handkerchief at the memory, opening his eyes and tucking it away when Nappa's shadow forms before him. He stands and sneers at the man. "What the hell is the holdup?!"
"Prince…" Nappa sighs. "Frieza destroyed the planet. That's what the call for regrouping was for. All of the Saiyans are gone."
Vegeta zones out, his ears ringing. Bardock… Wasn't being ridiculous? He was right?! His father, the Saiyans, the planet…
You and V.
Dead.
Vegeta lets out a roar so heartbreakingly raw and emotional, his entire body tense and feeling like he'll burst into flames. His eyes water and his hair begins to glow. Nappa's eyes widen.
"Vegeta…"
"My baby boooooooooy!" Vegeta howls, his throat burning while he falls roughly to the ground, knees thumping into the grass. His breathing is heavy and labored, the desire to kill Frieza his number one priority now as his heart is clenched in the jaws of his grief. He sees your face in his mind, the way you looked at him before he left for the last time, and his poor heart overflows with too many emotions to handle, emotions he's never felt before. He lets out another scream that's passionate, angry, one that leaves his men's ears ringing across the entire planet they'd just pillaged.
He glows gold right before Nappa's eyes.
Vegeta's right behind you, close enough he can feel the tears flying from your face and onto his. His heart pumps furiously as his head still comprehends what's happened. How could he not sense you from the moment you came to Earth? Has he become so numb? So broken of a man, of a mate?
And what of his son? Is he still alive?? Had he become the strong, strapping Saiyan he was primed to be since birth? Where is his baby boy?
Trunks flashes through his mind. Vegeta grimaces; does he feel ashamed now, for his action of creating the boy in the first place? With a woman he isn't sure he loves? His son will be strong, no doubt, halfling or not. Though as he watches each time Gohan fights, every time Gohan's emotions rage, he's begun to believe perhaps half-Saiyans could be… Stronger. They're far more prone to their emotions than full-blooded Saiyans, hence why there were no Super Saiyans on Planet Vegeta.
But what of Vegeta the Fifth?
"Where's V?" Vegeta shouts as he trails you still, boosting into Super Saiyan to catch up. "Where's our boy?!"
"He's a boy no longer." You growl, powering up yourself and flying away faster.
She is one sexy Super Saiyan… When the hell did she become a Super Saiyan?!
"Woman, so help me if you don't get back here…!" Vegeta threatens.
"You've already destroyed my heart, what more could you do?!"
Vegeta cannot ignore the pang in his heart at your jab. Had he known you were off planet that day, he would've searched every star until he found you, Frieza's consequences be damned. But you've lost your trust in him, your own mate. It's unlikely you'd believe him at this point, when you're in a state of such shock and heartbreak.
"Listen to me! I have answers for you, and you have the answers I need too. I am your husband, dammit, not your enemy!"
You stop in your tracks, Vegeta nearly crashing into you. You feel his breath against your neck, feel the aura of his transformation tickle your spine. He doesn't hesitate to hold your hips and press his warm body to yours. Your bodies shiver as you come together, fit just like puzzle pieces. Perfectly designed to match, always.
Vegeta moves his face to your neck, nosing the mating scar from his bite nearing a quarter-century old. He's woozy at your scent, nearly drunk at what faded from his lady's favor many, many years ago. Your eyes grow heavy at the contact, your fangs itching to bite his scar, craving to reconnect right down to your very soul.
"I know." He whispers. "I know you're hurt. I don't ask for or expect forgiveness, but I do believe I deserve a chance to explain myself and what I've done for the last two decades. Hate me all you want, but hear me out first. If I deserve anything, it's that. I assure you, I haven't been hiding."
"Fine." You whisper, powering down and hanging your head.
"Just relax, princess." Vegeta murmurs and next thing you know, he's swung you into a bridal carry and started flying off to somewhere.
You close your eyes, exhausted already from all the cooking, and then the rush of memories, the adrenaline, the fighting, it all only drained your energy more. Before you can convince yourself not to, you drift off to sleep in the arms you've dreamt of for far too long.
You hum softly as you dry yourself off from your bath, thankful to get a moment alone. Vegeta's been on a string of missions lately, and you rarely allow a servant to handle your boy. You're the personification of a typical Saiyan mother; protective of your baby to the point where you even hesitate to allow his father to hold him sometimes. But after a week of being the only caretaker for V, you're worn down and your guard is low enough to leave Vegeta alone with the baby for a while.
You pull a robe over yourself and leave the bathing room, tucking your hands in the pockets as you head back to the bedroom. You peek inside and smile; Vegeta has the baby on his belly, while he lays before him, doing push-ups as he speaks to his boy.
"Now, son, watch closely. Your chest shouldn't touch the ground but should be close. Keep your body entirely straight and drop down until your elbows are at this angle, see?"
You chuckle to yourself as warmth blossoms through you. Oh, if the boyhood Vegeta could see this! "Darling, he just learned how to hold his head up." You step into the room, sitting in Vegeta's armchair and crossing your legs over.
"Tch, he's learning anyway. He even tried to do one earlier!"
"Riiiiiight." You wink playfully, leaving your husband to salaciously smirk at you. He moves to his knees and crawls toward you slowly, grasping one of your feet between his hands and rubbing carefully.
"You take me for a liar?" He questions. One of his eyebrows perks at you, a clear warning in the movement.
"I take you to be a man who exaggerates often." You challenge.
"Oh-ho. I see."
Next thing you know, you're ripped from the chair and pinned beneath Vegeta. You smack his chest, glaring daggers his way. "You filthy beast of a man!"
Vegeta just laughs darkly at you. "Such foul language, with our son right in front of you."
You tilt your head back against the hardwood flooring and look at V, who is smiling at you, his first tooth crowning in his bottom gum. You smile at the boy as Vegeta resumes his lesson.
"Alright, son. Back to business."
And as Vegeta does his push-ups with you trapped beneath him, kissing you each time he lowers himself, you realize that this time, Vegeta wasn't exaggerating a thing.
"I'll be damned, he almost did a push-up."
"I told you, woman!"
Vegeta swallows thickly as he patiently waits for you to wake from your dreams. His entire body is buzzing inside and out, heart thumping in a rhythm sure to kill him, should he not relax. But it's hard to see you before him, alive. Alive and well, and just as beautiful as you were the last time he saw you. His head still spins at the whole thing, his beloved lady's favor carefully clutched between his fingers.
He'd spent nearly twenty years alone, the ideas of love and sex far from his mind. Never mind that he had no time for it while under Frieza or his time spent on Namek trying to kill the dictator, he simply never thought of it. He was thoroughly in his plan of staying alone and mourning you and V for the rest of his days. He'd even managed to collect the Dragon Balls one time and wished you both back alive, but all that damned Shenron said to him was that his precious family could not be brought back to life.
That damn dragon sure liked to pick and choose when he'd monkey paw a wish.
He closes his eyes and holds the handkerchief to his nose, an action that'd been comforting him for years on end. He'd stopped using your favor sometime ago; if he chooses to be honest with himself, he can pinpoint exactly the day he stopped.
It was the day he first hooked up with Bulma.
He'd never tell her, but when he was in that bed with her on that night, he thought of you during his climax and it completely ruined his mood, vomit clawing up his esophagus when he finished. He felt like a filthy animal, doing something like that to you. Dead or not, you were still his beloved, etched into his heart and soul completely.
Vegeta exhales shakily, a headache throbbing against his skull. He's tired; it's to be expected after such overwhelming contact with his bonded mate after twenty years. Yet he won't allow himself any rest, doesn't feel like he deserves to lay down while you're here with him. He especially doesn't want to risk you changing your mind and sneaking away while he's asleep.
And he needs your answers. He so terribly wants to see his son, all grown up and a strong Saiyan warrior like his father. His fatherly instinct has been questionable at best, he knows that. While V was planned, desired, his heir… Trunks simply…
Vegeta sighs. Trunks deserves a better father, and as he is his father, he's no choice but to man up and be that better father to Trunks. When Bulma revealed her pregnancy, he spiraled and abandoned her for months on end, off in space and spazzing so much he spent weeks at a time in Super Saiyan.
He'd made a personal vow recently, to be present for his son and Bulma. His feelings surrounding the woman were another thing entirely; too complicated for him, and he's failing running away from the webs stringing inside his heart. Does he love her? He doesn't know. He's come to care for her, certainly. She gave him a home despite his terrible deeds, has fallen in love with him, a dangerous, awful man, and continues holding that love even with his horrible attitude and shitty behavior.
But then, as life always did, a monkey wrench was thrown into his plans and you came back from the dead! Only you were never dead! Wonderful! Great! He's so happy to be alive!
Every time I try to turn over a new leaf, the LEAF FUCKS ME.
"Stop screaming, I can hear you." You mutter. You were surprised your bond was still that strong after all this time, that you can be half asleep and feel his internal emotions, just know out of pure instinct that he's having one of his famous rants. You've always sworn you could almost hear a whisper of his voice when he was like that.
"Go back to sleep, woman." Vegeta rubs his eyes, his quip rolling off his tongue with ease. Somehow it felt like no time passed between you at all.
"Who can sleep when you're strung out this badly? You should take a nap of your own."
"Sleep is-"
"FoR tHe WeAk." You mock. "Sleep is for annoying husbands with too many thoughts."
Vegeta falters. If one was to get technical, your marriage didn't exist the second Planet Vegeta was lost. But you still call him your husband… Just as he always thought of you as his wife, even before marriage and long after he thought you dead. His heart sears, the throbbing pain in his skull amplified by just how much more complicated the situation became with just a few sentences.
"I won't say a word if you don't get in this bed and rest." You mutter, laying on your side to turn away from him. "You're frazzling my nerves all over again."
Vegeta sighs, though ultimately doesn't debate the morality of if he should or shouldn't for long. He kicks off his boots and peels away his armor and gloves before sliding under the cover with you.
"Also… Where are we?" You mumble, able to feel the heat of his Saiyan blood even with the gap and the clothing between you.
"I found this cabin sometime ago. It's where I go to clear my head now, instead of space. Nobody knows about it." Your husband murmurs, closing his eyes.
"Mm." You feel the haze of sleep washing over you again, and your tail attempts to twine with your mate's.
Your eyes fly open and you've rolled him to his back, straddling him and gripping his neck in the blink of an eye. You bare your fangs at him, the primal, feral side of you threatening to jump out.
"Where's your tail?" You growl, mere inches from his face.
Vegeta's eyes are wide, briefly pausing at just how arousing that was. But he's soon baring his own fangs and pushing against your hold.
"A fat bastard cut it off years ago." He seethes. He definitely misses his tail, no doubt. He feels less of a Saiyan this way, feels embarrassed that you've witnessed him so naked and lacking.
"I'll kill him." Your words ghost over his lips, your faces even closer now.
"Be my guest." Vegeta smirks.
"These humans have mutilated you." Your eyes are clouded, caught in your feral biology and distaste for a weaker race.
Vegeta smooths his hand up the curve of your back, stopping his hand at the base of your neck and squeezing gently. "Come down, princess. I can't stop you if you turn into your Great Ape."
The shiver down your spine is unable to be repressed, chilling you head to toe; his long, nimble fingers have just the right spot, the perfect pressure to calm you without weakening you, like when he grasped your tail before. As far as he knew, it wasn't due to any specific Saiyan biology; it was all you, one of the things that made you so unique and had kept him exploring your body and mind for years, never risking a dull moment.
"I promised you rest for answers." He reminds you. "You'd better hold up your side."
"Mm, yeah, fine… Whatever…" You yawn and collapse when he releases you, your face lined perfectly to tuck your face into the crook where his mating scar is, nuzzling his neck as the powerful perfume of him leaves you hazy, too lightheaded to be angry at the situation for now.
Vegeta's arms come around you, and below his lids his eyes shimmer. He always tried bargaining with faith, offering plenty of ridiculous things like changing his ways, or promising to actually save someone, always asking to trade himself instead.
And here you are, and he didn't have to do any of that shit! Relief isn't even the word.
When you wake up, the sky is only illuminated by the stars, and Vegeta has done the exact thing he'd always done; he's flipped you over and covered your body with himself, protecting you even when he's deep in slumber. You smile at the warmth he's giving, and he stirs lightly, pushing his face closer to yours, and without missing a beat you press a kiss to his cheek.
As much as things change, they remain the same.
Vegeta rests against you, stomach rumbling. You groan and realize your own hunger, poking at his shoulder blade. "Get up… I'm hungry."
He groans and with a huff, pushes off of you and out of bed. He only slips his boots on, and walks to the door. You're up and adjusting the straps of your tank top, slipping into the flats Chi-Chi's gifted you before following Vegeta out.
You grimace. Are you even welcome anymore? You've run off again, and your friend has more than shown her distaste for that habit. How close is she to Bulma? Has she sided with her, viewing you as opposition now?
You shake your head and walk alongside Vegeta to a stream. Frankly, being accepted by your found 'family' wasn't the biggest priority. You build a small fire and, while Vegeta practically depopulates the stream, ready the fish for cooking. You wait patiently for his first line of questions, mind ready to explode now that you get to ponder, for the first time, the events that led you to this planet.
"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving Planet Vegeta?" He mutters calmly as he waits for another fish to swim on by.
"You didn't believe Bardock. You already thought I was ridiculous, and I didn't want to fight with you before a mission. If you died and we lived, how do you think I would feel?"
Vegeta's sigh rumbles in his chest. He knows himself, and while it's hard to not view the past with the 20/20 hindsight, he's well aware of how he'd have behaved. He's got enough shame to duck his head and give you an understanding nod.
"I'd have come for you." He murmurs. "I would have spent the entire rest of my life searching for you, if I knew there was a chance."
You look at the fish you've cleaned. "I didn't know if you were alive or not until the news about Frieza's death got around." You just know he's smirking, proud that you found Frieza dying synonymous with himself.
"Good." Oh, you missed that ego…
It's quiet again, but companionable. Your husband catches a few more fish to cook; it's not the best meal to be had, with no seasonings, side dishes, or wine in sight, but it works enough. The fire crackles between you, flicks of ember flying around each time your eyes meet. Vegeta always looked striking in the moonlight, you felt, though something about the dim, warmer aura that surrounds him now speaks to you more.
"How did you end up on Earth?" You hum, twiddling with one of the sticks you'd used for a skewer.
Vegeta grimaces at the memory, eye twitching at the memory of the journey with Nappa. "Radish-boy failed in his mission to recruit Kakarot. And before he died, we heard him speaking of the Dragon Balls, and we came for them."
"The what?"
Vegeta blinks. "Odd that they hadn't thought of using them for your memory. Hell, a Senzu Bean likely would've worked." He shakes his head, bringing two fingers up to his throbbing temple. "Idiots. Actually, what they should have done was tell me the instant they found a damn Saiyan, not two months later after I'm invited to a damn cook-"
"Vegeta." You deadpan. "Get on with the explanation already."
"This planet has Dragon Balls. You collect all seven, you make a wish to a dragon and it grants it. Supposed to grant it." He grinds his teeth together as his mind pours over the logistics at the possibility of killing Shenron.
You blink. "I already believed in the magic beans, Vegeta. A wish-granting dragon? Come on, now."
"I've seen it myself, princess." He mutters, staring at the stream. The sound of it running is calm, his heartbeat following suit. "It's brought me back to life. I attempted to bring you and V back with it, but the rat bastard just told me it couldn't be done, and didn't say it was because you weren't dead in the first damn place."
"I should kill it." You mutter. You miss the quirk of Vegeta's lips. He loves when you want to kill things. He bites his lip, losing that gentle pacing of his heart quickly.
"You know what I'm going to ask next." He whispers, turning his head only slightly to look at you.
The stick in your fingers bends at your touch; any more pressure and it'll snap entirely. You're hesitating. Vegeta knows it. And he's dreading the answer. He looks back at the water, the question on the very tip of his tongue, anxiety weighing it down. But you very obviously won't answer him until he specifically asks.
Your chest burns, heart pumping hard and your jaw clenching. Your arms feel light, fingers almost airless as the anticipation builds in your body. You close your eyes and see your son's face. He looks just like his father, minus that one little swirl of his bangs… And that made it all that much worse.
"Is V alive?" Vegeta spits out, his knee bouncing up and down. His tongue slips between his teeth and he bites down, his clenched fist slamming down on the log he was sitting at.
The stick snaps, and suddenly there's a bright light shining above you both. It's Goku, glowing in his Super Saiyan form. "I found them!" He calls out, and there's suddenly a helicopter beside him, with Bulma, Chi-Chi, and baby Trunks inside. Gohan flies by his father, a very worried look on his face
It's loud now, the sound of the copter drowning out even the thumping of Vegeta's heartbeat. Your husband growls and stands, damn near ready to strike. "Why are you here?!"
"You guys were gone for three days!" Gohan yells back, and Vegeta blinks. He hadn't realized the 'nap' had been that long; the science on Saiyan mating wasn't well-researched in the event of parting. It was widely believed one would simply die if they lost their mate, as they'd merely lose their energy and drive until they wasted away from the loss. At least, that's all that had ever happened in the rare case a pair of mates did not die together.
Are Saiyan elites simply built different?
He also has no idea what you were going to say, what was so close to being revealed, and he panics. "Answer me, woman!" He looks back at you, fingers twitching with urgency. He needed that information now, before the moment was entirely ruined by Kakarot and Bulma's pushy presence. "Is my son alive?!"
You toss the twigs in the fire, your eyes mirroring the flames. "Who do you think beat me to a pulp in the first place?"
part two | part three | part four | part five | part six
author's note: this is part one of what i plan to be a two part story, as it was getting long! this part alone is just over 5k words. also edit: i forgot to add that when reading this, the canon timeline of events does not apply and should be read without that exact timeline in mind
pairing: vegeta x fem!reader
warnings: canon-typical violence, amnesia
Chi-Chi's setting the table for breakfast when she notices something falling from the sky. She frowns and squints her eyes, leaning in closer to the window to try and make out what was falling in the distance. She closes her eyes and breathes out a sign, rubbing her forehead with her forefinger and thumb. Whatever it is, she just knows her husband will get involved. It's like Spidey-Sense at this point.
She takes a deep breath as she hears the rumbling on the wooden floors of Goku and Gohan, running as quickly as possible to the table. They raced every morning, and Goku was normally the victor. Chi-Chi's just glad the two of them banned Goku's use of instant transmission; the arguing between the boys about it and the way he'd bump right into Chi-Chi as she was plating a hot pot of rice always plucked her nerves.
But when they run past the table, she's utterly stunned. "W-Where are you going?? Breakfast is ready!"
"There's a strong power level!" Gohan hastily explains, and Chi-Chi considers this a new record. Barely twenty seconds went by before they went and involved themselves. And they hadn't even eaten breakfast!!
Goku's the first to reach the source of the crash, little Gohan not far behind him. There's a crater in the earth from the impact, and Goku frowns when he peers into it. "Is that…?"
"A person?" Gohan frowns and watches Goku hop in to investigate. "Dad, be careful…"
"It's gonna be alright, Gohan." Goku assures him with a smile and thumbs up. Gohan grimaces and keeps a watchful eye on his father, fists curled and ready to go at any moment.
Goku approaches the body carefully, frowning as he gets closer. The uniform looks just like what Vegeta wore when he first came to Earth; only this suit is tattered in many places, with plenty of cuts and bruises on the skin that was exposed because of it. "Looks like one of Frieza's. But Frieza's dead." He mutters to himself, crouching down closer to examine the woman.
"A tail." Goku blinks at the furry appendage wrapped weakly around her waist. "Gohan, go home."
"Dad?"
"Nothing's wrong, son. Just… Go eat your breakfast, okay? Your mother worked hard on it."
"But Dad-"
Goku turns to look at his young son, smiling gently at the boy. "I think she's a Saiyan."
Gohan blinks. "But Vegeta said there are no more."
"Guess there's some stuff even Vegeta doesn't know." Goku laughs and rubs the back of his head, looking back at you. "But her power level is pretty strong."
"I think it's higher than Vegeta's when he first came to this planet." Gohan hums, his lips twisting in thought as he compares.
You groan as you begin to come to, the sun burning your eyes and sending your brain into despair, the pain from your battle and the crash down onto the ground battering you senseless. Your eyes clamp shut again and your next moan of pain is agony to your broken and bruised ribs. It feels like every part of your body was beaten to nothing, your bones mere dust and your muscles paper mâché.
There's a sudden shadow in front of you, graciously blocking the sunlight. You can't remember a damn thing; where you are, why, how, nothing. All you can even try and think about is how much pain you're in. You taste blood in your mouth, mostly dry at this point, and your ears have been ringing since you woke up. Despite the injuries, you still have enough grit in you to speak.
"If you wanna kill me… 'M gonna… Make you… Work for it." Your teeth grit together in a move that's excruciating for your headache and pry your eyes open to glare at the stranger. He's smiling despite your threat, like you'd said you wanted some damn tea and crumpets with him.
Good lord, where am I?
"Well sure, if you wanna fight we can, but I don't think it'd be too fair."
You growl softly, the feeling irritating your practically raw throat. "Don't underestimate me."
"Yeah, she's a Saiyan." Gohan deadpans.
"A what?" You scowl.
"A Saiyan with amnesia." Gohan facepalms. He really doesn't need another Saiyan, especially one that doesn't know a damn thing about themselves.
"C'mon Gohan, let's take her home. She needs a Senzu."
"Okay Dad!" Gohan jumps into the crater and carefully works to be gentle as they pick you up. Your cry in pain is heartbreaking even though he doesn't know you; you're obviously a full-blooded Saiyan, and you've clearly been part of the Frieza Force at some point of your life. You've definitely seen and been through a lot, and now you're an amnesiac that's nearly dead.
And he thought his father couldn't catch a break.
Gohan grabs the back of his father's gi and is suddenly whisked back home before he can even blink, the three of you right at the front door of home.
The fuck just happened???
"Chi-Chi, don't get mad!" Goku calls out when Gohan opens the front door.
Where the hell are they taking me…?
"Goku…" Chi-Chi narrows her eyes when she hears her husband's voice, and the little hairs at the back of her neck stand. "What happened."
"Mom, we found a Saiyan." Gohan explains, looking up at his mother with his most pure, innocent eyes. "She's really hurt and has amnesia, like Dad."
Chi-Chi's eyes flick to her husband, and he's got his own pleading face on. In her heart, she knows why Goku wants to save you. It's stupid and dangerous and utterly reckless but she can't tell him no right now. Against her better judgment and following far too much of the heart that belongs to Goku, she covers her face and takes a deep, calming breath.
"Alright, Goku."
"I knew you'd understand, Chi-Chi." Goku's eyes are shining and she melts under that gaze of his.
Gohan's got a rarely-used quilt in hand and is draping it over the couch when Chi-Chi finally breaks away from looking into her husband's pure-hearted eyes. Goku is gentle when he puts you down, shushing you softly when you groan in pain.
"It's okay. We're gonna get you a Senzu Bean."
"A what?"
"They'll heal you up in no time. You'll be brand new."
"Magic beans." You sigh softly, staring at the ceiling.
"Yeah, kinda." He says softly, knowing just how badly a concussion hurts. "Just stay awake, okay?"
"My body hurts too much to sleep." You grumble. It was nothing more than the truth; the agony's grip on each, individual cell that made up your tortured body was too strong to even let you consider dozing off.
"Dad, bad news!" Gohan rushes back to his father. "We're out of beans!"
"What?! Who took the last one??" Goku frowns. "How does this always happen…"
"We gotta see if we can get some more!"
"Gohan." Chi-Chi crosses her arms. "You have schoolwork to do."
"But-!"
"School. Work. Gohan." The boy's mother narrows her eyes and the sight alone has him rushing to get his books.
"Your mom's right, Gohan. I'll go get some more beans and be right back!" Goku stands, pressing two fingers to his forehead. You look up at him, perking your brow.
"What are you-"
pop.
"... Did he just fucking disappear." You deadpan.
"Ah, yes." Chi-Chi says politely.
I'm dead, aren't I?
pop. "Bad news."
"Ugh…" You groan. You don't think you'll be getting used to that sudden in-and-out anytime soon.
"What's wrong?" Chi-Chi asks, her eyes full of concern.
"No Senzu Beans." Goku sighs. "Korin said it's gonna be a couple weeks before even one is ready to go."
"So…" Chi-Chi says slowly.
You snort, regretting it immediately. "So I'm probably going to die since there aren't any magic beans."
"No, we'll make sure that doesn't happen." Goku shakes his head. You huff a breath out and force yourself up with your remaining strength, swallowing down your cries of discomfort threatening to spill out.
"No use for me to bleed out in your house."
"Stop, please." Goku kneels and carefully pushes you back down to the quilt. "You're not going to die. I promise, okay? We'll take care of your wounds and get you the first available Senzu."
"You sure you wanna just invite a stranger in like this?" You cough, having irritated all of your insides. "'Cause she doesn't look too thrilled."
Goku looks up to his wife, and she sighs softly. She loves his purity and his will to help you, but having you in her home was such an uncomfortable, burning feeling in her stomach.. "Goku… Let's take her to a hospital, and you can visit her there. I just don't like the idea of a stranger in our home."
Goku nods and stands, taking her hand in his and gently squeezing her fingers. "That's fair, Chi-Chi."
"Hold on, do I get a say in this?" You grumble. You feel like you're a damn child at this point.
Goku blinks, visibly taken aback. As if he hadn't really thought about what you wanted. How could you not want to be taken care of by them?
"I-I…" Goku frowns. "Yeah, I guess. What do you wanna do?"
"Hospital's fine."
Gohan facepalms with a loud sigh. You're reminding him of Vegeta; stubborn and always having to have things on your own terms. He wonders if that's how all Saiyans were. And if so, he's glad his father was dropped as a child.
He is so not the pillaging type.
In the hospital, your body heals with ease over the coming weeks. Your memory, however, doesn't come back to you, not even a little tidbit of information has struck you at any moment at all. Your dreams center around space, but as you're apparently a 'Saiyan', according to Goku and his sweet little Gohan, you're from there. So, space is not very surprising.
Good lord it'd be nice to know your own name.
On Goku's most recent visit, you've unattached yourself from all the machines and monitors they've got you hooked into. "Get me out of here." You say with a dead stare. "I'm starving."
Goku laughs. "Good, 'cause I came here to get you out anyway! We finally got a Senzu!"
"Hmm, I think I'm past-due on one of the magic beans. My body is all better." You shrug.
"Oh, okay." Goku shrugs before smiling brightly at you. You were beginning to find that smile endearing, as if you couldn't tell him no when he gave it. "Anyway… Chi-Chi said I could invite you for dinner!"
"Oh." You smile a bit to yourself. She'd brought Gohan to see you a few times during your hospital stay, and for a woman with no memory, you managed to make a friend in Chi-Chi anyway. She was a delightful, feisty woman and you found that extremely endearing, and also familiar.
"So let's get you out of here and go eat! Oh man, I caught a whiff of it before I came here and you're really in for a treat."
"I'm so hungry." You whine, "They tried to bullshit me and say what they gave me is all I was allowed to have! And then they stuck me with some sort of poison and next thing I knew I was back in bed!"
"They what?!" Goku frowns. "Wow, that's cruel!"
"It is, isn't it?" You sniff indignantly and put on some of the clothes Chi-Chi had given you. It's a light purple cheongsam with gold, blue, and light pink flowers and golden trim. She'd paired them with nude flats, and Goku covers his eyes with his hands until you give him the all-clear, and his smile is soft when he sees you in his wife's old dress, your tail instinctively wrapped around your waist thanks to the cutout Chi-Chi took the time to make. You certainly owed her quite the hug when you next saw her.
"You look great." He says genuinely. "Chi-Chi sure knows her fashion."
"Yeah, I think so too." You've moved into the bathroom of your hospital room, flexing your biceps. Whatever you do over in Saiyan-land, it's made you practically a bodybuilder. A sexy one, at that.
"Alright, Goku. Let's go eat."
Goku practically sprints to you, holding your shoulder before pressing two fingers to his forehead and teleporting you back to his home. You blink and stumble a bit, Goku having to steady you. You scowl up at him.
"Stop doing that!"
"Heh, sorry." Goku smiles innocently.
"Ah, I forgive you." You grumble, and then Gohan rushes inside. "C'mon, Mom cooked outside!"
Goku cheers and lifts Gohan onto his shoulder, running outside with you shortly behind them. And what surprises them is that you pass Goku. You're faster than him. By far.
That's when Goku realizes you're finally in peak condition.
A Saiyan warrior in peak condition.
"Oh, I gotta fight her." He whispers to himself, receiving a sigh from Gohan.
"After dinner, Dad."
"Good idea!"
"Dinner's ready!" Chi-Chi calls out and gestures to her massive spread. She's cooked for two and a half Saiyans and it shows. You make good on your self-promised hug to Chi-Chi, though admittedly it's short-lived because that barbeque smells heavenly.
Chi-Chi's the only one at the table eating normally, though you have more tact and grace compared to her husband. If she really thinks about it, she realizes that you and Vegeta have the same table manners. She wonders if you possibly knew Vegeta back in the day, and makes a mental note to talk with her husband about it later.
"How are your studies, Gohan?" You ask after you've finished eating. When you were hospitalized, Gohan taught you a lot about Earth and its history, along with things he's learned along the way of his young life.
"They're going great! I got another perfect score on a test today." The young boy beams at you, and you smile back proudly.
"We're going to try and get him into college!" Chi-Chi grins. Your jaw drops a tad and you look back to Gohan.
"You're gonna be the smartest guy in the world, kiddo. Keep up those studies. And… Maybe some training too. Just a little. Be the strongest scholar in the world. Okay?" You pat his arm supportively. You can take the memory of the Saiyan, but you can't take the instinct.
Gohan sighs a little at the lust for battle you share with his father, but his lips ghost a smile anyway. "I don't think that'll be too hard to manage."
"Dinner was great, Chi-Chi." Goku smiles softly at his wife, giving her a quick smooch to the cheek. Her cheeks always turn red when he does it; when he first learned that, he made sure to always do it at least once a day.
Chi-Chi does indeed blush, and you smile a tad wistfully at the exchange. There's an ache in your heart, and it makes you wonder if you have that, wherever you've been. Your face falls as you gaze at the evening sky, the warm colors a beautiful blend to light up your wistful eyes.
While Goku's oblivious, Chi-Chi isn't. She recognizes that stare; it's the one of longing, the one of wondering when your husband will come back. Wondering if he'll come back. She's far too aware of the feeling, and wishes you could remember something, anything of yourself. Someone had to be missing you, and sooner or later they'd come.
"Hey, let's do some training!" Goku grins and breaks your reverie. You blink yourself to the present, smiling when you realize what Goku's offered. You stand from your seat and head to the open field.
Chi-Chi's weary as Goku jogs with you. "Be careful! Only hand-to-hand!"
"Yes ma'am!" Goku calls back with a wave, and looks at you while you stretch. "Let me know if you need a break, okay? You did just kinda get out the hospital." He laughs.
"Tch. How about you let me know when you need a break." You smirk, and your tail tightens around your waist.
"Oh, you're not gonna tire me out that easy!" Goku matches your smirk and stretches his arms, doing a few hops and cracking his neck side-to-side.
Within a flash, your battle begins! You're naturally faster than Goku, but the limitations of your dress gives Goku an advantage, as he realizes your kicks are far superior to your still-hefty punches. Even Gohan, with his natural indifference that sometimes bordered on dislike of fighting, is impressed at the sparring session. Where your memory's failed, your muscle memory has not. You match Goku's pace well, landing a few hits and taking the ones he lands in stride, never letting him keep up an advantage for too long.
"You're pretty good!" Goku exclaims, grinning. He hasn't had this much fun in a while, he thinks. "It's too bad we can't take it further!"
"Take it further?" You perk a brow and practically bend over backwards to avoid his punch, a leg shooting out at his knee to shake his balance. "What's that mean?"
"Oh, I guess you wouldn't know about Super Saiyan, would ya?" Goku's forced to step back after your kick, but he uses the momentum to his advantage and swirls around to land a kick to your side. You grimace and grasp his ankle as you begin twirling around in a circle to dizzy and then throw him.
"Tell me more."
"Woah!" Goku flies off when you release him, flipping around in the air a few times before settling himself and floating in place. "It's a big power up, it was said to be a legend apparently! But now I can do it, and so can Vegeta, another Saiyan on Earth!"
"Another Saiyan?" You push your lips out and wrack your brain, the fight officially over now. You don't know who he is or why you felt a twinge of something in your brain, but when Goku said Vegeta, it was as if your brain tried to jolt your memory back.
"Yeah! Now that I think about it, we should probably get Vegeta over here sometime so you can meet. For all we know, you guys knew each other and he could jog your memory!"
"Hmmm…" You rub your finger under your bottom lip as you try as hard as you can to remember this 'Vegeta'. It's latent, but you certainly seem to know of this man and it could be worth a shot to seek him out. "Might be a good idea."
"I'll see what I can do!" Goku smiles.
"Not tonight, Goku!" Chi-Chi yells out. "Gohan has to study, and we have to practice for his college admission interview!" Goku visibly deflates and lowers himself to the ground.
"Aww, alright, Chi-Chi." He mumbles. "But we gotta do it soon, okay?"
"Sure, just not tonight. Now, help me clean up!" Chi-Chi begins picking up dishes, her boys following her lead.
Your heart drops at the sight and tears well in your eyes, and before you know it you're flying off with no destination. Not that you could even have a destination right now. Your head's been hurting since you arrived on this godforsaken planet, trying to figure out who in the hell you are. Your chest is still so heavy, the image of that beautiful family moment burned into your brain. Your sense of longing chokes you; what you would give to have that moment once is immeasurable, and there's no doubt the Son family cannot count how many times they've done such mundane tasks together.
Eventually you land near a creek, falling to your knees and listening to the sounds of the rushing water and the crickets in the night. The ground beneath you pushes down from your weight on it, splashes of water from the river occasionally hitting your already ruined cheongsam. You catch your reflection in the water, gazing at yourself, a complete stranger. A fist suddenly splashes the water, spoiling the image of you. Anger starts to boil under your skin, consuming the depression with its sudden surge. Your tears remain but your heart thumps with all it has, a buzz in your ears while the adrenaline pumps inside of you.
All of your feelings boil over. The confusion at how you got here, the frustration of not remembering anything, the longing, empty feeling in your heart that you have no explanation for. The anger that appeared from nowhere consumes you and a feral, blood-curdling roar that echoes for miles escapes you, a strange feeling vibrating your body. Your eyes are closed, but you can see a wavering light through your lids.
You collapse into yourself, opening your eyes to see no evidence of any light source, though you could swear you saw it. Strangely, you realize this planet has no moon. "What the hell planet has no moon?" You mumble to yourself.
"There may have been an incident a few years ago."
You turn and send a beam of light in the direction of the sound, your unexpected visitor dodging easily. "Woah!" Goku moves away from your attack. "It's just me! I thought you could sense my presence!"
So maybe it was Goku being close by that made your hairs at the back of your neck stand. If only you could understand the damn cues your body has been giving you.
"I'm sorry." You mutter and turn back to the sound of the water.
You hear a soft sigh from him. "Chi-Chi told me to give you some space… But I didn't want you to be out here by yourself."
"I'm fine."
"Then let's go home."
"I don't have a home." You spit out, clenching your teeth so hard it's painful. He's got a warm home, a strong and beautiful wife and a bright young boy with so much potential as his son.
"Then let's go to your temporary home. You have a place with us for as long as you need it. You're…" Goku stops and sighs, coming to sit beside you. "You remind me of myself."
"Yeah?"
"I was sent here when I was a baby." He explains softly. "I don't know why my parents sent me away; my grandpa Gohan found me and named me Goku, and took care of me even before my own head injury. He made me who I am today because of my amnesia and I miss him a lot. I didn't realize it until a lot later on, but it's my fault Grandpa is gone. Saiyans with tails have a Great Ape transformation if we look at the moon, and I accidentally killed him during a rampage. I was all alone in the woods after that, until Bulma came along."
"You… Have amnesia?"
"I know it's not as bad as yours, since I was just a baby and you're an adult. But I dunno… I guess I felt attached anyway and that's why I wanted to save you so bad. And after all that time we got to spend with you in the hospital, Gohan and Chi-Chi wanted to keep you around too. So I promise you'll always have a home with us, even if you end up remembering your real home."
"Goku." You duck your head. "I… Thank you."
"Don't even mention it." Goku smiles and stands up, pulling you with him. "Let's get back home." He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and with a pop you're back home.
"There you are!" And there is an angry Chi-Chi in your face. "Look at you! You're all covered in mud and smell like sweat and grass!"
You flinch. "I was outside."
"I don't care! Don't you do that again, you had poor Gohan worried sick!"
"Not Gohan…"
"Yes, Gohan." She scowls. "Go take a shower and change. Goku, let's go practice for our interview."
You laugh to yourself while Goku whines about being hungry as Chi-Chi pulls him to their bedroom. And as you ponder life in the shower, you decide that while you want nothing more than your memories back, you could possibly come around to the idea of building something new on this planet and with the Son family. Or maybe you could even have the best of both worlds.
You've been living with the Son family for a few months now, fitting in nicely with the family. You learn how to cook from Chi-Chi and help Gohan study, and train with Goku often. It's eased the pain of your amnesia as best as possible, but you do find yourself longing for more in the dead of the night.
You're currently preparing a big meal with Chi-Chi, listening to her hum to herself as you chop more vegetables. "So… What's the occasion? This is even more than me and the boys can eat."
"Bulma finally found some time to come over! Vegeta and Trunks will be coming with her, obviously, and so are the rest of our friends. I think you'll like them!"
"Hmm…" You finish chopping everything she's laid out for you. "Alright. More friends would be nice."
"That's the spirit." Chi-Chi smiles. "And now you'll be able to meet Vegeta!"
"You and Goku have mentioned him a few times, but what's he like?"
Chi-Chi pauses a tad. "Well… He's not exactly pleasant. But until you came around, he was the only other full-blooded Saiyan. And Goku thinks highly of him, so that's why he's part of our group. That, and he's the father of Bulma's baby, Trunks. So it's not like he really has anywhere else he can go."
"Ah. He's a prick, isn't he?"
"Absolutely."
You shake your head and keep cooking until dinner is all done, bringing platter after platter to the picnic tables set up in the backyard with Gohan as he tells you a little more about the Z-Fighters that would be over soon. The first to arrive is a young woman with a baby, who you assume to be Bulma and Trunks respectively.
You wipe your hands on the front of your jeans as Chi-Chi brings Bulma to you. She smiles at you, holding her hand out. "It's nice to meet you! I'm Bulma, and this is Trunks, my son."
You blink at her hand, unsure of the gesture. "Um…"
"Oh, right! Saiyan." Bulma waves her hand nonchalantly. "Don't worry about the handshake, it's just how we greet someone for the first time."
"I see." You nod, marking that down in your mental notes. "Chi-Chi says you were coming with the one known as Vegeta, the other Saiyan?"
"He's… Running late." Bulma sighs. "He's training again. But he'll be here eventually; he'd never miss a chance to eat Chi-Chi's food."
You nod again in understanding. "Well, you and the baby are the first here, so can I get you something to drink?"
"Sure!" Bulma grins with her kind eyes. You smile back softly and talk with Bulma at the tables, lemonades in hand as the others arrive. You're introduced to everyone and feeling warm with the presence of friends around, feeling a sense of community and hope in your heart.
Everyone's settled around the tables and chatting as they pile food onto their plates, smiles on every face. And then there's a sound and your hair stands on end, and though you're ready to fight, everyone else is relaxed. Perhaps it's Vegeta's presence you're feeling?
"About time!" Goku says, looking to the sky.
Vegeta lands, his arms crossed as he looks at the spread. "Where's the Saiyan?" He grumbles out.
"Right here!" Goku points to you as you sit back upright, having dropped a napkin on the ground.
You look at Vegeta, and your heart stops.
The air around you is quiet, not even baby Trunks making a sound. Vegeta's eyes have widened and he looks as if he's been struck. "How…"
Your head is throbbing as memories flood into you. You remember Planet Vegeta, your parents, your training as a child, not only in battle but in etiquette. You remember Vegeta as a child. The hours you spent with him. All of the notes you passed one another on days you couldn't meet for long. The secret smiles. The kisses.
The wedding.
The birth of your son.
And the last time you saw him before Frieza destroyed your home planet, assuring you that there was no need to leave with him on his mission, that you and your toddler would be safe at home.
Your fists clench and with a roar, you stand before him as a Super Saiyan. In an instant you've flown over to him and delivered a solid punch to his jaw, and your husband is too shell-shocked to have dodged it.
"What are you doing?!" Gohan cries out.
You punch Vegeta again, and this time he's come to and moves away from each blow you send his way. "Stop it, woman!"
"This is how you've spent your life?! On Earth?!" You shout, following him with all of your rage. "The Prince of all Saiyans has been hiding!"
"I have not!" Vegeta seethes, flying away from your attack.
Chi-Chi blinks and looks at Goku, who shakes his head. "I'm not touching that with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole."
Bulma looks confused along with everyone else. "What did he do to her…?"
"I guess they did know each other after all." Gohan mutters, watching as you attack Vegeta.
"It's been years!" You send a blast of energy his way, destroying a tree after Vegeta swiftly dodges.
"I thought you dead!" Vegeta roars back. "How are you alive?!"
Your hands light up with a stronger attack, charging up. Vegeta launches himself into Super Saiyan, refusing to fight and merely aiming to disarm you. "I trusted my instincts." You growl, your tail whipping wildly, uncontrollably with your rage.
You launch your attack and that's when Vegeta strikes next, dodging by the skin of his ass as your beam that surely would have done serious damage, perhaps even fatal, marrs the ground deeply. Even Goku is surprised at that; he didn't even know you could become a Super Saiyan at all.
Vegeta comes behind you then, gripping the base of your unguarded tail and wrapping his other arm around your chest, preventing you from moving away. You gasp at your sudden weakness, reverting to base form as Vegeta gently floats back to the grass, in his own base form now. His exhale is breathy and defeated, his forehead on your shoulder.
"Please." He whispers. "I won't fight you like this."
You realize now that your face is in tears as all of the Z-Fighters approach, Bulma and Chi-Chi not far behind. Bulma sees how Vegeta is holding you, carefully as if you'll break like glass. Yes, you certainly know each other.
"Who are you?" Goku says to you, and you look at everyone with fierce eyes, Vegeta still clutching you desperately.
"I am the Princess of all Saiyans." You sneer.
"You-"
"She is my wife." Vegeta says, his voice hoarse as he forces back tears.
He looks at himself in the mirror. The images of a battered, beaten down prince without a crown is what he sees sometimes. Other times it's the visage of himself with blond hair and the dark M-looking logo on his forehead. Other times it's him as Ozaru, its teeth grinding down in a ferocious grin.
Vegeta wonders how you could ever look at him and see anything other than a tyrannical maniac hellbent on murder. Despite him finding sanctuary and healing in your embrace, he worries he could still easily fall into his old ways.
Then you gently brush your hand against his cheek, pushing some hairs out of his face. He practically purrs at the way you touch him with so much love. Love he doesn't deserve. Not after all the things he's done.
"Are you thinking about that again?" your voice is a balm for his heart.
Vegeta looks back in the mirror, "I could never get it out of my mind."
You wrap your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder. He shudders when you kiss his neck. It feels so good to be loved by you, even though he swears it's all just a dream. There is no way that an angel like you could see past all the atrocities committed and still choose to love him.
"I'll never forget the moments that you chose to save the world. This world, that wasn't even your home, you still chose to save it. You are a good man, and you've shown me."
He shudders at your words, tears are stinging in his eyes. He swore he'd never cry in front of you again, but you always have a way of pulling these emotions from him. He turns to look at you and you're already drying his tears.
"I will continue to save this world. It is my home...anywhere you are, I know it's home." Vegeta kisses you softly.
Despite his dark and ugly past, Vegeta knows that he can become even better. He can become someone worthy of your love.
Hi everyone! I have a very important announcement to make. You all may not know this but I’m still a high school student who’ll be finishing 12th grade around may 2024. From my pinned page you may know that I am Indian and in the education board I study in, board exams are conducted every year. These exams are rigorous and stressful. What grade I get in these exams will determine my acceptances in the universities I’ve applied to. To focus on myself and my studies I’ve decided to stop writing at the moment. This journey was lovely and so rewarding. I am thankful to every single interaction I’ve received. If in the future I have time I will definitely come back here.
This post doesn’t mean I’ll deactivate my blog, I will still try to interact with others but the blog will be archived. All the asks and wips unfortunately will not be written at this moment. I will surely return to this account but for now it’s good bye.
Thank you to everyone who has supported me and my works. I love you guys so so much :)
Warnings: too many to count, afab!reader, rough sex, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, the Uchiha breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, aphrodisiacs, Madara has a big dick Uchiha, blindfolds, hands are tied, stomach bulge, mating press, overstimulation, some temperature play, strong language
A/N: This monstrosity has way too many tags, forgive me if I didn't tag every kink. Honestly this was only supposed to have like, two kinks or so, but uh obviously that did not happen and I'm not sorry about it. If this one does well enough I plan on writing a Sacrificed for each of the founders trio, and if I feel the inspiration after that I could add other Naruto characters as well so, let me know if that's something you'd be interested in.
A HUGE thank you to @therantingfangirl for helping me edit this oversized self indulgence! She's the best you guys, I love her and you should send some love her way! This wouldn't have been out as quickly, and would've had many more typos lol, if not for her. So tell her thank you for me~
edit 7/30/22: WE NOW HAVE ART!! A biiiig huge thank you to the amazing @skydaddy01 for their incredible art. They did a fanfuckingtastic job creating god!Madara's appearance, especially with so little to go off of because I'm bad at asking for things. Seriously, go check them out, especially if you like the art~
Without further ado, enjoy Sacrificed (Sun)
Read it on AO3
Villagers scattered about, decorating homes and streets alike, preparing drums and costumes with jovial attitudes; the excitement was palpable. Most everyone looked forward to the Festival of the Sun, it was hard not to! The music, the ritual dancing, the offerings of food and wine to the gods as well as loved ones were certainly something to be excited about. The festivities themselves lasted for an entire week. It had to in order to entice him down from his place of rest. He was hard to excite, after all.
The Festival of the Sun is performed once a year before the cold season begins in order to plead with the sun god for protection from death during the upcoming frost. At the peak of the festivities, a living sacrifice is offered to the deity, but seldom does he come down. Most sacrifices come back without having even felt his presence, however throughout the history of the festival there were rare instances of his sacrifice being found dead at the end of the celebrations. The manner of death was always the same, burnt from the inside out. These instances came to be synonymous with having met him.
That fact made you, the sacrifice chosen for the upcoming celebrations, a bit nauseated. The idea of meeting the sun god made you nervous for many reasons; you were his devout follower, a young peasant chosen by the temple due to your dedication to your faith. At least, that’s what they told you when they notified you of your impending position. Your faith was well known in the village, you made the hike to his temple every two days without fail and prayed for hours in his sanctuary as well as volunteered to help clean the entirety of his temple.
His statues had always entranced you and you often wondered if that was what he really looked like. Was he really that tall and broad? Certainly awe inspiring if true. You’d run the soapy cloth along the carvings of his hair and close your eyes, guiltily pretending you were running your fingers through his majestic locks, it was so long, and the artist made it look so wild and untamed, giving his likeness a dangerous edge that made you bite your bottom lip. It would not be an exaggeration to say you were attracted to your god, or rather to the idea of him.
You had never met him or even heard his words as some priests had claimed to have heard. The high priest, the one who informed you of your role in the festivities, had said that your devotion moved the god and he had asked for you; that made you roll your eyes. As if the sun god himself would ask for you. The odd one, no family or friends, let alone a dating history, or anything of the sort that would catch the attention of anyone let alone such a powerful and incredible god. No matter, it would just mean another year without his appearance, though there is the possibility he’s so enraged by your presentation that he decides to burn you like the others.
He was not known for his mercy, after all. His lust for blood was legendary and his rivalry with the god of the forests still affects humanity despite their typically dormant state. Their battles have scored the earth and ruined oceans, much to the god of the sea’s displeasure. The temple texts state that the gods of forest and sun reawaken every century to continue their discourse.
Were the previously killed sacrifices burned for his amusement or was he displeased with their appearance? Being burnt from the inside out at the hands of your beloved deity, was that your destined end?
As you contemplated your possible demise, the festival began. For the first three days your job was to stay in the temple. You were to pray all day, bathe in the ceremonial waters, and eat only the fruits provided. Each day the ceremonial drumming, which was performed as the sun began to set and would continue until sunrise, could be heard despite the temples stone walls. Their beat entrancing and familiar. It gave you something to look forward to as you prayed without response.
On the fourth day you weren’t allowed to eat anything, only drink a strangely viscus and milky liquid with no taste that left the core of your being feeling cold. The usual warm bath with citrus scents was replaced with the same cold and thick liquid you were forced to drink. Are they trying to give me a cold before they send me to my death? You thought as you shivered. The older priestesses were made to wash you, they rubbed the fluid into every part of your being. Maybe I’ll freeze before I’m burnt alive.
It was almost like a massage, the way the older women prepared you. The way they rubbed the fluid into the flesh of your breasts made you blush, and the blush only deepened when your sex was given the same amount of attention and pressure. You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes shut. The feeling was a bit unusual. Heat began to swirl in your center, and it helped you fight off the cold for the rest of the bath.
When you were brought out of the bath rolls of white and red silk were draped around your body in odd patterns. The material itself felt wonderful but they tied the red pieces around your arms and neck, while the white silk they used to bind your chest and cover your mound. It was an odd feeling, only being partially dressed and your abdomen being bare made you flush in embarrassment. They tied your hair back in a braid that was as long as your hair would allow, and they twisted the same type of red silk around it. You were not allowed to look at your own appearance and one of the women led you out of the temple without so much as a word.
Once outside you began to shiver again and your bare feet gracing the soft grass only made you feel colder. The breeze made goose flesh begin to rise along your skin and you wrapped your arms around yourself to try and keep warm. Sounds of the villagers enjoying the festival gave you something to focus on. What would you be doing, if you were not here? Enjoying some wine perhaps, dancing around the oversized fire that was lit in your god’s honor? Mmm maybe even enjoying a full plate of roast boar, your stomach grumbled at the thought.
A group of priests, including the high priest, emerged from the temple and began to lead you further to the west of the temple. On that side there was a trail. Most everyone knew of the trail, but it was not to be used by anyone but the blessed. It led up to the highest peak in the valley and at the top stood a temple made specifically to hold the sun god’s presence when he graced the earth.
The high priest ushered you onto the trail and began to walk in front of you, the others following behind. The entire hike up felt very stiff and uncomfortable, it made you more nervous than you already were. The high priest stopped, as did you, right before the doors to the sacred temple. It was much grander, the walls made of marble instead of stone with gold gilded doors and carvings of suns in the luxurious columns. A strong wind practically blew through you, and you wondered if you’d ever feel warm again. A quick glance around at the people meant to guide you made your stomach twist in knots. They all had such grave expressions. You wondered what was next and began to try to convey your question with your eyes but they refused look at you. “Um,” you began. “Excuse-“
A loud shout rang out from the village, the signal to start the drums. Startled, you glanced at the sky and saw that the sun had begun to set. The high priest turned and walked until he was right in front of you. He began to press a large flask of what looked to be the same viscous liquid into your hands while a different priest came behind you and began to tie a red ribbon made of the same silk tightly around your eyes. The cool material caused your heart to beat as hard as the drums. “Drink this once the sun has fully set, there will be more inside, be sure to drink all of it throughout the next few days.”
Your breathing picked up. Someone, you weren’t sure who, began to tie your wrists together in front of you. “Do not attempt to look at him,” the high priest spoke again. “Do not try to touch him, only he can initiate contact. You may roam around the temple but do not leave it.” How did he expect you to roam without being able to see? “We will be back at the end of the festival to collect you, do as we say and as he says and you will survive,” he paused, “probably.”
You nodded nervously; you couldn’t see his face but could feel the sense of dread in the air. “Alright, let us begin.” Someone began to push you forward and you felt your bare feet touch the chilled marble, heard the large doors creak open, and felt the plush of a cushion as they sat you down on the floor. Once their touch left you, the sense of foreboding increased. When you heard the door slam shut you knew you were alone.
You could hear the high priest begin a prayer outside the door, though it was rather muffled, you pressed your fingers against each other, and you tried to calm your nerves by joining in on the prayer. “Allow your warmth to protect and guide me,” you muttered. After a moment’s hesitation you added, “and your cruelty to pass over me.” And altogether you ended the prayer with an ‘amen’ though yours felt a tad more strained.
Through the blindfold you could make out vague shapes thanks to the small amounts of light; but that was all you could see, and once the sun set you would essentially be blind. You stayed seated for a time and fiddled with the flask that you had been given. The wrappings around your wrists weren’t painful or too constricting but they did limit what you could do. How were you supposed to stay like this for four nights and three days? “Where even is the restroom?” You glanced around at the shapes that made up what you could see. “Do gods even use the restroom?”
After a few more minutes of fretting and shaking you decided to stand and try to figure out what was in the room. You placed your arms out in front of you. Your hands may have been bound but you were still able to grab a hold of things. The temperature of the temple was colder than the temperature outside, it was similar to the biting chill of the nights in the cold season. At this point you wondered if you were doomed to die from frostbite. The tips of your fingers scraped against the cold marble of the walls, and you continued to glide your hands along the carvings to guide you through the area. As your vision began to worsen you knew the sun was almost under the mountain.
Your fingers brushed against a metal decoration and you began to explore the piece to the best of your abilities. It felt like a throne, a large one, with a cushion made of the same type of silk that was draped around you. The size of the throne made it feel a bit more like a small loveseat, you couldn’t imagine it being too comfortable with all the surrounding metals. Beside the throne seemed to be a short table with a pitcher atop it. The pitcher was carved, and you could tell it was well crafted by running your fingers along the object. It felt much too light to be filled with anything, much to your chagrin. You had been hoping for a sip of real water.
While there was still a bit of sunlight left you decided to try to explore the center of the room a bit more. You walked cautiously from the throne to the middle of the area and saw a shadow that seemed to be a table or something similar. It was a bit tall to be a table and you placed your hands on it and felt that it was also made of a cold marble. There were no chairs around it and as your fingers brushed along the edges you felt that there were words engraved on it. You wondered if they were gilded with gold like the carvings on the outer columns had been. Slowly, you attempted to read what was engraved around the table. “A sacrifice of flesh and blood,” you muttered. “Well, that would be me.”
“Is that right?”
You flinched. That was not a voice you recognized. It was deep and alluring, with an inflection that sounded almost amused. The man’s voice had come from behind you, where you remembered the throne being. Cautiously, you turned toward where you thought the voice was coming from but immediately had to squeeze your eyes shut. All there was in that direction was a bright light, like the sun itself had come to rest in front of you. Wait, your breath caught in your throat. The sun itself?
“A-Are you perhaps-“
“Yes?”
You felt so hesitant. Your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest, the urge to drop down on your knees and bow was at the forefront of your mind. There was a warmth, an intense but welcome warmth, that began to move toward you. Your eyes were still closed tight; even behind the blindfold his brightness was too much. Like a warm breath it felt like his presence was closer, but you weren’t sure how close. Without much more thought, you gave into your urge and got down to your hands and knees with your head resting atop your extended arms on the floor. Even the floor felt warmer now than it had before his arrival. “My lord!”
“Hm, not quite as interesting as I was expecting.” He sounded so close, almost as if he was directly above you. “But not altogether unpleasant.”
Your skin began to tingle from the contrast in temperature. Hot and cold. Internally, you still felt like you were freezing but externally his presence had warmed everything to such a degree it felt like you might melt. Lightly, it felt like just the tips of his fingers, began to trial down your exposed spine, like he was counting vertebrae. Again, your bottom lip felt the sting of your teeth as your mind reeled at not only meeting but being touched by your god. The same god whose likeness you had thought of in some not so holy ways.
“Is it still too bright?”
“P-Pardon?”
“I understand that my presence tends to be overwhelming for human eyes, shall I dim myself?” He answered his own question, as the harsh biting against your eyelids seemed to lessen and instead of a sun his presence looked more like a group of brightly lit candles. It hurt still, but you were finally able to open your eyes. You wanted to look at him, wanted to take the blindfold off and gaze upon his glory but you kept your head down, afraid of the consequences of doing so. “Thank you for your consideration, my lord.”
“Still so polite,” his dry chuckle was like velvet in your ears. You shivered, but not from fear or temperature; you wanted to hear him speak more. The pleasing thought of having him order you around floated about in your mind. Warm, overly warm, fingers gripped your chin roughly and had you look up at the veiled view of his face. “I like how you’ve thought about me a lot better than the way you’re speaking to me now.”
Your heart hiccupped. Your thoughts of him!? You could feel the color drain from your face. All the unsavory thoughts you had about his image filtered through your mind at once. The few times you had touched yourself had also been to ideas of him. Would he kill you now for your blasphemous behavior? Was he aware of all of them? That rich chuckle continued to fill your ears, much more amused this time, and he turned your head from side to side as if in assessment of a product at the market. “Don’t be so nervous, child. You act like I’m going to burn you alive.”
You were pretty sure he might.
There were no details, but from his outline it seemed like the statue was rather accurate. His hair was long, spiked, and wild like the mane of a lion; his shoulders broad and perfectly set. He barely had a hold on your chin but the bits of his fingers you could feel felt strong, large, and overly warm. The high priest had told you not to look at him but maybe? Just a peek? “Can I remove the-“
“Do you want to go blind?”
“What?”
“Do you think you can stare directly at the sun without repercussions? You’ll go blind if you look at me with your naked eye.”
“Oh,” you pressed your lips together, your cheeks red with embarrassment. “Right, yes, that makes sense.”
“Eager to see your god, are we?”
You wanted to nod but refrained and he let go of your chin. “You haven’t finished the elixir yet.” He said it as a statement of fact and let out a sigh that sounded exasperated. The blood in your veins rushed at a dizzying pace and you felt panic begin to rise in your throat. Had you displeased him? Would he leave because of it? Anything but that.
“I hadn’t realized the time, please forgive-“ Wet warm lips pressed against yours midsentence. It was intense and hot, so very hot. One of his large hands grabbed the back of your head roughly, forcing you to tilt your head back and he tugged on the braid. The surprise made you flinch, and your mouth opened slightly, but it was enough for him. He began to force a liquid into your mouth from his. It was different from the others; it had a sweet taste to it that sat heavy in your center. The warmth of his lips felt like it might burn, but the cool of the liquid soothed it almost immediately. The contrast made you moan, and his tongue began to enter your mouth.
Your eyes squeezed shut and you began to feel turned on as his tongue caressed and pulled at your own. Were you allowed to kiss back? How was this supposed to work? Another noise escaped you as his tongue scraped against the roof of your mouth, slowly and with intent. You squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to calm down. He pulled away slowly, allowing his tongue to linger against yours in the space between you. The sun god chuckled once again, “That face is rather enticing.”
If only you could see what face it was. His touch left you and the warmth of his being began to dissipate. “Resting for so long can be quite boring,” he began, his voice sounded like it was back at the throne. When you opened your eyes you could see the light of his being further back, it seemed as if he was sitting on the golden décor. It almost looked like he was slouched, with one hand against the arm rest and his head on his fist, but that was just your assumption. You had no way of seeing the details of his form. “So, while we wait for the elixir to kick in, entertain me.”
Entertain? How? Should you ask? What if that angered him? He didn’t seem like the patient sort. You heard a sound similar to liquid filling a basin and saw him shift as it looked like he may be drinking. Your heart pounded in your ears in time with the beat of the drums that boom from below. Oh, was that it? At this point in the evening, for the festival, everyone would be dancing. Is that what he wanted? The dance was created for his worship, after all.
You stood on nervous legs, your hands still bound, and listened patiently to the beat. When you felt you had a good enough idea of the rhythm you began the dance. It was fast, continuously moving, with moves similar to dodging attacks in a spar. When the drum paused you twisted your spine and bent backward, almost hitting the sacrificial table behind you, and stretch your arms up behind your head to touch the cool marble. The stretch made you feel exposed. Your neck, abdomen, and legs were on full display. As the pause remained, so did your position. It was difficult, but the dance seemed to warm you up. You felt the flush travel across your body, and you began to feel rather thirsty. You resumed at the same time as the drums.
Everything seemed to disappear as the song continued. Your muscles began to loosen, your tension nonexistent, you completely forgot where you were or why you were even dancing in the first place. It was like you were hypnotized to follow the music. One foot out in front and the other behind, your hands pushed out in front almost like you were begging. Everything felt warm now, your breathing was labored from exertion. Much to your embarrassment, even your core felt a bit sticky. Your hair began to frame your face and you barely registered that the braid had come loose. “Keep dancing,” came his silken command. So, you did.
His approach was harder to feel this time, the difference in temperature not quite as stark, but when his hand caressed the side of your neck you gasped at the excess heat. “I didn’t say you could stop.”
Right, more dancing.
One of his hands remained at your neck, curling around it like a collar and restricting your movements. You couldn’t move away from him without feeling choked. His other hand slid down the length of your swaying curves, from the tops of your covered breasts to the dip of your hips where the white ribbon was tied. The heat was almost sweltering and the ache in your sex began to grow. He tugged and the silk around your waist began to slip away, creating static as it fell from your flesh.
You couldn’t help but stop, your senses now fully focused on your naked lower half. Without the cloth your arousal was even more obvious, its evidence sticking to your thighs. “I don’t like to repeat myself,” he growled so close to your ear. A shiver wracked your form, and you did your best to start moving again, but his hand inching toward your center made you lose your rhythm and your movements became awkward. His hot tongue began to lick a stripe along the red silk wrapped around your collar bone. His warm fingers began to stroke the plush flesh of your mound. A fresh wave of slick began to coat your labia.
“Mm,” you pressed your lips together. You felt like you were on fire. “My lord, please,” you whispered, not entirely sure what you were asking for.
“Tsk, you know my name. Say it.”
He was giving you permission to call him by name? His fingers trailed down and began to stroke the naked flesh of your sex. The amount of wetness made the sounds of his fingers vulgar as he moved them back and forth against the sensitive skin. Your head fell back, and you gasped, his warm fingers immediately zeroing in on your clit. The heat was overwhelming, adding extra stimulation to your already pulsing bud. Your core began to clench, and your hips reflexively bucked toward his hand. “Go on,” he chided. “Say the name of your god, tell him how badly you want him to finger you.”
Your vagina pulsed at the thought. Saying his real name was taboo in the temple, but he was giving you permission. It was impossible to think, his fingers sped up their assault. Only incoherent noises left your throat as your knees began to buckle. How were you this close already? The hand that was around your neck squeezed teasingly, cutting off your air flow temporarily, before moving down to support your lower back as your legs threatened to give out. Instinctively you reached out and tried to use his arm for support before immediately pulling your hands back. They burned, like you had touched a hot stove.
“Do not try to touch him, only he can initiate contact.” The high priest’s words rang out in your mind.
“Weren’t you warned pet?” His head leaned down to your burnt hands, his fingers not ceasing, and he licked along your palms as if to soothe them. The mixture of pain and pleasure only brought you closer to the edge and you began to buck your hips in earnest. Your pleasured noises began to grow into full moans as you approached your peak.
Quickly, without warning, he removed his fingers from your clit and unceremoniously thrust two inside of your entrance. It burned, the heat and the pain of the stretch, but it brought you over the edge anyway. He hadn’t even had to move his fingers and you were already clenching down on them. Tears welled in your eyes behind the blindfold, and you called out, “Ahh, Madara!”
“How cute,” he announced, his voice a note or two deeper, the arm that was supporting you was trembling. “So eager that you came just from having my fingers inside you?”
Madara began to move his fingers, slow and deliberate, making sure to scrape them against your walls and ensuring that pain accompanied the pleasure. He moved his mouth to your neck and tugged at the red ribbon, untying it with his teeth and exposing the rest of your body to his gaze. He began to scissor your entrance and you felt the tightness in your gut return. “Such a naughty human, touching yourself to the thought of your god. Did you think I wasn’t watching? Did you think I wouldn’t know?”
You felt like you were burning, and you heard the juices of your arousal splash against your skin. His thick fingers began to thrust quickly, and he brought his palm up to rub at your sensitive clit. A whine left your throat. He continued his verbal assault. “I watched you each and every time you called out to me with lust. I saw the way your greedy pussy swallowed one, then two, even three of your own fingers. But it was never enough, was it? You needed something else, needed these fingers to fill you.” He added a third finger and you had never felt so full. A cry of his name left your lips again and that rich chuckle of his vibrated through you. “Well how is it? Now that you have the real thing, is it satisfactory? Are you still feeling greedy?”
“It’s good,” you slurred in a drawn-out moan. His fingers began to push at your walls in opposing directions and you thought you might drool. “So so good.”
“Only good? Well, I guess I’ll have to try harder then.”
All three fingers curled at once and began to press on a specific part of your walls. Your breathing stopped, your body convulsed, your toes curled, and your vagina clenched like your life depended on it. His palm pressed hard against your abused bundle of nerves, and you came yet again. But this one was different, more intense, almost painful as it washed over every part of your being. You felt dizzy before you remembered to breathe. His hand kept moving but you were at your wits end. “Too much, ah,” you wanted to grab a hold of his arm but barely registered you would get burned again if you did. Your sex throbbed painfully. “Please lord Madara,” you pleaded. “It’s too much.”
The sun god removed his fingers slowly but made sure to keep supporting you. You watched as the vague light of his being seemed to lick a trail from his own palm down his arm and he moaned deeply as he followed the trail back up to his palm. He moved his hand away from his own mouth and brought his fingers to your lips. “Suck,” he commanded.
Your tongue poked out of your mouth shyly and you wrapped it around the three fingers hesitantly. A grunt left your throat as you tasted yourself on his digits. He shoved the three of them into your mouth, not willing to give you the chance to continue to do as you pleased. Obediently, you sucked. The heat from his fingers almost felt like they would burn your mouth too. Again, you wondered what he looked like in full detail. You gently scraped your teeth against the three digits. “Good pet,” he muttered and pressed the pads of his fingers down on your tongue. “Now, lay down on that table. I’m going to take my sacrifice.”
Madara removed his fingers and let go of you entirely. You stumbled, almost fell to your knees again as your support disappeared. Thanks to the light of his being you were able to see the shadows that made up the cold marble of said sacrificial table. As much as you tried to make your crawl a top it look sexy, you fumbled a few times. It was rather high, making it difficult to crawl onto, but your inability to be graceful didn’t seem to deter him as he was atop you the moment you fully laid down.
The sun god’s scorching lips graced yours once more and this time you tried to meet his tongue stroke for stroke. His impossibly warm palms enveloped your breasts and began to mold them to his liking, almost as if he was trying to change their shape to his hands. For the first time you felt his entire body as it pressed against you. His muscles were firm as they met your squishy flesh and the hardness of his arousal rubbed against your belly in interest. It leaked with precum and the thought of that being your doing gave you butterflies. Slowly he pulled away, he seemed to sit up for a second as you heard the sounds of a glass bottle opening. His own breathing sounded labored, but it paused as he began to gulp down whatever he had opened.
When he was seemingly satisfied, he pressed his lips to yours again, and much like the first kiss, forced the liquid down your throat. Some of it dribbled down the side of your mouth, being too much to swallow all at once, but it didn’t seem to bother him as he continued to aggressively explore your mouth. What surprised you was when he began to pour out the chilled liquid onto your overheated sex. Your back arched, the contrast in temperatures a shock to your system.
He threw the glass bottle away and it broke against the flooring with a loud crash. His thick fingers began to coat themselves in the fluid and started to scoop it into you. You groaned into his mouth. Madara kept pushing it in, forcing it as deep inside of you as his fingers would allow. It felt odd, his hands and your body heat slowly warmed the liquid as he pushed it inside. The god pulled away from the kiss with a loud breath. “No more games,” he announced and pulled his fingers away.
The sound of his slick fingers against his own flesh made you shiver. You wished you could see it, him fisting himself atop you. What a gorgeous sight that would be, it was almost worth the risk of going blind. Almost. He lined himself up with your entrance, one hand holding your tied wrists above your head and the other holding him in place. His tip felt large as it twitched impatiently against your hole. Anticipation made you hold your breath.
“I’m going to ruin you.”
He thrust in and your jaw dropped. Big, he was so big. You felt overstuffed, like there were six of his large fingers shoved inside. Madara pushed forward more, your walls spasming around the intrusion. He was too big; it was too much. You felt like you were going to break, like he’d split you in half. More of his shaft entered you and he groaned, his guiding hand now reaching up to grip your hip and push you further onto him. It felt like he had knocked the wind out of you as the tip of his penis hit your cervix. Surely that was it, he couldn’t go any further. “Pretty little thing, so fucked out already and I’ve barely even started,” he chuckled, his words strained. He brought the hand that was holding your wrists down to wipe your chin of drool that you hadn’t even realized was there. “You’re so wet,” he grunted and pulled his hips back before snapping them forward quickly. You grunted, the drag of his dick the best thing you had ever felt. “Behave and I might just reward you.”
He began to thrust in earnest, the mushroom head hitting against your cervix with each thrust in, like it was trying to bury itself deeper inside of you. Your back bowed and he forced your hips to meet his. You brought your hands up and began to grip at the edge of the marble table. Your white-knuckled grip the only thing keeping you grounded. He brought his unoccupied hand down to your left breast and began to thumb the nipple in time with his thrusts. The shlick shlick shlick sound of each drag against your insides made your toes curl once again. You felt the heavy weight of his balls hit against your perineum and the slick that was pushed out with every thrust leaked down onto the stone beneath.
The sun god was more vocal than you had expected, grunting with effort, and groaning when you clenched particularly hard around him. You licked your lips, your mouth felt dry from hanging open for so long. Your guts began to twist in knots again and you knew you would cum soon. In a rush of bravery, you brought your legs up and attempted to wrap them around his waist. Immediately, your flesh began to burn, and you set them back down. “What did I tell you?” He sounded strained and he moved his second hand to your other hip. “Behave.”
“I can’t-“ you cut yourself off with a moan, his shaft scraping just right against your g-spot and causing your climax to begin again. He hissed and you felt his hair tickle your stomach as he leaned forward and his grip on your hips tightened. You hoped he’d leave bruises.
“Fuck,” he sounded depraved, and you bit your bottom lip hard. His hips continued to push into you. “Your walls are trying so hard to milk me, is that what you want? Hm? You want me to breed you?”
“Uhn,” you couldn’t help but nod vigorously. Your mind so warped with pleasure that you’d do anything he asked. “Oh, Madara,” you groaned and bucked your hips against his grip.
“You want to carry my bastard,” his voice thick with arousal. His large hands pulled you further down on the table and he put both of your legs up around his shoulders. “Everyone will know it’s mine. They’ll all see your rounded belly and know that it’s the seed of their god growing inside of you.”
The new angle was intense, he bore heavily down onto your cervix with every thrust. He pushed your legs forward, putting them up by your shoulders, almost folding you in half, and pushed into your womb. You screamed. It was too much, an intense mix of pain and pleasure that had your nerves confused. “Feel me reach the deepest parts of you,” he grunted. Madara grabbed your tied wrists and brought your hand down to your folded stomach. He made your hands press against your lower belly where you felt the outline of him inside of you. The extra pressure added more feeling and you whined. “I’m going to fill that pretty little womb of yours.”
His thrusts quickened, becoming bruising and focused. You kept your hand where he placed it and felt his bulge as it moved in and out of you. Your head moved back and through your lust filled haze you noticed that the edges of the blindfold had loosened. If you moved a bit more maybe it would come off? Madara moved one of his hands inward and began to stroke at your clit quickly. His pace becoming uneven as his breathing sped up. “You were fucking made for this,” he groaned out. “Made to take me, to be folded in half and fucked stupid.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried out and moved your head to the side. The silk slipped off of your eyes and you kept them closed as you tried to ignore the need to look at him. He felt so good, so brutal. Your clit throbbed and your core clenched for the fourth time. This was it, the most intense orgasm you’d have possibly ever. You wanted to look at him, to gaze upon his glorious face as you came undone. “Madara, please,” you began, your voice keening at the end. “Look at me.”
You opened your eyes just in time to see him look into yours. He was gorgeous, his dark hair wild and strung about him in a halo of black, his naked flesh flushed pink with exertion, his eyes so dark they looked like they would swallow you whole. His muscles rippled as he fucked you open, the lines under his eyes crinkling as his lips tightened in a smirk. Madara whispered your name and gave one more strong thrust before you squeezed your eyes tight in ecstasy. “Such a bad girl,” he taunted.
This orgasm was unlike any other before, your entire being felt tingly and a different kind of pressure built in your sex. When that pressure released a large burst of clear liquid gushed from you and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your legs shook, your walls trembled, and you barely heard Madara’s own grunt of release as he poured his molten semen into your womb. Your everything trembled and you felt like you might melt into the table below you. Your vision went from white to black and you felt your consciousness begin to fade.
“You may rest for now,” his voice sounded so distant in your mind. “We’ll resume shortly.”
When you woke next, you felt so disoriented. Your eyes were open, but everything was hazy, you felt like you were sitting on something hard but comfortable and you lifted your head to try and see where you were. “It took you long enough, pet,” came Madara’s silky voice from behind you. His chest pressed to your back and his arms pressed you further against him. “We still have three more nights of fun to get to.”
A/N: Again, this amazing art contribution was made by the one and only @skydaddy01 please go check them out and send them a huge thank you from me! Madara looks incredible, doesn't he? Uhg I can't stop looking at this art.
Warnings: oh so many, afab!reader, rough sex, dirty talk, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, way too much overstimulation, copious amounts of cum, oral sex male receiving, copious amounts of fluids, temperature play, virginity kink, breeding kink, praise kink, power kink, aphrodisiacs, stomach bulge, use of inanimate objects for stimulation, Tobi-rail-me, Tobirama's schlong is too big, womb bullying, no refractory period, strong language
A/N: Holy shit this is so long and I’m so sorry it took forever to get out but it’s finally here and I’m so relieved. Again, sorry it took so long but honestly this thing is monstrous. Twice the size of Madara's and almost twice the size of Hashirama's. There's a lot of lore and references in here to the previous Sacrifices and to future ones but you don't have to read either to fully enjoy this.
Thanks so much again to my amazing editing bestie @therantingfangirl and my artistic troll @skydaddy01 for all your hard work helping me make this so great~ You guys are the best. As well as all my tumblr friends who have been patiently waiting and encouraging me. And thank you so much to all of you who waited and enjoyed the previous ones.
Now, without further ado, please enjoy the final fic for the first season of Sacrificed. Sacrificed (Water)
Read it on AO3
A child had been chosen, a young girl only 8 years old. A child with a bright smile and a love of the color green, a child who’d never known a day of hardship, who’s skin was unblemished and who’s laughter could brighten even the darkest of situations—your little sister had been chosen to be the sacrifice. Your mother had dropped to her knees, your father brought to tears, and all you could do was sit and stare as it felt like the world came crashing down around you. How could they do that? Under who’s authority was she chosen?
You wanted to scream, to run through the village and gather an army in protest of such a grotesque decision, but you couldn’t. Your body refused to work with you, and you were only able to sit and stare as your little sister tried to comprehend why her family was suddenly so distraught. The officials who brought your world to ruin stood there and watched, unflinching and uncaring, as your precious little sister cupped your face in her chubby hands. There were tears in her eyes, which brought tears to yours.
“What’s wrong? What does that mean?” She was scared because you were scared, because your mother wouldn’t stop begging on her knees while your father squeezed his eyes shut and held his wife back from gripping the hem of the officials’ robes as she pleaded for mercy.
This isn’t right, you thought as you squeezed your eyes shut. You wrapped your larger hands around the trembling ones on your cheeks. She’s just a child, if the gods are just they wouldn’t ask for such a sacrifice.
Why her and not you? You were an adult, passed marrying age, some of the village teens had started to call you the old maid because of your single status. They’d laugh as you’d yell back, telling them you weren’t old at all, but of course they never listened. That same question kept repeating itself in your mind. Why her and not me?
“That is all,” the highest official stated. “We will come to collect her for the ceremony next week.”
He turned, as did the other three, and they began to walk away. Why her? You tightened your grip on her small hands. Why must she pay the price for the rest of us? Why not- “me,” you called out. The officials paused and you removed you sister’s hands from your face and held onto them as you stood. “I volunteer in her place.” Your hands shook, you were more afraid than you’d ever been, but your resolve outweighed your fear. A child, not only her but especially one like her didn’t deserve to be so cruelly murdered for everyone else’s sake. “Is that acceptable?”
The group of four stuffy, old men seemed to ponder that as they looked at one another in a panic. They seemed to huddle together for a bit, every second that passed weighed on you like a stone. What if they said no?
I won’t let them take her.
Calls for a sacrifice didn’t happen often, normally the four-village alliance just went about their days as usual, but a drought had begun. The rains had stopped almost five months ago, the crops were suffering and therefore the livestock suffered, and with both the crops and livestock in short supply the strain on the people became too great to ignore. Even the fish supply, which was a staple for coastal villages like yours, had begun to grow scarce due to the low tides. It almost felt like the water was disappearing overnight. So a sacrifice was needed—am mortal that would be offered up to the water god as payment for the rains he offered.
No one knew what became of those who were sacrificed, whether they died at sea or, against all odds, were placed in the hands of a cruel god. They never returned, body or soul. Most assumed they died at sea. The religion among the people had begun to wane since the last sacrifice, many had believed the practice to be cruel and barbaric. The officials turned back toward your small family and cleared their throats. “We appreciate your willingness,” the oldest, who wore the most expensive robes, glanced nervously between the others before clearing his throat. “We will have the elder females come check to make sure you are worthy of the position.” They would check to make sure your maidenhood was intact, that was the one qualification you knew of, and you met it just fine.
“Very well.”
“They should arrive within the next few days, and if all goes well, we will arrive next week for you instead of your sister.” With that, they left, and all of your strength went with them.
You crumbled to the floor, your young sister began to panic, your mom clutched you and sobbed more as your father held all three of you tightly. You could only imagine how badly your teenage brother would react to the news, but somehow you felt numb. An all-consuming nothingness filled your chest as you wrapped your arms around your precious little sister.
Yes, your mind supplied. Its better this way.
The elder women came after two days and confirmed your virginity and whatever else it was they were looking for, after that you were told to go to the official’s lodgings every day to be prepared for the official ceremony. It was an odd affair, you were forced to kneel before a statue and pray to it daily, only allowed to eat lotus roots, and coached on the part of the ceremony that involved everyone else. You were never told what to do after your small boat was set afloat in the sea. Those preparations took up most of your day and when you’d return home your mother would try her best to put on a smile and act like everything was okay, your father would take every opportunity he could to embrace you, your little brother did his best to hide the tears in his eyes, and your poor little sister, who still didn’t quite understand but knew something was wrong, would burst into tears and cling to you all evening.
It was an overwhelming experience, but you fell into the routine like it was second nature, so when the day of the ceremony arrived you were thrown a bit off balance. Instead of lotus roots you were given nothing to eat, only a strangely thick fluid that warmed you to your core whenever you drank it. The time that had been allotted for prayer had become the time for grooming. You were placed into a warm bath of the same fluid, you figured it was to save on the limited supply of water, and they bathed you like a princess. The elder women massaged your skin and combed your hair to perfection. They painted your lips and eyes with crimson, and your abdomen and thighs were decorated with blue dragons that spewed water and seemed to move alongside dark storm clouds. Sitting still while being painted had been rather difficult, the softness of the brush and gentleness of the strokes had left you ticklish and tingly. You thought that viscous fluid had something to do with the latter, the more you drank it the warmer you became and the more sensitive you felt.
The women wrapped you in what felt like gauze. The soft material made the hairs on your body raise, you blamed it on the new sensitivity. They wrapped your breasts like they were being bound, then tied off the artificial top behind your neck; the bottoms were similar, wrapped around your hips and upper thighs until they formed a short skirt that covered enough but too little all the same and made it difficult to walk. Jewelry was placed in your hair, pearls of white and blue were scattered about your locks, and you estimated the price of half of those decorations alone to be worth more than four times the price of your family’s home. Probably enough money to feed your family and your neighbor’s families for two or three years, but that was only your estimation.
Your feet remained bare but they placed bands of silver with pendants of matching pearls around your ankles and wrists, they made a small jingle noise whenever you walked. When they felt you were decorated enough they pinned your hair up and placed a veil over your head. Your vision was obscured but the women took your hands and guided you to the ceremony area in the center of the four villages. The sun hung low in the sky and the people quieted down as you were brought beside the officials. The weight of what was about to happen truly began to settle in your chest and churn your stomach.
Its fine, you had to tell yourself. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been her, so its fine. As long as it’s not her, anything is fine.
“Great God of Water,” the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears drowned out most of the official’s grand speech, your brain was only able to catch onto the last portion. “We ask for your mercy and blessings upon us in these desperate times. Please, bless us with your rains once more. Bring life into our plants and our soil as we bring life to you!”
The villagers were full of mixed emotions, though you could not see it, you could hear the hesitation and reluctance to cheer from the crowd. “You are doing us a great service,” the official told you quietly, he kept a solid grip on your bicep. “You will not be forgotten.”
You were led from the center of the villages to a palanquin where you were commanded to enter. Once you were secured inside you heard the cry of a familiar little voice. Your precious little sister called out and tried to run after you and into the palanquin. Your father ran after her and picked her up quickly to keep her from climbing inside. You poked your head out and lifted your veil to see her one last time. A pain unlike any other gripped your heart as you looked at her tear-stricken face, and the frowns of grief on your other three family members. “I have to go now, little lily,” your voice almost cracked, and your eyes filled with tears as you called her by her nickname. “Be sure to watch over mom and dad for me, and don’t do anything to worry your older siblings too much.”
“O-okay,” she sniffled pathetically.
“I love you, all of you,” you whispered, unsure whether they would hear it or not, before lowering your veil again and righting yourself in the vehicle. If you had said anything more, or looked at their face’s any longer, leaving would have become unbearable. Your heart squeezed again, and you had to hold back the tears that threatened to spill and ruin the hard work and time that went into your face paintings. The palanquin stopped after what felt like only a few moments. A man you recognized as one of the many officials assisted you in your exit and began to lead you toward a well-known pier.
The sounds of the ocean had once calmed you, a relaxing sound from the time you were young, now the sounds only heightened your anxiety. The other officials followed behind as you were led down a set of steps and told to step into a decorated boat fit for one. There were strings of blue and white flowers placed along the edges of the boat and inside, the soft petals cushioned your feet as you stepped in. The boat rocked and you had to keep your balance as you clutched the elder man’s hand for dear life. Some of the water splashed against your feet and into the bottom of the boat, and you feared that there was a leak somewhere.
Its fine, you repeated to yourself, over and over. A mantra to try and collect yourself. You’re doing this for your little sister, for her, for your family. Its fine.
“Sit down carefully,” the man said as he helped usher you onto the cushioned bench and let go of your hand. You sat stock still, back straight, your fingers fiddling with the edge of your gauzy coverings to occupy your swirling mind. What was going to happen to you?
Don’t worry about it, just focus on how you’re protecting your little lily, your family.
The material stretched under the stress of your nervous fingers. “I’m sorry we can’t offer you anything more,” the high official began from his spot beside the one that had guided you. He handed you a glass bottle of the same liquid you had been drinking all day. “For what it’s worth, you are far braver than anyone I have ever met.”
You stared at him blankly, you were panicking, how is that brave? You wanted nothing more than to jump out of that boat, back onto the docks, and run away. But you knew that if it wasn’t you, it would be her and that was unacceptable. “Farewell, I wish you only happiness in your next life.”
With that, they set your boat adrift, almost in perfect sync with the sun dipping under the horizon.
It was a strange sensation, an isolation you knew not many could understand. You were alone, set adrift in the sea, not knowing what would happen to you. The waves pushed your craft along, rocked it, made it creak. Luckily for you, you didn’t get seasick easily, but the constant motion was disorienting. There was nothing to do but fall deeper into your racing thoughts; wondering how you would get out of this and whether it would end with you living or dead. Maybe you’d die of thirst, cooked like a fish in a pan under the sun after a few days of only the strange milky fluid to drink. That fluid certainly didn’t help with the heat.
A strange light from the corner of your eye caught your attention and you lifted your veil to get a clearer image. You looked into the water, leaning as gently as you could to one side. The light was soft, glowing and pulsing with its glow as it drifted just within sight. One soft purple glow became two, then became a third with more pinks and yellows; more and more lights began to show up just under the surface. They moved with the current, going in the same direction as your boat, and you stared in awe at the sheer number of soft lights. They surrounded your vessel on both sides, each one seeming like its own entity.
The blue lights were the most beautiful, they were few but seemed to dance to a tune only they knew. You dipped your hand under the water’s dark surface, doing your best to try to reach one of the creatures. One hit your hand and it almost felt like nothing. It flinched, its glowing body maneuvering around your hand to continue its path. “Are these jellyfish?” You tilted your head to the side, enraptured by the phenomenon before you.
You wondered how many others had witnessed such a beautiful display, and with so many all at once. Jellyfish were not rare, many washed up on shore or got caught in fishing nets as they floated with the current, but never had you seen any that glowed. It felt like a private show, just for you.
Was the water god taking pity on you? The thought made you frown. Allowing you to see some unseen wonders of the ocean as thanks for your sacrifice? Did the beauty of these creatures really make up for what was to come? If they really were from the water god- you cut off that train of thought, unsure what to feel. There was a strange tightness to your chest that you were unfamiliar with. Bitterness maybe? Twisted reverence and self-pity melded together in an uncomfortable whirl of feelings? You clicked your tongue.
The water began to grow louder, almost restless in sound. Reluctantly you looked away from the beautiful jellyfish to search for the source of the noise. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary that you could see, but it felt like your boat was going faster, the water’s volume only increasing as your boat continued on. You glanced back down to the jellyfish below you and couldn’t tell if anything was wrong. They seemed to be drifting at the same speed you were. “The current must’ve picked up.”
To add to the beauty of your private show, you began to place some of the flower petals that decorated the deck of your boat on the water. Scattering them about to add another layer to the multitude below you. The blue and white petals decorated the surface and accented the glow nicely. You laid your head on the boat’s edge, relaxing as the moon shone high in the sky. The sound of the rushing waves, the motion that had nauseated you only an hour or two prior began to lull you to sleep. You continued to scatter petals as your eyes fell closed, your overheated fingers relaxing against the chill of the sea. Yes, you thought, mind caught between the waking world and the slumbering one. It’ll be fine like this. Everything will be fine.
“Lord Tobirama,” you whispered, sleepiness creeping into your voice. “Please, save my family.”
A flash of light lit up the sky, almost like a strike of lightning but without the ferocity of thunder. The waves grew larger, you clung to the edge of your wooden craft as it rocked with the aggravated water. It seemed even the jellyfish had begun to struggle, as their lights began to dim and disappear, leaving you on your own once again. “What in the,” the winds picked up and you held your hair down. Misty water began to spray everywhere, and you fell back against the deck as a particularly rough wave crashed against your boat. The raging water was deafening, the moon and stars were not enough to illuminate the now dark waters. You sat up and immediately wished you hadn’t.
A telltale swirling had begun in the waves a short distance ahead and you knew that meant certain death for you. Your panic began to rise again, your knuckles turned white as you clutched the back of the boat as if that would save you. What could save you? Was there anything? I don’t want to die, you squeezed your eyes shut tightly, the winds and water whipped your hair and made those expensive pearls fall from their delicate places. The veil was torn from your head, cold sea water crashed against your back and into your boat and filled the bottom with a layer of water, the flower petals floated up to your ankles and you squeezed your eyes shut.
Before your wooden vessel even dipped below the angry waves you were soaked to the bone. The whirlpool took hold of your barely afloat vessel and you never felt so hopeless. A deafening crack resounded and you stumbled like a newborn fawn. You opened your eyes in time to watch as your face crashed into the sea, the overwhelming current pulling you under and it felt like it was trying to pull you apart. You choked on the water, too startled to make any rational decisions. Your eyes stung, all you could see was darkness, the current kept pushing and pushing at you, you couldn’t tell which way was up and which led further into the depths. Someone help!
Something incredibly cold, colder than the water touched your outstretched arm and began to pull you through the never-ending darkness. You sputtered and coughed as you broke through the water’s surface. Your eyes stung, so you kept them closed. Your lungs, nose, and throat burned as you did your best to expel all of the salty liquid you had swallowed. Whatever had pulled you out had pulled you to a sandbar or something of the sort as you were able to stay on your knees and keep your airways above water.
Once you had finished expelling the water from your lungs, you greedily began to suck in air, as if you swallowed enough of it you’d never drown again. After a bit of calming down and realizing you were no longer on deaths door you felt alright enough to open your stinging eyes. For a while everything was blurry, no matter how many times you blinked to calm the stinging sensation it remained. Though everything was distorted, you could see that you were in a dark structure of some kind. The body of water that had been an ocean before was now a large square pool with lily pads and lotus floating atop the surface, a lily pad had even clung to your left side. The water came up to your waist while you remained on your knees.
You felt your panic begin to rise once again. How is that possible? I was just in the middle of the ocean how can I-
“You’re alive,” a deep timber. You looked up and saw the blurry outline of a tall person in front of you. Had he been there before? His feet were bare as he seemed to stand on the water’s surface like it was solid ground. All of your well-earned air felt like it was punched out of your lungs. “Good.”
From what you could make out, this man had light hair. Maybe white or silver? Your vision was still too blurry to tell. He had on some sort of long deep blue draping, a robe maybe? The pants he wore underneath the draping were dark in color, you guessed black, and the trimmings on the robe were of a silver variety. One of his large hands reached for your face, and you flinched at the chill of his touch. You closed your eyes, fear gripping your form, but all you felt was the gentle caress of his thumb across both of your eyelids. His hand pulled back as soon as he’d finished and the stinging that had plagued your vision disappeared.
When you opened your eyes again you were hesitant but felt relief at being able to see everything clearly once more. The white-haired man stood high above you his muscled arms crossed over his chest. You were right, it had been a royal blue robe, with filigree and dragons depicted in a sparkling silver thread. His skin was so pale, almost like moonshine incarnate. He had three red markings on his face, one on each cheek and one on his defined chin, each one came to a pointed tip towards the center of his face. There was a tuft of white fur spiked at the top of his collar, it matched his spiked hair.
He wore a frown on his face, seemingly greatly displeased. Under his silken robe he seemed to be wearing a tight black shirt, resembled under armor in appearance and it ended midway up his neck, covering his defined adam’s apple. “You,” he began, the baritone of his voice made your face heat and brought a shiver down your spine. The man seemed to think carefully about what he wanted to say, his arms flexed, you were entranced by the subtle rise and fall of his chest, his piercing red eyes never left your form. A sigh escaped him, you tilted your head, he began to disrobe before tossing the soft material at you. It covered your face and confused you. “Put that on and follow me.”
You frowned at the thought of ruining such nice material with your wet form. It was such a luxurious fabric; you didn’t think you’d ever felt anything like it before or would ever feel anything like it again. The more you touched it, the more you realized your dripping fingers didn’t bother the material at all. It was almost like the water didn’t exist, the material neither repelled or soaked in the water from your form so you finally gave in. It took you a minute to stand, he faced away from you as you stood, and you realized he was being polite.
The gauze-like material had soaked in a lot of water and loosely hung from your form. Your breasts were almost entirely bare, your right nipple on full display, and your sort of skirt had sagged so much your entire lower belly was exposed and displayed the fullness of your hips. You could only guess what your backside looked like and hastily wrapped the blue robe around yourself. “I—” you began, voice hoarse from the strain of swallowing and expelling sea water. “Where am I?”
The man turned his head a bit to glance at you and you assumed he deemed your appearance appropriate because he began to walk away. His feet left ripples against the water’s surface as he stepped on it like flooring; meanwhile, the water still swallowed your feet and up to your shins. He couldn’t possibly be—
“You are in my domain.”
“Your domain?”
“Yes.”
You were struggling to keep up with his pace, your body still bit wobbly from the adrenaline drain.
“I am Tobirama.”
“Tobirama!?” The Tobirama? Tobirama Senju, the water god? The one your sister had almost been sacrificed to and the one that you had been? He was real? And alive and well apparently. Without the robe, more of his physique was on display. His back was muscled, his shoulders broad but waist on the slimmer side. The shirt he wore had cut outs at his hips that exposed more of his milky skin and teased the defined bones there.
“That’s Lord Tobirama to you.”
You dropped to your knees quickly, your arms outstretched in front of you with your palms toward the heavens. You placed your forehead flat against the cold black stone at the edge of the pool, your quick action had caused the waters of the pool to begin to move again, the sash on the robe had untied itself and the cold water against your hot warm flesh startled you. “Lord Tobirama, god of water and keeper of knowledge, please send your blessed rains to my people.”
When he did not respond you decided to continue. “My family—my village, they will starve soon without them. Please show us your mercy.” Your lips trembled, your throat tightening at the thought of your family. “I know I am insignificant and unworthy but—” the high priest’s concluding line came to mind as you tried to win his favor, bring life into our plants and our soil as we bring life to you! “Please use my life to spare theirs.”
The silence weighed heavy after your pleading, and you dared not lift your head. Was he thinking? Was he angry? Had he disappeared? Your mind raced with questions, with thoughts and feared outcomes. Tears began to well up in the corners of your eyes, so you squeezed them shut. This was it, wasn’t it? You’d die by angering him, not having saved anyone in your family let alone the youngest. I’m sorry little lily, everyone.
Cold, very cold, fingers tipped your chin upward. He held your head in place to make you look up at him. His face remained neutral, which was better than you had expected. Those red eyes scanned your features, your eyes were wide and dewy. You had never expected the god of water to be so handsome, so human-like and yet still so ethereal. The fingers that held your face were so large and strong, you knew you couldn’t break away unless he allowed it. You wondered what he was looking for as his eyes scanned your own again.
Those cold hands moved and began to help you to your feet, they allowed you to lean on him a bit, your twitching fingers gripping his forearms tightly as you balanced yourself and hoped for the best all at the same time.
“I cannot alter the course of nature,” was his simple reply. So simple and yet even more crushing than the sentence that had announced your sister as a sacrifice. “I will send you back in a few days’ time, mortals cannot stay in the realm of gods for too long. You will remain here in the meantime.”
Your grip on his arms tightened. He was so close, but you felt so far removed that you didn’t notice the minute twitch of his fingers against your hands or the subtle downturn of his luscious lips as he watched your face crumble. The fact that you were stuck there hadn’t even registered until later on when he led you to the room you would occupy while there. Tobirama allowed you two rooms, one a very luxurious bedroom, decorated in dark marble walls with glowing pearl like stones for light, all material made of the same type of royal blue and silver silk as the robe he encouraged you to keep on. The room was so beautiful it made you feel out of place. There were bookshelves that adorned the walls beside the double doors; they were made of pearl with many tomes and texts, scrolls and leather-bound books, all worn and delicately placed like they’d been read and reread many times over.
The second room you were allowed was an equally exquisite bathing chamber. Again, the walls were dark marble, inlaid with pearlescent accents. The same pearl like stones glowed for light, and an empty pool similar in shape to the one you had emerged from rest at the center of the room, the edges and inside decorated with bright silver. You wondered how often humans, or even other gods, used these rooms but you didn’t voice your question. Your heart still felt heavy with the knowledge that you were of no use to your people or family.
“When I go back, will I be able to be with my family again?” The question left you before you could think about it.
The god closed his eyes and crossed his arms again, a soft sigh left him as he began to walk toward the heavy double doors that led back into the hallway. “I suggest bathing before going back to your bedchambers, that ceremonial makeup you mortals love so much has smudged everywhere from the sea water.”
His avoidance of your question irritated you.
“What use is going back then? If I can’t save them, if I can’t see them, I’d rather you have left me to die in that whirlpool.”
He paused, his back visibly straightening, before he opened the doors and left you alone in the unfamiliar room. The sound of the door closing shut behind him was loud and it brought your negative emotions to a head. You felt so helpless, so hopeless. The weight of your emotions brought you to your knees again, but you began to slam your fists against the polished floors in your anguish. What use were you? Was this situation? It hadn’t mattered that you took your sister’s place, she would still starve along with the rest of your loved ones. You hadn’t truly believed in the water god but some small voice in the back of your head had whispered the possibility of salvation, which you hadn’t realized had become a hope.
You cried your fill, cried until your eyes hurt and wailed until your throat gave out in protest. When your body wouldn’t let you cy any longer you wiped your eyes and nose and just sniffled. There was no way for you to tell how much time had passed, but a bath and sleep sounded like the best you could do at that moment. You stood and removed the robe and began to remove the loose gauze you had been wrapped in and used it to wipe off the smudges of paint that were left along your body. Across the back wall was a large mirror that you approached. Your reflection looked rough.
Your eyes were swollen from crying, the beautiful makeup was smudged, your hair was fizzled and damp with half dried sea water, the pearls and decorations that remained were strewn about in a tangled mess. A sigh left you as you began to pick out the decorations one by one and placed them on the floor beside you. When you finished you were surprised to find that the pool had filled with water without you having to do anything, but the more you thought about it the more it made sense. You were in the home of the water god after all.
After your bath, which was at best lukewarm, you replaced the blue robe and walked back to the room that you had been given. You were so tired, you decided to flop down on the plush bed. It was so soft, but so unfamiliar. What was there for you to do now? When you were expelled from the realm of the gods, where would you go? Where would you be? How did it all work? Those questions kept running through your mind until your body could no longer stay awake.
A few cycles of sleep passed by like that, you assumed they were days but you couldn’t be too sure. When you woke up there was always fresh fruit placed carefully on the bedside table for you to eat. You would partake in the familiar foods as you explored the hallways and rooms of the domain. You knew you were told to stay within those rooms but there was not much else for you to occupy your time with. Eventually you stumbled upon where Tobirama seemed to spend most of his time.
It looked to be a study, comprised of the same dark marble and pearl mixture, with a desk like structure raised from the ground for him to sit in front of. Bookshelves like the ones in your chambers lined all four walls, each organized but in a chaotic manner. The books and tomes in that room looked far more used than the ones in your own, which was quite impressive. The first time you stumbled upon him there he seemed to be studying some sort of scroll, brush in hand for note taking. Despite your anger toward him you couldn’t help but admire his appearance. Everything about him was enticing, from the elongated bridge of his nose to the way he furrowed his brow in concentration. The flexing of his shoulder blades as his arms moved and the subtle tapping of his bare foot as he worked felt more human to you than you wanted him to be.
Despite your one oversized robe he seemed to have found another to wear, this one was black with white dragons and square like patterns made of royal blue. A similar fur to the one that lined your collar lined his and you wondered if it was because he was cold. His skin had certainly felt freezing. After watching him for a while you’d move on to a different room, your second favorite one to visit. It was the room you had arrived in. The pool you had come out of laid at the center of the room, under a large skylight with columns of white marble seemingly holding the structure up. The sky that was shone was so unfamiliar that if you hadn’t known you were in another realm that would’ve told you immediately.
The sky remained dark, but a dark blue of sorts, with patterns of light that looked like water reflections being the only source of motion. The reflective patterns were very bright, and they shone down on the center of the water pool where an altar like structure sat. It was made of the same white marble as the four columns, and it had engravings along the edges of the pedestal. The only one you could make out read a sacrifice of flesh and blood and it made you wonder if this structure had been a temple at one point.
At the other end of that room, across from the altar and pool sat a throne like chair that seemed to be made of pearl. It was freezing to the touch and felt rather uncomfortable when you sat on it. The seat itself was far too large for you, you estimated two of you could sit in it with some room to spare, but you weren’t sure if it would be equally roomy for Tobirama. He was a rather tall man, with an athletic frame, but you thought he’d fit perfectly in the center with just enough space on both sides. The throne made you feel rather lonely, looking out at the empty room and still pool from that spot felt empty. You decided to sit on the altar and watch the sky from there, rather than the lonely throne.
When time kept stretching by, with only fruits, nuts, and roots to eat, and the oversized structure thoroughly explored without forcing your way into locked rooms, you began to comb through the texts in your room. Some of them you couldn’t read, written in some other language or the wording was too difficult to understand, but some were rather interesting. Most of the scrolls seemed to be religious texts, about the different gods and their regions of reign.
Like the sun god and the god of forests, Tobirama was revered as a long-standing deity. The tome you read had claimed him to be the younger brother of the god of forests. That same tome talked about other gods, one was even supposedly a descendent of Tobirama but he had been one of the punished so his name was blotted out of the text. Some of the other books talked about Madara, the sun god, and how strong he was and the many theories behind his rise while other gods like Tobirama and Hashirama, the god of forests, were left to decline. That particular part must have been outdated, as Lord Hashirama’s region and strength had seemed to quadruple in the past 30 years. Your mother had been born in that village and she had spoke about the abundance and grace of the forest god.
You paused a moment. The story your mother told said that Lord Hashirama had regained his strength after falling in love with a female human that had been given to him as a sacrifice and one of the handwritten scrolls you read had theorized that Lord Madara’s great strength came from the yearly sacrificial ritual his region practiced. “Then is Tobirama unable to change nature because he isn’t strong enough? Because there hasn’t been enough human sacrifice?”
You thought back to when you knew to be the last human sacrifice given to the water god, which was before you were born. How many years had it been? Your father had been the one to tell you about it, and about the outcry of the people afterward. Even when telling the story he seemed disgusted by what had occurred. “He was only 11? Or was father 10?” Either way it seemed there hadn’t been a sacrifice made to Tobirama in almost 50 years before you.
So what was different about you? Had you not done something important to complete the ritual to give him strength? Were you even enough? Did it have to do with your age? You couldn’t recall how old the previous sacrifice was but you thought she had been an older woman. Burning with determination and questions, you clutched the theory tightly to your chest and made your way toward the water god’s study.
You barged in, too focused on your emotions to think about the disrespect you were showing a god. He had paused his writing when you entered, his sleeve held back in one hand to prevent ink stains and brush in the other. The water god looked handsome as he always did, same black long-sleeved shirt but he wore another royal blue robe, the pattern on it was of silver water lilies and koi swimming beneath. It was beautiful, and he left the robe open for all to admire the tightness of his shirt against his skin. Tobirama looked at you calmly and waited for you to explain why you interrupted him.
“What’s wrong with me?” You blurted out, sophistication and eloquence being two words that could not be used to describe you at that moment.
“What?”
“The scroll,” you unfurled said paper and pointed it at it, approaching closer to his desk. He set his brush down and took it carefully from your grasp. “You don’t have the power to send rains or to even send me back, do you?”
He remained silent, his sharp eyes glanced up at you before his jaw clenched and he looked down at the scroll again. “You haven’t had a sacrifice in 50 years, so your strength has dwindled.”
“Wrong,” he stated calmly and set the scroll down on his desk as he crossed his arms over his chest. A habit he seemed to have. “It’s been almost 200 years.”
“What?”
He let out a sigh and looked you in the eye, a slight frown on his lips. “Gods often sleep to conserve power; I believe I have been asleep for about 200 or so years.”
“Then the previous sacrifices?”
He shook his head and his silence weighed on you. You pressed your lips together and rubbed your arm slowly. “Why did you wake up then?”
“I am unsure,” he paused and tilted his head back. “When I last went to sleep, I was certain my brother and I would sleep for the rest of eternity, but it seems there was just enough prayer to reawaken me.”
“Lord Hashirama had weakened too?”
“Yes, we believed that humans no longer needed gods so we decided it would be better to fall silent.”
“But not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lord Hashirama’s region has been flourishing for at least three decades now. I assume he’s still awake even now.”
Tobirama looked to the side as he processed that information. “Madara too,” you continued. “He receives a yearly sacrifice even now and his people call themselves the Empire of the Sun and have yet to diminish. They are currently attempting to unite the continent.”
The water god’s fists clenched and his eyes narrowed at that news. “Damn him,” he muttered under his breath. “And has my brother done anything to stop this? To stop him?”
“I don’t know, I only know about the legends.” You rubbed your sleeve covered arm a bit hard and bit your bottom lip before asking. “So what do I need to do to restore your power? Is there anything I can do? I am your sacrifice after all.”
He let out a loud huff through his nose as he closed his eyes. The water god tapped against his arm as he seemed to think on things. Your chest tightened with emotion. Could you really end up saving your family after all? Nothing would please you more, even if it was something scary like letting him devour you whole, you would do it without hesitation. Tobirama uncrossed his arms and placed them on the desk in front of him.
“There is but I’m not sure how much power I’ll be able to gain from your worship alone,” he began to move his papers and scrolls aside. “Sit here, we’ll run a test first.”
Your heartbeat picked up. A test? Would it hurt? You approached his desk anyway and nervously sat atop it, making sure to sit facing toward him. His proximity made your face heat up and he sat and observed you closely. His eyes looked you up and down, and at the height you were atop his desk you were able to make direct eye contact without looking up at him. He placed his hands at your hips and leaned forward. His breath fanned your lips as your skin began to flush. “Are you willing?”
“Yes,” you whispered, enchanted by his voice and proximity. “I’ll do anything.”
“Then let’s begin the test,” was his only warning before his large hands gripped your hips and his mouth pressed to yours. His lips were cold, so very cold, and the same could be said for his hands. His low temperature permeated the silk of the robe and made your skin prickle. You wanted to try to warm him up.
Anxiety rushed through you as you felt his cold tongue press against your lips. What did that mean? You had never kissed anyone before, but his cold touch made your body heat up. Without much thought you wrapped your arms around his neck and unconsciously pulled him in closer. His tongue pressed harder against your lips and it forced your them to part. So cold, an appendage that was typically warm was practically an ice block in your mouth and you shivered.
He groaned as he pulled back, you were out of breath, an embarrassment unlike any other filling your chest. Did he pull away because you were bad? Did you fail the test? Were you not enough? You almost whimpered at the thought, your body continued to shiver.
“Are you,” he seemed to shiver too. “Are you still untouched?”
Heat rose, you could feel it span your entire face and the top of your chest as you nodded in embarrassment. “Yes,” you whispered, nervous. “Is that going to be an issue?”
“No,” he said quickly, his voice having taken on a deeper tone. “Are you cold?”
“You seem colder than me, your skin is ice.”
He smirked a bit and moved back before standing. “Stay there, I’ll be back shortly.”
Tobirama hadn’t lied, he had come back rather quickly, but with a black flask in hand. He sat back down easily and handed you the container gently. “Drink all of this and then we can continue.” Your body thrummed at the idea of continuing, so you did your best to chug whatever it was in the flask. It was viscous, and if you could see the color you knew it would be the same as the strange fluid the priests made you drink before the ceremony. Immediately your body warmed, and you shook from the contrast in temperatures. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice made your toes curl. “Now lean back and sit still.”
You did as you were told and almost gasped as you watched his deft fingers begin to untie the sash for the robe. “Wait, I’m not—”
“This is a part of the test,” he began. His cold fingers pressed against the naked flesh of your abdomen as he pushed the robe open. You felt hypersensitive, that light touch alone was almost enough to make you moan. “Stay still, and quiet, and then we can move on to the real ritual.”
“S-So, am I enough?”
“Possibly,” he muttered as he lightly caressed his hands up the sides of your form and stopped at your breasts. His cold temperature in contrast with your warmer one caused your nipples to harden; you pressed your thighs together as you watched his pupils dilate at the sight of your naked breasts. The light-haired man’s fingers twitched, and he ran them lightly along your breasts toward your pebbled flesh. Your eyes closed in embarrassment and a whine attempted to leave your throat. He paused, his eyes looking back at your face before landing on his forgotten calligraphy brush. “We’ll have to see how this works out won’t we? Little mortal, spread your legs for me so we can begin.”
You swallowed the noise that had threatened to leave your throat as you nodded. You opened your legs slowly, embarrassed by your nakedness and the obvious wetness that had begun to spill from you. If you could’ve, you would’ve brought your hands down immediately to cover yourself, but that would be disobedient. There was an unnerving feeling of obligation, both to stay obedient to him as your god and to hear him praise you more. The tip of his brush hit your collarbone and swirled down toward your chest, and you jumped at the sensation. He clicked his tongue, “Behave, little girl. Stay still and quiet.”
The brush followed back up the trail, leaving black ink along in its wake. The water god brought the brush back down a similar path, but this time he brought it all the way down to your nipple. You wanted to cry out, the tickling sensation circling against your hardened peak went straight to your core and you could feel your clit twitch. He continued to circle it, over and over, your breathing picked up. Surely that was allowed, right? Tobirama brought the tip of the brush down from there and trailed it along the underside of your breast down to your lower belly.
Unintentionally, your stomach flinched at the cold brush. He clicked his tongue again and brought his sharp eyes up to your face. “I’m sorry, my Lord I didn’t—” he shushed you, cutting your apology short.
“Remember to be quiet,” he told you, his other hand creeping up to your mouth. None too gently, he placed his index and middle finger into your waiting lips and his jaw tightened as you began to suckle on them instinctively. “There’s an obedient sacrifice.” You whimpered at his words, and he pressed his fingers deeper into your mouth, back toward your throat. “Do my words affect you that much?”
His eyes trailed down to the heated area between your legs and he tsked again, his tone sounded smug. “You’re so wet, from what? A kiss and some light caresses? Are you so innocent that even this little is too much?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, you could feel your clit twitch under his gaze, he let out a breathless chuckle. The brush began to move along your lower belly, right above your womb he swirled the ink in a cyclical pattern. Once satisfied, he trailed it back upward toward your neglected breast and paid extra attention to the nipple once again. By that point you couldn’t help it, you sucked on his fingers as hard as you could, but a whimper still left you. Tobirama kept up his swirling, you were so sensitive, your lower body unconsciously pushed forward as you felt your clit throb hard. “Mmm!”
It felt weird, you had never felt anything like that before. Your entire body twitched, and your toes curled, you felt a rush of wetness start to leak onto his desk. The building in your lower belly had relaxed but your sensitivity only increased as he continued to tease your nipple with his brush. When you opened your eyes again there was a definitive redness to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, his eyes were entirely focused on your throbbing sex and his breath was noticeably labored.
“So disobedient.” The feeling in your chest tightened, your high cut short. You disappointed him? His voice had kept its husky tone. The brush left your body entirely and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. “You couldn’t keep still or quiet,” he began to trail the brush down your abdomen once more, a swirling pattern that laid right over your womb once more and used your heightened sensitivity against you. Your sex ached, virginal channel twitching in anticipation of something you knew little about. “Those who misbehave must receive punishment.”
The brush trailed down further; the ink covered bristles marking your pelvis before drawing over your mound. “I’ll give you one more chance to behave. If you remain quiet and still, I’ll let you cum again,” his sharp red eyes, pupils all but swallowing the irises, stared into the depths of yours. You nodded your assent, and he kept the eye contact as the brush moved to your folds.
He watched you like a hawk, looking for every minute twitch and flinch, as he began to circle your labia before moving the brush toward your dripping flesh. It was incredibly difficult not to whine as the brush head grazed over your weeping entrance. Tobirama’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he started his assault on your neglected bud. You bit your bottom lip to keep from whining, the pressure was too light. The water god’s eyes narrowed as he seemed to read your mind and pressed the brush harder, moving it up and down in a lapping like motion.
You wanted to close your eyes but his own were too intense, too enticing, you couldn’t look away. “You’re trying so hard to please me,” he taunted, a tight smirk on his perfect lips. “Can you feel it? Every time I speak to you, your hole twitches.” He brought the brush down to circle your clenching entrance to emphasize his point. “Does my voice make you ache?”
A whimper almost escaped you.
“So wet and warm,” he turned the brush over and began to prod at you with the rounded end. “Little girl, this lewd thing,” his cold hands cupped your sex and you let out a quiet groan, your eyes moving skyward. “Such a salacious reaction is unbecoming of a virgin.”
The water god removed his palm and brush and brought them up to his face. “Look here,” he commanded, and you obeyed. His palm glistened with your slick and the calligraphy brush was soaked through, your fluids mixed with the black ink and dripped down his cleaner palm. “You’ve ruined my favorite brush, and my palm is soaked despite barely making contact. So obscene,” he brought his palm to his mouth and lapped at his palm, a visible shiver rattling him at the taste of you. His red eyes remained focused on your own as he cleaned his palm. “What is a god to do with a sacrifice like you?”
You were at your wits end; you couldn’t sit still or remain quiet anymore. It was too much, you were sweating from both heat and effort, your sex throbbed and ached unlike anything you’d ever felt before, your breasts were tender and felt heavy under the knowledge that he could be holding them instead. Even your fingers itched to hold onto him somehow, to tear away at his arrogance and get at the flesh beneath that cloth. A whine that felt closer to a sob bubbled in your chest and threatened to escape your lips.
“You did very well that time,” the god told you, almost affectionately. “Shall I reward you now?”
“Yes,” you cried, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Please, my lord, I can’t—”
“Enough,” he hushed you. The white-haired man stood and placed one of his large hands on the small of your back and the other approached your heated sex again. You unconsciously pushed your hips forward towards his hand and he allowed his palm to make contact again. This time, however, he pressed the heel of his palm against your aching bud and ground down on it. “Cry out to your heart’s content.”
A loud moan escaped you and you threw your head back. Your reached forward and grabbed at his thick wrist to hold his palm in place as you sloppily rode it. Using his hand on the small of your back, he brought you closer to him and pressed his cold lips to yours. The kiss was sloppy, you were fueled purely on instinct. He seemed unbothered by your lack of experience, and he used his tongue and lips to guide yours. When you were right at the precipice from your rough grinding he pulled his palm back and swallowed your cries of protest.
Tobirama did not leave you waiting for long, his cold fingers returned, and he prodded one at your entrance. You were so wet that he penetrated you easily. It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs, you pulled away from the kiss to gasp as your body tried to register the foreign feeling. He pushed his finger in deeper and you felt your walls squeeze around it. “Nngh,” you groaned. The cold of his finger contrasted so starkly with the heat of your insides. He began to pump his finger, in and out, and the friction felt so good. “Mmm.”
“You’re gripping my finger so tightly,” he pressed a kiss to your exposed collarbone. “Spread your legs more, I’ll be adding another finger shortly.”
You nodded dumbly, your mind and body reeling from the pace he had set. His thumb reached up to circle your clit as he added a second finger. You were thankful for it, as the second finger made the stretch a bit more uncomfortable, but you were able to experience the same amount of pleasure thanks to his thumb. The noises that came from your body were sloppy and wet. The faster he went the more your juices sloshed and dripped, the louder your moans became. “Such filthy sounds you’re making. So depraved, like a whore.”
“N-No,” you whimpered. “I’m not—”
“Your pretty hole would beg to differ. Now that it’s felt my touch, its begging for more. Shall I add another finger?”
The tip of his ring finger began to press inside, and you shuddered, almost drooling. It felt like too much, you had never had anything or anyone inside of you before. His third, thick and equally cold, finger slid inside and the stretch burned. You grunted, feeling like you’d been punched in the gut and the water god began to scissor your insides. “This is all in preparation for the sacrificial ritual.”
“Ritual,” you panted.
This isn’t the ritual?
He hum in concentration, his digits began to thrust in and out, then stretch, then in and out again at a brutal pace. Tobirama removed the hand that had been holding the small of your back and used it to undo his robe’s sash. The silken material slid open easily and with that same free hand he began to palm at the oversized tent in his trousers. You almost balked as he began to pull his clothing down to reveal the agitated flesh, he groaned loudly at being free of the confines.
Tobirama was long, exceedingly long, and generously thick with a purpled tip leaking with copious amounts of precum. He was so hard, and you almost burst when you realized that you were the reason he was throbbing. Your eyes were entranced as he began to pump himself slowly, your hips bucking to meet his fingers with more vigor. His thumb flicked your clit and all you could think about was trying to fit that beast inside of you. “Lord Tobirama,” you cried out. “I feel nnn- weird. S-Something’s coming!”
“Then cum, clench around my fingers and cry out for me.”
“Mmm, my lord,” you whined pathetically, your eyes squeezed shut and you bit into your bottom lip. He kept pumping you with his fingers, his thumb baring down on your clit with almost a painful amount of pressure. His continued work heightened your orgasm and elongated it. Soon his fingers, his thumb in particular, became too much and you began to squirm in overstimulation.
“The ritual,” he grunted, the sounds of his hand working his cock melding with the sounds of your wet sex. “Mortal worship is what gives us strength. And what greater form of praise is there than sex.”
“Please, your fingers, it’s too much,” more whining, you sounded a bit hoarse, but your body couldn’t take much more.
“So, we are yet to be finished.” The water god finally stilled his fingers and removed them with a loud shlop sound.
You nodded, eyes soaking in and memorizing the image of a partially clothed water god, pumping his rigid manhood with his hand that had just been removed from your body. His cheeks were tinged pink, his ears had a dusting of the same shade, his intimidating and crisp appearance disheveled because of you. Slowly you slid off from his desk, your bum hitting the cold floor roughly. He watched you, his haughty demeanor returning as you sat on your knees before him.
He stopped pumping and angled his erection toward your closed lips. Tentatively, you licked it. You had no idea what you were doing but you wanted to please, to worship him as he said. “Good girl,” Tobirama praised as he placed his hand, the one wet with his own precum, in your hair and pulled you flush against his aching need. “Open your mouth.”
Almost as soon as you opened your mouth, he placed his throbbing tip inside. You wrapped your lips around it and closed your eyes. How was even this part of him so cold? He pushed his hips forward and you had to open your jaw further to fit him. The taste of him was tangier than you expected, but that also could’ve been the taste of your lingering juices. He moved his fist, at the base of his shaft, together with your slight head bobs.
The sounds he made were divine; low grunts and moans, a rumbling in his chest when you scraped him with your teeth, his labored breathing grew louder and louder with each passing movement. Your jaw ached but you loved the feeling of his throbbing flesh in your mouth. The longer you sucked the more of him you tried to swallow. Eventually he reached so far back that he hit the back of your throat. Tears were welling in your eyes at the effort and saliva leaked from all parts of your mouth. You began to grunt and whine along with him, fresh arousal dripped from you onto the floor.
With one final thrust of your head to his pelvis, he throbbed and groaned loudly as he spurt cold spend down your throat. You wanted to taste it, but your tongue had already numbed from the temperature of his cock. He removed himself slowly, a small trail of semen and throat mucus following behind. When he was fully out of your mouth you rubbed your throat. It felt abused but in a way you never expected to enjoy, you happily swallowed the gunk that remained on your tongue and didn’t need to be told to lick him clean. He was still rock hard and you pressed your thighs together at the sight.
He reached down and helped you to your feet. Tobirama fully removed his robe and you pushed off the one that had loosely remained on your arms. The god adjusted his trousers and you frowned in confusion as he tucked himself away again. He still removed his tight shirt, revealing a haven of well sculpted flesh to your greedy eyes, which gave you pause. “We will continue in the altar room.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know where that is?”
You nodded.
“Then go, I will meet you there. I have something else to prepare.”
Again, you nodded, throat still sore, and began to walk toward your second favorite place to be. During your walk there you had begun to feel cold, and you wondered if it was because of the cum you swallowed. You could almost feel it as it sat in your belly like ice and froze your core, but you couldn’t help the tingle of need that pulsed at your entrance at the thought. You wrapped your arms around your middle to conserve heat.
You waded through the pool as you went to sit on the altar to wait for him. As horny as you still were, you were thankful for the reprieve. It allowed your overtaxed body a break and your lust addled mind some clarity. Though with the clarity came the anxiety of being deflowered by the same flesh that had deliciously tortured your throat. A shiver crawled up your spine, both from the cold and at the thought of how ruined you would be afterward. Tobirama was going to split you in half, he’d probably reach well into your guts if he bottomed out inside of you.
The water god appeared in the hallway; he was still shirtless with two flasks in his large hands. One flask looked the same as the one from before, black, but the other had a dual blue and purple hue that attracted your attention. You stared at the flex of his muscles as he walked, his hair looked like he had run his hands through it a few times, but he approached you with purpose. His feet glided over the water like it had when you first saw him. He narrowed his eyes at your hunched form. “Are you alright?”
You nodded and muttered, “Just cold.”
He handed you the black flask again and you began to drink it before he told you to. The fluid slid down your throat like slime, but it warmed its way down and seemed to overtake the cold that had seeped its way through you. The mixture of the viscous drink and Tobirama’s essence seemed to unsettle your stomach a bit but it wasn’t anything to worry about. Those sharp red eyes watched you carefully as he leaned in closer. “Is that better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are you still willing?” That question surprised you. Would you have been sitting there still naked if you weren’t? Or even drank more of that strange fluid? You appreciated the sentiment though.
“Of course.”
“Good, then move over for a moment.”
“Whah?” He nudged you aside before he sat himself down in the center of the altar. The pale god sat and began to slide his trousers down just enough to expose his half-hard member and the swollen balls below it. Tobirama opened the blue and purple flask before beckoning you to straddle him. You were up on your knees with your hands clutching his shoulders. It was a position you had not been expecting, though you weren’t really aware of what positions where normally used in this sort of situation.
The white-haired man leaned forward and began to lap at your neck, both hands moving to cup your cold breasts. He pressed them together before rolling and squeezing them. You moaned softly when his cold thumbs began to rub your nipples. His lapping turned into opened mouth kisses as he made his way down your unpainted collarbone and to your breast, where he had conveniently, rubbed the ink off of your skin. That cold appendage left a wet trail from the top of your left breast to the underside before he enveloped a nipple and vigorously sucked. A higher pitched moan escaped you and you tightened your grip on his shoulders.
Before he switched to the right breast, he poured some of the liquid from the blue and purple flask into his hand and rubbed the fluid against your sex. He nipped at the pebbled bud in his mouth and smeared the fluid into your soft tissue thoroughly. With a breathy groan you bucked into his hand. The water god poured more into his palm and made sure to coat his fingers before pushing them into you. You leaned back on your haunches a bit, giving him better access to your insides, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that the fluid was warming up the more he worked it in.
“Mmm,” you bit your lip and glanced at his cock. It had risen back to hardness and your inner walls clenched at the thought.
Tobirama chuckled breathlessly, “That eager to be stuffed full of me, hm?”
He removed his fingers from your entrance, and you whined. His cock visibly throbbed at the sound. The water god poured more of the fluid into his hand and began to rub it along his member. The substance was also a bit viscous but lighter in color than the one you’d been drinking. “Get back into the previous position, little girl. I’m about to split you open.”
Swallowing nervously, you straddled him again, and your grip on his shoulders had your knuckles turning white. With his none lubricated hand placed on your hip, and his other keeping his length in position, he began to slowly bring your down onto him. The blunt tip felt good as he rubbed it against your entrance and clit, it had relaxed you enough for you to try to sink down on it.
The tip felt impossibly wide as it popped inside. “Relax, if you tense up it’ll make things more difficult.”
Relax, you told yourself. Easier said than done. You closed your eyes and sunk down further. The stretch burned and you bit your bottom lip. Only when you pressed down a little more did Tobirama let out a groan of pleasure. “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Just like that. Good girl.”
The praise made you want to try harder, so you took more of him in at once than you should’ve. It knocked the wind out of you, his blunt head hit against the spongey part in your walls that made your toes curl. He panted and removed his hand, no longer needing it to hold himself in place, instead he placed it on your other hip to try to ease your burden. Your hands shook, it was painful but pleasurable all at once, the feeling was almost too much. “Halfway there.”
Only halfway? You whined again as you tried to take in more of him; the whine only grew in volume as he rubbed against the most sensitive parts of your inner walls. His eyes were narrowed in on where your bodies connected, the sharp red was filled with undeniable desire as he watched your being swallow him. “Look at how well you’re taking me.”
“Lord Tobirama,” you groaned as you sunk down further. Your entire body flinched when he hit against a part of you that felt wrong. “Nn, I can’t take in anymore.”
“You were being such a good girl. There’s no need to worry, only a bit more to go.”
“I can’t. I—” you cut yourself off as you attempted to do as asked but felt that same intensity. You shook your head. Before you had fully adjusted to the fullness, Tobirama began to raise you up and down along his length. It felt like heaven and hell in one place. Every time his blunt head hit against that spot it tried to push a little harder against it. Your legs trembled, your brain too pleasure fogged to try and ride him. When he started to thrust up as he brought you down, you swore.
“You don’t ever want me to leave this hole do you? You’re sucking me in, trying to take me in deeper despite saying that you couldn’t. But look,” he grunted with exertion, and you felt a telltale pop as he pushed past the barrier. It hurt, it felt wonderful, it was too much. Your body began to spasm and your vision blurred. The highest pitched noise you’d ever made escaped your lungs and you clawed at his back, leaning forward against his chest to try to gain some relief from the feeling. Tobirama shivered against you.
His grip on your hips was bruising as he continued to bring you up and down, sinking deeper then he ever should’ve. You were a mess, tears welled in the corners of your eyes and you felt stupid. All you could do was moan and whine like a bitch in heat. “If I cum inside we’ll be tied forever, do you want that?”
You nodded, the pressure in your lower belly about to burst.
“I’ll sow my seed inside you,” he panted, his thrusts and pulls increasing in speed. You bounced up and down on his lap at an erratic pace. Tobirama continued to ramble. “You’ll take every last drop. The thought of you with milk swollen breasts and a round belly is enough to drive me insane. You’re my precious little broodmare. Fuck!” His curse was punctuated by a particularly hard thrust, one that smashed your clit down onto his pelvic bone and caused you to reach your peak. You felt a rush of fluid leave you and you whimpered as oversensitivity set in almost immediately.
“Such a good—” he thrust two more times and gasped as he reached his own end. There was a distinctive rush of cold as he came inside you. It felt like a lot. You bit your bottom lip and pressed your forehead into his shoulder as he relaxed his grip on your hips. The two of you remained like that for a while, basking in the post orgasm bliss. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead gently.
Exhaustion began to swallow your form but before you could completely give in he spun you around to face the throne. He remained inside of you, his member twitching and spunk leaking from you and dripping down his sack. You whimpered when he leaned your back against his chest and angled your body so that you could watch your combined fluids run down his darkened flesh. “We’re not finished,” he supplied before he gripped your hips once more with just as much force.
Tobirama bounced you like you weighed nothing, the new angle giving you a clear view of the indentation he was making inside of you. You placed your hands over it and felt him practically pulse both inside and in your hands. Your mouth dropped open. As he worked you open, again and again, more of his cold sperm fell out of your center and stained his skin and the marbled stone. “Look at what you’re wasting,” he grunted, one of his hands crept down to tease your oversensitive nub and cause you to flinch with every motion of his fingers. “I’ll have to use something to plug you when we’re done. You don’t want to waste anymore, do you?”
Drool began to drip down the sides of your open mouth as you threw your head back against his shoulder, your hands rubbed against your own skin as they pressed back against him. It made you feel him harder; it made him rub you more. Your entire being felt like it would explode, your brain too stimulated to comprehend his question. “Ffffn,” you felt like your brain had gone numb. “Haaa, ahn.”
“Hm?” He brought his hand away from your abused nub and up to grip your chin. The water god turned your face toward him and his slick covered thumb swept across your exposed tongue and abused lips. “Have I fucked you stupid?”
He pressed his thumb down on your tongue so that you couldn’t speak. You tasted the mixture of his and your own cum on his precious thumb and you felt that same gush of fluid leave you. Your entire being thrummed, your heart felt like it might explode, you wanted to thrash and to move away from him to lessen the intensity, but you couldn’t. His grip was too strong and all you could do was cry and whimper as you came again almost immediately after from his continued thrusts and blunt cock head against the very back of your womb. “My dumb little sacrifice,” he groaned. “A perfect little child maker. Spray me one more time, worship me with you entire being.”
His fingers left your mouth and he readjusted you to bend forward in his lap. The tears that had formed began to stream down your face as you shook your head. How could you explode again? Your essence had already sprung from you like a fountain; you couldn’t possibly do it again. Tobirama held you in place by your wrists, keeping you bent over and facing away. Noises you had never made before fell from your throat and squelched from your sex. You heard him grunt in effort and felt the weight of his sack hit against your angry clit once before you convulsed and sprayed again. “Mmm, good girl.”
You felt his cold semen as it burst inside of you once more. It collected in your womb like a pool and furthered your convulsions. He brought you back to his lap and rubbed your aching arms as you continued to shake, and he continued to cum inside of you. Despite the copious amounts of sweat and other fluids caked to both your skin and his all you could feel was the weight of his sperm inside of you and the cold it gave off. “Very good girl,” he muttered against your hair as he kissed the top of your head.
After an unknown amount of time you finally stopped whimpering and shaking, and your tears seemed to dry up. You were parched and sore but you managed to place your hands against the arms that held you once you felt a bit more grounded. You cleared your throat in attempts to get your mind off of the cold that permeated through you and the nervousness that his still rigid member, which remained in your depths, brought forth. “Did that give you enough power to save the village?” Your voice was so hoarse, so overused and abused, but the worst part was the obvious exhaustion.
The effort it took to stay awake to wait for his answer became too great and your eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. Your brain, exceedingly thankful for the much-needed break, turned off almost instantly and you slumped completely in his arms. The rumble of his chest as he began to answer was all you were able to register before total exhaustion embraced you.
“Little mortal,” he began. “There is much more worship to be had.”
